#rywd merc

[anxietytwist]

𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐝𝐞

[ 𝟹𝟸 | 𝟻'𝟻" | Trans Man | Queer | ❤️‍🩹𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞 ]

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STYLE

𝙁𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙤𝙣

“...” Glasses‣ 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬

𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙧

Cut‣ 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘺 & 𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵 (+ wavy) Colour‣ 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 (naturally black)

��𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙨

“Blackwork”

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NOTES

ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ➔ He/They ʙᴜɪʟᴅ➔ 𝘞𝘪𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘴 ᴘʀᴏꜱᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄꜱ➔ Forearm & hand (left), both legs (L: thigh down/R: bellow knee), + middle & ring finger (right) ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ➔ 𝘜𝘔𝘗-𝟺𝟶𝟻 (+ his prosthetic hand easily functions as “brass knuckles” in a pinch) ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴅ➔ “𝐉. 𝐓. 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐤, 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘭 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴.” ᴠɪᴄᴇ➔ Cigarettes (“Spice Blend” specifically)

𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 wakes up everyday & chooses violence 👊😘

He's had top surgery (𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵) & is currently on testosterone 🏳️‍⚧���

All their nails (including the 𝟽 prosthetic ones) are painted black 💅🏾

The ONLY jobs 𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 won't take are ones involving harming/killing kids or animals (he WILL kill to defend himself against “combative” animals though... even if he feels like shit afterwards) 🚫

They chose the name “𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫” simply because they LOVE hiking (anything mountain related really), especially since they miss being out in nature (their jobs are almost exclusively inner-city) 🏞️

Despite being extremely chaotic™ 𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 is also noticeably honest, lying just feels like a waste of time to him (he'll ONLY lie if he believes that someone/himself WILL die if he tells the truth) 🤫

Their choice of cigs always has a mix of cannabis in them, which helps them deal with their chronic & phantom pain 🚬

Despite 𝐄𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 being a chatterbox normally, he's eerily silent during combat (unless he's trying to gode his opponent into a blind rage 😗)

...

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𝐼𝐹: @vapolis

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[≈Heights]

Picrew used:

🔞NSFW Notes🔞

Dom-leaning bottom (he's happy to top though, if his partner's ok with straps/pegging... + when he's being DOMINATED, his bratty side shows up 😏)

They're pretty vanilla when it comes to any personal kinks (ex. lingerie, size differences, praise, etc) & are willing to try most things at least once (however, they're NOT into causing/recieving pain, light hair pulling/spanking is the most they're comfortable with, hurting others is solely reserved for their “job” + they suffer from chronic pain already 🤕)

His libido is relatively low, so he only has sex when he's IN a committed relationship (1-night-stands really aren't something he's into 🥱)

[mulcheon]

i’m actually kind of nervous to be posting this ajdjd but i’ve been loving the if “remember, you will die”, by @vapolis , i replayed it yet again recently, and in an oc fuelled craze i cranked out all of these

so here’s my merc! they named themself merc as a bit x0 to fuck with jax and echo

also i read that jax likes ass so it’s a good thing i gave them major cake lol

original sketches under the cut!

[icylook]

Casimir, taking a little break after he got his ass kicked in his own flat, remembering he’d have to clean it up and not see Royal for longer than necessary but at least he’s got a cool sword. And then he gets his butt kicked some more-

@vapolis ✨😎

[Picrew]

[icylook]

@vapolis first thought after that warehouse scene with jax 👀👀👀

I WASN’T A BAD DOG

I WAS A SCARED DOG

[weyrleaders]

rywd au where orla runs a denny’s

jax runs the front register royal is a server and the merc is the feral line cook that stays in the back and makes the best food you’ll ever have in your life and orla only lets them out of the kitchen on very special occasions (customer was exceedingly rude to royal) and corporate thinks orla fired the merc a long time ago but bloodlust be damned that gremlin can work a grill so she just keeps rehiring them under different names

[vapolis]

I feel like the bad endings in the rockstar one are going to be so angsty. Like I think they'll be tragic in RYWD but at least there it can feel a bit like tragic inevitability and Merc might get to cathartically take a lot down with them.

Rockstar already feels like we're on the washed up beauty married to the former star football player side of the unhealthy depressive relationship and it's more a question at where the misery plateaus or if the light flickers out entirely, or maybe the bulb just explodes to torture this metaphor further.

