typhoonvash

[typhoonvash]

// slight rules update (shouldn't affect anything currently, but if the series picks up again in popularity it's something that needs to be in there)

[typhoonvash]

Vash can't rule out the possibility that he could hurt himself by thinking too hard now—as much as he wants to joke about it, there's a sad truth to it that halts his tongue before he spews another mood-killing statement. He just... has to let Wolfwood take control now. He wants this—they both want this—and it's frustrating that his mind is refusing to give into the whims of the moment.

But, as nervous and tense as he is, Vash's body doesn't lie when it comes to the way he clings to Wolfwood with each kiss and he can't stop the bubbling of giggles that crop up when they have to make a pitstop.

Wolfwood's alive. They're alive. Together.

Every argument dissolves into a fizzy afterthought when his back hits the cushion of their nest. The carefully selected mattress—nevermind how many times Vash had to try to remember if Wolfwood preferred a firm mattress to one with squish—and the bedding that he'd spent too long flipping on which patterns and colors he wanted (only to settle on a solid dark red comforter with dark gray sheets) cradle him when Wolfwood's arms do not anymore. He can't help it as he bashfully grasps a corner of the bedding and wraps it over a majority of his face, only leaving a single luminous eye to peek and take in all the glory of Wolfwood's form.

"You're lookin' at me funny," Vash says dumbly, as if he can't believe it. Which part he can't believe more—the fact that Wolfwood is here and looking at him or the way that he's looking at him—he's not sure. His face is burning bright behind the cover of the comforter, his dark hair only bringing the color of his cheeks out even more.

With the kiss to his knee, Vash stretches his leg to caress Wolfwood's face as a reward. His body disagrees with the action, as a shot of pain to his hip attempts to stop him from flexing his limbs in such a ridiculous way, but he doesn't let it show. That same leg trails down his partner's side and curls around his lower back, weakly pulling the man forward. Closer. He wants his hips closer. Vash's biology only continues to reveal just how strong his desire is as tendrils reach out with intent to bring Wolfwood inside (and, perhaps, to never let go).

He reaches out with his one arm, wanting Wolfwood to come back down for kisses. The comforter remains partially on his face, loosely jostling off of it with the movement and revealing more blossom-red blush.

"Want you slow," Vash eventually requests, his hand cupping Wolfwood's cheek and pulling him down tenderly, "Don't want it to be over so soon... even if I can have you whenever I want now. I wanna look at you."

He tugs until the corner of the bedding is pinned between their foreheads and their lips are pressed against each other. Vash doesn't close his eyes, instead searching umber hues for two centuries' worth of answers.

"Does it feel like it's been two hundred years to you? O-or does it feel like you just woke up...?"

They are not as fragile as they think they are. There is a now and it is here, and that is sufficient, despite Vash’s well-intentioned line of inquiry and what it may or may not have done to bruise his pride. 

“Huh. Don’t hurt yerself thinkin’ so hard, blondie.”

He has two perfectly good hands, one which continues pleasuring Vash with regular, rounding movements with his fingers and the other that reaches to cut the flow of water. 

“‘Sides, we’ll find out what’s what, won’t we?” 

Wolfwood politely declines Vash an opportunity to respond by capturing his lips and hoisting him up by gripping around his thighs. He is still plenty hale enough to do that; carrying Vash’s weight blindly through the bathroom and navigating his way back to the bedroom proves a doable, if not somewhat clumsy endeavor between wandering hands and occasional pits stops to push Vash up against the wall and devour him one kiss at a time. They make it past the open doorway into the bedroom eventually. Their bedroom. The concept tickles in more ways than one, but the thought does not occupy the space of his mind for long as he drinks in the sight of Vash, gazing back at him with covetous violet-aqua eyes, scars, fleeting arcs of electricity and all, reclining against the soft sheets. 

When Vash decides enough is enough, biology has not left them bereft of preparation, and Wolfwood is more than happy to oblige even if Vash’s petals are not initially eager to release his fingers. 

