#well see how the vashwood one does on ao3

[bennysblabbering]

kinda funny that my two longest fics to date are both trigun porn

[scoundrels-in-love]

If this is communication, I disconnect (I need you, you want me, but I don't know how to connect)

Vash does as he promised - he comes back. But he doesn’t come back to her. To anyone at all. Not even himself. It’s just a shade of him which haunts her apartment and the December streets, clad in anonymity provided by his pitch black hair, new coat in a darker shade and glasses that are far too reminiscent of Wolfwood’s to not set an ache in her chest each time Meryl sees him put them on. VashMeryl with references to VashWood and MashWood | On AO3 | | Grief | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Angst with Hopeful Ending | Lack of Communication | Sometimes talking is hard but the silence is even harder |

Vash does as he promised - he comes back.

But he doesn’t come back to her. To anyone at all. Not even himself.

It’s just a shade of him which haunts her apartment and the December streets, clad in anonymity provided by his pitch black hair, new coat in a darker shade and glasses that are far too reminiscent of Wolfwood’s to not set an ache in her chest each time Meryl sees him put them on.

At first, she does all she can think of to tether him - tries to talk with him and gives him space when all he gives her is silence or feeble attempts at distraction in response, comes home early to cook a meal or take him to her favorite diners, brings donuts and easy chatter from the office. 

But as days stretch into weeks and weeks into months, Meryl finds herself slowing, like she is gradually bleeding out from all the falls she’s taken in her attempts to get through or across, or even under, the walls Vash has enclosed himself in. She is afraid he will suffocate in there, but nothing she does seems to give him even a pinhole of relief.

And ever so gradually, she catches herself stalling going back to her apartment (she’d briefly thought they’d end up calling it theirs) after work, unwilling to play the game of guessing if he will be there, waiting for her with a hollow smile as he tends to the the tree sapling he brought with him, or if he will be gone. Perhaps for the last time.

“Mr. Vash needs time. Just let him know that you’ll be there when he is ready to talk,” Milly says sweetly, thoughtfully, after she catches Meryl curled up at her desk, stifling sobs in the quiet office long after everyone else has gone home. “He needs you more than ever, Ma’am.”

Meryl doesn’t think that’s true - it’s her that has always needed, wanted him and it hardly feels different now. She is the one that lays awake at night, listening into the darkness and wondering if he’ll wake crying and if he will let her comfort him. He hasn’t since the first weeks he spent there - the only sign of his nightmares and pains that he doesn’t manage to hide is the redness of his eyes in the mornings. 

She hopes he doesn’t see the same on her. (Knows he does.)

Every now and then, she gathers all her determination and makes another attempt to reach Vash and, sometimes, it almost feels like they are getting somewhere - sharing a laugh that sounds mostly sincere or allowing their shoulders to rest together as they eat in silence that feels companionable, not like a cold desert night’s wind. Sometimes, it is almost like he is on the brink of actually telling her of those months, those goodbyes she didn’t get to witness, but then she watches his gaze drift somewhere away, inward and she knows she’s lost him, again.

It’s all she does these days.

She is tired - of missing him, of chasing after him as if he was halfway across the world from her, not on the other end of her couch, drumming fingers in an uneasy rhythm on his knees before springing up and giving an excuse for why he must go out. 

It comes to a head one evening when they sit at her small kitchen table, feet carefully arranged not to touch, sharing dinner. The ever-permeating heaviness in her chest expands, gets stuck in her throat, when she thinks she might as well be sitting here with a stranger, with how little she knows about what Vash thinks or does these days. 

“Have you thought about going to Ship Three?” The words pour out of Meryl before she can think through for a third time if she should say them.

He looks like a man who has been slapped, but has been expecting it. And she doesn’t know which part makes her heart sting worse.

It will not be less painful from here, she knows.

“Why do you ask?” Vash deflects and, for once, she’s almost, almost grateful. Because a yes might’ve made her cry, like a confirmation that it’s only the promise keeping him here. But now the ball is back in her court, she has to be the one to say the cold and cruel things that she doesn’t want to, but has to.

Meryl tries to start it off gently, at least: “Luida wrote they all miss you, didn’t she? It’s been a while since you’ve stopped by.”

