#could not find the original post only ones with the last two images
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How long will the japanese wikipedia article for goncharov last?
And how big is the internet, really?
I was in a wikipedia hole recently and I happened to notice that the Japanese article for Goncharov is the only language variant that is completely in-character.
Every other language specifies it as “Goncharov (meme)”. Japanese lists it as “Goncharov (1973 film)”, and formats the introduction as if it were a real movie:
Goncharov is a 1973 mafia film set in Naples, Italy. Produced by Martin Scorsese, the main cast includes Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, John Cazale, Gene Hackman, Cybill Shepherd, and Harvey Keitel.
— Wikipedia (my translation)
The rest of the article does go on to acknowledge Tumblr’s influence in Goncharov’s popularity, but every mention of this influence frames it as reviving the popularity of the supposedly real film. On two occasions the word 再燃 is used (the first kanji means “again” and the second kanji means “burn” - it means “rekindle” and can be similarly used in the metaphorical and literal sense, just like the english word “rekindle”).
Goncharov became particularly popularity on social media as a result of a reblog of a Tumblr post in August 2020. The post depicted shows the title of the film (Goncharov) in place of a brand logo on a shoe, which were described as “knockoff boots”. The image post and the comment attached to the reblog, mocking the fact that the original poster had not seen the film, became an internet meme. In November 2022, a poster made by a fan of Goncharov was uploaded to the internet, and the film’s popularity resurged. Various fan-made content about the story and production began to spread on Tumblr and other platforms. Goncharov has been widely covered in the media as an example of how fandom is born on the internet, with many prominent figures, including Scorsese himself, leaving comments.
— Wikipedia (my translation)
It’s clear the article is trying to adapt the real history of the meme and incorporate it as much as possible into the fictional history of the film. The rest follows quite similarly, and includes more analysis of how Tumblr culture created the “reignited” popularity, how Elon’s acquisition of Twitter resulted in an exodus of users to Tumblr which may have contributed to the increased awareness of the “movie”, etc. Though most of it is directly translated from the english, enough of it is original (such as the attempts to reconcile both real and fictional histories) that I suspect the article’s current state is intentional.
To get back to my initial question, how long will this article last like this?
Remember the whole Scots Wikipedia debacle? An american teenager had basically used simple word replacement to translate over 23,000 articles into Scots. Some people noticed this, but not many, and not loudly enough. It was only after a well researched reddit post pointed out the scale of the damage that people really took notice and action was taken. The wikipedia editor had apparently been doing this for 7 years before the reddit post was made.
If 20,000 articles could go largely unnoticed for 7 years, I imagine a single article could easily evade similar detection. Realistically, how many Japanese speakers are going to even hear about Goncharov and make it to the wikipedia article? Then, how many of them are going to do more googling and find out it’s all a hoax (or know already)? THEN, how many of them are going to tell a wikipedia admin that the article is a lie, or publicise it somehow in a way that forces the editors to update the article?
I think the reality is that although the internet may appear to be a massive open town square (or several), it also has side streets, and side streets of side streets. I feel like the number of active members in each online hobby or interest group are really quite small, and then they get divided between platforms, and even further divided into subgroups. I think if one decided it was something one wanted to do, it would be quite easy to become one of the most prevalent members of any online community you chose just by devoting the time and energy to it.
It’s also kind of shocking how much internet content is inaccessible on account of it being in a different language. English reigns supreme in terms of sheer volume, but there is original research and journalism and entertainment and art in every language, that hasn’t and might never be translated into english. For example, I found it very difficult to find any english sources or research for my post about the evolving conjugation of 違う, but I easily found several japanese papers and websites. In fact, if you google “違くない adjective or verb”, the first english result that doesn’t just handwave it as “informal” or “slang” is a tumblr blog with my post on it!
It’s a small internet indeed where my little hobby language blog is, according to google, the prevailing english source on what is quite a remarkable change in Japanese grammar that’s been happening since the 80s.
I think the Japanese unreality version of the Goncharov wikipedia article will stand for many years to come.
(below link shows the article at time of writing)
#langblr#japanese#japanese language#language#goncharov#the internet#long post#essay#日本語#jimmy blogthong
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At first I was digitally haunted… and then my attempts to *show* it to y'all were haunted, too.
Fate gave me a better Halloween post than I could possibly come up with myself. Thanks, fate!
Context: I'm a photographer by trade.
(It was surprisingly hard to find a recent photo of myself with a camera, so I opted for one at DPAC, a place I shoot, and one with a small cat, which is about the size of a camera)
And the thing about modern cameras is, corrupted files are not common.
I probably hadn't seen even something minor in, what, a year or two?
Until this, yesterday.
Which would have been the weird thing.
Except that this is a completely-different glitch than the original I wanted to show you.
Seriously! The instant I viewed the image large for the first time, the original version vanished, permanently.
Zooming in it's cool and all, but I wanted to get to the bottom of things.
...huh. Well, that's not very helpful in the file browser.
What if I open it in–
Yeeeaaah, that ain't any better. What if instead, I opened it in–
…now, that's just adding insult to injury, technology.
Is there seriously no program that can display it with any more–
WHOA! Now, that's more like it!
Also revealed it was a test frame in the portrait session! Neato.
Well, what if I try to import it into Lightroom again... but in a different way?
Ooh! The teensy initial preview is promising!
I'll be darned. It's actually 100% normal this time!
...
...
...wait, that's the exact opposite of what we're trying to do.
One more time.
Alright, that's more like it. It's still not that weirdest original glitch, but–
...
...hold up, is it... different, though?
Yes, it was.
Testing proved it randomized a whole new way every stinkin' time you import it.
We needed a breakthrough.
The file itself was corrupted, sure, but clearly the display/conversion process was crucial.
As a last-ditch effort, I tried importing it with multiple unglitched portraits.
BINGO!
This was it! This was the extra-haunted version I wanted to show!
Sure, it would still revert to 120% scrambling if I double-clicked it, but hey, all the best spookiness is ephemeral.
We'd found our Halloween post, lost it... lost it some more, lost it again, and then finally got it back...
...only, erm... at the cost of losing our sanity.
Happy Halloween, y'all. May your night not be cursed with technological hauntings, unless that's exactly what you're going for, in which case have at it.
–Colin
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Daily update post:
Today, Israel is voting in its local elections (for mayors and city councils). ALMOST all of Israel. The original date was at the end of October 2023, for obvious reasons, the elections were postponed. There were also a lot of mayor nominees, who were summoned for reserves service due to the war, and one of the reasons why the elections were postponed more than once, was to give as many of them as possible a chance to finish their service, and participate in their own election campaign. But even so, there are still hundreds of thousands of people from evacuated communities (displaced people, internal refugees, however you wanna call them), and therefore not everyone will be voting today. For the evacuated cities and towns, the elections were postponed until November. Looking at things, it's not sure they'll be back in their homes by then either, so IDK what their elections will look like. And then of course there are the hostages. Save for two, 4 years old Ariel Bibas and his 1 years old baby brother Kfir, they all had the right to vote, and none will get to. We remember them and hurt over their absence and everything being continuously being stolen from them on this day, too. On a side note, the national supervisor of these local electional is Rayan Ghanem. And if you know Jewish last names, you know Ghanem is not one of them. I'm trying to remember a time in apartheid South Africa when a non-white was a national supervisor of elections.
Despite still pointing out that the International Court of Justice has no right to judge the case brought to it by South Africa (becaue of SA's false claims to bring this case to court), Israel has filed a report in accordance with one of the ICJ's provisional measures, showing that its actions are in compliance with all of them (like providing humanitarian aid to Gaza, and doing all it can to protect civilians).
Meanwhile, at Harvard, just 6 weeks after she was appointed to lead the task force meant to combat Jew hatred, the university's antisemitism tsar has quit her position, with reports saying that she's frustrated over her inability to implement practical measures.
Remember when I wrote about Idan Amedi, the Israeli singer and actor that most people outside our country know from his role on Fauda? He gave a really moving speech when he was released from the hospital. I've wanted to share it for a while, but couldn't find it translated well. I found this bit:
But it really doesn't cover how moving the whole speech is (it's 9 minutes long). Among other things, he also thanked medical teams, assured Israelis we have the best ones, and apologized to his soldiers who died in the same incident in which he was injured. He also mentioned that he was unrecognizable when he was rushed into the hospital, and that doctors only identified him by the note that was attacked to his hand. It turns out, he really wanted people to see what he was talking about, and to understand that by the time he gave this public speech, he was already looking much better than on the day of he was wounded. So here is the image he shared himself on his IG (just scroll quickly past it, if you feel like it is too much for you, which is an understandbale reaction):
This is 68 years old David Edri.
On October 7, he was held hostage with his wife by Hamas for hours. At a certain point, he even covered his wife Rachel with his own body, in order to protect her from the terrorists' shots. They both survived. Yesterday, we got the news that he has passed away. His family said the trauma and stress from the massacre, and the news of its scale, had aggravated his medical problems for the last couple of months, until he could no longer go on.
This is 23 years old Raz Mizrachi.
In May 2021, she was injured in a vehicular terrorist attack in Jerusalem, but survived. On Oct 7, she was attending the Nova music festival. Her last phone call was to the police, to help instruct them on where she and dozens of others were hiding from Hamas terrorists, inside a public bomb shelter. Raz was murdered shortly after that. When her mom got a copy of the call's recording, she said it was a great source of comfort to the family, to know that Raz was a fighter till the last moment.
May their memory be a blessing.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
#israel#antisemitism#israeli#israel news#israel under attack#israel under fire#terrorism#anti terrorism#hamas#antisemitic#antisemites#jews#jew#judaism#jumblr#frumblr#jewish#israelunderattack
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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.
