#bombs then. checkmate.

[ratwars]

If the PM had somehow been the primary target of all of these plots instead of the ADA I firmly believe half of the situations could have been solved with Kajii. I understand he isn't popular but listen there is a reason he is who they pull out first with a hat trick when shit gets real.

[saytrrose]

Hi I saw some of your fandoms and wanted to ask you ship questions what’s your favorite tadc, welcome home and hazbin ships? btw no hate im a multishipper i like lots of things

TADC - I like Checkmate, Royalteeth and Showtime

WH - Eddie/Frank ofc, my baby boys- but Sally/Julie are funny/cute too

HAZBIN - Pentious/Cherry is always cute but dear god to I obsess and Brainrot over one sided Alastor/Vox,, Radiostatic my beloved

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Ok Suicide Squad Isekai thoughts for real now genuinely I think this is a good little suicide squad thing AS WELL as really good Peacemaker content. I was right about him just being Kupperberg Peacemaker I dont know what the fuck happened but I was right and he was wearing that bag for the first three episodes

Im so happy its unreal

[sharlmbracta]

ass toird teached him how to levitate

made White Bar & nextAtkInput

made White Bar behind Red Bar to softly lerp enemy damages

implemented attack input storage for attack chain (PlayerMovement >> nextAtkInput)

todo:

make attack chains IN PlayerAnimData

[dougielombax]

Hey!

Watch this!

*puts briefcase on table and presses a suspiciously large, needlessly ominous big red, threatening button*

*beep*

*EAR-SPLITTINGLY LOUD, DEAFENING EXPLOSION WHAT OBLITERATES ALL NEARBY ORGANISMS AND FRIES ALL ELECTRONICS WITHIN A 50 MILE RADIUS!!!!!!!!!!!*

Yeah!

How do you like them apples, BITCH!!!!!

[chvoswxtch]

checkmate

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: now that frank was gone, you were left alone to your own devices. could you protect yourself if trouble came knocking at your door?

warnings: swearing, lots of angst, brief mention of bomb violence, mentions of gun violence, blood, & death

word count: 4k

a/n: buckle up, sluts (i love y'all sm). shit is about to get real. ;) but don't just take my word for it. grab a snack, a drink, & get comfy. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

9:29 pm. 

The catastrophic events of today didn’t feel like they had happened just this morning. They didn’t even feel real at all. They seemed more like glimpses of a purgatory from an alternate dimension that somehow had been implanted into your head. How had your world become so goddamn unrecognizable in less than twelve hours?

Life as you knew it had unraveled right before your eyes in one fell swoop like a cruel magician’s trick. For the first time in months, you were terrified to leave your house again, and there was a gaping pit of loneliness carved out in your stomach.

Because Frank was gone, and he was probably never coming back.

Saline seared along your waterline as your last interaction with him replayed behind your glossy eyes on a loop. He had looked so detached, the usual warmth of his brown eyes snuffed out with a layer of black ice, face completely void of any emotion like a blank canvas.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

He didn’t say anything.

Every comet that flashed across his lips at one of your stupid little jokes. Every tiny gesture that brought him closer into your orbit. Every universe you discovered when he revealed more and more coveted constellations of himself to you. The asteroid he threw with his fists at the bar that night. The rockets he was always ready to launch on your behalf. The way all the planets had aligned just right when he glided with you around the dancefloor made of the stars.

All those intimate moments you carried around in your heart like a locket meant nothing to him.

You had only ever been a job to Frank, and that epiphany broke something inside you that you didn’t think could ever be fixed.

Sitting at your dining table staring off into the void of silence, it felt like you were wandering aimlessly through an abandoned forest in your mind. When was the last time you had felt so…lost? It was difficult to navigate a path when your whole world had been flipped upside down, right as you were ascending to the peak above the clouds. 

Ellison had politely demanded you take a few days off, or work from home, until there was a plan of what to do next regarding your safety. He didn’t know the details of why your security detail had been pulled, but the absence of Frank’s shadow was unmistakable. It was a glaring vacancy not even the darkness could hide. Coupled with the intense gloom of dejection lingering on your face and the desolation melting from your eyes, it wasn’t a hard mystery for him to solve.

Covering your face with your palms, you suddenly felt like a little girl again, hiding under the blankets and covering your eyes to hide from the villainous shadows that lurked in the corners of your room. You remember thinking that if you couldn’t see the phantoms, they couldn’t see you, and then they couldn’t hurt you. 

That logic made sense in your head at the time. Before you learned that monsters are real, and they don’t go away when you hide behind your hands. 

The sharp sound of clamorous repetitive knocking against your front door echoed through the quiet and caused you to jump with a noise of surprise. Glancing over at the clock on your microwave, your brows knit together in confusion as you read the glowing digital numbers. 

10:31 pm.

A second round of impatient knocks had you slowly rising from your chair, tip-toeing around the corner towards your front door as noiselessly as you could, not wanting to alert anyone on the other side of your presence. Leaning up to peek through the peephole, the perplexity weaved between your brows only grew seeing two officers standing outside your door. 

Despite the advice from your gut, curiosity got the better of you, and you unlocked the two locks in place, twisting the knob on the door to pull it open slowly. 

“Can I help you?”

The first officer straightened up when you opened the door, placing his weathered hands on his belt as he eyed you up and down in a way that had discomfort blooming in your lower stomach. 

“You Y/N Y/L/N?”

Glancing between the icy gray eyes of the first officer and the sharp aquamarine of the second, your grip on the door knob tightened slightly.

“I am. Who are you?”

The second officer folded his arms over his chest, peering right over your head like he was searching behind you for something, or someone. 

“I’m Officer Walker, this is Officer Cavella. You uh, home alone?”

Something in your gut was setting off all the warning bells and alarms in your brain. The way Officer Walker tilted his head to the side with an ominous twinkle in his eyes, and the slight mocking tone you detected in his voice made you feel like he knew that answer already. Beside him, his partner was still attempting to scope out your place over your shoulders. An eerie feeling crept up your spine, and you pulled the door slightly shut, only leaving it open enough for your frame to fit through as you attempted to keep your voice calm and unaffected.

“I’m sorry, what’s this about?”

Officer Cavella chuckled lightly as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek, taking a bold step forward and gesturing towards you with his hand, a large Cheshire grin on his thin lips.

“Don’t worry, princess. We’re here to keep you safe. Just gonna take a look around for any trouble. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you, now would we?”

The pet name he used made your skin crawl, and you detected that same artificial sympathy that had come from his predecessor. You felt like a lamb staring down two wolves with their fangs bared in sinister smiles.

“I…think there’s been some confusion. I already have protection-”

“Had protection. After that bomb fiasco yesterday, you’re not under Anvil’s wing anymore. Right?”

Officer Walker lifted his thick brows in question, a saccharine smirk on his lips, once again daring you to challenge the answers he already seemed to have.

How did he know that? Hadn’t Billy told you Homeland was keeping the details under wraps? That the attack was reported as an accident?

An icy sense of unease caused goosebumps to prickle along your skin. There was only one way either of them would know about the bombing yesterday, and it had your heart thrashing against your ribcage furiously.

“Mr. Russo arranged alternate protection for me already.”

“They running late or something?”

Officer Cavella quipped, cocking his head to the side in an imitation of concern. But the wild look in his piercing eyes gave away his real candor. He took another daring step forward, breaching the boundary of your personal space, and bared his teeth in a crooked grin.

“Tell you what, why don’t you let us take a look around while you wait for them to show up. We can keep you company. Wouldn’t be right to leave a scared girl all by herself-”

“I’m not scared.”

The harsh edge to your voice had the pleased smirks dropping from both their faces, and you could visibly see their patience running thin. Pursing your lips, you attempted to rain in your hazardous temper before it could spark a situation you couldn’t handle alone. Clearing your throat, you brushed a piece of your hair out of your face with your finger as you focused on keeping your voice at a civil decibel.

“Listen, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. I don’t need either of you. Have a good night.”

