#the whole image just appeared in my mind and i knew i had to draw it

[nesonkin]

idk man

[wandaslovey]

𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍?

➺ pastors!wife!wanda x fem!reader

wc ~ 3.8k

a/n: part 2 of my “when two wrongs make a right” series. it’s based around their first time meeting. fair warning my lovey’s - this part of the series may seem a little slow in the beginning. i really wanted to build a little background for both the reader and wanda. let me know what sort of things you’d like to see from these two cuties and i’ll try and incorporate them in the coming parts :)

*not proofread*

cw: mentions of an unspecified religion, religious homophobia as well as a bit of internalized homophobia, light undertones of infidelity/cheating, specified age gap (r=20, w=32), smoking cigarettes, reader being a bit of a stalker, wanda being a massive, shameless flirt and bold with a capital B.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘ ୨♡୧ ⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

it had been over a month since you moved with your parents to a small town in georgia. they said it was on account of a “fresh start” but you had a gut feeling it was really just because your mother wanted to officially separate your father from mrs. stacey—your old neighbor. your dad never came clean about his affair, but it didn’t matter because your mom wasn’t stupid. mrs. stacey and your father weren’t exactly good at keeping things secretive. whatever. you didn’t care. as far as you were concerned, neither of your parents truly cared about much, including their marriage and including you. they were obsessed with their image, wanting to be the perfect cookie cutter, church-going family. it was all about pretenses. it didn’t matter what was going on behind the mirror because the perfectly angled reflection was all people saw of them.

you had planned for things to be different for yourself once you moved here. for one thing, you didn’t want to be a “church-going girl” anymore. after all, everything that was said only made you have more questions. on top of that, you were supposedly a sinner on account of not being attracted to boys. why would you wanna be some place where people wouldn’t accept you if they knew?

your plans turned to squash when the first sunday you tried to tell your parents, it ended up being an enormous deal—your mom sobbing crying that you were trying to “sever your relationship with god.” you tried to console her for a few minutes, but the more you pushed not to go to the church service, the more upset the both of your parents became. to keep the peace and to quit hearing your mother’s nonsense, you bit the bullet and decided to go.

the whole way to the chapel, you planned in your head exactly what you would say the next time this conversation came up. you were 20 years old. you weren’t going to let your parents dictate whether you wanted to participate in religion or not.

as the three of you arrived to the church, you filed in with the rest of the congregation. you kept your head down, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. it wasn’t until the pastor began his sermon and invited his wife onto the stand that the fake conversation going on with your parents in your head came to an abrupt stop.

holy sh— you thought to yourself.

you see her for the first time. mrs. maximoff. wanda. you’d learned her name once she’d announced it over the pulpit. she radiated an air of confidence and a surety in herself. you tried to commit every detail of her to memory. her southern accent, the way she spoke, her laugh, her hair, her eyes, her lips, her pretty figure, her well-manicured hands that you could see even from your spot down in the congregation..

from then on, you were infatuated with the pastors wife. there was something about her. something that went beyond her stunning outward appearance. you couldn’t put your finger on what it was, but you didn’t mind observing her for however long was necessary to figure it out. you had a penchant for observation after all.

•

five weeks had gone by, this sunday being the sixth time you get to obsess over wanda in person. your thoughts about the pastors wife had you feeling a little nervous, your tummy filling with butterflies as you think about her. technically, it was wrong to think of another woman this way—right? that’s what you’ve been told your whole life. and on top of that, she was married.

oh to hell with it. it’s not like anything would come of it.

as you stand in the mirror, fussing with your sunday dress, you can’t help but look over yourself once, twice, three times before you finally turn away from your own reflection. the longer you looked, the more flaws seemed to appear, so instead, you take a cigarette out of its hiding place—under the floorboards at the end of your bed—and begin your typical “smoking secretly out the window” ritual.

you needed something to help calm your nerves before you headed to church. especially because today they were doing something called a “linger longer” after the service. it was meant for people to take the opportunity to socialize and eat some finger food after being “spiritually fed.” you didn’t know what that meant, but all you cared about was getting more time to observe the beautiful mrs. maximoff. you very quickly noticed she was quite popular within the church community. she talked with everyone. she was always so spritely and positive—you wondered if it was as genuine as it seemed. not that you would know any time soon. you always left before she could make the rounds to talk to you.

you quickly put your cigarette out in the ash tray and stow it back in its hiding place before looking yourself over one more time and then heading to the church service.

•

wanda noticed you the very first sunday you sat in the pews. she never missed a new couple or family coming in to join their congregation. it was her duty as the pastors wife to get to know everyone. she didn’t mind it either. like a true extrovert, she thrived off of interacting with other people—so to say she was a tad disappointed when she noticed you duck out right after the service before she could introduce herself to you—was an understatement. she met your parents of course who seemed nice enough, but she wanted to meet the pretty girl whom she caught staring at her quite a few times.

every sunday from then on was much the same, she’d catch you staring at her off and on throughout the service. each time she couldn’t help but smirk to herself, wondering what you were thinking in that head of yours. she was instantly intrigued by your behavior and even more so intrigued by the draw she seemed to have to you. without meaning to, she started trying to draw a picture in her head of what type of woman you might be. you seemed reserved yet polite, sweet yet stubborn and bold yet sometimes bashful, especially when she caught you looking at her. you were deliciously difficult for her to figure out and that’s why this sunday, she had made up her mind she was going to pin you down at the linger longer.

•

today was the first time you listened to a sermon and wished it stretched on a little longer. mrs. maximoff was speaking, preaching about the importance of charity. you didn’t disagree with her of course, but it wasn’t so much what she was saying, it was how she said it. you quickly became partial with how she spoke. it was like her tone indicated that everything she said was factual and not up for debate. you admired that quality in her—her ability to speak so profoundly.

she wrapped up her speech and then took her place to sing in the choir for the closing song. your eyes remained on her the whole time. while you couldn’t exactly pick out her individual voice from the bunch, you were sure her singing was the best.

as people filed out of the chapel and out onto the vast lawn that surrounded the church building, you take a moment to admire your surroundings. georgia really was beautiful—very humid, but still beautiful. the lawn was littered with white folding chairs and circular tables with some pink, orange and yellow wildflowers as the center pieces. the colors contrasted beautifully against the long, overgrown green grass and the brilliant blue sky above.

you quickly made your way over to the long rectangle table with food. if there was one thing you learned from being an observant person, it’s that you looked less awkward not socializing if you had a small plate of food in your hand. it wasn’t that you were necessarily anti-social or hated interacting with others, you just didn’t like talking with people who were typically on their moral high-horses.

you exchange pleasantries with a small family who, like you, made a beeline for the food table. you don’t pay much attention to what you put on your flimsy paper plate; some sort of meat kabob, fresh fruit and boiled peanuts. you’d never had boiled peanuts before, but apparently it was one of the food staples of georgia.

turning away from the table, you scan the small groups of people and notice how a lot of them don’t even bother to take a seat at the tables. most people choose to stand in the more open part of the field and chat. you didn’t have to look through the herds of people for long before your eyes land on wanda. she had her head thrown back, laughing at something one of the ladies from the choir had said. her laughter carried through the light breeze that was currently blowing. the sound instantly became one of your favorites to hear.

god, what was wrong with you? you had never become so quickly obsessed with someone before. not even close. the closest thing you could think of was that massive crush you had on sally miller in the 9th grade. still.. that didn’t compare to this.

you begin walking through the cluster of tables, your eyes glancing from her to looking at where you’re walking and then back to her again.

the next 30 minutes was much the same. you briefly sat down at a table, but once more people came to sit with you, you quickly offered your seat up to the last member of a larger family so nobody had to be separated.

no matter where you sat, stood, or walked, your eyes never strayed far from wanda. that was until a kind, middle aged woman came over to talk with you. she was kind enough, asking questions about you and your parents. she seemed genuinely interested in your life, and for that you were happy to talk with her. you learned she had been married for 10 years and her and her husband had been trying for a baby for awhile now, but had run into so many complications. you sympathized with her, understanding that it must be very difficult for something you want so badly to be so painstaking to achieve.

it wasn’t until you exchanged farewells and she moved onto the next person to talk to, that you noticed wanda no longer stood where she was before. in fact, she wasn’t anywhere in the several crowds of people you skimmed through. did she leave? you squint your eyes, focusing in on any short blonde hair you could see in front of you from the place you stood.

“hi there.” you hear drawled out from behind you.

oh my god.

you slowly turn, your eyes falling on none other than mrs. maximoff. you quickly compose the brief surprise that passed over your face.

“mrs. maximoff.” you swallow and tuck some hair behind your ear, offering her a polite smile to mask the squinty expression you had before. had she realized you were looking for her? you hope not..

“oh please, calling me mrs. maximoff makes me feel so old! call me wanda.” she outstretches her arm to shake your hand which you take only after a moments hesitance.

“wanda,” you repeat, your smile growing as you feel her gently squeeze your hand before letting go.

“this is usually the part where you tell me your name, honey.” she smiles amusedly, already thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

“i’m… (y/n), (y/n) (y/l/n).”

“lovely to finally meet you, miss (y/n).” she appraises you, looking you up and down in your cute floral patterned dress. your stomach flutters as you notice her eyes lingering on your figure.

“i met your parents a few weeks ago, but i never got the chance to say hi to you. anyway, i’m real glad we’re finally getting to talk now.” her eyes subtly scan over your features, taking in your pretty eyes, cute nose and full pouty lips. she even noticed the light spackle of freckles across your cheeks and bridge of your nose. she wondered if those freckles were there year round or just for the summer.

“yeah, i um.. i’m not usually one for socializing.” you admit, clasping your hands together in front of you. one of your fingers fiddle with the ring on your left thumb, twisting it around.

“so, (y/n), i have a confession to make.” she blurts, the implication behind her pronouncement making your more on alert. she runs her hand through her perfectly kempt hair before resting it on her hip, trying to appear more casual—though this conversation was rapidly feeling less so.

“oh?” you ask curiously.

“well, it’s just that i’ve noticed you looking at me a fair amount on sunday’s—when i’m at the microphone, singing in the choir, sitting in the pews…but then you never come and talk to me. am i so frightenin’?”

your eyes widen in surprise. you knew you weren’t exactly subtle with your spared “glances,” but was it that obvious?

“what? no, no, no, it’s not that. not that at all. it’s just—well i..” the way she asks has you stumbling over your words. you never meant to offend her. it wasn’t that she was frightening, you just had no idea what to say to her.

she makes an attempt to mask her amusement but can’t help it with your stuttered response. a smile eventually breaks across her face and she chuckles lightly at your trying to explain, finding it endearing.

“oh, i’m just messing with you, sweet thing. no need to get all tongue tied.” her smile was amused and her eyes twinkle with playfulness as she reaches out to touch your shoulder. the action was meant to be placating, but it did nothing more than make you feel more flustered.

“tell me more about yourself.” she says it more as a command than a question, changing the subject and sparing you further embarrassment. you’re grateful for the change in tone regardless of its abruptness.

you shrug, unsure where to begin exactly, but you quickly found yourself wanting to tell this woman everything about you. “well, what would you like to know?”

“what does a cute thing like you get up to?what’re some of your hobbies?” her what appeared to be shameless flirting, surprised you. you mentally kick yourself, thinking she couldn’t possibly be flirting. it was probably just a southern thing they did here…

it was against “god’s plan” to have same sex relations of any kind. that included flirting, didn’t it? and she was married to the pastor for christ’s sake.

although.. at church you did notice that the two of them never seemed to be near to each other at all.. no. you were reading into things. this was just her being polite.

“umm, well, i guess i like to read? mostly fantasy. i’m kind of a closet nerd. i like doing things that are creative, so i’ve been teaching myself to paint and i also make string bracelets or anklets sometimes.. you know, it terms of creative things, um..” you trail off, your hand rubbing the back of your head as you draw a blank. why couldn’t you remember your own hobbies? you weren’t normally so easily flustered or stuttering over your words, but wanda’s confidence and boldness brought out a bashfulness in you that you didn’t even know existed.

she listens intently to your response, nodding encouragingly and she remains silent in your pause to find your words. she wanted to know you better and she could be as patient as was necessary.

“i also like to write.. poetry mostly. i don’t often sit down to do it, but i always enjoy when i do. um, i also love going on walks, listening to music… oh! i love rollercoasters. rollercoasters are probably one of my favorites things.” the longer you talked about what you enjoyed, the looser, less nervous you felt. wanda could see your soft shyness dissipating the more you shared. you light up in a way when you speak, your passion for your interests shining through with your facial expressions and hand movements.

“oh my—rollercoasters? you’re just a little adrenaline junkie, aren’t you?” she teases with a warm smile, her nose scrunching in the most adorable way.

“i wouldn’t go that far, but i do enjoy a good thrill,” you keep your tone light-hearted, mirroring her tone and her smile. her gentle teasing and close attention to you was beginning to make you feel light headed with giddiness.

“what about you, wanda? what do you like to do?” you take a step closer to her, your arm reaching across your chest to grab the other as you continue to feel at ease in her presence.

“anything, really. i like to change things up, keep life interesting. if there’s something new i want to partake in, i seldom hold back from trying it out.” her eyes shine with something you can’t quite put your finger on. you couldn’t help but feel there might be a double meaning to her words, but you could also just be reading into things again. hard to know for sure as you notice her eyes flick up and down your body for the second time since this conversation started.

the two of you continue talking for what only felt like minutes. you barely notice the other people around beginning to clean up food, tables and chairs. it wasn’t until most things had been cleared away that you realize just how long you’ve been standing here talking—nearly a half hour.

“well, i guess i should be letting you get back to the rest of your day,” she sighs, her shoulder raising and lowering with the action. you frown slightly, not wanting your time with her to come to an end. wanda notices of course because just like you were with her, she was paying an awful lot of attention to you.

“yeah.. yeah i guess so.” you nod in agreement, but feel anything but a desire to part from her in this moment.

“hey,” her hand reaches up and gently squeezes your shoulder, her hand lingering there. you feel your heart begin to beat faster, a warmth spreading in your chest.

“can you sing?” she asks randomly. you clear your throat, the sudden question taking you off guard.

“umm.. i’m sorry?” you ask stupidly.

“sing - can you sing?” she reiterates.

“well.. yeah a little, but w-“ she cuts you off.

“perfect! it’s settled then. you’ll join our choir!” her voice is cheery sounding, but the suggestion she made to join didn’t leave much room for discussion.

“i will?” you look at her in slight disbelief, though a smile was also tugging at the corner of your lips.

“mhmm, i don’t see why not. you want to spend more time with me, don’t you?” her boldness was astonishing. you couldn’t decide if you found it endearing, intimidating or sexy.. possibly a combo of the three. she had to be flirting. you finally decided.

“if i say yes, then..?” you trail off, neither confirming nor denying her claim.

“if you say yes then you’ll be nothin’ but honest, and you wanna be honest with me, don’t you (y/n)?” she raises her brows inquisitively, the hand that was still lingering at your upper arm squeezing again.

“that’s very bold of you to assume.” you challenge, your normal wit finally coming out to play. you couldn’t help it. her insistence on being so unabashed and teasing was rubbing off on you.

“well i have eyes, don’t i? believe it or not, i put ‘em to good use.” she drops her hand from your arm and crosses her arms over her chest.

“i noticed.” you purse your lips, your eyes dancing with playfulness as you hint at the fact you’ve caught her looking you up and down a couple times.

she smiles wide at your matching her energy, but she couldn’t help but want the upper hand back, no matter how much she was enjoying this new side of yourself.

“i won’t apologize for gawking at a pretty, young thing like you.” she smiles triumphantly when she notices your dignified posture slump slightly, the most delicate blush coloring your cheeks.

“you don’t have to apologize,” you say quietly, your words surprising you as you say them aloud instead of just in your mind. you look down and off to the side, wanting to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks.

“well we should both get goin’, but choir practice is every tuesday and thursday at 7pm. i wanna see you there, (y/n).” she reaches up presses her palm against your cheek so you’re looking at her again. she locks eyes with you with an edge of what appears to be sternness.

you nod slowly, captivating in her stare. she smiles, pleased and then drops her hand from your face.

“great, i’ll see you then, sweetheart.” she taps your nose affectionately, before turning on her heel and walking away. you watch her figure retreat to the parking lot, your head spinning a bit as your interaction played through your head.

•

as you arrive home late that afternoon, you can’t fight the smile that kept spreading across your face or the butterflies that never seemed to stop fluttering around in your stomach.

when you lay in bed at night to go to sleep, your conversation with wanda kept going through your head. you wondered what it all meant. she had to be flirting—but it was that very fact that had you confused. didn’t she herself subscribe to the belief that being gay was a sin? did she feel it was as wrong as the people in the church say it is? what would her husband think? what would he do if he found out about your conversation today?

the more you thought about it, the more unsettled you felt. before you could truly start to spiral though, you remember wanda’s smile and her contagious laughter. you think to yourself how good it felt to be with her, how warm you felt inside and how at ease she made you feel after a short while.

how could something something so bad, feel so good?

[shintin]

The Hickey on Your Neck

↳ Vash the Stampede x Female Reader

One-shot

Summary: Only seconds before closing your eyes do you realize that the dreams you had forgotten among the lust and thrust of your lover were the life you were destined to lead.

Or a story about how You and Vash fucked from dawn to dusk on his birthday.

Word count: +17.5 k.

Genre: explicit smut, romance, angst (Trigun au).

Warnings/Tags: +18, NSFW, established relationship, soft/dom Vash the Stampede, too much fluff and kissing, scar worship, plant patterns display, manhandling, cunnilingus + fellatio, creampie,  fingering (with prosthetic arm), unprotected sex (c’mon! We want his seeds), multiple orgasms, hair pulling, two smut scenes (one romantic, other hardcore), aftercare, emotional trauma, violence, blood and gore, post-Trigun Stampede but no manga spoilers.

Notes: I'd never written a Trigun fic before, but with this Vash brain rot, I'm sure it won't be the last. I originally intended to name this fic "Sleepless Nightmare" after TOMBI song, but somehow changed my mind. You'll see why. "Elay" in my mother tongue means the Moon of a Tribe. A nick name Vash will use for reader.

By the way, you can also read the Disclaimers and Writer's Note at the end.

Song Recommendation: The Hickey on Your Neck Playlist

You can read my fics on AO3 and Wattpad. If you have any questions, don’t be shy and ASK. This is my DISCORD account, in case you want to contact me.

Back to master list.

07:30 pm – July 21st

A hole had been left in your heart. Throwing yourself backward, you tripped over your feet. Your head slammed into the floor as your arms did little to break your fall. It was a pain you'd never known, a pain you never thought you could feel, never would have even imagined. From the inside out, you were lit on fire by a bullet that went off in your chest.

All of a sudden, everything slowed down.

So this, you thought, was what dying felt like.

You blinked, and it seemed to take forever. The images before you were unfocused, with colors, bodies, and lights swaying in unison and stilted movements blurring. Your ears couldn't hear clearly. All the sounds were garbled, warped, and too high or low.

Who … she?

I asked for a tall, blond man with … eyes, and the folks pointed at her.

How come … shot her …?

She said … had never met such a man.

… idiot! What if she's with the gunman?

Whatever. … doesn't draw a gun anymore; rumor has it.

What a moron! The man may not kill, but … wiped out … whole city!

What … … we should … then?

If … … his girl, … … screwed up!

… the bounty! … get lost before the news …!

It was like all the words were banging into each other, colliding again, spinning around you. Your name seemed to be being called, but you couldn't hear it. Everything was muffled, slippery, and off-balance, like it was there, just out of reach, but you couldn't find it.

Heavy footsteps stomped, stomped, and stomped the ground, and a familiar face appeared before you. The shape, the golden and green colors drew your attention, and you tried raising your hand to feel his warmth once more and assure him that everything was okay, but it was too hard, and suddenly you couldn't breathe. Your throat felt like it was being slashed, holes punching into your lungs, and the more you blinked, the less clearly you could see. The tightest breaths, tiny little gasps, were soon all you could manage. Pain, pain, and more pain followed the dizziness and lightheaded feeling. It was terrible, never seeming to end.

Your sight suddenly went dim. Blindness overtook you.

Blood dripped from you rather than being seen as you blinked, blinked, and blinked in a desperate attempt to regain your vision, but all you saw was a cloud of white. A short frantic gasp and the pounding of your eardrums were all heard. Some warm sensation spread throughout your body as the fresh blood pooled under you.

You knew your life was about to evaporate, and it only made you think about how short you lived with him and how he would blame himself for your loss. Leaving your tears to fall, you whispered, "I-I'm sorry, Vash."

05:45 am - July 21st

A sharp intake of breath caused your eyes to fly open. Your skin froze in a cold sweat as your brain waded in waves of distress. Inhaling as much as possible was the only thing you could do. Your chest heaved, and your heart raced. You looked around, feeling the stillness within the madness, blinking hard against the white ceiling.

Your hands reached your throat and chest. No blood. No holes. You could feel your pulse. That must be the sound of your heart, at least, you hoped.

There was a strange feeling in your gut, like your instincts were stumbling through mud, and your bones were filled with stones. Your eyes shifted to the other side of the bed, and you sighed in relief. The reality sleeping next to you brought a moment of clarity. You sat up on your elbows, head spinning as you glanced at the nightstand.

The glass was empty.

You slowly pushed the sheets aside and felt more awake with your bare feet touching the cold floor. Picking up the glass, you tiptoed toward the murky kitchen.

You reached for the pitcher on the table, but the water never made it to your lips; instead, your trembling hands grabbed the faded and scratched edges of the cabinet as if letting go of this old piece of plywood would plunge you into the blackhole of your nightmare.

A muffled whimper escaped from the bottom of your throat, and you whispered, it was just a dream. Yet, your white knuckles became wet as tears streamed down your face, blurring the cracked tiles before you.

You shouldn't have cried. You should have been stronger. Not just for yourself, but...

Incoherent thoughts still occurred to you as you pressed your palm to your lips—a fruitless attempt to stop any further crying from coming out.

It was just a dream. Everything was fine.

Your glistening eyes were fixed on the glass of water as you took a sip and pushed the venom-like lump down your throat. Nobody was going to lose anyone. This fear was deeply buried under the sands of your heart. Why did it have to appear today of all days?

A chill ran down your esophagus. Your hand shook involuntarily, and a few drops of water slid from the corner of your mouth to your chin and neck and then ran to your perked nipples.

