#Doc watches Knives Out

[docholligay]

So i took a bunch of these because @rhiorhino was intertested in talking about the fashion on display for Benoit versus Elliot, and I love to talk about clothing choices and how they function as a form of communication, so I was going to talk about how WELL Benoit's suit fits him, how it's clearly been pressed etc. BUT, even more than that, we can see how benoit's outfit has been used to subtly suggest that he is from another time. They don't, well some would call it overdoing it, I feel differently because I prefer an older and more formal mode of dress, but they don't put the boy in a full three piece. But even within that, we see that his outfit trends older. there's a sharper point on his collar, and it is starched. he has a pocket square. AND, I was about to criticize that his suspenders were done too far in the front, but of course that's intentional, because we are MEANT to see them.

The movie WANTS us to note that Benoit is a man out of time, but it does not want to be too overt about it. Belts became popularized for American men broadly post-WWI, for a number of reasons, but one being that a nipped in belt will draw attention to the waist and make one's chest look broader, leading to a more masculine shape, assuming you're pairing it with well structured clothes. It's a good cheat. I use it myself. Anyway. So, this is throwing us back to an older time, without making the audience TOO aware of it.

leading us to the hilarious Susan B ANthony dollar, so not only is he a man out of time, but a man that is basically a collector's item, out of circulation. Of course he carries that around because he respects women he is a man from another time. The last of the Gentleman Sleuths, if you will

[catholicdaredevil]

disarming || tormund giantsbane x gn! reader

hello all! i haven't posted anything i've written in a while (over a year) but when prompted by my daughter grack i searched back through my google docs and found this fic that i don't think i ever posted so here we go! (also this hasn't been edited lol)

summary: gn! reader kills a thenn and tormund is bricked over it

words: 2k

warnings: violence!!!!!! use of knives, punching, kicking, stabbing, and killing!!!! to be fair it's all canon typical violence for game of thrones but still there's your warning! also short references to nsfw but no detailed action

ao3 link

Warm callused hands framed your face and he leaned in to kiss you. 

Except Tormund didn’t kiss you, kiss was too gentle a word for it, he consumed you. Every time he pressed his mouth to yours it was like he was trying to drink you down, overwhelming sensations of nothing but him causing your brain to go haywire. He didn’t give pecks, no small chaste kisses, that was your thing. When you’d walk past him and pause just to creep up on your tiptoes and press a soft kiss to his cheek then carry on with whatever you were previously doing. Sometimes he let you, he knew you liked those gentle kisses, wanted to give you whatever you wanted when he could. 

However most times he’d slip his hands into your hair, or around your waist and pull you into him with strength you couldn’t get out of if you tried, tip your head back and deepen the kiss. And if when you finally pulled away you looked dizzy, hair a mess and breathing ragged, then that was just a bonus. 

“I swear on–on– on all of the southern gods, every single one of them, that if you ever come near me again I’ll fuckin’ kill you,” your finger jabbed into the Thenn’s chest, loud voice carrying throughout the camp. You can hear the mutters of people gathering around, the syncopated overlapped voices of the other free folk watching, waiting. 

“If you didn’t have Tormund to back you up I bet you’d be so much quieter. Maybe you need someone to teach you to be quiet, little one.” He leaned in, voice low and predatory with a grin stretching out the scars that covered his face. Those white lines marking a Thenn that always made a chill run down your spine. 

“I need no one to back me up, I don't want Tormund’s help and he couldn’t stop me if he wanted to. You think I would be Tormund’s if I couldn’t handle my own?” 

As if he could sense his name spoken from across the way, you hear Tormund walk up, his loud voice familiar enough to pick out of the crowd circled around you and the Thenn. 

“What’s going on?” Tormund’s words end in a growl as he finally breaks through the masses to see you. 

Your mouth twisted down into an angry frown and the hand not currently inches from the other man’s chest is clenched into a fist and trembling just slightly at your side. He takes the final few steps to get to your side, a glare pinning the man in front of you in place. He had joked before but only a fool didn’t hesitate going up against Tormund Giantsbane. There was a reason he was Tall-Talker, Horn-Blower and Breaker of Ice. Tormund was less a man and more a force, a storm that roved over lands destroying anything stupid enough to get in his way. 

Tormund’s hand rests on your shoulder, his body tense in anticipation, always seconds away from swinging a blade at anyone who so much as dares to glare at you and this is no different. You speak one last time before turning to walk off, “I won’t warn you again.” 

“And how do you plan to kill me little one? By whinging? Yelling? You couldn’t kill me if Tormund trained you for years.” 

His cocky words are enough to break your last shred of patience left and you spin before Tormund can react, stomping across the frozen dirt, fist clenched and ready to throw a punch. Luckily Tormund recovers fast enough to grab your elbow mid-swing and you round on him, ready to yell that you’d had enough of that shit eating grin and he could try to eat his next kill with less teeth. 

“You’ll break your sweet little hand on that ugly fucker, here.” Tormund lifts your hand to kiss across your knuckles and pushes a knife into it and nods approvingly, twisting you around to face the Thenn again. You get to watch the smirk melt off the man’s face. This is no longer a game, not even an argument. He has two options now; let you kill him or fight you and have Tormund kill him. There’s no scenario where he lays a hand on you and lives to talk about it. 

“I’ll make you a deal. You disarm me fair and square and you win, Tormund’ll let you live. If not, I carve that smirk from your face.” Your head tilts expectantly and the Thenn’s eyes shift from you to Tormund, watching the small nod Tormund gives in agreement before looking back to you. 

He grins. “Deal.”

He moves faster than you expected, quick for such a large man, but it doesn’t matter. He swings his hand out to hit you and you duck, adrenaline surging through you as your instincts take over. He’s a fool and a cocky one at that and you’re going to show him. You drop your breathing to slow and controlled, crouching slightly to study him, eyes scanning over his tall form to pick out the best places to strike. 

His leg shoots out and slams into your side. Pain blossoms across your stomach and you bite your cheek to muffle your cry, wrapping your arm around his ankle to keep him on one foot. He’s stronger than you and you know you won’t be able to hold him there for long, but you don’t need long. Your blade sinks into his leg right above his knee, twisting before you yank it back out and he tugs his leg from you with a scream. He expects you to attempt to hold onto it, so when you drop it the force of his pull twists him off balance and he has to stumble to catch himself, grunting through the shooting pain the steps cause. 

“You’re a fool. You’re a fool and I warned you.” You spit blood at his feet. He looks up to meet your eyes again and there’s a split second where you’re concerned about the rage so clearly shown on his every feature. Taking a deep breath, you force your body to relax, shaking out the tension in your joints and twisting your head until your neck cracks loudly. 

The sounds of the crowd have risen, voices overlapping and in the back of your mind you register a familiar voice shushing them all. The man in front of you is too focused on kicks, anything to keep you as far from him as possible thinking his strength lies in his reach spanning farther than your own. He swings a hand and his fist connects with your temple, your entire head rings, vision going blurry and black around the edges and you gasp. 

It takes you a moment to catch your bearings, a few stumbled steps and ragged intakes of breath, and that’s all it takes. The bottom of his foot lands solidly on your chest and he pushes with a force that likely cracked several ribs, knocking you to the ground. His own chest heaves with exertion, walking forward to stand over you and you can see the way he struggles with restraint, unused to leaving an enemy alive after a fight. 

He opens his mouth to speak and hesitates at the last second. Blood trails down your chin, shadowing a grin that gives him pause in his victory, but not long enough to stop the words from falling out of his mouth. “Fair and square.” 

“I said disarm me,” 

He puts the pieces together too late. 

The knife still clutched tightly in your hand that wrapped around where he stood slices through the back of his ankles on both feet and he drops with a scream. Crumpling to the ground, the Thenn grabs at his bleeding feet, attempting to staunch the blood that flows around his fingers and pours onto the ground below him. You’ve risen to your feet in his panic, swaying slightly as your head gets caught up in the dizzy waves of a concussion. Luckily your adrenaline still pumping through your veins is enough to keep you standing long enough for him to look up at you and lock eyes one last time. 

Your knife finds its home in the small space between the side of his collarbone and neck, right where it’s still soft and relatively easy to drive it as far in as it will go. You push until the heel of the knife clinks into bone and he finally collapses below you, ripping the hilt from your hand in his fall. He lets out one final choked off gurgle, eyes rolling back and lids closing and he’s dead. His and your blood stains your hands and clothes, a messy watercolor of death.

Now that the fight is over your body threatens to collapse, hands on your locked-up knees to keep from hitting the ground. Eyes slammed shut in an attempt to limit the way the world spins on his axis like a top and warm large arms wrap around your middle to vault you into the air. 

The earth shakes below you, but maybe that’s just Tormund in his raucous laughter and shouted words. “I told you all! Mine doesn’t need anyone for anything! Only needs me around to fuck them ‘til they cry!” 

Heat blooms in your face at his exclamation to the surrounding crowd, your hand smacking into his shoulder feebly. You doubt that even with all your strength you could do much to the man beyond a bee sting, but he grunts in fake pain at your strike just to indulge you. “I don’t think I need you for even that, I did a pretty good job at doing it myself before you came along.”

“But I do it better.” 

His almost crystal blue eyes meet yours and he’s wearing that shit-eating, Tormund Giantsbane, wolfish grin. The one that probably earned him the name Tall Talker if you had to guess. The look is more familiar than even your family and you can’t help but mirror it back at him in your own way, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

“Aye, you uncivilized great behemoth of a man. You do it better.” 

Tormund connects his lips with yours, quickly licking into your mouth to deepen the kiss, drinking you down. He gets the satisfaction of the taste of you and the bitter clash of your blood that only spurs him on until his hands are fisted in your shirt and you’re whining into his mouth, almost grinding onto him from your place in his arms. 

His hold on you only tightens until he pushes on your cracked ribs and you jerk away from his touch with a broken gasp. You drop your head to his shoulder, breathing slowly through the sharp pain until it passes, slipping back into the gentle throb it sits at as a baseline. Tormund presses a kiss to your forehead, one hand softly running up the line of your spine in comfort, already walking towards your shared home. 

“Let’s get those clothes off and I can see just how hurt you are.” He says, pushing aside the door and kicking it shut behind the two of you. He sets you down on the bed delicately, not wanting to cause you anymore pain and you smile up at him standing above you. 

“I’m fine really. Well– I might have a concussion.” 

“I’ll get you taken care of my pretty little crow. Then I’ll make you cum on my tongue so many times you cry. Seeing you kill a Thenn has me harder than I think I’ve ever been in my life.” Tormund speaks the words like they’re normal, a casual conversation and mention of murder being sexy. Of course you’re sure a big part of the whole sexy-murder thing has to do with his hatred for Thenn’s and the specificity of your victim. Not that you’ll complain, or turn down the offer. 

[whorrorbellee]

FLAWLESS

warnings:smut, drug use. 18+ only please The bear but it's actually just linecook!Aemond x hostess!reader.  porn w a plot.

no beta we die or whatever

2014-7:40 Pm. 

You stand at the hostess stand, looking over the Ipad for reservations, you're absolutely swamped, it's a Saturday night in Knightsbridge, London. Barely seconds pass before the phone rings again, it's the same conversation you've had every weekend for the past year. “Sorry we’re fully booked!” 

“Do you know who I am?” 

“Yes! And here at RedKeep we thank you for being a loyal customer~” 

“I want to speak to the manager!”

 “Sorry the managers not here right now”

“Then who's next in charge?” Queue you, grabbing Daemon from the office, where he completely undermines what you're saying to the customer, allowing them to take a reservation from some poor couple who had saved up their money to taste the food from RedKeep, because it is good for business. 

Keep the loyal customers, he says, fucking asshole. You watch their smug faces grin as they walk in, pressed white shirts and silk dresses they didn’t fish out the bin from the local Guild care. Sometimes you smile and make your accent slightly deeper as you lead them to their seats. Other times you let them know it's you and lead them to the table directly by the bar, letting them hear the utter nonsense that Criston and Aegon spill behind the bar all night. 

But you always retreat to the back for your five minute smoke break, snatching the Marlboro reds from the office, Daemon winking at you as you shove your coat on in the winter. You let yourself breath in the only thing that keeps you going through your shift, music blasting from the shitty headphones that came with your phone and then crush half of it between the sole of your black doc martens, straightening out your black silky blouse, and wandering through the kitchen back to your stand, where you greet another customer with a smile faker than the diamond rings that protrude off the women's fingers.

You rub the tiger balm into the crook of your neck in the changing room, its 10:00 pm, kitchen closed about half an hour ago, and the chef’s are scrubbing the floor down on their knees, you thank god the only thing you have to do is inform Daemon of the reservations for the next week, fully booked until next august, they usually go down about then, people retreat to France and Italy for summer. Your shifts go down and you tutor rich brats who are failing their GCSEs. Spending summers writing essays about Macbeth for fourteen year olds who find nothing better to do than take their daddy's golf cart for a ride around their ridiculously huge back gardens in sussex.  

You hum to yourself, slipping of your blouse, the door opens and then is slammed shut. You turn, half naked in the changing room, your locker swinging open, Aemond stands with his nose pressed into his locker, you change into a band shirt and pleated skirt, pulling on high denier tights. “Are you coming tonight?” he whispers, it's soft, you watch him pull out his bag as you re-lace your boots. 

