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ecad( if you happen to have noticed anything off about him recently, no, you most certainly have not.
he's never claimed to understand much about plant cycles, just that they always seem to come about at the most inconvenient of times, and have gotten increasingly more uncomfortable over the last few years. decade, maybe, but he hasn't been paying that close attention, because at the end of it all it's just one giant inconvenience and he would really rather not have to deal with them in the first place.
but he can always tell when it's coming, because it isn't exactly subtle and generally doesn't leave him with a whole lot of wiggle room to prepare; it begins with an altogether restlessness that overshadows his general skittishness, something that could easily be overlooked or blamed on something else. an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he can never manage to scratch well enough, figuratively speaking, and that's before the low-grade fever sets in. chills and all! because it can't just be a tip of his temperature in the wrong direction, no, because nothing has ever and will never be easy for him, if his track record in all things life are anything to go by. flushed cheeks and the tips of his ears and chills that are more annoying than anything else, but at least that's less embarrassing than the nesting instinct.
which … unfortunately for him is where he's at right now, because he can never have anything nice, but at least … they'd been able to stop at an actual inn, able to afford that sort of thing for a night or two, and if he's lucky? ha?? this whole nonsense will be over before they have to pick up and carry on again.
the only problem with that is that he isn't the only occupant of the room he's currently holed up in. wolfwood had only gone out in search of a new pack of smokes, he'll probably be back any freaking minute, and what is he going to find when he crosses that threshold again? one ( 1 ) humanoid typhoon curled up in the middle of the singular bed, buried beneath what linens he could find — of which there weren't many, because there never are — shivering and hugging his knees and praying to whatever god that is still around to listen that he could just get it over with already.
how many are there going to be this time, hm? )
he's never claimed to understand much about plant cycles, just that they always seem to come about at the most inconvenient of times, and have gotten increasingly more uncomfortable over the last few years. decade, maybe, but he hasn't been paying that close attention, because at the end of it all it's just one giant inconvenience and he would really rather not have to deal with them in the first place.
but he can always tell when it's coming, because it isn't exactly subtle and generally doesn't leave him with a whole lot of wiggle room to prepare; it begins with an altogether restlessness that overshadows his general skittishness, something that could easily be overlooked or blamed on something else. an itch beneath the surface of his skin that he can never manage to scratch well enough, figuratively speaking, and that's before the low-grade fever sets in. chills and all! because it can't just be a tip of his temperature in the wrong direction, no, because nothing has ever and will never be easy for him, if his track record in all things life are anything to go by. flushed cheeks and the tips of his ears and chills that are more annoying than anything else, but at least that's less embarrassing than the nesting instinct.
which … unfortunately for him is where he's at right now, because he can never have anything nice, but at least … they'd been able to stop at an actual inn, able to afford that sort of thing for a night or two, and if he's lucky? ha?? this whole nonsense will be over before they have to pick up and carry on again.
the only problem with that is that he isn't the only occupant of the room he's currently holed up in. wolfwood had only gone out in search of a new pack of smokes, he'll probably be back any freaking minute, and what is he going to find when he crosses that threshold again? one ( 1 ) humanoid typhoon curled up in the middle of the singular bed, buried beneath what linens he could find — of which there weren't many, because there never are — shivering and hugging his knees and praying to whatever god that is still around to listen that he could just get it over with already.
how many are there going to be this time, hm? )
never got this one EITHER but yeah lemme wrap up a few thoughts on vash's end and that's all, folks
Date: 2025-03-25 09:13 pm (UTC)don't be afraid to use your words, vash. never be afraid to ask for something, even if it's help.
he's pretty sure rem had never meant that in terms of asking for something like this, but that's neither here nor there.
they'll pretend it never happened, and things will go back to normal as best they can; he'll wash the scent of the other man from his skin and dispose of the evidence that lies in pastel shades and delicate shells in the mess of his own making, and maybe chiefmost of all he'll try to forget what it felt like to be wanted. for however short a time it had actually been.
if wolfwood had actually wanted to stay, he would have. that's all there is to it. they'll keep pressing forward and fighting when and where they need to, and vash will at least try to do him the favor of not offering those small, sidelong smiles that were never too few or far between, if only so wolfwood doesn't have to go out of his way to actively ignore them.
he tries to convince himself that one thing, above everything else is the most certain: he'll never let anyone see him like this again. he's fine enduring it alone. )