#vash the stampede smut#vash smut#trigun smut#vash the stampede x you#vash the stampede x reader#trigun x reader#vash the stampede fluff#vash the stampede angst#vash x reader#vash x you#vash x y/n#vash the stampede#vash stampede x reader#tristamp#trigun fanfiction#trigun stampede#vash stampede#vash the stampede x y/n#vash our beloved#tristamp vash#trigun vash#trigun 2023#trigun 98#vash is babygirl#vash fluff#vash saverem
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Hello and Happy New Year!!! The first Saturday of a new month will soon be upon us, which means it's time for another art party hosted by my guild, Verdant Shield [VS]! But this one is extra special, because exactly one year ago was my first real foray into the world of event hosting - that's right, it's the one-year anniversary of [VS] Art Party!!!
The very first [VS] Art Party was held January 7th 2023, and was a very quiet experiment with no visible tag, announced only two days before and hidden away in an obscure corner unlikely to be noticed by non-participants. I was nervous, but with a modest 20ish-person turnout and a chill energy not dissimilar to the current EU parties, it seemed to go over great! As art trickled into the tag over the following days and weeks, people started asking about future parties, and even about hosting ones on EU servers, which I could certainly do since I already had an EU alt. And so, a monthly tradition was born!
For those unsure of what an art party is, they're a concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV - in-game get-togethers for artists/writers/creatives of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! Grab your character and outfit of choice, head to the party location, find someone that inspires you, and create! Afterwards, everyone posts their creations in a shared tag (ours is #VSArtParty) so others can see, interact, and share! The tl;dr I've been repeating since the very first announcement post is simply this: the 'goal' of an art party isn't to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!
Time and /squadjoin information is under the cut, but will be posted again via reblogs as the squads go up on the day of the party!
Location Information:
It's a bit tricky to get to if you're F2P, but there was no way I wasn't returning to the location of the original party - the uninstanced asura home instance in Rata Sum, the Applied Development Lab! I've even dusted off my original map image, complete with hand-drawn arrows:
(That's Magustan Court Waypoint, by the way.)
This area is only accessible via flying mounts or with the use of a Teleport to Friend, so be sure to have one (or both) handy when the time comes!
Time & Squad Details:
As per usual, there will be two 3-hour parties - one on EU servers and one on NA ones - with an hour break in between. People do tend to arrive early though, and those with multiple accounts often jump directly from one to the other, so don't be surprised to see things running late and/or starting early!
The first party will be on EU servers and begin at 9pm Central European Time (aka 3pm Eastern Standard Time or 4 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting on my EU alt account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Paranomalous Plexxi for an invite.
The second party will be on NA servers and begin at 7pm Eastern Standard Time (aka 1am Central European Time or at in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my main account, so to join either /squadjoin or whisper Teekzi for an invite.
Closing Words:
The engagement, energy, and love in these events always blows me away, and words can't express how happy I am with what we've all created together. I'm so glad that I took that first step last year and extended an invitation to what would've likely just been a throwaway guild event to the best section of the GW2 community I know. GW2 tumblr, keep being amazing. I love you guys so much, and I can't wait to see you guys on Saturday, and for many more first-Saturdays-of-the-month to come!
Ever your diligent cat herder,
Meka ♥♥♥
#i was very serious about this month's graphic i made a gif for it and everything#super critical that it be at its absolute best because it's for a special occaision#i hope teekzi's little dab is appreciated#gw2#guild wars 2#obnoxious tourist simulator#vsartparty#📢🎨
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24 ASKS! :D THANK YOU!! 🧀
Not in my AU she's not! For 2 reasons-
For 1, my AU is built from Mario games and media I personally know/am familiar with. I know a little bit about Mario sunshine and saw a comic where Delfino island was Daisy's vacation island. So I took that info and crafted it into my AU lore! My Daisy's kingdom is populated by Delfino's, and it sits along the coast nearby the Mushroom Kingdom.
The other reason is I only heard of what Sarasaland was like two days ago. I've never played any of the games its from and had no idea it existed. So I didn't add it to my AU and I definitely cant add it now-
But even if I did, I'd have the same problem. Why is Daisy the ruler of these little.. dancing.. skeleton.. guys..?? If she isn't one of them?
@neo-metalscottic (Post in question)
AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD And yeah, that was Wendy and Roy! Though her exact reasoning for crying hasn't been fully thought out yet. I was thinking that she was having trouble putting on her make-up and ribbons.. maybe that was something the Koopalings mom would help her with before she.. well.. :( (Also, I do intend to finish/expand on that comic/idea very soon! :}} )
As for Iggy and Lemmy, they're not twins in my AU! Though they are close, they are very apart in age. I don't know what "older lore" you're talking about.. if you're referring to a game or a show, I have never seen it. :( All the Koopalings personalities and dynamics are just going to be made up/decided by me :)
As for their closeness, what brings them together is their eyes and their love for magic/Kamek.
I had this idea that Iggy was born blind, and Lemmy was born with a lazy eye/cross eyed. Kamek was able to use his magic to restore a fair bit of Iggy's sight and reposition Lemmy's eye. The result is their eyes and faces have unusual colors and patterns.. but they can see! And they are very thankful to Kamek for that.
Also that exposure to magic at such a young age has really drawn them into it.. they're both supposed to be really interested in magic and learning how to use it. Thus their closeness with each other and Kamek!
@tallchest13-blog (Sent after this post I believe..?.. orr was it this one-- maybe this one??)
XDD Thank you so much!! I'm glad to see so many folks are interested in my interpretation of the Mario bros!! :DD And good luck with your discord RPG! :}
Well since there are a ton of pirate/seafaring cookies in the game, I assume water isn't a problem. :0 Though it is for Louis becuase he cant swim- (His claw arm is very heavy so he sinks-)
(Link in question)
GOLDEN FREDDY??? XDDD
Tbh that gets a bit of an eye roll form me. I miss the old days when Golden Freddy was just a terrifying Easter egg in the first game.. things were so simple back then.. 😭
@jaybleu25 Ah no worries, I understand. Here, take a look at my 1:AM red scribblings XD
And if its not clear, the last 4 images of that post are all Roy and Wendy :} Hope this helped!
(Post in question)
AAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DD And yup yup! That's Wendy! :DDD
(Link/video in ask)
Oooo :00 what a beautiful song! :DDDD
(Post in question)
I can see the braid refusing to stay together and eventually unweaving itself. Its all flowy and free~~💫💫
<XDD ?? Huh??
I suppose in the actual games the treasure is like that. But I like to imagine my crew finds actual gold treasures 🤩✨✨
The only version of Robin hood I'm familiar with is the Disney Fox version. I'm not sure what you mean by his "merry band".. 😅
Hmm.. I don't think so. But maybe Tuna has..? Or maybe that's how Louis could have lost his original arm-
@raven-bearden-the-interviewer42
Probably Seafoam's love.. 🥺💙
(Link in question)
I feel like Coco would be the one to get pied trying to protect Red. And Tuna would have been the one to set up the trap XDD
@couchwow
XDD All I could think is of how terrifying the brown creature in the second image is. I MEAN LOOK AT HIM!-
WHAT IS THAT??? XDDD
@neo-metalscottic (Mario bros post in question) (Princess post in question)
AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :D I'm glad you like them! Though I wonder what about the old designs I would combine the new ones.. I fixed/altered all the flaws I saw with the old designs. I'm not sure what I'd keep-
As for Luigi and the Poltergust, he doesn't ever get that. Since Mario is never captured by the Boos, why would he need it? And I haven't decided what to do with E.Gadd yet, if anything at all..
As for Mario and Bowser.. I was thinking that Mario kind'a just said that in the heat of the moment. But he would be willing to take him down permamntly if he ever showed his face again.. but right now Bowser is definitely not causing any more problems for a while.
Mario and Luigi scared the daylights outa him. The hero's of Legend are real, and they're here. Bowser is probably scrambling for means of defense atm and wouldn't dare send anyone over there to cause trouble.
As for the Chain Chomp.. even if Bowser wanted to release it and wreak havoc on the bros/the mushroom kingdom.. I don't think he could. Kamek was unable to control Petey Piranha and rein him back in when he escaped. What make's him think they'll have any control over the Chain Chomp if they release it? It'll probably just turn around and eat Bowser's castle instead- and once its out, how will they trap it again?
And oh yeah, they could beat it. All they'd need is 1 super star and the Chain Chomp would be flattened in a matter of seconds. ⭐💪
@yoylecake420
I know absolutely nothing about him or the game he's from. :( He's made of wood I think..?
@astaherussy (Post in question)
WAAAHAHAGH THAK YOU!! :DDD
And don't worry! I don't intend to rush anything <XDD --I'm trying to take my time thinking the lore through and filling in plot holes-
(Post in question)
<XD Well I don't wanna ramble about the lore until its a little more set and stone. I don't wanna say "this is my idea!" and then 15 minutes later go "well actuallyyyy...."
Maybe so! XD I wonder if its like that in the games.. 🤔
Ooooo I could see that! :00 That could be Urchins weapon maybe!
(Post in question)
XD I guess great minds think alike? That, or Rosalina is just really cool-
@sparkdrawsstuff
I'm sure they've faced all that and more! :00 Also thank you!! :))
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lustfulpasiphae
What do you mean when you say birch sheets? The cabinets in my apartment are kind of rough inside and I've been trying to find better liners than the kind of rubbery stuff
I hope it's okay that I pulled this out to turn into a post of its own, because I took some photos to share :D When I say "birch sheets" I'm just referring to thin 1/8" (3mm) sheets of birch plywood, cut into planks. Here's what they look like installed:
[ID: Two images of cabinets in my home; one, stocked with toilet paper, the other with a large bin in it. Both have long, thin planks of wood covering the original floors.]
I was having an issue with my bathroom cabinet (on the left) because the bottom of the cabinet was water damaged before I moved in, and wasn't molding or anything but had begun to sag. I wanted some stiff thin boards I could pop into place to make a clean, flat floor without having to replace the entire cabinet. I found these birch sheets that were the perfect length, but I had to order like 10 of them and only needed 3 for the bathroom, so I put the rest in a cabinet in the kitchen that happened to have an ugly-looking floor (and apparently misplaced several, not sure what happened to them). It really spruces up the look of a grotty cabinet.