“Yeah, did Aegon get the weed?” you ask quietly, boots thumping against the floor as you stand, you grab your backpack from the floor, shutting your locker. 

“No Cregan did” Aemonds back ripples as he pulls on a black shirt, you watch his tattoos shift under it, he grabs his motorcycle helmet out of the locker, eye shifting to yours. You go to stand next to him. He pulls out a pack of Marlboro reds, original packaging, you wonder if they're fake, but the Polish words stare back at you, “want one?” he slips one into the corner of his mouth, pulling on his jacket.

You swallow, “Yes please” you take the cigarette and push it behind your ear, walking to the door. He follows. You push open the door, stepping out into the hallway, Daemon stands in the kitchen watching Rhaenrya sharpen the knives. You still refuse to believe they were ever married, her dad and him were such close friends it was borderline Insestuous. “I'm glad Cregan got it, Aegon always choses really weird strains, like unicorn poop? What is that?” 

Aemond shrugs and follows you out the back, you wave to Daemon and Nyra, door slamming behind you. Cregan and Aegon wait by your car, its scratched to fuck. From where Aegon had slammed the door into the tree. You don't even know why you own a car anymore, parking is so expensive in London, you only use it to get to work and home. You watch Aemond shove his helmet on and then leave the car park. Unlocking your car and letting the boys pile in. 

Cregan hits his head on the ceiling and Aegon falls into a mess of giggles in the back. You breathe in the scent of cherry, air freshener hanging from the mirror, Some arctic monkey's song comes on from the aux. You look to your left, Cregans on tinder replying to some bird. It would be rude to call him a slut but he gets around, he got some bird up north pregnant and now he has to send up money every month for a two year old he barely sees. You pull out, switching gears before starting your journey to Aegon's place it’s about half an hour drive into camden, you pass the punks on the bridge and pull in to the slip where Aegon's flat share is, he lives Aemond and a bunch of hippies that sell vintage clothes at the market. 

You run to the corner shop first, buying a bottle of cheap vodka and a diet coke. Then you walk back down the dark street, lighting the ciggie that Aemond gave you, a tote bag heavy on your shoulder, passing the bike and slipping down the side of the building opening the gates. The smell of weed hits you almost immediately. Cregan sits legs spread on the rattan furniture that Aegon stole from someone's front porch last summer. You don't know why he does it, his mum literally owns the restaurant. He earns more than enough. 

You slide up next to Helaena , she leans her head into your shoulder for a moment and then leans back, thumbs padding against her cracked iphone 5, Cregan hands you the joint its some cali strain this time, you rarely smoke. But Saturdays at the RedKeep are actually killing you. Aegon pulls out his speaker and decides to blast drum and bass. You steal the aux and play cigarettes after sex. Falling into the rattan sofa, pulling your Northface jacket around your legs, its fucking cold. Aegon's wearing his dressing gown and hoodie as he stands out the back door. You don't even know why you're in the garden, an hour passes and you find yourself sweating on the sofa, legs intertwined with Aegons as he spews on about some weird conspiracy theories; dragons being real, the lizard people shit. You talk about the ghost house when you lived in the isle of white for a year. And then you've had enough of talking so you head up to Aemonds bedroom to listen to music. 

Your socks run up the carpeted stairs, pausing outside Aemonds bedroom, you knock and hear him grunt a yes. You practically throw yourself into his bed, your phone bouncing from impact, he smiles at you, and you look at his mac playing on the bed, he’s watching reruns of misfits before it gets bad. 

“You know, Aegon always reminds me of Nathan? I can't watch it without thinking about him.” You sigh,“it's a shame because Robert Sheehan is really fit” Ameond hides a laugh, he's different now. He used to light up a room with his quick wit. But now he’s buried into himself, he just keeps retreating and retreating. You used to have this weird thing between you. It was all longing looks and brushed knuckles. He’d follow you outside on early morning shifts to have a ciggie, making you laugh, legs pressed against each other on the staircase. Sometimes you’d bring him coffee and he'd make you one of those fruit salads with all the fruit scraps, slices of mango and strawberry tops. Nights spent outside nursing a joint while Aegon sings incredibly loud in the lounge. No one was surprised when they saw you two getting closer, it's like fate really. Line cook and hostess. If it wasn't Jace it was going to be Aemond.

And then the accident happened. It wasn't Luke's fault, it really wasn't. Something had split on the floor, Luke wasn't wearing the proper shoes yet. He was just about to start his shift, so he slips, grabs for Aemond, His knife in hand just about to chop something, they both fall to the ground. You remember coming to grab Aemond for a cigarette and there was just blood everywhere. All over the white tiles. You remember thinking that he had spilt some kinda wine sauce, nearly laughing until he had sat up and his face looked like it was falling apart. He was shaking, too afraid to cry, and Luke was sent home. 

It was one of those slow days. So you had shoved him into the car with a napkin pressed over his eye. Taking him to A&E for stitches, he looked so different when he came out. He smoked a cigarette in your car with bloodstained hands. You hand squeezed his thigh as you took him home. Then days later you had picked him up from the hospital. White eyepatch over the gaping hole. They removed his eye incase of an infection. It wasn't salvageable, he had sliced right through the cornea. 

He wasn't at work for weeks, you remember standing at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him to come down and join the others, aegon had pulled you away after an hour. Too shy to head up there yourself and then months later you had taken a joint and pringles up to his room. He was just staring out the window, watching the sunset as Helaena  spun around with Cregan. 

“How was work?” he asks, you hand him a vodka coke, swinging your legs under yourself. 

“Fucking terrible, Daemon did it again” your hands runs through your hair. You look at Aemond, you can barely even notice the difference with his fake eye and real one, they got it spot on. “It pisses me off so much, like no wonder we aren't getting any new customers. When he keeps cancelling the bookings” Aemond shuts his laptop, he gets up and grabs a record from the pile in the corner, the needle hits the vinyl with a hum, it crackles around the room.  He's so different from his brother, you wonder where he gets it from. He's just softer. 

You miss his touch. He lies back down on the bed, hands over his heart, you're on your stomach, watching him breathe slightly, you wanna reach out and touch him, he watches you hesitate. “Sorry” he mutters. He runs his hand through his hair. Your eyebrows furrow, he looks away. 

“Why are you sorry?” you ask, you lean into your hands and watch him. Waiting for an answer. 

He pauses, chewing on his lips, and then his face settles, his lips back to the perpetual pout. “I know we had this thing between us, but you don't have to keep it going because you feel sorry for me” 

“Huh” your eyebrows raise, you almost wonder if he's joking, you wait for him to crack a smile, “ I~I don't know what to say Aemond, I don't feel sorry for you” you groan, your hands smush your face together and then you plant yourself into the side of his body. You feel him stiffen and then his hand comes back to smooth over the small of your back. Your face heats. “I ~ oh god” you look up at him watching his eyes twitch, “I always felt like you were just playing along with this whole thing, we had” you shift, pushing yourself onto your knees. “I've have this really stupid big crush on you, since I had the panic attack out back and you sat with me for twenty minutes even though Nyra was shouting at you.”

He sits up, your jaw shifts side to side, you wonder if you should just escape downstairs and sleep with Cregan instead. His hand reaches out to touch your thigh pulling back. He lets out a huff. “You’re fucking with me” he shakes his head. You shake your head back smiling.

“Wait a sec” you grab your phone and swipe back to a conversation you had with Healana months ago, you hand it to him. Watching his eye sweep across the messages. He smirks, and then scrolls down, your eyes widen, he laughs. 

“You can stop scrolling now” but he continues anyway smirk falling into a smile, “Aemond!” your own smile falls, “ Aemond, please stop scrolling” you grit your teeth. Your hand reaches to snatch your phone, But he pulls it away from you, you climb over his body hand on his shoulder, reaching out to grab at your phone. You feel yourself lose balance, you begin your descent onto his floor, but his arm grabs around your waist and pushes you back onto the bed quickly. He’s hovering over you, one arm on the bed the other lingering around your waist. 

“He’s gonna be the death of me” he smirks down at you. 

“Shut up” you huff, you bite your lips to stop you smirking, feeling heat rush to your face. You look up at him, watching his eyes glance down to your lips, you look at his. You’re so fucking high, and its not from the drugs. His hand brushes against your hip. Fingers pressing into the flesh, your skirt is flipped up, you don't even realise. It doesn't even matter because he’s already crashing his lips on your own. It's quick, chased and hard. You move together like you're running out of time, one hand brushing against your jaw the other pressed into your hip, you whine, hands running up his neck to his jaw, you're pulling him closer than what’s physically possible. 

He goes to untuck your shirt from your skirt, you part and pull it off over your head quickly, he takes in the curves of your body, tracing muscle and moles. “Nearly killed me today, walking in on you like this” you smirk under him, his hand brushed against your chest clad in a black lacy bra. You press his hands into your chest, he gropes and needs, his lips running down the column of your neck, you sigh under his touch, teeth grazing, lips nipping. 

Pupils blown, Aemonds hands fingers graze down from your chest to under your skirt, you pull him in for another kiss, teeth clashing together. Phone forgotten by the side of you. You feel his hands run down your legs, a finger hooks under the waistband of your tights, you lift your hips, propping yourself up on your elbows as he slides them down your legs, you part, standing and shifting them off. Aemond sits back and watches. The record crackles repeatedly through the speaker, and you lean down to pick one out. Carefully putting the vinyl into its sleeve. Needle back down, the music starts. “Your such a cliche” 

‘She planned ahead for a year… He said let's play it by ear’

“Shut up”,You slide yourself back into aemond’s arms, his hands run down your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps, your own run down his chest and then tug at the shirt he wears. He pulls it over his head before you know it. Your hands trace the pale freckles skin, pressing wet kisses down his throat, he slides a hand around your thigh, pulling you to straddle him. He pulls your chin towards him, meeting him in another heated kiss.You moan as he grabs at the flesh of your ass, slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your back arches, your chest pressing against his. He trails his lips across your chin as he rolls both of you over, his hand grazes your inner thigh and you wrestle your skirt off quickly. 

He sticks his head in the crock of your neck, kissing tenderly. Hand brushing under your panties, he cups your cunt, swiping a finger through your folds, “Shit your wet” he pants, you feel him smirk against your throat. “This fo’me?” you nod your head, eyes half shut as you stare at him. Lips bruised and pouting. He eats up your whines with his lips as his finger traces your clit, your hands brush against his neck and then grip his hair. He slides a finger into you with ease. You moan into his mouth. He makes a come hither motion and slides another finger inside of you. Your back arches and he groans, pinning you into the bed. Your knee slides up and brushes against his hardness. 

‘Youre a doll, you are flawless ’

He stiffens, movements stilling. You smirk. His hands leave your body and you meet his lips again, hands brushing against his groin. You pull at the belt buckle. Pulling away from him to see what you're doing, he pulls your panties down your legs, head buried in the crock of your neck pressing hot kisses onto your skin. You fumble and then pull his trousers down, you can see the outline of his cock through his boxers. He grins down at you. You palm at his cock, watching him through your lashes. He sheds his boxers, you run your hand down his length loosely, thumb brushing over his tip. You watch him whine. “Condom?” 

“I'm on the pill.” You hum.

He pulls your body towards him, your crotch meeting his thighs, he leans closer. The head of his cock brushing past your folds, it feels like hours spent teasing you and then suddenly he pushes into you, feeling you stretch around him. “Shit your tight”,your hands grip his shoulders, mouth gaping open at how full you feel. 

“Fuck Aem” He begins to move slowly, you feel every inch of him, every vein brushing against you. He looks down watching you suck him in. His hands trace against the side of your body, stopping at your hips. 

Finger’s digging into the flesh. You feel so dizzy with pleasure. “Shit, so good fo’me” you clench around him, he lips curl upwards. “You like that huh?” you moan, feeling his cock brush perfectly against your walls. “So fucking pretty underneath me” your back arches. 

He pulls out and pushes you onto your stomach, you lift your hips, he hilts himself inside of you all at once. You feel him in your throat.you hands trace against his creased covers as he pounds faster into you. He pulls your back towards his chest. Hand grabbing at your chin. You look him in the eye. Biting your lip, you feel sweat run down your bodies, his hand slides down your front and runs tight circles around your clit. He leans in to kiss you. Pulling away with a string of spit. “Close Aem”

“Yeah? Already” 

You nod against him, his fingers brush up your neck, pinning your body into his, neck tilting. Lips brushing together. You feel him pulse inside of you. You feel the pleasure spread from your back until you can't hold on anymore. You clench around him. You can taste it in your mouth. You turned around and pressed into the covers by his body, he pistons into you chasing his high,You feel him falter, bringing his face to your own, he presses his sweaty forehead to your own. Chasing your lips as he cums. Your own legs shake from under him. He collapses on your chest. Teeth grazing against your tits. He smiles up at you,  you push his hair back from his face. 

“I really like you” he whispers, his hand meets your cheek, the pad of his thumb smoothing over your skin. 

“I'm glad” you smile, “because i really you” he pulls away from you, shrugging on some clothes and running out the room. He comes back with a wet flannel. Wiping the sweat of your forehead and then between your thighs. He kisses your shoulder and you watch him grab clothes out his drawer. You pull your socks on, and his adidas jumper, along with some joggers. The cuffs of his jumper slides down your wrist to your palm. You slide your phone in his pocket and wait. Aemond stands by the door. “You coming?” your eyes widen and you jump off the bed, grabbing his hand to pull him down stairs. 

