#million knives is a dumb name

[lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber]

ah yes my silly little show with my weird cringefail blonde ray of sunshine and his slightly more cringefail borderline psycho brother

S P O O N S

[setsuntamew]

Legato/Knives 26. I love you the way a knife loves a heart the way a bomb loves a crowd the way your mother warned you about, essentially. (the way a human loves another human)

Title: waltz of the damned Series: Trigun Characters: Knives/Legato Tags: loyalty kink, developing relationship, experimental style, plant genitalia Summary:

Legato sparkles so terribly brightly.

a composition in 9 movements [read on AO3]

aka, Knives Has the Emotional Maturity of a Man Who Names Himself MILLIONS KNIVES and That's a Problem

but also- I love giving romantic and sweet endings to villains who are entirely undeserving of them, as a treat 🤍

[lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber]

last time i checked... @redacted-gay-username this is how it goes right???

Episode 3

[leighsartworks216]

Nyctophobia

Sylus x gn!Reader

I still have to sleep with some sort of light on at night and I was like well what would Sylus think about this. And now here we are

Warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, kissing, nyctophobia (fear of the dark), embarrassment, fear, pet names, swearing, implied sexual content, established relationship

Word Count: 2,153

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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You feel so fucking stupid. Not because you did something wrong or made a fool of yourself (yet), but because this dumb problem you had was so childish. Even a 10-year-old is braver than you, a literal fucking Hunter!

You pout at the nightlight on your laptop. Sylus’s black card sat on your coffee table, just waiting to be used. And yet, the thought of using a card with access to millions of dollars (perhaps billions), just to buy a nightlight, halted you in your tracks, He hadn’t even said much about anything else you’ve bought before, and what he did say usually encouraged you to buy more expensive, lavish things. Surely, he wouldn’t flinch at this at all.

But that stupid, unrelenting voice in your head made buying the light impossible.

Which sucked.

It really, really sucked.

‘Cuz every time you stay in the N109 Zone in Sylus’s manor-slash-base, your room is so dark. Being in the lawless area doesn’t help, either. All the violence and danger you’d seen walking in the streets at night painted visions of stalkers in the corner, murderers with knives under your bed, and worse, just waiting for you to close your eyes and sleep.

But you don’t want to impose on the nice atmosphere Sylus has cultivated in his home. So you sleep with the light off, clinging to your blankets and telling yourself over and over again that nobody else is in the room.

Your phone buzzing interrupts your pity party. You shut your laptop and place it on the table next to the card. It buzzes again as you pick it up.

What’s wrong, sweetie?

I’ve only seen you make that face when a plushie falls out of the claw

You look up at your window. Sure enough, Mephisto’s red eyes greet you.

Stop spying on me >:(

Fine

The mechanical crow disappears from sight. You can just barely hear his caws as he flies off back to the N109 Zone.

But my question still stands

It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it

Sweetie, if someone says not to worry about something, people are going to worry about it

Damn him for giving you a chance to tell the truth. And damn your brain for reminding you that if you tell him the truth, he’d probably laugh at you. What does he have to worry about when he sleeps anyway? He’s already a light sleeper, but he also sleeps during the day, when creeps skitter from shadow to shadow. He wouldn’t understand.

Like I said, it’s nothing

Nothing happens for a few moments. The little dots to signify he’s typing don’t even show up. You can’t help wondering what he’s doing. What he’s thinking.

Maybe he’s getting ready to start the night, getting into his car so Luke and Kieran can drive him around to his many business dealings. Or maybe he’s picking out a vinyl from his shelf, taking it from the paper casing with a delicacy only shared with you, and setting it up on his phonograph. Or maybe he’s mimicking you: sitting on the couch, staring at the phone, wondering what to say next.

The dots appear, finally.

Come to the N109 Zone, kitten

Let me cheer you up

If Mephisto was still lurking around, he’d have seen just how fast you packed your things and hopped onto your bike.

Yes, the N109 Zone is dark and scary and extremely dangerous at the best of times. Yes, you’d be forced to sleep in the dark once again. Yes, your mind would play tricks on you and you’d probably stay up all night anyway.

But Sylus is there. And you haven’t seen him for almost a week. Who could blame you for jumping at the opportunity to spend time with him now?

-

Sylus greets you at the door with an amused smirk. “You got here fast.”

You playfully glare at him, smacking his chest as you pass by. “There wasn’t any traffic,” you tease.

The manor is as dark as usual. If it’s not black, it’s dark red. If it’s not dark red, it’s the occasional white furniture or golden accent.

Sylus trails behind you as you beeline it straight to your room to drop off your stuff. He leans in the doorway as you toss your bag onto the plush bed. “You seem to be in a better mood now,” he hums.

“I always feel better when I get to see you.” You smile up at him. It’s a soft remark. Genuine. Not the usual joking, back-and-forth banter you’re usually all too happy to supply during your visits.

His expression melts into something just as tender. Just as honest. He casually pushes himself off the doorframe and crosses the few steps it takes to get to you. His hands cradle you like one of his precious antiques, tilting your face up while he cranes his neck until the world has shrunk to just this moment.

He grins. His eyes keep glancing down at your mouth. You grab onto his waist. Your fingers curl into his soft red sweater, desperate to keep him this close. His lips brush against yours, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Then let me make it worth your while.”

-

It’s still dark when you wake up. The navy blue behind the curtain carries no hint of light, reassuring your sleep-addled brain that there is still plenty of time before day.

You roll over, silk sheets caressing your bare form, fully intending to go right back to sleep. Cold air slips underneath the blanket. You shiver and pull it tighter around you. Without thinking, you reach out toward the other side of the bed. It’s too large for just one person. The bed is cold beneath your fingers, even as you reach out farther.

You blink open your eyes, blearily staring into the darkness, searching for some answer you can quite grasp yet.

What are you reaching for…?

You turn your face into your pillow, determined to ignore that strange feeling in your gut and enjoy the last hours of the night. The rich scent of bourbon and vanilla catch on the edge of your senses. It smells just like Sylus…

You open your eyes again. Where’s Sylus?

Your fingertips brush the edge of the bed as you reach out. A discordant chord of terror strikes in your heart as you quickly pull your hand back. Thoughts of something reaching out to grab you flood your mind. Your heart races, chasing off the last ounces of sleepiness from your body.

You pull the blanket even tighter around you, curling it under your feet and tucking it into your sides until you’re in a cocoon of safety. No matter how hard you strain your eyes, you can’t see anything. But in your mind, everything can see you.

You curl up into a pitiful ball.

You could get up, but you can’t. What if something grabs your ankles?

You could grab your phone, but you can’t. What if something is waiting in ambush and your phone is the bait?

You could do a thousand things to get out of this darkness. But you can’t, for a million reasons.

The door knob slowly turns. The only indication the door has opened at all is the sound of the lower edge brushing against the carpeted floor. No light comes in from the hall. It’s all pitch black. The door clicks shut.

You hold your breath.

