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papaver-decervicatus · 1 year

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Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot.

But he never is.

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night.

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet.

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out.

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what.

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots.

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge.

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes.

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful.

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation.

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in.

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts.

It’s a game of cat and mouse. They’ve got their own little rules, too.

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell.

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters.

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just-

“König?”

“Maus?”

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers.

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and-

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort.

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself. Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for?

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit.

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will.

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy.

The Mouse saves the King.

But a game is no fun with only one player.

The King also saves the Mouse.

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there.

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers.

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow.

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync.

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands.

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company.

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first.

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself.

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree.

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop.

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot.

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her.

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground.

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse.

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams.

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed.

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out.

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps?

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm.

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds.

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says.

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio.

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by.

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid.

She shouldn’t trust him.

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling.

It’s snowing hard.

She kicks off the tree and into the air.

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking.

He does, indeed, catch her.

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air.

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up.

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death.

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned.

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him.

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over?

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger.

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster- he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care.

She realizes she’s thankful for him.

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other.

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down.

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket.

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are.

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke.

They breathe in time.

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her.

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse.

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing.

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed.

“Wait!” She calls to him.

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it.

She tosses it to him.

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal.

Her lucky charm.

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object.

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock.

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back.

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be.

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp.

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning.

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago.

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up.

“What?” He hums back.

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.”

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently.

“Because I am not.�� Is his response.

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio.

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere.

But God, she wants him all the same.

It’s dangerous to be at war.

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse.

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two.

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#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

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anyasathenaeum · 1 year

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I have an Eriks-adjacent request for you. How about Vash and Reader, newlywed, visiting Granny and Lina sometime after the main story is over? I think it would be a nice and wholesome scenario. <3

In The End

A/N: Okay I'm just gonna go sob hysterically in the corner because this is literally the sweetest idea Anon I hope you know that I love you for this.

Pairing: Vash x reader, previous Eriks!Vash x reader

Warnings: Potential spoilers for episode 12 of Trigun Stampede, potential spoilers for episode 18 of Trigun, hinting towards PTSD/trauma, the author taking liberties

The town was quieter than either of you remembered.

Perhaps it was because people weren't fighting to leave anymore, and bandits no longer ran the place.

"It's so quiet," Vash mumbled to your side, reading your thoughts exactly.

"I know," You replied, squeezing his hand gently in yours, "It's strange, isn't it? Do you think they're still here?"

Vash just hummed quietly in response, "I think so. Let's go, only one way to find out, right?"

The smile Vash gave you was bright, and it coaxed a matching smile out of you in a way only Vash could. With another reassuring squeeze of Vash's hand, the two of you began to walk through the town, reminiscing at the times the two of you had spent here.

This was the town where, a couple years after the disaster in July city, you had reunited with Vash. You had believed that Vash, the love of your life, had perished in the incident, or was permanently in hiding and that you'd never see him again. However, you were wrong, as Vash had been there in front of you as Eriks when you'd blown into this town all those years ago. You didn't recognize him at first, but Eriks had felt familiar to you for reasons you couldn't identify. That is, until you realized he wasn't Eriks - he was Vash. Your Vash.

From that point forward, you had never left Vash's side. Through thick and thin, you stuck by him, comforting him and giving Vash the courage to continue onward with what he needed to do. You and Vash were inseparable, right up until Vash's encounter with his brother, Knives. Once it was all over, and the worst had passed, you and Vash had decided to bind yourselves to one another in every way you knew how, which led to the rings you both wore - yours on your left ring finger, and Vash's on a chain around his neck. Reminders of the promises the two of you had made to each other.

"Wow," you whistled out, looking around the town - people seemed to be calmer, happier, even greeting the two of you as you walked through the streets, "Are you sure this is the same town, Vash?"

You heard Vash chuckle beside you, "Yup, I'm pretty sure. I did spend a few years here, you know."

"Oh, I know, Eriks," You shot back immediately, cocking an eyebrow at your husband.

Vash let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, "R-Right, sorry... I sometimes forget you knew me as Eriks, too."

"Finding you was the happiest day of my life, Vash. Regardless of the name you had, the clothes your wore or the way you looked that day. I found you. That's all that mattered to me, and that's still the only thing that matters to me."

You spoke so simply, every word a well-known fact to you, and it made Vash's heart swell in his chest. He fought back the urge to cry in front of you, instead opting to lift your joined hands so that he could press a gentle kiss to the back of yours, followed by a second kiss to the ring you wore on your finger. His ring.

"I'm so glad you found me, (Y/N). I dread to think what might've happened had you not."

You smiled at Vash's words, "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now, Stampede."

"I wouldn't have that any other way. I love you, (Y/N)."

"I love you, too, Vash. Now, let's go find Grandma Sheryl and Lina."

"Right!"

The two of you continued to walk hand-in-hand, progressing towards the farmhouse that you both knew had been home to Vash for 2 years.

Sure enough, the farmhouse looked exactly as you remembered - the same weathered paint, the Thomases strolling in their pen outside, the same porch with the rocking chair Grandma Sheryl loved, everything felt as though it were frozen in time.

Vash suddenly stopped walking, and when you turned to look at him, you could see the worry on his face.

"It's okay, Vash. Lina and Grandma Sheryl will recognize you, and I know they'll be happy to see you. Remember, they asked Wolfwood and I to take good care of you."

Your voice was gentle, and you just stood there next to your husband, waiting for him to feel comfortable enough to take the step forward on his own. You knew him well enough that pushing him would get you nowhere - you just had to be patient and kind to him, especially when he wasn't patient or kind to himself.

"Right."

Vash's voice was quiet, and you could see he was remembering something from the faraway look in his eyes. Likely reliving his time here as Eriks, and likely all the horrors that had followed. All the friends he had lost, all the death and all the sorrow, he was reliving it all in that moment.

You reached up slowly, resting your hand gently on Vash's face so as to not startle him, cupping his cheek delicately in your palm as you stroked his cheek with your thumb, "It's okay, my love. You're here, with me. Come back to me."