The music is louder than usual and Aegon stares at you as you walk through the door of the lounge,“You finally fucked then” 

“Aegon!” Helaena  gasps, shoving a pillow at his face. You watch Aemonds face blush but push him into the direction of the back yard, picking up your coat and bag. You both sit on the rattan furniture, Aemonds arm wrapped around your shoulder as you roll a joint, he presses his lips to the side of your mouth as you lick the paper. It's not the neatest, but it's not Aegons, which usually look limp and bent. You push the tray of your lap and tuck your legs under you, leaning into his body. 

“Do you wanna go on a date?” 

You light the joint watching the cherry light, Turning to his side, he watches for your reaction. You smile, breathing in the weed and handing it to him. “Yes please” his lips curl. You pull your phone out his hoodie pocket, eyes widening as the texts to Helaena, light up. 

You: I literally need this man so bad I'm gonna have an aneurysm x Helaena: Istg, stop whining and talk to him all he does is ride his bike and go to work x

You switch your phone off and smile. 

[demontonic]

Ethan Landry - Perverted

There will be undoubtedly a part 2 since i realized this was hitting 2000 words and i wasnt about to make you guys wait another three days till i put out the smut so take this background as a starter so i can finish the rest! Also let me know if you want to be on my taglist for part 2

Word Count: 2274

TW: Blood, Knives

Ethan had always been quiet around you, unless you were with the others but even then there was very little interaction. At first you thought he didn’t like you, then you thought maybe I’m too loud for him- but that couldn’t be it. If that were true he wouldn’t like Chad, and he was worse than you. Countless possibilities rushed through your mind every time you saw him and it slowly tumbled into a sick infatuation. You started to take note of who he talked to, especially if it was another girl. Watching even the smallest of mannerisms and remembering what his body language meant. At some point you decided to ask for his social media from Chad, of course he teased you about it immediately making sense of why he caught you staring at the nerd. After that Mindy found out and of course told Tara who told Sam and Quinn, nothing could stay a secret for too long in this dysfunctional family.

The gang decided to help your seemingly innocent crush on the curly haired brunette, however they had no idea what you really thought about him. You had always been one to get too involved with the people you had liked. Sure it was a long running joke that girls had the skills of FBI agents, but combine that with no social life… it’s almost concerning. You had always gotten weird vibes around him, call it intuition but you had never imagined your feelings to be remotely correct. One night you were out late, making a short walk back from the small market on the corner of your street. You decided since the gang went out -and you had zero social battery left- you would simply drink by yourself tonight. You stuffed the plastic bag filled with a few medium sized bottles of vodka and some cheap berry blend juice into the small backpack you had. Going to the small pizza restaurant and picking up the pizza you ordered for when you inevitably got the munchies. It was a short walk back to the apartment, maybe 15-20 minutes at most. Besides, you had done this many times before but what you were about to encounter would change the course of the next month.

Most of the surrounding apartments housed students from Blackmore University, it was afterall a close walk to the college. If your music hadn’t lagged when it did you would’ve missed the noise coming from the dark alley. What a cliche. You and Mindy were horror fanatics and after Woodsboro you knew better than to go into the pitch black void filled with shuffling noises. The cool air that racked against your exposed arms only added to the adrenaline that began to pump through your veins as you finally came to the realization that you had been standing and staring into the alleyway for a minute now. The small pizza box now being set on the top of a dumpster as you paused the music blasting in your eardrums, placing the small earbuds in their case so that you were now fully aware of your surroundings.

You pulled out the butterfly knife you had trained yourself to be moderately skilled with in times like these. The purple handle being grasped tightly in your fist as you crept slowly towards the sound you had yet to find the source of. There was a corner about mid way through, a small light illuminating that portion as you peaked your head around the corner. At first it took your eyes a second to adjust to the sudden change but once you did you realized that the boy you had been truthfully stalking was more than met the eye. He was crouched next to a dumpster, his surprisingly toned torso lightly splatter with specs of blood. Black jeans and doc martens being the only thing on him besides a black wrist watch. However upon squinting you see a blade entirely covered in blood, the crimson liquid falling into a small puddle between his legs. A Ghostface mask hung on the edge of the dumpster, the usually white face having the same crimson adorning it only in the shape of a handprint. You wanted to believe that maybe it was a costume, but you knew he would never do that with the people he associated with. You watched, frozen, as he wiped the blade on his thigh to rid it of blood before shoving it into a backpack. He pulled out a blue polo shirt, slipping it on as he shoved -what you could only assume was the rest of the Ghost face robe- in before placing the mask on top and zipping it closed.

You took a few steps back, going to hide yourself behind the few trash bags that were leaned against the walls next to you. It was too dark for him to notice you, wearing mostly black you blended in with the shadows. He turned the corner, walking out the way you had entered only he paused. Ethan didn’t turn around to face you, not his body or even a slight turn of his head. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest, you felt like he could hear it.

“Stalking someone you don’t even talk to isn’t a good look,” his voice sounded like he was smiling, it held pride and darkness. Your eyes widened as you readied your knife, preparing yourself for the worst case possible. He took a few steps back, stopping right in front of you as he dropped his backpack. A hand grabbed at the wrist that held the small blade, pulling you to your feet as he stared at you with empty eyes.

“Being covered in blood isn’t exactly a good image either,” you scowled as he only looked at you with a smug expression plastered on his annoyingly perfect face. “You’ve had plenty of time to try and gouge my eyes out, kick, scream, grab your knife with your free hand and yet you stare at me- now that’s a bad look Y/N.” Ethan was right, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you snatched your hand from his grip, slicing his palm open in the process. He hissed lowly as he retracted his arm, assessing the wound before licking it. Your mouth gaped open as you stared at the seemingly psychotic man in front of you. ���Did you know your saliva can help the healing process for wounds? I’m sure you’re thinking I did that for show but there's a reason behind everything I do. I’m surprised you didn’t find me out sooner, considering you never stop following me, watching me.”

“Yeah well that was before I knew you were a killer, so take that with a grain of salt-“

“So you think it’s justified? Stalking an innocent college boy- or nerd as you love to call me.”

“Innocent isn’t exactly how I’d describe you, but if it helps you sleep at night,” what are you thinking? He’s a serial killer, a COPYCAT of someone who almost killed you. Your conscience was bellowing inside of your head, however here you stood face to face with the guy you’d been drooling over since the start of the year, with full knowledge of his true agenda. “What helps me sleep at night is knowing that someone as sick and perverted as you can be so stupid as to stay here and chit chat with someone who’s quite literally trying to kill your friends.” You scoffed… you scoffed “Real smart revealing your entire plan-“

“How desperate are you? How insane are you to stand here and hold a conversation with me? Or am I just that hot-“

“Shut the fuck up you are so full of yourself I’m surprised you’ve gotten this far-“ Sirens. Police had begun to pull up to the apartment buildings, your heart beat picking up as this scene looked very sketchy. You talking with the killer calmly in the alleyway outside of a crime scene wouldn’t hold up well in court. Ethan groaned as he took off running the opposite side of the alleyway opting out on a long way home rather than the route you were taking. Without even processing what was happening you emerged from the alley, grabbing the pizza box and walking home. You wish you could say it was peaceful but your thoughts were consumed by the interaction… and the rush it gave you.

The next morning

It was a weekend, you woke up around noon, the pizza box being thrown to the floor and your bottles tucked away in the crevice between your bed and nightstand. Your head spun lightly, a slight headache setting in but nothing you couldn’t handle, you were practically a pro at handling hangovers. At first you ran through your morning routine like normal, mind fuzzy and not fully recalling the events from last night. That was until you walked back into your room realizing there was a small gift bag on your nightstand. The gift was black and covered with white ghosts, tied with a red ribbon. “What the fuck,” you muttered under your breath before opening it. The contents poured on to your stand, your knife accompanied by a small piece of paper fell out. You stopped breathing for a moment as reality crashed down on you; he was in your room while you were sleeping. You opened the small note, reading the neat writing in red ink.

you’re stupid enough not to notice that I took your knife? and that was before you were shit faced, you were out pretty cold, you almost looked cute.

p.s. thanks for the free pizza❤️

For a second you let yourself forget everything you just read, reverting back to your sick infatuation with the seemingly quiet nerdy boy. He called me cute. You knew you were twisted when your heart fluttered while reading the note like it was some stupid middle school crush. He called me stupid and broke into my apartment. You crumbled the note up, going to throw it away but you hesitated, why are you second guessing this? You didn’t know, but you flattened it out, folded it, and placed it back into the bag and left it in your nightstand. As for your knife you placed it back into your bag before getting dressed to hang out with your friends, unfortunately they still think you’re head over heels for Ethan. As you emerged from what they referred to as ‘your cave’ Tara and Quinn greeted you.

“Seems like you had fun last night, did you have any company over this time?” Quinn interrogated before sitting down on the white sofa. “You know I never-“

“We heard someone in your room last night, did you finally make progress with Ethan?” Tara, surprisingly not fumbling her words, questioned as she shook you by the shoulders enthusiastically.

“Oh come on guys you don’t seriously think… you heard someone in my room and didn’t say anything?” It finally dawned on you that they heard him, while you were passed out and thought you were fucking, great.

“What if it was ghostface? I could be dead right now!” Tara folded her arms, her mood noticeably more dull, “Did something happen that we should know about? Did you get a call?” Again, you froze, standing there with your mouth gaped open as you looked into the eyes of someone you considered family.

“No I just- come on you guys know I’d never have someone with me. I was probably just drunk and stumbling around my room looking for something.” You rambled before walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, still questioning why you hadn’t told her. Yes you had a small obsession with the boy, but it was much more than that now. Your face turned a light shade of red when you read his note, your heart swelled at the thought of him sneaking into your room to return your knife. The sight of him staring down at you in the cold dark alley, you could smell the blood and cologne on his skin from how close-

“Earth to Y/N! Hello Hi sweetie we need to get going, we’re meeting up with the boys for lunch.” Quinn said as she waved her hand in front of your face before walking towards the apartment door where Tara already stood. You quickly grabbed your water and followed the two girls out of the door trying to ignore your internal moral battle.

You waited in the mostly empty quad at a bench, Sam had yet to turn up and Chad had gotten here shortly after Mindy and Anika. Only one you were missing was the person you were sweating bullets about. You sat patiently, quietly, observantly, until your phone dinged. By now the group was over their usual paranoia but when you saw it was from Ethan you swiped it away at first… instantly regretting it.

“It’s rude to ignore people,” a whisper from your right side startled you, causing you to jump forward. By the time you turned around and the group noticed his presence he was standing up right, acting innocent like he didn’t scare the shit out of you.

“Ethan! Took you long enough shit, were you jacking off in the shower?” Chad joked as he slung his arm around the now quiet boy.

“Oh- ew! Grow up, can’t you talk about anything besides your dicks?” Mindy expressed quite passionately before beginning to lead the group to a small restaurant.

Sorry to end it so abruptly i genuinely needed to put this out so i could take my time perfecting the last half so hoped you like it let me know what you would want in part 2 i might take some notes. heres my masterlist if you wanna check that out!

[sanjoongie]

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪 𝔼𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥: ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣/ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕪 & 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕘𝕥𝕙 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜

🥀Pairing: Trickster! Hongjoong x Perfect Victim! Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact, dark material ahead

🥀Au: virtual reality au, dead by daylight au, video game au

🥀Trope: long distance relationship, fwb

🥀Summary: when you and your gaming friend learn about a glitch in one of your favorite games, you exploit it on an erotic level

🥀warnings: mentions of blood, cuts by blade, physical violence in a game

🥀Kinks: Predator/Prey, strength kink, fear kink, cnc, dom! Hongjoong, sub! Reader, sub negotiation mid scene, thigh fucking, blood kink, hair pulling, degradation, knife kink, overstim, penetrative (virtual) sex with no barrier

🥀Word Count: 1,429

🥀Betas: n/a

🥀Day Twenty Seven: Cuckolding🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Nine: Gang Bang

You almost fell while scrambling off your couch in a hurry to log into your new favorite game. Hongjoong, your gamer friend, had messaged you that he was ready for a game. You fixed your wrists and feet to the anti-mag that would keep your limbs in the right position.

“Game on,” You verbally instructed your VR device and you were transported from your spot in your gaming chair to a dark forest.

Your clothing was your favorite. A shirt that was falling off your shoulder, short shorts and sturdy Doc Marten’s.

GigglingScorpio: Ready? I can see you already~

Your head whipped around to find the telltale sign of Hongjoong: those neon eyes that penetrated the darkness but you could find nothing.

CrazyFangirl: Ready

You ran through the trees, dodging behind rocks, doing your best to create a serpentine path. The worst thing you could do was run in a straight line in this game. Hongjoong was pursuing you as a killer and you as his perfect victim. The game was supposed to play out by Hongjoong finding you, throwing his neon blades at you from afar, or slashing you with a blade mounted to a bat and killing you.

But you two had found a glitch in the system.

You turned a corner, and a haunting lullaby echoed through the forest. Hongjoong was close, closer than you anticipated. If you weren’t careful...

You only had a second to process the soft yellow jacket and neon yellow eyes, and then the blades came. One grazed your arm, the other your upper thigh. Hongjoong could aim for your throat easily but that was not his newfound process. Blood oozed from the superficial wounds and you winced.