Footsteps. Large, heavy footsteps. They don’t stomp. You’re not sure if it would be better if they did. They creep around the side of the bed.

You don’t move.

Weight shifts the mattress. Slowly. Deliberately.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears. You strain to hear anything else.

Something slides over your blankets.

You squeeze your eyes shut so tight you see spots. You bite your lip to avoid making sound.

The something - a hand, you think - wraps around your waist.

You flinch.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. They’re gonna know you’re awake. They’re gonna cover your mouth or stab you or put a pillow over your face or-

“Kitten?”

Your body shudders as you finally let yourself breathe. You grab your pillow as you quickly sit up and swing it at the face of your lover.

“I thought you were gonna fucking kill me?!”

Sylus laughs, chucking the pillow back onto your side of the bed. You can’t see him in the dark, but your body can’t stop taking in every ounce of him that it can. His smell - the bourbon and vanilla tinged with a natural musk. His voice - that rich, lively sound of his laugh and the breaths he takes. His touch - his hand, trailing patterns over the blanket at your hip.

You crawl toward him, clinging to his chest like a koala. He’s still shirtless from your escapades. His hand slides to your back, pulling you in tighter to him. You can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. You press your ear against him to hear more.

“Why would you think that?” he asks once he’s gathered himself.

You don’t answer. You squeeze him tighter.

“Sweetie?” The amusement is replaced with concern. His other arm wraps around you. The muscles tense with the slightest effort. He says your name.

Relief settles heavy in your bones. Tears prick at your eyes, while you remain utterly powerless to stop them. “It’s too dark,” you whimper. It’s all you can think to say.

His arms tighten around you as he rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him like you weigh nothing. He begins playing with your hair. “Does it scare you?” he asks softly.

You nod. You pull one of your hands out from around him to wipe the tears off your face and his chest.

God, you feel so fucking pathetic.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You don’t answer. His chest rises and falls with you on it, moving with his sigh. He pulls your hand away from your face and replaces it around him. You want to fight it. Complain about how gross it is to get all your tears on him. But he shushes you gently and you can’t find the strength to try.

“Do you want to go downstairs?”

You nod again.

The world shifts as he sits up with you. He pries you off of him so he can stand up, but he doesn’t go far. He grabs his sweater off the ground and helps you put it on. Then he goes through your dresser for some clean underwear. He helps you stand and slides them on. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t want to see the darkness. So you hold onto his shoulders. You put all your trust into him, and he refuses to betray it.

He lifts you into his arms like you’re a damn princess. Usually, he’d throw you over his shoulder, but not this time. This time he’s careful, treating you with the utmost care as he carries you down the stairs and to the living room. With a wave of his fingers, the lights turn on, black and red left in its wake.

“It’s not dark anymore,” he promises as he sits down. You keep your face safely tucked into his neck. He rests his cheek on your head. His fingers go back to your hair. His other hand rubs patterns against your bare thigh.

After a while, your terror finally dissipates completely. You can see the light shining through your closed eyelids. Feel its subtle warmth against your skin. When you find the strength to open your eyes, the warm, comfortable ambiance of Sylus’s home greets you once more.

You use the sleeve of his sweater to wipe at your face. “I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks. You cringe with embarrassment. “It’s stupid, I know.”

He hums noncommittally. “Is this what you were telling me not to worry about?” he asks instead.

You nod. “I was looking at… at nightlights,” you admit in a murmur.

“What kind?”

“Hm?” You pull back to look up at him. He lets you, meeting your gaze with a soft seriousness. “What d’you mean?”

He smirks slightly, eyebrow quirking upward. “I mean, what kind of nightlight would you like, sweetie? Fairy lights, a wall light, one of those animal-shaped ones that glows…”

You frown and look away. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m asking,” he cups your cheek and guides your face to look at him, “so I can buy you one. Now, will you tell me, or do I have to buy every single nightlight on the market?”

You laugh despite yourself. “I have it pulled up on my laptop…”

He grins. “Good.” He pulls you into a chaste kiss. “Don’t hesitate to buy it next time. Or to tell me what’s wrong. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a sad kitten.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[tarjapearce]

Lips anon! The wife getting a cuck dream this team. She wakes up with a broken heart but also relief. She cuddles up to Miguel and kisses his neck. He stirs awake a little, asking her if she's alright. She says yes, but he can tell she was crying and sits up. Cradling her face and pampering her with kisses. He demands her to tell him what is wrong. And she tells him the truth.

He finds it a little funny and disgusting at the same time. Him sleeping with some other tramp? When he has a whole Queen in front of him?

He decides to show her exactly how much he loves her, what no other woman will have. Even the dream slut 🤭

Dream slut 😂😂💀 nsfw, a squeeze of angst and Fluff under cut ❤️ Miguel loves to worship you.

"Just like that! Yes!"

The moan could be heard from outside the door, the bedroom you shared with Miguel wasn't even closed. None actually cared to close the door, that creaked as you pushed it wide open.

The sight sent million knives directly to your heart, each stabbing deeper the more you looked at Miguel plowing into some other woman you had never seen before. He looked vicious, and the woman squirmed, mewled under him, like if knowing the concept of pleasure for the first time.

Gorgeous was a measly word to describe her, tiny waist, perfect skin, round and supple ass that bounced underneath him, perky breast that shook at every thrust. Shimmering skin, slick with sweat. She was perfect even in her tussled state.

That sent the final blow to your heart.

Your eyes fluttered open, letting a couple of tears roll down your face.

Just a dream

Your mind repeated over and over. He would never leave you. He was loyal, faithful to no end. He proved himself that he would never cheat on you despite temptations parading right under his nose. But the way he looked in that dream, so lustful, so needy of that woman, a expression you'd never seen on his face for you.

New tears rolled down and you curled even more in your sheets, sniffling and hiccuping on your own. He was resting beside you, Mouth slightly ajar as the comfortableness of the pillow embraced his head, a hand ontop of his chest that rose peacefully at his breathings.

He was yours and yours alone.

Worming your way to his arms you kissed his neck. Wet and wispy eyelashes tickling his skin, stirring him awake. He looked disoriented at first, then confused to see you clinging to him with a red nose, bottom lip quivering like someone had just said something really mean to you.

He frowned and turned to face you. Eyes studying your distressed face.

"What's wrong?" His thumb wiped away the tears and caressed your cheek, tenderly. you shook your head. He kissed your forehead

"I won't repeat it again, (Name). What's wrong?"

"Don't be mean" He squeezed you into his arms and stared at you.

"It's dumb"

"It's not dumb if it made you cry. Having bad dreams again?"

"It was nothing, I promise"

He frowned and nipped at your shoulder a bit rough.

"Hey!" He nuzzled his nose on your neck, and his fangs made another nip.

"Won't stop until you tell me."

You stilled, eyes casting at his chest.

"I saw you sleeping with... someone else. In my dreams I mean." His eyebrows rose in mild surprise and then he erupted in laughter. A true incredulous laugh.