Looking down at your body, you wiped the drops away before feeling cold. After all, this planet didn't earn its name, "Noman's Land" for nothing. The weather could get pretty chilly and cruel in this desert when those two suns weren't out. Moreover, let's not forget how many people were denied heat due to a lack of resources. Ugh! So, it's not like you didn't know you should've worn something, but God damn it! You woke up feeling a great deal of fear. Fuck! Still, you weren't eager to catch a cold. At least, not today. As you were about to return to bed, you suddenly stopped. Random images filled your mind.

Tears staining emerald green eyes, red flowers blooming on blood, and heart-wrenching screams fading in the night, all in an empty room filled with balloons and mud.

The next gulp of water tasted salty, leaving you feeling numb. Tears must have flowed down your cheeks. You lowered your glass and let your thoughts drift away.

There was a flash of your limp body in your mind, accompanied by a sharp twinge in your gut, a screaming sensation in your body, as if your lungs craved for air.

You wicked away the images, expunging thoughts of pain and death from your mind. The churning in your stomach began to slow, but your skin took on a damp, clammy sensation in its wake. You struggled to recount the things you had eaten last night. It must be it. No doubt, you had eaten poorly.

It was just a dream. What the hell was wrong with you? Crying over a dream? What were you, five? No, not today! Not today! Not today! Get your shits together!

After a moment of hesitation, you rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, ran your palm across your forehead and nose, and stopped it on your mouth before glancing at the bed.

Your pale face bloomed with a faint smile as you saw the sight—a miracle in this barren wilderness.

The curtains of the half-open window fluttered lazily with the morning breeze, letting the suns' rays play upon his scarred shoulder blades now and then, and run their greedy fingers through the golden waves of his hair, an enraged sea of sunflowers bounded by rough rocky beaches on the side. Oh! His undercut was glorious from where you watched.

He was sleeping with his eyelids slowly moving. The corners of his lips were curved upwards. Today seemed to be one of those rare days when he was free of the burdens of his past. Was he dreaming? What was his dream about? Love? Peace? Foods? Probably sweets!

You tried to avoid the woods squeaking beneath your feet as you walked back. Putting the glass of water next to the orange-tinted shades, you slowly climbed back under the warm sheets without shifting the mattress too much.

Once your head touched the pillow, cinnamon, and caramel again filled your nostrils. The man ate so many donuts that you feared he would become one. When you pictured it, your smile reached your eyes, and you giggled silently.

Like on the days you woke up early, you rolled over to face him and let your eyes roam over his abs muscles and those beautiful V lines guiding you to his secret paradise. Other than the massive gash across his chest, he had several cuts on his arms, wounds on his shoulders, and scars all over his back and legs. This man was a walking history, marked with painful memories, and luckily, your lips had perfectly mastered the story behind every blemish, slit, and stitch on his body.

It wasn't that simple, though.

When you first met him, he was a broken man covered in an old cloak, his eyes filled with agony. He was consumed by remorse, but nonetheless, he was still full of life and willing to try and glue back all his broken parts. Indeed, it was a challenge for him, and somehow, it didn't come easy to you either. Your heart ached when you removed each piece of clothing from his body. You cursed those who hurt him. It took you time and love to learn how to cherish those wounds instead of looking at them with pity. And little by little, your eyes learned to see a delicate kind of beauty in them, as if, every once in a while, you could see the sunlight shining through the cracks of his heart, lighting up your world in a most wonderful way.

Perhaps that's why after years of running, running, and running, he stopped for once and decided to rest. Something about you must have felt like home. And how lucky you were to have this?

06:30 am - July 21st

You couldn't look away from him, your mind unable to comprehend the perfection of this happiness. He was so ethereal you could hardly fathom that he was yours, wanted and loved you. You couldn't even hear yourself think over the rush of blood in your ears. The sight of him sleeping beside you, relaxed and vulnerable, was causing wild, desperate thoughts to race through your head. God! The fantasies you'd had about him. The places your mind had gone.

You sighed and brushed your face to the pillow, hoping he would roll over to you in his sleep so you could get back into his arms and the legs draped around you. Your eyelids peered at the glistening prosthetic arm in the soft light of the down. Could he feel your warmth whenever you kissed those fingers? How come you had never asked? There were many things you hadn't asked him yet.

Maybe you should start tomorrow? Hm? It's not like the world was ending today.

"You're going to come back over here, or you want to leave me cold and lonely?" he murmured, the raggedness in his voice confirming that he had been sleeping. Your gaze shifted upwards to meet his eyes, only to realize they were still shut, but his lips were painted with a playful grin.

Something inside you melted. It moved by his words, his smile, and his voice.

"I thought you were asleep." You scooted closer, and he wrapped his arms around you, cautious not to accidentally hurt you when he slipped his left arm beneath your neck. "I didn't want to wake you up." Your forehead pressed against his chest, and you felt the coldness of the iron mesh against your skin. His chin rested on your head, and his toes caressed your legs. The prickles of scars and fine hairs of his limbs tickled yours, and you felt blessed.

Funny how your nightmare faded the moment you felt his warmth like he burned a hole right through your head and pulled all your thoughts out. Well, other than that, it seemed like this morning, everything about him was exactly what you needed. His voice was calm and caring, his arms protective, and his presence comforting. You didn't want him to let go of you.

"Even if you had woken me up," he said, his artificial fingers sinking into your hair, and he continued, "I wouldn't have minded." A light kiss on the crown of your head followed his honest words. Even though this man kissed you every day and night, you could feel a silent giggle seeping into your body, causing your face to blush bright red.

Vash yawned soundlessly as he pulled you closer, his eyes still closed. The two of you were so close, too close, but never close enough for him. You had come to realize that your body heat did more for him than any blanket could. It was always in his eyes, aching with a desperate yearning he could only meet with you and your touch.

A joyful happiness settled between you as his hands drew shapes and patterns alongside your spine like those bright ones sometimes you could see on his body. Your lips curved into a smile as you watched him. His hair thick and blonde. The lines of his body sharp and robust. Damn! He had everything about him beautifully crafted. His nose. His chin. His ears and eyebrows. The eyelashes any girl would kill for and those turquoise-green eyes you longed to see. He had a gorgeous mouth.

You lingered too long there, your eyes betraying your mind.

Vash smiled. "What are you doing?" He fiddled with your hair, wrapping a lock around his finger.

In response, you sighed. Clearly, you would never discover how to avoid getting caught red-handed every time. "Just enjoying the view," you said, still staring at his mouth. You reached and touched two fingers to his bottom lip only to feel a rush of memories.

Long nights. Early morning. His mouth on you. Everywhere. Over and over again.

07:15 am - July 21st

He laughed sheepishly at your response.

You brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. His hair had grown a little long. You stroked his cheeks and drew his head back toward you, pressing your lush mouth against his. It never took him long to part his lips. He kissed you back, holding your head steady with his prosthetic arm while his other embraced you tightly. You could feel him smiling against your lips.

He had your heart, and you loved him quite horribly, too. This fact always smacked you over the head so hard you felt dizzy. You should have been afraid and wanted to hide it, as he was the most wanted man on the planet, but love had made you bold and brave.

You pulled back and studied his kiss-inspiring lips. Your whole body was filled with a warmth you wanted to share with him because it was pure, and so was he. There was no way for you to find the right words to describe how you felt.

The morning light was shining through the windows at the perfect angle and time. His muscles were taut, bathed in gold.

"Can you lie back, Vash?" you asked, pushing his shoulder back toward the bed. Finally fluttering his eyes open, he lifted his head in your direction.

Oh.

God.

His eyes.

He blinked dark lashes, revealing a spectrum of sadness and beauty, unlike anything you'd seen before. The way a person could convey so much with a glance caught you off guard. He had an extraordinary amount of pain paired with even more extraordinary passion.

His face spread into a wide smile the moment he saw you. These smiles, they changed him, and moments like this killed you a little.

He had the kind of face that made you forget where you were, who you were, and what you might say or do. You held his face in your hands as you laid his head down on the pillow. A half-lidded gaze sat on his face as he leaned to your touch, and you kissed him. Slowly, this time. His eyes fell closed. His mouth responded to yours.

Your fingers moved to his neck, then to his hair, and your mouth followed them. Soft lips caressed his earlobes and nipped the tiny single hoop, hot breaths hitting his skin, surprising a giggle out of him.

His hands reached up to pull you closer, but you stopped him. "No," you whispered. "Don't move." Without a second thought, he dropped his hands.

"Lie back and keep your eyes closed," you muttered, and strangely, he didn't object. His obedience led to you kissing him everywhere. His cheeks. His eyelids. His chin. The tip of his nose and the space between his eyebrows. All across his forehead and along his jawline. Every inch of his face. Soft, small kisses that said more than you ever could. You wanted him to know how you felt. You wanted him to feel it in the way only he could, the way he could sense the depth of your emotions. You wanted him to know and never forget.

And you wanted to take your time.

As your mouth moved down his neck, he gasped. You peeked up at his features only to meet a crooked grin on his face. The moment was worth savoring. It seemed like Mr. Vash was enjoying himself, so your tongue continued to adore his arm's sculpted hills and valleys, the perfect shape of his torso.

You breathed in the scent of his skin and took in the taste of him as your hands ran down his abs, kissing your way across and down the line of his torso. You kissed around his navel, and the trails of fine hair underneath caressed your lips. He kept reaching for you, trying to touch you until you told him to stop.

"Please," he said, taking a deep breath. "I want to feel—"

Even though he couldn't see you, you raised your brows with a head tilt and gentled back his arms. "Not yet. Not now."

He let out a breath in protest and crossed his arms behind his neck until your hands went further down and his eyes flew open. Blinking at him, you found out you were still fascinated by his eyes—such a stunning shade of green. "Close your eyes, Vash," you had to tell him.

A big gulp of air filled up his Adam apple. "No." He hardly spoke.

"Close your eyes!"

With his sharp gaze following your every move, he shook his head and leaned on his elbows.

"Fine." You rolled your eyes, and your hand grabbed the base of his hardness.

As soon as your nails brushed the skin of his length, he sat up and stared at you. He was breathing so fast you could hear and see his chest moving.

With a smile, you looked him in the eyes and leaned your head down. Your mouth took in the tip, and your tongue traced circles as Vash gasped. The sight of your bent head made him bite his lip. No doubt every fiber of his being demanded you to take him fully in your mouth, but he wanted you to call the shots. Allowing you to control the pace pushed him to the edge. He enjoyed the thrill of knowing he was at your mercy.

Soft hairs of his thighs against your ears, your nose skimmed his sensitive areas, and your lips kissed all over those favorite parts. The smooth skin of your fingers rolled around was warm and delicate, so fragile you were afraid you might tear it with your teeth. You felt his hardness throb against your cheek, pleading with you not to neglect him. Your thumb rubbed the pre-cum off the pink tip as you raised your head.

You looked up at him, his hair gleaming like golden flames, his cheeks drenched with sweat, and his lower lip stuck between his teeth, and you realized that his eyes looked at you with a look of something like trepidation, as if he was nervous. His face was still flushed red, and he had an expression somewhere between unworthiness and pleasure. With every stroke, his breath grew heavier. Obviously, he wanted more but was trying to contain his desire. Did he feel he was getting something he didn't deserve again?

There was no way you could let him be alone with these thoughts. So, before his dazzled eyes, you licked your thumb and watched how blood drained from his head and rushed straight to his torso. In surrender, he fell back; his eyes squeezed shut. You closed your mouth to half his length, and he turned his face to the pillow, stifling a moan. A tremor ran through his body, and his hands gripped the sheets tightly. Your hands ran down his legs, grabbing them just above his knees and inching them apart so you could trail kisses down the insides of his thighs.

He looked like he was in so much pain. So much pain.

You licked the pain away.

Twirling your fingers around the length, you took the crown in your mouth. Only enough to tease. Too little to satisfy. Your lips gently pressed against it, and when Vash was ready to scream, you accepted his whole length in your mouth.

Your lips were sealed tight as you hummed and increased the speed of your ministration. He threaded his fingers through your hair and molded his hands into your head, not to push you further down but to tilt your face up.

His forehead and neck were dripping sweat. The lines of emotion on his face were so deep you wondered how you must look to him. His throat bobbed, and you felt yourself drown in his eyes, enigmatic yet expressive, like sea foam, tempestuous but very calm. His fingers trailed over your salivate-covered lips, and you noticed that the sadness in his eyes had receded.

The world was suddenly brighter, bigger, and more beautiful.

07:40 am - July 21st

Taking hold of you by the arm pits, Vash pulled you in until your chest touched his. Next, you were rolled over so that your back touched the mattress, and he crawled onto you. Now his arms were propped up on either side of your head so he would not crush you under his weight. Looking into his eyes, you were pinned in place. His urgency ignited your bones. The polished planes of his face glowed with rivulets of sweat. His hardness was poking desperately against your thigh.

"I want to … …, …," he whispered. Intoxicated, you couldn't digest anything except his body hovering over you.

"… ?" His body pressed closer, and you realized you were paying attention to nothing but the dandelions blowing wishes in your lungs.

His eyes were heavy now in a way that worried you, but his gaze was still so tender, focused, and full of emotions you could hardly bring yourself to say anything. As your words faded, they became an unspoken whisper. Your lips glued together.

Screams.

Death.

Screams.

Your heart suddenly raced. What if these moments were destined to expire?

The sound of a clock striking midnight. A pumpkin carriage. The possibility of losing him.

You didn't want your arms to be deprived of his warmth. His touch. His lips, God, his lips, his mouth on your neck, his body wrapped around yours. The nightmare had caused this all, you knew, but the realization was like a pendulum the size of the moon. It wouldn't stop slamming into you.

Blinking fast, you swallowed back the fear building in your throat. God! He was speaking with you, but you couldn't hear him.

You were worried, really worried something was going to happen to him. What if bounty hunters found him? Could his brother hurt him? No. No. No. Even though you were only a human, you would never allow such a thing to happen. You just couldn't. You...

"Hey," he said, his voice soft, so soft. His arms were stronger than all the bones in your body. He pulled your figure close. You heard the beats of his heart humming deeply within his chest, and the steel of his arm encircled your whole body, releasing tension from your limbs. The icicles in your body were melted by his heat. Something about this frame made you want to freeze it forever. "You okay, Firefly? Wanna stop?"

The words he said sent waves of emotion coursing through you. He could read you like an open palm. You weren't lost before you met him, but you were never found until he laid eyes on you. Your tears stung as they fell backward down your throat, burning as they went. "Kiss me, Vash," you said before closing your eyes.

He searched your face, unsure what to do, hesitating, until you felt his lips on your shoulder, tender and scorching, so gentle you could almost believe it was the kiss of breeze and not a man.

Again.

This time, it was on your collarbones and felt like an ache that needed to be soothed. You didn't want to do anything to stop his mouth from touching your body.

He pulled back.

Desire.

Crave.

Need.

Again.

Your eyes refused to open.

His finger grazed the corner of your mouth, tracing its shape, the curves, the seams, and the dips. You felt him so much closer, his body heat filling the air around you, along with his smell and something sweet, until nothing was left. Your senses were so engulfed in his scent you didn't even realize your back was arching toward him as you breathed him in until you found out his fingers were no longer on your lips because his hand had gotten around your body.

"So, where do you want me to kiss you?" Vash whispered, his chest heaving, his words almost gasping. A wave of blistering heat moved through you, sealed shut your mouth. You didn't specify precisely where you wanted him to kiss you, and he didn't seem to have any difficulty selecting the spot. 

He whispered your name as he kissed the corner of your eyebrow. "Here?" His lips brushed over the shell of your ear, and your body squirmed slightly. "Or here?" He pressed a kiss against your neck, right beneath your ear, and you tipped your head to let him in, biting down the urge to beg him to take more, to take faster, as he murmured, "tell me."

Clasping your warm fingers with his cold metallic ones, he hovered over you to kiss your throat. You were the oxygen he desperately needed to breathe. His body was almost on top of yours, one hand in your hair while the other held yours delicately yet firmly. His lips crushed yours in no time.

A kiss like this was like swimming in honey rivers, like being dipped in gold, like diving into an ocean of bliss and not realizing you were drowning because you were too caught up in the current to notice. Nothing mattered anymore—neither your nightmare, this room, or the whole fucking planet.

All that mattered was this.

This.

This moment. These lips. This strong body pressed against yours, and these firm hands that always found a way you bring you closer. Oh, My Gosh! You wanted so much more of him. You wanted all of him.

Your eyes opened up.

Not content to be passive, your hands ran down his back, dancing over his broad shoulders, pressing into his dimples, and squeezing his hips.

Your hand grabbed a fistful of his hair when he broke for air with a groan, but you pushed him back, kissing his neck, arm, collarbones, and chest. It was amazing. Being with him, touching him, holding him like this. The rush of adrenaline was so intense and euphoric that you felt invincible.

He muttered your name, his lips mouthing the letters, barely speaking. Your skin was scorched everywhere he hadn't touched you.

He kissed your top lip.

He licked your bottom lip.

He kissed just under your chin, the tip of your nose, the length of your forehead, both temples and cheeks across your jawline. Then your neck, behind your ears, the space between your breasts. He nibbled your nipples and left trails of kisses all the way down your belly button until his entire form moved down your figure, disappearing as he shifted downward, and suddenly his chest was hovering above your hips.

Grasping your calves, he spread your legs apart just enough for his head to fit between. Your thighs were lifted, and you couldn't see him anymore. His only visible features were the top of his head, the curve of his shoulders, and the unsteady rise and fall of his back as he breathed. Eventually, even that sight was lost, with your head falling backward and muffled moans leaving your mouth.

Vash ran his hands down and up around your bare upper thighs and ribs, and he held your hips to make you stand still. Your eyes lit up like small firecrackers every time his hair teased your groins until his lips kissed you there, and fireworks exploded in the back of your head.

As his right hand pressed against your stomach, his tongue played around to make you scream aloud. His mouth brushed against your skin in places you couldn't see but felt deeply. Oh my! You were out of your body, touching stars, when you realized he was working his way up your body, leaving two fingers of that prosthetic arm behind.

"It might feel a bit cold," he said as his nose glided the skin of your stomach, leaving random kisses around your breasts and collarbones just to ease your tension. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" His hair was a mess, the wetness on his lips all familiar.

A nod came from you in response. He almost seemed to be smiling as his fingers slipped inside your slit, and your nails dug into the fabric. Moaning, you felt his warm hand brushing your hair backward as the other moved up and down inside your walls.

Your mouth was parted in a silent moan, and his small pecks covered you all around. There were tears in your eyes, baby hairs sticking to your sweaty forehead.

As his thumb and two fingers hit all the right spots, your throat wailed in frustration.

You grabbed his free arm, and he pulled himself up, onto you, on top of you. As if reading your thoughts, he kissed you hard. How strange, yet sweet, all you could taste was you, yourself, on his tongue. You moaned at the taste, and he opened his mouth more for you, allowing you to brush your tongue against his teeth.

The stinging coldness of his fingers was long gone. You had forgotten everything. There was something you shouldn't have forgotten, but you couldn't even remember why, what you were forgetting. Amid his length caressing your side and those digits thrusting backward and forward, paying attention to anything else was hard.

You could die from this, you decided. From wanting him, from the pleasure of being with him.

You must be smiling because he was looking at you and smiling too. His forehead was pressed against yours. His skin was flushed with heat. His hand had kept your head still. Your hands gripped his nick, sliding into the hollow behind it. You placed your palms just above his nape, and your fingertips gently began to squeeze and massage his undercut.

"Va-sh."

For a moment, you thought life poured out of you, or maybe your vision fractured as release barreled into you, and you grasped his name over and over again till your body calmed under his weight.

08:10 am- July 21st

Your eyes landed on his glistening wet metallic fingers, and you were dripping, burning, melting with anticipation. He was still on top of you when you thought you heard him speak, his mouth close to your ear.

"I love you," he whispered and kissed your brow. It never occurred to you that he could be like this, so human, so real, but it was there. It was right there. Raw, written across his face. You were about to mutter all the words and worries you held in your chest, but suddenly he stood up and stared blankly at the other side of the room.

You followed his gaze to the pane of glass separating you from the reality outside. You awaited his lips to part. You waited to listen to him speak. His eyes weren't revealing anything about what he was thinking, what was going on.

Something about the realization struck fear into your heart. In the span of a single instant, darkness surrounded your vision. Images appeared in the blur of your sight again.

The petals of red Geraniums floating in the sky, a boy running through blood-stained sands, the time speeding up and slowing down in fits and starts, streaks of green and red staining your dilated eyes, stars exploding, lights flashing, sparking, and then it's all darkness and Vash's screams.

You shook your head.

The images disappeared, but the heartaches and fears lingered, and you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. Your lungs begged for air, but you looked around for Vash instead.

It seemed he wanted to scream, but you knew the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Those thoughts would expand in his head, explosive and angry, pressing against the ridges of his mind, and then he would hide them behind a smile. As he always did.

"Vash?" you called, just before witnessing how a car's radio sound from the street ripped open his past, pulled out what was left of his heart, and dropped it on the floor.

"… been two years since that fateful July 21st. A crowd has gathered at what used to be the third city of July to pay their respects. Even after two years, the pain of losing their loved ones has yet to heal. The suspect said to have murdered 90 percent of the city, also known as the Humanoid Typhoon, still remains at large. Vash the Stampede is on the run. If I were the demon who turned the whole city into a gaping crater overnight, I'd hide my face too. There is no forgetting the sorrow of loved ones taken from us. The Alliance of Cities has raised the dead or alive bounty on Vash the Stampede to $$60 billion, the highest in the history of…"

The loud words bounced around in the haze of your head, fogging your senses, misting your eyes, and clouding your concentration. In your bones, there was just ice. Your entire being wanted to vomit. Reality slapped you in the face, punched you in the jaw, and dumped you into sand oceans. You grasped the nightstand to keep yourself steady. The orange shades fell on the floor, leaving a big crack on display.

Vash was shaking his head over and over and over and over. He was looking at his hands like he would see some blood on them, as if waiting for the part where someone would tell him this wasn't real and he didn't actually kill those 200,000 innocent people.

Oh, my beloved.

The pain was so plain on his face; it was killing you. Your gaze was drawn to the balled fists at his sides, the furrows in his brow, and the tension in his jaw. Minutes ago, this man was free, but now he was a prisoner of his own crime. In your heart, you wished you could release him from the claws of self-reproach.

Having seen his terror too often, you knew it well.

Sometimes, even when he was asleep, his tormented mind would grip his heart, and such emptiness and sadness would fill him that you felt he was suffocating, as if his sleepless nightmares never had an end.

You didn't know him before,

but

you

thought

he

had

lost

a

bit

of

himself

on

the

day

of

July

incident.