You immediately turned in the opposite direction, aiming for the highlighted item ahead of you in the distance. Your hand reached out for the large piece of wood that would block Hongjoong’s direct path to you, intending to push it across the two rocks it was in between.

A soft laugh brushed your ear drums. The noise was gleeful but blood thirsty. “Don’t play dirty without me, honey.”

You grunted and ducked as the piece of wood fell behind you. “Why not? That’s what you like, isn’t it? To watch me play dirty?”

Hongjoong grunted briefly, pushing the offending piece of wood out of the way. “The only dirty game you should be playing is your mouth around my cock. Or licking your own blood off my blade. Not sure which is dirtier, to be honest.”

You took off in a sprint, anything to delay the game, but several quick shicks let you know that Hongjoong was throwing his knives quickly at you. Some hit the trees you ran around, some grazed you again and again.

“Are you horny tonight, Joongie?” You couldn't help but taunt him. “Want my pussy that badly?”

This time Hongjoong’s laugh came out bitter and a bit edgy, like he was barely biting back his anger. “You wait until I have you whining my name with a purpose.”

You laughed, panting with pain and exertion. “Gotta catch me firs--”

Your breath was caught off as Hongjoong suddenly appeared in front of you. His lips were twisted in an evil grin as you bounced off his well-developed chest. “You were saying?”

You quickly turned around from landing on your ass to your hands and knees, scrambling to get back on your feet. Hongjoong swiftly grabbed you by your ankle and launched you back the opposite way. You landed hard a few yards away, watching as your stamina bar dropped the more you were injured.

“Fuck,” You cursed. “Hongjoong! I wanted to run some more!”

Hongjoong stalked towards you, eyes looking dangerous. His upper lip lifted in a slight sneer. “I caught you. The prize is mine.”

“Let’s do another round!” You suggested brightly, “I’m sure I could do bet--”

Hongjoong grabbed you by your upper arms and hauled you to your feet. He pushed you against a tree and began to run his tongue along a scratch on your neck. He hummed in contentment when your hands slipped under his jacket, along his ribs and up to dig your nails into the muscles of his shoulders. “No,” He declined your request.

Hongjoong spun you around so your face was smooshed into the tree's bark. He wriggled your shorts down your leg so that you could neatly step out of them. Once that was done, he yanked your shirt down your arms, the baggy shirt trapping your arms against your body and freeing your tits.

“I know you’re wet from that chase, honey,” Hongjoong purred into your ear. His hands pulled and twisted your nipples, making you cry out in pleasure and pain. “But I do love these an awful lot.”

“I could give you a boob job, come on, Hongjoong!” You pleaded.

“No,” Hongjoong declined again. “I’ll take you on my terms.” Hongjoong tucked a hand onto your lower stomach and was able to raise you with one arm and hold you at the perfect level for him to enter you from behind. Perks of having superhuman strength as a villain in a game.

You breathed in and out evenly, closing your eyes and focusing on how Hongjoong pushed his cock between your closed thighs. “I could use you like this, you know. Take pleasure from your body and give you nothing in return.”

You let your body rest like a ragdoll. “I’m yours, Joongie, I promise.” That was the phrase to let Hongjoong know you were green and good to go in this scenario.

Hongjoong angled his hips so that he could enter you instead of fucking your thighs. You moaned his name, just the way he liked it, and Hongjoong jerked the rest of the way into you. You giggled at his reaction. “I knew it. You were desperate for my pussy tonight.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” Hongjoong groaned. “Fuck.”

Soon, you were joining in with groans of your own. The way Hongjoong could hold you in the air, in place, his palm pressing down on your stomach and his cock hammering into you from behind, really was the perfect fuck. You bled but you soon forgot of the pain compared to the pleasure Hongjoong was giving you.

“Fuck me with that villain dick, Hongjoong, come on, give it to me hard. I want to be gasping your name, I want--” You were quieted by the feeling of the flat of Hongjoong’s dagger against your lips. You could almost see your breath fogging up the neon metal.

“You like the sound of your voice a little too much, honey,” Hongjoong barely veiled his threat.

You simply whimpered in ecstasy as you felt your climax approach. Hongjoong grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your head backwards just shy of being painful. “Come for you me, you pretty little slut.”

You shuddered and cried deep in your throat as you came upon command. Pleasure wracked your body and you felt your cum drip down your thighs.

“Such a wet slut at that,” Hongjoong mused out loud. “My turn.”

Hongjoong sliced another cut along your back, making you hiss in pain and whimper at the over-stim of his cock still working in and out of you. You heard him hum as his tongue came out to lick along your shoulder blade, tracing the new cut. His hips did not stop for a second behind you and then Hongjoong came with a grunt. He continued to grunt as he thrusted through his orgasm and stopped just shy of you pushing through the overstim and moving to the better side of pleasure once again.

“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of that,” Hongjoong cursed. He let you down so your feet could touch the ground after pulling out but you almost immediately crumbled to the ground, legs like jello. He chuckled at your reaction. “Is that from the running or from me, honey?”

You half laughed and half groaned. “You’re hilarious.”

“You think we could do a round two? I’ve got a new cosmetic, it’s very cyberpunk-esque,” Hongjoong asked, offering you a hand up.

Do you want to start a new game?

You watched as the words blinked on your screen.

“Hell yeah I do,” You replied resolutely.

Hongjoong hooted, and the scene reset. This time, he had clothes on with neon highlights, a neon stick, and blue hair. He grinned, and you felt your heart beat and your nether reagion gush wetness immedilatey. Yeah, this was going to be a long gaming night.

🥀Day Twenty Seven: Cuckolding🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Nine: Gang Bang

[radioaktiv666]

Would you be willing to do transharmful or transharmed identity tips?

Transharm tips!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ watch horror movies! Imagining yourself as either the victim or the perpetrator helps!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ wear big boots! Doc martens, steel toes. Idk why but these make me feel really powerful.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ carry things like pocket knives or brass knuckles.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ do boxing or something similar!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ seek out a con-buse relationship!

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ let yourself be easily manipulated!

Be safe!!

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals: Something Old, Something New

In The Woods Somewhere x Professional//Victim crossover AU

*Holds out Buck content in my hand like animal feed* Pss pss psss come and get it @apokolyps suggested "the professionals" as the title of the crossover and when I pitched it to @victimeyez he was like "seriously? that's what I titled our shared doc." Addendum: This was written before the withdrawals sequence, so there's a bit of incongruity with Fletcher giving Tommy opioids and him not wanting to take them. At the time this was written, Pro/Vic was dealing with Tommy being over-drugged. Content warnings: Knives/cutting, long term captivity, reference to drugging, just a coupla boys who have been through a lot

“You just need to let me get this out of my system.”

Fletcher had led Tommy down to the basement, hand on his back to guide him. There was already a pair of chairs set out in an otherwise vacant area. They sat across from each other as Fletcher explained the situation to Tommy, holding a knife loosely in their hand, arms draped casually over their knees.

Tommy swallowed anxiously. 

You knew this was coming. 

“Yeah, I - I understand,” He mumbled, averting his eyes from Fletcher’s watchful gaze. He was struggling to get used to Fletcher’s needs - it’s not like Caius ever sat him down and let him know he was going to be punished. He just knew it once he started in on him. 

Fletcher held out their left hand. Tommy swallowed and put his hand in theirs. Fletcher held it firmly - not squeezing, just keeping it steady. They lined up their knife with the back of his arm, just above the wrist. Tommy turned his head away before the skin broke, before the line formed, before the blood welled up and spilled over. 

The pain was sharp and fiery. Tommy hissed air through his teeth. He glanced sideways at Fletcher, trying to read their expression. If he gave them what they wanted out of this, maybe they would be satisfied for a while. Maybe they could wrap it up sooner than later.

Fletcher was just focused on their work, not even devouring Tommy’s reactions like he expected them to be. Maybe it was the sounds - he could try to play it up, but Fletcher would likely see through any faked reactions. Should he beg? Or did they want him to sit quietly and take it?

Fletcher lined up the next cut. 

Tommy tensed in spite of himself, gritting his teeth on a harsh groan as the knife bit into him again. He panted shallowly, trying to focus on flowing with the pain instead of against it, but the next cut hit him just as hard. A cry snuck its way out of his throat, and he cut it off with a whine. He tried to go slack, but couldn’t uncurl the fingers of his free hand from where his nails dug into the chair, and couldn’t stop his legs from shaking. Tommy sniffled and whimpered, knees knocking together as Fletcher ran their thumb through the rivulets of blood, grazing over the fresh wounds.

“Relax,” Fletcher breathed. They brought his arm closer to examine, still not looking at Tommy’s face. “Try to keep your arm still, at least. Don’t want me to… hang on.”

Fletcher dropped Tommy’s wrist and switched their knife to their non-dominant hand to pull a phone from their pocket. They looked at the screen, then, with their knife hand, curled their finger at Tommy, gesturing him to come closer.

Tommy had cautiously pulled his arm in towards his chest, ready to relinquish it again upon request. Somewhat unsure, he scooted forward.

Fletcher closed their knife one-handed and tucked it into their shirt pocket, then clamped their hand over Tommy’s mouth. They put a finger to their lips and answered the call.

“Hey, Buck,” they said in a cheery tone. They half-turned away from Tommy in some semblance of having a private conversation.  “What’s going on?”

Tommy did his best to hold his arm together, but the pain swimming in his head mixed with the blood loss was starting to make him nauseous. He could feel his skin getting tacky as the blood dried, gluing one hand over the shreds up his arm. Fletcher’s hand covered his nose and mouth in one punishing grasp, and he struggled not to make a sound.

“Why do you need me to do it?” Fletcher asked the person on the other end. Whatever the response was prompted them to roll their eyes.

Tommy was running short on air. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he involuntarily started to squirm. Fletcher looked over at him and moved their hand enough to uncover his nose. Tommy sucked in a breath and did his best to look grateful through his eyes alone.

“Well, I’m not signing anything,” Fletcher said, turning away again. “But I can give you the cash.” A pause. “Yeah.” A smirk. “Mm… maybe. I don’t know that there’s anything that I want from you. Maybe something will come up… Oh, relax. I’ll give you the cash. You have to come get it though… I’m not driving all the fuck out there - you want the money... I don’t know, figure something out - borrow Nico’s… That’s up to you… That’s the deal, man.” 

There was a longer pause. Fletcher rolled their eyes again.

“Alright. When are you coming?” Fletcher twisted the hand on Tommy’s face, pushing his head to the side with it, to look at their watch. “Okay, see you then, Buckaroo.”

Fletcher hung up the phone and let go of Tommy’s face.

“Sorry about that interruption,” they said, returning their attention to Tommy. “Anyway. We still have some time.” They put out their hand. “Where were we?”

Tommy’s entire forearm was wrapped in gauze. He kept it tucked in close to his middle. 

Fletcher broke out the good stuff for Tommy this time - gave him two oxy and told him to sleep it off. 

He must’ve played his part well.

Tommy turned the pills over in his hand. 

Get drugged up and get out of the way. Get drugged up so you don’t know what’s being done to you.

“Can I, um… can I just do one?” he asked.

Fletcher cocked their head. “Really?”

Tommy gave a small shrug and shrank down. “I’ll take both if you want me to…”

“I mean… up to you, I guess,” Fletcher said. They took one of the pills and returned it to the bottle. “Don’t come crying to me later though; I’ll just give you acetaminophen.”

The single pill still helped subside the pain, and Tommy did manage to take a nap for a while. He awoke with a yelp when he rolled over onto his arm.

Tommy sat up in bed, clutching his arm to his chest, waiting for the throbbing to die down. It passed after a few moments, returning to the familiar radiating heat of a fresh wound, and Tommy was left with a dry mouth and a headache. Probably dehydrated. He stood from his bed, only feeling woozy for a second, and made his way to the kitchen.

He froze when he passed through the living room.

Fletcher was talking to a man with long brown hair. It was tucked behind his ears, allowing Tommy to see the scars on his face - one across his nose, one beside his eye.

Obviously someone intimately familiar with violence. If he was friends with Fletcher, violence was probably his business. Both of them turned their heads to look at Tommy, who immediately averted his eyes. 

Tommy regretted not staying in his room. Fletcher had probably intended for him to be asleep through whatever dealings they had going on.

Oops.

Buck was no longer a captive, and all the trainees who tormented him here had long since moved on, but he still didn’t want to run into any of Fletcher’s new best and brightest of the criminal underworld. He immediately dropped his gaze to the floor when he saw a man about his age stumble into view, but his sights froze on a familiar cuff around the man’s ankle.

Buck’s eyes slowly traveled back up to his face. 

His hair was black and curly, his eyes a light green when they caught the sunlight through the window. He looked nothing like Buck, and yet it was like looking into a mirror.

The same averted gaze, head down, shoulders up, arms tucked in close, fingers working at the fabric of his loose shirt. He even had a fucking scar on his face, marring its way down past his right eye. The collar was a new feature; that was never something Fletcher made him wear around the house. 

“S-Sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ll - I’m just getting water, from the kitchen.”

Fletcher ran a hand over their face.

“Fletcher.”

“Yes, Buck?”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Tommy blanched, tucking tail, ready to retreat back to his room. He would drink from the bathroom faucet if he had to. It wasn’t his intent to interrupt anything, and the fear of retribution on top of the throbbing pain in his arm had him anxious to remove himself.