A thick boot wedged itself between the frame and the door, preventing you from shutting it, and your eyes widened slightly when Officer Cavella braced his palm against the door, exerting a show of strength in forcing it back, and you along with it.

“Sorry princess, but we got orders.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise at the intrepid intrusion, but his words piqued your interest, and your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared up at him.

“Orders from who?”

Officer Walker took a step forward and placed his arm in front of his partner to halt his movements, flashing him a warning glance before flipping a charming smile onto his lips when he turned his attention back to you.

“You know, this will really go a lot smoother if you just cooperate and do what you’re told.”

That one sentence nearly paralyzed you with dread that spread throughout your entire nervous system, threatening to shut it down completely. A sobering thought flickered in your head that if you didn’t play this smart, these men might kill you, or worse. Glancing between them frantically, your mind fought through the cortisol pumping furiously through your bloodstream, and you quickly started to formulate a plan.

Both of these men were far larger than you, and you didn’t know any self defense. They were without a doubt faster than you, and even if you made a run for it with a headstart somehow, they would catch you. You couldn’t fight, and you couldn’t run, which only left you one option.

Do your job. 

Treat this like any other investigation. 

Play your role, get your answers.

Letting out a deep exhale through your nose, you forcefully swallowed your inner combative nature, slipping into a more appeasing version of yourself as you looked between them with a tired smile.

“Can we…start over? Today has been so hectic…and with everything going on, I’m just super on edge. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to take that out on either of you. I apologize. I…appreciate you looking out for me. Please, come in. Can I get either of you some coffee?”

The tension that had been lingering heavily in the space like a suffocating layer of smoke seemed to slowly disappear as the two men exchanged a glance in a secret language you couldn’t understand, turning to face you with their previous artificial smiles plastered on their thin lips.

“Coffee would be great.” 

Officer Cavella had a sickly sweet tone to his voice, and the pleasure in his eyes from your submission turned your blood into molten lava, but you fought to keep your composure, reminding yourself that your life was potentially on the line. 

On the way to the kitchen, you elusively swiped your phone and hid it behind your coffee machine, subtly pressing record on the voice memo app that was on your home screen. Once their coffees were done brewing and the machine was no longer making noise, you cleared your throat and began your interrogation.

“So, you guys must be pretty relieved huh?”

Officer Walker perked up at your words, the hand that was lifting the coffee mug to his mouth pausing in midair. He glanced at his partner curiously before looking back at you from his spot at your dining table.

“About what?”

You feigned confusion as you glanced between them with a light smile on your lips. 

“The evidence that Homeland found? Mr. Russo said they found something in the bomb fragments. It’s a really good thing Mr. Price had already checked out of his hotel room. He got lucky.”

“Looks like that pretty boy doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Wasn’t Price’s hotel room that got blown up. It was one of his escort vehicles.”

For someone that was completely giving himself away, Officer Cavella looked thoroughly pleased with himself. He seemed to be enjoying the opportunity to indirectly insult your intelligence, but he didn’t realize that by trying to prove his superiority to you, he was feeding you everything you needed to confirm your suspicions.

Conveying an expression of mock horror on your face, you braced one of your hands on the counter, placing the other dramatically over your mouth.

“I…I must have misheard him then. I-Oh my God, that’s…terrifying. I couldn’t imagine…knowing I was in danger like that.”

You pretended to shudder, leaning your back against the counter as you shook your head slowly and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Well, despite how it happened, I’m just glad they were able to pull those fingerprints from the fragments.”

“What?”

Officer Walker’s face was twisted up in puzzlement, but there was a specific emotion pooling in his eyes that caught your attention; fear.

“Yeah, I mean…they’re partials, but Mr. Russo said Homeland was pushing them through every database for a match. Didn’t they tell you that?”

Officer Cavella leaned over the dining table as he stared at you in almost a glare, his teeth bared more in a subtle snarl than a smile.

“Didn’t who tell us that?”

“Homeland. They sent you, right?”

Cocking your head to the side slightly, you attempted to feign innocence and perplexity.

“Russo sent us.”

Furrowing your brows slightly, you looked over at Officer Walker and let out a soft laugh with a shake of your head.

“He doesn’t have that authority. He only hires private contractors.”

“He put in a special request with our Captain.”

Officer Walker seemed to speak almost through gritted teeth, a light layer of warning laced through his quick reply to your incessant interrogation, but his patience was far more intact that his partner’s. 

Officer Cavella was the one you could get to break, and you knew just how to get him to shatter.

Aim for his ego. 

Letting out a soft hum in acknowledgment that you allowed to linger for a moment, you turned your attention to Officer Cavella, meeting his predatory gaze with an expression of indifference tied with a smile. 

“You know, it actually makes sense that Homeland didn’t tell you. They don’t usually share information with anyone that doesn’t have the security clearance. I guess you boys aren’t high enough up the ladder.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that your playful jest struck a nerve exactly as you had intended. The skin on his knuckles turned stark white from gripping so tightly onto the ceramic mug, and his jaw was clenched so hard, you thought he might crack his own mandible. 

“I guarantee you we have more clearance than some gossip magazine writer.”

“Newspaper, actually. And investigative journalism, not gossip. You’d be surprised at the kind of clearance I have.”

Although you knew it wasn’t wise to inch closer towards a firecracker that was dangerously close to exploding, you were too fucking close to a lead that could expose these assholes; the first one that had been discovered in months. You couldn’t shy away now. 

The fractures in Officer Cavella’s resolve were already starting to spread like an intricate labyrinth cracking through glass. You just needed to apply a little more pressure to get him to implode into guilty fragments. 

Waving your hand dismissively in his direction, you glanced around your kitchen with a content sigh before facing him with an arrogant smile.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter who really sent you. They’ll have those full prints in just a few hours, and this whole thing will be over. Those cowards will finally go down, and I can’t fucking wait to cover the trial.”

There was an extra bite to your tone as you emphasized the word coward, and both of them instantly sat up straighter with squared shoulders. The neutral expression of innocence was still coveting your features like a mask, but the edges were steadily beginning to rip. 

All at once there was a quick shift in the room and an unspoken aura of understanding between the three of you was swiftly forming over all of your heads like a raincloud. They suddenly seemed to sober up to the motion that you were playing them like pawns.

“There won’t be any prints.”

Officer Cavella seemed to be vibrating with anger, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Officer Walker reach to his hip to place his hand over his gun. There was a very real chance that you were about to die, but it didn’t matter. 

Because you would fucking win in the end.

You just needed one of them to make that last, foolish move across the chess board.

One final move to win the game.

“Why not?”

There was no reason to bother hiding behind a facade now. That mask of innocence had been ripped wide open, and even though your hands trembled with fear, your jaw was set in defiance. Your voice was firm and accusatory, daring him to prove his “superior” intelligence to you again. It was incredibly ironic he was being outsmarted by being so fucking stupid.

As you stared Officer Cavella down in a glaring challenge, you waited for that spark to reach the edge of his temper.

And the explosion was glorious.

“Because we don’t use our bare hands you stupid bitch. You think we’re that dumb, we wouldn’t use gloves?”

Checkmate.

Officer Walker slammed his fist down on the dining table in complete frustration towards his partner.

“God damnit Cavella, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cavella rose from his chair so fast that he knocked it backwards, glaring between you and his partner as he pointed an angry finger towards you.

“You think I’m gonna let this whore talk to me like I’m fucking stupid-”

Walker stood to his full height quickly, shoving his own chair back as he got in his partner’s face and jabbed his finger into his chest. 

“You are fucking stupid! You just sold us out because you can’t control your goddamn temper!”

Cavella shoved his hand away in frustration as he scoffed, gesturing towards you again.

“Whatever, we’re gonna kill the bitch anyway-”

“No. He wants her alive. If we bring her back with one scr-”

“Who?”

Both of them turned to face you as your voice rose in volume to cut above their bickering. There wasn’t a single cell in your body that wasn’t infected with anger, and you were struggling to contain your own rage.