Anyway, this year I was contemplating re-lining my upper kitchen cabinets; I put paper liners down when I was renovating before I moved in, but those only last so long and that was five years ago. I thought I'd install some birch sheets instead, which wouldn't warp or shred the way the paper liners have. My plan is to cover them in freezer paper, pop them in, and then just pop them out every so often and re-line them, which is easier than trying to put the paper straight into the cupboards (awkwardly located for that kind of work) or trying to remove the shelves.
I ordered the ones for the cabinets from somewhere new to me, so can't vouch for the quality yet; I was able to order them custom-cut to the size I wanted at that page, and while it's slightly more expensive per piece, I also only have to buy as many pieces as I need and they should fit snugly, so it's less expensive overall as a purchase. I'll post up when they arrive and I install them!
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Compilation of all the pictures in the official Anais Watterson Flickr account (with the Original Image Resolution)
You can find the account here !!
Just wanted to share all these neat images since I find them aesthetically and visually appealing. I'm sorry if this has been done before, this is mainly for my personal archive. More information under the Keep Reading !!!
All of these were downloaded in their original image quality from Flickr. Images going from chronological date (oldest to newest).
First image: September 5th, 2011
Last image: December 19th, 2011
Anais apparently shot all these with a Diana mini with flash, according to a comment she answered on the First image
The only other time she responded to an image is the last one, where she announces the end of the photo series due to "a lack of film".
Anais also put titles to all the images, which I included in the image descriptions.
[EDIT] She has 262 followers (as of August 6th, 2023, 8:35PM CET), isn't following anyone, and joined in March 2011.
From the art style and dates we can guess this account was made at the time Season 1 was, the last image being posted a few days after "The Club" was aired. The first image was posted the exact day the episode "The Goons" was aired, according to the TAWoG wiki.
Interestingly enough, she has two albums on Flickr. One titled "Elmore" (16 photos), the other titled "Family Life" (7 photos).
I remember when years ago you could access these photos/the account on the Cartoon Network games website too. It was a while ago and I'm not too sure of the date, but It could've been around 2014-2017 (?). If anyone else remembers it or can find a snapshot of it on the Wayback Machine, freely add onto this post whenever !
On her About page it reads "Take a look at some of the pictures I’ve taken around Elmore with my brand new camera! Enjoy!" and has a link to theamazingworldofgumball.com, which now redirects to the Cartoon Network games website, but at that time it could've looked like this:
Note: this snapshot was at September 25th, 2011
That's all the information I could find of the official Anais Watterson Flickr account. If anyone else has more info on it, feel free to add on to this post !!
This was made for archival purposes, in case the account or website ever shuts down.
#tawog#the amazing world of gumball#anais watterson#gumball watterson#darwin watterson#carrie krueger#richard watterson#rocky robinson#tawog bobert#larry needlemeyer#gaylord robinson#mr small#okay why are there so many people featured here#cartoon network
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For as long as you can remember, no one you've loved has ever lasted very long.
The moment you come to love someone, no matter the type of love, tragedy befalls you both. In a desperate attempt to escape this cycle you've been moving from place to place, uprooting any time you start getting too close. This new city shouldn't be any different. It wouldn't be any different, if not for your new neighbours.
The more time you spend around these bizarre people, the more obvious it becomes that there's a layer of reality you've previously been unaware of. As you discover more of what was previously hidden from you, though, it begs the question:
Is there something more to your tragic circumstances than an unfortunate run of bad luck? Could it be the result of some power you don't understand? If so, does that mean there's a way out of it?
Does that mean there's someone to blame for your suffering?
Or click here if the image link doesn't work.
PLEASE NOTE: This game is in very early development. Only the first two chapters are posted, the writing will be continuously revised as I write, and there may be bugs or glitches. If you run into any issues, please let me know.
Cursed Ambrosia is an interactive fiction novel that deals with topics of death, loss, and love. It's a supernatural fantasy with a focus on interpersonal connections. There are six relationship routes, two women, two men, and two non-binary options. All romance options will have a platonic route as well. More info on them under the cut.
Note: Though these characters are romanceable, you do not need to romance them to play out their routes. On the platonic route, you still get the same plot content, just minus the romantic bits.
Vicente - An exceedingly polite and seemingly put together man who values kindness and compassion, but struggles to accept those things himself. He's keen to look after others and encourage them to accept help, yet insists on handling his own troubles alone.
Abby - An overwhelmingly enthusiastic and eccentric "person" who values curiosity and freedom, but struggles with moderation. He has more energy than he or anyone else knows what to do with. He's got a talent for mischief and is incapable of going very long without causing trouble, intentionally or not.
Kaida - A bitterly jaded and taciturn fellow who values knowledge and secrecy, but struggles to trust others. He's always many steps ahead of everyone else, and always knows more than he lets on. He's someone very useful to know... Or, he would be, if anyone could get a straight answer from him about anything.
Marina - An unapologetically loud and rambunctious woman who values rebellion and individuality, but struggles to let her guard down. She's brilliant, but easily bored. If you tell her she can't or shouldn't do something, it's just about guaranteed she'll be doing that thing in the near future.
Thea - A theatrically elegant and captivating woman who values loyalty and honesty above all else. On the job she's glamorous and confident, captivating any who hear her hypnotic voice. Off the job, though, she's something much different, and hopes to find someone who can appreciate both sides of her.
Shiloh - A cripplingly shy and skittish entity of uncertain origin who values privacy and comfort, but struggles to leave the safety of what it knows. Shiloh enjoys observing others interacting, and lives vicariously through witnessing the connections other people form with each other. It is quite sure that it will never manage to make such connections itself.
#cursed ambrosia#cursed ambrosia if#cursed ambrosia interactive fiction#shiny new post for shiny new blog#now with pictures
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What follows is a retelling of the Jurassic Park story, mainly based on the 1993 film, with portions of the original novel used to supplement the story. The main point of divergence occurs when the park is unable to find workable nonavian dinosaur genetic material for cloning, since - as in the real world - dna degrades much too rapidly. Instead, the park consists only of extinct dinosaurs that can be brought back - birds from the last 2.5 million years. What happens after that is, as Ian Malcolm would say, an emerging pattern.
Infinite thanks to beta readers @killdeercheer, @otussketching, and @plokool! And extra thanks to @i-draws-dinosaurs for the killer logo!
Link to the masterpost of chapters
Chapter Two: Egg Mountain, United States
“Doctor Sattler! Doctor Grant! We’re ready to try again!”
Ellie stood up from the dirt in front of her, brushing off the sand from her shorts and looking around for the source of the call. Alan took a longer time to get up, looking grumpy and befuddled at the interruption.
“I hate computers,” Grant muttered.
Ellie wanted to laugh, but she managed to keep it in. Computers felt like something from a separate world – a cleaner one, a manufactured one. Out here, in the badlands, surrounded by mountains and dust and old bones, computers were alien. But they had one.
And it had quickly become Alan’s archnemesis.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Ellie joked, smirking at him as he shook his head in bemusement. The two walked down the side of the mountain towards the equipment, including a large lead slug dispenser (aka Thumper) and a portable computer covered in dust and dirt. The computer ran the computer-assisted sonic tomography (CAST) program – Thumper would send a lead slug into the ground, which would generate waves, allowing for the computer to get an idea of the layout of the ground around the slug. The computer would then, theoretically, show a reading of any fossils detected by the sonic waves. Usually, the best it could do was show the approximate location of a fossil – which saved significant amounts of time on digging. But, with repeated readings, sometimes a more detailed outline could be found. That detailed outline was then helpful for digging in the right location – and preserving that location from further environmental damage.
As they reached the bottom of the valley, the students activated Thumper, causing a loud boom to resonate through the mountains. Alan made a beeline for the computer monitor to read the info, while Ellie meandered behind him across the dirt.
“Hey Dr. Sattler!” one grad student shouted. She waved back at her with a smile. There weren’t a lot of women on the dig site, so each one supported the others as much as they could.
By the time she reached the monitor, the image from Thumper was finally loading on this screen.
“This new program’s incredible,” another grad student, a man this time, said, “Few more years development and we won’t even have to dig anymore!”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Alan scoffed, causing the gathering crowd around the screen to laugh with him.
“It’s... a little distorted, but I don’t think it’s the computer,” the student continued, typing away to try and manipulate the image’s presentation. Ellie could see right away, however, that the skeleton was in the right pose. She walked up to the screen and pointed, from a distance, at the tell-tale characteristics.
“Post-mortem contraction of the posterior neck ligaments... Deinonychus?”
“Yes, and it’s in good shape, too,” Alan confirmed, walking closer to the screen himself, “Five, six feet long, I’m guessing nine feet tall. Look at the –“
Suddenly, Alan’s touching of the monitor made everything go fuzzy.
“What’d you do?” Alan asked the student angrily.
“He touched it,” Ellie laughed, patting the student comfortingly on the shoulder, “Dr. Grant’s not machine compatible.”
“Hell, they’ve got it in for me,” Alan grumbled, before composing himself, “And look at the half-moon shaped bones in the wrists. It’s no wonder these guys learned how to fly!”
Everyone laughed around him. While birds being living dinosaurs was a fairly widely accepted hypothesis in the field, it still drew some chuckles – especially from the unaware.
“No, seriously!” Alan said, turning around to look at everyone, his educator face completely taking over the irritation face he had previously, “Dinosaurs have more in common with present-day birds than they do with reptiles. Look at the pubic bone, turned backward, just like a bird... look at the vertebrae, filled with air sacs and hollows just like a bird... and even the word Raptor means, ‘Bird of Prey’.”
“That doesn’t look very scary,” scoffed one of the children on the dig, an annoying little boy who was constantly complaining about the connections between living birds and their extinct dinosaur relatives, “More like a six foot turkey!”
Alan lost his educator face, and Ellie found herself smirking at the sheer irritation he had for an expression instead.
“Have you met a turkey, kid?” Alan asked.