Vash ceases poking at the food on his plate, puts the fork and knife down with measured movements and proceeds to punch the air out of her lungs with his next words: “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Her voice breaks and she swallows thickly before continuing. If only that could be the whole answer. 

“No. I don’t want you to. But I think it might be better if you did.”

When Vash says nothing, she, too, gives up on the pretense of eating and clutches her hands tightly in her lap as she lifts her eyes to look at his carefully blank face. It’s a kind of emotion on its own. 

“I love you, Vash,” she says and with his sharp inhale, realizes this is the first time she’s said it out loud to him, but she can’t pause, can’t hesitate or she will do something foolish, like asking if he -, “but I don't think staying here is helping you.”

He remains silent and the heaviness in her chest begins to tip over into an aching frustration. She’s once again talking to a wall that has somehow found itself placed in her kitchen, in her life.

“I can’t do this anymore. I’ve tried everything I know and then some and yet you’ve never felt further from me than now. All these months and you haven’t trusted me with a single shred of your pain.” 

Meryl stands up, the sound of her chair scraping against the floor jarring. There isn’t enough space for her to pace, so she stands there, hands clenched and, for once, at the same eye level as Vash who is slumped in his seat. The frustration is stoked into anger by his continuous silence, a want to shake something, anything, out of him taking over. Between it all, the bitterness steeped in the cracks and divots of her heart for months rises like bile and spills out.

“Hell, you won’t even tell me about Wolfwood. As if it’s only your grief and you’re the only one who loved him, just because-”

(Because there was never time and place for me to love him in stolen moments like you could. Because your fingers carry the memory of his warmth and of his coldness once death took its due. Because you feel like you could’ve prevented it, where I could have never made a difference in his borrowed time.)

He flinches at that, and for a second, Meryl feels satisfaction. It’s not fair, she knows. But she is so tired of being thoughtful, when she has to cradle this abyss with her ribcage while Vash acts as if none of this impacted her, as if she’s a stranger that he cannot bear to burden with even a glimpse of the whole story. It’s hers, too, for fuck’s sake. 

All these years spent chasing after him (them), loving him (them), all the horrors that have broken her to pieces from which she had to rebuild on her own, all this time being considerate since he came back, all this time grieving one man she never said goodbye to and one she did not know if she'd see again (and has she?) and here they are, or rather, are not. 

“You just… Exist here,” Meryl says, her voice cracks between anger and the first burn of tears. 

Vash’s hands twitch as if he wants to reach for her and she wishes he would, but then stillness takes him again and without an anchor, she is pulled deeper into this dark place where she can’t breathe, can’t think. Every fearful, painful thought she's tried to swaddle and keep contained in the long, lonely hours of nighttime comes forth, tears through and out of her.

"I don't understand why you're even here, if you're not letting me in. Or even near you." 

Her voice is watery in a way Meryl hates and her fists tighten to the point it feels like her skin will split over her knuckles, baring the bones as she is baring her pain.

"If it's the promise, if I am just an obligation you're regretting and don't know how to deal with… I can release you from it."

There is a soft, almost whimper-like sound from Vash and she forces herself to look at him, take in the handiwork of her own hurt spun together with the cruelty of voicing it like this.

His expression is no longer blank and she doesn't - doesn't feel like she knows him enough anymore to decipher emotions there, but it looks a lot like devastation. And she regrets it. Regrets shooting him point blank when he is already down. (Part of her is surprised that she could, that somewhere beneath his numbness, he did, does care.) Regrets because she's torn herself to pieces in the process, too. But she's been doing that since he came back, inch by inch every day, so maybe now she can finally start healing. Even if it scars and knits all wrong. 

Meryl unclenches her fists and her fingers ache as she wipes at her face, smearing the tear streaks. The silence around them feels stretched and blurred the same way.

"What do you want me to do?" Vash asks when she is so close to begging him to say something, even if it is to call her a horrible, cruel, unfeeling thing. (He wouldn't even be wrong.) His voice is quiet, shuddering and makes more tears spill down her cheeks.

She has to bite her lip, so hard that blood floods her mouth, so she doesn't start sobbing outright. He sounds so lost, like nothing makes sense anymore, like he wants her to give him a path to walk on because he’s never had the luxury of such a choice, only a burning, damned destination waiting. 

