#this post killed me and i couldn't use all the images i wanted
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Why Bart/Kon Shouldn't Be A Rare-Pair: The Konbart Manifesto and Friendship Deep-Dive.
This is a long post with a read more cut further down.
Trigger Words: Death, Depression
I feel like during the time Kon and Bart were both out of comic continuity a lot of comic enjoyers 1.) forgot that these two were intensely close and 2.) in the case of newer fans never even realized the depths of their friendship even prior to Young Justice 2019.
This post is going to primarily focus on Bart and Kon's friendship and how they work together both presented in the comics, and what is implied through dialog and circumstantial events.
Even if you are not looking at what is presented below through the shipping lens, what I am going to compile here at the very least showcases that they have an intense friendship and solidifies that Kon is one of Bart's lightening rods and these two are relevant to each other in ways that I rarely see explored in fan works.
Bart in fanworks with Kon is frequently more or less there as a backdrop to another ship, is there for light moments or just is glazed over as "not a best friend" when the comics make it blatant that Bart and Kon are intensely close.
So let me explain their history and why they work so well together as friends first, and how the ship makes sense and should not be considered rare or a "crack-ship" as they are mutually affectionate.
1.) Kon and Bart share a ridiculous amount of things in common.
I talk about this frequently on this blog and others have pointed this out before in separate posts, but their similarities and sense of belonging to their respective worlds are factors that absolutely bind them closer and in special ways that others do not.
Unfortunately, this is (mostly) an indirect example of their dynamic because DC either sees no value in exploring these commonalities, or writers just have not recognized these details to explore them to fulfil deeper connections between Kon and Bart.
The exception to this was when Bart acknowledged their own sense of isolation and 'weirdness' in Young Justice 2019 The Emancipation of Bartholomew.
"I don't know who to talk to about any of this. No one can relate. Not even the other Flashes. I think that's what you and I always kind of had in common, Conner. We are not like everyone else. Even in our Superman and Flash columns... We are the most different." - Bart
Bart is ultimately correct here as both he and Kon share that when it comes to their family columns they stand out and have history and abilities that is isolating to the point where others in their families might not be able to connect to or relate to them in specific ways, but that doesn't stop their respective families from trying and loving them regardless.
Other than their isolation, they also share in common some key things that happened to them in their lives and some traits that a writer could absolutely capitalize on to make a strong story and it binds them closer together.
Here's a non-exhaustive list of past formative events that both Kon and Bart share.
They both were victims of dubiously moral scientists at the orders of cruel men.
They both do not have proper childhoods due to their unique births, younger life situations, and weird aging (see #4).
Both have genius level intellects, but no one really acknowledges it or takes it seriously.
They both had weird aging outside of Sins of Youth.
Both were cloned by cruel people and their clones replace them so successfully they fooled their friends and family that the imposter was them.
Both at varying times had members of their respective families not believe in them and questioned their integrity, morality and ability to be a hero.
Both mutually shared trauma associated with Bart's first "death" on Apokolips that others in their team did not.
Both had their mentors 'die' while they were not present and had to have the news delivered to them after it already happened. For Bart this was Max, and for Kon it was Jim Harper.
Both were raised by elderly people.
Both for a good period of time lived in the same state just hours from each other.
Both essentially 'grew up' and changed their entire identities overnight which can be fairly read as an expression of deep depression.
They both died just within months of each other.
To counterpoint #5 they were both part of Tim's cloning adventures in present time and in a hypothetical future.
They were both erased from existence in the reboot, and both remembered each other and everything about the world before it rebooted.
As I mentioned before, the list above is not really mentioned between Kon and Bart in the comics, and they do not have any real conversations about how they share various trauma as comic narration tends to avoid characters hashing out feelings unless it is to serve growth that a writer wants to develop. However in a realistic scenario there is a strong likelihood that Kon and Bart would realize their commonality and feel kindred and comforted to know that there is someone else out there in the world that understands what they went through on a deep, personal level.
2.) Kon and Bart are FRIENDS outside of Young Justice and Teen Titans.
This is a bullet point that is a 'no duh' for all of them as each member of Young Justice/Teen Titans has been shown to be friends outside of beating the daylights out of bad guys, and many others have been shown to have deep bonds outside of 'work', but this point goes back to the introduction in that I feel a lot of people just have neglected to understand their friendship.
In their Young Justice days especially their friendship is unique and it is implied it started before the formation of team as Kon knew Bart's secret identity prior to the JLA: World Without Grown-Ups special.
Pre Young Justice/Early Friendship
Kon encourages Bart by name during the climax of their battle.
Throughout this special Kon refers to Bart casually by his first name and there is nowhere within this issue that seems to imply that Bart reveals this information during their team up. Kon knew his name beforehand which suggests either Bart told him, or he learned it second-hand from within the hero community.
Tim knows his name because of Batman.
This shows that there was a level of TRUST they had in each other even before the formation of Young Justice. To note, Kon does not learn Bart's name at all in Superboy and the Ravers #7 either when they first meet, so somewhere between then and the JLA: WWGU event Kon discovered or was told Bart's name.
Within this issue we see small crumbs that suggest Kon and Bart got to know a little bit about each other beforehand as there was some friendly teasing, banter and encouragement exchanged between them (even picking on Tim together).
Kon teases Bart and Bart remembers this for years afterwards, flipping it on Wally in his own series later.
Kon and Bart work together to win and are obnoxious about it, as they should be.
Also, when it came to Bedlam devising ways to defeat Tim, Kon and Bart by having each other imagine ways to kill one another, Kon was close enough by then to devise a way that was very specific and effective - by trapping Bart in a contraption that prevented him from moving at all.
Kon apologizes for imagining putting Bart into a restraining bench as his way to defeat him.
This again implies that Kon got to know enough about Bart to know what would cripple him in a fight; you can make an argument that he just thought it up on the spot basing it on first impressions, but if you read the issue entirely the implication still directs that they were friendly beforehand even if in the comics they had not interacted except for in Superboy and the Ravers #7.
The logical assumption is that Bart and Kon knew each other before this and were friendly.
Young Justice
Kon and Bart yet again tease and frustrate Tim together. This is reoccurring.
While they were in Young Justice we get to finally see their friendship really pick up because they finally had a comic series that they shared which meant they could grow and develop. Within this series we get to see them interact with each other in ways that are unique to them.
Young Justice #9.
Kon and Bart will often play games together during down-time in Young Justice (also in Teen Titans), such as Chess where Bart proves to be more calm and collected about it than Kon is as a counterbalance.
Young Justice #31
By the middle part of Young Justice it is well established that Kon is Bart's go-to person for entertainment within their team as depicted in the above issue where Bart desperately tries to convince Kon to break from his television program to be with him. We can assume Bart's suggestions are things that they have done together before. What is also interesting to note is Bart is asking to do things with him as Bart Allen, not as Impulse.
Young Justice #53
To further solidify that they are close friends and interact in ways specific to them, Kon and Bart not only play traditional games, but they took the time to joke with each other to come up with a whole new game that has no winner, it's just interaction and fun. This sort of interaction is unique specifically to them as the others are not part of this behavior.
Teen Titans/2003-2011
By the time the Teen Titan years roll around they both have assumed new identities, one where Kon takes a step back into Conner Kent as an attempt to live more normally (something he's always wanted to do), and one where Bart takes up the Kid Flash mantle. They both experience changes in drastic (and sudden) ways, and even through some offensive writing and general character assassinations, they still are shown having a unique and intense bond specific to each other.
For the sake of pacing I am only going to explore a couple moments that stood out to me (this series is 100 issues long!) that show both of them being close emotionally as by now they are emotionally bound friends.
When Kon discovers that half his DNA came directly from Lex Luthor and was mind controlled to attack his friends, naturally everyone was trying their best to stop him.
Bart was ordered to "take him down" being the person in the best place to do so, and instead of going heavy handed Bart decided to try to reason with Kon instead.
Bart doesn't want to hurt Kon. And he refuses to do so at personal sacrifice to himself.
Teen Titans Volume 3 #25
Unfortunately Bart was not successful here but he tried very hard to reach him and appealed to who he knew Kon was at a deep level.
The important thing to note is during this wretched time in their tenure a lot of things happen; one of the main ones being them both dying within months of each other (one of their shared commonalities). Kon died first, and then Bart followed.
During Bart's funeral during Countdown #43 they play a video Bart recorded of himself basically wishing everyone well and encouraging them to not be sad that he was dead. However there are a couple moments that stand out...
In Bart's speech he is addressing everyone in his team, but he specifically mentions Kon in two key moments; he is addressing and speaking directly to Kon as if everything is well even though at this time Kon is dead.
Kon never got to hear this.
Bart and Kon by this point have solidified a strong bond where perhaps when Bart was thinking about making this recording he knew that Kon deserved a special acknowledgement to help him in his grieving process, which in the past Kon did not handle well in regards to Bart (I will explain below.) After Kon died Bart either didn't have the time to make a new video or just didn't want to revisit it again and left it as it was mentioning Kon regardless that he was not going to hear it.
Bart and Kon did not stay dead for long and eventually came back, once they did they had to deal with the aftermath of being dead together...
One of those aftermaths being Kon's relationship with Cassie had started to shift in ways that neither knew how to deal with, nor did they know why it was changing as both were dealing with personal stuff at the time. They are teenagers, after all.
In an attempt to try to get advice, Kon went specifically to Bart for help; not Tim, Gar, Cyborg or Clark or any other 'guy'. He saw Bart as someone he trusted and someone whose input he valued. There is a great level of trust they both have for each other as talking about relationships is a vulnerable and personal step.
Teen Titans Volume 3 #83
Ignore the bad writing on Cassie's part who in this for whatever reason thinks Bart won't respect her if he knows there are relationship issues, and implies that Kon is not allowed to ask for advice from one of their closest friends. Kon breaks up with Cassie a few issues later citing that he wants to give her space to focus on being a leader, and that he wants to retreat (further) into Conner Kent. This is a decision he made himself and it is unknown if he reached out to Bart again for advice.
While the outrageous events of TTv3 kept Kon and Bart extremely busy, we do still get hints that they still do things together outside of being heroes and Kon still reaches out to Bart for help.
Superboy 2011 #3
During this time in comics canon (2003-2011), Bart and Kon live only 4 hours away in the same state (Kansas). Bart being a speedster obviously can be right there with him nearly instantly no matter where he lives, but the closeness also opens more doors of familiarity between them and more relatability.
Kon reaches out to Bart for yet more help when he suggests to Bart to race him for charity so he can help the farmers in Smallville that lost a substantial amount of revenue. Bart gladly accepts and their race has some great FUN moments as they banter and talk about current events.
Kid Flash Lost #1
In one of the final comics of the pre-boot world Bart still references that he watches movies with Kon casually, specifically showcasing that even in a dystopian future where The Matrix is realized, Bart is thinking about Kon and everything they do together.
Bart and Kon are friends, and their friendship has been unwavering without a lapse in trust as both have been anchors for each other; no matter what happens, if the other is alive then it is a good day and they are likely going to be gravitating towards one another.
3.) Kon's breakdown over Bart's "death" and coma.
I don't really see a lot of people talk about this part of Kon's history (even from hardcore Kon fans) unless it is specifically from a Konbart shipping lens and I am not sure why, because everything about the two issue mental breakdown is heartbreaking just on its own with no shipping element added.