Time seems so immaterial now, no matter how much of it they have lost to circumstance. 

Nicholas cannot track the passing seconds anymore than he can remember to breathe as he presses a kiss to the inside of Vash’s knee and relinquishes the precious little control he has left to Vash and the movement of his own hips.

[typhoonvash]

// taking a small break for my sanity

[typhoonvash]

It was... fairly obvious from the start.

Despite everything this alternative version of himself has gone though—every bitter success and miracle—none of it seemed to matter to him because...

Wolfwood is dead.

And—and it's the exact fate that Vash—Canary—wants to save his version of Wolfwood from, because he knows that the closer someone gets to him, the closer they get to disaster. To know that he's... probably... doing the right thing by keeping Wolfwood away from him almost provides him a sigh of relief, but...

"Wait, I wouldn't have—I... ugh... y-you... probably had a good reason," Canary reaches out, grabbing hold of both of his arms just below the shoulder. He's not gentle, but he's not rough—it's almost like he... well... why shouldn't he hug this version of himself? Why is the trick to showing himself some grace placing a doppelganger in front of him?

(... And placing them in a strange nightmare world with a vengeful undead priest, and... all the rest of the long list of circumstances surrounding their meeting...)

Canary pulls the other Vash into a hug, terrified but... unwilling to watch this other version of himself continue to agonize over this alone anymore.

"N-no wonder he's mad at you... you're still..." the blond huffs, clearing the back of his throat before letting out a small sob against Vash's back. He'd also be forever grieving, if he were in this Vash's shoes. Wolfwood can hate the both of them for good reason. "You wanted me to bury you in his grave, a-and he'd... heh... he'd be so mad about that, wouldn't he...?"

Mad enough to roll in his own grave, that's for certain.

Canary sniffs, backing away so he doesn't drip all over the other Vash. It's not like either of them have the luxury of spare clothes or tissues around here.

"I hate being right," he removes his glasses and wipes his eyes with the inside of his right arm, trying to laugh off another sob, "Why couldn't you have just told me he lost a bet with you, or... or something...?"

@typhoonvash

He realizes it, he knows even as Canary answers without really answering, even if Vash did want to look, it's not possible. His head may not move or his eyes may not focus, but the carnage of shattered glasses they both know is there is not to be witnessed. Isn't that awful, though? Isn't that a kind of betrayal? Denial so sharp that it cuts a memory before it can form--

The. Shape. It steals his ability to breathe before he can process what he's seeing. Does he need to breathe? The burning in his lungs insists that he must. He must. He does, nearly choking on air that suddenly smells and feels like thick smoke, then it's gone. Throat still dry, sore, it takes him more time than he wants to swallow, not that there's anything to say. There's nothing to say to anyone, there are no please to make, there are no more curses to yell at the sky.

(He's given up. Hasn't he given up? Why, then, why--)

Vash jumps at the touch, but doesn't shake it off. It's second nature, first nature, to run. To dart between, to feel a little like the buildings are moving instead of him, them, and that's the difference; he's being pulled along as much as he's simply running himself. It doesn't feel like they're successfully running away from anything, but does it ever really? Is there relief or sanctuary to be had?

He says nothing. He can't, throat still dry. The smell of smoke just a memory, but just as starling as if it'd been there. Maybe it had been, in this nowhere place, with the two of them.

Three. Maybe more, but he and his presence and his memory and the plea Vash made that went unanswered, they're all unwanted but necessary companions weighing him down. Or adding momentum.

When it all comes to an abrupt stop, it's a little like being on a planet that's suddenly stopped turning. Might as well be as much, feeling no amount of safety as they stop, as they try to remain unseen. He never could hide, not really. Not fully. He just hadn't realized it at the time...

Canary insists. He pokes. Vash can't talk to himself about it, in his own mind. He can relive it -- live out every moment of it, every little thing that went wrong, that he did wrong, that moment when... when... -- but he can't-- He can't...