Sometimes, your words were enough to bring Vash out of his thoughts. Sometimes, they weren't, and that was okay, too. Vash had gone through so much, and you knew he needed time to come to terms with everything and heal as best as he could. You would be there, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened.

This time, though, your words proved enough and Vash's eyes cleared, his focus landing on you as he gave you a soft, thankful smile. He didn't need words to express just how much he appreciated your presence, your patience and your love.

"Come on," You encouraged softly, tugging your husband forward slightly, "Let's go see Sheryl and Lina."

Vash just chuckled and let you tug him forward, allowing you to give him the courage to face the people who had sheltered him, fed him, clothed him and loved him until he had upped and left.

You knocked on the heavy wooden door, your knocks echoing loudly around you both as you waited for somebody to answer. You could hear footsteps from inside, as well as two voices yelling incomprehensible things to each other before the door swung open.

There, standing taller and looking more grown up than ever, was Lina.

She blinked a couple times as she gazed at your face, then at Vash's, then back to yours, then back to Vash's, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Then-

"ERIKS?!"

Before Vash could register what was happening, Lina had thrown herself at him, enveloping him in a tight hug, tears streaming down her cheeks as she yelled.

"Oh, my God, Eriks, you're back! What took you so long, you idiot?! Grandma and I were worried about you, you hardly wrote to us! You really kept us in the dark, you know! I can't believe you're back, I've missed you so much!"

Vash could only chuckle as he held the weeping girl, who despite having grown up, was still small and young in his eyes.

He rubbed her back comfortingly, mumbling softly, "I missed you, too, Lina. I'm sorry I didn't write, it's been a very hard time until lately."

You stood there, smiling warmly as you took in the touching scene before you, as Lina embraced Vash with everything she had in her. Vash was like a big brother to Lina, and you knew how much she loved him and how much he loved her. It was obvious, right up to the moment when Lina cried as Vash left to continue his journey all those years ago.

Once Lina had gotten enough of her tears and emotions out, she drew back from Vash, turning to look at you and then, suddenly, she was hugging you tightly, too.

You let out a startled yelp as Lina almost knocked you over, but you quickly returned her embrace, hugging her tightly - she was still the feisty, strong girl you remembered.

"We missed you, Lina. Look how you've grown!" You exclaimed, rubbing her back gently and smiling at her as she hugged you.

"Yeah, that happens when you're gone for a few years!" She snapped back, her voice still thick with tears.

A twinge of guilt spiked through you, and given the expression on Vash's face, you knew that the feeling was shared, but there was no point to dwell on it now.

"I know, Lina, and I'm sorry. We're both sorry," You whispered gently, brushing away the young girl's tears as you looked down at her, "But we're here now."

Lina just nodded her head before wiping her face with her sleeve, taking a couple steps back as she tried to recollect herself before pointing at you and Vash, "Good. You two better not be leaving anytime soon."

At that, you and Vash both let out a laugh, with you putting up your hands in defence, "Alright, alright, yes ma'am! We're not going anywhere for a bit."

Your answered seemed to pacify Lina, until her eyes suddenly narrowed as she saw something glint on your hand - your ring.

The gasp that escaped her startled you as she ran forward, clutching your hand in hers as she gawked at your ring, "(Y/N), are you married now?!"

You let out a laugh, "Yes, indeed. Have been for a little while."

"Who's the culprit?"

You let out another laugh at Lina's question, and you heard Vash laughing next to you, causing Lina to glance at him curiously, "Why are you laughing, Eriks?"

"Because he's the culprit, as you put it," You answered, stifling another laugh as you saw Lina's incredulous expression.

"No way. You married Eriks?!"

Vash just reached around his neck and revealed the chain that bore his matching wedding ring, causing Lina to squeal loudly.

"What?! No fair, the two of you got married?! And you didn't tell us?! What the hell, that's not cool, you two better have another wedding here with us so we can attend or so help me!"

Both you and Vash were now laughing harder than you had in a little while, with Vash coming up and pulling you and Lina both into his arms, holding you both close to him. In that moment, Vash knew peace unlike he had ever known before, laughing as he embraced those he felt were his family - the person who was like his little sister, and the person who was the love of his life, his spouse. That moment was perfect, and Vash felt a pang of longing, wishing he could stay in this moment forever with the two of you. But, soon enough, Lina pulled back from the hug, tugging both you and Vash towards the inside of the house.

"Come on, you have to see Grandma Sheryl! Oh, she'll be so happy to see you both!"

You and Vash just looked at each other softly, smiles appearing on your faces as let Lina guide you both into the house. In that moment, both you and Vash knew nothing but peace, happiness, and love, and in the end, everything looked hopeful.

Taglist: @mossygalaxy, @ryuukami4, @spacioussoul, @iceoblivious

#anya's athenaeum #trigun stampede #trigun #vash the stampede #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader

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mcflymemes · 1 year

Text

KNIVES OUT PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 2019 film

we must look a little closer.

who hired you?

it's a weird case from the start.

i suspect foul play.

i observe the facts without biases of the head or heart.

i'm not trying to beat you.

it makes no damn sense.

we can protect you from that happening.

were you boinking my father?

you won it by playing your way.

the family is truly desperate.

thank you. that means a lot.

the guy practically lives in a clue board.

you make a pretty lousy murderer.

wow, this will be quick.

i think you should follow your heart.

i'm just going to say this to you.

you'd better be sure that's what you want.

who is this prick?

can we ask why? has something changed?

that was the dumbest car chase of all time.

i have to ask you what we're doing here.

we're sorry for your loss.

how about some more cookies?

matter of fact? eat shit. how's that?

don't make me get the belt.

you're missing the point.

you're famous!

close the book with a flourish.

this family. i should care for them, right?

you have a regurgitative reaction to mistruths.

i read a tweet about a new yorker article about you.

now you think you can steal it from us.

you don't like him 'cause you love him.

you're a good person.

i have eliminated no suspects.

are you back again?

you've always been good to me.

i don't know what any of that means.

that's certainly not what i was expecting.

i think this could be the best thing to happen to all of you.

you have a good heart.

i have my own opinions.

the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth but what you do with the truth once you have it.

i don't know how you beat me at this every time.

i got to do this more often.

what i'm about to say isn't going to be easy and you're going to be upset.

what does he mean by that?

this is a twisted web, and we are not finished untangling it. not yet.

kids today with the internet... it's amazing.

oh shut up! shut up!

this is still our house.

oh, so that's where you were all night.

i haven't read it though.

thank you all for coming by.

up your ass.

best judge of character is a dog.

this might be the best thing that has ever happened to you.