And she could - there are so many things Meryl wants for him. She wants Vash to let her learn to love him, every broken, jagged-edged piece that doesn’t fit together anymore and that he’s kept concealed, she wants him to mourn all the way to the bottom of the ravine that cleaves him in half and be next to him as he does, she wants him to let himself eat and savor it again, she wants him to laugh again one day, she wants him to be kind to himself for once, wants him, wants him, wants him-

But most of all, she wants him to want any of it. Want her. Anything. She won’t be the next person to take up the mantle of dictating his life, even if it’d be easier for him.

"I want you to live. To learn what that means for you.” Her voice sounds thin to her own ears, bending under the weight of her intent, her breaking heart as she continues: “And I don't know if you can start that here."

Vash curls forward, burying his face in his hands for a moment, and Meryl feels like collapsing on the kitchen floor next to his chair. Maybe they can cry together, just this once. But then he is raising his head again, expression shuttered once more as he nods: "Okay."

And then he stands up and leaves. 

Not for the last time, not yet. But she feels like it might as well be.

In two days, Vash is standing at the door of the apartment that was almost theirs. His satchel rests by the doorjamb, as does the basket to be strapped on his back, in which he so carefully has placed the tree seedling.

If she doesn’t say something now, he will turn and leave with barely a goodbye and it will be another bead of regret in the adorned string that is slowly choking her. They’ve scarcely spoken since that evening, not even tiny pleasantries, and Meryl needs him to know that she isn’t casting him out, that she doesn’t hate him. But she can’t think of any words to convey it.

“My couch will always be available for you,” she says instead. He regards her quietly and Meryl hopes he finds only sincerity and none of the desperation for him to take her up on the offer some day. 

Vash nods softly and she feels the seconds ticking by, heavy with their mutual hesitation. 

“Can I…” Meryl inhales deeply, bracing herself for the way this will turn her inside out and the very real possibility of his rejection, “can I hug you?”

Vash’s lips part in muted surprise and then he slowly spreads his arms and she throws herself at him, before he has time to reconsider. 

Her arms slide beneath his coat, clutching at the back of his dark shirt and Meryl presses her face into his chest, hoping that the heat of him will dry up the first well of tears in her eyes. It doesn’t.

Vash’s hand comes to cradle the back of her head as the other wraps around her shoulders, tentatively at first and then almost crushing as the first sob shudders through her body. This is the closest they’ve been in this half a year they’ve spent living so close it was almost together. 

It’s a thought that wrings another sob out of Meryl, loud enough that she almost misses Vash’s whisper.

“I love you.” 

She stills, not even breathing, unsure if she imagined it. Vash's hands tighten around her as he bends over her awkwardly, pressing his face into her hair.

“I love you," he repeats, now at a volume that does not permit mistakes of mishearing, not even with the tremble in his voice, "Wolfwood told me to take good care of you and look at what I’ve done.”

“He should have stayed and made sure you do, then,” Meryl says, swaying deeper into Vash's arms with an angry longing for what could have been. 

It is the first time they've spoken of Wolfwood like this, like he - or the lack of him - is something they can let into the room with them, acknowledge together. Like he was a person, not a wound with a face. Part of her fears Vash will push her away for it.

Instead, she feels him nod: “Yeah. Yeah, he should have.”

And then Vash is slowly sliding down, crumbling on his knees, as he holds her still. He buries his face in her shoulder and she feels the sobs shaking his body before she hears them. 

Her arms shift to wrap around his shoulders and she thinks how frail he feels in this moment, like a teenage toma whose bulk is mostly feathers and posturing, though she knows, knows the strength of his body and heart goes beyond that of any human.

She's seen it, has had it written across every nerve ending in her body as his memories and his feathered weight crushed her, has feared it and has had to untangle her own overwhelming fragility from it. And in the same way, she knows the pain and the guilt that runs through Vash like a river system that she's read used to define humanity itself once upon a time on Earth, knows every loss since then has only added a new stream. Knows he's been drowning this whole time in the ocean where all the rivers meet.

So she holds him, hopes it's enough to keep him afloat if only for a moment, and cries with and for him.

They stay like that, clinging to each other like the only way to remain upright for themselves is to make sure the other doesn't collapse, for a time that might be hours or infinity or maybe just a handful of minutes, ached to the bottom of every second.