“Hey - hey…” The first one was angry, the second one was gentle. Buck held up his hands towards Tommy. “Please don’t leave yet.”

Tommy was frozen stiff. He slowly turned back and looked first at Buck - he had a small, somewhat forced smile and sympathetic eyes. Almost too sympathetic, like he was on the verge of tears. Then at Fletcher, whose direction was the one he really needed to follow - they looked like things weren’t going their way.

“I think it’s rude to have a conversation about the man in front of him, don’t you?” Fletcher said to Buck. 

“You got another one?” Buck said to them in disbelief.

Another one? There was someone before me? What happened to them?

“This is a completely different situation,” Fletcher waved the comment off. “He’s practically a rescue.”

“A r-” Buck cut himself off, putting his head in his hands. He steadied himself before looking back at Fletcher and saying, “What happened to his arm?”

Fletcher pursed their lips and didn’t answer.

“Fletcher-”

“This is why I didn’t want you two to see each other,” Fletcher said, throwing their hands up. “You’re gonna get all… ehh.”

Buck was at a loss. He kept looking between Fletcher and Tommy.

“You can’t…” Buck trailed off.

“You know I can.” Fletcher answered.

“How can you expect me to walk away knowing about this?”

“One foot in front of the other,” Fletcher scoffed. “Unless you want to stay.”

Buck paled at the thought. He kept staring at Tommy like a solution would come to him.

“How about you take your money and go home to the nice apartment I gave you, and be glad you’re not in his place, hm?” Fletcher held out a thick envelope to him.

Tommy eyed Buck again. Not in his place? Was this guy the previous one? How could that be? How was he free? Why would he come back?

Buck stood motionless. He was staring at the envelope, but his focus wasn’t on it.

“Buck,” Fletcher called his attention. “There’s nothing you can do, so don’t feel bad about it.”

Buck opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again. He looked at Tommy, his eyes full of sadness and a desperate longing. Then, a resolve came across his face, and he turned back to Fletcher.

“You said I could come back to the lodge at any time,” Buck said.

Fletcher lowered the envelope back to their side. “I did. As long as you call ahead.”

“What’s your name?” Buck asked the stranger.

“Uh…” Tommy fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking at Fletcher for guidance. “It’s… complicated.”

Buck raised his eyebrows at Fletcher.

“It’s… Tommy,” Fletcher grumbled.

Buck took a second to make the connection, then asked, “Did you name him that?”

“No,” Fletcher snapped. “I want him to change it. He just hasn’t picked a new one yet.”

“You didn’t let me pick my name.”

“Oh my god,” Fletcher groaned.

“Tommy,” Buck said earnestly, looking him in the eye. “I’m going to be back.”

The visitor had an intense look of determination on his face. It might have been more impactful if Tommy had any idea what in the flying fuck was going on.

Buck reached out his hand for the envelope, but Fletcher held it away.

“What the fuck does that mean?” they demanded.

“You said I could-”

“Are you planning something?” Fletcher interrupted. “Don’t be fucking stupid; you’ve got a good thing going. You don’t want to lose that. You don’t know the situation here. And maybe you’ve forgotten…” Fletcher stepped closer, entering Buck’s space to stare him down. “...To be afraid of me.”

Buck shied away slightly, leaning his head back, but he didn’t retreat. “I haven’t,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to Tommy, then back to Fletcher. “You wanted me to visit. I’ll visit.”

Fletcher studied Buck’s face for a moment, not speaking. Tommy watched them both, trying to read the intricacies at play, trying to decipher the history between the two of them to understand the dynamic. 

Fletcher held up the envelope between them. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

Buck took it. “You will.”

Buck nodded at Tommy, lingered a moment, then disappeared out the door. Fletcher strolled to the window, arms folded across their chest, and watched Buck drive away. Once the car had disappeared into the trees, they turned back to Tommy.

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He suddenly felt like that man’s presence had been offering some form of protection, like Fletcher was trying to behave in front of him. But now it was just the two of them, and whatever punishment was brewing in Fletcher’s mind.

“I thought you were going to take a nap,” Fletcher said.

Tommy opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed dryly and tried again. “I was, for a little bit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Go get your water.”

Tommy obediently turned and headed into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down with trembling hands. Fletcher walked in behind him, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

“Look,” Fletcher said finally. “Buck was… in your situation in the past, but he came into that situation under very different circumstances. He’s out now, but only because of… extreme circumstances. It won’t happen for you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

He got out.

“You’re better off now than you were before,” Fletcher said. “I think you should focus on that.”

Tommy’s heart sank just as quickly as it had leapt. He ran his hand over his bandages and nodded.

“What were the circumstances?” he asked.

“He found this place, and it was a ‘you’ve seen too much so I can’t let you go,’ situation. I decided not to kill him, and just kept him here instead. Then he… later on… he saved my life. So I repaid him by giving him back his life. Or, a new one. But we have an understanding; there are conditions.”

Tommy looked at Fletcher now.

“He saved your life?” Tommy asked, incredulous. “Why?”

Fletcher snickered, bearing that dangerous smile of theirs. “Interesting word choice,” they said, strolling closer, closing Tommy in against the sink. “Not how did he save my life, just why would he? What, you wouldn’t do the same?”

Tommy shrank back. “I… I don’t…” 

“It’s okay,” Fletcher said. “We haven’t gotten to know each other well enough yet.” They cuffed Tommy lightly under the chin. “Plus, there are worse people than me. Buck had to make a choice, and he made the right one.”

“And he… comes back? On his own?” Tommy missed Caius sometimes, in a comfortably miserable kind of way, but he didn’t want to even entertain the idea of returning to that lonely house to visit.

Fletcher shrugged and allowed Tommy space again. “Not usually.”

Tommy thought about how earnestly Buck had looked at him. How he had walked out the door unimpeded and left on his own. Tommy tried to heed Fletcher’s warning not to get his hopes up, but a small spark within him flickered anyway.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome–hunter

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@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging  @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Tragedy of Love, Death and Maggots part 10

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

This time, I didn't protest. My foolishness had cost us enough. Between the pillars and our running, I caught only glimpses of the thing wearing Athena's body. It stretched lasciviously, throwing uneven arms back and grinning ear to ear, quite literally. The foul worms that made up her flesh multiplied, spreading and growing like a miasma, until she was the height of two men.

The Lady, or whatever I was to call this abomination, was beautiful like a statue, all elegant and evocative and ethereal, if statues writhed and crawled upon itself and wore a smile that split its face ear to ear. It looked nothing like the girl I knew. And it was gazing down at where I knew Brett to be.

“Shit,” Mrin snarled, forcing us both to a halt behind a crumbling wall. “They're blocking us.”

Indeed, there were hundreds of cultists standing around her, watching their goddess in blind ecstasy. A few had their hooks in Brett, baring him before her like her very first sacrifice. 

I wanted to scream, to beg him to cut loose and run, but Brett stood there steadily, light ringing his golden hair like an angel's halo.

Athena, or the thing wearing her face, grabbed his wrists, claws the size of knives digging into the open wounds. “Brett,” she cooed, swaying with delight. “You came looking for me.” The maggots churned and coursed, making her facade of a woman ripple.

He nodded unsteadily. “'thena, I know this isn't you, alright? Snap out of it,” he said, not a trace of fear in his voice. “We're here for you, me and Doc and Mrin. I'm here for you. We believe in you.”

For a moment, she froze. I thought- I hoped, against all hope, that it had worked, that the power of love would triumph.

Then that horrible mass of writhing rot grinned. “How cute. How darling. Why, I could just eat you up, dearie,” she exclaimed. 

Then she did, her swarm bending down towards his face. Brett's scream was cut off abruptly as she pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeper than she ever had. He squirmed in her grip as wave after wave of larvae poured down his throat, gnawing and gulping down his innards. I caught flashes of red as he was engulfed, each quickly overwhelmed by the swarm.

It was too much, just too much, and I bent over, heaving my guts onto the floor. It tasted like Brett's screams, wet and sour and horrified.

I would have sat there retching my wretched lunchless guts out until she found me, had Mrin not dragged me back. She might have been smaller than me by a half, but she made up for it with her sheer persistence. 

“Doc, don't do this. We need to get out of here, and we need to do it now.” Her voice, normally so calm, was tinged with panic. “Come on, be a dear. Get up. Keep moving.”

I lurched along with her, leaning on her shoulder, leaving behind the two people who had been a staple of our lives.

Fun fact! This was the scene that the entire story is written around. This means I'm approximately half done. We have another 5 thousand words to go. This frightens me :/

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[blu3-ja3]

This is going to be very graphic, I don't know why this has wormed it's way into my head but it has and I must get it out. I could rant about violence being inherent to motherhood/womanhood but I'll spare you for now.

!TRIGGER WARNING! Kidnapping, Implies Torture, Extremely graphic depictions of violence/mania. Like it's a lot but I'm really happy with it.

They've seen O'Connor kill, it's something that comes with the territory they work in. O'Connor is surgical, exact, precise. She always shoots to kill, never to maim or injure. There's sadness when she pulls the trigger, not anger or hatred. A pure sadness like her heart is breaking as she pulls the trigger. It's worrying the first time they see it, but Price reassures them. 'It's how she's always been...' They've never really seen O'Connor hurt someone when enraged, the closest they ever got was her dealing with Graves. It put everyone on the back foot even Price for a bit. So much anger and hatred but that was nothing compared to what they're witnessing now.

Soap and Ghost are physically there to see it, but everyone else; Price, Gaz, Roach, and Laswell, can see it through the camera mounted on Soap's chest. O'Connor was abducted while helping civilians in a war torn country side, Laswell gave her the go ahead and she gathered a small team to go. It was just her there, none of the other 141. They all thought it was just a simple week-long mission. But then a week turned to nine days with no word, they all got antsy. Two weeks and they dropped into the country to search for their Doctor.

They found a trail fast thanks to the local malitia, they were who Doctor O'Connor came to help and they were trying to contact someone for days. It took another day and a half to find where they were holding the Doctor and how best to get her back. Laswell did her best with what she could but this wasn't going to be a standard operation for them. The malitia agreed to help under the stipulation that whoever went in wore the camera and their leader watched to learn what they could.

Price agreed to it and chose Soap and Ghost to be the inside team, Roach was to monitor enemy radios with Gaz helping relay. The malitia would use the information to break out their own prisoners from a different cell block.

The inside team was only given their side arms and knives, because if something went that wrong there wasn't much chance at getting Doc out. The two made their way through winding halls designed to be confusing and complicated. They were given constant updates from Roach and Gaz, it was going well.

Then the first report came in, a prisoner had broken out. Killed two guards, that's fine two less for them to deal with. Some teams are being pulled back, alright got to be careful. More dead guards, this escaped prisoner is putting in some work. More teams are falling back, more dead, falling back, dead... The two round a corner and there are three men; full gear and heavily armed, who spot them. The two try to dodge the volley of bullets by finding cover only to run into a dead end. The three move to block their exit.

Ghost sees something dash from the shadows and grabs one of the soldiers, the unmistakable sound of something sharp pierce flesh. Once, twice, three times send long arcs of blood flying and arcing from his neck. The figure moves forwards using the newly dead body as a shield and his gun unloads into the second soldier's back before he falls forwards.

Soldier three sprays wildly into his buddies body before he's out of ammo and having to reload. The familiar figure takes her opportunity, dropping the body she lunges forwards something flashing in between her fingers. She tackles him, throwing punch after punch causing more blood to splatter over her ripped and dirty clothes. She grabs his knife before plunging it into his chest.

There's a clattering noise as soldier two tries to move, O'Connor stands the knife still in hand and moves to stand over him. Ghost can see nothing in her eyes no hatred or rage just cold, dead, nothing. She crouches down over the man before stabbing him repeatedly only stopping once he stops. There's a chill in Ghost mind, a part of his brain wired towards assessing danger. Every part of it is telling him to grab Johnny and run, to get the hell away from that thing. But before he can react Soap is moving.

O'Connor's head whips towards them, she's pale and gaunt. Multiple wounds littered her body, some infected and some reopened. Her hair is matted with grime and blood, her hands a fresh vibrant red that matches all the other red smeared across her body. Her lip is split, a large cut on her cheek, and she has a bruise across her neck. And her eyes, still cold and dead, with heavy bags under them.

As soon as they land on Soap she moves, it's purely instinctual. Ghost moves too and suddenly he's grappling with his Captain. And she's not letting go without a fight, he manages to get the knife out of her hand and knocks it away. As soon as he does that she goes for his knife but he manages to stop her and toss it away as well. She's going to kill him if he doesn't subdue her, every part of him screaming for her to stop. Everything but one, that little part of his brain that knows where she's at and is fighting to join her. To see who'd win and it makes him sick.

Ghost manages to pin her before getting O'Connor into a choke hold and he squeezes. She flails and kicks, dragging bloody nails across his covered forearm ripping the fabric. He squeezes slightly harder, waiting as the flailing slows and then stops as she falls unconscious in his arms.

"Johnny on me now!" Ghost picks O'Connor up and rushes past the bodies and out the doorway with Soap hot on his heels.

They all wait patiently for O'Connor to wake up in her room, the constant beeping of the heart monitors the only thing filling the silence. Doc was in rough shape, she looked almost dead in the hospital bed. It brought back some not nice memories for Price who was pacing around at the foot of her bed. Gaz, Soap, and Roach were on the small couch napping. Ghost was sitting next to O'Connor's bed, one leg propped up so he could rest both his arms on top, his chin on top of that. Laswell sat across from Ghost, having just returned from a long phone call with O'Connor's father.