Also in one of the issues it implies that Kon has (while subconsciously) bi-curious feelings towards Bart.
The start of Kon's breakdown begins on Apokolips where they were stranded because he got in a fight with Tim and they crashed there. Because of that fight it led to all of them getting traumatized by Granny Goodness, but Bart suffered the worst when his own scout was killed in front of Cassie, Cissie, Kon and himself.
Impulse #77
As a result, Bart was comatose for weeks and up until he woke up no one knew if he would survive.
Kon took it extremely badly. Not only is he himself traumatized from having witnessed it viscerally, but he also blamed himself for it happening in the first place.
Superboy #91
Kon is writing a letter to Dr. Serling back home while he is still in space and the entire letter is... heartbreaking as he pens out his own grief and trauma in a personal way.
At this point in time, Kon has accepted that Bart is going to die. Kon has essentially lost all hope that Bart will recover and he blames himself entirely for it.
Even when he gets back to Earth in Superboy #92 he still is having PTSD symptoms from everything that happened on Apokolips and Bart is still at the forefront of his thoughts along with everything else that happened there...
(Please remember the title of this issue it is important)
Below is Kon's personal dialog that shows he has intrusive and frequent thoughts about Apokolips, in particular Bart dying and the Lobo clones dying.
"Now Bart's dead. Ba-dump-bump."
"Apokolips. Satan's top choice for vacation spots, after Suicide Slum and Binghampton in winter."
"Us. Young Justice. Stranded. Forgotten, unwashed P.O.W.S."
"Impulse, a piece of him. All of him. I don't get it, anymore."
"He died badly. The smell -- My fault."
"The legion of naked Lobos. If there is one grain of comedy in any of this, it's the legion of naked Lobos..."
"...'Cept they all died, too.
"The aftermath, you don't have to see "A.I." to believe a robot can get very, very, upset."
"Just try breaking the news to Red Tornado."
"Ah. Yes, and there's Impulse again. The rest of him. None of him. So whacked out on having watched and felt his own death..."
"Cut to: the smell of Impulse frying."
"Dead Lobos." "Torture." "Death." "Torture." "..." "Death."
"I am so out of here." - Kon-El
The first two pages alone set the tone for the rest of the issue even if it takes a manic tone with a theme of Alice in Wonderland as a fever dream from hell. Before we get there though we are hit with two panels that are... interesting.
"Hey. Mrs. K., Got any apple pie in the fridge? Oh, one piece is fine. Impulse is in a stupid coma, so he won't -- Hold me? Tell me the war never happened? Pet my head?" - Kon-El
When you look at these two panels the first interpretation is that Kon is implying that Bart won't be around to hold him and pet his head.
The second interpretation is that Kon was going to say that Bart wasn't there to enjoy the pie (thus one piece was fine) and that he had a break in thought and was directing his desire for Martha to hold him and comfort him.
Either way you look at these panels and choose to interpret them it could go either way considering Kon's fragile mental state and how close of friends they were, and where his TWENTY HOUR dream takes him, it could really have been that he was wishing Bart would hold him.
That Kon wants Bart to be alive to comfort and balm the terror that he faced while on Apokolips.
Hm. Hmmm. Okay.
So Bart's dressed as the White Rabbit (remember the title?) but not only that in Kon's own dream he has him make a reference to it being a Playboy Bunny Suit.
I'm just going to leave that there because nothing else can be said about it.
These particular panels have been floating around for ages without context and you don't need much other than to know that the other two are Cherub and Kon's dead girlfriend Tana Moon.
Tana was killed in the Sins of Youth arc by Amanda Spence specifically to hurt Kon.
Cherub was a clone created by Amanda Spence using Bart and Tana Moon's DNA. Amanda shot her in the head while Kon was having a heart-to-heart conversation with her, and as far as he knows she is dead at this point.
And then there is Bart who Kon has resigned multiple times is already dead despite the fact he is in a coma.
Two of the above were direct love interests that were hurt specifically because of Kon, to hurt him, and in his own dream Kon is placing Bart in with them as a person he loves who he is responsible for getting hurt.
The line that Kon might "secretly think of Impulse as a chick" is definitely skirting some lines of bi-coding, or at least getting as close to it as possible for a comic that was released in 2001 which was an incredibly homophobic era. Also it is fun to note that entire dream sequence is colored in bi-flag colors which was adopted in 1998, it was likely unintentional but you can take that as you will.
Kon's fever dream lasted twenty hours and after this issue he was back to "normal" and this breakdown is never mentioned again.
However considering that Bart's own "Death Video" in Countdown #43 had him talking specifically to Kon a couple of times, the two of them might have discussed what happened on Apokolips which led Bart to have the foresight to try to make things easier in a "Death is nothing at all, I'm only in the other room" sort of way. Because by then Bart knew that if he died, people would be upset. Kon extremely so.
4.) Kon helps Bart overcome his fear of using his scouts just by existing.
After the trauma-inducing terror that happened on Apokolips Bart himself was dealing with a bout of PTSD and he took a temporary absence from being Impulse and being a part of Young Justice.
To compliment Kon's own letter from Superboy #91 Bart claims that being Impulse "Isn't fun anymore" in mirrored trauma.
Bart eventually got to a point mentally where he found purpose being Impulse again, but he was extremely weary of using his scouts for obvious reasons.
Then the World Without Young Justice arc came and Bart was face-to-face with Matthew Stuart (Bedlam) who had been in a coma for two years and was out for revenge.
Using his own magical power he had found a way to force Bart into making scouts and he had them flung through time altering the timestream to a point where nothing looked familiar and Young Justice was... gone; the girls converted into villains, the boys were stripped of their powers and training as Kon was just a human teenager and Tim was just Tim Drake.
Bart was the only one who remembered them and it was up to him to stop Matt.
The problem was, he was petrified of absorbing his scouts back into himself because the last time one of his scouts died, he nearly died. Bart wasn't sure what would happen if he re-absorbed a dying scout, because he regains everything that scout experienced and felt while it was operating.
Superboy #99
"That'll keep him... busy while... we make our escape..." - Bart
"'Escape?' You can barely stand and your other selves..." - Kon
"... Are dying. I've made too many... Their only chance... is to take 'em back into me. It's just... dunno what'll happen if I absorb a dying scout..." - Bart
"Look... Don't worry. You'll be okay. Why, you're one of the good guys." - Kon while touching Bart's shoulder.
"Uh... ...Here goes everythnnngghh!!" - Bart
"Wow... You okay?" - Kon
"No... But it's no biggie. We better head for Bedlam's Castle, back to Tim..." - Bart
At first glance this might seem inconsequential but Bart really was absolutely petrified of absorbing those scouts back, and he did so because Kon encouraged him, and because Kon in that moment was vulnerable and could be killed with almost no effort.
Bart overcame his fear and absorbed his scouts which had a consequence that wasn't outright shown but if you're well-read in The Flash you know what is going on.
Bart is pushing his own limits here, he is hurt, badly, and is dying himself but because he is a Speedster they never reveal this when it is happening. A speedster admitting something is wrong, but is 'no big deal' is code speak for "I'm going to die, so let's hurry up and save the day."
Bart's exhausted here and is likely going through some sort of molecular and emotional trauma as a result of absorbing his dying scouts, but Kon and all of Young Justice is worth it.
In the end, Bart recovers, saves the day and everything returns to normal... almost.
5.) The Emancipation of Bart Allen AKA Bart "broke reality" for Kon.
Kon was erased from existence with the N52 reboot and with Rebirth he was still no where to be found and no one seemed concerned about where Kon was despite the fact that the multiverse/reboots were very common knowledge among the heroes by then.
Bart (retroactively) was the only one who was shown to actively remember Kon due to his own imperviousness to time shifts and due to the fact that he was able to avoid being rebooted himself. Cassie mentioned remembering "everything about Young Justice" thus implying that she too likely remembered Kon, but Tim didn't remember him (or Young Justice) and needed Zatanna to help unlock the memories of his dear friend. Bart remembered Kon and actively took it upon himself to find him, and by extension Young Justice.
The entirety of Young Justice 2019 has a lot of great moments between Kon and Bart (Bart was relentless in his effort to find Kon, both times he went missing) but there is one key moment that sticks out.
Bart's explanation for what happened leading up to him "breaking things" to find Kon is a little mushy when it comes to continuity placement (Bendis tends to have mushy writing) but his desire to find Kon over everyone else is blatant.
Please tell us Kon, what do you plan on doing? We'll never know bc Tim interjected.
Everything about this issue is charged with emotional depth between both Kon and Bart; from Bart's deep desire to find Kon and Kon's desire to help take care of Bart while he was vulnerable after passing out.
Extremely popular ships were started over less than this ^
After passing out, Kon takes Bart to the woods and builds a fire for them. Kon also remembers that Bart loves Chocos (DC's version of Oreos) and nicked a whole pack from S.T.A.R. Labs for Bart specifically.
6.) Lightening Rod
As mentioned above Young Justice 2019 offered us a lot of moments between Kon and Bart that were suggestive and showcased that Bart is relentless when it comes to making sure Kon is safe, and that Young Justice is intact.
Each member of Young Justice is clearly a lightening rod for Bart as Speedsters can have more than one however there is evidence to suggest that Kon just may have a pull on him more than the others.
Young Justice 2019 #1
When Bart is zapped to Gemworld at the same time as everyone else he alone appears next to Kon, suggesting he is a lightening rod. Tim, Cassie, Jinny and Kelly were separated to other locations entirely.
The working theory building from what we know of Speedsters and their lighting rods, is that when Bart was finally put in proximity to Kon, Bart was immediately attracted to him like lightning strike to a tall building.
Once Bart was reunited with Kon, well, we get the famous hug scene under the backdrop of the bi-flag.
Young Justice 2019 #2 again, popular ships were started over much less.
Knowing what we know now of the depth Bart went through to find Kon and reunite Young Justice can you really blame him for not wanting to let him go?
The rest of YJ2019 has multiple other instances of them hugging, touching and Bart getting very persistent about making sure Kon is safe, which contributed to him passing out.
In Closing
When it comes to shipping, either as just friends or as romantic partners in some fashion, the evidence provided above gives groundwork for a ship that is based on trust, compassion for the other, emotional vulnerability through shared experiences and protectiveness of the other all with an air of playfulness.
Their affection is mutual and their desire to help each other, mourn each other and support each other is not one-sided as we see both of them do things for the other.
There is a lot of angst there, and there also is a lot playfulness with willingness to listen to each other if in the hands of a writer that understands their past history.
Kon and Bart are friends, first and foremost, and Konbart should not be a rare-pair or considered a ship with no basis as the basis has roots going back to 1995.
8/5/23: edited for more concise phrasing and removed some misleading word choice, sorry about that it WAS unintentional.