"Don't laugh! You were enjoying it." you mumbled as tears menaced to gloss over your eyes again.

"She was so... perfect. And... You just... Have never looked at me like that."

His eyes softened and sighed.

"And-"

"No sigas." (Stop it.)

He giggled, genuinely amused

"Chula, you really think that I would leave you, my wife, the mother of my children, Mi niña linda, for someone else that offers nothing but a body?" (My beautiful girl)

It's been years since you heard that endearing nickname from him. He shook his head and his fingers unbuttoned your top pajamas and marveled at the sight before him.

You tried to cover up but he took your hands and kissed them, prying them away from you.

"Look at you."

"All gross and old and couple extra pounds"

He shook his head and smirked

"Más de donde agarrar, chula" (More for me to grab, beautiful)

His hands palmed your breast, then slid down your waist and belly.

"You have no idea how much I want you and hearing you say such things, me parte el alma." (Breaks my soul) He slid your pajama pants off your thighs, leaving you bare before him.

He groaned at the sight

"Look at that. These hips, your breast. Dios mio... Did two babies really popped out of you?

You half laughed and half sobbed.

"You think another woman would take me so well like you do?" He kissed the valley between your breast, trailing down to your navel. A little pooch on your gut, you tried to pry him away from it.

"No tienes ni idea de lo que me haces, preciosa. You were made for me "(You have no idea what you do to me, gorgeous)

He groaned as he spreaded your legs. "When you wear those sun dresses, that blue one with the little tulip print on it?" You giggled at the memory of him grabbing you at every chance he could.

"I need to fuck you in that dress. Yeah." He nodded and just when you were about to protest, your body shivered at the sensation of his mouth kissing between your folds with hunger as the back of your knees rested on his hands, spreading you to have a bit more complete access to your flesh.

You whimpered with a squirm and he smiled at the sound.

"You still thinking you're gross? When you taste so fucking delicious?" Your hands went to his hair to hold him in place and guide his tongue exactly to that spot that made you moan so sweetly for him. His hands worshipped your body, dotingly as they held you in place by your hips.

His mouth kissed, suckled and lapped at you. He groaned at every roll of your hips you did, chasing relief in his mouth. He alternated between devouring you and planting kisses in your skin. Like if in very caress, touch and word he'd convey all his love for you.

Your breath hitched, raged pants rose, You rose your upper torso and supported it on your elbows. Your toes curled in, his tongue applying more pressure to your quivering flesh.

Your hands grope his hair as you rode your high, limbs melting around him as he released you with a pop and a satisfied smile.

"Te ves divina, mi amor." (You look divine)

He removed his pants with a smile. He'd show you why only you were perfect and worthy for him. And if it took things like this for you to understand it, he'd gladly worship you every day and night.

[fairy-writes]

REAL OR NOT REAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Trigun Stampede

Pairing(s): Vash the Stampede x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Reader is Short, Use of Various Nicknames (smalls)

Notes: I’m also taking this concept from The Hunger Games.

PART ONE HERE

__________________________________________________________________________

After three months, your memories of Vash still haven’t come back.

You ended up visiting the doctor who had discharged you, and he reassured you that they’d likely come back in time.

But you were impatient, and Vash was losing hope that you’d ever get your memories back. That much was obvious. He put on a show that he was fine, but you had the feeling he did that so as to not worry anyone.

He was succeeding in anything but that.

Nicholas noticed. 

Meryl noticed.

Roberto noticed. 

Hell, even you noticed!

So, Meryl came up with a game of sorts. She knew about your strange dreams and the odd flashes of déjà vu you’d get around certain things. Thus, the game “real or not real” was born. It was simple, if not a bit dumb, but it allowed you to voice your thoughts and feelings better than before, so you put up with it. You’d ask a question, like if you had been somewhere before, and then ask, “real or not real?”

More often than not, it was real to some degree. 

Vash came alive at the chance to talk about your previous memories. A small smile played at his lips when he spoke about your adventures. The shenanigans you’d get into. Some of it was before you met Meryl, Nicholas, and Roberto. But you found your heart thundering when he grew near. Your palms grew sweaty, even more so than in the desert sun. You liked it best when he would answer your questions. 

Was this what it was like falling in love with Vash?

“You’re killin’ me, smalls! Just get out!” Nicholas complained as you paused in getting out of the van. Meryl had stopped for a bathroom break in a small town, one you didn’t know the name of. 

“We’ve been here before, real or not real?” You ignored him in favor of asking as a wave of déjà vu washed over you. 

Soft sunsets. 

A declaration of love.

A gentle kiss. 

“Real, though you might want to get out of the van before Wolfwoof gets upset,” Vash said good-naturedly as he clambered out behind you. Now that you were slowly grasping at your fleeting memories, you were more comfortable sitting beside Vash. So, you’d all end up alternating who sat where just to give the middleman a break. Nicholas spills out with a few choice words in your direction, but you pay him no mind. Instead, your eyes are locked on a small tavern just on the edge of the town. 

“You took me there once before, real or not real?” You whisper to Vash, who chuckles and rubs at his undercut, 

“Real,” He says cryptically, not elaborating like he usually does. You frown and look up at him, but he avoids your gaze. 

What was up with him?

After a few minutes, Meryl exits the tavern, having relieved herself and ready to return to the desert road. 

“Actually… Meryl, would you be okay if we stopped here for the night?” You ask hesitantly, and when she stops, you elaborate, “I feel like I have missing memories here.”

At that, she readily agrees, much to the chagrin of Nicholas and Roberto. 

You were supposedly on a time crunch to make it to July, where a man named Millions Knives would be waiting. 

But you weren’t about to pass up on this opportunity, so you wander. Some faces are familiar, some aren’t, but something about this place makes you feel warm and fuzzy. You pass an alleyway where you swear there's the ghost of fingertips at your hips and a mouth on yours. 

But nothing comes of it, so you move on. 

Only to realize you’re being followed. 

At first, you think you’re seeing things—a flash of red fabric here, a smidgeon of blond hair there—but you aren’t stupid. You pick up on what’s happening rather quickly. Ducking down the very alleyway you had passed before, you ignore the phantom brushes of gentle caresses in favor of waiting. 

And when Vash passes by the alley, your hand darts out as quick as a whip and snags his jacket. He yelps as you pull him into the shadows with you. 

He’s close, blue eyes wide behind his glasses and lips parted in shock as he nearly falls into you. He barely manages to catch himself with his hands. 

“You’re following me. Real or not real?” You tease and see a pretty pink flush color his cheeks. He laughs awkwardly, 

“Alright, you caught me.” You grin,

“Well, you weren’t exactly being subtle about it. That coat of yours is hard to miss.” You say and release his coat. 

But he doesn’t move.

Your heart skips a beat as he looks down at you. He looks at you as if you hung the moons in the sky. You remember the feelings you had when you passed this alleyway and got into this town. 

Soft sunsets. 

A declaration of love.

A gentle kiss. 

