#!vannish

[tiefighter]

kingbolton replied to your post:kingbolton replied to your post:They don’t observe...

why are you doing this to me

"Daddy," Daggar mumbles, blankets tight around his shoulders. He doesn't need them, never will and Vannish will /never/ tire of the way Aly's shoulders relax, how the fight goes out of him in an instant. One word from the tiny android and he's on his knees in front of him, hand brushing soft curls away from a tiny forehead, smile sliding onto his face. It's water, the way he moves, fluid and gentle and loving.

A different sort of love, but he lets their son (their /son/) into bed with him and Vannish runs a diagnostic while Aly curls around him and breathes, even though he doesn't have to anymore.

[tiefighter]

kingbolton replied to your post:They don’t observe the big holidays. Vannish has...

FUCKING CRIES NO I DONT NEED THIS !!!!!!

Aly's hands shake, his fingers tight around his throat. Anger, spilling out of him in a rush and Vannish crowds him back against the table, broad hands on his narrow waist as he kisses the fear, the want, the /hatred/ out of him and chases it with something gentler but no less forceful.

"We're so fucked up," Aly mutters, hair curling heavy against his forehead, the scars splashed against his cheek warping with every word. Vannish laughs, presses his teeth against the line of his jaw and holds him there until he relaxes, until he /gives in/.

He doesn't say I love you but doesn't have to, brands it into his skin instead, pulls the wires around his heart until the alarm starts going.

[tiefighter]

aly brings his car to vannish's auto repair shop

To say his car’s a piece of shit is being polite.  The truck’s about five thosuand years old, running on fumes and the vague hope that he won’t have to buy a new one until he can afford more than just his rent, so of course it breaks down literally a hundred metres from his shitty little walk-up. He gets his crap and his dog out of the car first, carrying the great fucking idiot of an animal upstairs because he’s intimidated by the three flights and the tiny shih tzu at the top of the landing.So by the time he finally gets  to the mechanic he’s exhausted and irritable at the idea of having to shell out hundreds of dollars for his shitty truck. He’s less than patient while waiting, the woman at the front desk calling back, hair piled on her head and heavily pregnant stomach bumping the edge of the desk. She’s so tiny, looks so fragile that Aly ends up opening the door at the side of the desk for her and letting her out when she heads around to the back to shout at someone and the hour long wait has him jittery, his dog probably shitting himself all over the new apartment so when the mechanic walks out, Aly looks up ready to give the man a piece of his mind and-Stops. God, he’s hot. Blond hair, tanned skin, bright eyes that look almost all the way through him and if he wasn’t sitting down he’d have trouble keeping his legs going. “So what seems to be the problem?” He’s a little sullen and Aly clears his throat, scratching at the beard on his neck as he pushes himself up. “Truck’s guzzling fuel and dying a slow, geriatric death.” There’s a smile on his face before he can stop it, awkward and lop-sided, the mechanic giving him a weird look before he smirks.“I asked about the car.”“Ouch.” He’d be offended, but this has sort of turned his day completely around. He has no idea if the guy’s just being a jerk or joking around with him, so he shrugs and ventures a guess. “You’re not that cute I need an excuse, blondie.”He gets another smirk for that and beckoned to the back, where his car is up on stocks and rumbling away idly. Aly goes straight for his wallet but gets stopped by grease-coated fingers, the black smudges sliding up his wrist to the edge of his shirt. “It wasn’t a lot of work. You’re fine.”“You’re sure?”The mechanic steals a kiss instead, crowding him back against the car half an hour later and Aly thinks maybe he’s okay with moving to a new city, if this is the reception he’s going to get. 

[tiefighter]

He doesn't age, doesn't rot, doesn't wither. Doesn't change, which is less a blessing and often a curse, his skin replaced his bones redone and his organs reshuffled. He's fixed, he's better but he still aches like he's real, like his bones and sinew are organic and not mechanical, like he's not made of the bits and pieces of starships and put together by skilled but dying hands. He remembers when emotions made sense, when he knew (for a fact) that cyborgs didn't have them and he wishes he could go back and make sure they let him die. On the bad days.  He's not organic but he is loved on the days where Vannish turns his attention to his smile, when he holds him down and breathes him in, when he presses his face against his neck and when his heartbeat isn't lacking. When he overheats and overworks and Vannish patches the holes in him, all the holes, physical and mental if not spiritual.  He doesn't care if he has a soul anymore. Has stopped asking. Instead, he curves his palm against the cheek of the man who rebuilds him and listens to his breathing stop.

[diaavolo-blog]

[tiefighter]

mechanic vannish with his scars in red

he's had a hard life

[diaavolo-blog]

vannish's whole life.jpg

[diaavolo-blog]

it's decay, not corruption-- discovers too late just how many organs a body can have replaced before the few-and-far-between remaining bits of alive begin to shut down.

he's dying, he's dead. oops. oh well. gimme a month and i'll look right as rain.

kidneys and spleens and lungs and livers and hearts and, oh, hearts; he can still remember what that pump-pulse-pound felt like against his ribs, two months and one million years ago.

(heads, shoulders, knees and toes--)

back when he was still organic, back when he felt pain, back when hunger and exhaustion and death were prime concerns.

back in the good old days, right, major?