“Who wants me alive? Who’s the fucking pussy behind the curtain leading the rest of you around?”

Cavella swiftly pulled the gun from the holster on his hip as he took a step towards you, cocking the hammer with his thumb while snarling at you.

“Keep running that fucking mouth of yours and you won’t get to solve that mystery, Nancy Drew.”

As you went to retaliate, you noticed a shadow flash past the window in your kitchen, and your brows knit together in confusion. You were too pissed off to even be afraid as you glanced between Cavella and Walker.

“Who’s outside?”

Walker instantly stilled his advance at your words, his grip tightening on the handle of his gun that was still tucked into his holster while looking over at you in skepticism.

“What?”

“I just saw someone outside. Is that your fearless fucking leader? You gonna show your face like a man?! Or hide in the dark like a fucking p-“

Walker tugged you backwards roughly by your arm when you went to storm towards the window, clamping his hand tightly over your mouth to cut off your furious yells. His icy gray eyes were wide with apprehension as he hissed.

“Shut up. No one is with us.”

Glancing over at his partner, he silently motioned with his head towards him to go investigate. Cavella slowly began to approach the window with his gun in his hands, loosely aimed at whatever target he was about to discover. 

All of a sudden the sound of shattering glass pierced the silence, and your eyes widened seeing a metal canister rolling against the tiled floor of your kitchen. It exploded into a thick fog of ivory smoke that steadily began to fill the small space. Cavella began firing blindly through the gaping hole in your window, and you took the opportunity to run while Walker was distracted and yelling at his partner. 

You could hear Walker’s heavy footsteps pounding on the floor behind you, yelling your name, and you screamed when a bullet whizzed by your head and punched through the drywall in front of you. 

The second you reached your bathroom, you attempted to slam the door shut, but Walker caught the spine of your door and wedged it open with his hand. Turning around, you forced all your body weight back against it, struggling against his dominant strength. Glancing around in a frenzy, you reached your foot out towards the counter of the sink in front of you, and with a surge of adrenaline, you let out a feral scream as you shoved both of your feet forward against the sink to give you momentum against the door. A satisfying crunch sounded in your ears as Walker howled in pain and retracted his broken hand, causing the door to finally slam shut behind you. You swiftly twisted the lock into place on the door before backing away.

The sound of bullets raining down in rapid succession had you covering your ears and squeezing your eyes shut as you attempted to breathe. Your lungs burned from running as fast as you ever had in your life, and with anxiety overflowing in your bloodstream, you were on the brink of hyperventilation. 

“Who the fuck are y-”

Bang bang.

The echo of two bullets cracking through a skull you could only assume belonged to Walker had your breath hitching in your throat. Muffled through the sound of your own labored breathing, you could hear his body drop to the floor just a few feet away from the door with a heavy thud. Your eyes went wide with terror as the thundering roar of heavy footsteps began to slowly strike closer and closer outside the door.

No. 

This isn’t how this ends.

This is not it.

Eyes frantically darting around your bathroom for something to use as a weapon, they landed on the horrified reflection of your own face. There was a small cut above your eyebrow from where a shard of glass had nicked you that was actively bleeding. Your pupils were completely blown wide open with hysteria, and your waterline was shimmering with unshed tears. You hadn’t seen yourself look this small and broken since you were a child.

Without thinking, you smashed your fist against the glass, sending hazardous shards falling into pieces in the sink like shiny raindrops. Grabbing the biggest one, you didn’t even flinch when it sliced deeply into the meat of your palm, and you only sent the jagged edge further into your skin as you clamped your fingers around it tightly, slicing them in the process. Your brain barely registered the warm, wet feeling of blood starting to cascade from the wounds on your hand, dripping onto the floor below you steadily like a leaky faucet.

Staring at the door in front of you in complete terror, you held the makeshift weapon out in front of yourself. The way the lights above you caught the reflection of the glass everytime it shook in your hand caused spheres of white to dance along the bathroom walls, as if there were a mirrorball on the ceiling.

As soon as the threatening shadow appeared right underneath the door, you willed the last shard of strength in your body to take over.

“Stay the fuck back! I have a gun, and I swear to God I will shoot you!”

Panic trembled in your voice almost as much as it did in your hands. On the other side of the door you heard a faint rustling noise, and then there was a gentle tapping of knuckles quietly knocking against the wood, accompanied by a voice you would recognize anywhere.

“Sweetheart?”

tags: @twoshields @day-dreaming-goddess @messymissy @itwasthereaminuteago @strawberry1042 @queenofthenoobs @wanda2themax @xcastawayherosx @ferns-fics @stevenknightmarc @ponyosmom35 @babygal-babygal @wellwwhynot @oldermenaremyreligion @combustiblemeow @tired-night-owl @fairykiss32 @danzer8705 @calkissed @fxckahs-blog @lemon-world1 @yeah3459 @collaps3r @polskiperson @imperihoe @v4leoftears @harperdoodle @spideyvibez @joalslibrary

[terrence-silver]

Formally requesting a follow up to your married-to-his-high-school-sweetheart Twig story where he finally reunites stateside with his beloved. He gets a bit carried away in his need to convey just how much he's missed her? Maybe it gets a bit dark as he wants to possess her so deeply that no one questions their relationship again?

(You know me, there are really no boundaries on my end, so take this where you will!)

The story is a continuation / expansion of this post right here.

---

Momma Back Home Ran Out of Ink

Twig!Terry Silver x Reader

—

The limousine rushes from the airbase, his chauffeur hitting the 180 miles per hour mark.

He just about didn’t care who saw — who gawked — the image of him leaving in big style like this, his uniform the only thing lingering on him from the flight back home alongside the boxed in beige parcel on his lap — his luggage long since having been sent where he wanted it sent, meanwhile; all your letters, correspondence, pictures, perfumed paper, tokens collected from nearly three years overseas where with him. The first thing he asked for upon release to base and the one thing that stuck to him like a second skin after he was out of the cage was every bit of devotion showcased in written form; Terry Silver was only seventeen when he married you, before being deployed, technically needing parental consent to do so, and of course his old man fought the idea. Of course he waged war, of a different kind, at home, yelling and shouting until the walls practically shook, wagging his bejeweled finger and listing all the requirements of what a potential partner should be, what the acceptable age is, how life should be lived, our own kind of people being words dropped frequently, like a bomb, and Terry recalled that being his first bit of checkmate, telling his father that if he gave his consent he, like a good son, would compromise. He wouldn’t go off to the war and do something stupid and endanger his own future, like all the supposed lowlives did --- boys without prospects other than being live canon fodder were doing and the minute the signature was on paper and Terry had you secured and his, he left anyway.

He laughed then even as he was laughing now, into his own chin, all the way to the airfield.

That was then, his first ever victory.

And this was now.

And now? In the present? He needed you. He needed you badly.

Almost two years in the bush and there were nights where he’d secretly slide his hand into his green fatigues while laying in the sack during patrols, the scented envelope your letters arrived in pushed into his boxers and wrapped around his cock as he rubbed it on the tender flesh there, up and down, envisioning your fingers and lips wrapped around him instead, not minding the chafing sensation of paper on his skin. Quite the opposite; he found the slight discomfort exhilarating, cumming against the material and the itching sensation of pain, holding back groans, stashing the soaked, stained remains away and saving them for later like a lucky charm. Thing is, most of those punks never believed he was married back home in the first place, the same way his father never thought he had the guts to go against his word. Terry wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way, because it meant none of them would ever ask for your picture, never ask about you, never hassle him, never even contemplate you, convinced you were a fragment of his imagination or he despised it for being doubted. Looked down on. Underestimated. It was poetic justice when one of them would rip your newly arrived letter from his hand, jumping around like a rabid ape, giggling and reading your words aloud to everyone only to step on a landmine a week from then, losing the very leg they were jumping on in a state of mockery. Momma back home ran out of ink, they’d call it, whenever the letters were late. Somehow delayed. When they were on time, they’d say momma was diligent, writing to her son as per schedule, prodding and poking at him; it was this running gag, that his mother was posing as wife to make him look good out here, in front of the boys.