“You told me you loved me here. Real or not real?” You whisper and see his eyes light up. 

“You remember?” He whispers back, just as softly, if not more so. All you hear is your heartbeat in your ears. Vash is impossibly close, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze as he searches your eyes for any hint of a lie. 

But you wouldn’t lie. 

Not to Vash.

“I’m starting to.” You say, stretching up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You gently hold his face as he starts in surprise. It takes all but a split second for him to respond, and he’s desperately kissing you back like when you first woke up. 

The only difference is this time, you don’t pull away. 

[nerves-nebula]

the fact that so many people are obsessed with a story with a character called "Knives Millions" in it has made me way more confident in my urge to name characters dumb shit again. the world might not be healing but there is one ecosystem that's getting better (the one where i name characters silly things)

[amhrosina]

Waltz of the Vigilantes (Frank Castle x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAG LIST

A/N: Frank is sort of unhinged in this one and reader is sort of into that. Let’s just say Frank is thinking with his other head for the majority of this fic. Also, if you’ve read The Punisher vs. The Cat, Mister (the cat) makes an appearance in this one. As always, a big thank you to @wheredidiputmyfish for beta reading and being so great! <3

Request: hi friend! can you do a frank x reader where she’s a vigilante and she’s all graceful and acrobatic and shit and they haven’t been together that long, so one day he’s over at her place and finds out she used to be a ballerina (he finds pictures or something)? can be smutty if you want to…

Summary: Frank and Reader can’t keep their hands off each other after a unique date night involving taking out mobsters, stealing booze, and taking body shots. 

(Warnings: SMUTTTTTT, canonical frank stuff - i.e., guns, knives, physical fights, vigilante!reader, alcohol, body shots lol, reader’s cat is a cockblock, fingering, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk)

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Frank had suggested taking out a small group of mobsters together for date night, but it wasn’t wrestling a man twice your size to the ground as he repeatedly called you names and reached for his gun in the same breath. You’d had the element of surprise for about three seconds before the guy was shoving you back, and the only thing you could do to avoid losing your edge was use the momentum of his push to swing yourself onto his back. You wrapped your legs tightly around his neck, and he crumbled to the ground as you squeezed the life out of him with your thighs.  

Gunshots echoed off the walls in the next room, and you looked up just in time to see Frank bash the gunman’s head into a shelf on the wall. He glanced in your direction, no doubt checking that you were okay, and grinned when he saw the position you were posed in. You were still kneeling over the man you’d just killed, panting like you’d just run a marathon. You couldn’t help it – the man had a shit ton of stamina, and you weren’t used to being so hands on during your patrols.  

“Can you do that to me later?” Frank called, chuckling. 

You couldn’t stop the smirk from appearing on your face. Even when he’s in the middle of beating mobsters to a pulp, he can’t keep his mind out of the gutter. 

“Only if you’re good.” You teased, brushing your pants off as you stood. “Is that the last of ‘em?” 

“Yeah,” Frank nodded his head toward the back exit, “Take what you want. I’ll keep watch.”  

The den, which fronted as the back office of a laundromat, was littered with contraband. Guns, knives, drugs, imported alcohol, and medicine was scattered around the room, stacked in varying heights and covering most of the available surfaces. You weren’t particularly interested in any of the low-level things they were no doubt selling on the black market. You had plenty of your own guns and knives, and drugs weren’t your thing.  

The poker game you’d interrupted was left half-played on the table, cards splayed along the green felt of the tabletop. You dragged your finger along the soft fabric, eyeing the stacks of poker chips in front of each chair. There was at least a quarter of a million dollars in each hand, but you knew none of the cash would be here. They may be idiots, but they weren’t that dumb. 

You searched the overturned cards for a familiar face – one that would tell the police exactly who’d taken care of the pests of Hell’s Kitchen – and smiled when you found her: The Queen of Hearts. You slipped the playing card between the fingers of the man you’d killed and stuffed a single poker chip in your back pocket.  

Soon, the public would know just how close they were living to a group of men who not only trafficked drugs and weapons, but also women, and the Queen of Hearts would be considered responsible for it. To the police, you were a menace without a conscience, but to the public, you were the only one protecting them from certain death. 

When you joined Frank in the back alley, he looked you up and down, chuckled, and then looked you up and down again.  

“You didn’t see anything you liked?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Eh, all I could find was this.”  

You raised the bottle out in front of you, giggling. On your way out the door, you’d thanked whatever guardian angel was looking out for you, because there, ripe for the taking, was an unopened bottle of Patrón Platinum.  

“D’ya wanna take shots of it off me when we get back to mine?” You winked, handing the bottle to Frank before stuffing your arms in your coat.  

“Only if you’re good.” He smirked. 

- 

When you slid through the fire escape window of your apartment twenty minutes later, Frank was hot on your tail, pawing at the waistline of your pants. You turned, facing his broad shoulders and chest. He was so goddamn pretty, and you couldn’t help the broad strokes your hands made across his body. He smirked, lifting you onto the kitchen counter with ease, before pressing himself between your legs. His head was mere inches away from yours, and the urge to kiss him all over his pretty face became overwhelming. 

Your ears perked up at the sound of the tequila bottle sliding across the granite countertop. You’d almost forgotten about your amazing find earlier.  

“You mentioned body shots.” Frank smirked, brushing your lips with his. Not just a taunt, a dare, too.  

“The shot glasses are in the cabinet behind me.”  

You arched into his warmth as he reached above your head. The clink of two glasses being pinched together reverberated across the dim kitchen, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“I don’t have any limes.” You murmured, watching him twist the cap off the bottle. “I do have salt, though.” 

You reached behind you, procuring a saltshaker as Frank huffed a laugh. He poured the clear liquid into the shot glasses while you readied your neck, and when he finally swiped his tongue across the line of salt on your throat, you choked out a moan of indescribable pleasure. Fire followed the wake of his tongue from your neck down to your pounding core, causing you to squirm against his hard body.  

He tilted his head back, maintaining eye contact with you as he tipped the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes raked up his body, eyeing the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way he didn’t flinch even though you knew the liquid burned as it went down. His focus on you was primal, his eyes already darkening with lust. Your lips parted, breath hitching as he lifted the second glass up to your face. You gulped the liquid down greedily, doing your best to mimic his stoic reaction, but your nostrils burned, and you snorted out a giggle as you scrunched your face up.  

Frank let out a loud laugh as you buried your face in your hands, embarrassed that you’d just snorted in his face. You could feel the heat in your cheeks rising and could almost guarantee that your face was stuck in an expression of horror. 

“What a way to kill the mood.” You pointed out, giggling again. Frank patted your thighs in a reassuring gesture before gently pulling you down from the counter. Your cat, Mister, appeared in the doorway, trotting across the linoleum and meowing loudly as Frank did his best not to step on him. 

“Shit,” you gasped, “I have to feed him.”  