“Oh no,” Ellie muttered, but she wasn’t about to stop him. Alan had been patient with the kid for weeks, and his time was up.
“Um, at Thanksgiving,” the kid responded.
“Okay. So, to begin with, a turkey is already nearly six foot – they can grow up to four,” Alan stated, smirking, “Then, when you are just alone in the woods – or, you think you’re alone – with no one around, guess what is the last thing you want to hear?”
“Um, turkeys?”
“The distant sound of many turkeys coming right in your direction. You see, turkeys – they aren’t predators. So they know at any time they could be on the receiving end of a horrible, horrible attack. And so they, like all prey animals over a certain size, will defend themselves to the death. More human deaths are caused by the vegetarian hippopotamus each year than by sharks or any other predator. And turkeys? They have that ferocity, too.”
The kid did not have a response to that.
“Some might peck you. That has a nasty sting. Others may just run at you, flashing their feathers, making loud sounds. Enough to set your teeth on edge. And then there are the kickers. Nowhere more than the feet can you see how birds are just dinosaurs among us,” Alan let out a snort, “Those claws, that force, it is enough to break bones and other organs.”
Alan stepped up closer to the boy, getting right in his face. Ellie watched, moderately mesmerized, too much so to intervene.
“Just one, a human alone could not deal with. But on your own, surrounded by who knows how many? You would wish it was a Deinonychus, kid. A Deinonychus eventually gets full.”
The boy visibly gulped in front of everyone, who was dead silent. No laughs emerged from a single person.
“So, you know. Try to show a little respect.”
“Okay,” the kid said, nodding. Alan nodded in response, and turned to walk away.
The child’s mother ran forward to him, while Ellie followed after Alan, shaking her head in bemusement.
“If you wanted to scare the kid you could have pulled a gun on him, you know,” Ellie snorted.
“Yeah, I know,” Alan sighed, “Kids. You want to have one of those?”
Ellie laughed, gesturing behind her, “I don’t want that kid, but, a breed of child, Alan, could be intriguing.”
“Ha!”
“I mean, what’s so wrong with kids?”
“Look, they get in the way. I mean, I never thought I’d date anyone, before I met you,” Alan said, “It never interested me.”
“You just wanted to find the bones,” Ellie laughed, shaking her head.
“I just wanted to find the bones! But one person is enough for me. More, and this time I’m responsible for their well-being? For what kind of person they turn into? Nah.”
“You didn’t think you’d like dating me, and you did!” Ellie countered, jabbing him lightly in the arm.
“Cause you’re the only person who understands me,” Alan scoffed, “Besides. You don’t smell.”
“What? Kids don’t smell, either!”
“Some of them smell!” Alan insisted, “Babies smell!”
The whirring of a helicopter cut off their conversation, and both immediately ran down to the site to cover up the new find, shouting for tarps to drape over the rocks and exposed bones. Alan sprinted to the helicopter, while Ellie ran down to the site, covering it quickly with the help of the volunteers and students.
“Get it down – yes – secure the corner – don’t let it be exposed! Even this amount of wind from the helicopter could erode away important information! Yes, get that side down, too!” Ellie barked at everyone, directing people to properly place down the tarp. Satisfied the specimen was secure, she quickly ran towards the trailer, where she had just seen Alan disappear into.
“Alright!” Ellie shouted, opening up the door, “Who’s the jerk?”
“Uh, this is our, paleobotanist, Doctor –“
“Sattler,” Ellie filled in, frowning. In the room was an older man, with a white beard and glasses, wearing a beige hat. Ellie didn’t have a moment to ask before Alan continued,
“Ellie, this is Mr. Hammond.”
Ellie felt her mouth drop open in shock.
“I’m sorry about the dramatic entrance, Dr. Sattler, but...”
“Did I say ‘jerk’?” Ellie laughed, grimacing.
“We’re in a wee bit of a hurry, here. Will you have a drink? We don’t want to let it warm, come along, sit down, sit down.”
It was weird, how he managed to make the space his own, just by virtue of having paid for it, even though it was Ellie’s and Alan’s. Ellie tried to take control, reaching for glasses in the sink, as he protested. Before she knew it, she was sitting at a table.
“Now, I’ll wait a minute, because I have a surprise for you!” Hammond laughed. Conveniently, the door opened at that moment, and a tall dark skinned woman entered the room, her hair done in dreads, a grin spreading across her face.
“Guess who’s baaack!” the woman sang, beaming at Alan and Ellie.
“Miri!” Ellie shouted.
“Miri!” Alan said in unison. Miri laughed and ran to hug Ellie, shaking Alan’s hand eagerly afterwards.
“Mr. Hammond picked me up on the way over here, I’ve been a consultant on his project for the past year down at my dig – I have so much to tell you, when was the last time we saw each other?” Miri said rapidly, laughing at the shocked looks on Ellie and Alan’s faces.
“Last SVP, I think!” Ellie responded, “Oh it’s so good to see you! Are they treating you well down in Florida?”
“As well as can be expected for Florida!” Miri laughed, “But we just found a new Titanis skeleton, and since Pierce passed I’m in charge of the dig site!”
“I was so sorry to have heard of his passing, Miri,” Alan said, “You’re more than capable to take over for him, but so soon after you graduated from here –“
“The man lived in a hoarder house, Alan,” Miri snorted, “A literal hoarder house. Besides that, I was brought on the team because he knew he needed a good replacement. Regardless, I’m here now.”
“And good thing, too!” Dr. Hammond laughed, “Your former mentor would never have been able to come alone on our little trip, Dr. Spinoza!”
“About that, as I was saying in the helicopter, you’re never going to get Alan to –“
“Never going to get Alan to what?” Alan asked, affronted. Ellie snorted, making him glare at her for a moment.
“I’ll get right to the point!” Hammond chortled, clearly delighted by the proceedings, “I like you. Both of you. I can tell instantly about people, it’s a gift. Could tell I liked you, could tell I liked Miri. Now,” Hammond took a deep breath, beaming, “I own an island. Off the coast of Costa Rica. I’ve leased it from the government and spent the last five years setting up a kind of biological preserve. You remember the consultancy you did for me at the time?”
“Yes, but after a point you said we were no longer needed for that?” Alan asked in confusion.
“Which is when he reached out to me,” Miri said, nodding.
“Well, the island is really spectacular. Spared no expense. Make the one I‘ve got down in Kenya look like a petting zoo. And there’s no doubt, our attractions will drive kids out of their minds.”
“And what are those?” Alan asked sarcastically. Miri snorted.
“Small versions of adults, honey,” Ellie laughed.
“And not just kids, everyone! We’re going to open next year, that is if the lawyers don’t kill me first. I don’t care for lawyers, do you...?”
“Oh we... uh...” Ellie began.
“Don’t really know any,” Alan and Miri finished with him in unison.
“Well I do, I’m afraid. There’s a particular pebble in my shoe who represents my investors. Says they insist on ‘outside opinions.’”
“What kind of opinions?” Ellie asked.
“Well, your kind, Dr. Sattler and Dr. Grant, not to put too fine a point on it. And Dr. Spinoza’s too. I mean, let’s face it – in your particular fields, you’re the top minds! And if I could just persuade you to sign off on the park, you know give it your endorsement, maybe even pen a wee testimonial, I could get back on schedule!”
“Is the work I’ve been doing for you not enough of a testimonial?” Miri laughed.
“Well, they want you to see the place, get a feel for it, as it were. They want an expert’s eyes on the whole proceedings.”
“But why would they care what we think?” Dr. Sattler asked.
“With your expertise from paleobotany and paleoecology, Dr. Spinoza’s in behavior, and Alan’s in anatomy, you have the best handle on what sort of problems we may deal with in the park –“
“What kind of park is this?” Alan asked, frowning in confusion.
“It’s right up your alley,” Hammond laughed, handing the three of them drinks.
“Please come down, you two, with Dr. Spinoza and I, for the weekend. I’d love to have both of your opinions on the project. We have a jet standing by at Choteau,” Hammond pleaded.
“I basically had no choice, since he’s sponsoring the dig,” Miri sighed.
“Well, look, we just dug up a new skeleton –“ Alan began.
“And I will compensate you, as well, by fully funding your dig...”
“This is a very unusual time,” Alan continued.
“For a further three years,” Hammond finished.
“Well.. uh...” Ellie stammered, “Where’s the plane?”
“Yeah, okay, okay!” Alan shouted, clinking his glass with Hammond and turning around to Ellie in excitement. Both shouted happily and hugged each other, spinning around the room.
“Three more years!”
“We can get the entire raptor nesting site!”
“Three more years!”
Hammond chortled happily, as the pair reached to grab bags from under the table and pack them.
Soon, they would be off to Costa Rica.
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;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - General Headcanons
Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Forget Me Not as a character and other related things.
this post was brought to you by me, procrastinating on the second part of the Cover analysis and those yandere Pavia headcanons, and ALSO because mister lawrence cavendish jr is the second target for my brainrot
warning for suicide and self-harm themes!
On the subject of Forget Me Not's name and past.
It's Lawrence Cavendish Jr. Forget Me Not's real name is confirmed to be just that, as seen in this specific excerpt:
"Cavendish Jr, who was still alive and once sat in front of you [...]" which alludes to the dinner Vertin had at the Walden with Druvis III and Forget Me Not, and "'Forget Me Not', what a hilarious, stupid name". I only included this because I've seen people wonder about it.
What I mean to tackle in this point is the relationship between Forget Me Not, his origins and his current chosen name. Despite his calm and collected appearance, it becomes clear that Forget Me Not is one hair away from becoming entirely deranged, especially when confronted with the possibility of getting revenge. But why is Forget Me Not so focused on revenge specifically?
His backstory is not as openly laid out for us to read, but we can gleam some bits and pieces from all the documents and dialogue he has. To understand Forget Me Not, we also need to look at Druvis III.
