One thing I love about self shipping is your friends. They say and gush about how much they love this character, showing how much they adore them. And then you go >:3c
And tease them about it!
Giving them imagines with their F/O to make em all flustered and giddy
And then they turn around and do it to you! And now YOU'RE the one who's flustered!! So you get em back!! And it's one big cycle and it's awesome
I love fluttering my friends sjfhekdhje (and then I get flustered back and I scream)
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++ @ofpowr asked ; ❛ abrupt . kiss my muse out of the blue .
dust settles around him, sifts through the air in too-calm waves as sky blue eyes snap open and his breath hits him in a wall. distantly, the stampede can still hear the rush of flame and heat over him - distantly he can still hear the shout of his name as they're separated by a column of fire. the world spins as jaw works and vash pushes himself into a sitting position, not noticing the way the ground shifts beneath him or the way his mouth runs dry - dust and grime clinging to him as the silence drapes itself over the stampede.
the only sound is his own heart pounding in his head, the blood rushing in his ears and breath coming in shallow gasps. he looks down, hands shaking as crimson ichor stains his skin and mechanical components alike. the metallic taste on vash's tongue does nothing to stop the panic that sets in, then.
he said to run.
why didn't he run?
"nicholas--" the name is gasped on ragged voice, the stampede tripping over himself as he stumbles to his feet and stands there atop a pile of rubble - a single remaining point amongst the ruin and chaos; alone, always always alone. it caught up to him again, it caught up to everyone vash has ever laid eyes on and thought that he might like to hold close. he doesn't learn. he never learns. why doesn't he ever learn?
dark eyes look to him, barely disguised panic in his expression beneath those glasses before the undertaker looks back to the latest criminal intent on gaining from vash's faux crimes. gaze lingers on wolfwood for a second too long, words on the tip of his tongue before colour splits open in his vision and the world goes dark all in one breath.
"no--no no no--" stampede is helpless to stop the pain that twists through his chest, that splinters against his ribcage and steals his breath away. fear, fear pulls him taut and plucks at his veins - at every inch of him as he stumbles blindly over the rubble. he has to be here somewhere - he has to be okay. he didn't get hit that hard - vash will find him, he'll help him - he'll dig wolfwood out of the rubble if he has to--
vash trips, almost hits the ground as he runs - voice no more than a hoarse gasp when he rights himself, gaze sharpening as the world tilts around him. he has to save wolfwood - he has to save him from this typhoon of his own creation.
footsteps. crumbling concrete.
vision snaps upward, frantic gaze searching the ruins through cracked glasses and barely formed tears that are halted in their tracks at the sight that meets him. wolfwood. grime clings to him, blood stains dark clothes and his sunglasses are broken but he's alive - he's standing and watching vash with an unreadable expression. he stares up at the undertaker - only just managing to contain the relief that washes over him. moonlight bathes wolfwood in a cool glow, sky blue gaze unable to look away as they lock eyes and vash can think of nothing to do but stand there and watch the realisation on the priest's face.
there are no words. they don't need them - never have. the shards of ice between his ribs start to thaw, the cacophony filling his skull slows to a stop as vash watches wolfwood navigate the rubble toward him. he closes the distance and vash can feel a warmth somewhere deep, deep down. "you're--" though, he doesn't get the chance to decipher it as a fist finds the collar of his jacket and lips find his own - knocking the air from aching chest.
the tension leaves him, shoulders dropping and eyes closing instinctively and without resistance as vash tilts his chin up. wolfwood's grip tightens, pulling the slighter man in further - free hand cupping the back of the stampede's head. there's a new rush that hits vash's head, now - a new feeling that coils around the base of his spine and underneath each one of nicholas' fingertips.
he gives in to it. he lets wolfwood take his breath as a hesitant hand finds the undertaker's hip... fingers slowly curling into a fist in dark shirt.
the difference between salvation and damnation starts to blur.
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happy birthday to my little darling, olive!
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Kiss prompt #2 One last kiss before I sacrifice myself/risk it all for you. Mariblanc!
He couldn't disappear. He shouldn't. Not now, not ever. Not until someone out there could save him and heal his broken heart. So she poured what little left there was into him with her last, singular breath.
She gave him her body, her heart, her soul.
"Till we meet again, mon Adrien,"
Kiss Prompt Asks - (NOW CLOSED)
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