He swallows and presses his hands to the wall and wills himself to catch his breath. To breathe. To think. To speak. Everything's shaky and soft to start, from the words to the rest of him. To what's left.

"He's dead." He has to stop after that. Stop and breathe again. Swallow back a sob. "I shouldn't have listened. I should have... stepped in even though he wanted to do it all himself. It wasn't my place, but I already-- So often, I already... interfered..."

But that isn't the whole of it, is it? Fingers pressed hard enough against the brick to be painful, he grounds out between rough breaths, "He saved... everyone, but I... I couldn't..." Save him.

[typhoonvash]

Nah, it's completely out of the question—it'd be impossible for Vash to hold himself back from this, even with how heavy the guilt is, and it's completely obvious that Wolfwood wants this too. Vash would prefer to make his partner feel good first, but... how can he say no to this?

"H-hey, you won't, um...."

How does he word this in the least insulting way possible?

"When we were in the cave, you were so excited that you, um," Vash's sentence is broken with a soft moan as he follows Wolfwood's curious fingers and encourages them to massage his clit softly. He can feel his body begin to wake up, every touch causing a reaction like ripples in still water. A thin tendril peeks out and flattens itself against Wolfwood's finger, providing necessary lubrication while also beginning to wind itself around the digit, clinging to his hand in a revealing manner—his body itself is warning the priest: 'Don't leave me again.' It's only a matter of time before every one of his petals begins to do the same, they'll begin to beg the man to come in, stay a while...

Even without insertion, he's finding it difficult to stand still without wobbling from one foot to the other... perhaps screwing in the shower is not the greatest idea for someone just rescued out of several years of dormancy. Maybe—as much as he loathes to admit it—he needs the bed.

... now that he thinks about it, he's not sure what the stimulation will do regarding the literal sparks he seems to be capable of. Yeah... water isn't the right idea here. Plus, even if he doesn't need to concern himself with being overly wasteful anymore, it is a waste of hot water... electricity and clean water aren't resources to simply scoff at.

Vash, satisfied with the current motion of Wolfwood's fingers, shifts his hand to the arousal pointedly pressing against his thigh. He slips his fingers around the shaft and pulls the loose skin towards himself gently, his heart fluttering at the tangible memories of being so tactile. He... really did miss it, as much as he shamed himself for it when Wolfwood was asleep.

"I... guess what I'm asking is, uh, can you do this? It'll be a real turn-off if you start throwing up and having a heart attack again. A-and if I have to resuscitate you, you're sleeping on the—in the—uh... guest room, sir."

As if Vash could possibly separate himself from Wolfwood's side now that he's here. It's enough to make him laugh immediately after saying it. He... pointedly ignores the fact that he nearly told Wolfwood to sleep on the couch. That would definitely do... something to the mood that's worse than this.

"Because, um, if I start and set the pace, I might not take it easy on you," Vash chuckles again as if punctuating his own laughter, then buries his red-hot forehead into the crook of Wolfwood's neck, planting a kiss as he lands. "I missed you... a lot. Often. A-and I'm not as fragile as you think I am. So I could, um... Well, you know. We might want to get out of the water."

“You tell me if ya really think I don’t want to,” Wolfwood huffs, leaving little for Vash to wonder about when he presses flush against Vash’s backside. Anywhere Vash might try to hide, Nicholas is there to gently discourage with a squeeze or a caress. Each scar, old and new, is for him to commit to memory, to make a map of the man he loves; every inch marred and unmarred granted an equal number of his affections. 

“Then you best set the pace.” 

It is both a warning and an offering of his own assent as he claims Vash’s mouth again, kissing slow and deep and breaking only to scent the water-warmed skin along an exposed neckline. Close enough to see the lambent violet glow shifting behind aquamarine eyes, to breathe in the scent of soap, faint florals, and geosmin. Smells both familiar and not, for all the Vash remained the same in the past two centuries, he did not pass through those years unscathed. 