You gently pushed past Frank’s broad body and swooped Mister into your arms, cuddling him against your chest. Frank made a show of grabbing the bottle of tequila and saluting Mister as he made his way out of the kitchen and towards the door to your bedroom. 

“Where are you going?” You quirked, raising an eyebrow at him as you filled the cat bowl with food. 

“Only a coward can’t admit when they’ve lost.” Frank replied, matter-of-factly. His large frame disappeared through the door, and you rolled your eyes.  

“Men are so sensitive, Mister.” You shook your head. He let out another loud meow between bites. 

“Except for you, my sweet angel. You’re perfect.” You fluffed his fur and headed in the direction Frank went, ready to finish what you’d so embarrassingly interrupted earlier. 

You found him sitting on the edge of your bed, hunched over a photo album that you’d been looking through earlier and forgotten to put away.  

“You didn’t tell me you were a popular kid in high school.” 

You cringed, reaching for the album, but Frank was faster and taller than you, so your efforts were futile. He held the album up in the air, laughing like a maniac. 

“Or that you danced!” 

“Frank!” You whined, standing on your toes. 

“You were so young! When was this?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” You groaned, jumping in the air, still unable to reach the album above you. 

“Were you any good?” Frank swung around, turning from your reach and cradling the album in his arms. He turned to the next page where three, shiny first place ribbons were taped together above a photo of you holding a trophy almost as tall as you. His eyebrows shot up. 

“You were good. You were really good.” 

You rubbed the back of your neck, cringing at the thought of him seeing photos of you when you were younger. That felt like a lifetime ago, and the girl in those photographs felt like a completely different person. 

“You got any videos?” Frank asked with a toothy smile. 

You crossed your arms and huffed. “I most certainly do not.” 

Frank’s grin widened. “Sure, sweetheart.” 

You rolled your eyes and held your hand out. He chuckled and placed the album in your arms before tapping the top of the album with his finger. 

“I like learning things about you.” He paused before continuing. “Even if I have to accidentally snoop to find them out.” 

“You do?” You could feel the heat returning to your cheeks. He always managed to make you feel like a bashful schoolgirl, even when he wasn’t trying to. 

“Yeah.” He bobbed his head once in confirmation. He lowered himself onto your bed, and after a moment, added, “No wonder you’re so,” he paused, clearing his throat, “bendy.”  

You grinned widely as he tried to subtly look you up and down. In a single sentence, he’d managed to heat the room up to 100 degrees, and suddenly the ache in your core was impossible to ignore. The heat in his gaze traveled over your body, lingering on the base of your hips, almost as if he could see how wet you were. It burned through you. 

You lurched forward, straddling him so quickly that you heard his breath hitch in his throat. You brought your lips next to his ear, noting the way his skin broke out in goosebumps as you breathed on to his neck. 

“You wanna know a secret?” 

Frank’s hands made their way around your thighs, gripping them with brute strength as he tensed. 

“Yeah, baby.” He murmured with a barely discernible nod. 

“I’m not wearing any underwear.” 

Frank’s entire being froze before a wide grin spread across his face.  

“You took out a sector of the mob, choked a man out with your thighs, and you weren’t wearing any underwear the entire time? I don’t know if I should be horny or jealous.” 

You smirked, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his throat. “Why not both?” 

He grunted as you ground into him, and apparently decided he’d had enough, because in a swift, fluid motion, he flipped both of you over, placing you on your back as he inched his way down your body. He pulled the waistband of your pants down, revealing your unclothed pussy, and bit his bottom lip, groaning at the sight of it. He’d never get tired of seeing it – touching it – tasting it.  

“Baby, you have no idea what you do to me.” 

He looked at you with a mixture of awe and lust, and you instinctively spread your legs wider to give him easier access. He licked his lips, falling to his elbows and hovering so closely above you that you could feel the tickle of his breath against your clit.  

He ran a finger through your slick folds, playing with the wetness that he found pooling there. When he lightly brushed over your clit, you couldn’t stop the yelp from coming out of your mouth. He huffed a breath, sending heat over your clit, which morphed your outburst into a sultry moan. 

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” 

You were lying flat on your back, eyes rolling into the back of your head, and pointedly not looking at how incredibly hot he was with his head buried between your thighs, but you could hear the smirk in his voice as he teased you. 

“Frank.” You whispered, lifting your hips closer to his lips.  

“Yes, dove?” He played coy so prettily, especially as he pressed a gentle kiss to the apex of your core. 

“T-touch me. Please.” 

“All you had to do was ask, pretty girl.” 

Before you could offer a retort to his incredulous sarcasm, his tongue was between your legs, and you couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone offer a verbal response. He mapped out your core with his tongue, circling your clit with an expertise that still surprised you, even though he’d proven to you many times how skilled he was with his mouth.  

“Oh sh-shit, Frank,” you whined, arching your back.  

He attacked your mound hungrily, like it was his last day on Earth, and you were his last meal. His tongue swiped over your entrance, coating his mouth with your intense wetness. He smiled as he prodded the hole with his tongue, determined to drink as much of you as he could.  

“You want my fingers, baby?” He prompted, emphasizing his question with a subtle suck on your clit.  

“Fuck yes, Frankie. Please.” You whined, tears pricking behind your tightly closed eyes. You were already so close. As soon as he pushed his fingers into you, you’d be- 

You were clenching around his fingers before you could finish the thought, erupting into an intense orgasm that had you crying out. He pumped his fingers in and out of you while he sucked on your clit, drawing out the pleasure in your body. For a moment, you couldn’t figure out where your pleasure began and ended, only focused on the way Frank seemed to know exactly how to lengthen your orgasms beyond what you were used to. 

It’d been that way since you’d slept with him the very first time, and you had half convinced yourself that it was a fluke until he did it again thirty minutes later. Frank was a talented man, and you probably didn’t even know the half of it yet. 

“You always taste so good, baby.” He mumbled, still pumping his fingers in and out of you at a leisurely pace.  

You were a panting, incoherent mess underneath him, and he loved it. He reveled in watching you come apart, and if he had it his way, he’d do it to you repeatedly, all day, every day of the week.  

He continued pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, entranced by the slickness you’d spilled all over his fingers. The way your pussy fluttered around his hand, combined with the noises you were making as you inched closer to a second orgasm, were enough to bring a man to his knees.  

“Frankie,” you cried, breathing erratically, “’m gonna ​​​​cum.” 

“Good, baby.” He breathed, beginning to arch his fingers towards the spot that would send you toppling over the edge. “Cum for me, sweet girl. Wanna feel it.” 

The knot deep in your belly began to unravel at the sound of his gravelly voice commanding you to cum. When his fingertips brushed over the spot deep inside of you, you nearly screamed, completely falling apart underneath him. Your eyes rolled back as he finger-fucked you through the earth-shattering orgasm. Your legs, which he’d propped on his shoulders for easy access earlier, shook fiercely. 

He pressed gentle kisses onto your calf and ankle as you slowly came back to Earth, a soothing gesture that grounded you more than he knew. When you were finally coherent enough to open your eyes, he slowly stood from his stooped position, lightly setting your legs on the mattress.  

