#weapons cache

[manisthebastard]

ALIEN NOISE

[headlinehorizon]

Police Uncover Sinister Weapons Cache in Downtown LA Apartment

https://headlinehorizon.com/U.S./Personal%20Freedoms/1131

In a shocking turn of events, a fully functional weapons factory was discovered in a downtown LA apartment. This latest news highlights the dangers lurking behind closed doors. Don't miss the latest headlines on Headline Horizon!

[kaiserouo]

i think i can do railjack now. you know. in the process of wanting to absolutely quit this game mechanic by finishing the intrinsics at once

just kidding it's just this for hours

[m4gp13]

that dad!Ethan au is such good fodder for demigods being Weird to normal people

Carlos would be the type to get into a lot of fights because he can't help but antagonise everyone, so when Ethan comes to get him from something late at night after Carlos has been arguing with some thugs and Carlos gets very worried because omg these people are gonna fucking kill Ethan he's just a scrawny defenceless boring guy I'm about to watch my dad get absolutely destroyed only for Ethan to casually wipe the floor with them while barely lifting a finger because he literally kills man-eating monsters for a living. When Carlos is staring at him after the fact Ethan just awkwardly smiles while surrounded by guys twice his size whimpering on the ground like "oh yeah I took self-defence classes when I was younger :)"

Imogen casually mentions this book she's really excited about getting a really cool new edition but it's super expensive and Ethan just pats her on the shoulder and says he's sure he'll be able to afford something, which she doubts because they don't have a lot of money about them due to Ethan's contractor job. Then a couple of nights later he comes home with a broken nose and a slight limp but he's beaming because he got her the fancy expensive book she wanted and she's a little horrified because now she thinks he's a thug for hire who beat the shit out of someone to afford the book (which is half true, he took a job for a god or demigod to go kill a monster).

Mateo has a parent-child sports thing at his school one day and Ethan initially decides to try and perform as average as possible so his demigodness isn't obvious but then he looks into Mateo's big baby seal eyes and decides no. he's going to fucking destroy those other parents :) for his baby :) and then Mateo watches as his plain-Jane built-like-a-scarecrow dad absolutely fucking dominates this little sports competition and they go home with a first-place prize in pretty much everything.

Ethan's a very attentive dad so he's always dropping off and picking the kids up and he tries to be involved in the PTA, which is all well and good, except obviously he's Ethan. All of the kids friends think he's some ex-military vet who did some tours because he just carries himself like a soldier and is missing an eye and has that thousand-yard stare that tells you he's Seen Some Shit. And the PTA mums just see him as this young athletic single dad who really cares about his kids and if they've never considered having an affair behind their husbands' backs before, now they have.

(and don't even get me started on everyone's thoughts when Al shows up)

[srebrnafh]

rozjebane ruskie gówno na ciepło

(sorry, sometimes it has to be in Polish)

[usagimen]

             𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄: 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐎 𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈

         From the broken fragments of a young maiden, the wretched ability was born, she would never be known in history but all would remember the seeds she planted. Miyako Odori reminiscent of a blossoming festival, shrouded those who inherited such a technique in a veil of secrecy. Manifestation begins at an early age, a Kobayashi girl might be able to manipulate the shape of her nose, lips, the hue of her hair or eye color && in that glorious moment of pure excitement, she will be granted a status that would carve her not as an dream men conjure but a blade to strike.        A fragment of visage, they would steal the faces of one’s closest ally, lover, consort, children - piercing through the darkness to end dispute amongst clans. The Kobayashi women who succeed in the art of deception are categorized as ‘no face’ women. Prestige, honor, though a great burden is placed upon them - they would know the wickedness of life. Horrendous monsters, unfathomably greedy women, cursed - the lot.          Words they are accustomed to hearing, none that they care for, in their hands is that of balance. When all subsides into chaos, they are the means to stop it && only they, who know && live amongst death can understand the weight of sacrifice. Miyako Odori is the succession of RCT, underneath a duration of 20 minutes, one single assassin can be rumored to perfect the face of her target for a lifetime in a singular moment of glory. In her early years, Sayuri carved the very stars in her eyes && brought forth an imagery of idealized beauty, as her heart began to decay, she revealed the horror of Miyako Odori’s perfection. In the height of her ascension, she would utilize it to take down Takako Uro, both women of distant tiers colliding in a battle against the heavens. Ironically, in the final blow of sheer cunning skill, Sayuri would embody the heart of a true no face woman - free of bindings, free of name, free of identity, grasping her own fate.   