The sound of the shower only barely drowns out the rumble in his throat as his hands continue downward, gently catching petals between his fingers and stroking the bud nestled at their center. 

“And I’ll do my best to follow along,” Nicholas murmurs against the fluttering of Vash’s pulse while pointedly ignoring the twitch of his own arousal.

[typhoonvash]

The cost of peace

[typhoonvash]

I can’t even begin to forgive myself, but maybe it’s not too late for you

[typhoonvash]

Me when. Me when im insane.

[typhoonvash]

// : )

[typhoonvash]

"Where there's darkness there's also light"

I was supposed to just do a quick warmup for another piece I'm working on but my brain also went "what if plant vash....."

So here we are fellas.

[typhoonvash]

"O-oh, hmm," Vash can't help the way he squirms when Wolfwood wraps himself around him—his touch is as foreign as it is familiar, and while it's been something he's missed for far, far too many years... now that it's here it's nearly overwhelming. It's... overindulgent? It makes him giddy in ways he hasn't felt in—well, he supposes he can say centuries—

"Are you sure? I mean, you—uh, you don't have to if you don't want to," the pale Plant follows Wolfwood's hands with his own where he can, apologetically sweeping after them as he internally (and unfortunately quite plainly) shames himself for every element of his appearance. He's too thin—he hasn't gotten enough sun, his body is too... alien...

(Which hasn't been an issue for Wolfwood in the past, and he continues to remind himself of this, but now that there's been two hundred years between intimate encounters, he can't help but run through ever single oddity that his body is capable of and want to hide away. This is stupid. Wolfwood's always been... eager—and yet—)

It's distracting to see—or, perhaps it'd be more apt to say feel—Wolfwood in all his nude glory... and he'd be lying to himself if Vash said he hadn't thought about this since they've separated.

"I haven't... uh," Vash stammers again, his face fully flushed from more than just shower steam, "It's... it's been a long time since I've... e-even on my own, I just didn't feel the need to... um..."

He can feel his petals twitch at the anticipation (and anxiety) of being touched.

With a deep breath, the lanky man turns within Wolfwood's grasp and wraps his own arm loosely around his waist. He shyly bends forward to place a slow, doting kiss to his partner's lips, allowing them to stay connected despite the urgent message Vash's rabbiting heartbeat sends to his mind like a signal flare to back off.

This is Wolfwood. Everything here is real—even the strange house that he'd been building during what felt like a never-ending fever dream. Wolfwood missed him too... in more ways than just emotionally, it seems.

"I'd like that a lot," he eventually sighs, relenting as he allows his body to relax against his partner. His lone hand wanders from Wolfwood's taut lower back to the front of his thigh curiously. "I missed your hands. A-and no more talking about 'afters'... I'm so tired of what happens 'after,' Nick. Just let me have this—have you."

“I meant…” 

Damn. Words. Words now more than ever are the least of what he should hold back around Vash. Wolfwood laughs at himself, rising out of the water to follow in Vash’s wake. He has the decency to wait until neither of them stand the risk of slipping on the water on the way over to the shower before enveloping Vash once more in his arms from behind. He drops his chin to the top of Vash’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck with slow kisses.

“You know what I mean, Spiky. You’re allowed to have a–” Wolfwood growls, looking for a right way to fill the gaps. The fact that the point of contention revolves around him in the first place rubs in all the wrong ways. 

“A before ‘n after. Before me. After me.”

Despite saying all this, he knows Vash won't change his mind. If after two hundred years this is how Vash the Stampede determined his time was best spent, there was no other possibility. Giving voice to his thoughts is what matters. They've each lived through too many regrets for him to continue adding more to his list. Might as well spit in the eye of second chances. 

“Here's the plan, alright? No one has to know I've found ya just yet. We take our time. A couple days, a week…” The world has no need of them right now. They have a whole house to themselves, lifetimes to make up for. He has Vash all to himself. His lower half is even being so kind as to perk up at the thought. No hiding it, not that he ever wanted Vash to doubt that desire.