As time passed, you assumed he had finally learned not to dwell on what had happened. You imagined he avoided it like a cripple learning not to put weight on his injured leg.

However, deep down, you knew he was living on eggshells, always wondering when something would break, when everything would crumble. You always dreaded this day. This silence. It was not just an ordinary silence caused by the lack of things that moved or made noise, but a deep and tired silence that sometimes covered him like an invisible cloak—like the one ruling between your shared walls right now.

Stacks of sorrow had grown inside him, settling on his bones and snapping him in half. A cable twisted around his neck, a worm crawling across his stomach. It was the night, midnight, and the twilight of indecision. Too many pains to bear.

How naive of him to think he could slip into the role of a regular being and live a normal life in love and peace.

Vash.

Vash the stampede with a dream.

The mere thought of it filled him with mortification. He began to think others were right when they said things like him were better off destroyed.

Shaking his head, he coughed against the torture in his lungs, heaving strange, horrible gasps until his whole body spasmed into submission, leaving him sitting on the bed's edge like a sack full of nothingness. The old gunman looked as if he might collapse, barely breathing, his life-force being torn asunder.

You felt like your throat was closing up. You knew the infamous humanoid typhoon was everything broken and glued back together, and now knives bore holes into his cracked bones, filled with grief that could take his breath away.

Your face was drained of color, your ears ringing with your heart pounding. His desperate screams from your nightmare echoed in your head as if on repeat. His agony was acute. His terror palpable. Tears sprung to your eyes. It was painful to look at him, being so close and far away from him.

"Local news. You know how dumb they are," you said, trying to hide your petrified and nerve-wracking thoughts from his reach. What if he never experienced peace? What if there was no sanctuary, and the pain was always a whisper away, no matter where he went?

Pressing your nails to your palm, you continued, "None of that incident was your fault. You know that too. You hear me?"

His eyes widened a little. No one had ever cared about him for this long. No one had kept him ever this closely to read his thoughts word by word. No one had ever treated him like a human being. Then again, he thought you didn't know about all of his sins. In a century and a half, he hadn't been able to forgive himself; how could you? It made him wonder how long you could endure him before running for your life.

His head was spinning, thoughts knocking into one another. He clenched his fists and pushed back down the misery that had stuck with him. Even though he didn't want this, you'd probably be better off without him.

"Vash?" You swallowed and dug your fingers into the sheets desperately, a tear trickling down your cheek. It kept hitting you in the face, in the skull, in the spine, this knowledge of just how much you loved him.

His lips looked like they were barely able to form words. He could only take these harsh gasps and wonder why his body hadn't given up.

On all fours, you approached him and sat on your knees on the edge of the bed with a slight distance between you and him. You knew he wouldn't object, but you didn't want to intrude on his privacy. Thus, you remained silent so that he wouldn't be left by himself, and he would know you wouldn't leave him alone.

09:15 am – July 21st

Time passed, and you checked on him occasionally to see if he wanted to talk until he raised his head slightly.

"I'm a demon," he said the sentence so quietly. So, so quietly. He ran a hand across his face, both hands through his hair, looking like he wanted to scream, to break something, like he was truly about to lose his mind. "The world sees me as a threat. An unfixable monster. An abomination. They want me dead." His voice sounded sorrowful, almost like he had already accepted these labels.

Thousand pieces of feeling stabbed you in the heart. "I don't think you're a demon. Also, I don't think you're some sick, twisted monster. I don't think you're a heartless killer, and I don't think you deserve to die. You're not a humanoid typhoon. No, you're not any of the things people have said about you," you told him, words tripping and stumbling out of you.

His mouth fell closed, struggling with some kind of emotion, struggling to find composure. Suddenly he gasped. "No." One broken word. Barely even a sound. He was shaking his head, looking away from you. He turned to face the window. "No. No, no—"

"Vash—"

"No," he said. His voice was so soft and so scared you could scarcely hear it. "No, you don't know what you're saying—"

"You're not a monster!" you said. "And I love you exactly as you are. I don't even want you to fix yourself; I don't think you need to be fixed. People here love you as you are. Your name is the only thing that scares them," you told him.

You knew people had the right to fear him. You knew. Humanoid Typhoon certainly wasn't made of sugar, spice, and everything nice, but rather from hurricanes, lightning, and all things that scared. Seeing dusty storms and raging winds, people thought he was scary. They feared he would harm them. In truth, he was only his own disaster, destroying himself for others. He was Vash. Your Vash. Vash the Stampede, and you loved him with all his fears and frights, dreams and nightmares, sins and scars.

You smiled and continued, "If they learn your name and start hunting you, we'll run away! We'll run, run, and keep running as far as we have to! And when things calm down, we'll settle by their side again. You won't kill. You'll never kill anyone again, and one day, people will begin seeing you as I do."

Maybe tears filled his eyes. Possibly his breath was trapped in his chest. Perhaps his heart warmed a little. No one knew, not even the author. He had his head down, his chest rising and falling.

You sat behind him. A map of pain had covered his entire back. Thick, thin, uneven, and terrible, scars like roads leading nowhere. There were bolts and ragged slices, marks of torture he was not protected from.

Kindness must be difficult when all you'd received was hatred. Being able to see goodness in the world must be so hard when your only experience had been terror. You wanted to say something to him. Something profound, complete, and memorable, but there was nothing suitable. This planet was a broken bone that didn't set right, and Vash wanted to glue it back together. Alone, all by himself.

You two differed in this respect. Fearless and unafraid were two different things. He was fearless. He dared to outshine the sun, stare down a bullet, kiss death and walk away with his back unguarded. He would hold the whole world in his palms despite its bone-crushing weight, despite its sharp edges crusted with blood, if only he could stop it from falling apart. But you? You were fearful. Sometimes you couldn't breathe around the clot of fear lodged in your throat. The only way to lessen its weight on your tongue was to scream until no words came out, while the only way to chase away its shadows was never to close your eyes at night. You were unafraid of one thing, though —he could tear down the world and bury you alive under the weight of his guilt, yet you would follow him without hesitation.

Your eyes rested upon woven strands of sunlight, alighting softly upon his scarred skin. These honeyed arcing rays gave him a light glimmer that revealed his plant patterns, pulsing slowly and dimly. Something about the scene was so divine, and you felt the dawn rise from your heart every morning and reach the sky.

You hugged him from behind by bridging the gap between your bodies and leaned your cheek against his sun-kissed back. Your hands gently caressed his stomach and chest as your lips left kisses on his love reminiscences—one by one.

You could hear him breathing in and out. Unevenly. Yet he was silent. Hands clenched, knuckles white. Of course, he wanted you with a desperate need he had never known. But his regret, sins, and crimes were so overwhelming they consumed him. He thought, how could you be so kind to a thing like him?

Unaware of the voices in his mind, you dropped a kiss on his spine. You kissed the curve of his shoulder. His shoulder blades. Five kisses down his spine, each softer than the other one. For every little moment of pain he had ever felt in his life, you wanted to make it all go away. You kissed his neck, trying to ignore the tension in his muscles, the ache spreading inside you, urging you to end his suffering.

Your words were heavy with sincerity when you said, "I don't care what everyone else thinks about you." You leaned your forehead to his shoulder, your breaths gently caressing his back. "Because you're the only good thing left in this world."

As his eyes widened, he breathed heavily, trying to gain control of himself. "What are you saying?" he asked, his hand caught in his hair. "How can you tell such a thing this after all this?" His hand pointed to the window, to the news on the radio.

Standing on your knees, you kissed the hand caught between his gold locks. The same hand he always tried to cover its scar with a glove. Because the idiot thought his scars would be repulsive. The idiot. Your favorite idiot.

You didn't sit back. Keeping your head there, your nose buried in his hair, and your chest pressed to his back—this smell. You had never seen a sea, but you had heard about them. And you believed if there was ever to be a sea in this hell hole, he would smell like a sunny beach. Sweet, enveloping, and warm.

"That is—" your voice broke when you spoke. "That's what the family is for, Vash."

A sudden searing heat flashed behind his eyes, and his heart leaped at your response. He dropped his hand on his knee and sat still in place by the weight of your words. His hand trembled, and his eyes were willing and wanting but filled with both sadness and happiness.

A family.

All this time, he thought you were with him all along because you didn't have a grasp on his sins, but now, he could see that you already knew everything. And despite all of this, you were still willing to forgive him and give him something he always wanted but never had without even requiring him to earn it or redeem himself.

You touched his arm and traced the tender skin with your fingertips. Scars everywhere. You kissed the back of his elbow. "I'm sorry for everything humans have done to you," you told him, and he took a shallow breath. "Forgive us." Another kiss. "Forgive me."

A delicate warmth filled Vash's heart and melted it into drops of warm honey that soothed the scars in his soul. He turned his head and stared at you with open, vulnerable eyes, a tight jaw, and tensed muscles. No one had ever apologized to him. According to his experience, he was usually the monster, the wicked one. The onus always was on him to make amends.

It stunned him how strange it felt. Up until now, he never thought he deserved forgiveness, let alone someone asking for it.

Running a tired hand across his face, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. A joy filled his heart, causing him to feel heavy with something he wasn't even sure he could describe.

Gratitude, perhaps.

The ache in his chest had grown more assertive, more painful. But for now, he didn't want to think about it. He simply just wanted to enjoy your proximity.

Your hand reached up to stroke the luminous curved shapes on his cheek, tracing them to the softness of the mole beneath his left eye. The look in those aquamarines breaking your heart. You couldn't bear to see his face covered in sorrow and guilt.

"You're a good man, my Vash," you said, your words soft, your hand gentle as you tilted his chin up toward your mouth. He was blinking fast, yet not denying. You whispered words on his lips that no one had ever spelled out for him. "Rem would've been proud of you," you told him, watching the movement in his throat and his effort to keep it together. It didn't take you long to kiss him once, tenderly.

He found himself at a loss for words, opting to convey his emotions through touch instead as he melded his lips with yours. He sighed into your mouth, and you kissed him even more deeply, almost desperately, as if trying to pass over your breaths to him. You could taste the salt on your tongue. The wet drops falling on your cheeks made your flesh burn. You were uncertain whose they were as you continued to try and cling to him.

10:00 am – July 21st

The sheets slowly slipped and fell to the floor as Vash pulled you into his arms, clutching you tight, hardly able to breathe. When he exhaled and looked at you again, there were stories in his eyes, thoughts, whispers, and feelings of things you had never seen before. His whole body seemed to be relaxed in relief. He looked like he was hanging on his sanity by a single, fraying thread. You.

And you promised yourself, at this moment, that you would hold him forever, just like this, until all the pain, the torture, and the suffering was gone, until he'd given a chance to live the kind of life where no one could ever hurt him this deeply ever again.

He touched your cheek. Soft, as if he wasn't sure if you were real. His four fingers caressed the side of your face gently before they slipped behind your neck, caught in that in-between spot below your ear, and his thumb brushed the apple of your cheek, then grazing your bottom lip.

You did so much with these lips, you thought. Touched, kissed, and pressed them against tender parts of his skin. You made promises, and the words they formed, the shapes and sounds they curved around, all for him.

Vash moved closer by just an inch. His free metallic hand cupped the other side of your face. He was holding you like you were made of crystals. Holding you and looking at his own hands, he couldn't believe you were real.

Gone was the man with guns and bullets. These hands treasuring you had never held a weapon. They were perfect and kind, never touched by death. He took your hands and pressed your palms to his face. Tears must have welled up in your eyes when you closed them.

You whispered his name, and he breathed harder than you.

Could this be a dream?

You shook, shuddered, splintered into teardrops, and he held you like no one had before. He wanted you. Seeing him cling to you as he might never let go did something to you, something heady, knowing that he might wish you, or need you, like this, made you want to protect him even though he didn't need your protection.

Gently, he stroked your hair and pressed his lips to your forehead. Gradually, his arms became the arms around your waist; his lips became the lips pressed against yours, his body the warmth you felt.

You weren't even breathing, but you were alive, and he was kissing you. Deeply, desperately. The palms of his hands were rubbing the small of your back as he lifted you into his lap. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, allowing him to kiss your neck, throat, and nipples.

You broke apart with his small licks here and there, breathing hard, and stared at him like a bonehead, your brain still too numb to figure out exactly how you two got here.

Tilting his head to a side, he pressed his lips against yours again, seeking you with a burning need, a new kind of desperation. His hands were threaded in your hair, his lips so soft, so urgent against yours, like fire and cinnamon exploding in your mouth.

Vash nibbled your bottom lip in a flash and pulled back just a little bit. Your body was flooded with heat and desire so intense you could hardly think when he parted his lips from you to sigh in your mouth, and that slight sound of pleasure drove you crazy.

Putting one hand under your neck, placing his mouth on your breast, and running his fingers down your back, he pressed your body closer, only to find something hard pressing against your groin.

Oh.

Well.

While he avoided your gaze, he smiled sheepishly and tentatively touched your thighs with his hands. Because of what had happened, you knew he would probably feel embarrassed to ask for it, but that didn't mean you wouldn't give it to him. He deserved the whole world if you had the chance to provide for him. His markings were glowing softly when you squeezed him closer to yourself, holding him tighter.

Biting his lip and stifling his groan, his smart-ass hands slid up your legs and into your thighs. Soon, his lips reached your chest. Your body ached everywhere, tasting colors and sounds you didn't even know existed. His forehead was pressed against your chin, and your hands gripped his shoulders. He was hot, gentle, and somehow in a hurry.

You were beyond the reach of rational thoughts. Beyond words, beyond comprehension. The world was beyond understanding because nothing could ever compare with this. Nothing could ever capture the way you were feeling right now. Nothing mattered anymore. You were left with only this moment: his mouth on your body, his hands on your skin, and his lust deep in his eyes, making you absolutely insane.

Your wetness was no longer a secret when he surrounded you everywhere. As he watched you, you reached down and adjusted his length against your slippery entrance over a few strokes. His pulse could be felt in your palm and soon inside of you.

Using both soft and hard hands, he gently grasped your hips and pulled you down toward him. As he entered, you gasped, every time surprised at his size, clinging desperately to his neck as he hitched your legs around his waist, his prosthetic arm settling beneath your thigh. You loved the feeling of him stretching you. You loved having him this close to you. You loved the way he manhandled you. You loved his hand around your neck and the little squeeze of his fingers around your nape.

His grip tightened when he sensed you were ready for him, and he started moving you up and down. You cried out and leaned your cheek to his nose, dying and somehow being brought back to life in the same moment, in the same breath.

Fuck! You were full of him.

He lifted your thighs, and you bit back the moan stuck in your throat. His mouth wouldn't let go of your skin, kissing you with an intensity that made you wonder why you hadn't died, caught on fire, or woken up from this dream yet. Then he returned his hands to your face and kissed you once, twice.

The room's silence was filled with your heavy breathing, your chest against Vash's. Your pulses hammered against each other. You felt his arms around you become unbearably tight as he yanked you up and down with even more force than before, hitting you in a place he seemed to know too well.

As his teeth caught your bottom lip momentarily, you pushed your nails to his shoulder, running your fingers through his hair to pull him into your mouth. He tasted so sweet. So hot and sweet. You kept trying to say his name, but you couldn't even breathe, much less say a single word.

The pace increased slightly; each thrust was hard, deliberate, wringing gasps, whimpers, and long, rolling moans from you.

Your eyes tingled with tears, falling fast down, traveling quietly down your cheeks, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses in your mouth, against your tongue and saliva. As if he had found Adam's ale between million mirages of the desert, he stared at you, his eyes like fire in the water.

"I love you," he whispered over and over, his voice fragile, uneven. His lips covered yours in a tender kiss. He kissed you and tasted your tears, the lingering flavor of pleasure laced in your mouth. He kissed you and kissed you until time toppled over, and your head spun into oblivion.

Vash loved you…

His temple was leaned against yours when you took his earlobe between your teeth, stripped him to his bones, and ruined him from the inside out. Your sweet little tongue was frantic when you whispered, "I'm yours to love."

Hearing your words, he held still for moments, sucking in the air because he felt almost dizzy with satisfaction, running his hands over your thighs.

You. You were his. You, the one who knew if you left him alone at that moment, would fall into the depths of his own hell; if he'd slipped through your fingers, he would be gone, and no one could bring him back. You did not erase all his pain or offer to solve all his problems. You didn't fix everything that was broken, but that wasn't what he needed anyway. What mattered the most was that you stayed.

He loved you.

He loved you so much.

Grasping your soft hips, he buried his face against your shoulder and sped up. You were his undoing, taking him apart and putting him back together differently, better, and more himself than he ever could have been. He gritted his teeth as his orgasm came barreling at him. His hands glided on your back when you shuddered, your inner walls squeezing him so hard he couldn't prevent his release. With a growl, he thrust wildly, once, twice—and then everything around you both disappeared until it was all just colors and light, the sun shines and oceans, apple trees, and blossoms.

Your eyes were still closed, and you felt his hands laced with yours, just to remind you that you had him here and that he was with you. Your partner in everything. His chest heaving, he buried his face in your neck, sweat covering his temples. Kissing him there, you inhaled the scent of his hair.

"You're my family too," you heard him whisper, his words etched into your soul as his lips moved against your skin. And you wished, more than ever, that you could capture moments like this and relive them forever.

12:50 pm – July 21st

You woke up with a smile, your skin still hot from the memory of your vile. You were cleaned with a wet towel, placed in bed with a kiss, and promptly fell asleep. Thankfully, no nightmares this time.

What time was it? You didn't know.

As you stretched your legs under the sheets, you realized your back was against Vash, his prosthetic arm resting on your pillow, the other tucked around your waist. Knowing he had held you this close warmed the pit of your stomach and made you feel so safe that you didn't ever want to move, but you had a thousand things to do today, but you never, ever wanted to move.

Truth be told, you loved these moments the most. The quiet contentment. Being enveloped by his naked body. You never felt closer to him than you did like this when there was nothing between you.

Today was a big day delayed by your nightmare and the sound of that stupid radio! There was no way you were going to let anything overshadow his birthday anymore. Even for a few hours, he deserved this celebration, this little distraction. He deserved to be happy, eat, and laugh.

You sighed, hating to wake him up since he seemed pretty tired. Slowly, you turned around in his arms. A smile tugged at your mouth as you watched him, amazed at how his presence could bring you such peace. He shifted again, burrowing deeper into the pillows, and you realized he must be exhausted.

Watching the movement of his throat, you breathed him in, running your hands along the deep, strong lines of muscle in his arm. His entire being felt raw. Powerful. Being a plant had something wild and terrifying about it; somehow, this knowledge only made you love him more. You traced the contours of his shoulder blades, then his spine. He stirred, but only briefly, and buried his face in your hair.

"Don't go," he whispered softly, pressing his nose to your scalp alongside his lips.

You tilted your head, gently kissing the column of his throat. "Vash," you whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

Taking a deep breath, he said, "good."

You smiled. "Oh, but we should probably get out of bed. I promised Rosalina I'll help—"

A disapproving sound escaped his throat as he shook his head, deftly helping you turn around. He hugged you close again, your back pressed against his chest. Soft and husky, his voice was full of desire when he said, "C'mon, let me enjoy this. Feeling good."

"You don't want a cake?" you blurted out, but it certainly caught his attention.

You could feel he raised his head, stiffened and confused. "How come Rosalina's making me a cake?"

Did you hear correctly? Had he forgotten about his birthday? Did this day become neglected to the point where it was forgotten?

Turning around, you saw he was sitting, his body frozen and his heart probably pounding furiously. Getting him to attend his birthday would take more effort than you expected. Because he asked how you could possibly plan a party for him, why anyone would throw him a party, what if he didn't even like birthday parties, and so on. Still, you didn't fall short. Since the day he told you about Rem making them a cake for their birthday, you kept track of his birthday. The July incident wasn't going to overshadow his birthday. It was your vow to replace that memory with better ones. That forever and ever, you'd strive to drown out the darkness that had ruined his life.

In his eyes, tragedy and beauty could be seen, a stoicism that wouldn't be shaken, and childlike joy that couldn't help but flow. When he swallowed, you noticed the gentle movement in his throat and moved your hand to his ear, your pinkie touching his earring, then tracing down his jawline. You didn't receive a rejection, but you didn't receive a yes, either. Why wasn't he saying anything? He had you on your worried until he clasped his hands over his face.

Your hand brushed against his undercut as you gently kissed his temple and tried to pry his hands away from his face. "Vash?" you said, your words hardly a whisper. "Is everything alright?"

The reply took him a few seconds to come out, but when he finally did, he nodded. It was only once, but it was enough. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm okay."

The feeling of relaxation washed over you as you exhaled. "If you don't want a—"

He held and squeezed your hand as he looked at you, his eyes round when he said, a little nervously, "what have I done," he whispered, his voice trembling, "to deserve you?"

Did you die of joy? Because he took your face in his hands and kissed you so passionately, it blew your mind. Your heart began to beat violently, and you didn't recognize yourself. You didn't recognize your hands, your bones, your heart. You felt new. "Thank you," he whispered. "For loving me and everything."

"It's very, very easy to love you, Vash," your lips might have said, but the words never left your lips. You didn't know what to do, so you reeled him in, kissed him, and lost yourself in his taste and feel, in the fantasy of what you might have. What you might be.

But wait! Didn't you know fate was a jealous, vicious mistress that never ever slept?

You blinked.

You blinked again, but this time for too long. You saw a flash of blood spewing inside your open mouth. Nausea returned with a swiftness that scared you. A breath was drawn, your fingers fluttering as you desperately tried pressing them against your stomach. Pain filled your eyes as you kept them open. Clenching your fists, you attempted to control spiraling thoughts.

However, nothing helped. Nothing helped. Nothing, you thought. Nothing, nothing, and nothing.

Where was Vash? Where were you?

Throughout your open eyes, terror oozed from your heart. You heard someone calling your name. A hand brushed lightly along your spine as you shivered suddenly at the unexpected sensation.

" …," the voice said, "do you … ?"

The warmth moved in only to meet the coldness of your skin. You felt it all. Again and again, a touch of his finger did pull you out of your nightmare.

A rustle of sheets caught your attention, and Vash pulled you onto his lap. Straddling him, your legs stretched across the rumpled fabric. Wrapping his arm around you, he spread his hand along your back.

It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Turning carefully in the cradle of his arms, you pressed your forehead to his bare chest, your eyelashes fluttering against his rough gash.

"You okay?" he asked, his metallic fingers combing through your hair in a soothing act.

"Yes," you replied, forcing air into your lungs. You were breathing hard, head spinning as you held on to him. "Yes."

"Is something wrong, Elay?" He probably had lowered his head because his breath was touching your shoulder.