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cevans-is-classic · 1 year

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"Oh, look." He didn't have time to look before you were pushing a square box into his hands. Several little knives were nestled inside.

"Knives."

You shake the box, "Really nice knives. Look at the handles. They look like trees — this one looks like a little Ikopi. I wonder how much these - Oh wow." Your head jerked up, the box sliding from your hands.

Djarin catches it, scanning the crowd and grouching to turn around when he notices the look on your face.

Your eyes are focusing past Djarin's shoulder, seeing something beyond what he's seeing.

Your mouth tugs on a smile, "Nifty. It's been a while since I've been present for one."

Djarin fumbled the box as you stepped back and away. He followed you — setting the box back down with an apology. You were cutting through the throng of patrons. The thin market alley crowding all of you together, your steps sweeping you through and around others as he follows behind.

"Where are we going?"

"Grogu."

His heart thuds, "He's at the school."

Your chin tips up, you spin around to face him, your heels lifting as you bounce on the balls of your feet and laugh, "I forgot — this isn't a dream —I saw this! You were going to tell me that the knives were nice and offered to buy one, and I was going to laugh."

Djarin steps around the edge of a building, stomping along with you as your hands move through the air.

"We're living one of your visions?"

You hum, "within reason. The journey is ever changeable, but the outcome was the destination."

"I don't understand — what does that have to do with Grogu?" You stopped in front of the school house.

Djarin stood next to you, your shoulder bumping his. "Be patient."

It takes a few minutes, you humming and swaying to the music in your head while Djarin tries to keep thought calm by focusing on the list for the market.

They could come back tomorrow for somethings, maybe. He needs more oil, and Grogu ate the last box of jellies.

"Here." The school doors open as children poured out.

Both of you waved to the kids and their parents. You share a smile with a young mom holding the hand of a child Djarin recognizes.

"Hi Grogu's Dad!" Her hand waves back and forth in excitement.

You laugh as he waves back and ignores you

"Patu."

Grogu waddles out, the teachers assistant shuffling behind him, and he's holding something up for Djarin to see-

"Is that a loth-kitten? Where did he get a Loth-Kitten?"

You squeaked, rushing forward to lift Grogu off the ground, loth-kitten and all.

Djarin watches you spin them around, lifting Grogu and the kitten up and down, much to the delight of his son.

"Look at it! Din Djarin, look."

"I could if you'd stop spinning."

All at once, you stand still facing him.

Grogu's little hand was resting on its back as the kitten flicked its ears and blinked it eyes up at him.

"Why do you have a Loth-Kitten?"

He turns to ask the teachers assistant and frowns when she's gone. He redirects his attention back to you and finds you and Grogu gone as well.

"You'll say yes. This is quicker! Let's go!"

Grogu squeals.

Djarin sighs, "Guess we have a pet."

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Galaxy Eyes Masterlist

#djarin grogu and galaxy #din djarin x you #din djarin snippet #din grogu #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian #pedro pascal

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purplekoop · 4 months

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So I was digging around in my old art to look for a design that inspired one of my newer characters, and ended up finding something I definitely remember, but not to its full extent.

I had some Overwatch OCs, all the way back in 2018, within the first year I actually had the game. Not just any OCs, but OCs meant to be full hero concepts of course! And fortunately enough, I gave one of them a full kit breakdown, complete with stats! I think I must've been inspired by Master Ian Gamer, an OW youtuber who at the time occasionally made his own concepts in a similar style, both for canon NPCs and his own original characters.

So, for historical sake (and because I think it'd be cute), let me present to you:

Prisma- Hero Concept

(For readability's sake, I'll type out my old notes verbatim as normal text, with any new comments in parenthesis afterwards like this.)

Story: "I shall protect Earth's beauty."

(The larger box left open for the story itself was blank. From what I can remember/assume, she's an Omnic environmentalist with either some kind of crystal-forming power or hard light tech.)

Support 50 HP, 150 Shields Speed: Slow Difficulty: (2.5/3 Stars)

(The health numbers are the same as Zenyatta had back then, which knowing me might've been implying a connection. The "speed" stat is meaningless, most OW characters share the same base movement speed, with Tracer and Genji moving 10% faster. It may also be implying her lack of movement abilities. Also does OW2 even give heroes difficulty stars anymore? So much changes so fast it might not even be a useful rating to give anymore)

M1 (Primary Fire): Gemstone Daggers. Prisma throws a sharp gemstone from her waist to attack. Damage/shot: 50 Shots/clip: 8 Reload: 2 sec Headshot: Yes Shots/sec: 2 Airspeed: Slow Gravity: Yes

(Ah, poor young me, using PC input notation instead of the universally correct terms. This'll bother me more later. The main thing I gotta note here is how similar this concept is to Kiriko's knives, but with some notable differences. For one, the base damage is 50, presumably meaning that headshots do 100, just barely enough to two-shot most heroes at the time! I guess Zen could always do that with discord orb too. But apparently to balance it out, 8 ammo and a two second reload, which is atrocious. For reference, iirc most OW heroes have a 1.5 second reload animation, with animations longer than that being rare exceptions like old Orisa and sentry Bastion being longer, but they had massive ammo pools to chew through before that. Hitting your shots doesn't sound easy either, with the dubious "slow" projectile speed and the confirmation of gravity making me imagine something like Torbjorn's primary fire. The shots per second of "2" actually isn't too bad, assuming it means a fire rate of 0.5 seconds then that's only slightly worse than Zenyatta. Still overall a pretty weak-sounding weapon, with okay max potential DPS held back by a lot of slow reloading and a hard to land projectile.)

