my vision of a random image i found on twitter
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thinking about a whumpee on a forced march through rough terrain
hands tied in front of them, on foot while their captors are mounted, sleeping out in the open, forced to beg for adequate food and water
maybe they're barefoot, a captured royal in silken robes
maybe they're in a torn suit or soldier's uniform
maybe they were stripped at the start, increasing the exposure to the elements, the humiliation
are they a terrified mess from the beginning, or do they try to endure with dignity? how long before they're stumbling, barely putting one foot in front of the other? how long before they fall?
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invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)
[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."
Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”
Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.
At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.
"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.
Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”
Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."
In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]
Credits for ID here and here
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Recently I’ve been getting anons and comments doubting the validity of some of the stories I tell on here. There’s nothing I can do to convince you that the stories I tell on here are completely genuine. All I can say is that they really are. I only post the wackiest, most interesting or funny stories of my life on here. You don’t get much of the boring day to day stuff.
Truth is, I come from a very long line of crazy people. When my dad was in med school he and some friends planted a small homemade bomb in an abandoned bathroom at their university. His roommate stole a pancreas from the corpse lab and put it in a girl’s backpack. The entire med school was suspended because no one owned up to it. My uncle would sneak out at night with my grandma’s car and she’d find out because she’d check the mileage and see it’d gone up, so my uncle started driving her car backwards since that didn’t increase the mileage. He got arrested driving her car backwards on the highway to another town. My uncle would steal my grandpa’s shotgun, tell his friends to jump in the pool, and start firing it randomly at the backyard. My cousin genuinely had two weed smoking girlfriends who were also girlfriends with each other. My great uncle had an affair exposed by having his intimate photos and videos with his mistress sent to the family groupchat by people who stole his phone, all because they were salty that my aunt told them to go fuck themselves when they messaged her asking for money. My aunt took out all her life savings and moved to another state to build a bunker because she believes the apocalypse is coming, and she didn’t even take any of her children. I don’t know how to tell you this, but life is just stranger than fiction sometimes. The sample size of life stories you get on my blog are just the instances in which that’s true.
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sukuna who's about to go insane after a long day, needing to feel you.
sukuna who start's taking off your lounge wear. shirt first, before leaning in to kiss you as his hands go to the hem on your waist.
sukuna who starts pulling your shorts down before they get stuck over your hips, groaning in frustration.
sukuna who is fighting every urge to rip them off as he asks, "how'd you get these damned things on, brat?"
sukuna who is about at his wits end as they finally slide down, underwear in tow.
sukuna who all but moans in relief as they do, relishing in the sight before him. of course only after he victoriously flings his now most hated pair of shorts across the house. never wishing to see them again.
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