Eventually, Vash's sobs subside and so do Meryl's and then the silence is only interrupted by a sniffle or hiccup from one of them in the aftermath. She is afraid again, of what comes next, or what doesn't.

Her fingers tread through the soft hairs on his nape, one final indulgence before she has to take the next and perhaps the last step. Meryl draws a deep, shuddering breath, her voice hoarse on exhale: "Do you want me to let go now?" 

Vash is still in her arms, has been for a while now as if he's forgotten that he is supposed to need to breathe now that it's uncomfortable after crying. And yet, it feels like the question freezes him. They both know it's not just about ending this embrace. 

Her heart beats so painfully loudly in her chest, it must sound like a drum to him. Five beats, six beats, seven - please, end this agony, she thinks. I've been saying this goodbye for so long, I can't endure the waiting for it any more.

"No..." He sounds unsure, like a child that doesn't know what answer the teacher wants to hear, so he gives the one he's got and prays it's the correct one. It punches a pained sound out of her as she turns her head and presses her lips to his temple, a few quick tears racing down her face.

"Then I won't," she tells him, finds a way to somehow embrace him tighter still. It hurts her arms, hurts where the metal plates and wires on his body press into her, but she will take these pains of imprinting, of becoming his mirror gladly. 

He looks at her then, truly looks at her, with intent and without flinching away when she meets his gaze. She stays in that moment, tries to write her heart across her features, but knows even a novel wouldn't be enough to convey it.

They remain silent for a long while, just allowing themselves and the other to look, until a bitter sort of absurdity comes to Meryl. "Why can we only be honest when you're about to leave?" she asks, softly, and finally lets go of him enough to bring one of her hands to cup Vash's face, thumb stroking across his cheek, wiping at the drying tear tracks. 

He leans into her touch, eyes fluttering half shut, as if he can't bear to stop looking at her, and it makes her heart drop into some weightless space. His voice is quiet, mournful: "I don't know. Maybe it's that I don't know how to stay."

Then his expression shifts, the determination in it akin to the one she'd seen during countless hopeless fights and situations he'd turned into something else, something better with sheer want to. "But I want to try. Being honest while staying."

"Me too," she promises, because her heart's truth often comes too late and too loudly.

Meryl doesn't know if they will ever truly leave this in-between space, where the shadows of parting are so bitingly stark against the too bright, scorching suns of possibilities, where goodbyes swirl around them like dust and sand almost constantly.

But, she thinks, if they can move even a little closer to the edge, to peace, maybe they can settle down. They both have lived in colder and lonelier places, after all.

[hypermoyashi]

AHOY! READER ASK MEME TIME. A2, B4, B7, C9, D6, D10 :]

Hello!!! Thank you so much!!!

A2. How did you find your first fic?

I think I was between the ages of 10 and 12 and I was googling about Inuyasha and a fic popped up. I think I wanted to see what happened after the anime cut off and discovered fanfiction to fill that whole through google of all things. That was how I found ff.net.

B4. Who is your current favourite author? What is their best story?

HO BOY this is a hard one. I've generally really enjoyed a lot of writers, so I'm gonna cheat here and name multiple (fair warning that it is All Trigun at the moment because that is what I currently have brain worms for):

The Celestial Evening Series by tragic_unpaired_electron

kinder, gentler by skittidyne

before tomorrow ends by chuuyasoup

in the woods somewhere by halfdemonvash

In the Next Life by orcelito

come and see by avoidingavoidance

There are, of course, lots of other fics I love in other fandoms, but these are ones that have stuck out to me and currently make my brain go brr. There are probably lots of really good one-shots I'm missing because I tend to get brain worms more over longer fics, too. This list also probably has a bias towards fics I've followed a long time, because the longfics and one-shots I binged over a few days are ones I have a harder time remembering, though I do tend to go back and reread them.

B7. Which character is your favourite to read about? Why?

Right now? It's 100% Vash. Not only does the fact that the fandom largely writes him as trans or at least Not Cis make my enby, doesn't identify with my gender assigned at birth self very happy, but he's honestly such a complex and interesting character. There are so many different interesting things you can do with him, and there are a lot of subtle aspects of his character you can really dig into in fanfiction. I'm also just... a sucker for characters with a lot of struggles getting support systems, hurt/comfort tropes, and found family tropes, all of which Vash is great for.