Those were the nights he wanted to kill.

Simultaneously the nights when he’d squeeze the collected envelopes of your letters harder.

Tighter. The pace vigorous and angry. Desperate.

Scrunching them around his dick until he could feel himself bleed.

-"So, married man, huh?"-

John Kreese remarked on one occasion, sitting beside him in the busy canteen, giving him a broad smile, seemingly eager and warm, the type someone gives you when they’re honest — genuine — regardless, Terry instinctively braced for more mockery, having been used to it by now. Desensitized in ways. Kreese fished into his pocket, lowering himself into the chair beside him, pulling out a photo of his own, tapping him on the back with a big, heavy hand with a gesture sudden and firm enough to be felt in Terry’s spine, John being almost twice his size where muscle mass was concerned. -"Right on!"- A sense of congratulation in his voice and Terry remembered sitting there, surprised. The picture offered to him. A girl. An introduction. Like they were equals. Two brothers. Not even his own father gave him such a welcome sensation after he’s gotten hitched; quite the contrary. He’s threatened to disown and disinherit him. Which he would’ve done too if he simply he had in who’s favor to disown and disinherit him. -"This is my Betsy. My Pasadena girl."- John explained with a twinge of visible, twinkling pride and Terry held that photo between shaking fingers, feeling his own mouth partially fall agape. Acceptance? This was acceptance, wasn’t it? A way of saying ‘I believe you, friend’. All the more reason then, for him to rush home now, in John’s name, in his own, and fuck you, on the foundation of everything that he lived through in Vietnam. The news that Betsy died. That you, on the other hand, were alive and well, and that he should push himself inside of you so deep you feel him in your bloodstream, precisely because you weren’t taken from him. That Captain Turner wasn’t announcing that you were the one who wasn’t alive anymore, during that fateful night when the bamboo cage sprung open and they were handpicked and led outside.

The car comes to a sudden halt and you’re already on the front porch, eagerly waving.

Waiting for him, having got his call, hour, date and all.

His cock twitches in his trousers at the sight of you as he rushes out, slamming the door behind him.

-"Terry! Sweetheart! Baby!"- 

Your arms open towards him, he doesn’t even know when he’s managed to cross the street that separated the parked vehicle from your house by a narrow road, but it’s one of those things a man does in a trance, he supposed. Instinctually. Naturally. The body didn’t need reminds to breathe at night, while it was asleep. Organs didn’t give out while he was dreaming. Having nightmares. Thinking of you. They’d just seamlessly continued to do their own thing, without reminders needed. He figured it was the case now. Terry ran to you because nothing in the world could’ve made more sense. Your soft hands encircle his face, holding his cheeks, gaze scrutinizing every feature riddled with the sheen of warm tears. You speak, exasperated, and he’s heard your voice before. In the sound or rifles. Gunfire. The rare quietude of the night. Nothing beat hearing it live, like piecing together a puzzle from memory. -"Terry, you’re here!"- You speak through gasps, like you couldn’t believe the sight of him. He changed. He was aware he changed. Internally. Externally. In every way possible. The widening of your eyes testifying as to how much exactly. He supposed he did it for himself. For you. For all the people who ever doubted him to the degree they’d fail to imagine him a married man because they couldn’t reconcile he had it in him, leading him to go to Korea after the war and take even more time away from you — make that ultimate sacrifice of discipline and willpower if it only meant how he’d look the part of everything he started being convinced he could be. -"Let me look at you!"- Your stare riddled with happy tears travels up and down his uniform in shock once you release yourself from an embrace he’s reluctant to break — allowing you only so much breathing space, backing you further away from the front yard, the lawn and further up the porch, causing you to walk backwards. Too happy to notice it too. Terry wasn’t looking at his surroundings. He was only looking at you. At this point, a car could’ve pulled up from the roadside and he swears he could’ve stopped it with desire and power of tenacity alone for daring to interrupt him. -"I swear, you got taller somehow! They've been feeding you good out there!"- You chuckle out, trying to alleviate the situation, observing his head and reaching back, finding a wisp of hair tied at the nape of his neck, tenderly tugging at the strands, needing to stand propped up on your toes to even touch him.

Quite the contrary to your endearing, adorable statement; you couldn't even imagine half of the things he was forced to eat 'out there', as you put it so poetically.

He grins at the fact.

He'd much prefer eating you, though. Right now.

 -"This is new too. I like it!"-

You remark, a smile revealing a row of teeth behind a pleased lip, eying his locks.

 -"It’s just like you described it!"-

You add, twirling a curl of hair around your finger and he unwittingly thinks of Ponytail. From his letters, you assumed the tied, long hair was simply a fashion choice, but Terry doesn’t allow himself time to fall behind any longer and get distracted by explanations, hoisting you up without warning, there and then on the sidewalk and lifting your body up, towards his shoulder, eliciting a jolted cry of surprise from you as he balances you by grabbing unto the back of your hips, right beneath your buttocks. He doesn't linger. Ponytail wouldn’t want him to linger either, in fact. Ponytail would want him to fuck your brains out right about now, regardless of the fact that he frequently believed getting married at seventeen is either some Redneck nonsense or Waspy nonsense, never anything in between. You either had to be trailer park destitute or richer than God to be pulling things like that, he'd theorize. Terry nearly cackles at the idea, beaming at the recollection. -"You like it, huh?"- He remarks with a contented hum, sauntering in wide strides towards the house, practically carrying your body forward, his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, feeling the tender skin there through the fabric of your clothes and underwear. It takes a cosmic amount of self-control not to throw you against the front porch wall and screw you right against it, in view of the entire street, letting everyone who accidentally caught ahold of the sight that you’re his. That he did it. That it was his fucking right to do this. You were his wife and he was consummating his marriage. 

The front door slams shut behind him.

He puts you down, cornering you against the nearby wall.

When the buttons of your blouse snap scattering across the floorboard, with each rolling and tumble of the fasteners disappearing under chairs, tables and cupboards like so many ants, Captain Turner’s voice echoes through his mind.

-"So help me God, you got us into this shit, and you’ll pay for it."-

His grimace flashes before Terry’s eyes, obscured by the shadows of the canopy.

His fingers unbuckle his belt like they had a mind of their own, seeking your warmth.

Your cunt hidden underneath layers of fabric.

 -"I’ll make you pay for it, kid."-

His familiar voice repeats and rumbles inside of his brain and Terry isn't certain what way he'd rather fuck you, trying to quell the noise inside of his head, yet simultaneously embracing it gladly, hoping that in some weird way, everyone he was intrusively remembering could hear him. See what he was doing right now. That they were witness to it, as they should've been, as he was getting ready to claim you and preform for each and every one of them, including you, purely so they'd all understand this was real. This was his wife. He was having her. A big collective 'screw you' to the very lot of them --- every doubter in his life so far. He grabs you underneath your hips, effectively lifting you up and spreading you, up against the wall. Thank fuck for the practicality sundresses, because your whole wetness falls open like the most delicious treat inside of a wending machine, the scent of you salty and pungent. Delectable. Soaked and obscured by the thin fabric of your panties. He could see exactly where you were split. Yearning for him. It's child's play to dig into the material and rip it open right in the middle, exposing you for him. You shriek. -"Those bozos out there will seem like a kitten in comparison and by the time they walk through to get you, you’ll beg them to finish you."- His commanding officer had the tendency of saying, moving as close as the tightly confined space of their shared cage allowed back, believing in equal measure retribution as he threatened him, even though Terry knew it was more than a threat --- it was a promise. The buzzing sound of his radio station alerted the enemy to their position out in the wild, endangering the whole platoon and the only reasonable conclusion was for the unit to take the matters of justice into their own hands and ensure clumsy little Twig pays dearly for his negligence. Code Red. Extra judicial punishment. The idea that he isn't safe outside of the cage as much as inside of it. That his own compatriots would make him suffer as much as the Gooks would've and that it would've been John and him against all of them. But, he was here. He was alive. He was devouring you.

