If my body could sprak; "eat" by blythe baird // ocean voung // pinterest // ? // @ibvyache // holly warburton // @star-eaters @antidecay // @chenchenwrites on twitter // domenico fiasella // hum, hum by mary oliver
Right, the three main arguments I’m seeing for why that blob of bird shite looking homestruck dude should win over Silco are completely negatable
‘lOoK aT hiS NoSe’
Um look at SILCO’S nose?!
‘hE sMokES a PipE tHaT’s hOt’
You really have the audacity to use that as a reason when this Silco moment exists?
‘hE’s a GoOd dAd’
Silco used his dying breath to assuage his daughter’s fears, absolve her mistakes, and offer her comfort. Even though she accidentally shot him.
There is no competition, I’m sorry. I’m sure Dad Egbert is a lovely fella and all but this is a dilf competition and I cannot believe for one second that people would prefer to shag a fedora wearing piece of sidewalk gum than this.
caitvi au // royal huntress & thief ~
"they had known each other since childhood. a blacksmith's daughter and a noble's daughter. the blacksmith's family was unjustly expelled from the palace. the blacksmith's daughter became a famous thief angry at the kingdom. and the noble daughter became a royal hunter seeking to protect the honor of the family. but they will meet again".
Hello, I wrote a little drabble to accompany this; please take my humble offering:
Read on ao3, or under the read more!!
Meryl can’t sleep.
It’s not the cheap little inn in which they’ve found themselves for the night that is keeping her awake, not the creaking of the door or the echoes of whiskey-laced laughter creeping up the stairs and into her room. She’s not even bothered by the telltale sound of critters crawling over the still open window, trying to find refuge from the sandy dunes outside, like they did.
No, even with her mind still replaying the latest catastrophe they encountered on their travels through Noman’s Land, she would’ve been able to find some kind of rest; that strange gun-wielding maniac that had threatened to shoot up the entire town if they didn’t present him with the 6 million double dollar bounty without comprehending what facing said 6 million double dollar bounty would mean for him – neither of them did, truly, as they finished the day watching the gun-wielding maniac drunkenly apologise to them whilst snot was running down his face.
Meryl shivers at the recollection.
And shivers again when the reason for her current insomnia huffs against her chest and proceeds to nuzzle into her breasts. Her cheeks warm with that familiar spark of heat that she’s learned is just her body’s natural reaction to Vash’s skin on hers. Another shift of his body, thigh twitching against hers, followed by a small hiccup, almost too quiet to hear. Heat turns into concern, just as heavy a weight as his body on hers. She doesn’t hesitate, hand sliding down his back, the other one nestling in his hair. The strands are soft against the tips of her fingers as she brushes through them, like protruding feathers, almost.
Vash sighs, muscles going lax as whatever ailed him seems to evaporate. Despite the exhaustion hanging off her bones, Meryl’s lips twitch into a smile. Perhaps her body was right to keep her awake, granting her own anxious mind the solace of seeing the one person you care for so intensely finally at peace. Her fingers brush over scars, blooming over Vash’s back as if they had split his skin open to reveal his true shape. They feel coarse, but no longer make her wince as they did the first time she splayed her hands over them.
She hasn’t seen Vash this relaxed in a long time. It’s nice.
Leaning forward, she presses her lips against the crown of his head to quell the overwhelming feeling rising in her chest. It almost brings tears to her eyes; the tenderness of the gesture is not new, but rare in between fights and blood and debilitating sandstorms. Just as she’s pressed her eyes shut in another attempt to finally fall asleep, Vash’s body stirs.
He whines, low and needy, lips dragging over her skin wetly as he rouses (she’s pretty sure that’s drool). She watches as he drags his head upwards, until they’re face to face. His eyes droop down midway through, blink open again blearily in an obvious attempt to find hers. When they do, his lips squish and jut out, until they mirror the pout on her own. Meryl almost calls him cute then, if it weren’t for the deep circles underneath his eyes, belying the exhaustion resting underneath his skin.
Oh, Vash, Meryl wants to say, murmur it into that sacred space between them, your typhoon doesn’t make a halt even for you, does it? She wishes she could keep him here, keep them both here, in this shitty room above a shitty saloon, where no brothers or responsibilities or the goddamn bad lads gang can find them. She wishes they could rest, only for a moment, but longer than a single night; rest until the hop in Vash’s step stops being fake, until the weight of her gun stops feeling heavy against her conscience.
Vash huffs, a tiny little sound, brows furrowing slightly. Fuck, she just wants him to be happy.
“M’ryl?” Vash’s voice is a little too raspy, not awake enough to make sense. “Y’r like a pillow.”
It’s too much. She feels her heart burst, explode into every crevice of her body. It fills and fills and fills, flowing past the hollow of her ribs, up to her flushing skin and down her arms where hairs rise in its energy. Her fingers tighten as she yanks Vash's face closer. He yelps until he feels her lips hit his cheek, a little too forceful, a little too enthusiastic. She feels him laugh just as his cheek warms underneath her lips.
“Meryl,” he sighs sleepily, not even attempting to escape the death grip she has on him. Good, she wouldn't have let him leave either way.
They stay like this, buried in affection and warmth, nuzzling against each other. It doesn’t take Meryl long to recognise what that feeling fizzling in her chest means, but it takes the rest of the time to gather her courage to voice it.
“Vash,” she whispers, voice barely audible above the clanking of glasses from downstairs, “I love you.”
The night remains silent after those fateful words, ringing within her ears louder than it usually would. She swallows, arms tightening around him until she identifies the rhythmic movement of his chest, the calm exhaling of breath. Her lips pull into a smile, soft and sweet just as the sleeping body resting upon hers makes her feel. She’ll tell him another time, soon.
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