Aron W.

imagineyourotp:

Imagine person A of your OTP attending person B’s funeral.

» time 1 year ago   » notes 14445
» tags #//oh well #fuck #waywardgunman 

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

mythumbhasgoneweird:

“Comin’ up!” Aron responded and took four slices of toast, started to prepare for their breakfast. Secretly, he was glad that he could do this little favor for the other of feeding him and his early morning stomach that was usually tormented by irritating beverages to start a day. While frying the toasts, he felt like he was nowhere near fully awake and decided to make some coffee for the both of them as well. Before that, washing his face with some cold water helped him keep away from any clumsiness that would lead to burning their food or anything that shouldn’t be burnt.

The breakfast was served a few minutes later, with a pot of coffee filling the room with its bittersweet scent. “Breakfast’s ready.” he called while pouring himself some coffee, “You want some coffee to go with that?”

Being waited on was something foreign in itself, even being served without a few shifty glances and hesitant replies when he placed an order at some cheap establishment hours before his trigger hands were busy with something much more sinister; he felt a touch awkward if anything, though he still hums in approval and rises to his feet to come collect what Aron had prepared-and he’d readily admit something proper to line his stomach in the morning was secretly an utter blessing despite being long since used to having nothing.

“Thanks, sunshine,” He mutters as he presses a kiss to the younger man’s forehead, leaning against the wall behind him and clutching his plate. “Some coffee would be great.”

The kiss was a nice reward. Aron smiled and gave Alzir a gentle squeeze on his upper arm and a kiss on the corner of his lips. A hint of smile warm like sunshine as he was called delighted his face as he turned to pour the other a cup of coffee. Dark brown liquid with rich scent and steaming heat, all in one blue mug matching the boy’s eye color. “Here,” He purred and passing the mug to the taller man’s hand, though didn’t let go of it even when the other had get a hold of the handle. He took a second to just quietly study Alzir’s features, eyes tracing every line of that firm face from the brows to that jawline. He could have done that for even longer, if Salvador didn’t come up to his feet and start wiggling his tail with a tongue hanging out that broad mouth of a pitbull.

"What, Sav?" Aron chuckled and bent down to rub the dog’s head, "Those are not for you and you know that." He smiled and left Alzir alone to go back to his side of the table and sat down in front of his plate.

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #mythumbhasgoneweird #waywardgunman 
» time 1 year ago   » notes 2488

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

He made a point of getting himself comfortable on the couch first and foremost, draping that coat of his across the arm of it and reclining, wrapped up in that incessant habit of drumming his foot against the floor that he never did quite make a conscious effort to kick (much like all the other unspoken habits he had up his sleeve.)

“Just two, Aron,” He answers the man’s call and folds his arms across the broad expanse of his chest. “Not much of a mornin’ person when it comes to food either, y’know.” After all, breakfast for him was usually a shot of whiskey or a cup of black coffee, and a few puffs of a cigarette.

"Comin’ up!" Aron responded and took four slices of toast, started to prepare for their breakfast. Secretly, he was glad that he could do this little favor for the other of feeding him and his early morning stomach that was usually tormented by irritating beverages to start a day. While frying the toasts, he felt like he was nowhere near fully awake and decided to make some coffee for the both of them as well. Before that, washing his face with some cold water helped him keep away from any clumsiness that would lead to burning their food or anything that shouldn’t be burnt.

The breakfast was served a few minutes later, with a pot of coffee filling the room with its bittersweet scent. “Breakfast’s ready.” he called while pouring himself some coffee, “You want some coffee to go with that?”

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #waywardgunman 

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

And the gunman lets his arm linger there for the few breaths of silence that welled between them, puffing out another stream of smoke and letting the ashes at the end of his cigarette splinter and crumble away to join the smoked silver pile gathering in the ash tray.

“French toast,” He reiterates as he straightens up and stubs out the withering smoke once and for all, another of his pensive smiles laced upon his lips and gathering his coat over his shoulder. “Sounds good to me, sunshine. I sure ain’t a fussy eater-anythin’s fine with me.” He ruffles up the younger man’s hair as he goes sauntering back through to the other’s apartment, stretching his muscles out of their somnolence with a rumbling yawn.

He stayed out for a while longer to finish his smoke, flicking the ashes off the balcony and eventually putting it off in the ash tray. The young man shivered slightly at the wind breezing by and went in the apartment with the large window closed behind him.

"Sav!" He called and the dog came, wiggling his tail in glee at his human. Aron laughed and gave the pitball’s head a nice stroke before going to the kitchen to fill the bowl with dog food. "How many slices d’you want?" He called for the other man while taking the toast and some eggs off the fridge.

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #waywardgunman 

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

And with another idle chuckle, he laces his arm around the young man’s waist as he takes another heavy drag from the smoke between his practiced fingers.  Even with the hustle and bustle down below and the grey skies drifting idly by like the smoke pirouetting and snaking away from their cigarettes, the air was peaceful, and in it’s own drowsy way, somewhat serene.