-"That little missy of yours? Swear on my heart and hope to die, you ain't never seeing her again except in the front pews while they put to rest whatever's left to ship home of you of you and your ass."-

Turner threatened in his thoughts and you moan, lashed with velvety hot licks.

Hips bucking against Terry's mouth.

The thought of seeing you again was the chief reasons why he felt he survived.

To have someone tell him even that will be taken away from him?

He wondered how he stayed sane. If he was sane at all.

Sane? What was sane anymore?

-"I still own whatever's left of you and your ass."-

The words come out of his mouth of his own volition, repeating lines he's heard before, halfway paying homage, halfway mocking his commander's statement. Lines address for him initially. Reframing them. Causing you to moan from above him once his mouth separates from the slick moisture of your pussy. -"When I'm done."- He adds, once he catches his breath, letting you slide down against the surface of the wall right back into his embrace, not giving you too little or too much pleasure, rather just enough to make you suffer. You huff, breathless, hair falling over your forehead shiny with sweat, mouth partially open in delight, partially on the precipice of inhaling oxygen, like you were on the verge of saying something while he was feverishly massaging your slit with the tip of his cock, easing himself in. He's grown in every way he could. Even his cock would need time to re-adjust to your cunt. But, he knew you'd like that. You'd like that very much. He would too. -"I know this isn't the right time, Terry, but your dad --- he's called and called and called. Almost every day. I just think you should know. Even before we were told you were MIA."- You practically gasp your words once he's inside of you, rocking back and forth --- there was something very amusing, remising about family mid-sex, but admittedly, he barely gave you time to properly greet him after such a long time being away and so much shit he had to get through to merely come back alive, practically hoisting you up and carrying you inside, never even giving you time to say too much. -"And what did you tell him?"- Terry practically purrs, inhaling the scent of your neck. -"What did my hole tell him?"- He corrects himself, allowing himself to laugh. So? The old man did maintain some contact with the only daughter-in-law he'd ever get. He promised Terry he'd never utter a single word directed your way. Clearly, it was a short lived promise. The same way the threat that pa' would disown him if he went to 'Nam was. Funny how people tended to capitulate in strange ways when faced with someone who took the matter of agency into their own hands.

His father told him to leave the whole Karate-Vietnam business behind too.

And then he went and bought John his first dojo, as a gift.

What was the old man gonna do about it?

Get angry twice?

-"I told him the same thing every time."-

You mutter into his ear with what sounded like infinite tenderness.

Gentleness peppered with the shadow of desire.

-"That deep down, against all odds, I know you're okay."-

Terry looks at you then, separating himself from the precipice of your throat riddled with kisses that he was certain would bruise red by tomorrow, You knew he'd be okay. You knew? You told his father that? Even if he wasn't okay and had to come home in bits and pieces he'd drag himself back tooth and nail. John wouldn't let him fall behind. He'd carry him out there on his back and Terry knew that much. That's why you and him were the two most valuable people in his life. His best friend and the woman who deserved to live inside a returning soldier's locket forever as a memento. Still inside of you, Terry takes a second to tilt his head and smile. He's been doing a lot of that lately. The palm of his hand pressed against your cheek. If anything, you killed his father with kindness, believing in him when nobody else did and keeping the faith of his return even in the face of adversity. If anything, you showed your complete and utter quality. Your devotion. The very idea nearly made him salivate. The things he wanted to do to you bypassed imagination and description right about now, but Terry starts with the practical aspects of it all, grabbing the elastic lace holding the two cups of your exposed brassiere and tugging at it hard enough to allow the ribbon to snap, coming undone, exposing your chest, allowing the top to slide down, limp, lacking support. You gasp. He's had waking dreams about your tits. Imagine them every time he set his head down on any makeshift surface that could double as a pillow. But, now? He finally had the real deal, reaching out, and kneading with both hands. -"It's good my little robot's been so diligently answering the phone and taking care of correspondence."- He praises, tugging at your firm nipples --- one and then the other, listening to your breath hitch at the contact. What conversation happened happened; now that he's home he'd make use of the marital bedroom the right, proper way, holding nothing back. After all, you and him had all the time in the world now. Terry's arms envelop your waist, dragging you forward with him, down the corridor, never taking his eyes off of you. Your color drains from your face once he speaks and he didn't blame you. In fact, all of this was deliberate. He didn't know if he meant his words figuratively or literally anymore.

-"Considering this is only just the start and we're not leaving that room until you're wrecked and dead."-

Terry hums with deliberate provocation and lulling self-satisfaction.

Trapping you in an embrace, stripping pieces of clothes from you and himself.

Or rather, ripping --- slamming the bedroom door once you were inside.

Leaving the abject chaos of the foyer floor behind.

[ancientsongs]

okay but hear me out— Gale Hawthorne also needed a dandelion in a field type of love that would have killed the raging fire of unreleased anger that he carried. do I blame him for Prim’s death?

No, I don’t actually. Why?

Well, Coin was a manipulative individual and she was aiming for personal gain when it came to the revolution and what easier way to get there than with angry souls like Gale, to be used as pawns to get her checkmate.

Sure the bombs were Gale’s idea, but Coin was the one to execute the idea and Prim, unfortunately was collateral damage.

So, yes, I am going to be a Gale apologist.

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

CHECKMATE:

Chishiya x Reader

Requested: Chishiya plans to betray Arisu but she has changed.

Y/N would be lying if she said she hadn’t changed. Of course she had changed. They all had.

Borderlands was no walk in the park; it was not a place where innocence and honesty would flourish. Borderlands was about survival in its rawest and most brutal sense.

Chishiya had changed too. At least that’s what Y/N told herself as she watched him silently surveying his surroundings, assessing every person who might pose a potential threat. She missed the warmth of his embrace on cold nights and the whisper of his encouraging words in her ear when her only worry was passing her final exams. Sometimes she could even feel the echo of his touch when he brushed past her without acknowledging her presence. “It’s better if we don’t get associated,” he would say. And she believed him, as she always did, because after all, he was Chishiya.

But things didn’t take long to change.

It was a game night, a particularly intricate and demanding game. She felt conflicted discovering she was in the same group as her boyfriend. She had never played with him before, and she preferred it that way, but she couldn’t shake the sense of security and illusory calm that came from knowing he would be by her side. It turned out to be a game of tag, a Five of Clubs. Chishiya remained silent as the rules were explained, leaning against the wall with an enviable calmness. Y/N kept her distance, just as he had incessantly reminded her; it was better to maintain space in public places.

Once the game began, people started to run, racing through the building that was the stage for death that night, relentlessly searching for the safe zone behind one of the numerous doors leading to the top floor. She watched as Chishiya walked slowly toward the elevator. For some reason, seeing Aguni and his henchmen, who were also playing that night, vanish down the stairs prompted her to follow him. Once inside the elevator, and as the doors closed, Chishiya turned to her.

“Follow me if you want, but don’t talk to me.” He didn’t even look at her.

Y/N nodded, swallowing hard, feeling her heart constrict in her chest.

When the elevator reached the top floor and the doors opened, he stepped out. With a bored stride and his hands in his pockets, he moved toward a secluded corner, a strategic position from which he could observe the entire field without risk of being caught off guard by the hunter. Y/N slowly approached him, keeping a respectful distance. She heard Chishiya huff in annoyance, and for a moment, she was tempted to leave. She had played many games alone and survived; this time didn’t have to be different. However, when the first shot echoed through the air, all those thoughts faded away.

Minutes passed, and people began to fall, with no sign of the safe room that had been mentioned in the rules.

“The bomb will explode,” she said, gripping the railing tightly as she tried to envision where the safe door could be.

Chishiya didn’t respond.

A fire ignited within her. She wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing while people died trying to find the safe zone; they were players too, and this was a game of teamwork. She glanced at the man one last time, trying to find something familiar in his eyes that would assure her the man she knew was still there, but he didn’t look at her. She felt something inside her finally give way and shatter, and with determined steps, more resolute than her own certainty, she rushed toward the stairs, bounding down two steps at a time. In her focus, she didn’t see Chishiya watching her with astonishment etched on his face and worry in his eyes.