#konbart#bartkon#bart allen#kon-el#kon el#conner kent#impulse#superboy#dc comics#this post killed me and i couldn't use all the images i wanted#be grateful i looked at ttv3 which made me want to punch something#can you believe there was more to add but i just ran out of image space#to be continued??#FFFFF typos fixed
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a summar(ule)y of 196 culture
since the tumblr veterans have been kind enough to introduce us newbies to their site and culture, i think it is only fair that we explain the culture of our glorious former home to any tumblr users who might be interested in the #196 tag. keep in mind, all these things are based on my perspective of the situation.
first of all, some general information (that you might’ve already heard):
196 (r/196 on reddit) was a subreddit with only one (official) rule; "post before you leave." it was mainly a meme/shitposting sub, but it cultivated a large queer and left-leaning community. in protest of the recent api chances in reddit, 196 has shut down indefinitely until reddit reverts these changes.
now for some culture/references that you might come across
spronkus kronkus:
spronkus is this yellow, rabbit-like creature.
they were the mascot of our subreddit. their appearance can vary from images to image, but as far as i’m aware, their full outfit consists of a bandanna in the colours of the trans flag around their neck, a gun labelled as such (other wise you obviously wouldn’t know what you’re looking at), and an axe also coloured like the trans flag.
r/place:
this is a rare event on reddit where the entire website gets a huge white canvas and can start creating pixel art on it. 196 participated by collaboratively creating our mascot, spronkus with "196!" written next to them.
this version of the pixel art was recreated by me as i couldn't find a nice image of it. there were some changes between the first version and the end result, so this might not be exactly how it looked in the end
post titles/"rule":
reddit forces it's users to title every post they make. as most of the posts on 196 spoke for themselves, many user instead titled their posts "rule", to indicate that they followed the subreddit's only rule. some people also tried to make puns with the word or tried to include it in words that shared some letters (example: wor(ule)d).
anarcho-stripperism:
as the amount of cropped porn jokingly posted to the subreddit increased, the moderators decided that porn would be banned from the sub, with one exception: anarcho-stripperism. she made food fucking videos, in which she jokingly tested the fuckability of different food items (fruits, pasta, etc.)
bigotry showcase:
bigotry showcase was a post flair (basically the reddit equivalent of tags) on the subreddit and was later restricted to only be used on saturdays. under this flair people posted instances of different forms of bigotry to make fun it.
eating babies/hungryposting:
at some point, the subreddit started to pretend to like eating babies, which started a variety of memes regarding the subject. even a post flair called "hungrypost" was added because of this
goblinhog:
goblinhog is the most prominent and well-known member of the 196 moderation team. besides this, on 196 he was mostly known for changing people’s flair if you enjoyed him enough about it.
flairs:
flairs are little tags that are displayed under your name in posts or comments, they are also subreddit specific. most subreddits give their users a palette of preset flairs and the option to make your own custom flair. however, in 196 you only had the option to customize your flair during special events. if you wanted to customize your flair outside of those events (which was basically the entire time), you had to ask a mod to do it for you.
punching nazis:
from time to time, the same gif of a person with a nazi armband getting punched in the face, and promptly falling to the ground, was reposted to the subreddit. this became a sort of tradition.
discourse/drama
wasp discourse:
the wasp discourse was a one to two weeks long heated discussion that generally divided the subreddit into two factions. one side said that they were justified in killing wasps if they were attacked by them, while the other claimed that since wasps are just animals, they aren't aware of what they're doing in the same way humans are, and therefore should be spared.
drama about the british:
there was a time when jokes along the lines of "ew, british" became pretty frequent on the subreddit. as a response, some user claimed that this was akin to racism and tried to get others to stop with the jokes. a debate over whether or not it was important or necessary to stop followed afterwards.
pillar discourse:
this was a debate over which type of pillar should be considered the best (ionic; doric; corinthian). i have seen the question "which pillar is the best?" being used as a sort of greeting between 196 refugees on here.
related subreddits
195:
195 was the predecessor to 196, and also was a social experiment with the same premise as 196 (one rule, post before you leave). as the creators of 195 ended the experiment, the community wanted something with the same vibe to continue posting, and thus 196 was born.
197:
197 is another part of the 196 ecosystem and is commonly understood to be the more politically right-leaning and bigoted as 196, as some people who were banned from 196 continued posting there. besides that, the subreddits were essentially the same in terms of how they functioned.
19684:
this subreddit adds a second rule which banned all mentions of sex (that’s why it’s name is a pun on 1984). some people took this as banning all discussion of sexuality, which resulted in a community that was slightly less accepting of queer people. it is currently still up and running as the 196 moderation team wants a way to stay in contact with the community.
amendments to the posts:
u/femboy_expert:
another well-known 196 user. as the name suggests they're an expert on the subject of femboys, with their flair on 196 reading "phd in feminine boys". as the subreddit was somewhat obsessed with femboys, it's no wonder that they became popular.
u/shitcum_backup:
this was the main account of a pretty popular shitposter on the subreddit. although i didn't see them as much in the last few months, i remember them sometimes having a unique speaking pattern, in which they referred to themself in the third person.
u/monko74:
this user commented "Every day I thank god for not making me a r/196 celebrity," which led to many users of the subreddit treating them like a micro celebrity. there are even a few subreddits solely dedicated to u/monko74.
691:
a sister subreddit that inverts the rule of 196, here you would be (temporarily) banned for posting. some time ago the members of this sub initiated a rebellion/revolution against the bot who performed all the bans (roomba).
u/Smart_Calendar1874:
this wasn’t necessarily part of the subreddit, but it was a pretty popular meme. and since it’s getting posted on here again, and i know enough about it, i’ll add it to the post. this user made a post to r/AskReddit titled "How would you get a small cylinder (5.1in length, ~4.5in girth) unstuck from a mini M&Ms tube filled with butter and microwaved mashed banana? [sic]" it was pretty clear that they were referring to their penis, yet they continued to claim "it’s a cylinder," in the comment section. this lead to comments like "it is imperative that the cylinder […] remains unharmed," in response to people’s advice of cutting the m&m tube.
it's going to be very interesting to see which aspects of 196 culture are going to survive the tumblr migration, and which aspects won't be applicable on this site.
i'm obviously not the ultimate scholar on 196 lore. if i’ve missed or left out anything, or said something wrong, please comment it.
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Hii, Can you write an Overstimulated, Teased Neuvillette x Fem!Dom reader? And if you dont mind can you make Overstimulated! Wriothesley Dom to sub x Fem!Dom reader
Absolutetly love this. The Wriothesley one is gonna be in a separate post sometime else.
Pairing: Neuvillette x fem!Reader
Content: Fem!Reader; Dom!Reader; Sub!Neuvillette; established relationship; begging; handjob; Overstimulation; Teasing; unprotected sex; vaginal penetration; creampie; Praise; multiple orgasms; not proofread yet
Word count: 1,5k words
Requested by: @seipaws
Hope you enjoy!<3
It was a privilege, being the only person in the world that was able to see the face of the Iudex morph and twist in pleasure. Hearing the sounds that are currently leaving him sent shivers down your spine and a smile to your face.
"You look so beautiful, Neuvi~", you coo at him, keeping the strokes of your hand on his cock nice and slow. The pace was killing him, a frustrated groan escaping him as he tried to buck his hips into your hand. But that only made your grip on him tighten more, not allowing him the added friction.
"Noo! P-Please!", Neuvillette's back arched, desperately thrusting his hips into the air repeatedly. He needed more.. needed to feel you. He could feel his climax approaching, yet you were so cruel to rip it away from him. A single tear ran down his cheek as desperation was starting to take over him.
"Aww, my poor darling.", your free hand reaches out to gently wipe away the tear that had escaped him. Your other hand was still tightly gripping his hard cock, drops of precum running down his shaft and over your hand.
You couldn't help but admire the image displayed in front of you. The Iudex of Fontaine, the most beautiful man you've ever laid your eyes upon, splayed out on your bed, his face half burried into the pillow underneath him, expression morphed into one of pure pleasure. It was the most obscene and simultaniously the prettiest thing you've ever laid your eyes upon.
"Tell me what you want, darling.", you coax him along, getting him to use his words, to tell you what he desires so that you could fulfill that for him.
Neuvillette groans more, but when you still show no signs of moving your hand, he frees his face from the pillow, facing you again, his expression showing just how desperate he truly was.
"P-Please.. touch me... more! I want more!", he cried out, not at all above begging for it anymore. If that's what you wanted in order to pleasure him, then he would gladly give it to you.
"Good job.", you smile at his words, then begin to stroke his cock again, nice and slow. Instantly, pleasure began to burn inside him, like a fire running through his entire body.
His sharp nails digging into the bedsheets as he thrusts his hips into your grip again, and this time, you let it happen. His moans continue to grow louder and louder as he humps your hand, his pace increasing with every thrust. Neuvillette's eyes are closed at this point, so focused on chasing his high, that your next words caught him off guard.
"You're so beautiful like this, Neuvi. I love seeing you get so desperate.", you whisper to him, his eyes snapping open and his hips stilling for a moment as he looks at you in shock, like he doesn't or couldn't believe the words that left your lips.
But you just smile at him and pick up the pace of your hand, stroking him at the exact same pace that his hips were humping your hand just moments ago.
"Aaghn! Yes..Yes! P-Please.. s-so c-close! Ahh!", he moaned again, the arch of his back almost looking painful at this point, but you kept going. Your strokes now quick and fast on his throbbing dick.
Moments later, his eyes snapped open again, his breathing coming out in short, erratic breaths. "C-cumming... 'm cumming!", he warned you, but already, as the words were spoken, his cock throbbed in your hand, shooting out ropes of cum onto your hand and his stomach.
You kept stroking him through his orgams, Neuvillette's moans reaching new hights in sound. It really was like music to your ears. All the while, you kept praising him through his climax until his cock was spent, and the last of his cum covered your hand.
As he was laying there on his back, breathing heavily, his eyes glaced over with lust and pleasure, you couldn't hold back your own desires any longer.
Quickly standing up, you undressed yourself completely before climbing on top of Neuvillette. He was still absent minded, only subconsciously realising that you were there, as his hands placed themselves on your thighs like they had a mind of their own.
With a smile, you lean down to press a gentle kiss on his neck, your bare breasts grazing over his chest in the process, your nipples brushing over his skin which sent a course of pleasure through your own veins.
When Neuvillette seemed to slowly come back into reality, that was when you began to grind your bare pussy against his cock, which quickly snapped his eyes open again, turning his head to you in a shocked expression.
"A-Again? But.. but I just-!", you shut him up with a passionate kiss as you continue to grind yourself against him, already feeling how he was growing hard again. A small whimper left Neuvillette, still so sensitive from the orgasm he just had.
"You can cum again for me, right?", you ask as you break the kiss. You looked so serene above him, grinding your pussy on him, that Neuvillette could only nod. Whatever it is you wanted, he would do it. And if you wanted him to cum again, then he would.
"Good~", you smile as you reach down to wrap your hand around his now hard cock, keeping it in place as you began to sink down on it. Neuvillette whimpered as the tip of his dick slipped into you, feeling how wet you already are. His hands gripped at your thighs, his nails digging into the skin, leaving marks, but you didn't mind that at all.
In one long motion, you managed to take his entire lenght, moaning out as you sat down on him, feeling his dick throb inside of you. Neuvillette on the other hand was thrashing around underneath you. Your walls clamping around him so tight felt so good, he wanted to just thrust into you repeatedly, never stopping until you both were incoherent messes. Tears were now running down his cheeks freely, he felt so good that he couldn't hold them back any longer, as well as the moans and whimpers that left him. Not that he cared for that anymore.
"You doing okay, darling?", he heard your voice from above.
"Yes, yes!", he nodded his head along to his words. "Please, move! I.. I can't.. Please, (Name)!"
How could you ever refuse him?
With a smile, you place one hand on his chest to help you balance yourself, as you then slowly raise your hips again. His cock pulling out of you, until only the tip remained inside, then you sank down on him again, soft and slow. It was just like before when you were pleasuring him with your hand, the slow pace was killing him, breaking his mind completely.