All throughout chapter 02, we see parallels and connections being drawn between Forget Me Not and Druvis III - both of them appear to be extremely aloof, cold and collected, only to be revealed to be very emotional deep down, for better and for worse. Druvis III is initially defined by the neutrality and inertia that comes with being stuck in the past, while Forget Me Not is initially defined by the neutrality of the Walden and his ties with Manus Vindictae, an organization that rejects the future.
Druvis III is a disgraced, fallen noble whose life wasn't ruined by the fire that took her family, but the perception the world had of her, an image they forced onto her due to their hatred towards arcanists. And Forget Me Not has a family surname "buried in the dust, shot dead in history". A disgraced, fallen noble implied to have struggled with poverty, battling hunger and suicide countless of times. In the "··· Formula: 1920s" document, we can see a few pieces from various people and their opinions on Forget Me Not from the Big Mouth Bulletin. 3 out of 4 want him dead or think of him as a monster - entirely because of his existence as an arcanist.
The similarities are obvious. Hell, both share the theme of flora and plants, too. There is an even more subtle dynamic here too, alluding to the game's prominent religious imagery - Vertin's suitcase being compared to an ark that will brave the "Storm", the last supper moment, Arcana's offering, the orange, being a replacement for the apple of Eden...
And then, Forget Me Not association with snakes, rumoured to have a body covered in scales, with an arcanum skill that allows people to indulge in alcohol during the Prohibition Era - the snake that tempted Adam and Eve. Druvis III is associated with forests, trees, as well as a link between Vertin (the good guys) and Manus Vindictae (the bad guys) - the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The two go hand in hand and are linked together.
The big difference between them is that their respective quests to set things "right" are entirely different - their "revenge" is not the same. Druvis III was hellbent on finding out who set the fire that killed her family, not because she wanted them to face the consequences, but because in doing so, people would finally leave her alone and let her mourn. She could finally move on from something that she knew the truth of. Forget Me Not does it to feel satisfied with himself and get back at everyone who ever looked down on him or wronged him. To inflict as much as pain unto others as he had received before. It's a powerplay fantasy in which he finally wins, against all odds.
It's unclear what truly happened to the Cavendish that caused Forget Me Not to end up in such conditions, to the point where he'd go as far as make sure no one can trace him back to his family, to the point where not even the Foundation has a proper report on him.
But there is one line in particular that lives rent free in my head when it comes to the Cavendish and Forget Me Not's potential relationship with them.
This takes place after Druvis III loses her forest, after she loses her eternal branch because of Vertin's intervention during their dinner. They're talking about how to use her forest to build a refugee camp.
There's the possibility that Forget Me Not is simply alluding to that forest - something that used to belong to her is now something that he should have for the sake of Manus Vindictae's goals.
But! Indulge me for a second! There's a noticeable pause, there's a subtle tone to his voice. Reverse 1999's writing might be confusing at times due to the translation, but it's easy to see that it's loaded with metaphors, hidden meanings and so much more, to the point where reading deeply into everything most characters' say is pretty much the norm.
The dialogue that precedes that specific line is Forget Me Not insisting that he can transfer the ownership of the woods over to Druvis III anytime, because she has always been and will always be the only owner, no matter what. He does this to convince her to go through with Manus' plans, that's his main goal, he doesn't care about the woods. But that single line pictured above? It could mean so much more.
Again, the two share many, many similarities. So when Forget Me Not talks about what Druvis III once had - a prestigious family business, a name people can recognize, an assured future - is what he should have, it evokes a sense of entitlement and lingering resentment. Almost as if Forget Me Not's desire to go back to the past doesn't stem from nostalgia like her, but to reclaim something that was denied to him.
Which is incredibly ironic to me because both of them carried their family in their names - Druvis THE THIRD. Lawrence Cavendish JUNIOR. And yet, the one that worked so hard to obscure his origins and changed his family name was him.
Neither of these characters can be recognized nor traced back to their families by appearance alone - people need a name or a really good memory to truly recognize them. The only one with enough courage to continue carrying such burden is Druvis III. Forget Me Not wants something that he willingy lost the right to the moment he allowed Lawrence Cavendish Jr. to die and fade into obscurity.
The name "Forget Me Not" begins to sound more ironic. Like an order, a threat or the promise of his return - his desire for revenge and his hypocrisy become clear once you begin to dissect his character. Like the narrator in the "To Lawrence Cavendish" document says: "He is patiently waiting... to put his meanness, craziness and quivers under the sun". He's waiting to reveal himself.
The "stage" is shown when he makes people explode from inside out, a lot of people who recognized him as Forget Me Not, the mixologist. This is when we finally see his true intentions and the main difference between him and Druvis III, all in their respective reactions to the journalists.
She's terrified, thinking about the day of her family's funeral. On the other hand, he's ordering them to watch and record as he "takes everything he has been deprived of".
This is why the thing that breaks Forget Me Not is hearing that Druvis III does not care about the man who started the fire, that it's not important anymore. He believed them to be on the same page, that she would love to torture the single person responsible for all of her grief. The guy is projecting heavily onto Druvis III.
In the end, I don't know if Forget Me Not resents his father, his family name, if he had some sort of business to inherit and a "future" that was taken from him, or if they actually might've been a happy family.
What I do know is that Forget Me Not's desire for revenge was absolutely amplified and fueled by Manus Vindictae's own agenda. And that's why he works perfectly as both a victim of their MO and a willing member within their ranks.
He clings so hard to the past because there is no future worth fighting for, because everything would be much better if it was rebuilt from scratch with only those that won't oppose him and repeat history. He clings so hard that his new name and identity are, in the end, a plea for the world not to forget who he used to be and, at worst, an order because he sure as hell hasn't forgotten all the things others have done or said Back when Lawrence Cavendish Jr was around. Once his family outlived their usefulness or relevance within society.
TLDR: THIS is the cold-blooded, numb murderer who is actually very sad, empty and broken deep inside that some people wanted Pavia to be. Like, he's even sopping wet and sad and asking Vertin to kill him next time they meet.
Which leads us to my next point!
On the subject of Forget Me Not's self-destructive and suicidal mindset.
We've talked about Forget Me Not's views and relationship with the Cavendish - but what exactly is the end goal? He feels entitled to a better life, one he was supposed to have, and then what?
The "???" narrator mentions a woman who made a promise to Forget Me Not, as well as leaving a "sarcoma" behind which he then adapted and turned into his own. This woman is implied to be Arcana, as we see her talk to Vertin about being able to see the truth, to not be blinded - there's an emphasis in the way she recruits people by opening their eyes to reality. The sarcoma is the city (apparently "Windy City" is used to refer to Chicago, I had to google that but hey, that's pretty neat!). It's the world he lives in and that wants him gone. She focused Forget Me Not's grief towards it because in doing so, it would help Manus Vindictae's ideals of a world exclusively for pureblooded arcanists.
And even so, he remained suicidal. There was at least one more attempt at taking his own life, and that's when he saw "what had been on his mind". Whatever that might've been, no doubt influenced by Arcana and his situation, is what pushed Forget Me Not to "allow himself to revenge, revenge, re-re-re-revenge, and to die".
Ultimately, Forget Me Not's goal is to die at the end of it all - even after he gets his revenge, earns the life he wanted, takes back everything that was meant for him. This is why, after he's fully defeated, his last words to Vertin are to show no mercy next time they meet. To kill him.
This is not only a long and convoluted plan of revenge, it's Forget Me Not willingly marching into his own demise. And just like before, he's not strong enough to pull the trigger himself. Now that he has no solid argument to justify his anger - all because Druvis III has shown him that people can, in fact, move on - his only option is to have someone else end his life. He's shown tired, and the phrase "Don't save it no more" might indicate that even if there was someone who could repeat what Arcana did to him - give him a sense of purpose and a target for his grief - he simply doesn't have the energy for that.
Forget Me Not's self-destructive tendencies can also be seen in other ways. His job at The Walden is to cater to all the people who shunned him - he welcomes everyone and anyone for the sake of creating a network of secrets, he attends fancy parties and events full of those who call him a drug dealer, Satan's spawn and so much more. And he pretends to be someone else entirely while wishing for others to remember him. He willingly surrounds himself with all the things that hurt him.
His arcanum being related to alcohol is rather poetic to me - since Forget Me Not is said to have spiraled into decadence and into this extreme mindset, it makes sense that his main skill is related to being intoxicated and to drown into something that is largely hated but at the same time, desired and coveted. The Prohibition Era does have a very similar mentality to religion, namely western ideologies - you're meant to openly reject and loathe something, but the constant repression causes you to yearn for it instead. And at some point, this repression can become an addiction in itself, leading some to indulge in it. This loops back to Forget Me Not's association with the snake in the Garden of Eden.
It makes sense to me that he indulges in something so painful, while cohercing others into indulging in forbidden alcohol. That he later uses this very same arcane skill to kill all those people who, in his eyes, represent everything he loathes about the current state of the world. It's like a sarcoma that he now leaves behind, that kills from inside out.
And this is the last time I'll bring up Druvis III in a Forget Me Not post, but notice their choice of flower/plant? She has a mistletoe bouquet - a parasitic and toxic plant which represents positive things such as fertility, life and protection in many different cultures. Forget Me Not has black roses, roses being immediately recognized as one of the most beautiful flowers but, in this context, symbolizing things such as death and rebirth, remembrance, mourning. Their duality, contrast and the "two-faced" aspect is prominent there. And not to get very deep about character design, but Druvis III holds the bouquet very carefully and carries it around with her willingly, whereas the black roses that Forget Me Not wears wrap around his neck not unlike a noose.
To really drive home how Forget Me Not sees himself, here's the description they gave him for his boss fight.
They boil down his character perfectly, to all the little traits that make up his whole emotional baggage.
And to also put more emphasis on how Forget Me Not truly doesn't expect to live and "win" at the end of this whole revenge trip, here's his ultimate - "Heavengazing from Hell". He's fully aware that he's going to be destroyed by his own actions and that the only thing left for him will be to look up at heaven from hell. That all the good things will forever be out of his reach.