It was a faded luxury, a little luxury, a luxury that had to be taken the right way; and Alzir for one was always ready to appreciate some quiet, even if it wasn’t really, well…all that quiet.

But it was gentle, and it was intimate, his fingers drawing circles absently on Aron’s hip and the buzz of city life droning on in the background of his thoughts.

And, the sweetened hum of Aron’s voice come to steal him out of his introversion.

“Aw hell, they’ll fare just fine,” He snickers lightly, lifting his coffee coloured gaze to level with that of the student. “Nah, haven’t eaten anythin’ just yet. Woulda brought you breakfast in bed if I knew you were goin’ to be awake, sunshine.”

The arm around his waist was more than comforting, Aron consequently nuzzled closer to the other seeking for more physical connection. He giggled and writhed softly at the idle circling, rested his elbows on the fence with his hands hanging out.

Aron laughed at the idea of Alzir bringing him breakfast in bed. “It’s okay! We could go out and have something. Or I could make some pancakes for the both of us.” He stopped for a second, took a drag of the cigarette in thoughts. “French toast. I feel like having some french toast today.” He announced after exhaling the smoke, turned to look at the other in query, “Cool?”

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #waywardgunman 

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

A man with a gun on his hip and blood on his hands should never be described nor seen as soft or touchable, within reach of someone so gentle and golden round their edges with sunlight.

And yet he sits there all broad but slack angles, the curl of his hair more unruly still from his restless toss and turn from the night, and all quiet gentility under his pale skin budding to the surface; and he smiles loosely, his sleepy, half lidded eyes drifting across to catch the sight of the youth having risen from his sleep.

“Mornin’ sunshine. You sleep well?” He utters out as he tapped some splintering ashes away into their tray. He hadn’t seen fit to do away with his shirt, nor his pants for that matter, ever the reserved creature even in the lazy hours between the dying eve and sunrise. He flicks his cigarette gingerly toward the pack resting on the table with a little nod of the head, tapping his heel against the skirting board.

“Fancy a smoke?” And he couples his grumbling request with opening an arm-he sits draped around the shoulders in that black coat of his, never having taken the incentive to put it on correctly in his early morning state-and invites the younger male to come forth to him.

Aron leaned on the window frame, just watched the man with a soft smile on his face in calming quietness for a while. The environment itself wasn’t quiet, of course, with the roaming traffic of a busy urban morning, people chattering and horns honking. But he felt peaceful nonetheless.

"Mmhm." He nodded his head and hummed in response to Alzir’s question, went up to the man.

"Smokin’ in the morning." He chuckled, his voice slightly hoarse during the early hours of a day. "Your lungs’re cryin’." He said but still reached out for a cigarette to put between his lips. Aron wrapped a hand around the fire against the breeze while lighting up the smoke, took his first drag and place the lighter back onto the table.

He looked around, wasn’t exactly aiming for anything, and went to stand next to the man shoulder to shoulder. Casual cotton shirt against the heavy worn leather; bare legs covered with colorful inks under the boxer briefs next to the long dark fabric of the other’s. He let the smoke drift out between his lips, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “You eaten anythin’?”

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #waywardgunman 

The Waking Hour

wayward-gunman:

It was nothing uncommon for him.

Perching on a windowsill like a large brooding bird with a smoke between his pale fingers was about the most accurate image a man can paint, particularly with the sun creeping and peeking its head from under the dimmed horizons.

He’s always clung to a taciturn fondness for perching, for looming and brooding on places high enough to sweep his feet from the floor, for him to watch with his keen eyed gaze and his tight lipped silence, and that didn’t change even now-now that the eye of the storm was gone from sight.

Sunshine was probably dozing still under the covers, or at least so Alzir had presumed after peeling himself from the cloying whiteness draped atop the two of them.

He almost chuckles, for no reason he can at first validate, and takes another short drag of his cigarette.

All was quiet.

Aron wasn’t exactly that kind of person who could ‘sleep like a baby’. It seemed as if his mind was never quiet and never rest. He dreamed in his sleep, with colors and lines and all the fantasy. He often awoke at night, reached for his sketchbook to jot down whatever kind of inspiration he grasped in his busy subconscious. And sometimes it was Salvador who woke him up by chasing a squirrel in his canine dreams and incidentally kicked and squirmed in Aron’s arms. But last night he slept through the night.

When he did wake up, he was even slight confused as to the fact that it was morning already. Time pasted fast in a good night sleep. While that wasn’t the only uncommon thing for him this morning. Aron sprung up in bed at the absence of his dog, and then the man size dent on the other side of the bed brought back the memory. He reached out, and the mattress was still warm.

He got up to the living room and found the other man on the balcony.

"Mornin’." He opened the french window, greeted with a dreamy smile.

» time 1 year ago   » notes 12
» tags #waywardgunman #//well that took me a while lol 

//I wanna resurrect this character before I figure out what I wanna do with Amadeus but I don’t know how. Weeeelp.

» time 1 year ago
» tags #ooc whining 
» time 1 year ago   » notes 8
» tags #art #queue #submission