M2 (Secondary fire): Regenerative Crystals. Places a large gem on the ground that heals nearby allies. Gem HP: 150 Healing Radius: 10 meters Max at a time: 3 Cooldown: 15 seconds

(Wow, speaking of familiar concepts in retrospect, healing turrets! I think. Frustratingly there's no healing per second rates or specification whether they're an AOE like Soldier's field or single target like the healing turret that finally happened in-game via Illari. Aside from that ambiguity, the biggest difference between Healing Pylon and this ability is the fact you could place a whopping three at once. I don't know if it had a three-charge cooldown like Symmetra's turrets do or if each one has a full cooldown and you just have the ability to place up to 3 if it recharges while one is already active. Either way it adds to what'll be a theme of Prisma adding a lot more clutter than she has to onto the field. This is her only means of healing though, so it might actually be warranted)

E (Ability 2): Refractive Wall. Reflects all projectiles (even beams) back at the enemy team. Wall HP: 1000 Height: 2.5 meters Width: 5 meters Projectile damage: 1/4x Duration: 8 seconds Cooldown: 16 seconds

(Alright to cut myself slack, knowing that the shift ability is internally "ability 1" and the E ability is "ability 2" is the kind of thing I wouldn't have learned without Workshop, which was a year away at this point iirc. Still, this one being first pains me. Anyways, a reflective barrier is a neat idea I've heard at least a couple times. It felt very fitting for the crystal theme, with the added perk of reflecting beams likely being there so you could reflect things like Zarya's laser in a logical way. Actually, an important distinction left out is whether this is a barrier or a physical object like Mei's wall. If the former, it's essentially just Ramattra's barrier with a higher cooldown, but much longer duration. Considering it's made of rocks though, I imagine it'd be more likely like a Mei wall you can't stand on, and also made of only one object rather than 5 pillars. The "1/4x damage" stat seemingly implies that unlike Genji, the projectiles reflected by this would deal significantly reduced damage, to the point where it hardly seems worth the extra coding hassle it would take to add that mechanic to make it work.)

L Shift (Ability 1): Refractive Armor Prisma coats an ally in gemstones, reducing damage and preventing stun/cc. Damage taken: 1/2. Duration: 5 seconds Cooldown: 18 seconds

(Oh okay this is just Fortify but given to an ally. I think that was a deliberate goal, considering this might've been intended as a counterplay option into Brig's notorious stun at the time, but I don't exactly remember whether she was added at this point or not. Still though, between the temporary stationary cover on E and the fortify on shift, this is sounding a lot like a support version of Orisa. What a funny concept that'd be, huh.)

Q (Ultimate): Diamond Guardian Places a diamond turret that fires a laser at any targets in range. HP: 400 DPS: 25 Range: 30 meters Ult Charge: Slow Call-out: "Fear the earth's power!"

(So... if I understand it right, this is an entirely damage-oriented ult. Not even high damage, and not even from a bulky target like B.O.B., and not even from a fast-charging ult. The only redeeming quality seems to be the insane range. For reference, Ramattra's ultimate has only a 13 meter range. You are NOT outranging this thing, but it doesn't exactly seem like much of an issue. Utterly bizarre ult design, I have no idea why she has a damage-dealing ult at all, let alone such a bad one. Though neat detail, the crystal standing next to her in the art seems to be the ult, based on the icon. Very big "hit this to progress in a Zelda dungeon" energy.)

Playstyle Synopsis: Prisma is a mix of defensive, protective, and supportive abilities, which combine to form a hero who can strongly hold an objective. However, she falls short on the attack, with a tricky M1 and low-damaging ult.

(Why did I think "defensive, protective, and supportive" were three usefully distinct descriptors. To give myself credit though, it seems the bad damage and ult were deliberate weaknesses to balance out a support based primarily around defense and area control. She very much feels like a hero made by someone who liked defending on 2CP maps and wanted a healer to pair with stally fortress comps like Orisa, Bastion, Torbjorn, and Symmetra. Yeah... I was that kind of freak back then. I'm only slightly sorry. She very much feels like a product of her time though, which makes it all the more shocking how many abilities sound so familiar to newer additions to the game. Her art even implies she'd float to move around like Echo. There's nitpicks I could make with rebalancing this hero, but that's for another time perhaps.)

As a closing thought, I should mention how important it is to my creative history to remember when I first made a geomancer named Prisma! See, after this, I took the name and basic crystal powers concept, and gave them to an alien lady in a suit for a short-lived space story. Later on, I took that version of the character yet again and made her a human woman with crystal powers, keeping the suit and the name Prisma. This time she was made for a major RPG project called City of Desos, which I've mentioned before is the origin of War Bots star Wilderoad. Unlike the gunslinging bot, Prisma is still planned to be part of Desos, so even after all this time the legacy of this Overwatch OC lives on!

Anyways hope somebody finds this neat. I did have a couple more designs, but very few kit details if any, so I may share them separately. This is fun, despite some stuff in this folder making me wince. It's neat being able to look back on your art, not just to see where you are now, but also to know you might've been onto something for longer than you thought. The kit design and layout here isn't that far removed from the likes of my notes Role Requeue or War Bots, just limited to what I could do on notebook paper while I should be paying attention to class.

#overwatch #overwatch oc #my (old) art #long post

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dozenssporks · 1 year

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in the Office AU Vash's coworkers have only seen Knives coldly angry and have constructed a mental picture of him as stoic and generally unfeeling. They have no idea he can be cheerful.

So when Knives strolls into the building one day with a pleased smile on his face, alternating between chuckling to himself and humming cheerfully the entire office is shook.

security, calling up to warn them of knives' imminent arrival: smiling! smiling! for a second I thought it was vash with his hair down! Then I recognized the expensive suit. T-they really are twins this is bizarre!

coworker: what is he doing here?! It's eleven in the morning on a monday and vash had the weekend off! Who called him?!

*vash wanders by munching a doughnut*

coworker: why is your brother here?

vash, dropping the doughnut but crouching and catching it before it hits the ground: who? what?! no way!

coworker: he um seems to be in a good mood?

vash, droping the doughnut again and letting it hit the floor: is someone dead?!

coworker: you mean like a family member?

vash: no! one of his business enemies! or someone who cut him off in traffic! Or--oh no!