Ghost noticed her hand twich and was about to say something, but O'Connor's eyes flew open feral and wild as she shot up right screaming. She pushed herself backwards, scrambling to get away before she calmed a bit. Her brain finally catching up with her surroundings. Tears welled up in her eyes as everyone moved towards her.

"You came, sweet Jaesus you came!"

"Of course we came Maevis, we're sorry it took so long."

"We're sorry, we're so so sorry Maevis."

"I thought... I thought I was going to have to fight my way out."

"You nearly did..."

"Yeah, you were bloody feral, gave Ghost a run for his money with how scary you were!"

"You looked like you were ready to kill everything that moved."

"Are you okay?"

O'Connor nodded before quietly asking for a hug. They all gathered around her and held her as she cried, relief flooding her system. Eventually she fell back to sleep and they all decided to watch her in rotations. First being Soap and Ghost.

"Do you think she would've gotten out LT?"

"You remember the look on her face?"

"Hard to forget."

"I've seen it before, once in a mirror... She would've gotten out but there would've been a change. Something snapping that couldn't be fixed."

"LT?"

"Yes Johnny?"

"Thank you..."

"For what Johnny?"

"For saving me, you didn't hesitate..."

"You saw your friend; a comforting figure, hurting and moved to comfort her, Johnny... I saw a woman who just experienced something worse than death for days on end. A woman who was ready to die trying to never experience that again. That was something that saw three men in full tactical gear and attacked with only a knife and won. That wasn't O'Connor, our Doc was tucked away somewhere safe and hidden... That was her Ghost."

They sat in silence for a bit, Ghost back in his same position as before. He was staring at O'Connor and Soap could see the slight tear falling from his brown eyes.

COD Master List

[greetingfromthedead]

8. Death's Mercy

Series: Apple Blossoms Pairing: Knives x GN!Reader Word count: 3k

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The tent is filled with heavy breaths as the canvas doesn't keep out the scorching air, making the people, who are already in bad shape, gasp for breath. Sweat drips from their brows, fevers ravaging their meek bodies. It is hard to watch and even harder to ignore, but you turn your back anyway. The guilt gnaws at you as you set up the gas burner on a rickety old table and fill a pot with water you brought with you. Knives lingers next to you, watching as you go through some of the bags with your own supplies, pulling out vials and packets that you will need to prepare the venom. Carefully you start measuring powders and liquids into the simmering pot, the clear water turning cloudy as you add the ingredients. The man beside you steps back, but you don't look, instead just listening to the footsteps as they leave.

Knives chooses to walk to the other side of the tent. The lamps from last night are put out, and the dim light filling the space creeps in through the cracks of the canvas, turning the sunshine a dull orange. He watches the people lay on the mats with their faces red and swollen, yet their bodies appear starved and thin. Bandages peek out from under their tattered clothing, hinting at wounds that will never heal. He wonders if he looked as helpless and miserable as these people do. After all, from what you've said, it sounds like they are in a very similar condition than what he was in.

He doesn't even realize that he has squatted down next to an elderly man to get a closer look. The wrinkled face is filled with silent suffering, the bushy eyebrows in a deep frown as his whole face crunches in due to something he must be dreaming of. The man's eyes are closed tightly, lost in his own world. He is still tall, but age and famine have left just a skeleton behind. Suddenly his eyes shoot open, his gaze scanning quickly left and right before stopping on Knives's face. The old man grabs hold of his hand with surprising strength, the bony fingers clutching tightly.

"My son! You've come for me? Is it finally time?" The old man takes a deep and ragged breath before continuing with the same hopeful tone of voice: "How I have waited for you, night and day! Please take me with you to see the good Lord! Relieve me from this suffering and pain."

Knives is taken aback, surprised by both the request of the old man and being called someone's son. It feels like a blade twisting somewhere in his gut. He doesn't know what to say or what to do. His voice catches in his throat as he searches for words to respond, but you already kneel down beside him, shifting the old man's gaze from him to yourself.

"Doc?" the man mumbles weakly, clearly confused. "Help me."

"I will," you promise solemnly, putting a cup into his shaking hand that releases Knives's. "Drink this. It'll help with the pain."

Knives stands up again, taking a long step backward to watch as you take his place without looking at him. You seem so sure of yourself. Confident in your decision, calm in the face of someone who is clearly dying a slow and painful death. Your hands don't shake, unlike his, as you help the man drink from the cup, lifting his head just like you had done with Knives when he was too weak to do anything at all.

"Go clean your hands," you instruct him firmly, barely turning your head to speak to him.

Knives doesn't know what to do anyway, so he takes your advice and slowly walks away towards the table where he pours some of the distilled alcohol over his hands, watching as the liquid drips off onto the ground as he rubs it over his skin, his fingers still trembling from something he himself doesn't quite understand. He hides his hands in the hoodie's pockets, not wanting you to see them and not wanting to think about the reason they won't stop shaking. He still feels the way the man's fingers squeezed his, the desperate plea they conveyed. It reminds him of the way you had grabbed his hand earlier; you too felt desperate, but for very different reasons. The concern he recognized in your voice and eyes was the same you displayed while taking care of him. The same kind of determination to keep him alive.

It bothers him that you're taking over his thoughts again. You always worm your way into his mind. Everything you do threatens to drive him crazy. Every time he gets even the slightest feeling that he understands you, you do the opposite of what he expects. He watches from a far corner of the tent as you walk between the pot and the patients to administer each one some of the liquid that he knows has worm venom in it. Your expression is serious, yet every time you speak to one of the people here, he sees softness and kindness in your eyes. Your voice is comforting and reassuring, even if it is answering a plea for death.

After seeing the last patient, you return to the pot to add more venom to it, turning it slowly with the metal ladle until Knives comes back to your side.

"Would you stir this until it starts boiling and then bottling it?" you ask and point at some empty vodka bottles.

"Alright" Knives answers and takes the ladle from your hand.

"Thanks," you shift away to gather the supplies you will need from the different crates.

"What are you going to do?" Knives wonders aloud.

"Going to get them all cleaned up."

"What for?"

"Because their families will want to say their goodbyes before they go, and the people here deserve to go out with as much dignity as I can give them, and it helps keep safe those who aren't infected yet." you speak as you continue to pick up bandages and cloth.

"Isn't that a waste of resources?" Knives asks.

"Perhaps. But it's important to me."

"So you currently gave them just enough poison to help them sleep and not feel pain?"

"Yes. I don't want them to suffer anymore. They will get the chance to say farewell with as much comfort as I can provide, and then... I will give them the medicine you are stirring up. That way they get to pass peacefully and painlessly."

"Why not continue giving them what you just did?" Knives doesn't understand.

"Mercy." You sigh heavily. "If I continue with the same dose, it will kill them anyway. It will cause organ failure and damage their mind. Not to mention, we will need the venom to treat others. If you think I take any pleasure or satisfaction from this, I don't. I do what I can and what I am asked to do. You're welcome to think I am cruel."

"I don't," Knives says quietly, turning his eyes to the simmering liquid in the pot to avoid meeting your gaze.

The look Knives saw in your eyes for the rest of the night made a pit form in his stomach. He saw the helplessness and pain in them as you watched people come and go from the tent to say their final goodbyes. It was heartfelt and touching, but all he could focus on was your silent suffering. The weight of their grief and loss was almost suffocating in the space, yet you kept comforting both the dying and the ones left behind. Together with Jenny's help, you guided everyone through the difficult decisions and the burdens that come with them. No complaint left your lips, not even a heavy sigh as you carried the weight of their pain with grace and compassion.

It was a long night. You tried to send him away to go to sleep, but Knives refused with an indifferent scoff. He couldn't rip himself from this agonizing display: the suffering of humanity and their fragile bodies. One by one, he watched the weak flames die out, accompanied by the cries of those who are left to suffer despite what you call mercy. And if that wasn't enough, the same people came to thank you, tears still streaming down their faces as they expressed their gratitude for killing the people closest to them. Humans are strange. Perhaps they do take satisfaction in death and suffering. But your eyes will continue to haunt him. There was nothing but sorrow in them.

You returned to the inn together. You spoke no words, and neither did he. A heavy silence sticks to both of you. As soon as you enter the guesthouse, the receptionist stands up from her seat and addresses you, but as she gets no answer, she falls silent. Knives notices the tray of food in front of the innkeeper, clearly meant for two, untouched. You don't hear anything but the ringing in your ears. Your limbs and eyes feel heavy; your only goal is to go to bed and put this day behind you. While you continue up the stairs, Knives stops, first watching you leave and then turning to the woman behind the table.

"I heard… about the people," the woman says softly, hesitant with every word. "I got some food for the both of you. It's the least I can do. If you don't mind… would you take it with you?"

She grabs the platter and offers it to Knives. He looks at the tray and the woman, not suspiciously, but with curiosity. She offered breakfast too in a similar manner, free of charge. It seems strange to Knives; the usually greedy and selfish people in his head would never offer something for free.

"I will take it," he finally says, not with any particular emotion, before taking the tray and heading to the stairs. He stops on the landing without looking back. "Thank you."

By the time he makes it to the top of the stairs, the hallway is empty, and the doors to the different rooms are all closed. He walks over to the one that belongs to your room and is about to push it open when he hears sobs coming from inside. His hand hovers over the doorknob, unsure of what to do next, but he decides to pull away. With the tray still in hand, he turns around and leans his back against the metal that separates you from him. Knives feels like it is hard to breathe, almost like something heavy is sitting on his chest and closing their fingers around his neck. He still wears the mask, and he blames it for the lack of air, but he knows you wouldn't want him to walk around without it, so he makes do. He stands by the door, unable to shut out the way you cry.

"Excuse me," a small voice speaks up. Knives didn't even hear anyone approach. As he looks down, he sees an elderly woman. "This is the doctor's room, isn't it? I was hoping to get the chance to say thanks."

"Doc's not taking any walk-ins at the moment," Knives speaks calmly, still standing by the door like a sentry for the second time in one day.

"It will only take a moment," the granny insists.

"No. Not tonight. Anything you want to say now, you can say tomorrow," he stands firm, putting more gravity into each word. He isn't even quite sure why, but he refuses to have anyone walk in on you like this.

"Very well," the old woman says with a sigh, clearly disappointed, and heads back towards the stairs, where she stops and turns back. "You know, your eyes, my boy, they remind me so much of my long gone son's. They are the same pale blue of the early morning sky. The same as my husband's, whom I lost today. Thank you for reminding me of them."

Knives is shocked by her words and focused on the echoing footsteps on the metal stairs, the distinct click of a cane hitting the steps with each slow and deliberate movement. He doesn't even notice that your room has fallen silent. As you push down the handle, it sends a jolt through the rest of the door, alerting Knives that you're about to open it. He steps away and turns around to see your puffy face appear in the crack. He notices the wet stains on your sleeve where you wiped away your tears. You look around the hallway.

"Who were you talking to?" you ask him.

"Nobody," he replies, his gaze lingering on your face.

"Why didn't you come in?"

"I didn't want to interrupt." Knives shrugs one shoulder slightly, committed to looking as careless as he can.

"Sure, but you can interrupt me all you want; after all, it's your room too." You step more into the chamber, opening the door wider for him. "Come on in."

Knives steps inside, his eyes moving over the dimly lit space. He notices the cloth you had around your face earlier. It lays on the carpet as if thrown aside. The space in front of the bed is littered with the contents of one of your first aid kits.

"I was going to take your stitches out, but…" you sigh, looking at the mess. "I'll clean it up."

"No." Knives says resolutely, capturing your gaze as the door closes behind him, leaving the room in darkness, except for the shaft of moonlight intruding through the window. He steps closer, the pale light creeping up over his body. He reaches out the tray of food.

"I don't…" you begin to protest.

"You need to eat," he interrupts you. "Do you need me to get creative with feeding you?"

He remembers how you kept pushing him to eat even when he didn't want to. You kept insisting, even threatening him. So he echoes your own sentiment, as it is the only thing he can think to do. You look up at his stern eyes and then back at the outstretched tray before wiping your face again and taking the food. With Knives's hands finally free, he pulls the mask off, taking a deep breath, but his chest still feels restricted. Uncertainty lingers on his mind; he shouldn't care about any of this. Not about the people, not about what you did, and certainly not about you. He should not take it on himself to cater to what you need, especially when you don't even want any of it. Yet he can't resist the itch.

While you go to sit by the small table, Knives walks over to the bed and squats down to pick up the plasters, bandages, and tools that lay about. He places each of them on the edge of the bed until he picks up the bag that used to hold them. He sees the ripped seam by the zipper, threads hanging out from the fabric. He carefully examines the bag, realizing that you must have used quite a lot of force while pulling at the stuck zipper, clearly frustrated by the events of the day. Knives adjusts so he sits on the floor, back resting against the frame of the bed. He doesn't know how to repair the bag, so he simply stuffs it with the supplies that escaped earlier.

You finish your share, only now realizing the ravaging hunger within you that was awakened by the delicious food in front of you. The rest is Knives's, but you can't help eyeing what's his.

"Go on, eat as much as you want," he says, looking up at you from the floor. He sits in the shadow, away from the puddle of moonlight on the floor, yet you see the reflection of his eyes shining back at you.

