An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
All Nicholas D. Wolfwood had hoped for was that his new position would involve fewer rocket launchers. So naturally, God spat in his face once more.
(In hindsight, getting hit with a car on his first day should really have tipped him off.)
Featuring stolen driver’s licences, company-mandated mindfulness diaries, illicit stargazing in the desert, the inherent eroticism of helping cover your partner’s bruises and (maybe) the answer to the age old question–
Who would win a fight between the guilt over wasted potential and the glorious self-destruction of youth?
Pairing: Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood
Modern/Urban Fantasy AU
Chapters: 1/7
It's go time, sci-fi lovers 🚀 Final Frontier closes shop TOMORROW at Midnight, CEST. Do you love Vashwood? Do you love space? We do too and made a whole zine about it ‼️
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whatever could that long orange rope be useful for? 👀 find out in 🌶️part 2🌶️ included in Final Frontier zine, preorders closing soon!!!
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Knees knock against the table. An abandoned sandal slides under the chair. Tattooed arms shoot forwards, spotting a gap in defense. Sunlight dances on wet lacquer. Years of hard-wired instinct snaps Gris into motion, grasping Enjin's wrists mid-air.
“Careful!"
Pens clatter to the ground. Acetone claws at his nose. Even through the fabric of his gloves, Enjin's skin burns red-hot to the touch.
Shit. "You were gonna smudge it, just-let me-" Slowly, he shifts his grip, easing Enjin's palms to rest atop his own. His heart thunders in his ears, traitorous blood burning bright under his skin. He nudges each wet-nailed finger at a safe distance before chancing a glance at the other.
Enjin's already staring, eyes dark with a frightening sort of intensity. It's an expression Gris knows well-from the midst of battle, split seconds from decisive action.
Before he can get a single word out, Enjin's cheek dimples with a sharp smile. Swiftly and deliberately, he nudges his hand out of Gris' hold to weave their fingers together.
"Always on the lookout." There's absolutely no need to make such a banal sentiment sound so suggestive, tone a gravelly purr. "How sweet of you."
- an excerpt from the wonderful @lwtis’s Engris fic, Varnished.
⚠️ Please read our terms in the readmore before participating!
We're giving away a FREE all-inclusive bundle of Final Frontier to a randomly-chosen winner! To enter, follow us and reply to this post with YOUR favorite sci-fi Vashwood scenario until ✨ March 15th ✨
What kind of sci-fi Vashwood scenarios, you ask? 🧐 We're not picky! Canonverse, AU setting, based on a known franchise, custom-made... Share with us what comes to your mind when you see "Vashwood and space" 🌪️🐺🌌
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The winner will receive their very own SUPERNOVA bundle for free! The all-inclusive version contains our SFW main zine, NSFW add-on zine, all merch and our double-sided standee:
GOOD LUCK EVERYONE 🌟
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All entries until March 15th, Midnight CEST will be counted! Our winner will be announced on March 16th.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Like he needed another excuse reason to fixate on Enjin’s hands. (To glance over every time he adjusts his grip on Umbreaker’s worn handle. Forget his gaze on the steering wheel. Trace the mundane motions of inked fingers lighting a cigarette, like some teenager.) Claiming the tattoos drew the eye might have been plausible during the first few months of their acquaintance. Less so half a decade down the line.
Enjin paints his nails. Gris has thoughts.
Pairing: Enjin/Gris
Chapters: 1/1
Featuring quiet pining, acetone-scented resolutions and men in cargo shorts who are not allowed opinions on fashion.
Here's a sneak peek of my Treasure Planet-inspired fic for the amazing @finalfrontierzine! It has stowaways, legends of space sirens and - most exciting of all - gorgeous illustrations by the amazingly talented @renardsruses!! ⛵️🚀🌠
Everyone has done such an incredible job - please treat yourself and check out this stunning (300 page!) project!! We're also running a giveaway until March 15th 🌟
Say hello to @marshyoftheblobs 🌈 Marshy's work blesses us with sexy men, cool creatures and many, many wings. Their Vashwood art is hard-hitting and intense, exploring their obsession for each other in various AUs.
Here's their stunning spotlight art with its matching counterpart!
Part of our SFW Artist crew: @0815bliss 🌅 Ari's art transports us to a softer, kinder tomorrow. Their work is bright and joyful, capturing the bond between Vash and Wolfwood in golden hour light.
Check out their spotlight art in full here!
Follow Ari here:
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Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential
Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all
Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done
Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?
Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.
Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart
Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.
Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?