*vash rushes over to the manager's office and slams the door open*

vash: is the company facing financial ruin?

manager, visibly shaken by vash's entrance: no, we're doing well this quarter? what--

vash: have we been bought out by a larger company?

manager: not at all, why--

vash, heaving a sigh: at least it isn't that. Unless, am I being accused of defrauding the company again?

manager: not so far as I know. did you hear something? your face is dead white

vash, leaving and dialing his phone, bouncing off the door frame when he mis-aims his exit: sorry gotta go!

coworker #2: vash, what did you do?!

vash: I DON'T KNOW

coworker #2: he was smiling!

vash: I KNOW

coworker: we're terrified!

vash: SO AM I--hang on they picked up--wolfwood? my brother is in a good mood do you know what's going on? is anyone dead?

wolfwood: eh? that's terrifying.

vash: I KNOW

wolfwood: got no idea. lemme know if it's anyone I should care about. bye.

*vash, clutching the phone and emitting high pitched noises of distress*

coworker #3: the elevator is coming up! what do we do

vash, waving his arms: early lunch, early lunch! everybody out! If you don't hear from me in fifteen minutes please remember I'd like red geraniums at my funeral!

*there's a scurry of moment as everyone flees to the stairs. there's a brief traffic jam when the elevator dings and everyone tries to get through the door at once. Vash shoves them forcibly free and the last of them escape as knives steps out of the elevator*

knives: vaaaash!

vash, under his desk: be calm be calm he can sense fear I must not fear. fear is the mind-killer

knives, walking past the desks: heeey, so my phone was glitching and I had a tech look at it. Funny thing! you know that app we use to play chess? turns out it'd been hacked!

vash: oh. it's me who's dead

knives, leaning down so he can see under vash's desk: hey vash

vash, peeking from behind his drawn up knees: hiya . . .

knives: it really is very amusing! the game was rigged to make my pieces disappear so I kept losing without knowing why!

vash: haha, really? wow, so weird and random

knives: isn't it? for the sake of company security I naturally had them trace the hack

vash: yeep

knives: I've got you, you cheating piece of trash

vash: w-why are you so cheerful then?

knives: not only did you have to cheat to beat me you also got yourself found out. it proves that I'm smarter than you.

vash: . . . that is so incredibly petty. maybe I could beat you but I couldn't be bothered to waste my time trying huh

knives, smiling widely: you're a loser

vash, kicking at knives: am not!

knives, kicking back: you even lose at cheating

vash, kicking again: you're a meanie sadist

knives, grabbing vash's ankle: you have the intellect of a grade-schooler. Come out of there, we're going to lunch

vash, wiggling and flopping as knives drags him out: I have so much work I don't have time really sorry but maybe another time I can pencil you in honestly I would love to if I just could--

knives: we're going to have a great time and we're going to play chess, won't that be fun?

vash: not--not Silent Chess, right?

knives, dragging vash toward the elevator: talking makes it so difficult to concentrate, don't you think? If you think at all, that is. Not a word until checkmate. I know you like to chat, but surely you can manage for an hour? or two? or more? Time flies when you're having fun!

vash, clawing at the carpet: please tell me you're not going to have legato sit across the room and stare at me this time.

knives: he does so enjoy watching a good game of chess. stand up, please.

vash, obeying: eeeeh . . . can I at least tell my manager I'm leaving early? It's only considerate. Look, the room doesn't even have another exit and the windows don't open.

knives: be my guest

vash, turning toward the manager's office: thank you

*vash spins around and makes a surprise run for the stairs*

knives: you little--!

vash, already pounding his way down the first flight of stairs: see you later alligator!

knives, slamming through the door after him: you can't get away, cheater!

vash, on his phone while he's running: yeah, guys? office is clear but I'm gonna be cutting out--

knives: I'm gonna make your face concave!

vash: yup yup I'll be fine! I've got an emergency evacuation plan!

*vash gets off the stairs at a floor he knows has a fire escape, rounding a corner and skidding to an abrupt halt when he sees a figure in front of the fire escape window*

legato: Hello, Vash Saverem

knives, jogging up, ruffled but grinning: ready to go, vash? legato is driving.

vash, slumping: can we please not use the chess set made of poached ivory?

knives: the set carved from rhino horns it is then.

vash: jerk

knives: moron

*around the corner a brave coworker who had stayed behind to cautiously watch and follow the twins is keeping up a running report to her colleagues on the phone*

brave coworker: I think they're getting along in a dysfunctional sibling relationship that never emotionally progressed past elementary school sort of way. I think he'll be okay.

*brave coworker pauses while the others respond*

brave coworker: oh, yes, definitely, we are going to that fancy bakery and pooling funds to get vash a six pack of doughnuts tomorrow morning.

knives, in the distance: stop touching me!

vash: I'm not touching you!

knives: yes you are!

brave coworker: . . . and another six pack next week, I think

#trigun #trigun office au #trigun modern au #a dozen sporks speaks #vash was eating the chess pieces when knives wasn't looking #random but I keep thinking vash has a bow tie #because of that one time his full length tie got caught in the shredder. he likes to say he lost his arm the same way #I should give the coworkers names

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tricksterrune · 1 year

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Rogues playing DnD: Classes

I fully admit that this is based on my limited experience of DnD, mainly through season 1 of Vox Machina, The Gamers 2: Dorkness Rising and FrasierDnD Twitter, specifically this. I also used to play The Dark Eye from which I steal aspects. And WoW

for @belphegor1982

Piper: DungeonMaster

He brings them together. They call him a nerd for it, but it sounds like fun so they all join in. But while Piper is the most experienced as of now, he hasn't played since college and wasn't the dungeon master, he isn't 100% in control and improvises a lot. At first he tries to keep them on the story path but learns to relax and let go. He used to have a high level bard in college and frequently uses that character's relatives as npcs.