"I can't. It's yours," you protest.

"All you've done for as long as I have been stuck with you is make sacrifices. For once, be selfish; eat the food." You reluctantly pick up his food and take a small bite, feeling guilty for indulging in something you don't believe to be yours, but the heavy sorrow of the day quickly overwhelm those feelings.

"I don't understand," Knives finally admits. "Why did you waste so many resources to save me? I wasn't doing much better than the people from today, was I? Yet you pulled every trick you could for a sliver of hope. Why didn't you do to me what you did for them?"

"I don't know," you say, but Knives realizes the lie in those words. He chooses not to dwell on the matter for tonight. Silence falls over the small room again until you finish most of the food that's left, handing Knives the leftover apple, his fingers brushing yours as he takes it.

"About the sleeping arrangement," you begin, but Knives shakes his head.

"You get the bed. I'll take one of the mats we used on the way here," he insists, leaning his head back to look at the ceiling while taking a bite from the apple.

"No, I mean that it is a wide bed. There's plenty of room for both of us. I don't mind. I would feel bad if you gave up the bed just for me, unless you disagree with my proposal."

"Alright," he says almost dryly while chewing.

"Alright," you echo lightly, "I'll get ready for bed."

Knives doesn't look away from the ceiling as you pick up some clothes and head for the door to go to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway.

"Also. Nothing about saving you was a waste," you say quietly before pulling the door shut after yourself.

Knives sighs deeply, unsettled by the mix of feelings bubbling inside him.

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[docholligay]

When my mom and I saw this in theaters, the moment he started speaking, my mom, who has never had a moment from discovering Daniel Craig existed where she has not been incredibly thirsty for him, just whispered, taken aback, "Oh Daniel."

Doc, is this you getting on your high horse about how bad it is? No, though, it is bad. Foghorn Leghorn ass shit and I LOVE IT. What a bold choice. I am done with good accents, if you don't give me Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins and this, I'm done. It's everything I ever wanted. It made ME laugh out loud in the theater when I heard it.

I also love whenever Ewan MacGregor attempts to do an American accent, it's incredible. Give it to me always. This is not an accent wank friendly blog, we only celebrate sincere failure.

[mydetheturk]

ive been trying to come up with a way to talk about my take on The Argument, but honesty i can't get past these pages where Wolfwood shoots Rai-Dei. there are four panels on this two page spread, and no words, but god there's so much said in it. i keep flipping back and forth between it and the next page like "holy shit wolfwood. holy shit wolfwood." like. like we know. we've known since volume two of trigun that wolfwood was one of the GHG. we've known! this is knowledge that we have had for multiple volumes.

i literally cannot get over the expression on wolfwood's face in the pages leading up to their fight (and this expression lingers through their fight, mind you)

like

hellO????

like!!! this is the start of their argument!!! wolfwood cannot let vash die. and if he has to kill to do it he's going to kill to do it. vash is supposed to suffer. he cannot suffer if he's dead.

and this is the lead up to their argument. they have such philosophical differences about life, Vash believing every life is precious and that everyone can change, where Wolfwood's convinced that people won't. he thinks Vash is foolish - is naive for not taking the GHG seriously. Wolfwood wants - Wolfwood needs - to know Vash is taking this seriously, is prepared to kill if Vash wants to keep everyone else alive.

Wolfwood needs to know Vash is prepared for the shit Wolfwood knows - or suspects, if he doesn't know off hand - Legato is going to send.

hence this panel.

(yes i did just straight up copy the alt text from the post i made about being unable to cope with this panel. it ruins me.)

And then Vash reads him for fucking filth.

Vash's heart is breaking for Wolfwood, who cannot see a way out of the grave he's dug. Vash doesn't want to kill but he's broken for the way Wolfwood cannot see any other way to survive.

Like. the whole of page 106 hurts, but the way the Overhaul translated these panels is. Oof.

(the Dark Horse translation differs. Vash's speech reads: You... told me back then... that my face looked better with a real smile. If you could see yourself through my eyes now... You'd see a man forcing himself to play the Devil while his own heart cries out.

It's a little more poetic, but both of the statements cut Wolfwood to the core.)

They're talking past one another! they care so much about one another but their love languages differ so hard. (and i don't even mean this in a shipping way tho you could take it that way)

Augh. They're idiots. We'll see later that Wolfwood knows what Vash is, because of his experiences with Knives. (Wolfwood was there when Knives got reborn, after all) and he's seen Vash fight. He just. Doesn't know if Vash can kill one to save the many. (The start of their first fight in Stampede, their first true fight, is because Wolfwood shoots Rollo/Monev the Gale. Vash asks why. Wolfwood says its out of mercy.)

Anyway, there's some other really good meta about this fight (@needle-noggins has a nice breakdown of it) and if/when I find the posts I'll drop links in the comments/reblog with them.

I'll also upload what i could figure out of the transcript when I read through their argument in order to figure out how i was even going to talk about it to google docs and drop the link to that in the comments as well.

If you're still here, idk, Vash read Wolfwood for filth in front of God and everybody, which in this case was an empty town, Rai-Dei's corpse, and Zazie, who's been watching them for who knows how long at this point.

[sangre]

Pawn Behaviors - Beyond the Rift

yvaine ! ✧ / template.

note! spoilers ahead.

❖ BEHAVIORS & HABITS: 

❖ COMMON: 

yvaine is often resting with a hand on his hip, observing. he's an astute people watch and things rarely escape his notice. yvaine loves to study history so he tends to look into everything nearby – seeking out books if there's a phenomena to explore, looking into resources if he finds something interesting.

he's a logistician, so he'll usually be fussing with his hands. putting together flowers or making salves for adamaris to put to good use. he loves the language of flowers and what they say about the locations they grow in, their capacity to thrive in some places but not others. in NG+ as a thief, he takes to the ability to plunder quite well (and not without smug satisfaction). picking things off of enemies is his favorite. he loves to smile while he cuts something up and trick 'em quick.

➵ UNCOMMON:

he's a bit of a teacher's pet; hired pawns who go too far ahead or make complaints get a bit of a talking-to from him. he tends not to speak over others until he knows them a little, but yvaine can be a little catty. he doesn't like other pawns nosing around adamaris too closely unless it's with genuine interest, and isn't keen on others who try to give her unsolicited advice.

he likes whittling and sharpening his knives, heaven's key.

➵ RARE:

other pawns in the party may, after a particularly harrowing encounter, hear him talking (indecipherable) to his knives in the dead of night. he has a bit of a soul eater situation going on with them; the weapons carry the words and ambitions of the first cycle's adamaris. when he sleeps with them on his person, he dreams of her more clearly, and feels memories of her with a vividness. it's sort of like... he learned the thief trade at the end of their first cycle and that's when he began to get blood on his hands, so the voice of the first adamaris he met is comforting to him. NG+ adamaris doesn't know this until later though, and it would surely piss her off a little to find out.

➵ DRAGONSPLAGUE: 

yvaine is... complicated. he grew thickly corrupted by plague towards the end of the first cycle, and cooperated with the pathfinder in order to re-implement it. as such, he's marked by the dragon who carries us in the true end, the watching one, which i want to coin as 'true plague' or 'fatesickness'. not the plague or influence of the reflections of the dragon – but the interruption of a pawn's entire being. when he is pulled from the rift in NG+, his ears are pointed like a manakete, his eyes flicker red in moments of high emotion, and he has fangs and the slight blooming of iridescent black/lilac scales on the backs of his arms/calves/hips.

when his fatesickness is active, it's usually due to high escalated danger. he's a little manic, feverish, running hot and eager. his movements are faster, more erratic, he's less careful and less aware of his own body. he tends to barrel roll around cliffs to corner adversaries and claw through enemies more messily.

he is a little more bold with PDA, he's more outwardly clingy and stingy with adamaris' space. he wants her full attention and is content to peacock for it, no matter who it endangers. 100% cobra flashing its hood.

❖ THOUGHTS & OPINIONS: 

➵ THE ARISEN:

this is a snippet from my doc of these two, going from cycle one to NG+, where adamaris endeavors toward the true end, only to take the pathfinder's offer to resurrect her sister and resume the cycle: "he pitied and adored the arisen’s somber demeanor, exploring the world through the lens of her venomous grief. he absorbed much of it, coming to resent what of the world that she did, in his own way. protective by nature, he came to love the innocent and the lost, the wounded and vengeful – an unwitting shepherd who would wrest danger from others through his own body, and adopt their pain, all. as for the arisen, he was more her creation than merely her pawn, a rift-traveler, yes, but had he not come from more? made from all but the clay of her and the rib of her? before long, affection overcame his sense of reason—and he became more intimately enthused for what might become of a world written by adamaris’ will. (...) yvaine’s early attempts to still her hand grew corrupted by the influence of dragonsplague. he grew eager for the slaughter, unable and unwilling to control his zealotry toward his precious arisen. his master, yes, but his fatebreaker, too. she who inflicted him with Choice. the conflict of a life unspooled from the wheel — the one that adamaris fought for in the first place — had become his drive. (...) yvaine laments his master’s choice, but if it means they will not risk losing each other … he is content to be selfish and wrong."

➵ OTHER PAWNS:

yvaine is very pleasant! he is friendly, amicable, sensitive to the needs of others, hopeful, helpful, and courteous. he's a polite and thoughtful companion who is eager to help other pawns out of harm's way. he wants them to like adamaris beyond surface level, so he tries to explain his actions to them. to express something remarkable.

that said, yvaine is very earnest, so long as another pawn isn't obstructing him or agitating/disobeying the arisen. he tries to invest in the other riftwalkers and better get to know those who travel with him... he may whittle them little gifts, find them herbs or flowers they may enjoy, or show them places that would appeal to them.

➵ WORLD:

yvaine is most excited by finding shards of wakestones in graveyards and amidst cemeteries. he will comment on this very excitedly for adamaris' sake, because he knows it furthers her work. "arisen! we've found another means for your life's work, yet!"

ironically, she resents wakestones, but she knows she needs them, so she appreciates it.

he also loves waterfalls. he loves standing near the mist of a waterfall and feeling the drips that flick his face. "how alive i feel, face to face with this body of life. would that the brine reached toward us with a hand this merciful."

he almost always comments on the starry nights, and how at ease it leaves him to see them all aglow. but you know how that one goes. :3

➵ BATTLE: 

he is fairly defensive for the most part, but cutthroat too.

yvaine in NG+ especially is a quick and efficient killer. it's only when his plague is active that he tends to draw out suffering of something that's being particularly irritating.

➵ NPC’s: 

yvaine loves raghnall, particularly because after being separated from the arisen, he came out of the caves with raghnall safe and sound, so he's someone reliable. i think yvaine himself wants also the chance to spar with him - the two of them share a similar sort of... clever mischief and movement. not to mention, he's a renowned warrior who must have countless stories, which yvaine would be happy to hear; if he could have a pen pal, he would choose raghnall.

yvaine does NOT care for phaesus, but he feels slightly indebted to him for saving his life, which he does not care for, either.

he really likes wilhelmina - she's elegant and dangerous and stuck her neck out for them, but is a little envious, because adamaris quite adores her. he's like 'did you kill for someone other than me... i understand... i understand (´ ᯅ `)'

he also loves the babys in vermund, as he got on very well with them/is good with children in general - he engages them and they think he's a funny little man. he asks after daphne every so often when they visit.

➵ QUESTS: 

following the stolen throne, yvaine procures some masquerade-suitable clothing of his own. though he cannot enter alongside adamaris that night, he does ask him for a dance near the cliffs of the rose chateau.

regarding saint of the slums, yvaine has an idea right away as to what kind of experiments the abbess is running. he talks to adamaris a little about her own research in alchemy and the human body, which sparks a conversation of ethics. adamaris is passionate about lady elena betraying a position of virtue and living a falsehood in terms of failing to truly help people, but he can also see that there were some people in the city that were grateful for what she'd done. yvaine learns a little bit about the complications of trying to transcend humanity, and finds himself glad that he can be of service, in his own way.

a game of wits makes him very happy. his stomach is indelibly tight when the sphinx asks who adamaris' beloved is. even presuming it makes him feel nauseous. but of course, she rests her hand on his back and urges him onto the platform, where he exhales with grandest relief. he-he. he's been beaming, smugly, ever since. "master...! i had suspected that she might only gauge the depth of … if… and… between you and i…" [giggly] "well glad am i that i could assist you with this puzzle, is all i mean to say. heh!"

oh, yvaine.

➵ BONUS: 

he's my little star, you understand.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Meryl, Luida, and Bridging the Gap

This is just a quick little side-note I wanted to make about the similarities between Meryl and Luida that I noticed as I was reading, and how they end up occupying similar, yet complementing roles in the story.

***Disclaimer: I was sick when I wrote this and my head is full of fog lmao. If I have completely left out a word or something... don't even worry about it it's fine.

First off, on a surface level, they both are characterized as capable, intelligent, level-headed women, who are suddenly thrust into leadership positions, with Meryl being assigned the task of tracking down and mitigating the damage caused by Vash the Stampede plus looking out for her new protégé, Milly, and Luida stepping up to take charge of Ship 3 and its residents after Doc's death.