Now, onto proper headcanon territory, since I'm running out of media to analyze!
On the subject of Forget Me Not's scales.
As established before, Forget Me Not is associated with snakes - one of the segments from the Big Mouth Bulletin comments on this. "[...] he had scales under those long sleeves, one next to another embedded in his flesh."
And this can actually be seen on his in-game sprite! It's very faint, but there's absolutely some sort of texture peeking out from under his collar and sleeves that resemble scales. They can also be seen on the trailer animations. The only time these scales don't appear or peek out from his clothes are in The Walden illustration, with the other members of Manus Vindictae, but that can easily be explained as him covering up properly and the angle he's drawn in.
Originally I thought that they could be burn scars, as it would mean a stronger connection between him and Druvis III. But upon closer inspection, they don't look like burn scars at all.
I like to headcanon that it's a side-effect from his own arcanum, similar to how Rabies is implied to look like a scarecrow because of his involvement treating rabies. Being something "self-inflicted" - in the sense of him having the choice to stop and heal, but refuses to - also lines up with Forget Me Not's suicidal tendencies, the whole sarcoma metaphor and the fact that by carrying on like this, he's doing nothing but destroy himself and add to his suffering.
As for how far the scales have extended, I don't have a set favorite idea! Part of me really would love it if the scales coiled around his body like actual snakes, but also the idea of him having different patches of scales scattered throughout (again, like a sarcoma) and the third secret option of him being MOSTLY covered in them to the point where it becomes grotesque, something that he can't even look at.
They're not just a tattoo or pattern embedded onto his skin either - they're actual scales, cold and rough to the touch. The areas affected by this have grown numb, making it hard for Forget Me Not to feel any warmth or pressure applied onto them. This adds to that otherworldly and sinister vibe he's got going on, even if the lack of proper tactile sense irritates him. It's extremely uncomfortable if they're brushed or rubbed in the wrong direction, however!
Sometimes, Forget Me Not might pick at the scales, as if deciding whether he loves or hates them. In particularly bad days, he picks them out. I like the idea that, once picked, the scales grow faster and stronger, as well as in broader areas, making it a perpetual loop of picking them off from his skin.
Overall, it would be extremely easy to conceal them - he only needs a shirt with a higher collar and gloves or some make-up, but I like to think that Forget Me Not loves the idea of someone catching a glimpse of them, a reminder that he's dangerous and so much more than meets the eye.
As much as he he's been affected by the stigma against arcanists, he now thrives in their hatred for him and his existence - sneaking into places he knows he's not welcome is addictive, especially knowing everyone tolerates him because he's their only access to alcohol. The way everyone will turn around and talk shit about him once they're out of The Walden is fun, because it reinforces his views on why this current era deserves to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Forget Me Not has extremely poor eyesight.
I know the glasses look thin and pretty standard, but I just like to think that Forget Me Not can't see shit without them.
He has this habit of taking them off to "clean" them whenever he's talking with those he loathes - mostly humans - just so he doesn't have to look at them directly. Sometimes, he might just close his eyes and dissociate, pretending to pay attention if the situation calls for it. Yes, he's petty and hateful enough to feel physically sick when talking to people he hates.
If you pay enough attention, it becomes clear that eye contact becomes scarce, as if just looking at them will send him into a fit of rage (but he conceals it extremely well when needed).
Forget Me Not's poor eyesight is not a secret, and he often likes to make patrons nervous by making their drinks without his glasses - of course, he knows his way around drinks and potions, there's no chance of him messing up, he could do this with his eyes closed. But seeing customers squirm is such a delight. Because now, they must choose between making a scene in HIS territory or risk being poisoned with a poorly-made drink.
I like to think that he also just has a very fine ear, since he does play instruments (all of his attacks being related to music and him using a piano as his wand during the boss fight). So really, Forget Me Not couldn't care less about his eyesight.
Forget Me Not enjoys floral arrangement.
This is just based on his association with the actual forget me not flower. I think he enjoys creating bouquets or putting up vases full of flowers around his home, even if all of them may end up creating a very gloomy and decadent atmospere - they're perfect for funerals, and he simply may be preparing for his own.
And he leaves them out on display long after they've wilted. "They're more beautiful this way", he'd say.
It's not rare to find Forget Me Not on rainy afternoons with a pair of scissors on hand, absentmindedly cutting every leaf and petal off from all these roses, as if he had a personal vendetta against their colorful hues. Sometimes, he just twirls the stem around, pressing hard on the thorns to feel anything while he looks out the window. He's so very fucking dramatic and volatile.
Basically, I like to picture Forget Me Not as the type of person who has dedicated so much time into something as empty as revenge, that he absolutely has no idea what to do outside of that.
Everything he does is just a way to pass the time until he can go back to dedicate every waking second of his life into his and Manus Vindictae's plans, every "little pleasure" is just a façade, he doesn't get any real enjoyment from anything. Sometime he worries that revenge won't help him climb out of this apathetic life he's built for himself, but he can't afford to dwell too much on that possibility. Everything that he does is muscle memory, he's forcing himself to try and do it, because otherwise he could simply sit still in an empty room for hours on end, with the lights turned off, waiting and waiting - all alone with his thoughts.
#reverse 1999#reverse: 1999#r1999#r1999 headcanons#reverse 1999 forget me not#forget me not#playable forget me not WHEN bluepoch i NEED him#i like forget me not when hes like. deranged#when hes one hair away from hurting others or hurting himself because hes. in the most horrible mindset ever#like hes just looking for an excuse to blow up or blow up others (hehehehehe....get it....)#like sure hes so cool with the walden and his network of information and secrets#but hes still a cowardly snake who hides and needs to be revealed. bc he cant reveal himself willingly and openly on his own#its the loss of humanity again but whereas pavia rejects it. FMN just lives within it. he just masks SO well#'but you cant simp for any manus vindictae character! theyre explicitly racists!' and re1999 is a game that CHOSE to replace#actual racial issues in history with their magic ppl vs normal ppl plot line with many many parallels to struggles poc like me lived throug#and then chose to be like 'hey theyre actually physically different and its xenophobia on a whole different species hahaaa bye'#so like. fuckin chew on that first before coming for me. if we're already suspending our belief for the sake of playing:dont cherry pick#tackle the WHOLE thing the game chose to portray. not just a single group within the whole game#sorry if that was heated but lmfao i saw ppl already trying to dictate who ppl can and cannot simp for on twitter#as if this wasnt another fictional anime gacha game at the end of the day
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Today at work i got insanly inspired to write and once i got off work, i immidiently went on my phone to type it out. XD I just finished a 3 hour long writing ses(had a 15 minute food break in the middle). ^^ Probably just gonna forever gonna be a wip thing, but it was fun and i'm kinda proud of it. Despite it being rough in some parts, mostly because i wanted to rush to the 2nd half and i didn't wanna get stuck, i'm happy to share it. ^^
It's a kinda long, so i'm gonna add a Read more line to not fill your dash with text. Also, first time trying formatting out! XD
So, originally this post was just gonna be a "i actually wrote something! Look!" thing, just showing of some work i did, but after writing the reason why i wrote a line a certain way, it went into something very sad and kinda dark, so if you don't wanna read about death, a light mention of suicidal thought and grief... just stop after What even is my life.
Idk why i wrote it, but it took alot of effort and it feels... important to me, i guess. Part of processing and such. So, yeah. Read at your discretion. Thank you for your time. 💜
Ezio had many regrets in his long life. Not being there when his father and brothers were arrested. Of not being there more for his sister and mother. Of not trying to be together with Cristina. Not being able to save her. Or being able to save Uncle Mario and Monteriggioni. But biggest of all, not having spent more time with his family before the execution.
He had love, but didn't cherish it. Didn't truly feel it and took it for granted. But unlike so many others, Ezio could take those regrets and change them. Thanks to Desmond.
When he walked into the Library, he thought he might get an answer or two in return for many more. He truly didn't expect that calling out Desmonds name while the Apple bathed the walls in gold would result in it being answered by the being himself.
The being looked like a man, clad in a white light, eminating from a strange device under his right arm. His face looked like an exact replica of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad's face, though his build was closer to his. Broad shoulders hidden underneath a strange hooded white doublet and long legs wearing strange tight fitted pants made from a material he did not recognise. Even the scar was the same as his! Was Ezio made in the image of the one he was the Prophet for? Was Altaïr the herald? All questions Ezio wondered, but not knowing if Desmond was like Minerva or not, he dared not waste any questions if the beings patient was thin.
But first: "Are you Desmond?" He had to know, have it confirmed, even if the being appeared after the name was called.
"Ezio? Is this the Library? Am i seriously bleeding while dying!?" Desmond was looking around at the empty tomb, before his eyes returned upon Ezio.
"Yes, this is Altaïr's library. You are bleeding? I do not see any blood and you are dying!? Is there anything i can do to help you? Please, my lord. Tell me what i need to do to save you." Ezio was desperate to know his purpose and if all his life lead to this moment, where he could save Desmonds life, he would fulfill it.
"There's nothing you can do. I am dying semi willingly and even if this is some Animus infused death hallucination, it is nice having my last moments with you, even if your not really here. I am so sorry i couldn't answer any of your questions or try to save you from losing everything. You never deserved any of it. In the end it didn't really even matter. I am sorry you wasted your time chasing riddles and ghosts." He looked so grieve struck while saying it and the look Desmond had while gazing down onto Ezio could only be described as lovingly.
"What do you mean? Could you have saved my uncle!? My father and brothers!? Why didn't you if you do not think i deserved it! I have served the Brotherhood almost my entire life, sacrificed so much trying to find out what Minerva meant and now your telling me that it was all for nothing!? If you think i wasted my time then give it back!"
Desmonds eye's widen before softly smiling and saying: "Your right, you wasted your time and sacrificed too much for nothing. Let's change that."
Before Ezio knew it, the world went white and he knew nothing more.