Neuvillette threw his head back, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he absentmindedly began to beg even more. "Please, faster! Please, please! I need more!"
And you complied, picking up the pace of your hips as you were riding him, getting faster and also a bit sloppier with every bounce you made on top of him. His cock was hitting all the good parts inside you, stretching you out so good that moan after silent moan was escaping you now as well as the waves of your building orgasm approaching you.
"Mhm, Neuvi.. You feel so good inside of me~", you moan out as you lean over him, once again attacking his neck with kisses. All the while, you never once stopped bouncing on his cock.
"Agh! AHH! Yes, Yes! Ohhh, oh no.. I-I'm already... AGH, so close!", Neuvillette moaned, his own hips now meeting your thrusts, making his dick hit even deeper parts inside of you, which in turn caused you to moan against his neck.
"Agghnn... c-cumming! cummigcummingcumming!", he screamed and with one final thrust up into you, his hips stilled as he came inisde you, his nails digging even deeper into the flesh of your thighs as he released his load. You felt rope after rope of his cum fill you up, and the throbbing of his cock. Quickly, you slip a hand between your bodies to rub against your sensitive clit. The extra stimulation was all that you needed and a few moments later, you felt your own orgasm crashing in over you.
You cried out as you rode the waves of euphoria, your walls clamping down on his cock even harder, rhythmically, and the feeling caused Neuvillette to groan, burrying himself even deeper within you.
It took a while for the both of you to come down from your climax again, you were both breathing heavily. Your legs were shaking from the intensity of your orgasm, and so, you simply collapsed on top of Neuvillette, his arms instantly wrapping around your figure.
His now limp dick was still inside you, but neither of you cared for that right now. Now, the only important thing was to cuddle and bask in the afterglow together...
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin smut#genshin impact smut#genshin x reader smut#genshin impact x reader smut#neuvillette x reader#neuvillette x you#neuvillette smut#neuvillette x reader smut#sub neuvillette#dom reader
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Your latest Butcher!Simon post is haunting me, specifically the contrast you drew between Simon's fantasy of Y/N bred and baking and the implied openness and sunshine with the image, and then him retreating to his "small apartment" and "old rickety cot" to go feral fucking his hand. Like.. Damn. I had to set my phone down and go make some tea to stop feeling so flustered lmao. 10/10, gold stars all around.
ALL THAT TO SAY... After they've gotten together, Simon and Y/N choosing to stay at the apartment rather than go back to their shared house because it's storming too badly, and Simon ending the evening of railing Y/N by letting her ride him until the cot breaks. :)
Okay I'm sorry but I will totally use your ask to talk about the contrast because OH MY GOD SOMEONE ACTUALLY NOTICED😭😭😭
I usually like to make a clear contrast between the reader (You) and Butcher!Simon. It's just...I like how it kinda gives you a insight into those characters y'know? While Reader's past is mostly undefined, it was implied in one of the first posts in this au that she is quite young (around 20) and is running from something or wanted to leave her past behind for whatever reason but she still managed to settle down in this strange lone town surrounded by forests and mountains, therefore I put out the image of warmth, safety, the baking/cooking and kindness, a small but nice & well kept home etc.
Then we have Ghost, the strange, older, silent town butcher who seemingly appeared from nowhere and settled here too but it couldn't be more different than you. Simon, who got dishonorably discharged from the military under the accusation of killing some soldier, was ultimately proven not guilty (but ofc he did it) but the stain was stuck to his name like glue, not to mention his growing anger management problems were steadily growing, he got into various bloody fights and when he almost (again) beat a rookie to death then he was ultimately thrown out like trash.
So we see his deeply troubled and disturbing personality shown through his,,well, everything. The butcher's shop, the tiny cold apartment above his shop where he lives in a truly spartan way, and the old rickety and squeaking bed with some old bedsheets where he goes feral and fucks his fist until he's overstimulated thinking about you and the life he desires so so much, the home and the family he so desperately craves, a place where he can belong.
#kin speaks#asks#interactions#i hope this maked sense#i fucking love lore questions#butcher!ghost#cod mw x reader#cod x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley cod
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You're the one who should live
A/N: I am going through a terrible writer's block for a post so I decided to write about one of my older brainrots. !!This will contain spoilers for lesson 38!!
MC pointing the blade at themself when they had a choice to not point it at anyone all together makes for some fun implications
Warnings: mentions of death, MC contemplating killing themself, self depricating/low self esteem on MC's part.
Summary: After the night dagger incident Lucifer decides to confront MC about their choice in pointing the blade at themself and not at him.
Lucifer x gn!MC
Since the incident with the night dagger there has been something that weighed heavily on Lucifer's mind and that is 'why did MC pointed the night dagger at themself?'. He still has the image of the blade nearly stabbing their stomach, he could still feel how their hands slipped from his, with the knife being pointed at them. Just thinking of what would have happen if Simeon was even one second later sends shivers down his spine.
He went into their room that night to sacrifice himself and give everyone a chance to severe The Ring only to end up nearly losing the one he loves the most.
And that's what brought him back into their room, a few days later after the incident. He would have loved to confront them about their choice to sacrifice themself sooner, but he wanted to give them time to get used to the ring of light. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.
Not wanting to think about it any longer he decided to knock on their door and get it over with. It was not long before MC opened the door for him. From the look on their face, they didn't expect for Lucifer to be on the other side of the door. It was rare for the avatar of pride to come into their room unannounced, especially since he would usually opt to call MC into his room.
"Lucifer, did something happen? You're not one to really come into my room out of nowhere, not that I mind anyway." MC moved away to let Lucifer enter their room and closing the door behind him.
"Is that weird for me to want to spend time with you? I don't have to always invite you over to my room to be with you." Taking a seat at the table in their room he motioned for them to take a sit right next to him. "But, I guess you are right, I do have something that I need to talk with you."
Making their way to the table, MC took a seat right next to him. Whenever Lucifer had something to talk it was never good. It didn't help that the demon's expression was unreadable, he was neither happy or mad. It was like he was waiting for something to happen, something to react to.
Both of them were on the edge, the silence was too loud and no matter how much they kept on shifting in their seats, they couldn't make themselves comfortable.
"I will get straight to the subject, why did you point the blade at yourself when I told you to use it on me?" MC's whole body went stiff at the mention of the incident.
They were not surprised that Lucifer wanted answers, after all, what they did was reckless and in his eyes, their decision was nothing more than a spur of the moment decision. It just that they weren't expecting to talk about it so soon, especially in their room. They thought they had more time to think about what to tell him.
"Do you really have to ask me why I didn't want to kill you? The same way you want to protect I want to keep you safe and stabbing you is the opposite of that." MC internally slapped themself at how nervous they sounded. They looked expectedly at Lucifer, trying to see if his expression changed somehow but all he did was close his eyes. He looked as if he was contemplating the next move.
"That's not exactly what I asked you, but I suppose the fault lies with me since I was not specific enough." Getting up from his seat he moved to stay in front of MC, towering over them. "Why did you point the blade at yourself? If all you wanted to do was to not kill me then you could have used your pact to make me stay, throw away the knife and refuse to use but instead you chose to point it at yourself, why?"
If MC could be described as something, then it would be a deer caught in headlights. The air around them was suffocating despite Lucifer doing nothing but question them. Taking a slow deep breath they begun to explain themself "I mean, I don't really know?" Lucifer only raised an eyebrow at them but didn't dare to interrupt.
"Wait no...what I meant to say is that I don't know how to explain it. I just saw you guiding my hands into stabbing you and I acted out of reflex. I didn't even realize that I nearly killed myself in the process." It was bullshit, the excuse was bullshit and they knew it, Lucifer knew and MC was sure that Lucifer knew how fake the excuse was.
They were expecting Lucifer to continue pressing them for the truth, to directly call them out on their lie but he did neither of those things. He knelt down before, taking their hands into his. His expression was no longer unreadable and it was not full of annoyance at being being lied to either. Instead he looked tired, even sad if MC paid close attention to him.
"MC, don't lie to me, especially with such a lame excuse." Sighing, he started to gently run his thumbs over MC's hands. "I remember everything that happened during the time I had amnesia. That includes the night dagger incident and the look on your face when you switch the blade from pointing in my direction to yours."
His speech was soft, no longer did he resembled the Avatar of Pride, all powerful and intimidating. He just looked like someone worried about his lover and that's because he was. His love nearly killed themself in front of him and he wanted answers on why. "That was not the face of someone acting out on pure instinct. To some extent, you planned to use the blade on yourself so I will ask you again." He took a moment to look at MC before continuing. "Why did you point the blade at yourself?" Seeing Lucifer in that state nearly made MC burst into tears. It felt just like the moment where he collapsed and woke up with no memories of them.
"You see, when Diavolo and Solomon announced that the power within me is the cause of both your amnesia and the weird happenings around the three worlds I didn't know what to make of it at first. It only got worse when they said there were only two ways of stopping it, the night dagger and the ring of light." Looking at the ring on their MC continued to talk. "No one knew where the ring was at the moment, severing the pacts wouldn't stop my powers from going wild and possibly hurting those around me and we weren't sure if the night dagger would even work."
Seeing MC starting to tense, Lucifer squeezed their hands as a way to comfort them. "So I came to the conclusion that if things went south I would simply kill myself, that way The Ring would die out with me." Hearing them talk about killing themself broke his heart but he didn't interrupt them, after all they needed to let out this burden they have been carrying.
"When Solomon told me that the dagger would only work if I would stab you with it, that's when I made up my mind to follow my plan. After all, I couldn't possibly bring myself to kill you..." Despite stopping from talking, it was clear they still had something to say.
Bringing a gloved hand to their face, Lucifer stroked their cheek. "There is more to it, am I right? It won't do you good to keep secrets like that..." He was aware that he sounded like a hypocrite but he could care less. There was something eating MC from the inside and he would not let them continue on like that.
"There is also what Solomon said l, about 'sacrificing a demon for the sake of the human world'...if that was the case wouldn't I be the better choice. Outside of feelings and only looking at ranks, I am only a human that in a few decades would be gone while you're a ruler of the underworld and Diavolo's right hand man. If someone were to die it should have been me-"
"ENOUGH!" The hand that was gently caressing their cheek was now covering their mouth. "I will not have you downplay yourself in any shape or form. You talk about 'leaving feelings aside' but you talk from a place of low self esteem." Lucifer was angry but not at them. He was furious at the way they looked down on themself and with the fact that he never noticed this side of them.
He wanted to say more but one look at MC and he could see how tired they were and honestly, he was in no good shape either. "It's getting, both of us should get some rest. We will continue this conversation another time." Getting up from the floor he extended his hand to MC.
"You're right, it's quite late and you still have to go to your room." MC tried to go and open the door for him but was stopped by the demon holding their hand. "Why should I go to my room? Didn't I say earlier? I don't always have to invite you over to my room, I can spend the night here with you too."
Putting a hand on the small of their back Lucifer started to guide towards the bed. "Besides, I would not dare to leave you alone when you're like this. You've already done so much for everyone, allow me to return the favor."
#obey me lucifer#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me x mc#obey me x reader#obey me lucifer x reader#obey me lucifer x mc#mc has a shit self esteem#but so do I#I'VE HAD THIS SCENARIO IN MY HEAD FOR MONTHS#more than an year actually#in my mind there was more anger between MC and Lucifer but soft Luci is also nice
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Some BP/HH/General asks
That mood when you want to share all the things but also want to keep it under wraps for the actual thing haha! Thanks very much anon!