James: hmmmmm

In the Dark Eye there were classic fae changelings. Fae could take a child and leave a changeling in its wake. And you could then play as the child that was taken which grew up in the fae realm, learn magic and becomes fae-like (If I remember correctly). James would play a character but never actually clarify whether he was the original character or the changeling pretending to be him.

Or I go with my initial answer and say that he roleplays as someone who does not fit into the world of DnD (as I once played a whole quest trying to be Indiana Jones). Half-elf...alledgedly

Mick: Monk....now

Mick's character became a monk later in life and starts as a veteran character (is that a thing in DnD?). Which means that he starts stronger but his character is old. He'd be a Dragonborn because they look badass. He is always super-prepared and carries endless supplies.

Mark: Wizard, elf or human

I hc Mark as someone who likes reading and not just Mark Twain, who was overshadowed by his gifted brother who was into natural sciences. He probably loves fantasy books but never engaged as a teen, wanting to appear tough. He has big ideas but hasn't read the rulebook too closely, just stories and wants to be a wizard who can do everything, mainly throw fireballs at people. Piper has to remind him frequently that he can't do the thing he just announced he was going to do. "I cast Firestorm!" "Do you know the spell?" "No?" "What about your spell slots?" "My what?"

Roscoe: Artificer, human

He sticks to what he knows best so he essentially plays himself. BUT he has read the rulebook twice and has become a rule's lawyer. He often thinks outside of the box but sometimes gets bigged down by what the numbers say are possible and what's a good story. He'd try a peasant railgun.

Lisa: Rogue, tiefling

Skintight leather? Check. Awfully sharp knives? Check. Steal absolutely EVERYTHING? Check. Often gets the party into trouble with her antics. "Can I roll to steal the crown?" "Seeing as its currently on the king's head, he's looking at you and is surrounded by his royal guard....no." She'd play tiefling, sexy as hell.

Digger: Barbarian, half-orc or orc

Digger junior, his character's name, will fight everyone, drink everything and then fight everyone again. He is legendary in bar brawls. His secret goal is to be the brawler like no ever ever was. Fighting's his real test, drinking is his cause. Digger jr is Digger unfiltered which you'd think was impossible.

Len: Druid, elf

He was blackmailed into attending at first (but secretly has fun) and plays a druid, almost exclusively in bear form (assuming that's possible, I' drawing on my WoW knowledge). His favorite trick is making people think he's a regular bear and only reveals himself when it's funny. Has written a couple of bear puns, but is afraid to use them unless he's a little drunk.

Sam: Bard! And a woman!

Charisma, charisma and charisma! He needs everyone to know that he is the most beautiful lady of all the land. And his character doesn't get her hands dirty, she stays outside and keeps inspiring the party. In ideal circumstances anyway, she has mace (an actual mace) when things get tough.

Roy: Warlock, Tiefling.

Roy strives to become an eldritch entity himself, possibly by killing his patron. At least he's not giving up his soul. He draws the most beautiful character portraits between rounds.

#dndrogues #flash rogues

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garyfischy · 9 months

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That "actually scott doesnt like kids get media comprehension" post going around is a bit irrelevant considering it casually leaves out that Scott goes back to Knives to ask her to have sex the moment she turns 18. regardless of whether he did that because he genuinely likes kids, or because he's a pathetic lowlife (what was likely intended) , he's still using this person to stroke his own ego and toss her aside once she's no longer needed.

My main gripe with Knives Chau in Scott Pilgrim isn't JUST that she's a kid. Scott tosses her away only to turn around and come back and say "please have sex with me I'm desperate for human connection". That much is true, and it's INTENTIONAL - it's to show what a shitbag Scott is. It's that despite all that, despite the story going "oh wow scott is horrible for treating this teen girl like that!" that she's never actually dealt with in a satisfying way

Like yeah, Scott Pilgrim dates a 17 year old. His friends call him a shitbag. But then Young Neil also dates her, Kim makes out with her, and they let her smoke and drink with them through most of the comic. In the games, there's a cutesy little sprite of her and Kim making out.

So... can we even really call Knives a tool for Scott and co.'s growth when they still treat her completely irresponsibly? We love clowning on Scott for begging a high schooler to fuck him, but his friends pretty much do the exact same?

I'm not saying Scott Pilgrim needs to be a series about morally good adults doing the morally right things and being perfect people. I just feel like Knives Chau doesn't get treated well in any of the adaptations.

Also the part in the anime where they attempt to remedy this by having Scott and Knives have a total therapyspeak conversation where Scott just says "I was completely immature for dating you as a 17 year old, sorry" (without ever having the character growth in the anime necessary for him to even come to that conclusion- i mean he rebounds on knives as soon as she turns 18! cmon!) and she's like "ok ive reflected and grown as a person and my obsession with you is completely unhealthy ^_^" .... I guess it's halfway there, but considering how obsessive she was over Ramona in the comics, she just feels like a different character altogether.

this is unorganized nonsense

#fish talks #media #scott pilgrim #rant

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talesfromsiteredacted · 2 years

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Random Grabbag of Interesting Threats and Insults Heard at Site (REDACTED)

Various and sundry threats overheard around site, some directed at the staff, some at the anomalies, some at the Chaos Insurgency. Some are from the anomalies. Hell, I've got a few here. There's rumor about a Most Inventive Threat competition starting. No context, just hostility.

"I swear, if you start in with the singing again... I'm going to cut out your vocal chords, nail them to the front gate, add a warning sign, and spread the word far and wide the Viking penalty for raping eardrums applies here."

"Whomever decided Doctor Bright was Site Command material is gonna get a very special lemon basket, with combustible citrus."

"You're going to get cheesed, mate." "Cheesed?" "Like getting creamed, but a longer, more involved, and more agonizing process. With knives possibly involved."

"Wow... in the D&D game of life, you rolled a nat 1 on not just intelligence, but wisdom and charisma too."

"Keep staring at my sisters like that. I'll show you the Sumerian Cheese Grater trick."

"Keep pushing. Heard Ferdinand would just love a dinner date with you. One more comment like that, and I'll butcher, cook, and serve him your corpse."

"Wanna find out what happens when an idiot gets thrown in a miniature black hole? Keep asking 'When's lunch?' and you'll get firsthand experience."