"Nothing," you claimed. Your heart was beating fast, too fast. You didn't know why you were lying. You should have just told him, but you didn't know why you weren't.

Wait.

Actually, you knew.

You were waiting.

You were waiting to see if this shit would pass. It had to, because today was a special day. Because you were already exhausted, and the radio's sound was repeating in your ears. Because you didn't want to add another burden to his shoulders with your silly nightmare. Even more, it wasn't real. Just a figment of your imagination, and saying it out loud would make it sound more real than it really was.

Vash asked no further questions. He was more of an "if you love someone, let them keep their secrets to themselves " guy. He pulled you close, and you melted into him, grateful for his warmth and steady hold. You took a deep, shuddering breath and let it all go, exhaling against him. A faint aroma of caramel lingered in your nostrils as you breathed in his skin's rich, heady scent. The minutes passed silently as you both listened to each other breathe.

01:45 pm – July 21st

It took a while, but your heart rate steadied.

You could feel it.

Here.

This.

Your bones against his bones. This was your home.

"What're you thinking?" His lips touched your neck, a graze that sparked, hot and cold, right down to your toes.

"Been thinking about you." You raised your head and looked at him. He was smiling, the unfaltering sun glinting in his eyes. You could see his fear, hopes, and love for you like a mirror to his soul in those mountain lake-colored spheres. Then there was something else as well—something like bliss. It was a faint glow, but it was there and made you so happy. You had blessed the blessing. He deserved happiness after everything he had been through. After all the horrors he had suffered alone.

"Me?"

As you closed the gap between you two again, you nodded against his chest. Nothing was said, but you could hear his heart racing until he exhaled. It was a heavy, uneven sound, as if he might have been holding his breath for too long.

Gently, you ran your hand along his back. "How long has it been since you celebrated your birthday?" you whispered.

"Hm?" He buried his face in your hair, and his nose glided over your scalp in what appeared to be caressing movements.

It didn't take a genius to figure out when he was ducking a question. You wiggled a little to loosen his grip and looked up. Your fingers ran through the soft, silky strands. The sight of him mesmerized you. His eyes were wide and bright. His lips soft and pale. He was perfect, bare, and beautiful, holding you in his arms. Sighing, you closed your eyes. "Let me ask it this way then," you said, "How many birthdays have you missed so far?"

Nothing came out of his mouth for what seemed like an eternity. You felt him finally move. In a gentle caress, his prosthetic fingers touched your face. "150 birthdays," he whispered, his voice uneven.

Your spine tingled involuntarily. 150 years of solitude. Loneliness. Alone with himself. On this giant planet. Where was his home? Where were his friends? His lovers?

You knew he was so much better at being alone as if being alone came more naturally. He led a life of deliberate seclusion, and when occasional loneliness crept in, he knew how to sink in and absorb its particular comforts or work his way out. After all, there were always bars and saloons and strangers around.

You knew he wanted to carry the weight of life all alone, even the burden of those he once loved. It wasn't fair, though. You had to be allowed to help him carry it all. A frown formed on your face, and you inhaled, "Happy birthday #1! Happy birthday #2! Happy birthday #3!..."

His metallic forefinger stopped your lips. Slowly, you looked up to meet his eyes. His expression was sad, sweet, and filled with love. You felt something thawed inside of you as you stared at him.

"You don't have to do this," he said as he separated his finger from your lips to brush away stray strands of hair from your face. A part of you wished his finger could stay there longer.

"Shut up and let yourself celebrate! We've got at least 150 birthdays to catch up on!"

He kissed your eye, and you felt his smile on your eyelid. His lips started moving tardily when he said, "I don't—"

"Shhhh! Since you interrupted me, I'm starting over!" you snapped and continued, "Happy birthday #1! Happy birthday #2! …"

The smile on his face grew bigger and bigger, as if he was filled with so much joy that he hardly recognized himself. You couldn't recall the last time he smiled this much. It was the most pure, unburdened bliss you had ever experienced.

He held you the entire time you felicitated all his forgotten birthdays. You could see it in how he looked at you. You could feel his fears disappearing and his emotions becoming something else. Now, his touch was hot and electric against your skin. Your heart was beating faster and harder, and he didn't have to say anything. You could feel the temperature change between you.

"You," he said, staring at your mouth. He touched his nose to yours, and something inside you jolted to life. You heard your breath caught, your ears turning red, unbidden. "I love you," he whispered.

The words did something to you every time you heard them. They built something new inside of you. You swallowed hard. A fire consumed your mind. "You know," you mumbled shyly, "It never gets old hearing you say that."

Leaning you back a little, he moved, his nose brushed the line of your jaw, and his lips touched your throat. You were holding your breath, terrified to move, to leave this moment.

"I love you," he said again.

Heat filled your veins. You could feel him in your blood, his whispers overwhelming your senses.

"Vash," you said. You wanted to talk to him about what happened hours ago. You knew you should've moved and snapped out of this but couldn't. You couldn't think. And then his hand brushed against your breasts. You breathed quickly, fighting against a sudden rush of pleasure.

It was impossible to pretend anything when he was this close to you. You knew he could feel how badly you wanted him. You could feel him, too. His heat. His desire. He made no secret of what he wanted from you. What he wanted you to do to him.

He kissed you softly, wrapping his arms around you, one too cold, the other too hot. Your body shifted forward in his embrace as you took another painful, agonizing breath.

"I know you're worried," he said, his lips too close to yours and his hot breath in your mouth. "I know we have to talk, but—" He never finished that sentence. He kissed you as he reached down, trailing his fingers along the inner parts of your thighs, and the movement seared through you. Your vision went white. You heard nothing but the pounding of your heart, then you remembered.

"Vash? Um-I have to-ah," you panted, "she is waiting."

You could feel his smile as he whispered the word in your ear. His fingers were teasing your groins. "Please." And you were gone.

One hand kept your head steady, the other roamed around your loins, and he kissed and melted you. Your eyes met his, and the feeling threatened to drown you. He kissed you, and every thought and worry wicked away, replaced by the feel of his mouth against your skin, his hand claiming your body.

Holy Molly!

He eft his kisses everywhere like he knew, like he knew how desperately you needed this, needed him, needed this comfort and release.

Like he needed it, too.

Taking hold of his neck, you raised yourself up to kiss his nose, cheeks, and lips. The line of your bodies was welded together. You felt yourself dissolving, becoming pure emotion as he parted his lips, teased you, and breathed into your mouth. "I love you," he said, gasping the words.

He kissed the top of your shoulder, and his artificial hand wandered over your body, down your back, cupping your back side, lingering on your upper thighs like he wanted to memorize the shape of you, always leaving you in awe of how gentle he was. Your muscles tightened with longing, and you were surprised at how much you wanted him.

Again.

So soon.

However, you had to stop this.

"I'd better get dressed," you said, pulling yourself back, grabbing sheets, and covering yourself with them. "I've got stuff to do."

A grin spread across his face as he watched you as if he could sense your frustration. You crawled from his lap, the bedsheets catching under your knees and making you lose your composure. Like a sneaky fox, he couldn't resist taking advantage of the moment. He yanked the rest of the sheet away from you and tucked you underneath him. His weight pinned you to the mattress, a knee intentionally jammed between your legs and slowly grinding you down.

"Here's what I want for my birthday," he said, kissing your parted lips. He knew what he was doing and knew you couldn't comprehend his words. "I have this idea. Just hear me out; I think that maybe you should consider being naked all the time. I mean, just always. Okay?"

"Okay. I have to—" What were you saying? He had his mouth all over you, sucking at your breasts, licking your throat, his fingers going straight to your sensitive spots.

The moment he got there, you knew you wouldn't let him go, even if he wanted to. So, you needed to gather your wits and act before it was too late.

Think. Think. Think.

"Vash!" you gasped, pushing him up with your hand as much as possible. "I know you're going nuts like a hunk in heat," you said, holding his cheeks between your hands and staring at his big downturned eyes. "I gotta shower and go to the saloon so you can meet me there at eight, okay, good boy?" You tapped on his shoulder.

With raised eyebrows, Vash got off you, but you remained trapped between his knees. Although he crossed his arms and pretended to be mad, you could see him fighting back a smile. It was amazing how that poor piece of sheet managed to cover his hips; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to focus on his face.

"You were going to take a shower without me?" he said sternly.

You couldn't figure out what to say for a moment and then carefully asked, "would you like to join me?"

Considering your offer, he gazed at you, up and down, with a sweet, secret smile. The look in his eyes was enough to persuade you to agree to anything. You would do anything for this man if he asked. Even if he didn't bother to ask.

"Vash."

Your heart was heavy as you whispered his name, filled with emotion. You went still as he hovered over you, gently mouthing your nipples. His kisses grow more intent, leaving a trail of fire across your chest, down your torso, and rushing through your veins.

Suddenly, you forgot why you were even in such a hurry.

Your hands slipped around his neck, and you reeled him in. He felt incredible against you, his body fitting perfectly. You tilted his face up, your hand caught somewhere behind his neck and the base of his jaw, and you kissed him softly and slowly, heat filling your blood with dangerous speed.

As one hand held him steady, the other skimmed the smooth skin of your waist, gripping your hip hard. He parted your legs with his thigh, hearing you make a desperate sound deep in your throat, and it did something to him, to feel and hear you like that, to be assaulted by your pleasure and desire. It drove him crazy.

Vash buried his face in your neck, and his hand moved up to feel your breasts' tender skin, hot, soft, and sensitive to his touch. He wanted your body under his hands, the scent of your skin, and the light whisper of your hair against his. Licking your earlobes, he tried to ignore the strain in his muscles and the hard, desperate pressure driving him towards you, toward madness.

An ache was expanding inside you and demanding more, craving him to flip you over and lose yourself in you. You clung to him, your eyes half-lidded, your face flushed. Your breathes were heavy when you said, "take me, Vash."

His eyes widened, and he stared at you like he might be going deaf and blind at the same time, hunching over from the effort of inhaling and exhaling. He said nothing and only looked at you carefully from the top, drinking you in. His pulse was wild, his mind racing. There was no way he could refuse you.

02:50 pm - July 21st

Vash stepped aside, and you pushed the sheets away when he asked you to get up. Soon you were standing in the middle of the room as he had demanded.

He couldn't look away from you and probably couldn't even hear himself think over his heart beating fast like a thud against his skull. Pinning you against the closest wall, he kissed you wild enough for you never to forget why he was called the stampede. His fingers touched every everywhere. Every bend and arc. Every pit and hole. Leaving gentle slaps and smacks on the soft skin of yours.

It was lovely to feel your soft curves against his rough edges, and somehow, the paradox between the smoothness of your bodies pressed against each other made the scene even more surreal. In order not to miss any precious time, he picked you up, and you gasped, shocked, and scrambled to hold on for dear life. He pushed the bathroom door aside with his shoulder and carried you into the shower.

He needed you. Needed this. Now. You could see it in his eyes, in the upward arch of his erection.

He drew a deep, unsteady breath before switching the tap on.

A short scream tore through your throat.

You two got soaked in cold water as he pressed your front against the shower wall, losing himself in you like never before. His kisses were more profound, more desperate, and his hands less considerate than before. The heat more explosive, and everything between you wild, raw, and vulnerable. His mouth devoured you. He had his lips all over your body, his tongue tasting new places.

With the cold tiles touching your breasts, a sensation of pleasure spread throughout your entire body. You could feel it, the bottom half of your body urging you to press against him more deeply and fully. He had to hear the pleas of every cell in your body because his next thrust was so intense that you had to hold on to the wall with your palms to steady yourself while your cheeks pressed more and more against the cold ceramic as he had his way with you.

You lost track of time.

You had no idea how long you had been here. You didn't know how long he had gone haywire in you. Your knees were starting to shake when he turned you around, and your eyes fell on his soaked hair sticking to his forehead and clumping eyelashes blinking slowly. You considered yourself lucky for not only seeing such a marvel but also tasting him and feeling him.

With such hunger, he kissed your lips like he hadn't had them in years. You felt the hard tiles press against your back as he pushed himself inside, without hesitating to move up and down. Over and over again, you were lauded, his panting echoing within four walls.

So many times that you wanted to open your mouth to protest, but every time he took one turgid nipple into his mouth. Heat surged through your blood as his teeth scraped over the end of one, and you moaned instead of complaining. You couldn't stop thinking about how good it felt to feel him inside you, his tongue twirling around your other breast.

The pressure was built. You were consumed by the need to reach the climax in every action. Your stomach muscles were tightening and quivering.

He moved his hands from your hips to your head, tangles of wet hair wrapping around his fingers as he pulled you upwards for a kiss. His tongue immediately thrust past your lips, and he increased his speed.

God! Nothing had ever tasted as good as Vash, you thought. Sensual, decadent, the flavor of him slipped through you.

His hands clenched tighter in your hair, and his teeth bit the flesh of your neck, but you barely noticed, barely caring about the hickey it would leave as he threw back his head, groaning your name. The sight of him in the throes of his peak drove you to the edge, your inner muscles clamping around his hardness, pulling him in deeper.

You cried out, clutching his shoulders so tightly that your fingernails dug into his skin, and your screams were muffled against his chest. The plunk of shower water running between your feet could be heard as your body shook, and he leaned his forehead against your head.

His hot released load was dripping and sliding down on your thighs when you collapsed into his arms, feeling weak and unsteady. He held you close to himself, tight yet so gentle, stroking your wet hair with his fingers and leaving small pecks wherever he could reach. "We should eat something," he said, kissing the curve of your shoulder and the sides of your neck.

You were intoxicated by the pure, stunning power of his emotions, endless waves of love and desire, love and kindness, love and joy, love and tenderness.

So much tenderness.

You pressed your cheek against his chest and held him as he braced himself against the wall. Your bodies were wet and heavy with feeling, your hearts pounding with something more powerful than you had ever imagined possible.

Water was dripping from the mess of his hair. So gorgeous, you thought. Then you forgot where you were and what you were going to do. Your arms and limbs trembled slightly, and he was too terrified to let you go.

Too in love to let you go.

07:15 pm - July 21st

As night fell, the blue haze of the day lifted and revealed the stars brightening the sky, shining like beams of happiness, appearing still as an old photograph. The wind blew Vash's hair into a tousled bun.

He walked out of his favorite shop and leaned against the wall with a big bag of donuts and an even bigger smile. Yeah, he perfectly knew he would eat cake, but eating donuts had nothing to do with it: a warm-up, just appetizers.

His eyes followed the long shadows of townies milling around under the flickering lamppost lights, even though he couldn't make out any faces from such afar. He liked this town. It was so small that his typhoon hadn't yet found it. Or maybe because he was a stranger here. Nobody knew him, and everybody was safe from the curse his name carried around.

Everybody but you.

You already had been spelled by those fifteen letters.

V-A-S-H-T-H-E-S-T-A-M-P-E-D-E

Taking a look around, he tried to find a clock on a building or something. The birthday boy didn't want to be late. This and, of course, the words you uttered before you left the house:

"Eight o'clock, Vash. Don't forget! Don't be late! Don't be early and wear that white shirt. See you there!"

He sighed and took a donut from the bag, careful not to stain his white shirt with his clumsiness. It smelled great. What a heavenly aroma, smelling like honey. This and you and this town. It sure felt good to see happy people around.

Without further ado, he took a bite of his sugar-coated donut.

He expected it to taste incredible and super tasty, like being alive, but he couldn't feel it. There was a sense of numbness in him. The weight of an unknown worry was heavy against his heart.

A muffled whistle-like sound echoed in the distance, followed by several. Another shot rang out, this time sounding like it was meant. Suffocating silence, creaking doors, and screams that tore the sky open.

He felt strangely dull, as if his connection with his body had been cut off. The bag fell to the ground, and the donuts scattered around. People were crying, weeping, but all he could hear was the wind's wails in his ears, slapping sharply against his face.

He took uncertain steps forward. The area outside the saloon looked like more than a graveyard. It was worse than he had expected. There were injured people everywhere; some collapsed on the ground.

From where he stood, he counted two men, one woman, and a child dead. Open eyes, mouths agape, fresh blood still dripping down limp bodies. Where were you? Something about that realization struck fear into his veins.

The horrifying possibilities flashed through his mind. His mind was blank as to what had happened. Were you okay?

Vash looked over the crowd, still staring, waiting for you to show up. Waiting for you to find him. But you weren't anywhere to be found. In the chaos, he ran from one to another, people scattered around, and he didn't see you. The terror of this moment kicked him in the gut.

So many thoughts were tangled in his head that he couldn't untie the insanity. He glanced back at the doors you were supposed to come out, opening it with a smile.

He waited. He waited longer than was reasonable. Then he called you. Quietly at first, then louder. He shouted your name. His chest was being torn apart by fear, squeezing his heart. A part of him was afraid to speak the words aloud, fearful of making them true.

His legs felt like they had been formed from fresh clay, like he was moving through a fog. His voice reached everyone, pleading this time, running forward until the doors were in his line of sight.

"Is she in?" he asked, but no one answered. Everybody was frozen by the agony of the moment. All that could be heard were silent weeps and the wind howling.

Vash gulped, his throat all dry, and walked in; his lips parted, his eyes wide and horrified. The blood in his veins all ice.

Pain.

It began at his feet, bloomed up his legs, unfurled in his stomach, and worked its way up to his throat, only to explode behind his eyes. The sudden scream ripped itself from his lungs. It wrenched free from his chest without warning, without permission, and it was a scream so loud, so hard and violent, it broke his back. His hands were pressed against his knees, his head half bent.

Echoes of his misery would never be lost in the wind or carried away by the clouds but would always live between these walls. Forever.

His voice was unfamiliar to him. The horror, shock, and dread that flooded his body was something he had never felt — never known before, not like this.

The popped balloons on the walls. A half-ruined cake on the counter. Blood-stained confetti all around. A shoeless foot lying on the floor. Locks of tousled hair slipped from the makeshift shroud.

The numbness was now merciful, at least for a few moments. Then, everything crashed.

Vash fell next to the body. The knowledge rushed up in him, choking off his breath. Another scream tore its way out. Then another, and another. It felt as if his very essence had been ripped from him.

He pulled you into his arms, clutching you tightly, barely able to breathe. His fingers seized your hair and yanked it from your face. The golden strands of his hair fell onto your bloody face. You were called over and over, but it didn't seem like anything more than a sound. His pleas were like commands, begging you to open your eyes, but you ignored them as if playing a nasty prank.

Vash held both of your hands in his. There was no touch. All he felt was an empty coldness. The silence grew even louder, consuming him like a pitch-black shadow. Biting his lip, he tasted a faint metallic taste on his tongue. The desperation in his expression, the grief carved into his features, the way he looked at you as if he were about to pass the gates of hell and utter his last farewell.

Suddenly, he wanted to laugh one of those strange, high-pitched, delusional laughs that marked the end of sanity. Because this world, he thought, had a terrible sense of humor. It always seemed to mock him, making his life more miserable and ruining his dreams by destroying everything he ever loved.

You were dead. This pain was truly real.

Vash broke apart. Sobs cracked open his chest and cried until the pain spiraled and peaked; he bawled until his head throbbed and his eyes swelled. His fingers dug into your back as he called, desperate for a sign of hope. Your hollow body was clutched to his heart, and he felt the injustice roared through him. The feeling fractured him apart. His forehead pressed against your cheek, and his mouth trembled as he whispered, "C-Come ba-ck." The words fell apart. He could only mumble stuttering sounds.

He kissed your knuckles briefly. Would you have blushed if you were still breathing, whining about how cheesy he was being? He could only imagine your reactions now.

Hot tears streamed down his face, and he squeezed his eyelids shut in an effort to make them stop. He sat there unmoving for quite some time with choppy breathing and watery eyes.

09:00 pm - July 21st

Things were in a state of disarray in his vision. People were coming in with dropped shoulders and muffled weeps in the air. Someone approached and touched his shoulder for comfort, and a fierce unknown rage emerged in him. He could kill the man there but would have to let go of you, and he couldn't.

Vash turned his face back and held you so tightly like you would be able to feel the faint beat of his heart. He wept, cradling you, and he wouldn't move nor speak a word other than your name. It was like seeing the sun through the water. His tears fell, but you wouldn't be able to kiss them away this time.

"How dare you mourn her!" Someone bent over him. "You killed her!" Weak fists landed on his back but hurt him more than torture and shots. "She died because of you! You bring misfortune and destruction everywhere you go!" yelled Rosalina with a devastated voice.

Words, he thought, were such unpredictable creatures. No gun, knife, army, or enemy could ever be more powerful than a sentence. Blades may cut and kill, but words would stab and stay, burying into the future, digging and failing to rip his skeletons from his flesh. These weren't nice things to say. Not now. Not after what he was going through. Not when his white shirt was covered in your blood, and his hands burned with the bit of warmth left in your body.

Vash continued to hold you, silent and steady, even as the tears receded, even when he began to tremble. He had you tight as his body shook, held you close when the tears started anew, held you in his arms, and stroked your hair, whispering, "Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me." His voice was a terrible thing, cracked and broken.

He felt guilty. Anyone who got close to him was doomed to die. He thought his actions and inactions always took away his loved ones. Oh, stubborn, stubborn Vash! Of course, he would blame himself for something that had nothing to do with him.

The once happy eyes of Rosalina spilled hot tears on his shirt. "For two years, you lived among us, looked into our eyes every day, and lied about who you are, Vash the Stampede!"

Several gasps were heard from the crowd, followed by whispers filling the air.

Vash the stampede was here.

Chaos.

Questions flew, and weeps were muffled. Everyone was shocked, horrified, freaking out. You had long been forgotten, he thought.

"Is he the most wanted Vash the Stampede?"

"Were there raids in the saloon because of him?"

"The bounty hunters were after the money on his head?"

"They shot us and ran away because of this man?"

"This guy really had us fooled!"

"Is this true?"

Vash's reality was too broken, too distracted to process these kinds of talks. This horrible instant was one mess of insanity in his mind. He couldn't make any sense of it. He didn't answer a word to anyone and just stroked your cold cheek with as much gentleness as he could.

Someone shouted, "What's the hell's the matter with you? Say something. At least make some excuse!"

"Shame on you for bringing danger to our town!"

"We've heard enough of your crying!"

"At least have the decency and go die like a man!"

"No normal human being could cause all these horrible things! He had to be a monster! Who else could have been responsible?"

"Did you feel some of the pain of people who died because of your reckless behaviors?"

He was dying, he thought. He must be. He thought he knew what death was like, but he must have been wrong because this was a whole different kind of dying—a whole different kind of pain.

"That girl died protecting this demon?"