[surunoita]

not feeling a hundred percent about drawing again but i had so much fun with the new rywd chapter that i had to try n draw my token mc austin (they/them) as the merc :3c

[pissboysthings]

My merc from rywd by @vapolis

Moments after passing Jaxxy off :3

[pollard-zero]

so i havent finished rywd but i feel so bad for the merc! i wanna be like leave my child alone! leave my grown, memory fucked, shady ass, violent child alone!!!

have you played all three chapters yet? tell me about neo! i saw neo was with dante and jax? is that separate routes or a polyam? [i havent checked the blog in ages so idr what's what, but i am starting to again]

NEO…. MY FAVORITE (bc they’re the one we’re talking abt at the moment) CHILD……

neo is . quite honestly. fucking insane lmaooo LIKE,,, the merc just is Like That to a certain extent but neo . Enjoys it ?? they get off (not literally…. unless? 🫢) on being seen as orla’s unpredictable attack dog and love to live up to their reputation of being the most unhinged bitch on the block

oh but they’re not cruel. like yeah they may have cut that dude’s dick off in the old demo but he def had it coming !!! it’s not their fault !!! they’re all abt the thrill of the hunt but they’re v swift to handle of dispatching someone once they’ve caught them. I’m sure there’s cases where they could be convinced to take their time and enjoy it tho :) (but it would take smth P Fucking Bad happening first)

fun fact: their color association is yellow !! we’re using orange for this bc tumblr hates us but. their hair is bright yellow and they also wear the star shades 🤩 so it really stands out against their otherwise all-black wardrobe. it’s fun bc it plays even more into their Dangerous identity (caution signs, venomous animals, etc)

they do NOT care abt cars !!! they like motorcycles (bc they’re hotter) which absolutely drives jax nuts but . one day he’ll get to see them dramatically race in, park their bike and take off their helmet to flip out their hair and Then He’ll Understand. I see the vision

their weapons are the two glocks and they’re absolutely doing echo’s little side quest to get that sword bc HELLO !!!!! it’s a fucking cool sword !!!!!

sex vice !!! but they’re v much Not above doing literally anything that they want. which maybe would explain why we let them do drugs before their most recent mission lmao BUT IT’S FIIIINE !!!! everything is totally chill and neo is just here having a good time 😎

they always enter the club as a sinner <3 we like to have it in mind that they got saint stamped once and jax poked fun at them during the weapons check (and orla did (1) little smirk-chuckle when they went to see her) and so now they only say sinner bc what the Fuck guys !!!!

and we Have played all three chapters !!! we’ve been keeping up w rywd since the blog first dropped (which is why we’re v Hmmmm 🤨 abt dante bc like…. I remember what u did in the old demo bitch…. we literally Just played it again….)

jax and dante are tragically two different routes 😞 jax’s poly option is w orla and while I love her and can’t wait to see more of her it’s just not really a relationship we can see neo getting tangled up in ?? not bc she’s their boss or anything but just bc like . they love the push and pull from jax. and they feel Weird abt dante being nice but kinda?? also want him to keep it up?? and she doesn’t offer them either of those really.

annnd just as a special bonus: from their pinterest board :)

[giulzart]

Tag people you want to know better

I was tagged by @lusavors ✨

• last song: Mermaids by Florence and the machine; tuta gold by mahmood

• currently watching: YouTube, gameplays and artist’s vlogs mostly… does it count?

• three ships: hannigram (it has it’s own set of problems but love me some murder husbands) from Hannibal; Anastasia/Dimitri from the animation movie Anastasia (he starts as an asshole but he grows on you) and Tiana/Naveen from the princess and the frog. Talking if’s violet/seven and equally violet/orion from Infamous; A/Crown from a tale of crowns; m/detective from whc and jax/merc from rywd

• favorite color: yellow

• currently consuming: camomile tea

• place of birth: italy

• current location: italy

• first ship: don’t remember but let’s say it’s minako/ren from strobe edge manga

• relationship status: single like a pringle

• last movies: i am the pretty thing that lives in the house

• currently working on: like on this blog or generally? lol

I’m trying to move out and working on my children’s book portfolio. Also dipping my feet into comic and destressing by playing some games on my free time (it’s not really working haha)… on here i’m planning on posting some ifs sketches and stuff from other games I’m enjoying 🤞🏻

tagging @womenenthusiast2 @amyreads @artsyaprilmr @capricule and whoever feel like doing this!

[rickety-goose]

BASTARD TIME oc-tober day 13 with rywd merc coyote knox for @bosspigeon >:3

[bosspigeon]

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

[bosspigeon]

hm, Coyote's design needs a bit of an upgrade... what if i just...

[bosspigeon]

this morning on my bus ride to work, i started on a playlist for my @vapolis merc, Coyote! my friend said it gave them whiplash, so i know i'm doing this Fully Unhinged Bastard right~

[bosspigeon]

What is rywd?

Remember, You Will Die!

It's a cyberpunk dystopia kinda interactive novel/cog WIP! The writer's blog (@vapolis )has more info, but basically you play a merc for hire with a really cool ability (👀) and also ur just... just a complete bastard. it's really cool so far! I definitely recommend, just mind the content warnings!

[bosspigeon]

i feel like Coyote is gr8 bc i looked at the pre-existing canon of the merc from RYWD being completely feral and going "i can make him worse."