C9. What show did you really try to watch, but you just couldn’t?

Hmmmmm there are a lot? I've completed 300~400 anime in my lifetime, not even counting Other Kinds of Shows, but I've dropped more than I've finished. Naruto comes to mind because I think I watched maybe 500 episodes of that for a friend, and like, I liked parts of it, but it was such an inconsistent watching experience that I ended up never really liking or really finishing it. I didn't have nostalgia to get me through it lol.

D6. How many bookmarks do you have?

612 right now! Granted, I've had my AO3 account for about ten years now, so it's not too impressive when you factor in how long it's taken me to get there.

D10. What is one story idea you really want to read but no one has written yet?

This one is haaaard because if no one is writing an idea I want to read, then I tend to write it myself. I guess a Vashwood SWAP AU is one? I technically haven't posted the Vashwood part of my SWAP AU, so I would say it counts lol. But on a serious note, I think there are a lot of cool AUs that would work really well for Trigun, but I don't see too many that try to take new and fun takes on the characters. I've seen a couple here and there, but a lot of people tend to stick pretty closely to canon. Which is great! Lots of really great fics like that out there! But it's also fun to just get wild with it sometimes, so I'd like to see more AU fics that just go ham and have fun with some outlandish and creative ideas.

Thank you again for the all the questions!!! It was really fun answering all of these!!

[ Fic Reader Ask Meme ]

[lost-technology]

You Can't Outrun Your Past, No Matter How Hard You Try...

So, I got a DM from someone looking for an old fanfic of mine - or, they didn't know if I was the author, but were looking up stuff from the old Live Journal days and found me somehow - managed to connect my regular pename to my account here - well, I do mention it on my pin-post. They were looking for a particular old fanfic and I was all "Okay, that sounds vaguely familiar" but I couldn't find it. I googled the title mentioned and... promptly had a thousand-yard stare. I used to get up to some seriously fucked up shit in my early Trigun fandom days in the early 2000's. So, I had one of those experiences that fell into the annals of "this is why I do not do co-writing." It took a bad experience in the She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fandom to finally solidify that, but I really should have learned back then. I have had more bad experiences co-writing than good ones (although there is a Zelda fic I do not regret co-creating and a pretty good Super Smash short I did with someone I'm still friends with). Anyway, I did this fic back in the day with someone whom I eventually had a huge falling out with and hope to never see hide nor hair of again in my entire life - and, if possible, I'd like to continue that relationship of no-contact into the afterlife, should one exist. The falling out wasn't over this fic we created together, it was over a variety of other things that happened later and I can admit that there were two assholes in the equation, not just one - I was just as much of an asshole as my former friend. Anyway, indeed, I am the co-author of some fic that... people still talk about, I guess? titled "Dark Mirror." As I remember it - being that I erased its presence from the Internet as much as I could and no longer retain files (if I ever kept any, they were several computers and virus-attacks / hard drive reworkings ago), it was a WEIRD fic. I remember it being a take on the "Dark Vash" toy repaint. It involved Vash going evil, but not of his own choice. He basically got Plant-rabies. He got a fungal disease that was slowly killing him and eating his brain. He also found a somehow Survived!The!Big!Fall! Rem (coldsleep pods, baby)! who reunited with him, tried to help him find the cure and they fell in adult-style love. BLECK!!! WHY?! YOUNG SHADSIE, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!!!! YOU WERE INSANE! (In my defense, I have figured out exactly what mental illness I had / have and have gotten medication and treatment, thank you). I also seem to recall that most of the idea - certainly the structure of the Plant-fungal disease (which was actually one of the cooler ideas in it) was courtesy of the person known as "MillyFan" (or as I'd like to call them today, the Motherfucker). I think Vash / Rem was their idea, too, but I can't be sure. It was entirely my fault for going along with it. Certain stupid cameos from other animes were my fault, I recall that. (I was trying to insert Haibane Renmei characters into the whole mess for some reason). I... feel like taking a shower now. I already took one today... Anyway, I have a lot more weirdness and "What was I thinking?!" stories that do actually still exist on my old fanfiction.net account if anyone is interested in those. I have one where Legato propositions Vash for sex in a dingy hotel (Vash runs away very quickly). I have one where a woman that Midvalley got pregnant confronts him and he preforms an abortion by saxophone. I have this one really annoying anti-Vashwood piece back when I was an annoying little shit about Vashwhood. I have one that I actually recently re-read in thinking I could transfer it to Ao3 that isn't so bad, but I was overdramatic and predictable about Vash getting a pet cat. (You know the cat is doomed from the start, right? Very "Does the Dog Die?" stuff. Blech). I really like to think that I have become... a much better writer than from my early days. Please stick to my Ao3 page to see anything that I think is actually halfway decent in this fandom.