—————
When Ezio awoke, it was to a bed he hadn't seen in almost 40 years. His childhood bed and his room. He couldn't believe it. He was given a second chance. To live his life. To right wrongs. To save his family! To think going to the Library would result in this!
At the thought of the Library, Ezio suddenly remembered Sofia. To have forgotten her and even abandoned her without a second thought left Ezio feeling guilty. Would she wait outside the Library before realising he would never come back? Or because he is now in the past, a past where he intends to change the future, would she never meet him? Never exist? The thought of her hurt, but like so many others, Ezio knew that him being in her life would have risked hers. Even if she knew and accepted it, it is still better if she never got the chance to know him and inevitibly suffer because of it. Same with Cristina. Though he could now choose her, he knew that despite the many mistakes in his life, the Brotherhood was not one of them and his refusal to properly let her go killed her. Letting that life affect her once again was too cruel. It was for the better to just let her go.
Federico nudged him with his elbow. "Brother, what has you thinking so hard you look like you bit into something bitter?"
"Nothing much, just wondering what i should get." Ezio smiled and laughed. He was currently out with his family on a trip the market. The last time around, he had decided to sneak off to spend some time with a girl he didn't even remember the name of anymore instead of spending time with his loved ones, to his great shame and regret. This was the last thing his family had done together outside of dinners before the execution in 3 days. That he missed out on it was one of his biggest regrets, but Desmond let him change it.
That Ezio might never truly understand or know what or who Desmond is, how he watched him in the Vault or even what Minerva's people and the Pieces of Eden truly were will forever haunt him, but the trade to see his family again and to even be able to save them is a fair trade. He can go his life wondering these questions and maybe try to find them now that he will have more time, thanks to already knowing the Templars plans and who will be an enemy or ally.
He felt a finger poke him inbetween his eyebrows.
"There you go again Brother. Thinking too hard! Be careful or you might hurt yourself." Federico teased before yelping and then laughing when Ezio pushed him.
"Please don't start fighting now sons." Their father said before turning back to the stall owner to continue discussing what wares to buy and the prices.
"Sorry Father!" Ezio said before giving his brother a teasing look that promised this was not over.
Ezio remembered this day well enough. Not to remember the woman he decided to chase, but enough to know that when his family had been at the market a horse had run wild there and according to Claudia, nearly trampled her down in the confusion.
He was a bit sceptical to believe it was as close as she had made it out to be, but he knew horses much better now than he did before. After years of riding them to and from places in the chase for his targets, he knew that having one running towards you in a blind panic could scare anyone. Even though he knew to be wary of them and treat them with respecy during his original childhood, he didn't truly get how these gentle beings could be as scary as his sister had made the poor creature out to be.
According to his family, it had been a war horse, bloodied, running around in a blind panic, probably scared from a skirmish. Being chased by guards hadn't helped and eventually the guards got a good shot at it and put it down.
Ezio wanted to save his sister years of fearing horses, so he kept an eye and a ear out for any signs that the animal was on it's way.
There. A scream. Everyone stopped and looked around for the source. The source was still hidden by the crowds, but in the distance you could start seeing people moving away from something coming this way and the screams were getting closer.
Ezio breathed and slipped into his Second Sight, the Eagle Vision, as he now knew Altaïr had called it. Or more accuratly, Eagle Sense. With the years, his constant use and need for it had changed his Sight. It had become much stronger, letting him see farther, expanded his hearing, to let him hear his enemies heartbeat and even know what moves they were going to make. Even let him know where his enemies was going to go on a patrol route.
It truly was a gift and now he would use it to try and predict where the animal would go, as to lead his sister and family away from the danger. Then he saw it. The shine of something important. Something that glowed as strongly as the Apple of Eden had. The horse.
There was much about his Gift he could not explain. He had tried, but it is much like explaining sight to a blind person. Why things he didn't even know about could glow gold and lead him to the answer. Why allies glowed blue and enemies red, nor how he could tell friend from foe and now. His Sight told him, with the same intuition as telling friend from foe, that this horse was Desmond.
How is Desmond here? Why? Did he lie about dying? Or was certain death only a large chance that Desmond beat? Ezio supposed it did not matter. If he lets events play as they had before, Desmond would be struck down by an arrow within minutes. Oh, maybe Desmond had tried to prevent his father and brothers demise, but was struck down in the attempt? Though, why choose to do it as a rampaging horse? Either way, Desmond was clearly panicking, almost upon him now. If Ezio could not calm him down, his death was guaranteed.
But how? Ezio has just seconds now to plan a way to stop him before he is trampled down.
Then, he finally realises, that among the bright gold he shines, he also glowes blue. Such a deep colour which he has only seen in the greatest friends or closest family and he knows, Desmond would never harm him. The look of pure love on Desmonds face made more sense now.
So Ezio decides to not move and simple raise up his hands, as if to pet the horse.
"EZIO!"
————
Desmond was in pain. He knew that Juno lied about his death being quick and painless, but god, why did it have to hurt so much!? During his hallucination, it wasn't nearly so bad! And can't forget the weird nightmare he's having ontop of it. He's a goddamned horse on some battlefield. He was rearing up when the nightmare started, neighing as his rider was shot and killed by an arrow.
There's so much blood. The smell strikes fear in his heart. There's so much red. He slips into Eagle Vision and there's even more red. Not a spec of blue. A sword slides against the armor he is wearing and the screech of metal is too much. He bolts.
He needs to run. Away from the monsters with sharp sticks. Away from the smell of blood and death. Away from the shadows hiding hunters. They follow him. They chase him for a long time.
He is getting so tired.
He needs to get back to the barn. His owner would make everything alright. He would croon soft noises he did not understand, but the tone was soft and gentle. He would give him a treat while brushing him down after a hard days work.
He did ride him into scary battles he did not understand, but afterwards he would wash and groom him extra thoroughly, while feeding him the best apples, crooning more sounds in a happy tone. He would repeat one of the few sounds he understood, which meant "him" and "pay attention to me".
Dante.
But he wasn't on his back anymore and he didn't hear his voice. Just the loud, scary noises of more men in the shiny hard thing. They had the pointy sticks too and tried to take the things dangling from his mouth. Only his owner can touch that! Only he is to be trusted with them.
Running is getting harder, there is large, straight hills in the way and the path is narrower with many strangers in it.
There is still so much red. He can still smell the blood, feel it clotting his fur. Too much red!
Blue.
Suddenly there's blue in front of him. He knows blue means ally. Though why and how this person is blue confuses him. But he is Blue and running him over is not good, but why is he standing there!? Does he not see the red!? Smell it!? Does he not understand we need to run!?
"Desmond"
That single word pierces the fog of fear and wild panic that has flooded Desmonds mind. Ezio is in front of him, hand already gripping the reigns while the other rests on his muzzle.
"There we go Desmond, everything is alright."
Desmond still feels phantom threads of fear, but with Ezio's calming blue glow and his voice saying gentle reassurances, it feels far away.
Now with his mind fully human and not driven by horse instincts or memories, the question becomes: How and why the fuck is he a horse in 15th century Italy with Ezio!?
What even is his life.
————
So, a couple parts i'm stupidly happy about is the "He had love, but didn't cherish it. Didn't truly feel it and took it for granted." part. This, as you can probably tell was inspired by the famous quote "When I was a young man, I had liberty, but I did not see it. I had time, but I did not know it. And I had love, but I did not feel it."
I believe Ezio didn't fully understand liberty until he tried to live a peaceful life with Sofia and realised he would always fear Templars taking revenge on his family and time, because the knowledge that he would never see his children grow up to adults had never been a concern before he met Sofia. He probably thought he wouldn't have a family at all.
But love. Love he would understand what he missed. He would understand it just days after he lost his father and brothers. Those moments you missed out on. Of opportunities to spend time that you squandered away. Time you will never get back, because in real life we don't have time travel.
And now i understand it. Before the end of the last year, i was like Ezio before the loss. Before i lost my grandparents only a few weeks apart.
Those opportunities to spend time was rare and thankfully i took most of them, but i still squandered it away by not actually spending time with them. I just visited and hid away in my room, wasting the time by sitting on the phone.
I will forever regret that because ny memory is shit and besides a few childhood ones, i have no memories of them. I still remember their voices, they were pretty distinct thankfully, but how long until i forget that.
It hurts and as someone who is afraid of death and it's finality, such a reminder that time and love is finite is soulcrushing. It is only recently that i have truly started to think of my grandparents and i guess try to process the fact they are gone forever.
When we first got the news that my grandpa had died, i was even more glued to my phone, not wanting to acknowledge what was happening. I also didn't wanna sleep and only got some when i passed out from exhaustion. We even went to the doctor to get time of work and some sleep medication i didn't dare end up taking.
I even had thoughts of just taking all the pills and just sleeping, to get away from the pain forever. But i'm thankfully too much of a coward, so it just stayed thoughts. I'm doing much better now and as i mentioned, i think i'm starting to process the fact that they are gone.
So, yeah. This post went in a direction i didn't expect. But it feels important and maybe in a few years i can look back at this post and see a snapshot of who i was and reflect on who i am now. So, here's to the future me and anyone else who needs to hear it:
I hope things are going well and if they're not... well, things get better. They always do. You're loved and even if your loved ones are gone, they live on in you. You will carry that love with you, for the rest of your life. 💜
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Today in the Department of Before They Were Star Trek Stars, George Takei guest stars in "A Matter of Honor," episode 10 of the single season of Assignment: Underwater (original air date November 11, 1960).
There are a couple of caveats here. Firstly, the only copy I could find of this episode was a very lo-res kinescope, but I thought it was interesting enough to make up for the fuzzy images.
Secondly, I wanted to take a minute to talk about depictions of non-Anglo cultures in this series of posts. Sometimes, I'm comfortable just shrugging and saying "Times were different back then" and sometimes I'm not. I've skipped over episodes where the use of yellowface or redface seemed gratuitous to me, or where there aren't any other things going on in the episode that made me feel it was worthy of note. I'm still on the fence about other episodes, where the depiction of BIPOC aren't necessarily negative, but are just kind of ignorant, or reliant on stale storytelling tropes, where you can tell that the White screenwriters didn't really make much of an effort at research, or consultation with people in the culture they're depicting. (NB: I don't think any of this reflects on the actors involved; sometimes you just need to pay your bills and do the best you can with the scripts you get.)
