#null quotient.

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@intcthatgoodnight​ - tony; liked for a starter from frank / star wars erse.

      “You must have a pair of brass ones to be showing your face in a place like this.”  Warmongers and those that profited from death en masse weren’t particularly well liked in the war ravaged straits between what was left of the Republic and the rapidly expanding First Order - even the Hutts ad the scum that made a living off of the suffering of others weren’t sitting easy with the rapid escalation in violence that had overtaken the galaxy since the Republic itself crumbled, overthrown.   “Which tells me either you’re a fuck ton stupider than everybody says, or you got a death wish --”  Fingers curled around the edge of his beer, pulling it up to his lips to take a long pull.  There were whispers in the circles that Frank loitered in, that Tony Stark had seen the light, that the man that had made more fortunes than he could spend in a hundred lifetimes dealing methods of death that made even Frank’s kill count look like grade school, had grown a conscience.  If it was true, he could prove invaluable.  If it wasn’t?  Chances were high one of the two of them wasn’t walking out of this meeting, and Stark’s kill count with his own two hands?  Frank doubted it would even reach all ten fingers.

[moved-to-mysticandskepticmuses]

@hopespectre​ sent an inbox starter for kylo.

ezra isn't sure of what to make of this self-styled knight of ren. the title holds nothing to him; as ezra is a relic from the past, he found it harder to adapt to this time. but kylo ren is of the dark side && ezra knows the dark side well. " you don't believe me. " ezra says. " you don't believe me when i talk of a rebellion against the empire. " 

          An oddity, something out of place, that did not belong -- why, and how were questions he had yet to answer, and he could practically feel the weight of his Master’s gaze on his shoulders, from half a galaxy away.   The boy, for he was little more than that, even if he was still older than when Snoke first found him, spoke of the rebellion as a current, present, living thing which, in its’ own right, it was, but Kylo sensed that it was not this war, nor this rebellion which the boy spoke of, and not only because he kept speaking of the Empire.  “The Empire is dead and gone, and cold in its’ grave.”  The voice was crisp and metallic, rasping through vox and mouthpiece.   “The Supreme Ruler and the First Order control the galaxy now, and it will take more than a handful of rebel remnants to bring them to their knees.”  

[movedto--mysticandskepticmuses]

@redsabered​ sent a meme for rey.

Send “appease the monster” for a starter where your muse has been left out as a human sacrifice for my muse.  // Send “sacrifice” for my muse to be the sacrifice to your muse.

    Anger, more than anything, boiled in her veins as she struggled against the ropes that bound her to the post, blood staining her wrists, palms and fingers where her skin had blistered and torn with the force of her efforts.  Futile efforts, thus far.  She still could not believe that it had come to this.  Almost all of her life, she had known them, the villagers, the fathers and mothers, the husbands and wives, the young and the old, the sick and the hale, the cruel and the kind -- all in all she’d found them fairly tolerable.   At least in small doses.

    Yes: ever since she’d been old enough to survive on her own she’d scurried to the outer edges of the village, and then beyond, but that should’ve been as much a blessing to them as anything else - relieving them of the burden of social conscience to care for the orphan, the stray, the one left behind, to no one in particular and all of them, somehow, the first years of her life that she could remember, drifting from one household to the next, whomever could spare the bed and the food, until she’d been pushed further and further away.  They hadn’t bothered to object when she slowly stopped coming around, save to bring pelts and food and fish for trading -- 

     So she didn’t attend their Sabbath services.  She didn’t attend their festivals and their harvests, except to bring her own things in to barter, or to steal away what food was left uneaten.  So she preferred the company of herself, of the woods, the water, the mountains -- so she turned to the earth and its bounty to tend to her wounds and treat her ailments -- it wasn’t as if she had the coin to barter for medical treatment from their savage physicians anyhow ....

     So she hadn’t ever quite fit in.  She hadn’t expected it would ever come to this.  Bound, to a pole erected in the clearing with the sole intent that she might be eaten instead of one of their own precious children.

     Sure.  She couldn’t quite blame them, if she looked at it logically.  The attacks had been brutal, and had only been growing in frequency over the last months.  Livestock, travelers, alone or in small groups, savaged, torn apart.  At night, only, and most often around the full moon.  Wolves, some said.  Something else, others whispered when they thought no one else could hear.  A sacrifice, they’d suggested, in desperation, fear and grief and alcohol ladening their thoughts.  A trap, someone had countered.  Why not both.  So here she was, bound, dangled bait, with hunters with crossbows and villagers with pitchforks laying in wait.   

                                                           ---------------------

     She grimaced, twisting against the ropes once more, her shoulders and chest burning with the effort thrown into trying to wrench herself free, but she froze, her breath caught in her throat at the sound of weight, heavy, laden, a crack of leaves the snapping of branches, and her gaze turned up, slowly, to stare down the gleaming red eyes of the wolf.  Massive, broader than two men across the chest, as tall as she, fur pitch black, the cool air rippling in visible waves as the heat of its body collided with the frosty air.   Her heart hammered, her stomach clenching, throat dry.   “Don’t -- “  To say her words lacked conviction was an understatement.  “Stay back!”  That sounded at least a little more determined. 