“Ten minutes remaining,” announced the robotic voice of her phone.

Y/N felt her body collide with a hard surface.

“I’m sorry,” she heard.

It was a man she remembered seeing in the lobby during the wait for the game to start.

“It’s fine,” she replied. She found the strange conventionality of their conversation amusing in such an extreme situation.

“Have you found the safe zone?” he asked.

“N—no,” Y/N dared not tell him that she hadn’t moved from her spot during the ten minutes the game had been running.

“Come on!” he urged as he ran.

For some reason, her legs activated before her brain, and she began to chase after the boy who would later introduce himself as Arisu.

When it was all over, and the car was filled to take the few survivors back to The Beach, Y/N found herself reunited with Chishiya. He had stayed hidden for almost the entire duration of the game, only appearing at the end, when there were barely five minutes left before the bomb would explode. A fire coursed through her as she watched him walk with absolute calm, urging Arisu to open the door behind which another hunter was hiding.

If they were alive, it was thanks to Arisu—this was the conclusion she reached and clung to when, upon arriving at The Beach, Chishiya knocked on her door.

“What do you want?” she asked as she opened it.

“You were impulsive tonight,” he replied, his tone flat and his demeanor bored.

Y/N closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. She wasn’t going to let herself be swayed by the bitter feelings that had been bubbling within her since the start of the game, perhaps even for days, which she had kept at bay.

“I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She shut the door, leaving him bewildered outside.

The next day, Y/N made an effort to avoid Chishiya. She did the same the following day. And the next. This game of hide-and-seek lasted almost a week until, for better or worse, Kuina decided to intervene.

“Chishiya wants to talk to you,” she said, entering Y/N’s room without knocking and wrapping her arm around hers, pulling her eagerly toward the man’s room.

Y/N had no choice but to let herself be led by the woman, well aware that when Kuina got something in her head, it was impossible to dissuade her. For some reason, she had become Chishiya’s loyal companion, doing anything he asked of her. “My boyfriend…” she thought. She didn’t even know if they were still together.

Upon reaching the room, Kuina pushed the door open, shoving Y/N inside and closing it behind her. Now they were alone.

Y/N watched Chishiya from behind, seated at his desk, working on one of his strange devices. No one spoke for a few seconds; the metallic sound of the gadget being adjusted filled the room alongside her quickened breath.

“Your friend is at The Beach,” Chishiya finally broke the silence, still facing away from her.

This took Y/N by surprise.

“My friend?” she asked, genuine hesitation in her voice.

Silence fell again for a moment, during which Y/N decided it was better not to breathe.

“Arisu,” Chishiya said, finally turning around.

An unintelligible sound escaped her lips as she exhaled the air she had been holding. She looked at him. His stoic expression revealed nothing about what might be going through his mind at that moment, leaning back in his chair with his hands in his pockets. Y/N tried to find something in his eyes, in his gaze, that might indicate what he was thinking. It wasn’t necessary when he spoke again.

“I’m going to steal the cards, and Arisu is going to die.”

The girl didn’t know how those two ideas were connected, but a chill ran down her spine when she realized that whatever he was planning, whatever his goal was, Chishiya felt no remorse for that man’s life. Perhaps he felt no remorse for hers either, and that was where it shattered.

Y/N didn’t wait for him to continue speaking before turning on her heel and leaving the room, passing by Kuina, who had been leaning against the wall and startled at her sudden departure.

“Y/N!” Kuina called after her.

She ignored the call, swallowing her tears as she ran to her room. Finally, everything she had been holding deep in her heart, all those thoughts she had tried to banish from her mind over the past few days… all crumbled into tears that spilled from her eyes. She wouldn’t be his puppet; she wouldn’t be another victim of his deception, wouldn’t fall into the jaws of a man she could no longer recognize.

A few doors down, Chishiya was ushering a worried Kuina out of his room. He needed time to think, he told himself as he tried to figure out what he had done wrong. He knew precisely when things had begun to go awry, pinpointing it to the moment they both arrived in Borderlands. From that instant, his sole purpose had been to get them both out of that place and, until that was possible, to prioritize her safety, Y/N’s safety, and if that meant being cold and distant with her, impassive and indifferent in their interactions, so be it. But she clearly seemed incapable of seeing beyond his harsh actions; she didn’t understand that he did it for her own good, and that his only concern was for them to leave together. That’s why he was willing to risk the lives of the pawns on his chessboard, to sacrifice them without a second thought just to save the king and his queen—just to save her. It pained him when she looked at him with that distrust, that skepticism and disbelief… “As if I could ever betray her…” he scoffed as he buried his face in his hands, rubbing his forehead harshly.

It was going to be difficult to regain her trust, especially after that last glance filled with fear and disappointment that she had thrown at him before leaving her room.

Several days passed during which Chishiya’s plans were stalled. He decided not to make any moves until he was sure that his queen was still in the game, and for that, he had to use some of his intricate tricks.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, on the terrace, staring into the horizon.

“I considered not coming,” she replied honestly, “but Arisu told me it was important.”

“It is,” he responded, a hint of jealousy creeping into his voice. The last thing he wanted, after days of silence, was for her to mention another man.

He turned to look at her. He noticed she was pale with sunken eyes; she must not have been sleeping well. Not that Chishiya didn’t know; he had been keeping an eye on her from the shadows, aware that she had been visibly uncomfortable and agitated after his announcement about stealing the cards. However, what pleasantly surprised him was that she hadn’t said anything to anyone, not even to Kuina, whom he sent every day to try to talk to her.

“I think you didn’t understand me well the other night,” he continued, taking a step closer to her.

“You told me you would steal the cards and kill Arisu,” she replied sharply.

Chishiya chuckled softly.

“I said I would steal the cards and that Arisu would die,” he answered, smiling with smugness.

A perfectly constructed mask.

Y/N rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Seeing this, Chishiya stepped closer, still smiling, coming within inches of her. Y/N felt her breath catch at the sudden and unexpected movement from the white-haired boy. Chishiya lifted his arms and uncrossed hers, letting them drop to her sides. Seizing the newly established space between them, he took another step forward and grasped her hands.

“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, Y/N,” Chishiya whispered softly, so quietly that Y/N momentarily thought she had imagined it.

He cleared his throat and raised his gaze, meeting her bright, anxious eyes.

His mask began to falter.

“I want to get out of here, but I want us to do it together. If we don’t get out together, if we don’t go home together... nothing would make sense,” he continued, feeling his voice waver as he forced himself to utter words he never would have thought would be in his vocabulary. “Everything I do... I do it for you. I do it because I love you.” And that was the last straw.

The woman wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Chishiya felt the dampness start to soak through his shirt, and along with the small sobs escaping from her, he realized she was crying. He embraced her too, gently stroking her back, trying to soothe her in the best way he knew how. It wasn’t something he did often.

Neither of them spoke as the rain began to fall, soaking the terrace and disguising the tears that had begun to slide down Chishiya’s cheek. “To think I could have lost her...” he thought, allowing the rain to wash away any trace of his mask.

He had spent all this time worried that the girl would remain alive, that she wouldn’t be used against him if anyone discovered his feelings for her, that she would be safe. But he seemed to have forgotten that she was not just another piece in his chess game; she was not something he could move at will. No, Y/N was his queen. Y/N was the most important piece on the board, the piece for which it was worth continuing the game. She was everything; no plan or strategy made sense if, at the end of the day, he didn’t have her. But Chishiya was a clever man, smarter than most, and he knew this wouldn’t be the end.

He swallowed his tears with regret and understood that he would never be willing to change his plans. He would achieve his goal; he would get her out of that place even if it meant lying to her, deceiving her, betraying her, hurting her, and being the cause of her tears. Savoring that embrace, he held her tighter against his chest, trying to imprint the feeling of her arms around him in his mind. He would deceive her, betray her, and hurt her; he would hate himself for it, but she would survive. She would escape that place.