"Why do you make easy-peasy lemon squeezy into hard hard lemon impossible?"

"Clef... touch my dark roast again, I'll shoot you with your own shotgun."

"Mock Dr. Kondraki again, you'll find out why butterflies can be terrifying."

"This. Is. Why. You. Leave. The. Keters. Alone. Now, piss off before I spank you again with your own baton, kid."

"Meh. You may have top clearance, but you don't have friends, and you don't have taste."

"The Keter? Nah, your willy isn't even Euclid." A pause. "Really weird thing to call your dong, Doctor Bright."

"What do we do with a drunken Bright? Lock him in the brig, and turn a very cold hose on him, of course."

"Interrupt my work once more, and I will be forced to suture your mouth shut."

"Those bastards! I'm going to carve their livers out with a rusty dull spoon!"

"It shouldn't be possible to play a ukulele with malicious intent, but here comes Clef, proving me wrong. One more super slow Tom Petty song, he'll be wearing that damn ukulele as a necktie."

"I could put a sack of manure through 914 on rough and get a better argument than that."

"The Chaos Insurgency must love stupid people, there's so many. Either that, or they need to start using a better temp agency."

"You call this coffee? I call this a mug of disappointment."

"Say it. You'll be eating Tuna Surprise slurries for weeks." A pause. "Why Tuna Surprise slurries? You'll be missing all your teeth."

"Huh. Surprised you can even breathe with your head so far up your own ass."

"Jeremy. My dude. You. Reek. You're out here, smelling like one of 682's chili farts, unwashed, ungroomed, uneducated... and you want a piece of my cake? Hah. Until you rediscover the wonders of a shower and soap, you ain't even touching my ladyfingers."

"Listen to me, Leonard... there is no place in the entire fucking mulitverse where I would find your creepy ass attractive. Now, fuck off before I treat you like a lich, you worthless wreck. You got no game, and lo! No maidens. Maybe 073 can teach you 'Not Being a Creep 101', you need it. Get the fuck out of here, pathetic maidenless wretch!"

"Big Brother told me about this thing he did to a guy with a wire waistcoat and a bicycle pump. Thinking of trying it on a certain annoying doctor."

"Put another fish in the damn fountain. I'll pulverize you with a trout."

"Dr. Gears... I know you're trying to set a good example, but right now you look like a poster for 'The Horrors of Insomnia and Overwork'. You need a long ass nap, boss."

"Grr. The Chaos Insurgency, can't stop them, but can't round them up, push them into a meat grinder, and use them as mutated shark bait."

"Okay... someone get Dr. Glass up here. Dr. Clef is delusional again. He just said Dr. Bright had a good idea. That's not possible."

"Wow. Contracting 008 might actually make this moron into a mere fool."

"I'm not sure if I should hit you with a shovel, shove a live snake up your ass, or just throw you in the incinerator."

"I'd sooner gnaw my own leg off and beat myself to death with it instead of have even a cup of coffee with you. Go away, Karin."

#scp foundation #tales from site redacted #agent rabbit

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ridiasfangirlings · 2 years

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Fem fushimi post rok simply chitosy hit on fushimi and yata get angry

Chitose just digging his own grave there XD Imagine this is like in an AU where Fushimi's always been a girl but most people weren't actually aware of that fact, like in middle school and Homra she had her hair cut short and wore all these super baggy clothes. Even in S4 she still doesn't really care if anyone knows if she's a girl or not, she wears the male uniform because it has more room for knives and fuck if she's wearing the teeny tiny miniskirt. Yata knows only because they lived together for a while and he once got very very surprised the first time they shared a bath. Most of S4 knows too though in Homra besides Yata only Kusanagi, Mikoto, Totsuka and Anna are actually aware that Fushimi's female. Post-ROK Fushimi finds herself wanting to occasionally dress a little 'nicer,' like she kinda wants Misaki to notice her more (not that she would admit it, but imagine her mentioning this like in passing to Awashima that Misaki never treats her like a girl and suddenly she finds herself dragged out on a girls shopping spree to buy cute clothes for her not-dates with Yata).

One day Fushimi's meeting Yata for drinks and she stops at the bar to wait for him, Awashima's dressed her up a little for this and she actually looks rather pretty and feminine for once. Kusanagi happens to be out so Dewa's running the bar, he recognizes Fushimi even in a dress and basically just raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment beyond asking if she's waiting for Yata. He goes to handle another customer when Chitose walks in and sees the cute glasses girl sitting at the bar looking all alone and in need of some company. Immediately he sidles up to her and starts flirting, Fushimi gives him this acid look but Chitose isn't going to be rebuffed so easily (meanwhile Dewa sees this and has a moment of 'should I tell him?....Nah' and figures a stabbing might teach Chitose a lesson). He's really trying to lay it on thick, offering to buy Fushimi a drink and complimenting her body and that's right when Yata walks in.

Yata immediately gets between them like what the fuck do you think you're doing Chitose. Chitose's surprised that Yata's actually getting between him and a girl, like isn't this sort of thing usually too much for you. Yata gets all red and stutters out that it's none of Chitose's business and anyway don't hit on her any more or I'll kill you. Of course now Fushimi's pretty amused because she likes seeing Yata defend her and suddenly she's playing along, like pitching her voice a little higher and wondering if Yata would compliment her body the way Chitose did. Chitose grins while Yata just sputters, bright red and so embarrassed, Chitose's like see Yata you have no idea how to treat a woman. Yata bursts out that Fushimi's body is really—it's really nice and soft, Chitose laughs like wow way to compliment her. He gets all close to Fushimi and starts complimenting her breasts, Yata gets really pissed at that and slaps his hand away all I'm serious leave her alone she's mine. That makes Fushimi blush and Chitose's a little dismayed but not quite ready to give up. He starts to try and put an arm around Fushimi and suddenly has a knife to his throat, Yata finally calls Fushimi 'Saruhiko' and Chitose gets to have the oh shit wait this is Fushimi moment while Fushimi's just like Misaki call me yours again.