"She knew about the humanoid typhoon all this time." The man gulped and pointed at your dead body. "Our loved ones are dead and hurt because of her stupid devotion to this walking disaster!"

The scene was quite unbelievable, horrifying. His mind reeled, incapable of comprehending or processing what he was hearing. Everything in him came to a halt while his thoughts caught up. It was for him that you died. The shock brought a quietness, a moment to gird his soul for what would come. Truth poured gasoline on the spark of denial in his belly, burning him alive. It fashioned itself into a knife and stabbed him in the eye. And the funny thing was, he didn't want to do anything to stop it. Anguish was all that remained of you; he embraced it with all he was. He deserved it. So he bled with a smile on his face, wishing the pain to end him this time.

"If that self-righteous whore had revealed his whereabouts, not only would she be alive now, but the others wouldn't be dead either!"

Blackness seemed to press against his eyes, ears, and throat. He couldn't breathe, hear, or see clearly, and the suffocation of the moment was so terrifying that he was almost sure he had lost his mind.

How many insults can one person take before throwing in the fucking towel? For him, that number was infinite, but for you, he wouldn't allow even one.

He stood up and grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt. He pointed a gun at the infamous criminal, but Vash ripped the gun out of his hand. "What did you say about her?" he asked with a voice like a rusty saw that wanted to cut the bone. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes were burning in absolute rage. Nobody had seen him like this. Not once. People were so used to his calm and kind demeanor that this side of him scared them. If they wanted a typhoon, they'd get one. He was fortified with a new kind of anger, a desperate, animal intensity that overpowered him and forced him to stand still.

The man was trembling in his grip. "N-nothing," he finally said. Vash's pulse was racing, breathing heavily, almost like he would burst. The muscles in his hand tensed, causing him to crack his knuckles. Almost like a blazing inferno, his blood boiled in his veins, burning him from the inside out. He was mainly angry with himself, but that wouldn't stop his urge to hunt each and every single one of those bounty hunters, just to make sure they suffered and felt a lot of pain, just like he felt. No longer did he want to show sympathy to anyone. Maybe he was really a monster, wasn't he?

"If they learn your name and start haunting you, we'll run away! We'll run, run, run, and keep running as far as we have to! And when things calm down, we'll settle by their side again. You won't kill. You'll never kill anyone again, and one day, people will begin seeing you as I do."

Recalling your words, his eyes widened, and his fist loosened. The man's face was devoid of color. Vash tried to read his eyes for something but saw nothing but terror in the end. He was afraid.

No.

Your race was merciless. How could they say such a thing about one of their own? This man probably deserved the worst, but you didn't want Vash to be cruel, only to be kind. And he couldn't do this to you. Because if he did and an afterlife existed, you'd probably be the only sad person in heaven right now.

Dropping the man on the floor, Vash crushed his gun in his hand and tossed it away. The stranger was groaning and hunching over when he returned to you.

It was the first time Rosalina had seen him like this, her brain unable to digest or process this information. Unlike the man she knew, this one had cold, sharp eyes only focused on you. The look on his face was different. Scary, even. Somehow that worried her even more. She might be sad for you, even hate her people for having talked disparagingly about you; maybe she would give them a piece of her mind and grieve your loss. Maybe. Right now, though, her child's safety was her top priority, and this blood-stained man didn't look very stable.

"Listen, we don't want to die! Leave here and never come back!"

Vash sat by your side, helpless, as if something had broken inside him and all his emotions had poured out. When you left him alone, did you take some part of him with you?

"Get her out of this town. This disaster would've never happened if you hadn't stumbled into this town. She'd still be alive," Rosalina said firmly, staring at your peaceful face like you were in a deep sleep.

Vash didn't answer or even glance at the woman who wanted to help you celebrate his birthday. Like an orphan, he pulled you impossibly close, your bodies soldering together. He pondered Rosalina's words and the night he saw you and wondered whether your life would have been different if he hadn't met you. Who was even capable of answering this? As he whispered your name and begged you for forgiveness, his tears washed the blood from your cheeks, and Rosalina felt something inside her die. As she watched him willingly take all blame upon himself alone, as if he was already familiar with this feeling, she felt something break apart inside her.

Vash resembled his wanted posters now. A tall man with blond hair covered in red, but this time, it was your blood instead of his famous coat. His hands were trembling so hard he couldn't even recognize them anymore. Even so, he picked you up, cuddling you in his arms, only to notice the hickey on your neck from hours ago. Pain cramped his joints, breaking away every single bone in his body. He wanted to shriek through the sky; he wanted to fall to his knees again and sob into the ground. He didn't know why the agony wasn't finding an escape through his tears.

"Think way back. Remember that story I told you? About the man that found a blank ticket that could take him anywhere he wanted? That man is all of us. Where you go is yours to choose. You'll always have that ticket in your pocket, no matter what darkness life throws at you. When you're ready, write down the destination. I promise you. You'll be alright."

He wished Rem was right, but there was no such concept as happiness in this world. There was only endless strife, destruction, and death. There was only loneliness, pain, and regret. Whatever he did, no matter how much he pleaded, no matter how much he wished with all his heart to make things right, life always had a way of taking everything from him.

It seemed like Vash the Stampede's life had peaked, and nothing that came after you would ever matter to him. Because for him, there was before you, and there was during you, but he didn't want any after you. You were the light he never knew he needed. He was lost in the darkness, wandering life without direction. Then he found you, and you brought him warmth and light. You were the one who saved him. Twice and he couldn't do the same.

As he walked forward, he pleaded with his bones to remain steady, to carry him through the rest of the day and into the rest of his meaningless life. He passed through the crowd as if he had never been a part of them. The sand dragged under his feet, his knees weak, but he held you tight and walked away. His footprints grew smaller and smaller until there was only the empty silence of a long, lonely night.

Let's let him be for now. Everyone deserves to be left alone for a moment or two, right? Be that as it may, he always lost his most precious ones on his birthdays. Maybe it would have been better if he had never been born so that he would not have to endure so much grief alone. Or perhaps it was the way it was so we could be part of his life.

Author note: My real world had grown so dark that I didn't want to live in it. That's why I escaped and spent the day in a world darker than mine. Please accept my sincere apologies for dragging you down here with me ^_^

If you have anything to say, don't be shy to use ASK and the comment sections.

Disclaimers: This fan-written story contains quotes from "The Song of Achilles", "King Killer Chronicles", "Shatter Me" series and "Reminders of him" books, "Hamlet" play, and "I am unafraid with him" poem by pencap on Tumblr.

The arts are from "Trigun Stampede" anime.

[kairiscorner]

Helloo, can I request Miguel with an artist reader who draws him a lot? 👉👈 Like the reader has a secret crush on Miguel and he inspires them a lot, without even knowing it. And maybe there's a Gwen-and-Miles-like-situation where Miguel by accident discovers the drawings of him in their sketchbook?

AAAAAAAA ANON THIS IS SO CUTE !! tbh i wanted to finish the miggy fic i had for ate @binibinileonara bc i wanted to connect these two together, BUT I COULDN'T RESIST, I'LL MAKE IT SEPARATE BC WHY NOT !! thank you for the lovely idea btw (i also had an idea like this actually in my notes) THANKS FOR GIVING ME THE OOMPH TO DO IT !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

you always had this desire to capture all that interested you in its full beauty, in its unbridled greatness. that was, to you, the essence of all your art pieces; they always reflected how you saw the world, how you saw nature, how you saw people.

you never believed people had one or two faces to them, you believed people were multi-faceted, that every person was a kaleidoscope of beauty, skills, quirks, flaws, fears, hopes, and dreams. you loved capturing every bit of people who intrigued you the best you could, and you hoped that if you stood back and admired the big picture that was them, going over the details and fibers that made each person their own–from the good, bad, pretty and ugly details–you would finally see the whole, uncut image of the person you were illustrating; who you were painting in the colors you saw them in, the colors that stuck with you and filled the empty canvas of your mind with all sorts of shapes and splotches of hues and shades that formed the image of them when their name would come to mind.

and for some reason... that person to you right now was miguel o'hara. you had a lot of things to say about him, even words that many would argue don't exist. you felt a myriad of feelings when you were around miguel, and you knew there was more than just the dictating leader miguel that everyone was familiar with. like all people, miguel, too, was an explosion of different kinds of colors to you–colors that only you could see, because when he was around you... he was more than just the cool, calm, and collected boss everyone saw him as.

he was much more caring, much more funny around you. his smile when you told him a funny story illuminated a bright yellow and a warm orange to you–his eyes would twinkle and you'd see the hazelnut brown in his eyes, and a shade of what appeared to be coffee brown at the bottom of his irises. he exuded a commanding aura, a dark, cool blue–but when paired with you, and only you, he exuded a bright red; a color of fiery passion, intimacy, and most of all... attraction.

he was the subject of your affections, you, the soulful and emotional artist that admired him and all that he was from afar and up close. you admired the way he held your hand when you were scared on a few missions, you admired how gently he held you when you two were caught between a rock and a hard place; and how soft and loving his eyes were when they gazed at you. you knew he might have felt a platonic kind of love for you, what with being so comfortable around you and all, but you felt a different kind of love for him–and you hated denying your creative side the indulgence of capturing him in all his beauty.

hence, you began slowly filling the empty spaces of your sketchbooks and notebooks, or whatever other papers lay around when inspiration struck you, with images of him and only him. you caught his face in moments where he was nonchalant, disappointed, angry, grumpy, and... smiling.

when you witnessed his smile for the first time when you met him, that image was burned into your retinas, into your mind, into your heart. you saw that smile from the minute you went to bed to the minute you woke up, the only thing that saddened you was that you could never hold that man who smiled at you and made your heart beat a little faster–you could only watch him and be with him at a distance. but art was the bridge between you two that'd close that distance you wanted to cover so, so badly.

you did, at times, believe what you were doing was... a little creepy. you refused to let anyone see your sketchbooks even before you drew him, and that was out of embarrassment at your drawings. but now, it was a new kind of embarrassment, a feeling adjacent to guilt and disgust at how nobody but he could fill your mind and have you wanting to keep him in your mind by feeding yourself, indulging yourself in putting him on paper and coloring him in; to be with him at a closer perspective than how you two were in the real world.

you had to admit it–seeing him constantly in your mind, wanting to let thoughts of him out on paper as you wanted to be through with imagining him, but knew you couldn't the more and more you portrayed him–it meant you... wanted him. you really, really loved him.

you knew nobody should know, nobody had to know about this little crush you had on miguel. you'd rather die than have someone peek at your sketchbook that was filled with all kinds of drawings of him. but unfortunately, the man himself bore witness to your caricatures and illustrations of him when you left your sketchbook at his office.

you ran as quickly as you could, praying he hadn't opened it out of curiosity. he was always asking you what you were up to, and you'd immediately shut your sketchbook and laugh awkwardly, claim you were merely doodling. you always left out the part that you were constantly drawing him, and only ever him; and now, he'd find out.

as you entered his office, scouring with your eyes for your sketchbook, a figure emerged from the darkness behind you and gave a slight cough. "this is yours, isn't it?" that low, fluid voice was none other than miguel's. you turned around in fear of what he was going to look like–would any of the faces you drew seeing him as be one of the faces you'd see?

to your surprise... no. he had a different, completely new face that you had never drawn him in; a flustered state. he was blushing, his angled cheeks and high nose bridge were covered in a pink-red hue–and he was grinning. he handed you the sketchbook with a now sheepish smile. "i'm sorry, i wasn't sure if it was yours. i had to... look through for a name. and, um... it was very–" he wanted to continue, but then, he saw you were on the verge of tears.

"i'm... sorry..." you muttered, feeling incredibly ashamed of yours and busted for having indulged in drawing him without him knowing. guilt stirred in your stomach and elicited tears to well up in your eyes. miguel smiled, and as his eyebrows curved upwards together to form a look of reassurance, he placed both hands on your shoulders.

"listen, you have a wonderful talent. i'm sorry if you don't hear that enough, but that changes today. i'm so... wow, i'm so flattered you thought i was good enough to be drawn that way. it feels... amazing, to know an artist sees me fit to be their, what would you call it?" he asked as he wiped a tear rolling down your cheek away from you.

"a... muse." you whispered, wiping the rest of your tears away. miguel chuckled. "right, a muse." he said as he inched closer to you, with the sweetest smile on his face. "i might sound really crazy right now, but... i want to be your muse. i really, really want to be your muse." he said, with emphasis on 'your'.

your face lightened up as the tears that welled up gave your eyes a glassy look, and you saw the blush on his deepen as you became more and more flustered. you smiled and wrapped your arms around his chest, pulling him in for an embrace you needed to release. "and i want to be your artist. only yours." you whispered, to which miguel reciprocated your hug. and it was here that you witnessed him in a new color, a pinkish, reddish hue that made you feel all kinds of happiness and excitement.

a love meant to be captured and painted in with bursts of emotion and care for one another.

a/n: I'M SO SORRY IF IT DIDN'T COME OUT THAT WELL NGL I MADE THIS A LITTLE RUSHED 😭😭😭 BUT I LOVE MIGGY HERE PLSSS AND I HOPE Y'ALL LOVE HIM HERE, TOO <333

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck

[mxtantrights]

Helion tells the reader the truth

"I promised your mother I would protect you. And I admit I haven't been forthcoming about certain things, but never have I put you in danger." Helion says.

"It's okay, but you have to explain it to me. What if I end up putting myself in danger because I don't know?" you ask.

Helion scoffs, "You weren't in any danger until you started looking for the truth. Which is fully my fault for not telling you what I know."

"Which is..." you trail off.

Hélions gestures for you to take a seat. You take the one across from him. The table in front of you is set for tea for you doubt the both of you will be touching those cups.

"It started just before she-Amarantha- took over. For a couple of nights I could hear you screaming in your sleep. Then came the drawings. Over and over the same image. An eye enclasped in a ring,

"When she took control, you started sleep walking. By then we were under the mountain already. Held in captivity."

"I don't remember any of that." you comment.

"You wouldn't. I took all of your memories from that time." he answers.

You look at him confused, "Why?"

"Because of Amarantha. She appeared one day in my cell with you bound in rope. Claiming that you were an unpredictable obstacle." he says.

"I don't understand. My powers aren't as powerful as yours. What made me threat in her eyes?" you ask.

Helion shakes his head, "To this day I don't now. We won't ever know since she's dead and your memories are gone. But I know that she was scared of you."

"So you wiped my mind so she couldn't find out?" you ask again.

"No, I wiped your mind because she asked me to. She knew exactly why she was scared of you. She came in that night, dragging your almost lifeless body into my cell."

"What?" you murmur.

"I had a choice, and I chose to take away whatever information she and by extension you, found out that night." he answers.

You launch out of your chair. Tears in your eyes. Because you understand what he's saying. But it also means something else. Something even scarier.

"And when you got free from under the mountain, you wiped it again. To make me forget the whole thing." you whisper.

Helion bows his head in shame. You let out a dry laugh.

"If she wanted to, she could have killed me. And you wouldn't have found out until you were free!" you shout.

He finally picks his head up. He calls out your name. But you can't quite tamper down the rage you feel inside of your chest. Your breathing ragged, you can't catch your breath.

"You're bright."

"What?"

"Look at your chest, it's glowing."

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Answers Gen 1 pt.70

Takara's office was buzzing with enegry when M arrived. She stopped at the front desk instantly recongizing the long term receptionist.

M: Hi Renee. How have you been?

Renee: Mercury Hi! It's so nice to see you. It's been too long since you've come by. I'm good. How are you?

M smiled genuinely, she had always liked Renee. She was a sweet girl who you could usually find sketching. M had been honored to receive one of herself a few years back when Renee had been just an intern.

M: I'm good, thanks. I'm here to see Takara.

Renee: She's been waiting for you. She's just finishing up with a meeting. Do you want to wait in her office?

Before M could decline. Takara appeared.

Takara: Mercury.

Old fashioned but customary with Tomarang elders, M bowed when she greeted Takara.

M: Takara, hi.

Takara: Stop that M. You look tired.

Takara chastised her earnestly.

M: I didn't sleep well.

Takara: I can imagine. I saw the photos.

Mercury fidgets unable to quell her frayed nerves.

M: Yeah, I've seen them.

She responds dejectedly.

Takaras' demeanor softens. She sighed heavily and pulled Mercury in for a hug. M tightly embraced the middle-aged woman she had known all her adult life, drawing comfort from the contact.

Takara: Come.

They take the short walk to Takara's office. She takes a seat behind her desk but M stands.

Takara: Why didn't you call me as soon as you saw them?

M looked away slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal. She had prayed that Takara was calling to discuss the book but had suspected otherwise.

M: Is this what you wanted to talk about?

Takara: Look. Who is this?

She turned around to inspect the photo on the screen and her temper flared.

M: Paris. How do you know her?

She practically hissed through clinched teeth.

Takara: I don't, but after I saw those photos I had my people do some digging. The images led back to this girl. She not only took them but was also the one who posted them from an anonymous page. Stupid girl doesn't know how to clean up behind herself. She didn't even get rid of the originals online properly. Guess she thought deleting them meant they were gone forever. How naive.

M: Okay. So Paris took the pictures. She's friends with Madison and Madison is seeing Kason. Are we all caught up? This doesn't change anything, He was still there. With her!

She could feel that anger she had been worried about rising, as she drew the conclusion that Takara was defending Kason.

Takara calmly responds.

Takara: Yes, he was there. With me.

M: With.. you?

Takara: Yes, with me.

Takara tapped a few keys and pulled up her emails. She scrolls for a while before stopping on an email thread that is addressed to Kason. She opened the email and scrolls to the top allowing M to read each email in its entirety. Then she opened a web browser and pulls up The Sims Daily from a week prior. In the Recent neighborhood stories section are images of Kason, Takara and Madison all at the cafe. Next to it was the usual celebrity sighting story of Takara and Husband of bestselling author Mercury Gratz eating at the local cafe.

M felt her world shift back into place. The relief she felt overwhelmed her and she went to take a seat, unsure her legs would continue to support her.

Takara: You see. Our little red-haired friend conveniently left yours truly out of the photos. Kason was helping Madison's club host an event, for you.

M: Why didn't he just tell me?

Takara: Me again. I swore him to secrecy.

M smiled to herself. She knew what it meant to be sworn to secrecy by Takara. It was like taking a blood oath.

Takara: Guess he took it pretty serious. Kid's got guts holding out like that when someone tried to take advantage. Shows how much faith he has in your trust in him.

The relief instantly turns to guilt. It plagued her mind with doubt and regret.

M: (Did I believe him? Will he forgive me? Does he hate me? I called him a liar. How could I be so ungrateful?)

M: And Madison?

She asked instead. Trying to stay focused. Takara shook her head dismissing the implied question.

Takara: Trust me when I say that Madison means you no harm. If she was after anyone it would have been you, M. I promise you, nothing is going on. I wanted to talk about your book deadline but maybe that's enough for today. Go home, kiss and make up with your husband and get some rest. That's and order.

Brindelton Dog Park (While M is meeting with Takara)

Kason arrived at the dog park 5 minutes early. He unleashed Comet and set him free. The clouds were dark and gray. They danced across the sky, teasing with the threat of rain. He pulled his coat tightly around him, the cold and cloudy day adding to his already somber mood. He took a seat on the bench and waited.

Madison: Hey Kason. I don't have much time. What's up?

He stood, his body ridged.

Kason: What the hell is this Madison?

He asked his voice nearly a growl.

Madison: ....Paris.

She spoke her friend's name with resignation. That alone was an admission of guilt. Madison had planned to tell Kason about her friendship with Paris back when she'd gotten that confusing note the night of their meeting. She'd had a bad feeling and figured it was best to come clean before Kason found out on his own. Unfortunately, she'd gotten caught up the next couple of days calling and video chatting with Beckett and it had slipped her mind. Now it was too late.

Kason: Yes. Paris. Care to tell me how you know her?

Madison dropped her chin to her chest, her eyes were downcast in shame.

Madison: Kason, I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you.

Kason: Tell me what Madison?!

He barked, unable to contain his frustration any longer.

Madison: The truth is I knew who you were the day we met. Paris is my best friend. She put me up to saying hello.

Madison: At first I was just going to say hello and leave. I wasn't interested in Paris's game. Then you told me you were married to Mercury and...

Kason: And what? You started a game all your own? Mercury saw those. She thinks something is going on between us.

He replied in an accusatory tone as his eyes filled with disappointment.

Madison: I'm sorry! I told Paris to leave you alone months ago. When she called you after her business trip. I never wanted any-

Kason: You Knew about me for that long? You're as bad as your sick friend. I can't believe I trusted you.

Kason shook his head and turned to leave. He stopped a few paces away and called over his shoulder.

Kason: I'll tell Takara the event is cancelled.

Then he whistled for Comet and left.

Previous Next

Beginning

Poses

@elen-shine Top secret & Male emotions

@starrysimsie on the line

[fishy0bishy]

Mission upcoming

AN:after a minute of bringing up Mrs.Unamed and at one drawing I did of her and Merrit fighting reunited I wrote a little something leading up to that fight (long way of saying I wrote Merrit lore.)

also all of North’s crew is here! And Gilded!

Start of something bigger.

It was a cozy evening and Lizzy was wandering about and stumbling on Merrit in her lab making and testing some Filter soil but before doing or saying anything Merrit pauses and goes “Goggles and coat before doing anything in here”. 

Lizzy rolls her eyes and puts on the gear “what did ya parents told you to do the same thing beforehand?”

  Merrit smiles and nonchalantly goes “Nope never knew them. But my grandma and my other caretaker did” 

Merrit pointing at two photos on a bulletin board. One image is of two tiny elderly women, one a ferret and the other a possum. But the other photo is blurred by a drink spill stain but Lizzy could still make out ferrets one with creme colored fur and the other brown colored.

  Lizzy blinks at the photo and turns saying “wait what? You don’t seem like a person to have as trauma as everyone else on this ship.” Merrit exclaims and shakes her head

 “Woah woah it’s not like that. I just never knew them and I don’t mind it. All I know is that they’re space riders so I assumed they were always busy” 

“But wouldn’t you see them even when you became a space rider?”

“Someone is getting curious are we? You can ask poppy when we’re at HQ”

“We’ll I’m just say-“

Before the conversation (or questioning if you will) continues North interrupts by loudly knocking on the door and yells “Mission time! Suit up we got a big boss on our hands!” 