This episode of Assignment: Underwater feels like it might be dipping its toe into that last category. Japanese and Chinese culture are kind of lumped in together, there's some "model minority" stuff going on with the Japanese-American family, and Italian-Americans don't exactly come out smelling like roses. But I thought the episode was interesting enough to make it worthwhile. It's available for free on The Internet Archive, so I encourage anyone who's interested to watch and make up their own minds.
Takei plays Ken Kitigawa, the oldest son of an immigrant family who are friends with the main character, who is in charge of some kind of U.S. Navy underwater rescue/civil defense operation. Ken has gotten involved with an organized crime syndicate, who are sending him to sabotage the boat of one of their rivals. The hero stops him in the nick of time, he agrees to turn state's evidence, and everyone lives happily ever after.
Other Trek Connections:
Takei's gangster boss is played by Stanley Adams, AKA Cyrano Jones in the Star Trek episode "The Trouble with Tribbles,"
And his girlfriend is portrayed by BarBara Luna, who played Marlena Moreau in the Star Trek episode "Mirror, Mirror," as well as appearing in two episodes of James Cawley's fan production Star Trek: Phase II.
#star trek#star trek tos#star trek the original series#assignment underwater#1960s tv#tv adventure#george takei#bill williams#stanley adams#barbara luna
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i fell into a little rabbit hole while reading bora chung's cursed bunny when i found the japanese proverb 「人ひとを呪のろわば穴あな二ふたつ」 ("hito o norowaba ana futatsu"), meaning "when you curse a man, [you dig] two graves" (click here for reference and click on the first link at the bottom for more context). it's a cautionary proverb about the consequences of cursing or invoking evil onto others, similar in a way to the english proverb "what goes around comes around."
i dug around some more (hah!) and found an article explaining the origins of the proverb (click on the second link at the bottom). do bear with my lacking skills when it comes to translating, but from what i understand, the proverb itself originated from the heian period. onmyoji (click on the third link at the bottom) were civil servants who practiced onmyodo, specializing in magic and divination. the article describes them using the kanji 呪術師 (third highlight in the left image), or jujutsushi, meaning sorcerer.
these onmyoji were responsible for calendar-related tasks and mystical duties such as divination, but the most interesting duty listed was protecting the capital from evil spirits, or 怨霊を (vengeful spirit) as the article cites, by cursing and killing the capital's opponents. now, this was a particularly dangerous task because they risked having that curse "returned" back to them in a counter-attack, killing them in the process, too—hence why one must prepare two graves when one resorts to "cursing" someone.
now that we've established the history of the proverb, it initially struck me as familiar because...
it's something geto mentioned when he came to the school to declare war! and...
later on when he says his last words to gojo!
given that the series takes some inspiration from onmyodo in the heian period (the golden age of jujutsu in the story), it's befitting that a proverb like this would make an appearance in the actual dialogue. in both instances, the proverb was relevant in geto's dialogue.
the article i referred to before also provided two example sentences related to the proverb, which when translated become:
"As there is a saying that if you curse people, there are two graves, hatred only produces unhappiness."
"I hate him so much. Even if you say that if you curse people, you will have two graves, I'm prepared for that."
as the geto fanatic that i am i find it interesting that both these phrases could align with geto's lines in volume 0. the first time geto references this proverb, it's when he says, "let's curse each other to our hearts' content." i've talked about this in my other posts (click here for one of them), that i've always believed that geto knew his pursuit of ideal was futile, or "impossible" as he explained to gojo in shinjuku. regardless of the outcome, this was the path he chose for himself, a path where he had to constantly pretend to the people around him that it was indeed possible.
referring to the proverb, the two graves here would be geto and the subject of his curse, non-sorcerers. his curse—his hatred—only led to his own unhappiness and his own demise. as it is, he failed his attack and the only grave there was his. he died unable to laugh from the bottom of his heart.
the second time geto references this proverb, it's when he says, "at least curse at me a little at the very end." he says this in an easy exasperation in response to gojo's omitted last words to him. he expects gojo to hate him or at least be angry with him, but instead gojo does not "curse" him the way he thought he'd be.
refering to the proverb, geto expects gojo to hate him so much, he'd curse him even if it might risk his own life to see geto dead. instead, gojo spares him—or rather, gojo says what he says honestly, without the disguise of anger or spite. the two graves here, at least in geto's mind, would be gojo and the subject of his curse, geto himself. ironically, despite the lack of "curse," there is still a grave for one body. in a more figurative sense, perhaps that alley is a teeming graveyard.
what an apt cautionary proverb for such a vengeful character.
links i couldn't hyperlink:
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#geto#gojo#satosugu#lobotomy kaisen#icb i see them everywhere#well at least i'm packed with more knowledge#i logged into jstor (for naught but a simple proverb but it was still fun)#why cannot i hyperlink#jjk meta
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Time to fill out that OC questionnaire but for Thistle this time!
He'll be in the @sonic-oc-showdown so be sure to give him a vote!
Name: Thistle the Tenrec
Species: Highland Streaked Tenrec
Home: Central City
✨How did you come up with the OC’s name?
Since he’s inspired by Amy I wanted to pick another prickly flower name. Thistle flowers can have a lot of negative connotations in flower language just as much as positive ones (aggressiveness, unwanted intrusion). If roses are known for being noble and lovely, thistles are more wild but pesky, they’re also hard to let go if you end up stuck by one. The image of thistle flower suited him the more I thought about it.
🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)
Same age as Surge.
🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?
Currently Surge and only Surge. He’s had previous partners but they usually don’t last very long. Current record is 1 month.
(The only tragic thing about Thistle is that he's not trying to be the worst boyfriend ever. He really wants to do good but he's too self-centered and stupid to realize that he's the problem)
🍕 - What is their favorite food?
Key Lime Pie, he likes anything tart but sweet.
💼 - What do they do for a living?
Works part time at a flower shop in central city, he’s actually quite popular with customers.
🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?
Flower arrangement and astrology charting. Loves reading romance novels and watching old classic movies even if he gets the meaning of them completely wrong. He’s good at baking and also spends a lot of time online on social media. He’s a jack of all trades and always ready to learn something new to get closer with people in his life. He’s here for you. What more could you want from a guy :)
🎯 -What do they do best?
Anything that’s considered traditionally feminine Thistle excels at. Baking, shopping, event planning, crushing your enemies. But even with all of that he’s incredibly good at finding information. Does his new crush have a favorite band? Well Thistle just doxxed every band member and knows the rest of their schedule for the next 3 months.
🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?
Thistle likes doing anything that will get him lots of compliments and attention, especially if it’s something he already finds fun. He’s the type to get really wrapped up in tedious side project so probably mapping out his and Surge’s life together via astrology
Hates doing something that doesn’t serve him in some way, like doing volunteer work for strangers. He also isn’t much of an adventuring type unless it’s to chase Surge down, he’d rather not though, he’d rather keep her tied down close to him and they can live a cozy domestic life.
Running around beating up robots getting sweaty and gross and for what? just to protect the masses? Awful, blech, Sonic can have that.
❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?
One time he and Surge accidentally shared a soda, therefore doing the incredibly scandalous “indirect kiss”. She vaporized the soda can to destroy the evidence and then punched him in the gut when he told her. He passed out for about two days.
✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?
His first relationship was an online one where the other person ended up blocking him and then publicly warned other people about his creepy behavior.
Thistle made one of those “am I the asshole?” posts about their relationship and everyone in the forum went “yeah, you were totally the asshole.”
Thistle deleted all his accounts and started over. He learned nothing. “It’s the forum that was wrong, they were all just jealous.”
🧊 - Is their current design the first one?
There’s a few initial sketches I did to get the overall idea going and there’s a few minor tweaks but he’s basically the same design as when I started.
🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?
It was a bumblekast question asking about what a glitch Amy would be like and I liked the answer so much I wanted to develop it into a real character.
I really like aggressively-in-love characters like this in media actually, something about them being not shy at all about the person they’re in love with leads to a lot of funny or interesting situations, also since Surge is my favorite sonic character at the moment it’s fun thinking about how she would react to someone like this too. It’s a win-win situation for me lol.
🌂 - What genre do they belong in?
The villain in a shoujo romance manga
💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?
Identifies as male, Pan, he/him/they pronouns
🙌 - How many siblings does your OC have?
Zero. Probably for the best because he’s terrible with children.
🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?
He’s an absolute mama’s boy when she’s around.
(It should be noted that Thistle doesn’t really have a tragic backstory or bad childhood. He really is just like that for some reason.)
🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?
Thistle can be a lot of things I like about male characters (a goober in love, not afraid to appear “feminine”, a polite good boy, twisted priorities) and also be the worst person I’ve ever wanted to write thoughts for. He’s a very fun punching bag.
✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?
Probably too much haha, I don’t usually write a lot of actual terrible people so he’s a refreshingly fun rom-com villain.
💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?
It’s funnier if he stays alive imo. If Surge ever changes her ways in canon or something drastic happens to her he might lose interest in her and move on to his next victim, that’s about as close as I’d ever get to “killing him”. It would have to be a very drastic personality change though.
💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?
Whatever the fear of being unloved is.
To him, being loved by someone is the ultimate goal. “I can love so easily, why is it so hard for someone to stay in love with me? I must not be loving hard enough, I need to love someone who craves love just as much as I do. Yes, then it would be the ultimate romance” - is basically the rationalization here.
🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?
I mean probably Amy, not just for Surge’s sake, Amy will fight anyone she finds being a selfish creep in the name of love.
In Thistle's mind anyone who even smiles in Surge's direction is a rival. She's spoken for, who do they think they are??
🎓 - How long have you had the OC?
A little over a year!
🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?
33
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