#sarumi #Talking K #please imagine Yata not finding this out until they move in together #he suggests they take baths together to save on water and sees a couple things he wasn't expecting #Fushimi just thinks it's funny like I never said I wasn't a girl #Chitose taking his life into his hands without realizing #like no fair when did Fushimi become a hot chick #and Yata's like shut up she's my hot chick or whatever

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semi-imaginary-place · 11 months

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reading through trimax part 2

ch56. Uh what the whole razlo thing is pretty clever but the 3rd arm and triple wielding cross guns?? Wild. With razlo and livio each is portrayed with the left or right eye shaded out and razlo explains the cat killed earlier.

ch 57: another excellent chapter. I feel like im only grasping like 20%, the very surface layers of this chapter. Wolfwood as he's faced with death thinks about vash, how vash is special and their relationships with death, vash never had to make excuses (for killing?). I had to check several translations for the final page but uh wolfwood is going to do something that he knows he shouldn't do? Like this sense of dread? Going to have to reread this chapter later.

Saw the ch titles for vol 10 and wow he might actually die here.

61. This is what i mean when i say maximum is infinitely gayer than stampede. In stampede wolfwood and vash have no chemistry they're just dudes who happen to be in the same room, and the people shipping them are delusional like shippers usually are with their shipping goggles on. Maximum there's definitely something going on between them, not necessarily romantic of sexual but these two are intense about each other. Also what would have happened if wolfwood only drank 1 vial?

64. Time isn't real. Its been 6 years since wolfwood left the orphanage which lines up with all the information. Except that one extra with the young woman which i've decided in non canon with it and only it doesnt fit in with the timeline.

71: who is jasmine???? Huh she's that kid from the orphanage? ...i give up on the timeline. Time isnt real.

72: and here i thought the vagina imagery was a stampede thing. Knives hive mind out here growing breasts and vulva

74: Daaammmn knives assimilates domina turning the destroyer ship into a threat for uh i forgot their name. Then fires up its most powerful attack while taking down the shields which means the only way for the main ship to save itself is my destroying their own ship and people.

80: lot of things happened at once, domina gets a hit in, legato is gere, and so is elendira. Guess shooting the city isnt a concern for the earth fleet anymore.

84: why does the earth fleet know vash well enough to give a personality profile?

87: livio and razlo going to die taking down elendira?

#trigun #trimax #trigun maximum spoilers

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mlletatou · 1 year

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meet colette tatou !

28 — COOK

favorite song: too good - arlo parks sexuality: pansexual pronouns: she/her big three: scorpio sun / aries moon / taurus rising

the dreams of a young colette tatou always centered around food, there was a love for it ever since she could remember. from cakes to stews, she adored the meals her parents prepared for her. her life changed when she discovered a cookbook her mother kept that was written by an auguste gusteau. the pictures wowed her with how beautiful food could be and she easily recognized that some of her favorite meals were ones that were straight from his recipes. the detail that really caught her eye was the title, anyone can cook. that message stayed with her throughout the years and served as her inspiration to dedicate her life to the culinary arts. when colette turned 15, her parents surprised her with a birthday dinner at the esteemed chef gusteau's restaurant. by that time, she'd read up on his biography and had been on a mission to recreate every recipe in his cookbook. she was obsessed with the man and was starstruck when she met him that night. little did she know that her joking comment of working for him one day would come true.

colette knew it was a long shot that she would be selected for an externship at gusteau's but she had to try. thankfully, the culinary gods blessed her that day, they had chosen her and history was made. an externship turned internship was practically unheard of within the scopes of a haute cuisine restaurant but gusteau saw the work she put in and took her under his wing. her days as une stagiaire weren't long as she was quickly moved up to commise de cuisine. she had great potential within the restaurant, but unfortunately that came to an abrupt delay. the death of auguste gusteau happened quick and unexpected. a replacement was found in the next in line, monsieur skinner. as he claimed, skinner wished to continue gusteau's legacy and expected everyone to stay, to ensure the restaurant was something gusteau could be proud of. although the thought of continuing gusteau's without him seemed futile, colette believed that sentiment could be possible. if she'd known gusteau's would be where it is today, she might not have agreed. instead of the proud restaurant it once was, it has turned into a place that holds onto the gusteau name as a way to entice new customers but old patrons would know that the establishment isn't what it once was. colette still holds onto the hope that the staff could bring the quality up but it's become evident that won't be happening under skinner's control.

HC’s:

she got her first set of knives from her father when she was sixteen, she's carried them around ever since. you could not pay her to use a different set. she's gone through school/apprenticeship and trained with them for so long that she could pick them out blind by how much they weigh and the noise they make when sharpened.

during her time in culinary school, she had to toughen up, out of preservation. without the hardening shell, she was expected to take offhanded comments lightly. that was not going to happen under her watch, she was committed to make sure those around her learned to treat her with respect.

the perfectionist in her never allows for any detail to go unnoticed, from flavors down to plating is serious business for her. she won't accept below excellence from herself but also her peers, she's not afraid to tell them when they've messed up. they can complain all they want but at the end of the day, the food they serve represents everyone in the kitchen. she'd rather give up cooking altogether than concede to inadequacy.

the busy life of a cook leads to lack of time and interest in anything other than food. most of her days, when not working, are often filled with practicing her own recipes, or simply recreating gusteau's old works. she couldn't dare try putting her own spin on those recipes, they're sacred text to her and any modifications would feel like spitting on her old boss' grave.

it was on colette to handle whatever difficulties may come from the managerial change with chef skinner silently, even if that meant dealing with someone who wouldn't recognize her talents because she was "only a commis". she knew that disrespecting a chef as important as skinner could negatively impact her chances of working anywhere else. the hopes that skinner's reign would end soon keeps her going, but for now, an attitude that wouldn't be tried with her male peers was something she would just have to put up with.

most days, it is very tempting for colette to quit, to pack up her knives and move on to another restaurant. however, for as many bad memories keep forming in that kitchen, she could equally find herself reminiscing on her lessons with gusteau. mentoring under him were years filled with experience that could never be replaced. she found herself fiercely loyal to him and his name, moving on would feel like a betrayal.

#[ ✦ ] : 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝙤𝙪𝙞? » about

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