 Both Merrit and Lizzy look at the other and they go to the halls removing their Lab gear and Merrit going to her locker to change up and Lizzy leaving with north but a time skip and the whole crew is meeting up and discussing plans. the first to speak up is Zane “i heard we have a big boss what’s that about?” North smiles and leads by excitedly going “I found a lead with the cult and I’ve tracked down a High ranking member! There’s no photos of her, not a lot of information well except that she leads supply raids from our docks and only seen a total of 2 times within 22 years that she’s appeared and apparently there’s a urban legend about her!”

 “Woah she’s pretty tough and sneaky if there isn’t anything about her!” Jaz exclaims and stares at an artist rendition of the woman. A red cloaked figure with a twisted smile and crème colored ears sticking out the hood. But North nudges Lizzy’s shoulder and asks “Hey you were a high member ever seen them. If you don’t mind answering of course.” 

“A please would work but sure-“ Lizzy looks at the photo and her ears raise up and turns back to north pointing to the photo going “you do know who you’re dealing with? I dunno if the urban legend said something but she’s crazy scary. Even I didn’t get buddy buddy with her.”

They all stare at Lizzy till Zelda breaks the silence and tells North “what’s the legend about? Can’t be that bad.” 

“Well from what I gathered from Poppy apparently this lady used to be a space rider. A very honorable one as well. And she had a husband who’s was a medic in the crew she was in but he also disappeared but myth states they had a child but I couldn’t find anything on files dealing with Rider disappearances. Except the crew Zane’s mother was in. The room immediately goes quiet and they all give each other looks but Merrit speaks up “are we even qualified? Sure we are B+ rank but this woman is maybe a S rank cultist. And remember what happened with Gilded.” 

  Jaz teases Merrit and North by saying “oh the cultists that Merrit has the doki dokis for and the one who whooped North?”

 “Jaz this is serious.. but yeah you’re right…But let’s head out crew we don’t wanna lose track of this woman” “oh changing the subject so quick boss? Sunny remarks as the meeting ends with everyone nodding their heads and the crew leaving to their bikes flying to the upcoming red filled planet.Lizzy and Sparky waving bye waiting for their return. 

Meanwhile Mrs.Unamed with a treat left by a certain kitsune (cough cough @truelazymaker )

All Ocs Belomg to the listed!:

NorthHeat(@north-heats-stronghold) Lizzy and Sunny(@novalizinpeace) Jaz(@fanofanythingsblog)

Zelda and Sparky(@fandomssvetlanafrom) Zane(@moonspiritleaf) And finally Gilded(@qxurugosk)

And this Au Belongs to @onyxonline!

[kishigunpla]

Let's Read: A Requiem for Char: The Red Comet of My Youth - Chapter 2

by Shūichi Ikeda

This post will be an overview of the second chapter, And Then I Met “Him”

Here’s a link to a summary of Chapter 1, covering Ikeda’s early acting career.

When we last left off, Ikeda had just auditioned for the role of Amuro Ray, though without much enthusiasm. He recalls wondering if Matsuura had asked him to try out for the role because he had the image of him in Jiro Monogatari in his mind. But regardless, Ikeda was much more interested in the drinking party afterward than anything about the audition.

While waiting for Matsuura to get ready to leave, Ikeda spotted some production materials on the reception room table. Though not particularly interested at first, he remembers flipping through the pages and being immediately drawn in by Yoshikazu Yasuhiko’s character art. And one in particular caught his eye -

Ikeda: Among them, my eyes were glued to the drawing of a certain character, a young officer wearing a mask. He had a different kind of elegance and demeanor than the other characters. When I looked at the illustrations of his facial expressions and standing poses, it inspired me to think, "I wonder if this guy would talk like this," or "I wonder if he would say something like this."

His name, Char Aznable.

Inspired by what he had seen, Ikeda went back to Matsuura and asked if he could record some samples for Char. Though slightly shocked by Ikeda's sudden change of heart, Matsuura agreed.

At the pub later, after a few drinks Matsuura asked him if he'd like to play Char. Ikeda agreed, and Matsuura happily replied "Ok, it's decided!"

Ikeda: Even if I look back on it myself, I think, "It's like a drama," but this is the truth of how I met "him".

The truth, however, was much more complicated. Ikeda didn't know at the time, but another actor had already been lined up for the role. It took some pulling strings behind the scenes by both Matsuura and producer Yasuo Shibue to change things in time for production.

Ikeda: It's all in hindsight, but I always think that some coincidences have fatefully linked me and Char, and that it's the good fortune that I got from the talents and cooperation of various people. It was a truly blessed meeting for both me and Char.

When recording began, Ikeda recounts how immediately he knew Mobile Suit Gundam was something different, even just from the opening narration. His prejudice against robot anime was quickly disappearing.

Ikeda: The scene where Char appears on the TV screen for the first time is a cut where the camera rises from his feet toward Char's face, and the way he appeared was just wonderful and cool. "Who is this guy??" It’s full of charm that draws in the viewer.

In the studio, each actor's mic was in a specific position. On the left side were those playing characters in the Federation, and the right side, Zeon. Ichirō Nagai, who played Dren, was always sitting next to him.

Ikeda was a fan of Nagai's previous dubbing work and excited to record with him. Just like Char benefited from having a solid military aide like Dren by his side, Ikeda was very grateful to have someone experienced like Nagai with him.

Three months into dubbing, Ikeda already felt he had a pretty good understanding of Char and the direction he wanted to take the character. Neither Matsuura or Director Tomino seemed to have any objections, and Ikeda adds that since Char is such a beloved character even now, perhaps his direction really was the right one. 

Much of the focus of this chapter is specific instances from the anime that Ikeda feels highlights one of the strengths of the show as a whole - the drama created by contrasts in each character's personality and temperament, and how they interact with each other. 

One of the scenes he notes is Char in the bar listening to Gihren's speech in episode 12.

A man approaches, but Char can see through him as a Zeon spy just by the "smell" (atmosphere) he gives off. It's a simple conversation, but Char is able to immediately turn the tables and gain the upper hand. In contrast to Gihren's speech, which is gradually gaining momentum, the two's calm bargaining gives a contrast to the drama.

Another is episode 44, when Lalah asks Char to wear his normal suit while in battle.

Ikeda: To put it in vulgar terms, it's the same feeling as if your lover who lives with you is telling you, "It looks like it's going to rain today, so take an umbrella with you."

Ikeda: A good sense of warmth flows between the two of them. I tried to create an atmosphere that would make all the men in the world envy them, so I was allowed to play the role with a bit of a wet (softer) touch.

He also notes Char and Sayla's interactions towards the end of the show, specifically in the final episode where Char tells Sayla: "You’re an adult already (too)” (お前ももう大人だろ), the key point here being the “も”, or “too”.

Ikeda: I performed this scene with the intention of expressing that both Artesia and I have grown up, whether we like it or not, and that each of us has our own path to take, and that we can no longer go back to the old days.

Regarding the end of the show itself, interestingly Ikeda expresses some reservations about how Char’s story continued in Zeta and Char's Counterattack. To him, Char’s own war ended the moment he got his final revenge on the Zabi family by shooting Kycilia.

Ikeda: Is Char Aznable the kind of man who would accept a beating from Kamille or start a war in pursuit of Lalah's shadow? He is not the kind of man who would sit back and let his own style be denied to him, but he's more mature and stubborn, isn't he?

Ikeda: In the final scene of the theatrical version of "Mobile Suit Gundam III Encounters in Space", he becomes a crew member of a space battleship and departs from the earth sphere. There could not be a better scene for Char to conclude his story.

Finally, Ikeda talks about his interactions with Gundam fans at the time. 

As the popularity of the anime increased, larger and larger groups of fans would gather outside the studio. The crowds eventually got so bad that the hotel next door started complaining to them. Yet despite the number of people, Ikeda comments on how mature and well behaved these fans were, especially compared to something like idol fans.

Ikeda explains that he’s very careful about how he acts around fans, as he doesn’t want to ruin the image they have of “Char Aznable” as a character. For that reason, he is very particular about choosing public events to attend.

Ikeda: My private life and Char's image are separate, but when I stand in front of my fans, I act with an awareness that I am Char. As a voice actor, this is the minimum courtesy for the fans, and I think it's a matter of pride as a voice actor. At the very least, I hope that the long-time fans who support Char, who I play, will also support my attitude.

~

That's all for Chapter 2. As before, I had to leave quite a bit out in this summary, but I hope you found it interesting to read!

[nanimonasho]

First, WOW. You are so talented. I love seeing your illustrations when they appear on my dashboard. Second, I just wanted to say that it took me a second to realize you were Japanese. I didn't know MASH was known outside of the United States. I think I met one British MASH fan a few years ago, and was surprised If you don't mind me asking, how did you get into MASH?

Wow!

Thank you for your message!

It's a lot of fun to draw MASH fan art, so I'm glad you said that!

Yes, I'm Japanese and I live in Japan now. Unfortunately, I can't watch MASH in this country.

But I heard that it was broadcast with Japanese subtitles in the past. ( I wanted to see it...!)

In Japan, I think only a few people know the TV version of MASH. I think it's about people who are older and interested in overseas dramas(or cultures). I've never seen anyone in the younger generation like me (I'm 27 years old). The movie version is better known than the TV version.

In such an environment, the reason why I knew about MASH is, of course, because I was using this “tumblr”!

I originally liked American and British comedy movies and TV shows from the 70s and 90s, so I started using tumblr to get that information.

I think it was an old comedy TV relation, MASH images and gifs were on my dashboard. I didn't care about anything at that time.

It's a funny story, but at that time (couple years ago), I was just addicted to SNL and I was watching a video about “Back to the Future Auditions”, sketch of some imitations. Then, my favorite actor Bill Hader was imitating Alan Alda, and I didn't know who is Alan Alda at that time, but I was somewhat curious about it. It was highly praised that how perfect that imitation was.

But I noticed it after that. He's the one who always flows to my dashboard!

Then, I looked for MASH videos, and unfortunately I couldn't find the main part, but I was able to see various scenes in fragments, so I became a fan at a tremendous speed from there.

There was another funny story. Yes, I watched SNL often, so I looked at the image of Trapper and I thought, “Wow, is this Will Ferrell!? No way. The times are different, aren't they?" I also made a stupid mistake. I don't understand when I think about it now.

Anyway, I can't help wondering what kind of drama it is, so I immediately imported a DVD or signed up for Hulu and watched whole episodes.

But there were no Japanese subtitles, so I’m not sure if I had understand the details. But even if I didn't understand the words, I laughed and cried a lot, so I think it's a really wonderful TV show. I strongly wish this drama would be broadcast in Japan as well. I think it can be accepted in this era.

I can't put it into words well how I think about the background of the Korean War and the Vietnam War, but I think such severe things, such as the pessimistic view of the world drifting throughout this story and the mental states of the characters who have to live in extreme conditions, touched my heart. Of course, there's also a queer atmosphere, and I love that so much.

If we can watch mash now in Japan, I'm sure we’ll make a very big fandom like "Good Omens", "Our Flag Means Death" and "What we do in the shadows"!

These TVs are also very popular in Japan, and you can find a lot of wonderful fan art.

Anyway, how much my spirit was saved thanks to MASH! I'm surprised that I keep drawing so much fan art about one TV show. Thank you so much for seeing.

Omg, I've never told anyone how much I love MASH before, so I'm very excited now!

I'm sorry for my poor English, but thank you for reading this!

[writteninthesewalls28]

Family

A story about a girl wanting to find out the truth

A/n: Fourth chapter is here!

Warnings: none

Milly’s POV:

I stood there, for at least 5 minutes.

"Someone home?" My heart was pounding so hard in my chest, I was scared it could eventually pound out of my body. However, I sometime started wandering around the house. Taking one step after another I looked into every single corner, taking everything in. I always had a good ability to remember random things, but I already knew, I will remember the look of this little nondescript house in the most likely darkest neighborhood in Adelaide for forever and never forget anything about its appearance. I thought the house was completely empty because every room I went through had absolutely no furniture, no drawings, no feeling of a family, of a home.

But then I entered a little room.

It wasn’t that different to the other 5 rooms I went through before, but I wouldn’t be Milly, if I didn’t notice the difference immediately.

My eyes directly swung to the 4 small pictures on the left wall. As I stepped a little closer, I could see what it was exactly. Ultrasound images.

I slowly walked over to the corner and stopped to tear one of the photos off and took a close look at it. You could definitely recognize the outline of a growing baby.

Is that me? Or do I have a sibling? The thought never went through my mind before. What if I have a sister or brother? With my huge family at home, I always thought, my biological parents definitely don’t have any other kids, but what if my thought was wrong the whole time? What if they did have other children before they gave me away?

Turning the photo in my hand around, gave me the answers to my silent questions.

Someone wrote something on there, and the text made my heart go crazy, I breathed uncontrollably.

"Welcome little Milly (10/20/1993)" Was the short but definitely meaningful text on the back. My eyes started to fill with tears. That was the proof, the proof I always hoped for, I would find someday. They loved me. They truly loved me.

Relieve and happiness flooded through my veins. The house may be empty, but their spirit still lives in here, it isn’t gone completely. I could feel it through these few pictures hanging on this wall. But why did they left the photos here when they decided to move away? Did they not care enough to take them with them?

A sudden mood change followed after the high of happiness. It changed to a slight confusion mixed up with an upcoming sadness. Yes, I indeed found a proof of my loving parents, who seem to care enough about me, to write something like that on the back of an ultrasound image, but it was bittersweet. They left them. Here, in the abandoned house in the abandoned neighborhood, as if they wanted to leave me behind too. To never even think about me again, the child they gave away. And that hurt.

Minutes later I sat in front of the house on the doorstep, looking at the 4 photos, still shocked and not able to handle the information I got today. Tears were streaming over my face and they didn’t seem to stop. I must’ve looked like a zombie with my mascara ruined and the eyes completely red from the crying. All I asked for, were answers, answers to the questions I kept in my mind for nearly 15 years now. And what did I get? Reasons, to ask even more questions. Why are they not living here anymore? Why are these ultrasound images on the wall? Why did they leave them in there? Why did they leave me? My last hope to finally get a few answers, were neighbors who eventually come home today and could maybe give me answers. So all I could do was wait. And get lost in my thoughts.

Calum’s POV:

He didn’t really focus on the admittedly romantic movie he put on the TV. His thoughts just couldn’t let go of Milly. He wondered what she was doing right now and what took her so long to get here. He wanted her here on the couch, sitting next to him, so he could wrap his arms around her tightly and tell her she can tell him everything, he won’t get angry at her. Never. But instead, he sat on the big sofa alone, not really knowing what exactly was happening as the cute couple on the screen finally kissed. Before he could press the 'replay' button on the remote, to rewatch this important scene, he got interrupted by his phone. The standard apple ringtone filled the living room with noise. Calum got his phone out of his pocket in his pants and saw Louis' caller ID. Trying not to panic too much, since this call could be about the fact that might’ve something happened to Milly, he answered the call.

"Hi Cal!" He heard a kind of anxious version of Milly’s bother’s voice at the other end.

"Hey Mate! Are you okay? You don’t sound so good…" He responded.

"Where’s Milly? And if you say, that she hasn’t talked to you, I swear I'll fly to Australia and-"

"Louis, I'm sorry, but I tried calling her about a hundred times now, she only said, she’s going to the Youth Welfare Office here in Adelaide. I have absolutely no idea when she’s gonna return." Calum tried calming down Louis on the phone.

He heard how he took deep breaths.

"If anything, do you hear me? If anything happens to her, I'm blaming it on you alright?" He sounded really angry, he's never seen him like that. "You should’ve tried stopping her from even starting to search for them, it’s only gonna hurt her." Louis continued without even giving Calum the chance to say something to that.

"Louis, I-" he tried calming him, but it didn’t work. He didn’t even notice him.

"It’s all your fault, I can’t reach out to her!" The man said. In the exact moment where Calum wanted to say something, he heard a loud crack and the telephone was taken away from Louis.

Louis' POV:

(Flackback to the time where Milly called him)

He hung up the phone and stared at it in disbelief. As nice as he was to his sister when she told him about wanting to find her parents, he was very worried. Worried, she’s not gonna be able to live with the truth. He was the oldest, he was supposed to protect them, he promised mum. He already lost Fiz, wasn’t able to protect her. He HAD to do better with Milly, he just had to. He covered his face in his hands and thought about all the different scenarios that could possibly happen when she searches for them. One worse than the other. Exactly at this moment, Louis husband Harry entered the music room, where all their guitars stood, in which Louis sat. "Oh, hey Lou…" He knew something was wrong, he always knew. Harry sat down next to him on the giant dark blue sofa and put an arm around his small waist.

"Okay, I assume something is going on with one of the sister and because you only react with being alone and staying silent when it’s about Milly, so I bet something is going wrong down there in Adelaide." He was still amazed by the way Harry could read him. No one will ever beat him in that. But Louis wasn’t ready to tell him yet, he first had to deal with it alone, Harry will understand that, he always did. But when will he be ready to talk about it?

Calum’s POV:

"Hey Cal.."

"Harry! Nice to hear your voice again!" Even though 5sos went on tour together with 1D back in 2013, they weren’t that close anymore. Only Niall sometimes visits them whenever he doesn’t have something to do.

"Listen, Lou is just kinda going crazy about this whole Milly-wants-to-find-her-parents thing, so when he saw her message this morning, he was extremely worried. When she didn’t answer as he was calling her, he just simply freaked out. I'm sorry that you had to experience that. I promise he didn’t mean any of the things he said" Talking to Harry always had something therapeutic, but this talk made Calum forget, he even had that conversation with Louis three minutes ago.

"Don’t worry. I get it, I'm very worried as well because it has been about 7 hours now without hearing anything from her and I have literally no idea where she could possibly be." He said, hoping he chose the right words to show Louis he cared about her just as much as he did. And that he was as worried as he was.

"Can you call Louis when she comes back? I'd guess, he wants to talk to her as soon as she’s with you again." Right when he wanted to respond, he heard someone unlocking the front door and opening it just seconds later. Only Milly can unlock doors this quick. It was a secret superpower of hers he noticed after 2 weeks of dating her as she broke into his dressing room 5 minutes before their London show.

"If you just stay on the phone for about 10 seconds, I guarantee you, he can talk to her." He said, eyes only located on the opening door.

[tuxedaaron]

This pair of pics was intended to reveal the design of Hobgoblin I came up with for the Spectacular Spider-Man animated series, just to give everyone a little preview of a series of Spectacular Spider-Man fanfics I wanted to write.  Because I had so many stories in this series to write, there was simply no way I could POSSIBLY do it on my own.  So I took it upon myself to draw some pics of some of the broader concepts I have in mind, in the hopes that it might draw interest from other fanfic writers to help me. Hobgoblin was definitely one of the first pics I wanted to get out there, because I plan for him to play a BIG role in these stories.  Those who are well-versed in their comic book history will undoubtedly recognize the first image as being inspired by 1983's "Amazing Spider-Man", issue #238, “In the Shadow of Evil’s Past”, which marked the Hobgoblin's first appearance.  Granted, on that cover, the Hobgoblin is seen destroying Spider-Man's costume, but replacing it with the Green Goblin costume, to me, was far more significant in its symbolism. After all, let's be honest, folks.  We ALL know that Roderick Kingsley is the ONLY Goblin that matters.^_^ I have to admit, though, that is the most dubious I'd ever been on any art project I've worked on to date.  While I refused to be deterred and continued to press onward, even as I moved from the pencil work to the hard lines, the whole thing just looked like a jumbled mess and I really couldn't tell which way was up, just by looking at it.  It wasn't until I started adding the color in that everything started to finally come together.  Still, while I was reasonably pleased with the outcome, the final product still seemed overly cartoonish, even by SSM design standards. The second image was definitely better, as I sat down and started putting a proper design together.  The head turned out to be the easiest part.  Just like with the comics, I simply took the original Green Goblin face, gave it less exaggerated features, demonic red eyes and voila.  It was maybe two minutes of work and I was just like, "There.  That's it.  THAT'S my Hobgoblin".  But THEN, I had to start designing the actual COSTUME and THAT'S when I ran into problems. Most of the issues stemmed from the fact that I was getting too focused on "classic" Hobgoblin and those elements I wanted to have from the comics.  I even wanted the curled-up, pointy shoes.   But as I went back and looked over the SSM Green Goblin design, I realized just how many things were radically different.  For one thing, he wasn't wearing the pointy elf hat, but more like a flight cap without the goggles.  And he didn't have a tunic over his chest, either, it looked more like chest armor.  And then, there was the jack-o-lantern belt buckle and the loincloth and the big, honkin' space booties.  And I was just like, "Uuuh-hhhh...how do I make THIS work?". Because I couldn't get tunnel-visioned on the classic stuff and end up doing a total tear-down of the design.  One of the aspects of Hobgoblin was that both he and Green Goblin shared the same basic design elements in their costumes.  So how was I going to maintain the spirit of the new SSM design and still input the things I wanted? That was when I realized I had to take a step back and look at the whole concept objectively.  And when I was at work that night, I started thinking about Roderick Kingsley's mindset in the comics when he started knocking around the idea of becoming the Hobgoblin.  While he liked the whole Goblin concept in general, which is why he kept the basic elements intact, the one thing he knew he DIDN'T want to be was another GREEN Goblin.  Because as far as Kingsley was concerned, Norman Osborn was a clown and he LOOKED like one.  And Kingsley decided right out of the gate that if he was gonna DO this thing, he didn't want to look like a clown.  He wanted to look like a BADASS. So that's what got me thinking, how do I take all the elements that made the Green Goblin look GOOFY and turn them around to make the Hobgoblin look DANGEROUS?  And that was when all these ideas started flooding into my head, which I just HAD to get on paper the next morning.  I took the jack-o-lantern belt buckle and turned it into a skull, ripped up the loincloth and the cape, threw in some chains and leather straps and even added spikes on the boots...which, if you notice, actually allowed me to give Hobgoblin the curly boots I wanted without ACTUALLY making them.  And as for the glider, I went and added horns.  Basically, the whole idea was to make him look like some demon who had just escaped from Hell, and despite the cartoonish look of the SSM character designs, I think I pulled it off quite nicely. All-in-all, I'm quite happy with this pic and even if the stories never get written, I hope everyone else at least likes the image. ^_^

[musicismymoirail]

Just some ramblings.

Still working of the silly Ven x Ortega post-void fight comic and it’s almoooooost done. ✨ Every page is like 80~% or so done and everything left is just color edits and top sketching and last minute details, so yay.

They’re both Having A Blast.

I switched up from drawing until I pass out/things get finished to drawing until my iPad dies (like six hours or so?), and it’s been helpful? I think? o: For not burning out as fast or getting frustrated at the ‘lack of progress’ (which is mostly just my head being irrational and impatient. Finishing a four-page comic in one sitting ain’t happening, my mind.) I’ll try to keep that up, least for longer projects like comics~~~ c:

And I’ve been craving doodling my little Warlock from Baldur’s Gate so bad too! I’m in Act 2 now, and Coalesce is having a time, let me tell you.