As for your questions, I can't actually be specific cos there's no definitive number I have in mind for either. Basically there are a number of sectors (you can consider them their equivalent of countries - they have less than what we do though), and a number of species of demon of which I've designed about seven of. The ones I've shown before are these guys (and do you think I could find this pic again? No, I had to recreate it cos for the life of me I couldn't remember what ask I'd previously stuck it in lol):
One day when i have enough species and stuff out there I want to make a proper field guide \o/
Thank you very much for the interest! ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ I would actually love to for BP, but before I jump the gun there I have to get the comic out first lol. That being said I have made mini-games before featuring the HH versions and some other characs alas they are all lost at the moment to the sands of Flash becoming obsolete 😩
Me and Gato do still collab sometimes (and send each other Xmas presents)! °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
I have been working on one off and on for a while actually! Hopefully I'll have some pages to post next year or so*, I've been doing a bit of thumbnailing recently :D
*that is the plan but i also don't know where people find the time to do anything with a full time job lol.
Hullo! Glad you are enjoying the snippets of BP I've got here and there :D Here is an older ref on Izm back when i first got the idea (at that time i didn't really plan to do anything with it, it was just an AU. Now it's my main project haha. Anyway the ref is a little bit out of date in that regard.)
I used to have a "field guide" which was also made quite a while ago, unfortunately the death of Flash kinda killed it. Here's a screenshot of some relevant info from it though.
That's an interesting one as it's questionable how sentient souls are after removal 🤔 In my mind its only form is the smoke light, it can "see" to some degree and MIGHT be able to talk (but in a very no one can hear them sort of way, a la i have no mouth and i must scream. So i guess it can think "aloud"). The more time passes the less sentience it has.
It could try, though it wouldn't really get anywhere if it's in Rire's collection. He might just eat it lol.
.D: Good with kids, will be fine in all aspects.
Izm: The fun dad however needs a partner that knows what they're doing to ensure the child safety during shenanigans.
Marcus and Zeke: Also would be good parents though might be more helicopter out of protectiveness/worry when first starting out.
Ren: Geek parent very good for homework help. Some Asian parent tendencies eg "ah see, i told you not to do that right? Now you see what happened."
They are similar to our known society for this! So basically, there are some good families out there (eg Zeke - who is a demon - is from a pretty average loving family), and there are some bad families out there who only care about power or having an heir or whatever.
HH Rire is a human. I differentiate between him and Demon Rire because they are two different characters...even though they are also technically the same character lol. You can consider them as alternate universe iterations of a base "Rire" concept.
I actually half jested this in an old comic lol
I am sorry to inform you that a HH webcomic doesn't actually exist 😅 I did a lot of art, animations and one shots (such as the HHJ comics) with them, but nothing actually planned or serialised or anything. Whatever's currently on my DA or here is basically what exists.
Bringing this image back cos it's relevant lol.
You spelled it correct there though! XD
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The major question of the story that we are now asking:
Why, exactly, does Carlo never "wake up"?
[long post]
[Spoilers ahead]
Well, simply put - Because he is dead.
OK, that seems like too obvious an answer, but I'll elaborate, and bear with me here. I want to recap some elements first so you know where I'm coming from, but I'm also trying not to completely explain everything because that's way too hard and would be too long.
[Currently, we don't understand everything about the story or its meaning. Because of some of the shrouded nature of the lore and narrative, it leaves much mystery. But from viewing these questions and the story from a thematic standpoint, something unexpected and really cool happened. I found that the story and the lore opened up in reverse.]
The easiest way to explain the plot (in my opinion):
It was my impression that Geppetto never “started” the puppet frenzy. The puppets were NEVER breaking the grand covenant, interpretably they are protecting humans by stopping the spread of the petrification disease, it’s just that everyone in the city was infected by that point.
Now with the puppets killing everybody in a city where everyone was infected (ergo being the result of the disease) Simon can go around harvesting all that ergo and Geppetto presumably plays him by letting Simon collect the Ergo first, and then sending P to kill him. [again, these details may not be completely accurate, but bear with me here]
Why create P in the first place?
He's made in Carlo's image so to speak because Geppetto hopes that Carlo's spirit will awaken. This is also why P is never bound to the covenant (it seems that not being bound to robot laws makes puppet egos awaken faster, since awakened puppets can break the grand covenant). So that is the two functions of P, to destroy puppets for ergo to harvest and so Carlo's consciousness can restore. I was just guessing that the arm of god was enough to get Carlo to revive, and Carlo's mental spirit reviving would be helpful but not entirely necessary. But for reasons we don't understand, Carlo never does regain consciousness.
Geppetto bitterly tells us that we don't seem to have inherited Carlo's memories. There is no big moment where Pinocchio or Pino or P reawakens, fully, as Carlo. He isn’t treated by the story as him. During the course of the game, P struggles to forge his own identity, to become a real boy, despite starting as a copy of the original. It’s a very fitting parable for the genre identity of a soulslike.
However, there are other successful re-incarnations of people through puppets, namely Sophia at the end of the Rise ending. We ask, for consistency's sake, why are puppet-form Romeo and puppet-form Sophia assumed to have retained their original identities, but not Pino? This is just my personal interpretation of why Carlo just couldn't or doesn't wake up. It isn't really based any lore or deduction from story details, this is from more of a philosophical point of view. And it isn't just the luck of the draw.
I had some initial thoughts about Carlo's failure. Romeo was made with intention of continuing to fight against the disease, as it's told that he "made a deal with the devil". Sophia may have been a special case, as she is a listener (Arlecchino even refers to her as the goddess in the tower), she may have had an ergo identity so strong that her essential self could retain this process. But either way, the implication is that Pino may have been able to recover her not long after that final fight. Look at the nameless puppet. The state of Carlo's body is so poor, that more than not his body seems to have been replaced with puppet parts. I think the implication was that Geppetto had been replacing parts as they rotted away. Maybe he had simply been dead for too long. But again, this isn't exactly why I think he couldn't awaken.
Simon and Geppetto
Lies has two main antagonists, although one isn't completely revealed until the last section. Both Simon and Geppetto are the perpetrators of Krat's destruction, but for what seems like different reasons. Simon is trying to be reborn, and Geppetto is trying to revive his dead son, Carlo. Interpretably, they are both trying to become Gods. Simon by grasping the supernatural, cosmic power of one, and Geppetto by raising the dead. They have destroyed Krat in their attempt to become a god, or more succinctly put, attempting to become God, singular. Geppetto's goal is, in essence, the same as Simon's goal - Because bringing back the dead would make him God.
That's why it seemed all so confusing. Haven't Geppetto and the alchemists already raised the dead, as Pino does at the end of the Rise ending with Sophia? Sophia, Romeo, and Carlo were all afflicted with the disease. Their Ergo were all made into puppets, but there's a minor but important distinction here. Sophia is still alive in her condition and actively suffering, this is the reason why she asks us to end her life. It seems as though Romeo lost his friend to the disease, and then made a "deal with the devil" to continue fighting, this implies being made into the king of puppets. We collected Sophia's ergo while she was alive, which we then used to animate the puppet. So the three of them were afflicted with the petrification disease. Sophia perished, Romeo perished, but Carlo died.
Now if we see the sand memories section of the beach, the stalker's words start to gain some clarity. If Carlo died from an incurable disease that the stalker couldn't prevent, why is she too late? Perhaps the goal was never to "save" Carlo's life. She laments; That she was too late, NOT to "save" him, but for him to be able to be restored. The stalker seemed to understand that whatever procedure needed to be done would be useless past the point of death.
I have to admit that there was something that I thought could override my theory. It seems as though the alchemists already were able to bring back both Champion Victor and The Eldest of the BRB, and from the dead no less. We read from notes in the Grand Exhibition that Victor had caught the disease, died to the despair of his adoring fans, but then miraculously made a comeback somehow stronger than ever. But maybe - he had only appeared to be brought back from the dead to the public, as Victor sought the help of the alchemists. And when it comes to the Eldest in the coffin, I'm wondering if he was actually only mortally wounded, leading the brotherhood to consult with the alchemists. [The way he was carried out by his brothers too (shouldered on either side) isn't typically the way you would expect people would handle a dead person]
Mirroring Sophia, Romeo, and Pinocchio, who were made into puppets: There is Champion Victor, The Eldest, and Nameless Puppet. We can see the former three as Geppetto's method of "cheating" God (cheating Death), and the latter three as alchemists' method. Only "Carlo" has a form in either one - The Nameless Puppet and the player, P. The Nameless puppet appears to share a similar undead quality with Victor and The Eldest of the BRB (including the tubes). We know that the collected Ergo can animate puppets, They are puppeting around their own dead bodies.
I feel like the Nameless Puppet tells us in a poetic way that Carlo is gone. My thoughts on this are more abstract. Again, this isn't from a factual analysis, but more of from viewing the Nameless Puppet itself as a metaphor. The Nameless puppet has qualities similar to the other undead bosses, yet the game doesn't describe it like it does Victor and the Eldest. It's not a body. It is a puppet [Human on the outside, mechanical on the inside - the inverse of our protagonist]. And straight in the text, we are told this is "The Nameless Puppet". But we know who Carlo was. His name was Carlo. We split open its head, and there are only cold, mechanical parts, instead of what we in the modern world now regard as the very most essential self (the brain). Because there was nothing to recover, there is no one there. Carlo's spirit had long, long since departed the world.
We are also told through one of the game's narrative devices that the Nameless puppet was the first puppet fitted with the organ. Ostensibly, Carlo's body was being prepared for whatever procedure that needed to take place, but Carlo died before that could happen (perhaps thankfully), and Geppetto pushed forward with his plans anyway, perhaps past the point of no return.
There are two forms of revival and we represent one of them, as in, there was the puppet form of Carlo and the undead form of Carlo. Presumably, the undead form was incredibly destructive, and thus stored away; We are the second try for Carlo's rebirth, this time in the puppet form, but we cannot even wake up without the aid of Sophia.
Lies, God, and the Finality of Death
But doesn't Geppetto actually succeed in one of the endings? Simon fails to become a god, (well, presumably only because we kill him in the process of doing so) and then we confront Geppetto. If we hand over our heart, Geppetto actually does revive Carlo. We see the resurrected Carlo, but with one simple smile we realize this isn't the Carlo the game has been leading us to believe existed. This ending leaves us with distrust and unease rather than a sense of peace and resolution. Simon fails to become a god, and at the bad ending - even if he "wins" - the game makes us wonder if So does Geppetto. No matter what, Carlo could NEVER be truly, and in both senses of the word, honestly, be revived.
[Simon Manus - like Simon Magus, the biblical figure who tries to buy into the supernatural power of God. And Geppetto, of course alluding to the 1883 italian novel The Adventures of Pinocchio - a puppet master, a creator indeed, but of wooden imitations of life, and a poor imitation of God]
So, why I think Carlo could not wake up? Because whatever needed to happen could not be done after the actual point of death, and Sophia and Romeo's hearts were both transferred before they actually died. His spirit had long gone from this world. Krat has methods of eternal life, but these transfers happened while they were still alive. While the alchemists and Geppetto could certainly cheat death (as we maybe even would with modern day medicine), they could not defeat it. Carlo can no longer wake up, Carlo can never wake up again, because he is dead.