In a firm, but still somehow soft motion, he turned you on to your front, and you instinctively knew how to arrange yourself after that. Without prompting from him, you bent your knees underneath you, preening forward to rest your forehead on the mattress. You arched your back, clenching your toes in anticipation as he shuffled around the room.  

The sound of the condom wrapper being split open made your pussy flutter in delight, and Frank chuckled as you subtly shook your hips in eagerness.  

“Ready, sweet girl?” He asked, running his hands over your bare ass before lightly slapping it. 

You had to stop yourself from mumbling the words ‘I was born ready’. You were, but it sounded desperate, and you couldn’t give him all the power here.  

“Please, Frankie.” You mewled, slowly swaying your hips, “Please fuck me.” 

He pressed into you, sliding until he was completely surrounded by your pussy. You both groaned in unison as he stretched you out, waiting until you pressed yourself back against him – your way of saying move.  

He thrusted into you in a steady rhythm, drilling so deeply that you had to clench the comforter in your hands. Sex between the two of you had always felt right, like a deeper connection was being made every time you allowed vulnerability to squeeze its way into your relationship. It was a give and take, a push and a pull, a dance between two people who were so right for each other, even though they frequently did morally wrong things. You were convinced you’d never had proper sex until you met Frank, and he was more than happy to prove that to you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He grunted, digging his fingers into your hips. “So. Fucking. Wet.” 

He thrusted after each word to emphasize his statement. You preened at the animalistic pace he set. The air was filled with breathy moans and skin connecting with skin, interspersed with Frank’s quiet grunts as he pushed himself closer and closer to the edge. 

When you arched your back even further, pushing your upper body into the mattress to give him even deeper access, his thrusts faltered. He paused for a moment, and then began thrusting into you harder and faster than before. It didn’t take long before he shuttered against you, cumming so hard that he nearly collapsed on top of you. He just barely had the wherewithal to catch himself, and he spent at least a minute and a half standing in that hunched position, panting over you. 

When he pulled out, you shuttered, turning over so you could watch him walk to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, and you tried not to get caught staring at his god-like body as he moved toward you. Frank was a confident man, but the way you gazed at him sometimes made him nervous. You stared at him like he was your endgame, and while that idea actually tended to excite him, the way you drooled over him made his cock twitch, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to satiate your lust. 

“Hell of a date night.” You breathed as he wiped you clean.  

He grinned, tossing the towel in the hamper before flopping down onto his stomach, watching you with gleaming eyes. You met his gaze, turning your head so that your noses were inches apart.  

“Thanks for the date, handsome.” You grinned. 

“Anything for you, baby. Did you have fun?”  

“Too much fun. I want to do it all over again.” You brought your finger up to his nose, lightly flicking it. 

“Oh, I think that can be arranged, sweetheart.” He teased, matching your smile. 

“You think so?”  

“Definitely.” He smiled a genuine smile, and you melted.  

​​So goddamn pretty.  

Tag List:

@xleiaorgana @mukbee @dilfs5678 @kokoterainonago666 @blackwidownat2814 @mymamalife @minervadashwood @emiemiemiii @h4rrys @messymissy @mylifeispainandiloveit @mossexe @fightmilk @spikedhe4rt @fictional-hooman @merleisapartygod @babyslyth @legocity2 @quackson03 @certifiedhunter @deliciousfestsalad @dumb-fawkin-bitch @americaarse @thatgirljayy @hiyabyeyababy @theesexystallion @scoliobean @myguiltypleasures21 @dnxgma @megmastersgf @alexxavicry @hallecarey1 @km-ffluv @chiaraxtargaryen @trulylavandedarling @D0wnbad @deliciousfestsalad @lilyevans1 @imagineadream @22carolina08 @definitelynotsugar @casualchaoticdevil @peachy-flxwr @nashja @xshewayout @blep--bloop

[vashsmunch]

Medusa

Millions Knives x GN Reader

Synopsis: you get a tattoo from the sexy blonde bitch

Warnings: mentions of sexual assault

A/N: i think medusa tattoos are really sick ngl

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

His hand tightened on your thigh, stopping you from squirming around. "Stay still."

Easier said than done. Your spine tingled as he finished peeling back the paper with your design. Why were his hands so soft? Wait.

Maybe a hip tattoo wasn't the best idea, not only for the pain level but also for your sanity. You weren't thinking straight when you decided on this for your first-ever tattoo. Depressive nights with glasses of alcohol will do that to you. But a hot tattoo artist, that's the dream, right? Platinum blonde hair, snake bite piercings, and a deadpan stare as he inspected the example pattern he had copied onto your skin. However, you had conveniently forgotten how awkward you were when it came to talking to attractive people, so the fact that he was touching you (on your hip)? You wanted to die. His face was so close to your leg, and you could feel his breath on your skin. Trying to distract yourself, you examined his name tag. "Nai" was printed in neat handwriting, but you were reading it as if you hadn't stalked his social media before the appointment. 

After he was satisfied with the placement of the design, he walked over to a rolling cabinet, took out a fine liner and a bottle of black ink, and then came to sit back down on the stool next to you. "Are you uncomfortable? Do you require anything before we get started?"

You shook your head no, and he gave you an affirmative nod before he motioned you to get into position again. You laid back and gripped the sides of the chair, shuddering as you heard the electric buzz of the tattoo gun. God, this was going to hurt, wasn't it? You winced as the needle made contact with your skin, but it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. There was silence for the first few minutes of the process because you were too anxious to even speak. You were worried that you would either say something dumb or mess up the tattoo by suddenly fidgeting; both scenarios caused by this idiotic mini-crush you had on this man. 

"This tattoo design..." You tried your best not to jump as Nai suddenly spoke. "I trust you know the common reason why people get it, right?" Your chest closed in on itself, and you felt your body go frigid. Out of all the conversation starters he could've picked, he chose this one? 

A weighty sigh left your mouth, and you tried your best to continue without creating more awkward tension. "If you're talking about what I think you are, then yes, that's why I got it," His hand started to grip the side of your hip to stretch the skin slightly, making your head fuzzy. "It's not something I like to discuss, but that could be said for anyone. More than anything, I want to try and move past it. I thought that if I got something permanent that reminded me of my healing process, then every time I looked at it, I would find the strength to keep going." 

The tattoo gun buzzing suddenly stopped, and you glanced down to see Nai looking at you with a somewhat sympathetic expression. It was hard to tell with his cold eyes. A few moments passed before he continued working, his gaze leaving yours. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that happened to you, but I admire your resilience. Not many people dare to confront their trauma the way you are."

You smiled sadly as you looked back up at the ceiling. "I suppose so. But I wish it never happened at all." Your mind flashed back to that night, and you felt a chill settle in your chest. Sometimes, you thought it was bound to happen one way or another, even though you knew that you did nothing to warrant what that person put you through. Maybe it was a way for you to cope; if you tried to apply reason to the assault, it would be easier to heal. Wouldn't it? But if that was the case, how come you still wanted to cry every time you thought about it? There was a wetness on your cheek, and you realized that you were tearing up. Great.