“Makin’ me the end all be all,” he grumbles, a complaint that is not a complaint. Wolfwood goes from rubbing circles over Vash’s hip, reacquainting himself with scars that are in dire need of remapping.

“I can show ya how much I missed you.”

[typhoonvash]

// of course the moment i start wanting to do creative things is when brainfog from coming off of meds strikes hardest (and will only get worse)

[typhoonvash]

Vash has seen the rings on Meryl and Wolfwood's fingers, of course he has. They're hard not to notice. For a time, there was a bitter emotion tugging at his psyche whenever he thought about them, whenever Wolfwood used his left hand to touch him or Meryl put her decidedly tiny hands in his to keep. It was a tiny, tiny bitterness, however; for the most part all Vash felt was... proud. Happy?

His friends are happy together, and Vash remains humbly on the outside where he belongs.

As Vash finds himself staying in this home they've made for themselves more often though, he finds his mind yearning for that same sort of connection that the two of them have. Well, he... he thinks they're all about equal here, but he's Vash the Stampede and that comes with its own cahoot of complications.

He'll outlive them, for one. For two, well, he's an inter-dimensional enigma—a living, breathing power source that greedily devours resources meant for humans and in return provides them with...

... Nothing.

Pain, destruction, misery, perhaps. The mirror nearby reflects an image painted on wanted posters with the wrong hair color; few know of the biological change in the Humanoid Typhoon that resulted in ink-black strands that seem to bleed if he soaks in water for too long.

So now, presented with a matching golden band of his own... Vash feels unworthy. As if that were any surprise.

Blankly, he stares at Meryl, running through every possible self-deprecating rejection he can and coming up dry. He wants this too much. The light, teasing mood from earlier fades, as he finds himself feeling more insecure than he's ever felt in over a century and a half of life. Despite himself, his right hand raises in an offer for Meryl to place a ring upon a finger.

"Meryl... you know, you don't have to do this," Vash squeaks out finally, "I don't mind if it's just you and Wolfwood and I just... I'm just here. I don't know if I can... stay... in one place... and..."

His voice dies out as he silently stares at his right ring finger. A wellspring of tears begins with a trickle from the inside corners of his eyes. He offers an apologetic grin—that famously sad one he wears when he neglects his own wants—and tries to laugh off the serious tone.

"I—I don't even have a left hand, ahaha~"

When Meryl had started out, there was a plan. She made it, crafted it, worked at it so that her dreams and ambitions could be accomplished because she knew she had people who loved and supported her in her corner.

Then, those people were taken from her in what felt like the rug was being tugged out from right beneath her. She once thought she had everything and was then left, quite suddenly, with nothing.

Nothing except for the anger pulsing through her, demanding answers, but knowing they wouldn't be freely given—and certainly not without a great cost. At some point, she became lost along the way when she was consumed with her hunt for revenge, a reporter turned outlaw. Had it not been for Vash and Wolfwood to ground her, as she had done for them, it's both easy and difficult to imagine the sort of person she could have become had they not been together.

And even when it had been her for a while before finding Wolfwood again, after both of them losing Vash, there was still that hope that they would all find each other again. She just didn't think it would be going to hell and back for it to happen.

And she knows pieces of that hell have remained with all of them, in some way.

She spends a few moments breathing him in, inhaling his scent, and basking in the closeness as he holds her, his strength letting her know she can easily lean on him as he can do the same with her. Perhaps not as physically strong as both Vash and Wolfwood, but her strength comes from that iron will of hers.

Steadfast, unbent, and true.

It takes her another moment to gather her thoughts after that bruising kiss and Meryl feels more than content to shelve what she's been wanting to ask him in favour of continuing this. But, as she does, she persists and pulls back once prompted.