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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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In Bad Taste Part 2
"Four feet?!" The entirety of the league at the meeting is up on their feet. "Why so fast?"
"Do you have any pictures of the orb or the bodies? Were they dead," Batman asks as he pulls up the location of the League's hideout via a satellite trying to gain visual of what she was talking about.
"All but one. Why did you send Hood? I thought he was on your no go list."
"Hood's been getting better, he was the most logical one to infiltrate the League; he was already in good graces with them when Talia used the pits to bring him back. Being on my no go list made it seem like he was no longer associated with me. I have visual, why did they have the orb out in the middle of the courtyard?"
"I have some footage of the scene, they appeared to have been trying to cast some kind of spell to link the orb with other locations or maybe to expand its radius of effect. It's not completed," Zatanna places a device into a port on the table and pictures of a large magic circle surrounds the larger orb. The next few pictures were of the corpses lined up, some of the faces looking familiar to Bruce.
"So Ras is gone then, that's the man right there."
"So it appears," Zatanna agrees, switching the screen to one of the orb, with it being so big now details not seen are clear.
Superman looks at the picture closely, "Is it just me or does that look like a a bunch of stars?"
Batman says nothing as he runs the image through multiple star charting programs, "You're correct, Superman. I'm getting multiple confirmations; Perseus-Pisces, Pisces-Cetus, Ursa Major, the Centaurus Cluster, The Milky Way, Sto-Oa, Rao. It keeps going, it shows to be every star in our sky as well."
"Rao," Superman asks, looking for the familiar star by its formation. "How old is this thing?"
"We should contact Hal and the lanterns to let them know. This could be one of theirs or maybe the Guardians know what it is?"
"I'm sending the message now," Batman types away at the keypad, "While we wait for them I'm going to check on Hood."
"We'll come with you," Diana says as Bruce moves the files to his personal device.
"Do as you wish. Zatanna bring in Constantine, we may need his help."
***
The Justice League have arrived at the compound just thirty minutes later and it is swarming with more assassins and goons. Talia's there giving orders, "Remember! Squad D, do not go near the artifact! Everyone else is fine to approach, I want this circle destroyed post haste!"
Batman had snuck his way into their camp and put Talia in a hold, "Why are you here, Talia?"
"Br-" Batman tightens his hold painfully, "Batman, I suppose you're here for Jason?"
"Where is he?!"
"He's safe, you don't want to see him right now. He's back to the way he was when I first found him. It's not a pretty sight."
"Fine, what's with the orb then? You didn't answer my question, I know your father is dead, why are you here?"
"Same reason you are I suppose, I'm putting a stop to father's plans for this artifact. He planned on linking it with every Lazarus Pit on the planet, he believed this to be the heart of the god who made the pits and wished to bring it back. To bad for him he didn't know what I now know; it's not just the Lazarus waters it's absorbing, it's also draining the energy from those who have died and come back via other means. It hasn't killed anyone yet, just makes them unable to move until they're removed from its radius."
Batman releases her and taps his comms, "Batman reporting in, stay away from the compound."
Superman's comms respond, "I heard, I was able to pull myself back before I couldn't move. Felt like the life of me was being drained. Zatanna and Constantine seem to be fine, Wonder Woman says it feels like hades is staring into her soul from here."
"It feels like it's looking at me," Shazam pipes in.
"Noted, fill them in on what's going on. We need some league members who haven't been resurrected before. Let Talia's men destroy the circle then we can figure out a way to get it off the planet and away from the pits."
"Well aren't you the lucky lot," Hal's voice comes in over their comms, "Calvary's here. I can get it off planet for you."
______________________________________________
And there we go, part 2 like I promised. Also you were close @victoria-has-no-secret but it's ALL of the people who've been resurrected not just the pits. mwahahaha Now to get the tag list out of the way. hope I'm doing this right... As I was typing this up, it seemed like I made the Orb sound like an SCP... hmm, thoughts for future works.
@mnemovoid @may-rbi @cugzarui @ekatkit @farmercale @blackroserelina @justwannabecat @dragonborne-writer @aikoiya @chrysanthemum9484
#danny phantom#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc#dc x dp#justice league#full ghost danny#the observants are totes dead#superman#batman#wonder woman#zatanna#green lantern#shazam#ghost king au#danny fenton#fanfiction#hey i promised#story
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Just Another Day in Hades...(Requiem of the Survivors Event React III)
Henlo again, third post time! Make sure you check out the previous parts before continuing!
->Part 1 ->
->Part 2->
Good to go? Let's finish this~
So we're back and this is final part to my react post!! It's mostly the damn image limit that kills me. Let me have 50 images per post ugh.
Anywayssss
WOMP I spelt his name wrong in another post like all the way wrong. It's bad enough Orias couldn't even remember his name lmao
I'm crying because level with me...
I read his name because of the typo as "Zaddy" instead of Zadkie
Sure. I mean I'll call him Zaddy ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )ᕗ (btw this is a different way of calling someone "Daddy" during sex)
Now you know your admin was being horny for another angel again. I am never leaving the streets at this point and Dre has his eyes on me ready to have some words.
m o v i n g o n n nn
So Orias is hyping up the angel trying to get him ready for when leviathan gets over to him. they see him from afar and have their little talk, and Zadkiel is nervous asf (as he should be) but Orias is like "you're fine :D" all while he's over there slobbering over Levi's soul again.
See. Look at him. Just confident.
Also this part I'm just gonna hurry up and paraphrase so
"Levi" walks up to Orias and the angel and after the two of them stare at each other BAM Orias tells the angels to attack "Levi" immediately.
Looks like they got him right???
W R O N G
After Orias ripped through "Levi's" chest and ate the orb, it didn't taste at all what he expected, and...it had the opposite affect of what he thought it would too.
Won't you look at that, Orias wasn't the only one who fucking came in with a failsafe key sort of speak.
SO remember back when I said Zadkiel was staring at Levi??? Well he knew who it was because it wasn't really Levi at all but an old colleague of his named Ose that was disguised by the real Levi who only half trusted Orias's note.
And as I suspected, Levi was too smart for that and if we remember that he and orias are the ones that can lie. so both parties threw everyone for a loop.
Leviathan played his cards right and he won. Foras witnessed such a thing before his eyes knowing he was probs gonna win anyway lol
And omfg how cheeky, Levi also just wanted to know what would happen if Orias swallowed the soul omg. Lol this is wild.
So in short honestly, Zadkiel gave up, seems that he was under Gabriel since he said his name as his last words and the Leviathan monster pretty much swallowed everyone up. It nearly goes for Orias but Levi stops it.
Yes, even after all this bullshit, Levi sticks to his original promise that he wasn't going to do anything to Orias. In fact, he even has the monster spit out a few souls for Orias to eat.
Now see here, this whole "omg being over 21 means your so old now wow" joke is tiring because no one in their 20s looks like Orias who I assume looks like a wrinkled fucking peach under there and his hair is kinda greyed out too? which I mean I've heard of that happening but come on. lol
otherwise though it comes to a conclusion that Orias was pissed off that he was tricked even though he's the one that tricked Levi in the first place
I can't either Foras. I really can't. Orias needs the timeout chair if he's gonna act like this because omg it's almost like Levi is gentle parenting him so he can act better but I mean technically none of this is a good example of gentle parenting lol
But also, Orias has a new noose on his neck and if I'm reading the room correctly, I think Levi intends on using it in it future because of how he says "your life belongs to me" and that it's not like the old one.
Orias is on a tight leash now, Levi's promise still hasn't changed, and our nobles learned more about him and us too.
CONCLUSION
So for this event I give it a 9/10. One point off because Orias is being a little brat which kinda came off to me as in his big age, he was still acting like a child.
Like yes, give him some grace because he was at that farm with Levi and had horrible stuff done to him and especially one that causes aging to where he may even die in another year or so and he's addicted to angel souls now and it makes him want more and more.
I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting to highlight something...but I'mma be honest I'm running off fumes and I haven't slept at all SO if I do remember I'll just edit it in here.
But but I hope you all enjoyed the heavy lore again, I really appreciate this that they're doing for the story because it's starting to kind of align with the main story kindish? And we get to see glimpses of how the devils are without MC around so I'm getting my piece of slice of life demon pie.
NOW though with the event done. I'm sure the next one crossing my fingers will be a Lucifer-centered one. maybe. Because they have told us before chapter updates would be every three months or so so that's a lot of waiting that I'm glad for because that means more time to beef up cards, unlock holy board stories, farm for materials. The best time for a f2p peep.
btw these advanced candies are gonna fucking be the end of me, it's almost like I need to ONLY nab those during events because they get you at the end with those.
As always appreciate you all for reading my stuff, after I sleep today I'll get back to work on those requests again T^T
byeee~ -your lovely admin ♥( ˆ⌣ ˆԅ)
#whb#what in hell is bad#whb leviathan#whb hades bois 💜#whb spoilers#whb event#whb orias#there was a lot of lore in here#team no sleep tho#zaddy come to me#lmao
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I finally watched the final episode of DFF and I can say the ending is very satisfying, except for my poor White. I thought he would be the final survivor but he died anyway (let me mourn in silence 😭).
▪️ Non was avenged for everything, if you believe death is the perfect revenge. Fluke and Top killed themselves in some way. White was killed by his lover. Phee stopped New and killed him too. Everyone killed each others and had to face Non before dying (except White because he never knew him and was innocent… Yes I still can't accept his death. 😅)
▪️ I know the ending of this episode was a bit controversial but I believe it was interesting. I like how they made us believe, at first, Phee, Jin and Tee got away from this house and carried on with their life (except Tee, but I want to talk about this after). The normalcy of Phee and Jin life seemed truly unlikely the more they talk to each other. The color was so bright, it hurt. It felt surreal. Then they went to the place where Phee brought his two lovers and after witnessing Non, he started questioning everything and it ended right here. There is no mistake. They never left and the final image is their last resting place: the house! I found this very poetic, in some way.
Now I wanna talk about each character's ending and if it was fitted with their behavior towards Non.
▪️ Fluke never did post the video and just witnessed everything and never tried to save Non. He believed himself to be innocent in some way, because he was never the one who did anything. He was just there, following the rest of the group. He was a coward and probably (I don't know if it was implied as heavily as viewers think) relieved the group had someone else to bully. His death was fitting to mee*. He wanted to act like he never saw anything, well he didn't need his eyes anymore. Why needing eyes when you want to be blind to everything that is not you. I also don't forget how much of a bully he was also to White (Have I told you how I was protective of him? 😂). He may have not been the meanest to Non but he became also like the rest of the group after Non's disappearance. I've heard a victim of bullying often becomes a bully and you can see it with Fluke.
▪️ Top was just a nasty being. He never had any ounce of kindness and I'm surprised he survived so long. I couldn't stand him. Every time I saw his smirk I got annoyed. He was an active bully against Non. He called him "Greasy" anytime he could. He lied and used him too. I also think he never really tried to cover his wrong doings. He never minded using the wit of others to save him. He never cared about ensuring their plans would work. He thought himself to be a leader but was mostly a follower. I think his death could have been worse. Something that would match his actions more.