And when he finally won the game he was playing, when he toppled the king, he would have a good reason to make the final checkmate, and his queen could be free; she could be happy. Even if it was without him.

© 2024 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

--

✨

[grimfurbybitch]

Every time I see Fem!Sir Pentious (I concept I adore btw) I get this idea in my head and now you must see it

Fem!Sir Pentious: if this ssssso-called *finger quotes* "female orgasssssm" exisssstsss, then why haven't I experienced it hmmm? Checkmate whoressss

Cherri Bomb: ... Jesus fuckin Christ

Angel Dust: so uhh, how many kids have you had again?

Fem!Sir Pentious: 5

[poisonhemlocke]

finally did the oc color wheel challenge !!

character info under the cut :3

(potential spoilers for no room for a wallflower act 1, icewind dale: rime of the frostmaiden

orange - calliope “cal” osborne, callsign NIGHTMARE. pilots “TURN AROUND”, an SSC mourning cloak. she has a fairly abrasive personality developed over years in the Union military as part of a Farfield team, but at the end of the day, she joined the military to try and make a difference and ensure the Utopian Pillars are followed, and that remains her primary goal. perpetually pissed off about not being promoted or given important missions. she’s currently the commander of her squad.

yellow - angelica luminari, aka amitiel-52, aka virtue candor. an angel sent to earth as a magical girl to spread joy and happiness and defeat villains with the power of friendship, she has a tendency to be overly self sacrificing since she doesn’t view herself as human. she’s friendly and outgoing, and though she can be annoying at times, she’s a sweet person and gets along well with others. her powers focus on healing, defense, and mobility.

green - natalya essix, callsign URSA. former pilot of “NO REGRETS”, a lancaster frame. she’s a medic from the HUC, specifically the city of daylight. she’s gentle and kind, and can usually be trusted to remain level-headed in times of crisis. her wife and two of her three children were killed in the bombing of daylight, her son only narrowly surviving as he’d left the city the day before. she sustained heavy burns and mental trauma in the fight with BEGGAR-ONE, and retired from mech combat after that.

cyan - maxine collier V, callsign FIVE. pilots the HORUS lycan frame “GREG 3: THERE’S ANOTHER ONE”. this is my horrible gremlin woman, she’s violent and reckless and doesn’t think before she acts (or ever, really). she’s the fifth iteration of “herself”, and is horribly in debt as a result of the expensive cloning procedures. glass arm is a result of incidents with the DHIYED metavault and a trip to the firmament, which left her as an aunic Mind still trying to come to terms with this new religion.

blue - zalia moonkeeper, abjuration wizard and alchemist artificer. has 5-6 voices currently constantly talking telepathically in their head and considering that they’re doing quite well. alongside the party’s armorer artificer, their research colleague, they’ve uncovered much of the technology of an ancient duergar civilization, which they’re currently attempting to use to turn themselves into warforged and attain immortality.

purple - CAIN IDENT X452, lucy davis. tension blasphemy, doomed agenda. previously manifested a sin— specifically, a type II LORD which took the form of an angel. the scars on her face and the rest of her body are a result of the tight “halos” which made up part of the angel, and the shifting many-pupiled eyes are a Sin Mark allowing her to see through solid objects in short distance. she puts on a friendly face, and legitimately tries to be kind, but ultimately what matters most to her is the mission and killing Sins. everything else is secondary.

pink - florence liren, aka CHECKMATE. a smug egocentric hacker from the world of neon city overdrive, she considers herself a self-styled “queen of the underworld”, often wearing gaudy or ostentatious-looking clothes and indulging in various vices. she has morals, but they’re few, far between, and often easily compromised for the promise of a few credits. her body is nearly all cybernetic by this point, including a pair of auxiliary arms which she uses mainly as weapon.

red - nix. she’s a kobold warlock, and my pc in an icewind dale campaign. myself and the one other player play as two kobolds, who typically stack themselves in a trench coat when they go around. they’re both servants of an eldritch deity which speaks to them through the coat, its name is Coatthulhu. nix is not above cannibalism, and usually eats pretty much every monster or bad guy the party kills.

[tame-a-messenger]

damien softening blow of eliminating angela in the game with a dance was so sweet it worked.

"..wait, that's the boogie bomb you have to dance to that." oh god like yes ange i too find it silly.

bonus of also him asking her to join him to dance at the end!!! 😊😁

Not only did he eliminate her on accident, he swindles her card from her the turn before!

(29:00 he swindles her, 29:28 then he kills her lol)

GET READY FOR TIMESTAMPS!! YIPPEE

(10:00) TATTOO TIME!! (sidenote- how did he no know her tat was real? how old is this video?)

(22:25) Angela egging the hell out of Damien (I'm sorry I love this)

(23:57) Damien turning to Angela (IN ONE OF THE ONLY TIMES THE EDITORS LET US HAVE A MOMENT) and saying "Anything I say is you get- H-heart of the cards, Pot of Greed" (and something else I can't distinguish)(Checkmate? Trap me?)

(29:30) Her actually sounding mad at him lmao (I'm sorry I'm obsessed, Ang yelling at Damien to "fuck off!" sounds exactly like when Damien yelled "god, DAMNIT ANGELA" in this Try Not to Win at 15:55)

(32:30) Him hammering home with the "Shayne can I have those? [dice]. remember Angela's being skipped, she died." I love my cat and mouse cuties <3

(37:30) Damien trades all his cards so he doesn't die immediately- and she grabs his arm and goes "That!! is good content!" acting like a old cigar smoking coach? director? mafia?

(48:16) HIM ASKING IF ITS OK FOR HIM TO PUT HIS HAND ON HER SHOULDER!!!!!

"Angela, help me" at the end. the reasoning of it all! (<-ignore this, I'm going crazy)

I'm pretty sure Ang was actually pretty annoyed when she died in game, (mainly because getting eliminated so early and having to watch) when she yelled at him lol, but seems like she was pretty tired in this video (it was either the last shoot or it was before her "second wind" at 3pm) I don't blame her and I'm happy he made it up to her <3

[thedragonchilde]

So once upon a time @cyanide-latte and I came up with a non-exhaustive list of ship names for G Gundam, and others including @fighting-these-demons and @amplexadversary chimed in with more, which I'm taking as a good sign. It's a hurricane of puns. I should be more sorry.

(These are in no particular order - including the new ones, they're added wherever - and anything in italics is tentative. Feel free to weigh in!)

Domon x Rain - Hearts

Domon x Allenby - Two Of A Kind

Domon x Rain x Allenby - Best of Both Worlds? Lucky Streak? I welcome ideas from folks who ship it

Domon x Chibodee - Royal Flush [or] Destined Rivals

Chibodee x George - Pinochle [or] Politically Offensive

George x Marie-Louise - French Vanilla

Sai x Cecile - Aces High

Argo x Nastasha - Jokers Wild [or] Bomb And Bondage

Argo x Andrew - Blind Destiny

Argo x Nastasha x Andrew - Arctic Bridge

Argo x Sai - China Shuffle

Rain x Saette - Rainfall

Rain x Kyoji/Schwarz - Operating Circuits

Rain x Allenby - Nobel Doctor [for a romantic ship]; Rising Arrow [for their platonic brOTP ship name]

Wong x Master Asia - Trump Card [or] Checkmate

Wong x Ulube - Fashionably Evil

Shuffle Alliance polyship - Full House [should we differentiate between alliances?]

Master Asia x Kyoji - Master and Puppet [or] King and Strings

Argo x Domon - Trick of the Heart [or] Suicide Joke [or] Throwing Cards

Nastasha x Argo x Domon - King Pinned [or] War Room

Kyoji x Schwarz - Oh, we've got tons. Mirror Mirror, Black Mirror, Be Right Back, Split Card, Wavelength...