So, I went to the Mountain Pass/Monastery finally because I felt bad I hadn’t indulged Lae’zel much in her quest like I had the others. And, well.

Found the Purification Device, let Lae’zel use it because Coalesce is still like ‘yolo don’t mind the tadpole and dream visitor and me are gonna be bffs~~~’ It broke tho. So shocked.

Stole so so many tadpoles from the Doctor.

Tried to tell the higher up there was a traitor in their midst (because Lae’zel was adamant) and she knew we had the artefact and sent us to the Inquisitor.

Killed the Inquisitor where he tried to take the artefact because bestie is inside, and not happening.

The Lich Queen herself appeared and was like ‘behold! Kill the bestie inside the artefact and I’ll ascend your asses’.

Coa did not. Bestie said Lich Queen is lying too and Coa told Lae’zel who is taking all the murder and potential lying from her Queen delusionally well. I am Concerned for her wellbeing. :/!

Almost got a TPK trying to leave as we had no health and no spells. My special dagger got knocked out of my hand tho and I Could Not Pick It Up after the fight. So, had to redo that whole fight again. :’l

(And just launched a fireball at them at the start and it went much more swimmingly. Yay fireball!)

Escaped!!!! But Coalesce might now be Enemy #2 of the Githyanki Empire so, you know?? Maybe. Not. Great.

All of this because I felt bad Lae’zel had been dealing with us all and just wanted her to feel at home with her people. And now she’s dreaming of stabbing the Lich Queen herself. Sorry, Lae’zel! Coa was trying to be nice! 😭😭😭

I got to meet the Myconid colony too! Which was so fun. I love them and the Underdark so damn much!!!! I had been debating making Coalesce’s patron dead and dreaming (a definite), but like dead via being infected with some eldritch fungi? A bit like those zombie ants get. o:

And go figure! The Myconids have the same glowy eyes that Coalesce has too. Go dead fungi-infected patron! ✨👾✨ I like imaging it ‘has nightmares’ every so often and escapes into Coalesce which… ah, ends with a fair bit of body horror? I can’t picture a dead god dreaming of parasites would take being in a fragile foreign body all that well. But thankfully, they tend to put Coalesce back together too.

“They’re not unkind, just dead and dreaming and unaware.” Coalesce explains to the group later, who are all like ‘doubt’.

[ihatedtoadmit]

Garden of regret

pairing: Han Jisung x gn! reader

genre: heavy angst

warnings: dead dove do not eat (I cannot reveal more so the surprise is retained)

word count: ~2.1k

summary: Just when you thought nothing could get worse, life proves you wrong. Oh, how you wish you hadn't thought that...

A Guide to the AU, in case you are unfamiliar with it.

↳ Main Masterlist

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

That day started out perfectly.

Well, as perfect as it could, considering how I still felt a harrowing exhaustion seeping into my bones the moment I glanced at the bleary ceiling. But it was nothing new, so I pushed through it, its thought now forgotten at the back of my mind. I couldn’t waste any time dawdling around, I had somewhere to be. Something that both filled me with dread and joy simultaneously.

He was waiting for me there, after all.

A bright image of his heart-shaped smile popped into my head, unconsciously urging my lips to curve up themselves, as silent followers. I suppressed a cough as I instead went to get ready, deciding on a more casual outfit for the day. We’ve known each other for years now, I knew I didn’t need to dress up when we hang out.

The Sun was pleasantly shining down onto my skin as soon as I had stepped out of my apartment, the star’s warmth pleasant and gentle, as if it was caressing me in silent comfort. I couldn’t help but stop and stand under its rays for just a few seconds, soaking it up, like a black cat laying on a vast, sun-kissed field.

It felt nice, after long days and weeks of being cooped up inside my home, unable to willingly leave it without a good reason. I could order food online, after all, the only thing that really mattered lately. My soul was still in shambles, although thankful that life seemed to be kind enough to not make me work and study while shit was being continuously thrown at me.

A pitiful balm to my healing scars, at the very least.

A gentle ringing sound broke the serene atmosphere, chatter filling the air as I stepped in. My eyes swept over the other guests and the baristas, easily finding the one I had been searching for. Another, softer smile took its place on my lips as I just watched him sit there, oblivious to the whole world, lips in a playful pout as he was focusing on something that was displayed on his phone maybe a bit too hard. His doe eyes nearly disappeared, eyebrows furrowed and a finger tapping his chin, occasionally crawling up to worry at the slightly chapped skin of his pink lips.

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb appeared above his head, his entire expression lit up and that wonderful smile appeared on his face once again, drawing the tiniest of chuckles out of me. Looking around once more, I finally willed my legs to move, to take me to him at last.

Unsurprisingly, he only noticed me once I had arrived, my hand already on the top of his head and playfully ruffling up those fluffy chocolate locks of his. His head shot up in surprise, yet his face lit up in happiness once he’d realised it was only me.

“What took you so long? I thought you’ve forgotten about me.” - he pouted, phone now pocketed and attention devoted solely to me. “Sorry. I overslept a bit.”

My only reply was an even more dramatic pout, arms crossed and head turned away from me. But after all these years of knowing him, I knew how to deal with this situation.

“Oh? Guess I’ll just leave then.” - I replied with a flat tone, hand already grabbing my bag.

His reaction was immediate, dramatics melting away and panic taking its place. Frantic hands grabbed at me and dragged my entire body back into its comfortable seat, all the while his mouth kept rambling and apologising. I merely chuckled at him, something that broke him out of it, drawing a playfully hurt expression onto his face.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” “Of course.” “I hate you.” “I know.”

Both of us knew we didn’t mean these words seriously, laughter leaving our forms not long afterwards. It didn’t take long for us to decide what to drink and eat, having been regulars at the dainty little café. We only looked at the menu out of habit, even though our orders were known by the baristas themselves at this point. Still, they politely came to our table and asked us what we’d have liked to eat, only playfully commenting how ‘daring’ we were for choosing the same thing again.

“So, how’re ya doing?” - Jisung asked, a light popping sound resounding in the air as he stopped sipping from his straw. “The usual, you know that.” - I replied, afraid of where this was going. “That’s a lie and you know it. Please stop pretending you’re fine, nobody would be if they were in your shoes.” - his tone turned serious, a hand snaking its way towards mine.

A sigh left my lungs, so heavy you could nearly feel it rattle the table as it comfortably settled there like a dead weight. Warmth seeped into the tips of my fingers, his own encasing them gently.

“But I’m really fine, Ji. I just need some time to gather myself, you know that.” “What I do know is you, which is why I know you’re bullshitting with me right now. Looking like an animated corpse or not talking to me for days is not normal, even for you.” “I’m okay, Ji!” - my voice gained a bit of volume against my better judgement, his hand tightening its grip on mine in retaliation. “No, no you’re not!” - he shouted back, making us the centre of attention.

Yet, I cared not for it, his hurt expression much more important. His dark eyes were swimming with pain, with sadness, as if they were two bottomless lakes drowning me inside. That same hand now tightly held mine, warming it up impossibly, a part of me hungrily soaking it up and only yearning for more, despite knowing I couldn’t ever get it.

And because my other part knew that, I just ignored that familiar blooming pain in my chest and tore my hand away, out of that wonderfully warm hold, the digits already turning rigid and cold.

“If you only invited me here just to tell me this, then we’re done here. Have a great day, Jisung.” - I spat out while heaving for air, blood now boiling in anger and anguish.

Why wouldn’t it?

My supposed best friend just seemed to be blind, insisting on stupid things uselessly. If I said I was fine, then why couldn’t he just accept it? Why couldn’t he just leave the topic be, leave me be? He had more important things to do, so much more important than to say these things to my face.

I didn’t even wait for him to react or bid me his goodbye, instead I just hastily slammed some bills onto the table and stormed out of the building. The weather was still filled with sunlight, but the once comforting rays now felt harsh on my skin, as if desperately wishing to scorch me. My only wish was to hide back in my little apartment again, where I could be miserable alone, with no one to see.

My legs automatically took me towards my home, eyes barely catching the red light at the crosswalks so I could stop in time. Time felt stretched out, forever, as I waited there, waiting for that annoying light to turn green and allow me to safely pass.

The moment had passed, that sought-after green lighting up, the end of the crosswalks so close to me.

So, so close, yet a vicious pain grabbed at my chest, as if something was tearing it apart from the inside. I pathetically gasped for air, hunching over, my lungs unable to take anything in and instead pushing every last bit of remaining oxygen out, something I was trying and failing to battle.

The hand in front of my mouth was useless, just like everything else was as all I could hear amidst my desperate coughing was a familiar shout of my name and the loud horn of a car.

I was forcefully pushed away, the rough cement unpleasant underneath my scraped up palms. Yet, when I finally took in a mouthful of air and opened my eyes, it felt like I was suffocating once again, my entire body shutting down. Unblinking eyes took in the scenery in front of me, yet my brain refused to actually process that information, as if it stopped working completely. I couldn’t blame it, no, I was actually grateful for it.

Because my best friend, Han Jisung’s body laid in front of me, unmoving, warm hands still grasping onto my clothes.

The taste of iron in my mouth never left.

-.-.-

The days and weeks just blended together after that, my life suddenly grey and barren. Nothing was the same anymore, not my once oh so bright and colourful walls, not my favourite anime shows, and certainly not my favourite flower.

And yet, they somehow retained their painfully blue colour, one that resembled a cloudless sky.

My bleak eyes could only watch the petals fall, uncaring about the grey splotches on them as they fell into the bowl, only to be flushed down the pipes, never to return.

Everything was covered in them.

The floor, the bed, even some cupboards and my nightstand was that same shade of blue, as if I was trapped in the bottom of a lake, fated to drown there alone.

A fate I had chosen for myself, willingly, too stubborn to lose everything regarding him and live like this.

After that fateful day, everything had changed. My friendships had become strained, the other boys torn apart, understandably so.

Because Minho blamed me for Jisung’s, his beloved one’s death.

When he had first heard the news, you could see his entire world shatter in the mirrors of his soul, those dark orbs losing their shine forever. A cold aura had surrounded him, no one there to counter it with their own warmth anymore. And those dark, icy eyes had turned towards me, tearing into my skin and ripping me apart with vicious determination.

And I just simply stood there, letting him vent his anger out on me, letting him drag me around and throw me into the walls, the ground, wherever he pleased. No amount of physical pain could ever get close to what I felt inside and what he could possibly feel, ever.

It had taken for the others to hold him down so he would stop, Changbin dragging me away to patch me up. And I had silently let him, none of his words really settling into my mind. No, these unseeing eyes had only watched as the world slowly lost its vividness, all those beloved colours turning into mush and pain.

Some of the band members really tried, to keep in touch, even against all that had happened. Felix and Jeongin being the two who tried the hardest, but I could see how much it all hurt them. To choose between Minho and me, whose side to take when Jisung was brought up and the dancer nearly leapt at me.

Which was why I had chosen this path. A path of solitude, of silent suffering, yet one filled with memories of him.

Taking another deep breath, I leaned away from the porcelain bowl, sight blurry and filled with dark spots. The thought of going back to my bed tired me out in itself, my legs long ago unable to uphold my weight. Still, I crawled towards the plush surface, bit by bit, the air turning thinner and thinner.

By the time I’d reached my goal, I was spent, another vicious cough ripping itself out of me, followed by several others. Their reason for existence showed itself, the tiny hydrangea flowers joining the countless others laying on the floor. Something that I’d found morbidly beautiful, despite everything.

A hand blindly reached up onto the soft blanket, miraculously finding its goal and gently grasping at it, as if it was my lifeline.

Maybe it really was.

His smiling face looked back at me, the paper slightly crinkled as I had accidentally rolled onto it in my sleep. And yet, I didn’t mind, thumb slowly caressing his colourless cheeks, accidentally smudging some dark grey on it.

“Sleep well, Ji.”

The soft ringing of my phone could be heard as I closed my eyes one final time, a soft smile on my lips, knowing I would meet him again soon.

Taglist: @michelle4eve @atinyniki

[jonathankatwhatever]

20 May 2023. You see, to me, people don’t grasp the level at which a song is an idea, and that one can love someone’s good points but also can see the ways they fall short, particularly the ways they fall short of being themselves. Or that putting your voice in my head means I don’t think about cheating because your voice is in my head. I know what that means, so why would I, even if I could? I think that’s a decent phrasing. You really were prodigious. You had to be.

So I read that part of the encoding as he was never in my head; there was no inversion to that extent, like the way you keep yourself. And that is reinforced over that space by the other End reading as not enough there, which really is the criticism that comes through, that there’s not enough there there. That is a deep truth, meaning it allows for artistic presentation because you can fit any fault which comes to mind.

Thing is, this doesn’t have to be true. It just has to exist as an interpretation, as a Pathway, because that signifies the depth and breadth of the conceptions you inspire, which attach to you, which therefore I take as an Attachment, and that is what then enables this 1-0Segmenting. Exactly as I first saw it, now with a lot of work in it.

That inversion though is the key to the audience connection: you put that idea in their heads in a variety of ways. So the whole second chance thing is exact same as how it appears to me, which is that you didn’t see me in your head before, so what you see now, that image you see of me in your head, isn’t me. I was never in your head, not like that. Or you wouldn’t have. You just wouldn’t have.

Just heard an entire country song about how cheating doesn’t mean you don’t love me, but I’m not in your head and in your heard the way I ought to be. And so on. It was nice. And I started to think about how comfortable I am with the ideas, how the songwriting flows from the idea into events, into images which fit to the ideas. Interesting: seem to be training on your instructions. I remember the whole series of conversations about how to do this, but I don’t trust when those occurred because they’ve become entangled with you. That led to a host of thoughts.

So back out.

No, I want to resolve this recurring idea. And I think it is a hidden 1-0Segment. That is, I believe the issue is as simple as the segmenting of not recognize at first glance to not know when you’ve had a chance. That’s the D’Arcy situation: he did not recognize at first glance but knew what he had when he took the chance. Lyrics write themselves, just like the math ideas appear in perfect order. Same process. So, the confusion, which really earns the Confusion notation now, is crumpling together that 1-0Segment so these appear equivalent when they’re not.

That’s great work and I don’t need to point out that it comes from studying you because it literally came from studying you. Okay. So, there’s a Triangular there, which appears when I pull the End apart so I can see the segmenting in it. That then reveals the End inverting me over to you and back, so the inversion can indeed happen. I can see it a bunch of ways. One is that at the first glance, there’s mutual potential, so the Ends are separated as far as possible and then they come together. Then when they separate, they both continue and go back, so all the gs process links them. That builds an ideal state of depth, and one of no depth at all. And thus more.

That this maps to the 2fD drawings from yesterday is obvious. That is, it lays out both directions to make a 1-0-1, and thus 1-0-1-0-1. We put a lot into that years ago. Let’s see what comes up. I remember one issue is that L5 is where the 0-1-0 first shows up. L3 is implied over 1-0-1, then this pattern of implicit, explicit alternates. So the switch from Layer to Layer switches threads by IC counts of 4. That threading appears because at each LayerView, the gs processes can generate a 1 or a 0 at each gs. So that L7 is implied 0-1-0, meaning a 1 at the szK has to be inferred, while a 1 occurs without process at L13. That makes a 1-0-1 chain over szK. Flip it over to see the various potential arrangements.

Need to go back to sleep. It’s now 7AM.

[hothothotch]

𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 | 𝒂𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒓

SUMMARY: you’ve been working as Jack Hotchner’s babysitter for the past two years, but as your wedding day gets closer and closer, you start questioning if you’re taking the right step — or if you should jump into the abyss of feelings you developed for you boss, Aaron Hotchner.

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Female Babysitter Reader

TW: fluff, really, a lot of fluff. except for the beginning, that’s is pretty much angst (i think?). there’s a small suggestive comment towards the middle of it, but i don’t think it can be considered NSFW (let me know if it does).

A/N: a few months ago i asked if you’d entertain the idea of an Aaron/Babysitter fic, and since it’s better late than never, I wrote this story to pay my promise, and I ended up really liking the result :D so i hope you like it, too. a completely useless information is that at certain point i mention the backstreet boys and kevin richardson (i’m a huuuge fan of the band) and kevin’s wife actually was on criminal minds in ‘pleasure is my business’ (she was the wife of the guy that dies at the beginning). that was it. hope you like it!

——

“I’m feeling pathetic”.

Aaron drew his eyes away from the stack of files piled up in his home office, looking at your image at the door through his eyelashes as he knitted his brows in confusion, “Huh?”.

“I’m feeling pathetic” you pointed at your dress, rolling your eyes, “Really pathetic”.

Truth be told, pathetic definitely wasn’t the word Aaron would use to describe you at that moment (or at any moment at all) as he took in into your appearance — you were wearing a long strapless dress that highlighted your collarbone, a pearl necklace drawing even more attention to that spot —, but he knew where this comment was coming from.

Dresses are not exactly your thing, at least not the fancy kind of dress people only wear in very important occasions, the kind you would never wear on a night out with your friends, but most certainly would in a wedding. Since the moment you met, you’ve made known that you valued comfort over pageantry, reason why whenever he got to see you, you were dressed in something comfortable enough to spend the whole day running after a toddler — and, while Aaron thought for months that it happened exactly because your job was to keep a four year old Jack Hotchner entertained most of the day (and night, if Aaron was working), he learnt soon enough that it was just who you were.

“Why don’t you change it, then?” Aaron asked, his voice clinically calm as he paid attention to his every word, trying not to say something that could possibly give him out.

You sighed heavily, taking the few steps that separated you from Aaron, pulling the empty chair so you could throw your body there, “His mom chose it. And God, she cried when I put it on, said it was perfect!”.

Aaron took a deep breath, his lips parting slightly as an involuntary, “Oh”, escaped past it, a simple explanation of his understanding, but that didn’t go unnoticed to you.

“Yeah…” you dragged your words more than needed, tilting your head backwards as you slowly slid on your chair, wishing that you could be swallowed by the furniture, “Oh”.

You had been working for the Hotchner’s for two years, and it was hard to think about something Aaron didn’t know about you (mostly because you blurted it all out when he merely commented he’d ran a background check on you to make sure nothing was out of place), so it was obvious he knew whose mother you were talking about — your boyfriend’s mother, or how you liked to call her, crazy Aretha.

Crazy Aretha Simpson was everything you and Aaron didn’t admire in a person: she was noisy, mostly rude and the kind of woman that liked to meddle on other people’s business, principally if it involved her golden boy, Matthew — also known as your boyfriend.

And while Aaron wasn’t exactly Matthew’s biggest fan (he had made it clear more than once — usually through his behavior — that he despised both his presence and his existence, even if he had never voiced that to you), you and Matthew were already dating when he hired you, so he mostly (mostly) kept his disgust for himself, and only allowed himself to make a comment when you started it, aware that it wouldn’t cause a strain in your relationship.

“You’re suddenly quiet” you observed, tilting your head to the side to look at your employer, your eyes shining in curiosity as you bit your bottom lip, “What is it?”.

Aaron was silent for a minute, his mind going blank at the vision of your teeth on your bottom lip, the small pout formed thanks to the movement making you look both cute and terribly sexy.

God, no! No, no, no. Stop!

Aaron cleared his throat, finally letting go of the pen in his hands to lean comfortably against his chair, hoping that maybe the talk could shake away his thoughts about you, “I was just thinking…” he started, staring at you with a questioning look on his face.

Working at his house for so long, the two of you had practically mastered the technique of understanding the other’s way of communicating without needing a full sentence; with that said, you knew that whenever Aaron started a sentence with ‘I was just thinking…’ or ‘It’s funny that…’ he was asking for your permission to say something that had the potential to hurt you (or that he believed could possibly do so.

It was cute. And way more than people (which included Matthew and his family) used to do for you.

“Go ahead” you motioned with your hands, sitting straight on the chair and smiling mischievously at the man in front of you, “Spill your poison”.

“It’s not poison, it’s just a comment” Aaron defended himself, even if he knew you were kidding. You knew that, for some strange (yet nice) reason, Aaron cared enough about you not to be completely rude about your boyfriend’s family, even when you knew he had hated them from moment one, “I thought the bride was supposed to wear whatever she wants on her engagement dinner”.

“Yeah, I was supposed to” You nodded, leaning to place both your elbows on his desk, the movement showing a bit of your cleavage for a second before you threw your head on your hand, burying your head on your hands in a clear act of shame, “I was supposed to be the bride, y’know. But it looks like Crazy Aretha is! It looks like…” you looked up at him, pent up frustration all over your features, “It looks like I’m back at my parents’ perfect doll house!”.

Oh, Aaron thought. Now he got it.

You had come from a wealthy family, and you were not ashamed of this fact — you knew you had privileges your whole life, and that you had took advantage of this privilege an incredible amount of times during your life; and at the same time you were not the kind of woman that sat and waited for someone to do the things for you, you also were not the kind of woman who believed that the thing that made you unique was “not being like the other rich girls from the world”.

You were just you. Funny, happy, beautiful, and rich. Obnoxiously rich. With a fortune that Aaron had only heard about, but that had left Garcia (the real person to run your background check) with her jaw dropped.

“Her fortune is bigger than Rossi’s!” Garcia had whispered while she passed Aaron your files, her eyes wide as she looked around, almost as if she was expecting someone to jump inside his office and have her arrested for spying on someone that rich, “Why is he looking for a babysitter gig?”.

Aaron had asked you that, and your answer was exactly what he expected from you — a simple shrug before you turned back to Jack and his LEGO pieces, way more interested in finishing the Death Star than giving him plausible answers to his questions.

He never asked you again, and you never told him.

Just as you never told Aaron anything about your family.

“She dress me up” you complained, a groan coming through your mouth, “She buys me things. She picks the songs I hear. She talks about how beautiful our children are gonna be…” you felt a shiver run up your skin, finally looking up at Aaron with anguish clear in your eyes, “I never said I wanted children! I mean, I want! You know that! But… I don’t want them now”.

Aaron nodded slowly, paying careful attention to your words — if anything, he knew you didn’t like to be interrupted during your sincerity moments (as you came to call it through the past two years), since you believed it cut off the mood. So he just kept his reverent silence, waiting for his cue to speak again.