▪️ White, my innocent poor boy who just made the mistake of loving the wrong person, he didn't deserve his death at all. He just wanted to spend time with Tee and love him. He was faithful, kind and a bit naughty but in the good way (the candy scene!). Dying by the hand of your lover… It's just sad. Tee killed him because he thought it was Non and when he realized it, it far too late. I don't like the narrative for White. He got punished for loving the wrong guy and it doesn't sit well with me. His mistake was a small one and it was also because he never had a way to know. I don't know how the writers could have saved him because it wouldn't work well in this story, but I still don't like it. I wish I could find a good ending for him that would go well with the story, but I can't imagine anything.
▪️ New died because of Phee and it was expected. As someone said here, he was a dead man walking. He had only one goal and no one to wait for him outside. His desperation was his only fuel. He wanted to avenge his brother and it didn't matter who was in the middle of this revenge. If he survived, it would have not worked. He had to die to put a final stop to this story. It's sad to believe his entire family and himself died because of a group of self-absorbed brats. He did what he had to and left with the feeling his work was done.
▪️ Now I have to talk about Phee… How the mighty have fallen. He was the previous lover and he acted like he wanted to avenge Non. His actions at the beginning of the story showed him to be the mastermind until we discovered it was New. From that moment, his actions seemed different and less pro-actives. He wanted to save Jin (which could be understandable because he was his lover… You know feelings and everything can get in the middle of a quest for truth) but why did he want to save the bullies of his past lover and even said he consider them as friends?! That's where I started to think Phee was lost. I admit he never said he wanted to act on them. He wanted the truth, while New wanted to make them pay. Phee probably would have given the info to the authorities and expected them to take the lead there.
▪️ Jin, in his hallucination, saw himself being filmed by others while he was having sex. It's a direct link to what he did to Non. He filmed him and released the clip online. He had a weird relationship with cameras. On one hand it was his hobby and on the other hand it was also a "weapon" he used to express his jealousy towards Non. He had a crush on him and he wanted him but instead Non was with Keng. He was jealous and felt betrayed (even though he never did anything to make his feelings really known by Non) and he wanted to hurt him the way he felt he was hurt by Non. So for him to hurt his hand was the appropriate punishment. Without a hand you can't act on your "ill-feelings" and you also lose the opportunity to use it for good things anymore (such as taking pictures as a form of art).
▪️ As for Tee, it was the most fitted punishment. He couldn't deserve the happiness of being loved and in love because of his actions because he had taken Non away from being loved and in love too. Losing the reason he started to act better and rethink his life, is a true retribution. I also felt his relationship with Non was the most interesting. There was this tension between them, especially when Non ended up at the service of his Uncle. Tee was in hell and instead of trying to find a way out, he dragged Non along with him, while still thinking he had no other choice. Tee grew up in a toxic environment, but we saw he could find a way out when surrounded with the right opportunity such as his meeting with White. The fact he met White, while finding a way to help Non get away from his Uncle is proof how "good" actions can lead to even better things while "bad" actions, like making Non being the scapegoat for the broke camera, leads to worse things. To be honest, the false ending of Jin, Phee and him being away from the house, is the best punishment for his actions if the idea is to really punish him. He is alive, but he has to live with the idea of killing his love and losing his so-called friends. He then get consumed by his thoughts. Very gothic!
To finish, I would like to say I had so much fun watching this series, reading about it here and writing the longest texts in English I've ever made. Even having people commenting on them and being able to exchange was truly a delight. I liked everything. I'm a bit sad it's already the end. I hope we'll get to watch the actors in other series. I found most of them to be good. I also like how this BL breached out of the typical BL's stories (even if I still enjoy them too). I like when they try to innovate and create something different. Let's hope we'll get another one soon as entertaining and compelling as this one. Thanks for the ride.
#my thoughts#thai series#thai bl#bl drama#bl series#random thoughts#dff the series#dead friend forever the series#dead friend forever#dff spoilers#episode 12#final episode#be on cloud#It was a satisfying ending#I'm still crying over White's death 😭#I don't mind if none of the theories was right it was so much fun to imagine them#Saturday will be different without DFF
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SPOILERS FOR AVATAR: FRONTIERS OF PANDORA - TAP CON-1 AND THE SARENTU MOOT MASSACRE
I wanted to post my full thoughts about the game after i finished my first playthrough, but I can not just keep what I just learned in my head, so be forwarned; Spoilers ahead.
Let me just say that the entire TAP CON-1 quest made me feel... disgusting.
That word perfectly encapsulates how I felt the second I heard how they made the children shower in disinfectant, as if they were diseased. I felt gross, and messy and just absolutely disgusted.
And then the massacre happened and I was just... I don't know how to describe it. Like, I knew Alma was involved, but the way that it all just poured out. That she was there during the whole slaughter, how she admits to playing ignorant, how she let the children believe the lie that their families abandoned them and it just made me think of everything else she's done since knowing her.
She did nothing as the RDA barged into the moot and slaughtered the entire clan.
She did nothing as the children were literally shoved into cages like animals, shackled like prisoners and then washed and striped of everything that made them Sarentu.
She proceeds to teach them what she sought out to teach, knowing damn well the consequences of wanting her school program to work.
She did nothing as Mercer and Harding trained/abused the children.
She did nothing when Mercer killed Aha'ri (which should have been the breaking point at this rate)
She left the children in cyrosleep for 16 years, not once thinking to check if they were actually alive.
She proceeds to keep her secret, and even expresses confirmation in an audio log that "they made the right choice" when bringing up how the Sarentu children are adjusting to the resistance. Basically implying that she's glad her teachings worked.
She tells Ri'nela that the Kame'tire can't be trusted, alienating the clan that she indirectly ruined with her ambitions.
And when she's finally figured out and Alma's Avatar is killed, she laments about never experiencing Pandora freely anymore, as if she expects Ri'nela and MC to lament with her.
After the whole funeral, I began rummaging it around in my head, and in the end, I concluded that the death of Alma's avatar and her actions are in direct parallel to Jake's.
Jake wanted to be part of the Na'vi because he got to actually connect with it's culture and worked to become a part of it. And when he screwed up, he worked to earn the Omaticaya's forgiveness, eventually becoming a true Na'vi.
Alma pretty much already saw herself as part of the Na'vi, despite barely doing anything. When Nor happily shows them the Sarentu knife and then laments how it was kept as a trophy and Alma said it was back with "us", like she was implying herself as part of the Sarentu. And she did very little if nothing at all to amend her mistakes, instead opting to play the victim here.
I also thought about Grace here, and her own sins with her own school. But the difference there is that she actually worked to make a friendship with the Omaticaya before taking in students. And her school was out in the forest, made from wood and full of life and learning. Alma's school was indoors inside metal walls, cut off from the outside world and they were taught one-sided knowledge that boosted the RDA's image and tarnished the Na'vi's.
And then Grace's School failed, she to seemed to loose herself to her avatar, preferring her avatar body to her human,, but she never once tried to cover up her mistakes. And she tried to make things work.
Alma did nothing but cover up the truth until it couldn't be hidden anymore.
In the end, the fact that just one quest could make me feel like this and have me think about all this really shows that the story works.
So it's gameplay is a little too simular to Far Cry. Who cares? So long as the story has me feeling complex emotions like this, I will play it.
Even if the glitches get a little annoying, I still enjoy every bit of this game.
And I will post my full thoughts on the game once I've finished it.
Anyway, thanks for putting up with my train wreck of thoughts!
#avatar frontiers of pandora#alma cortez#the ambassador program#the sarentu#jake sully#grace augustine#mini rant#just... wow
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I over analysed the new TBOC Teaser and Sneak Peek
There's so much to cover here, and I'm so happy right now because of all the content we've gotten today! I'm going to focus the analysis on the new things we see in the teaser and trailer since many of the things shown today have already been discussed on here many times.
So please grab yourself a cup of tea or your morning coffee and bear with me through this post. It might be a little long, but I'd love to hear your takes on my timeline theory at the end. ♡
The Teaser
I'm starting with the teaser because that's what I got to see first.
Firstly, we see in the below photo that Daryl has finally gotten himself some arrows, which means we're finally going to see him with a bow (excluding that one time he used a crossbow in twd:dd 01x02). These definitely don't look like crossbow bolts, which implies that this shot is pre-reunion.
I also want to break down the dialog here:
Isabell: Tell me a story
Daryl: There was this guy, he left home looking for something, and he couldn't get back.
I'm focusing on the part where he said "he couldn't get back" because he didn't say "he didn't go back" or "he didn't want to go back"; he said he couldn't; he's not there by choice.
~~~~~~
Secondly, we have this shot of Carol and her crew on a mountaintop. What stands out here is that it's not just her (on the right) and Ash (on the left); there are two other people there with them (middle).
Making notes of who these people are, here's a breakdown of what we can see about them.
There are two people.
First one: seems shorter with longer brown/black hair and wearing a beige coat.
Second one: seems taller, shorter auburn hair and wearing a black coat with a faux fur collar.
Unlike Carol and Ash, neither of them is visibly holding a weapon.
Also unlike Carol and Ash, they both seem to have bags/supplies.
They must trust each other at this moment because Carol and Ash don't seem to have their weapons drawn or their guards up.
The last three points make me think that the two in the middle might be locals from wherever they've landed in France and are helping them find their way. Additionally, to the local's guess, there's no way that the plane (image/model below) C/A flew in could have fit more than 2 people.
Beechcraft S35 Bonanza:
~~~~~~
Next, we see Carol (looking amazing as always) holding/shooting the crossbow, killing the walker we see below.
What's interesting here is that this walker is covered in moss and what looks like fungus growing out of it, which would happen to walkers who have been around water and/or in humid environments. The walker is also wearing winter clothing, which aligns with the snowy mountains in the background.
The only other place I remember seeing a walker like this, in France, was on the way to Normandy Beach, where Daryl looked over at the walker that had similar moss on it with trees growing through it; however, if I had to guess I'd say that's not relevant to the location of this new scene.
If the filming location accurately reflects the actual location of Carol/Crew, based on the surroundings and lake in the above shots, my best guess is that they are near the French Alps, somewhere around the area highlighted in red, OR the Spanish Alps highlighted in blue, since the rest of France is relatively flat and does not feature any large mountain scapes like we see in the photos.
It is also possible that these photos of Carol and Ash in the mountains are pre-France, set in the US while they were planning their departure via plane, with the only reason being that I don't think I've seen any photos of Carol or Daryl with the crossbow in France (that we know for sure were set in France). However, I'm still leaning towards it being in France because I don't see why Carol couldn't have taken the crossbow with her if they managed to take the rifle along.
Carol is later seen in a clip at Chantier Naval de la Passagère (purple mark on map), placing her right next to Daryl/Crew at Mont Saint-Michel (green mark on map).
~~~~~~
The Sneak Peek
The first thing to note with the sneak peek is that it looks like these images from the first teaser (below)...
are not at the same location as Daryl/Crew fighting in the sneak peak (below).
Another thing to note that's different is the people present with Daryl during each fight, which brings me to the next thing I've noticed.
~~~~~~
When the back of the truck is opened in the sneak peek, we see three people sitting in the back. After playing with the image a little bit, it becomes a little easier to guess who we're looking at.
To me, it appears that it's Fallou and Emile on the right, and the guy on the left resembles the man highlighted in the image below (from the first teaser).
All of this leads me to believe that somehow/somewhere, Fallou, Emile, and the ??? Man are taken by Genet and her people. This would explain Daryl's desperation during the sneak peek fight to stop Genet/Crew and get to whatever/whoever is in the back of the truck.