"I have something for you," and while she is unwilling to leave his side, even for a moment, Meryl slides off the bed and opens the first drawer of their dresser and picks up a ring hiding in between socks. It takes a matter of a few seconds, but it could have felt like lifetimes because there are times where she can barely believe that this is their life now—after the devastation, the hopelessness, the despair; nothing fought for never came without a steep cost.

"I gave Nicholas one and I had hoped to give one to you as well before but...," she knows she doesn't need to finish that sentence. "Lemme see if it fits?"

She's holding a simple golden band, similar to the one she gave Wolfwood, similar to the one she has for herself.

[typhoonvash]

❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜

⩥ @wolfwoocl (200 years AU) || short angst starters [open but slow]

❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜

Wolfwood led him to a dirty couch, of all places, so they could experience their final moments together in some degree of comfort. He didn't use his remaining energy to board the lifeboat, to lick his wounds, no, he decided the best usage of their limited time would be to watch the gray horizon with dull eyes as they take one last drink together.

On a dirty, bloody couch.

This time, Vash does manage to look at him—he stares at bloody lips as they speak without sound. His ears actively reject what he may or may not hear, instead replacing every noise with the sound of his own pulse overlaying the roar of the rescue lifeboat's engines. The inevitable hum of the Ark in the area drowns even that out.

Wolfwood looks desperate now, a pool of his own spit and blood and bile dribbling down the arm of the couch as he slumps further and further. His one good eye, a beautiful golden brown, like Heaven's rays on a sunny day, shoots Vash a pleading look. He's still speaking—that's different.

Different. Different...

Vash squints, reading Wolfwood's chapped lips instead of panicking.

'Wake up, idiot, I'm right here.'

He cocks his head, not understanding. The world around them seems to freeze—this is the part where he's supposed to bloom into a mess of too many vines, where they form a makeshift wing and he's able to fly Wolfwood and his little brother to the safety of Home using more energy than he thinks he has. Wolfwood's hand reaches out to take Vash's right hand in a too-warm embrace for a dying man. Too warm... like he's alive, like he'll survive this... whatever this is...

'... dream... —'re dreamin'... nightmare... over...'

With little more than a blink, Vash realizes he's in a bed with the covers thrown off of him. Hands bind him to the mattress, keeping him still as through he was thrashing. Sparking, violet light washes over the dark room, fighting the brightness of the moonlight. His patterns must've been freaking out something fierce...

"—W'lfw'd," he can hear himself whining, and he's not sure if it's on the bloody couch or pinned to his bed, "W'lfw'd... don't... you can't leave me... too..."

The words choke him as he cries and sniffles—even as the blood and the couch fade back to a firm, soft mattress and warm blankets. His purple markings fizzle out like a dying lightbulb, stubbornly clinging to life before fading. The indigo staining his irises remains, bold and strong and not going anywhere. His breathing stabilizes as minutes pass, then Vash finds that he's completely limp beneath the comforting strength of his partner.

Wolfwood, here in the bed that Vash had crafted for them out of grief all those years ago... warm, healthy, breathing... alive. All he can do is stare up into his soothing hot chocolate eyes, completely helpless to move.

'It was a nightmare, that's all...'

"N... n'ghtmare?" Vash croaks, his voice strained as though he'd been screaming for hours, "N-no, you... it was real. You—you were gone..."

[typhoonvash]

sinister

redraw from the blr scene haha

[typhoonvash]

&. 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  an  assortment  of  short  and  angsty  dialogue  prompts.  feel  free  to  change  and  edit  as  you  seem  fit.  )  