[pr4yerp0sition]

I just need to emphasize since Naoto's CT is based on manipulating the shadows, he has an advantage over most. Although, he can be weakened by light or the sun. Hence, he'd mostly move about in the night during the Culling Game. Very sexy of him, not demure, utterly unhinged.

[clawsextended]

i’ve got popeyes. i’ve got ice cream. gonna remodel selina’s house in 76 but FIRST — gonna write memes :3

[bitchapalooza]

Okay so I like already KNEW this was gonna happen because of foreshadowing but. FUCCCCCCK WHAT DID MY GIRL ZELDA DO CAN WE GET HER BACK!? IS SHE A DRAGON FOREVER!? I MEAN IMMORTAL MEANS IMMORTAL BUT YO THATS LINKS GIRLFRIEND WE GOTTA GET HER BACK 😭

[jonnestt]

years of experience

hasn't made a cent off writing

has a favorite medieval, sci-fi and/or contemporary weapon but isn't a gun, sword and/or WMD nut

how to spot a writer:

unhinged google search history

crying over fake people

owns 200 notebooks (they're all empty)

[townpostin]

Bokaro Police Seize AK-47, Carbines from Murder Accused’s House

Multiple automatic weapons, including AK-47 and carbines, seized from Shankar Rawani murder accused’s house. In a significant breakthrough, police have seized several automatic weapons from the house of the accused in the Shankar Rawani murder case. BOKARO – Police have confiscated multiple automatic weapons, including an AK-47 and carbines, from the home of an accused in the Shankar Rawani…

[frownyalfred]

we don’t talk enough about the random stashes and caches the Batkids have all over Gotham. not Jason’s safe houses, not the random places Bruce buys up to keep weapons and cars — I mean the duct taped box of petty cash jammed in a random gargoyle’s mouth on the roof of the old abandoned Gotham Opera. the stash of expired protein bars Dick left wrapped up in a plastic bag and buried in a planter outside of GCPD headquarters. random ammo dumps Jason keeps all over town in strategic 1.5 square mile intervals so he’s always got a bail-out option. Bruce’s endless supply of backup comms and trackers that are glued inside the back vent of every single Green Line bus that runs through Gotham that doubles as a moving tracking net for Oracle. Duke’s candy stash that he keeps inside a light pole at the top of the Narrows for bad days. or for kids who run through the candy he usually carries on his belt. Tim’s bug-out medical bags he developed with Bruce and stores all over downtown with AEDs because he had to defib a civilian once and never wanted to be unprepared again. Cass and Damian’s constantly evolving trade of mini animal figurines that they leave on various perches/rooftops the Batfamily use. Steph’s backup gloves she hides in a disconnected electrical panel because hers always rip at the worst time. Cigarettes both Jason and Bruce keep for bribes (different brands) (same stash location) etc. the possibilities in a city as large but also as compact as Gotham are endless, especially when Wayne Manor and even a well-stocked safe house might be too far away at any given time.

[chronicbatfictioner]

..what's the question..?

Hi! Quick question to Nightwing fans

Is he well, mentally?

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

(Part Two)

[usagimen]

I think a lot about the power house that the Zen'in Clan would have become if the massacre didn't happen. Solely on the basis of Sayuri accepting her role within the family, having a son, while ultimately instilling the same assassination techniques but also the sheer guttural support she has for Naoya? (@antinomos) unrivaled, beautiful.