"Do you find you've lost hope in people after it? One could imagine that that kind of experience would leave a rather poor taste in the mouth." 

"Sometimes. But one variable doesn't represent the entirety. I think that there are still good people out there. I was just unfortunate enough to have met the wrong one."

The rest of the session went on in relative silence, only exchanging words when you had to take breaks in between. After a few more hours, he stopped again and tapped the flesh of your hip with his finger. "All done. Have a look."

You sat up, stretching as you took the mirror he gave you to examine your tattoo. A huge smile came on your face as you saw the detailed Medusa design on the side of your body, and you looked back at him with glee. "It's perfect, exactly like how I imagined."

Nai chuckled quietly as he leaned down to your hip again, seemingly examining his work. "It's simply the linework. We'll finish the coloring in another session to give you a rest." His hand ran across your skin, and you shivered at the touch. 

Okay, now he's just teasing me. 

He sat back up and took his gloves off with a loud snap, looking at you with an unreadable expression. You turned away, trying to avoid his eyes as you collected your stuff and pulled out your wallet. "Here's the first payment, can I DM you on your account to set up the next appointment?" 

"Instead of that, I'll give you this," He gave you a slip of paper, and you glanced over it to see a phone number printed. You looked up, absolutely baffled, and he smirked. "My phone number. You can reach me there. You interest me, and I'd like to get to know you more... if that's fine with you." 

[smallest-moon]

here it is the master post for all my soul eater!au ideas (here are posts 1 and 2 + vashwood as souls), where I'll be periodically rebloging it whenever i think of something new! feel free to dm if you wanna talk about it and give me more ideas :) or point out any dumb contradictions but anyways lets go:

vash is the meister and wolfwood is the death scythe

wolfwood's original partner was livio but due to events livio is now presumed dead/missing, leaving wolfwood without a partner for a long time

livio is however very much alive and eventually he'll return with his new weapon who is razlo (how does it work? basically imagine razlo as ragnarok)

wolfwood scythe form is his giant machine gun (still thinking if he should be like tsubaki is able to change forms so that when he finally accepts vash as his partner he changes into vash's gun instead of always being a machine gun..... and can later transform into that wicked weapon vash's angel arm changes into)

vash himself is death (i suppose.. though nobody knows... yet) and he still brings chaos wherever he goes. he has been without a partner for a very very long time

due to walking around without a scythe, he has a lot of scars thanks to the fights he cannot avoid and his immense desire to save everyone

meryl and milly are naturally around and they are meister and weapon

they are currently looking for a chaotic meister that leaves a trail of destruction behind

when vash and wolfwood first start working together as partners, wolfwood makes his scythe self heavier just to see vash struggle as much as possible whenever they arent in combat because really what the fuck is up with this dude hating to kill?? you ARE literally death incarnate grow up

completelyyy unrelated to that is that people hear and tell many different versions of the same story: of a great battle many many many years ago that brought great destruction. despite names changing many times most seem to agree that one of the beings was called knives millions and that his heart only knew destruction. the ending differs for a lot of people, most agree there were no survivors but some believe there was only one because how else would the story exist ("ain't nobody surviving that, its just a story" an old man shook his head "but if someone did survive, they are either death or the devil itself")

so thus far no one has found out that vash is that "one" survivor nor have they found out that knives didnt actually die but instead he is trapped as vash refused to kill him then

but how long will he stay trapped? how long until he breaks free again?

[lemmejustpulloutmylightsaber]

executive order to call million knives 'butter knife' when he's a little kid like cmon, you can't produce more than two knives

so now we have the sprout twins, butter knife and his brother, vash the mild trample

@aboveweirdest

[hikennosabo]

#tristampparty day 9, episode 9: millions knives

i've been forgetting to tag @tristampparty in my recent posts whoopsies

so. episode 9. going to just... climb into the microwave ahead of time. get nice and cozy in there. let's. go.

okay let's hit the start button on that microwave now mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm beep beep beep beep

uagh his fucking expressions in this scene... and him playing "his" side of the piano, then reaching to "vash's" side of the piano to play the dramatic part. it's a cry of loneliness!!! from his heart!!!! AUAHAHGHGH

i remember seeing a post a while ago pointing out that knives cutting off vash's arm means they can never play the piano together anymore and that fucking HURTS, man.

i think we need to take the time to pay extra attention to knives's expressions... the character acting in tristamp is really good all-around

overworking them "cuts them off"... i guess it makes them unable to maintain the connection...?

knives touching the glass... reminds me of just before he absorbs the first plant in the manga.

the contrast of the city lighting up beautifully with the horror of the last run... man.

wait... city...?? this... this isn't july, right? the platform/corridor they're standing on looks the same as the one meryl and roberto end up on in the second half of the episode, but the plant containers on the wall are different so i don't think this is the same place... but we started the episode in knives's piano room, which IS in (not-yet-)july, so this must be close by because the alarm went off, which i'm assuming is connected to the plants somehow...??

also wait, we don't see this level of development from the outside. like in the faraway shot when vash spots this place. am i misunderstanding. it's only been 5 years since the crash, so idk if this much development would be possible in that time BUT the guys who show up said they overloaded the plants to speed up "reconstruction," so... uhhhhh... am i missing something?! am i dumb?! 😭

me every time knives makes an expression that hurts me deep in my heart: look!!!! look!!!!

screencaps absolutely do not do it justice, the way his expression changes... horror, shock, grief...

the timing of vash arriving... the cruelty of the humans, the way they talk about the plants... knives's sadness, his grief and rage--wait one of the randos gets his arm cut off

lost arm count: 6

as always i feel like there's a lot more to say but the only thing i'm feeling is my heart hurting so bad :(

vash might be speaking for himself here, too.

hmmm, he says this, but knives dismisses it as if he doesn't believe it. i wonder... i don't think rem would lie about this... but i wonder if conrad would. lie to knives, i mean. like is knives dismissing this just because he's clinging to his own beliefs or did conrad - who i'd think would be more knowledgeable about plants than rem given his position - tell knives something else?