Kyoji x Schwarz x Rain - Saved By Science [or] Crossed Wires

Kyoji x Chibodee - Percussive Maintenance

Kyoji x Argo - Bound and Determined

Kyoji x Andrew - Lab Partners

Schwarz x Kyoji x Andrew - Biochemical Magnetism

Schwarz x Kyoji x Argo x Nastasha - Chain Reaction

Domon x Rain x George - Camelot

Domon x Rain x Chibodee - Suit Change

Domon x Chibodee x George - Face Cards

Domon x Chibodee x George x Argo - Court and Jester [or] Four Card Straight

Domon x Chibodee x Argo x Nastasha - Mutually Agreed Destruction

Domon x George - King's Knight [or] Bachelor's Hand

Chibodee x the gals - Queen's Quarters [or] Team Huddle

Chibodee x Shirley - Body Work

Chibodee x Rain - Midnight Serenade

George x Rain - Temperate Hurricane?

Chibodee x Rain x George - Cavalier

Rain x Nastasha - Freezing Rain? Field Medicine?

Shirley x Nastasha - Manufactured Evidence

Shirley x Bunny x Cath x Janet - Disorderly Conduct [or] Lifeguards

Cath x Janet - Fixed Up

Sai x Argo x Nastasha - Lofty Pursuits

Sai x Marie-Louise - The Ace and I? Trick Card? Marked Ace?

Sai x Allenby - Foodie's Dream? Tykebombs?

Chibodee x Allenby - Fringe Contender? Go the Distance?

Chibodee x Nastasha - Boot Camp

Dr Mikamura x Dr Kasshu - Caustic Chemistry

Dr Mikamura x Kyoji x Andrew - Extra Credit

Dr Mikamura x Ulube - Snake Eyes

[tobiasdrake]

This is it. The confrontation we've been waiting for. And he's still playing 4-D chess with moves so masterful you genuinely question if he even made them.

Glad to see Yuma learn that the WDO creed is bullshit. He doesn't need to aspire to be an island. It's okay to work together and have people help you. That's how problems get solved.

I've said it before but there is no problem-solving resource more valuable than another human being. I guess finding out the WDO was mass-executing people to bake into pastries was a bridge too far for his reverence towards the creed.

Which. Y'know. Fair.

Of course, Makoto's here to play his checkmate. Yuma only jumps into the Mystery Labyrinth when backed into a corner. Makoto probably Coalesced with Yuma during that "Take my hand and help me over the pipe" thing. This is his encouragement for Yuma to resort to his desperation move.

What is his Forte, I wonder? Yakou once mentioned that the most powerful Forte he's ever heard of allows you to hear the killer's inner voice. It's considered the WDO's ace in the hole.

If that's One/Makoto's Forte, it would have been easy for him to activate it during Coalescence without Yuma noticing. He's the culprit. All he has to do is not be thinking anything in particular while letting Yuma hear his silence.

Laying it on a little thick, man. Love your gun, by the way. You're a capitalist prick and I hate you, but there's no denying your style.

Ha! Even if I had thrown him out the window, it wouldn't matter. He's a UG homunculus. He doesn't have the degenerative defect with his regen. He'd be, ahem, right as rain by the following afternoon.

Which is likely also why he can be so bold with his "Come on, Mystery Labyrinth me!" plan. What does he have to lose? Shinigami can't kill him in any way that matters.

But we might get lucky and take Number One out too. If he dies, he dies for real.

Now we've crossed the line from "laying it on a little thick" to "impatiently shouting exactly what you want your rube to do". You okay, man? Pressure starting to get to you?

Oh, is that what we're centering on? Huh. That probably will nail Number One, not Makoto.

Maybe this was Makoto's plan. He bombed WDO so it's not like he has any loyalty to Number One, right? Maybe he's trying to assassinate the world's most untouchable super-genius by taking advantage of a Shinigami's limitless killing power?

He wants it so bad. What is the goal here? At this point, I feel like we understand every single piece of the mystery except why Makoto wants us to do this.

Credit where it's due, Makoto truly is a master. As much as I want to beat him to death with a baseball bat, then let him regenerate, then do it all over again? Watching him work never ceases to thrill.

Look at him. Yuma and Shinigami disappear into the Labyrinth and there he is. Pretending to be frozen in time, to avoid giving the game away. To stop Yuma from realizing that they've Coalesced.

You magnificent bastard.

Now Makoto is free to move about the frozen timespace. To enter the Mystery Labyrinth or... whatever his goal is. Without Yuma ever being the wiser.

This is what the entire plan to bring Master Detectives into Kanai Ward was about. It was for this moment.

[usafphantom2]

France will deliver missiles to Ukraine on a monthly basis in 2024

More than 600 missiles announced as continuous support in the midst of Ukraine's struggles.

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 01/19/2024 - 16:00 in Military, War Zones

France has committed to provide Ukraine with 50 missiles per month over 2024, totaling 600 missiles throughout the year, as the war-torn nation continues to face the effects of the conflict.

The French Minister of Defense, Sebastien Lecornu, announced the start of missile deliveries to Ukraine during an interview at France Inter, reports Le Figaro. From January 18, France will provide approximately 50 undesignated "missiles" per month by the end of the year.

Lecornu clarified that this is a distinct initiative from President Emmanuel Macron's decision to supply about 40 SCALP air-to-air cruise missiles to Ukraine.

The missile weapons supplied are believed to be modified air bombs of the AASM family, equipped with a propellant rocket and classified as missiles in the French military system. AASM is a modernization kit designed for existing free-fall unguided aerial pumps, specifically the American JDAM model used by Ukrainian tactical aviation.

The AASM kit includes a front section with orientation system and flaps and a rear section with accelerator to increase flight range. Two types of aerial pump kits are in use in France: "Hammer-250" for 227 kg Mk82 pumps and "Hammer-1000" for 908 kg Mk84 pumps.

The front part of the AASM kit can incorporate three orientation systems: inertial with GPS correction, inertial with thermal imaging orientation or similar with laser beam orientation system. In 2016, the French Ministry of Defense ordered the production of 764 AASM sets with inertial orientation system, 384 sets with thermal imaging orientation and 600 sets with laser orientation.

The range of these ammunition varies according to the launch height and the initial speed, officially ranging from 15 to 70 kilometers. With the expected start of ammunition transfers in January, it is expected that Ukrainian aircraft, especially Soviet-era models, such as the MiG-29 and Su-27 fighters, will be the main users of Mk.82 air bombs. The heavier Mk.84 pumps, weighing 908 kg, are only compatible with the Su-24M frontline bomber.

In addition, the AASM ammunition demonstrated compatibility with F-16 fighters during the tests in 2014. Ukraine is expected to receive its first F-16 fighters this year.

Tags: AASMMilitary AviationWar Zones - Russia/Ukraine

Sharing

tweet

Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, he has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has works published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. He uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

Related news

The F-35's ALIS system should soon be replaced by a new cloud-based platform.

INCIDENTS

Stray flashlight sucked by F-35 engine caused $4 million in damage

19/01/2024 - 20:18

MILITARY

DragonFire laser weapon system successfully tested against aerial targets

19/01/2024 - 14:00

MILITARY

'Storted' camouflage is patented by the UAC for Su-75 Checkmate

19/01/2024 - 09:00

BRAZILIAN AIR FORCE

Saab puts F-39 Gripen in air combat with F-5 for IRST tests

19/01/2024 - 08:14

MILITARY

Houthis want to threaten the US with a single jet fighter, an old F-5

18/01/2024 - 22:52

MILITARY

USAF confirms that B-21 Raider started test flights at Edwards Air Base

18/01/2024 - 21:52

homeMain PageEditorialsINFORMATIONeventsCooperateSpecialitiesadvertiseabout

Cavok Brazil - Digital Tchê Web Creation

Commercial

Executive

Helicopters

HISTORY

Military

Brazilian Air Force

Space

Specialities

Cavok Brazil - Digital Tchê Web Creation

[kkamila]

"Gender is what's in your pants" ok well I have a bomb in my pant pocket, does that mean I'm bomb gender? do I go by boom/kaboom? I don't think so, checkmate liberal...