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@fallsekings​ - hannibal liked for a starter from clarice.

     “Doctor Lecter.”  Her tone was polite, cordial, an edge of something sharper buried beneath the southern drawl that she’d worked so hard, over the years, to diminish.   “You’re looking well.”  While true, it didn’t exactly seem like the best thing to say to one of the FBI’s most wanted, standing in the middle of her apartment.  Uninvited, unannounced.   Her hand itched to reach for the pistol at her waist, but she forced herself to remain still, her gaze guarded as she watched him.  “Is there -- something in particular I can do for you or is this just ... a social call?”

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@redsabered​ gets a thing from poe dameron bc i can basically.

       “It’s not as bad as it looks, really.”  It was a matter of unfortunate timing, honestly, that the holovid call had come in after the training accident, before Poe had had time to make it to the medbay -- weeks and weeks without a word, and this was what he heard from Ben, with a wet handtowel pressed to his forehead and the gash over his eyebrow, an eye that was six shades of purple and swelling rapidly, jumpsuit pulled down around his waist and tied off, leaving the blood stains standing out in stark contrast against the white undershirt.   “You know me and my hard head, we’d survive a close encounter with a Sarlaac.”  A flashed, toothy grin as he dropped down onto the edge of his bed, eyes warm, and maybe a tiny bit sad as he watched Ben.  He looked tired, and Poe wondered if it was the training or the nightmares, but he didn’t ask.  Not yet, anyways.  

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@redsabered​ sent in a meme for poe dameron.

“And I want it to hurt because that means it meant something.”

     If it was pain that Kylo Ren had hoped to achieve ... well, Poe had to give him bonus points.   He couldn’t even find words to accurately describe the pain that blossomed through his body.  He’d been shot, electrocuted, burned, asphyxiated and plenty more in the course of his life as a combat pilot and engineer - some wounds more mundane than others, sure, but - none of them compared to the feeling that every cell of his body was being boiled, torn apart and set on fire ... simultaneously.   Sweat pooled at his brow, in the hollow of his throat, his heart hammering, breath ragged, and still, he managed a smirk as a shallow breath pulled inwards, lungs burning with the effort of it as his interrogator’s hand fell away and the pain eased.  For now.  He knew it would only begin again.  Unless he talked.  Unless he told.

     No.

    “Listen, pal -- I might not know much about creating memories that last a life time and all but -- I’m pretty sure you’re going about this all wrong, if that’s your intent.  Maybe try.”  It was hard to banter when he was drowning in his own breaths, his head ringing, muscles screaming.   “A nice glass of red wine.  Or whiskey.  Corellian’s my favorite, of course.  A good movie, good meal.  That’s something worth remembering.  This?”  Nose wrinkled and he half scoffed.  “Pain fades.  Memories of pain fades, it’s how soldiers soldier on, it’s how people have babies, more than one being the operative intent there, it’s how you pick yourself up and keep going.  Pain?  Pain lies.”

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@chokethelight​ - sith luke liked for a starter from frank / star wars verse.

       He doubted his attempt to loiter in the masses would work well -- the Emperor’s lap dog wasn’t generally one to miss much -- but then again, maybe he was just reading a bit too much into the fact that the Sith had just happened to slither his way into the one and only bar on this shit hole planet in a galaxy full of planets that Frank Castle happened to be holed up in waiting for his contact to arrive.  Sure.  Cause he was one given to believing in coincidences.   His jaw clenched, mostly concealed under the shaggy beard that crawled over the lower half of his face, sinking back a little further into the back booth, watching the man’s path in the holo-mirror along the back wall.  A hand settled, in the shadows under the booth and robe, onto the blaster at his hip.  He doubted it would be exactly effective against Skywalker, if it came to a confrontation -- but it sure as fuck could cause enough chaos and mayhem in the hole in the wall pub to give him time to escape.

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@peritxetxinvenit​ - bobby sent in a meme for clarice.

❝ science is often exploited for unsavoury purposes. sarin gas was first developed as a pesticide. ❞ 

     “Yes -- this one does seem to fill that particular niche,” Clarice agreed, fingers trailing over the photographs, technical analysis, blueprints, crime scene photos and lab reports that had been reviewed multiple times in the last few hours by them both, hoping for something new and fresh to pop out, or maybe just hoping for a connection to be seen that she’d missed thus far.   She needed a break.  Food.  Sleep.  But there wasn’t time for that, just yet.  Another hour, she decided.  And then she would take a few hours, and come back fresh.  “There’s a display of knowledge, talent, skill, in the build of the device.  A sophistication that one doesn’t usually see in biological attacks that aren’t terrorist attacks.”  This seemed personal, on more than one level.  “There’s a sense of pride, but not arrogance - they don’t need to brag, because the results --”  Three dozen dead, dozens sick, growing worse by the hour.  “The results speak for them.  And no one has laid claim to it - none that can verify the details, so far we have half a dozen claims that have been disproven, but the person behind it hasn’t spoken up.  Not online, on the news, to a police department or national bureau, not a whisper, anywhere.”