AGAIN, "SINNERS" WITH THE CAPITAL S!!!

i forget, do we see how vash got his gun in the manga? knives gave him his gun in 98, too. interesting that knives is the one who gives vash his weapon in at least 2 out of 3 canons...

hmmm. in the manga, this scene was when knives learned about the black hair thing and drastically changed his plan, deciding he needed to absorb plants. here, though, it seems knives was already planning the higher dimension connection stuff, although he hadn't put it into motion yet. because the plants here are just... being used normally (""normally""), not stored for future higher dimension connection purposes or absorption purposes. knives does still "change his plan," though, i think, when he realizes vash won't cooperate with him. i wonder if/when we'll get the black hair reveal in tristamp. i wanna see knives with his black streak.

conrad and luida know each other... luida DID mention conrad by name last ep, but considering his position it wouldn't be that weird for her to know of his existence without actually knowing him, but no, they actually know each other...

ugh, when knives tells vash to kill luida, he's asking vash to choose between humans and plants, and it just hurts because. knives and luida are both his family. he loves them both.

wait knives with the lace up knee high boots... the drip...

this is the face he makes right before he gives way to anger. man.

he sees rem in luida and lashes out... vash saw rem in her too... ugh. my heart.

going frame by frame again and knives has a bandage on his arm... why? it doesn't seem to be part of his outfit, he doesn't have one on the other arm. there's on on his right leg too, under the boot?? why...

also i like how knives rides the pull of gravity to get close enough to cut vash's arm off. that's a fun detail

lost arm count: 7

the difference in context of knives cutting off vash's arm in tristamp vs trimax... it's a canyon... a canyon of difference...

once again screencaps don't do the character acting justice, the microexpressions he makes... the disbelief, the shaky laugh... he's about to cry. vash couldn't point the gun at luida. but he points it at knives. and then he stands up and turns away, and the way his voice shakes?? dude. he's crying.

but also why does he say it'll take a century to build a world of plants? where is he getting that number from? later in the episode, zazie says that a century is nothing to plants, but knives is like. six. a century would probably still feel like it'd be a long time to him. is that his own personal estimate of how long it'll take to execute his plan? is it conrad's?

wolfwood doesn't react at all when brad says this. funny, but also why.

i hope they can. i hope they can make up. (<- crying screaming and throwing up)

reminds me of vash saying he'll save knives in 98. im gonna throw up

IM GONNA THROW UP!!!!!

it's so weird that ZAZIE is the one explaining earth. like they know a LOT about it, huh? what it looks like, what the life on it looks like (looked? should i be using past tense?)... who told them all this? knives? conrad? this isn't common knowledge either, even honors student meryl doesn't know anything about earth. but why? a lot of knowledge was lost when the ships crashed, and time has passed, but... why would the state of earth and the reasons for the colony ships not even be taught in school? the survivors from when the ships crashed were FROM earth. (well, i guess some of them might have been born in space, but...?) did they not teach their descendants about what happened? were they ashamed? or is this another thing that conrad/EoM/whoever is suppressing information about - and if THAT'S the case, why?

uuaaaghhh i'm writing this post late again and it's 3am and i can't think. sorry this was mostly incomprehensible screaming

[grilledsquids]

me watching tristamp: millions knives? that's such a dumb name. me later: oh my god he's got a million knives!

[coldresolve]

🍸🍄and🍓 also for any wip

gon stick to mm cause it fits best for these

🍸 character who inspired your mc

i wish i could explain my thought process at the time i came up with the trio in a way that isn't cringe and weird. to kinda simplify, renee and conrad arent inspired by any character, they're inspired by a mishmash of myself and my then-understanding of the psych theory behind torture victims and perpetrators and then also the million masks of god by manchester orchestra, like. just that whole entire album. uh cause i had it on repeat when i was coming up with mm. its that dumb yeah

🍄 name a song that represents your mc

some trio character anthems that arent on the official playlist:

renee: the only reason cocaine, sex & alcohol by noah gundersen didnt make the cut is cause its 7 minutes long and gives me anxiety lmfao conrad: rainmaker by hailaker or northern line by moddi davin: knives out by radiohead or a [redacted] song that'd give too much of the mystery away

🍓 worst thing you've done to your characters

mhm yeah uh

[magpies-gold]

Millions Knives (Sketch) Yes, his name is still dumb, but at least in the remake he actually -does- use an overwhelming number of sharp objects all at once to wreak havoc. We'll call it an improvement. Sure.

I still want to sock him one in the eye.

[thepariahcontinuum]

For the worm power oc.

A striker 9/ mover 8

When this cape touches an object for even a second it allows him to compleet control over the movement of said object. All he has to do is think after touching something and what ever hes has touched wil go there as fast or as slow as he wants.

As long as the object isn't to big for his power to take hold of it he can move it with compleet ease so it's no more difficult for him to move a skyscraper then it is to move a single piece of paper. And it's just as easy to 10 million grains of sand as it is to move one.

He can us this power on inanimate object and on himself.

Ooh a 9/8 rating, a bit of a powerhouse then.

The way the power is described makes me think of both the 'Contact telekinesis' thing that Superboy had/has (I don't keep track of retcons) instead of actual super strength....And also Rune/Scribe.

It was the Rune angle that immediately gave me some ideas of where to go with this....But since I refuse to make a nazi oc for these asks I'm gonna take it away from the obvious.

This is a Ward whose personal situation is an interesting mix of Golem and Shadow Stalker's circumstances. Specifically he was a kid who fell down the alt-right pipeline; basically he started out as that racist kid in X-Box live chats and a deliberate edge lord until a group like the Heron Clan who helped funnel capes to E88 found him, he hadn't triggered at this point and he wasn't really a true believer in white supremacism or anything else.... He was desperate for attention and saying the most heinous shit to get it.

Eventually talking had to become doing and the dumb fuck triggered during his initiation into a far right group, at which point he promptly bolted and ran for the hills. (Also side note, he can't actually use his power on himself due to Manton limits but he can use it on his clothes and that's how he gives the illusion of being able to fly, which is how he escaped, like what Shatterbird does with glass)

He ran, was picked up by the PRT who got him away from the group he'd been part of, but also used the fact he'd been involved to basically strongarm him into the wards, because they're not letting someone that powerful wander around as a free agent if they can help it.

He's ended up on the same Wards team as previous OCs Fightback and Chokepoint, which has actually worked wonders in getting him to start unpacking his previous actions and behaviours and trying to do better because....Well Chokepoint is a prick and nobody wants to be like that guy. He was also Specifically kept away from Brockton Bay, because putting him in the same city as E88 was a death sentence and also oddly enough he's a fan of Uber and Leet.

His powers are good enough and broad enough in scope that he could have just gone for something generic and heroic, but since he's an edgy little bastard and has the ability to back his shit talking up he can also afford to go with a theme and narrow his focus down... he wanted to go with knives and just rain blades on people but was told no. Instead he goes with Bolas, some of which are Tinkertech or have the weighted balls replaced with Containment Foam grenades.

Costume wise, all black bodysuit with a black hoodie over it and a harness with all of his bolas and other shit to throw at people on it, with a chest-shield/backpack that's somewhere between the Green Power Ranger's Dragon shield and a stylised pair of batwings reaching around from his back....He uses his powers on that to levitate himself and drops in on opponents, just telekinetically trick-shotting them with Bolas and catching them off guard. His face is covered by the hood and a mask that's totally not Reaper from Overwatch. He also an absolute dick and talks the most shit whilst doing it, to the point where he has been banned from interviews or speaking to the press and bystanders.

Cape name: Nightfall (Because it sounds badass and all of his other suggestions were vetoed)