“And they invited my parents without even asking me?” you exhaled sharply, pointing at yourself as you sat straight on the chair again, “You know how long has it been since I last talked to them? Three years! When I told them about my parents, it wasn’t meant to serve as spying material, it was for them to know we weren’t close! Is this so hard to understand? And, as if it wasn’t enough…” you stopped, looking at Aaron. Your anguish look has suddenly turned into one of sadness, “It’s my engagement party, and I wasn’t allowed to invite my own friends because they’re not ‘rich enough’. When did I become my mom’s little princess again?”.

The truth you hid from Aaron wasn’t a huge one — your parents weren’t involved with anything bad, and you mostly definitely wasn’t abandoned in a internship when you were only 5 years old to be raised by someone else while your parents build their fortune; and at the same time, the reason why you didn’t talk about your parents wasn’t because you were ashamed of the money they had — the money you had — or who they were, or anything like this.

You liked being rich. You liked the idea of being able to buy things certain people could only dream of, and you also liked the fact that, if you fell in love with an Organization or a mission, you could donate to them without caring if tomorrow you’d have something to eat. You were aware of the privileges you had, and you certainly wouldn’t be the kind of person who says that ‘rich people should die’ not to admit they are rich.

You just were. And you were ok with it.

So why had you became a babysitter? You could do absolutely anything, so why had you decided to find the home of a single parent and become his son’s babysitter for $2.000 a month?

“I just… I like the freedom of it” you had told Emily Prentiss once, during a dinner you had attended with Aaron and Jack at David Rossi’s mansion. Your job was to watch the children, reason why you were not drinking, but Spencer had stolen them away from you to show a new magic trick, and Emily, JJ and Garcia had used your brief moment of loneliness to snoop you away from Aaron, eager to know if the two of you were a couple.

They were clearly disappointed when you showed your diamond engagement ring and told that Aaron wasn’t the one to put it there, but they camouflaged their feelings as best as they could, changing the question to the reason why you had picked that job.

“When I’m with Matthew’s family, there are so many etiquette rules I have to follow. What to wear, what not to wear. Which kind of word I can say, which I can not. The kind of people I should befriend, or the kind I shouldn’t…” you shrugged, looking over your shoulder when you heard Aaron’s laughter, a sound that was rare for most people around you, but that you listened whenever he was at home, “When I’m at Aaron’s, I can be the crazy woman who jams to Backstreet Boys, and that doesn’t make me a freak, that just adds up to who I am. I like it”.

The trio had switched quick glances that night, soft glances that probably hired more meaning than you could read, but you didn’t pay too much mind at it.

Later that night, while you were sitting at one of Rossi’s extremely comfortable loveseats (still sober, and with an eye on a sugar rushed Jack running around the house with a giggly Henry following his every move), you smiled when the first tones of ‘10.000 Promises’ by the Backstreet Boys started to play, the first words of the song immediately leaving your lips like second nature.

“You like the Backstreet Boys?” Aaron asked, sitting on the armrest of your seat, his curious eyes set directly on you, “Aren’t you a bit too young for that?”.

You chuckled, changing your position to lay your back against the opposite armrest, looking up at him with a playful smile on your face, a few strands of hair falling in front of your face (that you pathetically tried to brush away by blowing them, which worked pretty well on TV, but not in real life), “For your information, they released the Backstreet’s Back album in 1997, I was 15 back then. Old enough to be a fangirl and want Kevin to be the love of my life…” you sighed exaggeratedly, one hand dramatically in your heart as you looked away, “Unfortunately he got married with someone else and I had my heart broken”.

“Oh, yeah, my bad” Aaron laughed again this time, his and you felt your heart flutter at the sound — you knew it sounded really cliche, but you couldn’t help but think how his soft laugh was a huge contrast to his usually austere self, “Sometimes I forget I’m the old guy here”.

“You’re not old!” You protested, rolling your eyes, “I mean, you’re not more than 40, right?”.

Aaron blushed slightly, taking his glass of whiskey to his lips in an attempt to make the sudden flush in his cheeks was nothing but an effect of all the alcohol in his blood, “I’m 45” he replied, his voice low.

“Ok, so you are more than 40” you commented nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders, “But it doesn’t look like it, so I guess it’s a win. Not that I think you’d look bad with grey-ish hair…” you rambled, your own face reddening when you realized what you had just said, “I’ll stop talking now”.

“Uh, yeah… but thank you for your compliment” Aaron replied shyly, taking another sip of his drink.

The two of you fell silent, and you were surprised by the fact that, even after you ultimately embarrassed yourself, it was still a comfortable silence.

“Is this your favorite song?”.

“Hm?” you looked up at him again, surprised at his sudden question.

“You’ve been humming to the song” Aaron informed, beaming at you, “I wanted to know if it’s your favorite”.

“Oh, no!” you replied quickly, shaking your head, “It’s not. I like the song, obviously, but it’s not my favorite”.

Aaron nodded in understanding, “What’s your favorite song?”

You frowned slightly, darting your tongue out of your mouth as you pondered the question, “From the Backstreet Boys or in general?”.

“Both” Aaron shrugged, “I’m just curious”.

You took a while to reply, pondering about your options, “I love ‘Incomplete’, from the Backstreet Boys” you said, tilting your head to the side, “And I guess my favorite song of all time is Coldplay’s ‘The Scientist’”.

“Isn’t that a sad song?” he asked, he was not judging you, but legitimately curious, “About a break up?”.

“Aren’t the best songs sad?” you returned with a question, smiling slightly when he moved his head, a sign he was pondering about what you just said, “What’s your favorite song? And please, don’t you dare reply with one from ‘The White Album’, I know you’re a huge Beatles’ fan, no reminder required”.

Aaron’s face turned into one of amusement as he gotten closer to you, passing his arm over the backrest, and you didn’t notice when you moved closer, leaning into his touch, “Sweet Caroline”.

“Good times never been so good” you sang, leaning your hand on his arm, “That’s a nice song”.

“Yeah” he nodded, “I like the purity of its lyrics, even if it’s clearly about… you know”, his face reddened again.

“I know” you laughed, “I mean, the ‘touching me, touching you’ bit doesn’t leave a lot for imagination. But it’s a good song to dance with someone”.

“I guess, yeah” Aaron nodded.

“Would you?”.

Aaron glared at you again, a bit confused with your words, “What?”.

“If I asked JJ to play this song…” you explained, already regretting your words, “Would you dance with me? I mean, we’re friends, and Matthew simply despise dancing, and I haven’t done this in a while—“.

“Yeah” he cut you off without thinking twice, “Sure. Yeah”.

The smile you gave him was… indescribable. Aaron was almost sure he had never seen you smile that brightly, and you knew that you haven’t laughed like that in a good while — if you ever had.

“Ok” you whispered, “Ok”.

You were brought back to the present by Aaron’s hand touching you arm, your eyes meeting his chocolate quickly, a crease on your brows when you asked, “What?”.

“Are you ok?” Aaron asked, the worry clear in his features as he looked down at you, his thumb drawing small circles on your arm, “You zoned out” he commented, “I was worried”.

You kept your silence for a while, your mind taking some time to adjust to your present situation — you were at Aaron’s house, wearing a fancy red dress because you were supposed to attend to your engagement party.

So why were you still sitting there?

“Yeah, I’m ok” you nodded quickly, passing your hands on the folds of your dress, trying to smoother the tissue, “What did you say?”.

Aaron took a deep breath, taking his hand off your arm. You were ready to protest, to ask him to put your hand back there when he joined your hands, intertwining your fingers, “What do you want?”.

You looked at him, astonished by his question, “What do you mean?”.

“What do you want?” he repeated, squeezing your hand softly, “From this relationship, from your engagement, from your life. What do you want?”.

You knew the answer to his question. You knew exactly what you wanted to say, even if a few months ago you wouldn’t have the courage to; now, surprisingly, it seemed like a good moment.

“I want to get out of this dress” you replied, “I want to put some comfortable clothes” you added, standing up, “And if you’re ok with it, I’d like to meet you at the living room in five minutes”.

Aaron’s face contorted in confusion as he observed you standing up, already taking your hand to your hair and undoing the perfectly made bun you had done, your hair falling over your shoulders with the motion.

“What?” he asked finally, his eyes glued on you, “Why?”.

You smiled down at him, “You’ll see” you said, “And you better be there in five, otherwise I’ll chicken out. Be right back, Aaron”.

—

Aaron was in the living room in for minutes. If he had been moved by his curiosity or the fear or missing whatever you wanted to show him he wasn’t sure, but at the moment you left his office, your proposal lingering in the air and mingling with your scent, Aaron knew there was no way he wouldn’t take his chance.

He had been thinking about you since that night at Rossi’s house.

You hadn’t shared anything more than a quick dance and small talk, but there was something about the way you propped your head back when you smiled, or the way you tried not to stumble on your feet as you danced, or maybe just your presence that had him thinking…

And then he was brought back to the real world. And in the real world, you had a fiancé.

A toxic fiancé with a toxic family, yeah, but still a fiancé. And even though Aaron’s heart burnt to tell you every bad thing he knew about Matthew and the Simpson’s, he knew that it would only draw you away, so he settled for small inoffensive comments with hidden meanings — meanings he knew you had understood.

The point was that, as most people in most toxic relationships, you couldn’t see your way out. And even if Aaron tried his best, he knew that you were the only person able to make the decision of stepping away from your relationship.

And nothing hurt him more than the fought that you may never do.

“Oh, you’re here!” you gasped in surprise when you saw him seated on his couch, “I guess I’m late, then”.

“No, I’m early” Aaron corrected, immediately standing up, “But you already knew that”.

You giggled, nodding at his words. It was true, you knew that — Aaron had the unsettling habit of always being early, which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t have the equally unsettling habit of always being late (except that the reason you were late usually concerned the fact that you simply didn’t wanna be there, and Aaron was early simply because… it was him).

“So…” Aaron cleared his throat, burying his hands on his dress pants’ pockets, his eyes glued on you, “What is the plan?”.

You took a deep breath, taking one step towards Aaron while you gathered the courage to say the words you’ve been training in front of your mirror the whole night. But, when you looked in his eyes, the only you thing you could bring yourself to mutter was a simple and strangled, “I don’t feel pathetic anymore”.

Aaron looked down to your body, and considering the smile on his face, you knew he recognized the clothes you were wearing — the same black dress and sneakers you had worn on Rossi’s dinner.

“I can hardly say you were looking pathetic” Aaron pointed, “But I also don’t know how you mastered the ability of wearing dress and sneakers”.

Your heart stopped at his comment. Not because it was offensive, or because you were shy over it (even if you were).

But because those were the same words he said back then. And he remembered.

“Comfort over beauty” you repeated the words you said back then, too, “But I happen to have both”.

If you kept sticking to the pattern, you knew that Aaron would chuckle and the talk would be considered finished — and so you could go back to your previous script, if you could bring your mind to remember what was it you had to say.

But Aaron didn’t. Instead, he took a step towards you; it was a small, hesitant step, one that indicated that if you felt uncomfortable, you could tell him to stop at any moment.

You didn’t.

“You do” he agreed to your previously said words, “But I think ‘beauty’ doesn’t cover how amazing you are”.

You inhaled sharply, and you were convinced by the beat of your heart that it would burst out of you chest. He thought you were beautiful? No, he thought you were more than beautiful.

“Yeah?” you questioned, this time taking a step towards him, “You know, I love this job”.

Aaron nodded slowly, “Yeah, you say that a lot”.

“No, I really love this job” you repeated, this time your voice was decided, clear. And at the same time if made known that you had more to say than just that. So he waited, “I love to be here, and I love to be able to spend most part of my day with you and Jack. I love how you never pressure me into being something I’m not. I love our movie nights, when I pretended I don’t lay my head on your shoulder on purpose, and you pretend you don’t notice because you know I’ll feel embarrassed”.

Aaron felt his face heat at that, “I don’t—“.

“You do” you cut him, looking down at your feet as you giggled, “But that’s ok, that’s just one more thing I love about… you”.

This time was Aaron’s heart that almost burst out of his chest, his jaw slightly dropped as he stared at you wide eyed, “You… love me?”.

“I do” you didn’t hesitate on your answer, even if you were aware that those simple words could change everything in your life, “I love how you make me laugh, even when you don’t plan to. I love how you bear those shitty rom-cons just because you know I love it. I love how you know me better than anyone, to the point of knowing when I need to hear something, and when I just need to be heard. And maybe this is because you’re a profiler, but I’d really like to think that this is because you feel the same” your voice faltered when those words left your mouth, but your brain wasn’t controlling your body anymore, seen that you took a step forward, “You know me better than anyone. I let you see my flaws and my qualities, and you let me be myself. You showed me, more than once, that ‘good enough’ is not enough, by being better. God, you even made me love ‘Sweet Caroline’ to the point that whenever this song plays, I find myself saying ‘play that song again, please’. That’s how much I love you”.

You looked up at Aaron again, chewing on your cheek as you tried to control your anxiety. Say something, you pleaded inside your mind, just say something, please.

But Aaron didn’t, so you did, “But if you don’t feel the same, I’ll pretend I never said anything. I’ll… uh…” you cleared your throat, looking back towards the lit corridors, “I’ll put that dress back on, and I’ll go back to Matthew, no problems. So we can pretend that never happened”.

Again, Aaron didn’t mutter a word. And to you, silence was more than enough answer.

“Ok” you turned your back to him, already starting your walk of shame, thinking about the hundred excuses you’d give Matthew and crazy Aretha for being late.

Maybe your life wouldn’t be this different after—

“Good times never been so good”.

You stopped on your tracks, not daring to look back at Aaron, afraid that his words were just result of how bad you wanted to be with him, how bad you wanted your feelings to be returned…

“I honestly don’t want to quote this much Neil Diamond, but I can’t bring myself to think of anything that won’t sound terribly idiot, so…” Aaron took a deep breath, and you knew he had walked towards you from the way you could feel his breath fan on your neck, the tips of his thumbs touching the skin of your arm, “I’ve really been inclined to believe they never would, until the moment you stepped inside this house”.

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut as you slowly moved to face Aaron, being only able to breathe through your lips. Suddenly, it felt like all the air had left your lungs.

“Look at me, honey” Aaron pleaded, brushing hair off your face delicately, lovingly. You opened your eyes slowly, losing yourself on the infinity of his brown eyes, “I’ve been loving you for so long. I loved everything about you. Your determination, your happiness, your ability to light up any places you walked in… and when we danced at Rossi’s party, God, that was when I knew I was gone”.

“Why?” the words slipped past your mouth before you could keep them, both your hands grabbing his shoulders in a search for balance, “What changed?”.

“Because I got to finally hold you” Aaron said honestly, his voice holding a tinge of anguish, as if his mind had took him all the way back to that night, “To feel your smell, to place my arms around your waist, and I imagined… I knew that was the place I wanted to be, forever. But then I remembered your heart already belonged to someone else, even if he didn’t deserve you”.

You moved your arms slowly on Aaron shoulders, your hands playing with the hair on the back of his head, “It didn’t belong to someone else. It has always belong with you” you whispered, smiling when he circled your waist with his arms, “And if you say the word, if you believe we can be happy together, that I can be more than just Jack’s babysitter… then I’ll call my wedding off, and it’s gonna be us, forever”.

Aaron’s answer was obvious, but he needed to know you were sure about it, that you wouldn’t make a move you’d regret later, “Is that what you want?” he questioned, “You know I’m… that a relationship with me would be probably complicated. My work hours are hectic and sometimes I spend too much time out—“.

“I know it all” you silenced him, “And I love you the same”.

Aaron smiled — for real this time, not just a simple smile or a giggle. It was a full on smile, one that reached his eyes.

You had seen this smile before — it was reserved for Jack, or for deep talks about Haley. And while Aaron had never smiled like that to you before, you always knew what that smile meant.

It meant he really loved you.

“Then I guess you’re calling off your engagement” Aaron whispered, joining your foreheads as he slowly cradled your cheek, his touch was tender, as you could easily read the reverence on his voice, “Because to give you my heart is the only thing I want”.

Words were not needed, not anymore. And before you could notice, your lips joined Aaron’s in a kiss that could only be describe as… breathtaking.

You smiled against his lips before parting yours to give his tongue passage, not vacillating for a moment when he tightened the hold around your waist, bringing you closer and closer to your body. And for the first time in years, you knew you were in the arms of the love of your life — and that this time, it was forever.

Maybe Neil Diamond was right, after all.

Good times never been so good.

taglist (thank you for your support 🫶🏾):

@psychosociogentleman, @toshijimafarms, @red-red-rogue.

[syllvane]

the lovers- kaz brekker x reader

a/n: this was requested by anon!

request something here

Kaz didn’t like to showcase his vulnerabilities.

It’s why he wore gloves- anything that could be interpreted as a possible weakness, he twisted into the image that he had created for himself, incorporated it into the legend that surrounded him.

You really weren’t that different.

Yes, he cared for you, more than he cared for most people, but there was nothing sacred to Kaz Brekker.

To the Barrel, you were just the Archer, just another spider that Dirtyhands had on his payroll, though your specialty was arrows rather than knives.

And you were fine with that- even within the Dregs, only a few knew of your relationship with Kaz.

If any of the others suspected, you would have genuinely been surprised.

Public displays of affection never occurred and even in private, the farthest you had gone was holding hands with him, not that you minded.

You would move at whatever speed was comfortable for him and not anything more.

Cue you and Kaz at some all too extravagant party, guarding the hallway that led to the Merchant’s office, the office which Jesper and Inej were currently in, stealing information from the Merchant’s ledgers.

You were wearing some all too tight dress while Kaz had been outfitted in a suit, his hair slicked back.

Although he looked nice, you still wanted nothing more than to run your hands through his hair and undo all the hard work that Nina had done.

You peeked around the corner before drawing back quickly, pulling Kaz into one of the enclaves of a doorway.

“Guards,” You told him and he glanced at his watch as you heard footsteps at the beginning of the hallway.

“They need more time,” He said, more to himself than anyone else.

“Kaz,” You said under your breath, growing increasingly aware of one of the guards approaching the small enclave.

“I know,” He said, almost annoyed, before taking a deep breath.

“What are you-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Kaz cut you off by pushing you against the wall and kissing you.

You stood there in shock, completely unresponsive before you realized what he was doing and played into it.

You barely even realized when the guard found the two of you, the sound of your heart hammering in your chest and the blood rushing in your ears distracting you from anything else.

The guard grunted and Kaz pulled away from you, looking at the ground.

“You shouldn’t be back here,” The guard said sheepishly and you tried your best to look flustered, though you didn’t have to do much acting.

“I’m- I’m so sorry, sir. Me and my boyfriend, we just wanted to find a… private spot, I’m sure you understand.”

He looked between the two of you, a blush appearing on the guard's face.

“R-right, I understand miss, but you can’t be back here.  I’ll escort the two of you back to the party.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I promise that it won’t happen again,” You said sincerely and the guard nodded, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Have a good night now,” He said after leading the two of you back to the main party.

You and Kaz made your way outside of the party, trying to find some privacy.

“You-”

“I did what I had to do to keep us safe,” He said, though you could tell from his voice that that wasn’t the whole story.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep your bare arms warm in the cool Ketterdam night.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Kaz said sullenly, sliding out of his jacket and offering it to you.

You grabbed it from him hesitantly and put it on, reveling in the warmth that it provided.

“That was some quick thinking on your part.”

Kaz didn’t say anything for a couple of moments, flexing his gloved fingers over the top of his cane.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t a difficult choice to make. We did what we had to do in order to keep Inej and Jesper safe.”

You remembered the way his lips crashed into you, the way he had pushed you against the wall.

Your face warmed.

“What wasn’t a difficult choice?” Inej asked, appearing out of nowhere and causing you to jump. Her eyes narrowed as you jumped- usually, you were able to spot Inej before anyone else, but you weren’t exactly paying attention to your surroundings at the moment. Before she could question you, Kaz spoke.

“Do you have a copy of the ledger or not?”

“Of course. We’re not amateurs, you know,” Jesper said, holding out the journal to Kaz, who didn’t say anything else.

He looked at you, almost as if he expected to be looking at thin air before his gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

“You two go on without us. We’ll meet you back at the Slat.”

As if she had never been there at all, Inej simply vanished back into the darkness. Jesper groaned slightly but didn’t object, walking back towards the direction of the Slat.

You and Kaz walked slowly throughout the streets of Ketterdam, as if you were an old married couple strolling through a garden as opposed to whatever the two of you were strolling through an unforgiving city.

“Thought you would’ve disappeared the first chance you got after Inej and Jesper showed up,” He said nonchalantly, his voice even.

“I’m not doing much of anything in this dress, much less jumping from roof to roof,” You said pointedly, though your tone was easygoing.

“What happened earlier-”

“We don’t have to talk about it. If you want, what happened there can stay there,” You said, cutting him off.

“It wasn’t pleasant,” Kaz said shortly. “But it wasn’t horrible either.”

You stopped where you were walking, looking at him.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Oh, hush,” He said, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

“Careful, Brekker, you’re getting awfully close to looking like a human being.”

“What can I say? You’re a bad influence.”

You laughed and a small smile tugged at Kaz’s lips.

Maybe he should just drop the whole revenge thing, just try and make you laugh for the rest of your life’s. He thinks that maybe he can be happy with that.

You lead him to a restaurant, where someone was strumming a guitar, playing an unfamiliar, folksy tune.

In the streetlight, your face lit up and you outstretched a hand towards him.

“You owe me a dance from earlier.”

He pulled a face.

“I owe you no such thing.”

“If Jesper was here, he would dance with me,” You said to him and he frowned.

“Yes, well, good thing he isn’t here then. I won’t have to break his legs this way.”

You rolled your eyes.

“What do you have to lose, Kaz? Just this one dance. One dance and then we can go back to being all boring.”

“I was joking before, but you are an actual bad influence,” He grumbled, taking your hand.

The smile that appeared on your face almost made it all worth it.

What the two of you did was hardly dancing- it was more him standing and letting you guide him and letting him twirl you than anything rhythmic, but it made you happy and that was all that really mattered to Kaz.

Whatever he could do to make you smile like that, even if it meant embarrassment in front of drunk restaurant patrons, he supposed it was worth it.

After an appropriate amount of time passed, the two of you continued walking and you held onto his hand a little tighter than before.

“Happy now?” He asked and you smiled.

“It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t horrible either,” You quoted and he shook his head, trying to get rid of the smile that was on his face.

“The kiss wasn’t bad. I wouldn’t be objected to trying again sometime.”

“Neither was the dancing,” You chided, though you were grinning. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re pushing your luck, Archer.”

You shrugged.

“Would you really have me any other way?” You asked, walking ahead of him.

You didn’t see him shake his head or the small smile that appeared on his face as he watched you.

“No,” He said quietly. “I wouldn’t.”