❛ i didn’t know where else to go. ❜

❛ i’ll never be that me again. ❜

❛ you can still be good. ❜

❛ i thought you’d be here. ❜

❛ don’t act like you know me. ❜

❛ because i care about you, okay? ❜

❛ it wasn’t supposed to end like this. ❜

❛ i was scared. i thought you had lost your way. ❜

❛ am i supposed to just let you go? ❜

❛ you deserve better than me. ❜

❛ don’t make me do this. ❜

❛ i’m not who you think i am. ❜

❛ you don’t mean that. ❜

❛ please just hold me. ❜

❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

❛ and why should i care? ❜

❛ you look awful. ❜

❛ i can’t do this without you. ❜

❛ don’t let me lose you too. ❜

❛ for what it’s worth, i really am sorry. ❜

❛ it’s not your fault. ❜

❛ i don’t know who i am anymore. ❜

❛ is this the part where you kick me out? ❜

❛ don’t we deserve to be happy? ❜

❛ promise me you’ll still be here when i wake up. ❜

❛ you can’t save everyone. ❜

❛ it was a nightmare, that’s all. ❜

❛ it’s just a scratch, don’t worry. ❜

❛ you know me better than i know myself. ❜

❛ don’t go where i can’t follow. ❜

❛ you’re better off without me. ❜

❛ we all die alone. ❜

❛ people get hurt if they get too close to me. ❜

❛ i hate what i’ve become. ❜

❛ i’m not going anywhere. ❜

❛ is there anything i can do to help? ❜

❛ i don’t even recognize you anymore. ❜

❛ who did this to you? ❜

❛ please don’t leave me. ❜

❛ oh, now you care? ❜

❛ don’t come any closer! ❜

❛ i missed you so much. ❜

❛ you don’t have to say anything. ❜

❛ do you want me to leave? ❜

❛ why are you avoiding me? ❜

❛ you could have died, you know. ❜

❛ i wish you were here. ❜

❛ you’re not alone. i’m staying right here. ❜

❛ i can be your family. ❜

❛ of course i’m here. where else would i be? ❜

❛ we just can’t seem to get it right, huh? ❜

❛ don’t look at me like that. ❜

❛ don’t push me away again. ❜

❛ this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. ❜

❛ you’re leaving already? ❜

❛ this was a mistake. ❜

❛ can’t sleep? ❜

[typhoonvash]

affectionate action prompts 

( bear ) : sender bear hugs receiver 

( back ) : sender rubs receiver’s back 

( embrace) : sender gently hugs receiver 

( hold ) : sender hugs receiver from behind 

( caress ) : sender caresses receiver’s face

( peck ) : sender kisses receiver on the cheek 

( smooch ) : sender kisses receiver on the lips 

( snuggle ) : sender pulls receiver into their lap

( warm ) : our muses cuddle together for warmth  

( bloom ) : sender gives receiver a bouquet of flowers 

( comb ) : sender runs their fingers through receiver’s hair 

( whisper ) : sender shares a secret with receiver ( specify )

( tend ) : sender looks after receiver when they’ve been hurt 

( comfort ) : sender holds receiver while they’re sad / scared 

( visit ) : our muses visit sender’s favorite place from childhood 

( snack ) : sender brings receiver their favorite food to cheer them up

( carry ) : sender carries receiver to bed when they’re too tired to walk

reverse prompts 

( bear reverse ) : receiver bear hugs sender 

( back reverse ) : receiver rubs sender’s back 

( embrace reverse ) : receiver gently hugs sender 

( hold reverse ) : receiver hugs sender from behind

( caress reverse ) : receiver caresses sender’s face 

( peck reverse ) : receiver kisses sender on the cheek

( snuggle reverse ) receiver pulls receiver into their lap 

( smooch reverse ) : receiver kisses receiver on the lips 

( whisper reverse ) : receiver shares a secret with sender 

( bloom reverse ) : receiver gives sender a bouquet of flowers

( comb reverse ) : receiver runs their fingers through sender’s hair 

( tend reverse ) : receiver looks after sender when they’ve been hurt 

( comfort reverse ) : receiver holds sender while they’re sad / scared

( visit reverse ) : our muses visit receiver’s favorite place from childhood 

( snack reverse ) : receiver brings sender their favorite food to cheer them up

( carry reverse ) : receiver carries sender to bed when they’re too tired to walk