However, it gets a little complicated with how the timeline of these two fights relates to the below scene with Carol/Fallou/Codron.
I have two theories about how the timeline can go, but for now I'm just going to break down the one I think is the most feasible.
Firstly, we know that Fallou and Emile leave Daryl/Crew in 01x06, potentially heading back to Paris. On their way, they run into Codron, who's been badly hurt/tortured by Genet, along with Carol, who has tracked Daryl to Paris at this point.
From here, after resting, resupplying, and with the new information that Codron and Fallou gave her about Daryl's whereabouts and what he's been going through to try and get back to her, Carol leaves the Paris group and heads out to resume her search for him.
Sometime after Carol leaves Paris, the Paris group/base could have been attached, leading to Fallou, Emille, and ??? Man being captured.
This leads us to the fight we see in the sneak peek between Daryl/Crew and Genet/Crew, which results in Fallou/Emile/??? Man being rescued and joining up with Daryl and the Nest Crew again.
Here's where I think it gets interesting: Now that Fallout is back with Daryl, he tells him everything he knows about Carol, how they ran into her, how she's been looking for him, and how, right before the attack on that Paris base, she left to resume her search for him.
This would light a fire under Daryl, realising how much danger she could be in because the areas between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel are swarming with Genet's men, and Carol could very likely be unknowingly walking into an ambush that wasn't meant for her.
Knowing that Carol is somewhere between Paris and Mont Saint-Michel, Daryl can now easily track her to Maison Mere, where she happens to be trapped in a car with Ash, surrounded by walkers (image below).
This leads us to the scene from the first teaser, where we see Daryl, Fallou, Isabell,??? Man, and a few others from the Nest, are searching through what we've said appears to be Maison Mere.
In the first teaser, We see the walkers surrounding Carol's car get killed by something/someone that's not visible to us, other than the lone hand we see on the back of the windshield, which we have all agreed strongly resembles Daryl's (image below).
Leading us to our long-awaited life-changing reunion!!
Thank you so much for sticking with me and getting through this post ♡. I really hope reading it made sense like it did in my head.
I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of the above and specially on things that I've missed.
I'm so happy we'll have Caryl back in a few short months!!! Our wait is almost over ♡♡♡
#daryl dixon#carol peletier#caryl#tboc#the book of carol#caryl positivity#twd#the walking dead#my gifs#twd spoilers#spoilers#CarylArchives
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disturbing
I was writing a post and at the end I was adding tags, as I do, and I typed the singular first person pronoun, I, and a list of tags popped up as suggestions that took me the fuck out. It was so disturbing I took a screenshot.
[image ID: a list of suggested tags, screenshotted. It's titled "popular" and the list is "I want to [star emoji]ve" "i wanna lose weight" "i sell content" "i love him"]
I wanna star-emoji-ve???? Well there's some pro-ana shit for you.
I don't know if the kids these days remember this but back in Livejournal around the era of strikethrough (the '07-'09 time period is where I remember noticing it) there was a movement to censor pro-self-harm blogs, that were support groups mostly supporting one another in more and more extreme anorexic/self-destructive/eating-disordered behaviors.
This is absolutely that. And they were like "it's self-expression" and everyone else in the world was like "it is actually a toxic encouragement of self-harm" because they were like, concretely instructing one another and recruiting vulnerable people to join them in ways to literally starve to death, they were support groups for killing yourself more or less, and so those tags would occasionally get banned or delisted or removed from search or whatever, but remember this was very early in the history of such things, and there was no algorithm. But people did use the browsing of blogs' "interests" to find one another, it was a feature of how Livejournal worked, and there wasn't a lot of moderation but the deactivation or delisting of those self-harm-encouraging tags were a hotly-contested bit of debate.
And so they got more creative, and found other ways to find one another, and people starved to death or otherwise irreparably damaged their bodies and their mental health and so on. I cannot emphasize enough, this was not fiction. These were not fictional stories depicting fictional scenarios that weren't happening, these were real people posting stories and encouragement and photographs of their real selves, showing off how much damage to themselves they were doing, concretely encouraging one another to do the same. This was not fiction.
But they kept finding new ways to talk about it so it couldn't be censored.
And then LJ deleted blogs for posting about fiction instead, and we all kind of forgot about it and moved on.
Highly displeased to find that it's all alive and well on Tumblr, to the point that it's the number one suggestion when I type the fucking first-person pronoun into the tag field, and I can't opt out of seeing that. COOL.
#someone told me to report this to tumblr#but i don't know how#so i'm posting about it instead#it's not like a blog i can link to#it's their fucking automated suggestions i can't opt out of#if i type it now it doesn't come up#because i have no idea what criteria they use for this#it's clearly contextual in some way#what are they analyzing idk#what about my blog led their shitty algo to decide i'm into that#idk but it's upsetting as fuck#and here we are worrying about fictional depictions of shit omg
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I've been reading through the posts and anons regarding Bucky's characterisation in FATWS and I couldn't agree more with your responses.
I think the deep dives and theories from some of the anons on how the writing for Bucky could be spun if we really wanted to are interesting and well intentioned but when I look at what was actually presented, I finished FATWS feeling like I was supposed to view Bucky as a reformed villain who was looking for redemption and that I was supposed to root for him now that he was on the right path and making choices to atone for his sins and make right for his life of crime ---and, considering Bucky was a victim, that did not sit right with me at all. I find it hard to believe that someone could have watched Bucky's story from the beginning and not rooted for him the whole way through.
I actually found the attempts to villainise him a disgusting narrative choice.
This was not an arc about a victim healing, it was an arc about an assassin looking for redemption.
So I think that even if the attempt was to show the shadiness of the government or to portray it as Bucky's misplaced guilt being the driving force, it ultimately doesn't matter because that's not how the narrative presented it. Bucky makes a lot of statements that signify his own feelings of guilt and low sense of self worth 'the power I gave her' 'I know crazy because I am crazy' the conversation he has with Sam about why he has to be the one to talk to Zemo--and none of these statements are shot down, not even by Sam who is supposed to be our hero and experienced PTSD therapist. In fact, Sam even encourages Bucky's negative self image at points with lines like 'even him, and he's killed everyone he's ever met' (which is why I'll also argue that Sam is mischaracterised in this show too)
That's because the narrative wants us to take Bucky's guilt at face value, they want us to see this as a matter fact and something that Bucky has to redeem himself from in order to reach his goal of feeling worthy and human again. They want Bucky's guilt to be a point both he and the audience agree on.
While the narrative leaves space for us to counter its perception of Bucky and his level (or lack) of responsibility for things that The Winter Soldier did--it does nothing to counter its own assumption that Bucky should be considered complicit in the things he was forced to do by Hydra.
We are told some form of this by everyone from Zemo to Sharon to Karli to Raynor to Isaiah to even Sam.
Even when Bucky finally breaks and openly admits that he's beginning to question Steve's faith in him, there is no response to counter his lack of self belief. Neither Sam nor Raynor argue the matter.
During the one moment that the writing could have explicitly made it clear that the narrative viewed Bucky as a victim of Hydra instead of the villian he believes himself to be, we got blank space instead. They could have expanded on the scene between him and Yori and used the father of one of The Winter Soldier's targets to make the point that Bucky was a victim too but instead, we got the implication that Yori was yet another person seeing him as the same monster that Bucky believes himself to be.
So when we take the writing as it actually is, we are left with Bucky believing he is responsible for the crimes that Hydra committed using The Winter Soldier. We are left with no one countering his belief, we are in fact left with both our protagonists and antagonists equally reinforcing Bucky's guilt and self-portrayal as a reforming villain and we are left with Bucky learning that he has to pay for what 'he' did by living in service of those 'he' hurt.
That is what the narrative tells us about Bucky Barnes in FATWS. That is what the character of Bucky Barnes tells us in FATWS, that is what the other characters tell us about Bucky Barnes in FATWS--and we have nothing within the narrative of FATWS that leads us to believe otherwise.
Hello lovely! I'm not sure how I missed this post although I did have a lot of personal stuff going on a few months ago and maybe I shelved it for a time I could reply properly, so apologies for the delay!
All excellent points up there.
Back during the height of the TFATWS discourse (mostly stemming from the fact that several of us were trying to write fix-its and just couldn't make the canon make sense), one of the key points of contention was between fans who felt the narrative fell short in addressing Bucky's lack of agency and therefore lack of liability for the Winter Soldier's crimes, vs other fans who felt Steve's one line in CACW "it wasn't your fault" was enough and hence his lack of agency did not need to be raised again in TFATWS.
But you are absolutely right. The narrative frames Bucky as guilty and volatile, and it does nothing to dispose the viewers otherwise. None of the characters treat him in a way that suggests any empathy for his status as a prisoner of war, only something bordering on derision that he's been spared punishment.
Which, I think, accurately reflects how most of the MCU writers have spoken of him.
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Christopher Nolan clears up my confusions about tsctir
A while back I wrote two posts about tsctir and its writers’ witless and unworkable plan for protection that I found insultive. I received some comments from fans that made me wonder how they could ignore the most obvious facts. It sounded like self-deception or forced justification to me. I, honestly, couldn't get it out of my mind how they can't see such transparent things. I needed to know the reason behind it.
I mean;
>>> Of course, one who walks on a dangerous path would keep the existence of his loved ones a secret so as not to disrupt their peaceful lives.
>>> Of course, family is precious in all cultures and they can and will be used against you, especially if you are on bad terms. The former Duchess of Sussex and Prince Harry are solid evidence for this.
>>> Of course, throughout history, the lower class has been neglected, damaged and suffered the most.
>>> Of course, a doting person uses all his resources to assure his family is in the best condition.
>>> Of course, someone who is kidnapped, assaulted, hospitalized, and limping to dungeons cannot be considered protected.
I could go on and on, but the fans don't notice these flaws in story at all. And this was very strange and incomprehensible to me. How can hundreds of thousands of people close their eyes on something at the same time? That's how Christopher Nolan came to my aid.
His acclaimed movie The Prestige, an adaptation of the novel by Christopher Priest, is one of my favorites. The story is about the long-term feud between two magicians. Somewhere in the movie, the main character's mentor says this about spectators of magic trick:
"Now you're looking for the secret. But you won't find it because of course, you're not really looking. You don't really want to work it out. You want to be fooled."
Audiences always just want to be entertained. Having a critical view and looking for logic spoils the fun. You have to fall in the trap that the writer has prepared for you so that you can have a good time and enjoy. What is good about Christmas if children don't believe in Santa Claus?
The tsctir writers knew that the moment they declared Yoohyun as an devoted brother, the fans would only shed tears and praise him. No one questions the avoidable dangers and tortures that Yoohyun inflicts on Yoojin for almost a decade. No one thinks about him not using his recourses to protect his family. Any harm to Yoojin and the guild would never be able to restore its image but no one questions why a professional business man would ridicule Yoojin to flatter his boss instead of handling him as a threat to the future of their guild. No. It's no fun too look, think and see the truth.
Attack on Titan fans consider Eren who killed 80% of humanity and destroyed cities, a hero. Why wouldn't tsctir fans consider Yoohyun who made Yoojin's life a living hell, a devoted brother?
Writing about tsctir and getting to know the opinions of fans and trying to make sense of them was very educational for me. I guess I should read The Art of Thinking Clearly book by Rolf Dobelli again.
#the s classes that i raised#s classes that i raised#tsctir#my s class hunters#han yoojin#han yoohyun
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