[glaivenoct]

1, 5, 19 for ao3 wrapped

ao3 wrapped [writer's edition]

Thank you for sending some <3 <3

1.) How many words have you written this year?

There's no way this is going to be accurate but 39,779+

I'm going based off of the words counts from the 5 fics I posted to ao3 this year. However, there are things I've written that are still sitting in my docs. Not to mention that I have this insane habit of sometimes rewriting things anywhere from 3 to 2o348940293 times over when my brain gets stuck and a fic isn't working out the way I want it to. There's some things sitting in WIPs that are already on rewrite number 3 and I'm this closer to rewriting it AGAIN ;A;

So it's hard to say, but there's a base to go off of at least ;u;

5.) What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

I'm still to this day blown away by the response I received on Even Angels Deserve Guardians ;u; It was the most encouraging and motivating response I've ever experienced, especially since it was my debut fic in both Tristamp & Vashwood fandoms!! So many people said welcome and apparently really enjoyed my characterization of both Vash & WW? Which was probably my biggest concern when writing it. I wanted to do right by them so bad and I was worried since I was used to writing The Same rarepair for the last several years in a row ;A;

I'm so grateful for every kudos, bookmark and lovely comment ppl left on it QuQ

19.) What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Heh I still haven't tried my hand at Pelnoct or Pelnyxnoct oops ;u; I think it's safe to say Vashwood is a high priority on the list next year since I've only managed to do one fic for them so far. There's still plenty of exploring to do with them ofc.

But ok. Listen. I honestly don't think I will ever actually be brave enough to try my hand at one of my newer fav pairings, but just hear me for a sec pls -

Nanago

I don't talk abt jjk stuffs with anyone but the voices in my head. So I'm taking my chance to spew this out into the void, apologies in advance. AHEM!! I don't know if I have the capability to write either of these characters or the universe of jjk itself well or believably - but goddamn do I enjoy thinking about the potential of these two.

Because, in my head, there is just something to be said about a character that is literally physically untouchable unless he actively turns off his power because he has deemed a certain space, object, or person Safe Enough to make physical contact with him. There is something to be said about a character with this renowned title of being "The Strongest", and the loneliness that might come with that underneath this "idiotic", "flippant", and "egotistical" personality. ALL OF THIS combined with this character losing their "one and only" technically two times, and between both instances, calling love "the most twisted curse of all"

Like I love Gojo for the chaotic fucker he is, but I like to believe there are things there under the surface, beyond those general wants and goals he talks about in the series. And it gives me brainworms - especially in relation to Nanami.

Nanami, my beloved. Calm and pragmatic Nanami who sees himself as someone with "no concept of a reason worth living or something worth doing". Sigh. THERE IS ALSO SOMETHING TO BE SAID abt a character who, at the hands of the jujutsu world, also loses their only friend and experiences much suffering. A character who only chooses to return to this world bc, even if it brings him pain and suffering, at least he's helping people. An incredibly selfless character that values the lives of his comrades, ESPECIALLY the youngsters. Goddd does he want to protect the youngsters and let them be youngsters. He might be hella opposite of Gojo personality wise but

A.) That's part of what makes them fun hehe >:3 B.) It's fun to draw the parallels and contrasts, and despite their differences in how they approach things, I think they share similar wants and goals - particularly in reference to the youngsters and seeing a change in the world.

WITH ALL THAT SAID - I want these two to find something in each other amidst all that ish. and like, make out about it. Idk if exploring them is something I'll pull off in actual writing next year, but at the very least I will be in a corner somewhere exploring them in my head.

And thus concludes Brina's sudden Nanago ramble ty and m'sorry I just enjoy them!!!