While the demand placed on them both is immense, nonetheless, they are shown to be quite capable of shouldering this kind of responsibility - however, given their intense focus and objective-driven personalities, they actually both get scenes where they are somewhat horrified by their own temporary prioritization of objectives over morality. We see this with Meryl in Trigun Volume 1 when she doesn't react in righteous anger to Badwick threatening his parents and had shut herself off from writing to her own in pursuit of her job, and with Luida when she briefly considers the idea of another July incident to stop Knives. Both think negatively of themselves for this - of course, I'm of the mind that since they are upset with themselves on reflection, this proves the exact opposite, really. I think they both have hearts of gold, they're just under a lot of stress, especially as time goes on. The two of them are human beings who falter, but whose morals ultimately align closely with what Vash wants to see in the world. Really, what the two of them hate most here is the idea of their own inaction or taking the easy way in the face of wrongdoing - a concept that drives them into action going forward.

[ID: Two images from Trigun and Trigun Maximum. The first is from Trigun Volume 1. Over images of trees and Badwick's father, Meryl says "But I... I just stood there and took it all in without even budging. I am such a cold person. I chose this path of blood and tears without thinking about the rest of my life. All I can see is what's right in front of me." Meryl starts to cry as she continues, "Why could I not see... that when I closed myself off to him, something was wrong? I..." She then slaps her cheeks and says "No... never mind!" The second image is from Trigun Maximum Volume 8. A single tear runs down Luida's cheek. Meryl says "Miss Luida...?" Her back turned to Meryl, Luida says "I'm sorry. I... was thinking for a moment. If something like July would happen again... it could stop Knives, but... ... I'm a terrible woman. End ID.]

Both of them also have a connection to Vash's past that gives them a different perspective on him as a person, instead of just an ally - Meryl, of course, gets brain-blasted in Volume 5 with Vash's memories (poor thing), but Luida is also more familiar with him than even a lot of the people on Ship 3, it seems - enough that she calls him out for blaming himself after the attack, clearly used to hearing this from him. She also is the one to clear up at least some of Wolfwood's confusion and uncertainty.

We also get this interesting parallel of them both watching Vash walk away to face Knives, him having rejected their offers of help. It's something that clearly saddens them both, as they watch him fight alone again and again, and wish he wouldn't. Both of them have moments where they feel they can't offer much in the way of assistance, or that their best efforts aren't enough.

[ID: Two images from Trigun and Trigun Maximum. The first is from Trigun Volume 2. Vash, his back turned, runs off into the chaos, a Plant seen above him and the city ahead, as he yells back "Get as far away from here as you can! Get to safety!" Meryl watches him from the door. In the second image, from Trigun Maximum Volume 8, a grainy flashback shows Vash's turned back as he walks away from a young Luida, who is reaching out to him. End ID.]

Of course, we the readers know this isn't true at all! Meryl and Luida do so much over the course of the story.

Interestingly, they don't start off as the ones completely in charge - Meryl works for Bernadelli even if she is in charge of her assignment, and Luida is presumably part of the Council, but the one in charge is initially Doc. But once they do take over - Luida after Doc's death, and Meryl once the world is thrown into ruins and Bernadelli no longer exists - there is a striking difference in the way they act from their predecessors.

Meryl goes from simply following Vash around to taking a self-directed and active role in assisting him however she can - looking for his old belongings and anything else of potential use, asking Marlon to repair his gun, creating a distraction with Milly, and helping the Earth Federation in the final hour with no hesitation.

Luida takes a much more active role in rallying Ship 3 to assist Vash as well. While some of this may simply have been because the stakes were raised much higher after Volume 3, Ship 3, while already a base of support for Vash, was a distant safe haven, kept largely separate from the rest of the world. Up until that point, they had provided Vash with aid, but not fought alongside him, something that clearly bothers Luida on multiple occasions. She decides to change this. She's the one who sets out to help as many of the towns ravaged by the Ark as possible. She rallies the Ship 3 residents for a rescue mission to help Vash. She's the one to step forward and attempt to bring all the leaders around to standing with Vash.

Which brings me to my last comparison point. They're both staunchly supportive of Vash, quick to come to his aid, and quick to defend his character from those who doubt his intent - Luida even sharply calls out her own people for their moment of mistrust after hearing about July. These two know and care about Vash on a more personal level than most - and as we all know, due to his avoidant tendencies, this is not an easy thing to do. Vash is frequently misinterpreted, and these two are often the ones to set the record straight.

[ID: A panel from Trigun Maximum Volume 3. Luida, sternly, says "That's a foolish question. You would know the answer just by looking at the scars on his body. If he had used his true immortality, those scars would not be there. End ID.]

In this way, much like Vash is a bridge between humans and Plants, Meryl and Luida are something of a bridge between humans and Vash.

And they're able to do this because deep down, their ideals align closely with his - they're not just supporting someone they care about; they have a similar desire to see the kind of world he fights for, and they choose to fight for it too.

But while Luida is something of a spokesperson for Vash, reaching out to humanity, it is almost as if Meryl becomes the voice of humanity reaching back, responding to him, and agreeing that not everything in the world is awful; that it is worth believing in the best in others. They need to stand together.

[ID: A panel from Trigun Maximum Volume 14. Meryl, in a spacesuit, with frank determination, says, "Because we decided to stand together. We stand with Vash the Stampede." End ID.]

Meryl is the voice of proof that some people believe in the love and peace he speaks of, and are willing to say it back to him in turn.

Updated on my masterpost - my other book club stuff can be found here!

[sasster]

Connections

Ya'll mind if I advance the plot a little?

[Doc]

--

The nearer to the heart of the city she draws, Nymira finds that the low hanging sun starts to hide behind the taller buildings and the provided shade brings along with it a much appreciated breeze. A brief respite of fresh air. The comfort she finds in the slightly cooler temperature is short-lived, however, overshadowed by the weight of having left Little Friend behind that presses down on her shoulders.

This sadness is so heavy that it practically forces her to drag herself the rest of the way to the House of Restoration. But what choice did Cylion leave her? He barely let her see the little guy, let alone hold him overday to bring along for the journey. She has to face the facts; her prophet is being unreasonable, and maybe the leader of this church could be a valuable resource to him, as their fathers guidance seems only to irritate him further.

The thought of being able to help her brother with his strange new behavior, and gain access back to her friend, steels her resolve and she uses it to stand a little straighter as she closes in on the church that looms high above the city’s center. Now her mind floods with the ways she would open up the conversation with the leader behind its doors.

She is too busy thinking about the potential upset the elder Roatus might have with Cylion’s seizure of Little Friend to stop herself from colliding with the back of a stranger who must’ve just been standing stock-still in her path.

Nymira is already apologizing before she comes back fully to her senses, both hands shot up to put some distance between herself and the other troll as she takes a frantic step back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! My mind was elsewhere,” she begins to explain, shifting her weight away in case he means to attack for the disturbance. “Are you alright?”

He does not answer, instead allowing an eerie silence to bloom into the distance she put between them. His focus stays squarely on the church that sits a short distance away from the pair.

A dull alarm, an easy one to ignore, rings at the back of her head. Familiarity, it could be the way he stands or the brightness of the purple vest over a white button up in the morning light, wafts over her and tickles the same part of her mind that the alarm had tucked itself into.

Still he says nothing, the only movement he makes is a shift from having his hands folded behind his back to finding them a home in the front pockets of his pants. 

“I didn’t expect to find anyone else out here so early.” And why is he standing in the middle of the street so early in the morning that even the critters that roam about at this hour still haven’t found their way out of bed. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

The silence hangs for a moment longer before the mysterious figure turns to present himself. In the same instant that she sees his wolfish grin, wide enough that it threatens the integrity of the stitches decorating his mouth, the alarms in her head pitch.

She has seen him somewhere before, many somewheres in fact. This is a face that plagued many of the dreamers she had liberated from daymares. Vanilla scented death assaults her senses, just the same way the stench had been the backdrop in all of those daymares, and sends her into a frenzy through the thicket of her memories for a name. Her recognition of this man, or demon, must be easy to read on her face because his smile only broadens to reveal more and more of the knives that live in his mouth.

A walking daymare.

”Nymira,” he finally speaks and the serenity of his voice jostles something loose from her fragmented memory. “You’ve wandered so far from home.”

He takes a single step to close that distance between them.

Her memories continue to piece themselves together. She has seen him through the horrors faced by the watchful boy, in the terror he forced on the kindly elder the boy resembled.

She fought him off with the protector and experienced true torture as it was inflicted on the gentle doctor.

“Persep,” she whispers as the memories of those and many more daymares crash into her one after the other. She takes another step back to reengage the distance. “You’re… You’re a bad man.”

 “Am I?” He asks in a voice laced with a venomous humor. He takes another step.

“Yes!” She blurts out, meanwhile everything in her screaming for her now frozen legs to carry her away from him. “Cylion will be mad if you do anything to me!”

Persep stops in his advancement to bark out a laugh that sends ice through her veins.

“Dearest Dreamer,” smugness saturates his tone now. She knew better, but she meets his cruel gaze anyway. “Cylion sent me to bring you home.”

Nymira is not afforded even a second to process the statement before her world is engulfed in purple light.

[hypermoyashi]

I finished Chapters 3 and 4 of my Trimax re-read! And, boy, these chapters are so fun and then we're also starting to getting to some of the classic Trimax/Trigun heartbreak, too.

Starting off with! Meryl's chapter! She grew out her hair a little, it looks so nice! And we get her canonical age--she's 23 in Trimax, and 21 pre-time skip. I don't blame everyone for commenting on how accomplished she is at such a young age. It also makes me wonder how old Milly is, too! I always headcanoned Milly as older, but we shall see if canon has any more details on that lol.

I do also really like the themes they explored with Meryl's character here, how she gets just a touch of silly sticky her tongue out at her asshole coworker, saying her time with Vash wasn't as bad as everyone made it out to be, thinking it'd probably be true she'd be happier living a peaceful life but deciding to get involved and help Vash anyway, because she has good memories with him... They note she only traveled with him for four months, and it's been two years, but man. He's still important to her! And she is important to him in return, given he only opened the door for the hitman when Meryl's name came up! Vash&Meryl is one of my favorite dynamics, they're so soft ;~; Meryl was also just. So cool. Confronting the hitman. And Milly to the rescue! Loved that it was Milly who showed up to support Meryl and get her out of a sticky situation when I thought it'd be one of the men. Very fun surprise!

More under the cut! (Mind the warnings!)

Also the amount of silly Wolfwood gets is very much appreciated too! Between popping out of nowhere to ask why the hitman was messing with Vash, dragging Vash to the hospital, pouring Tabasco sauce onto the hitman's wounds, and then eating noodles while watching a major disaster in action--he's so ridiculous sometimes, I love him jrekngjkneg

And then we get our first appearances of Brad and Sensei (or Doc, I think?)! Brad is his normal self, very hesitant on Vash because of reasons, but can't wait for him to come around like he normally does. I think having a group of people Vash regularly visits does help put his immortality into perspective--a lot of immortal figures in stories isolate themselves, but of course Vash loves people and can't bring himself to do that entirely. So you end up with this group of people who've grown up with a stray cat immortal just wandering in and hanging out occasionally, and it's. Both really cool and must be weird, for that one guy you knew as a kid to just be exactly the same now that you're an adult.

And then. We got another scene between Vash and Knives, this one right after the Fall. So same deal as last time, I'm going to break down some of the stuff that went on between them; if you have a different reading of them that does not involve Knives being abusive, that is fine! Please just be respectful of my personal reading!

Warnings for explicit discussions of abusive relationships and the dynamics involved, including both emotional and physical abuse.

Deflecting Blame/Playing Clueless/Downplaying the Harm He's Done: Knives tries to help Vash up after the crash, only for Vash to smack his hand away and start yelling at him. Knives asks what Vash's problem is, as if he can't guess why Vash is upset with him. He also implies Vash shouldn't be angry with him since they're brothers and it's just the two of them now. The fact he immediately starts gloating about how magnificent all the deaths from the crash were doesn't make me confident he was really genuine with not understanding why Vash was mad. To me, it reads more as he knows why Vash is upset, he just doesn't fundamentally see Vash's anger as valid since he thinks Vash should just agree with him. Hence, why he downplays, makes light of, or outright ignores Vash's feelings.

Physical Abuse as Punishment/Power Plays: When Vash compares Knives to humanity, saying his actions are inhuman, Knives agrees and responds by kicking him to the ground, then continuing to kick him while he's on the ground. These aren't light, either--Vash is shown with a bloody nose and bruises on his face in one of the panels on the next page. Knives is using a physical beating to discourage behavior he doesn't like and, to me, it does kind of read as Knives using the beating to shut down Vash being upset with him as well. Since, ultimately, Vash's anger and hurt fades from the scene when Knives gets angry with him in return and beats him. He's also shown as the one in power in this scene, with Vash not even able to fully stand from the sand while Knives is seemly fine.

Isolating Vash from everyone who is not Knives: Very successfully, in this instance. Not only does he talk about killing everyone until it's just the two of them left on the planet, he's also killed Rem, their main adult caretaker and support, along with pretty much anyone else Vash might be able to go to for help, given they'll all be busy trying not to die, if they're not dead already. So Vash is well and truly stuck with Knives at this point in time.

Tacking on a disclaimer that I'm not an expert, and physical abuse kind of falls outside my wheelhouse, as well. Either way, though, definitely interesting to compile this stuff as it crops up within the chapter. I am noticing more now that I'm going through a second read through.

I will report back with more as I continue to read through the chapters!