I'LL JUST RUN AWAY.

I'LL KEEP ON RUNNING FOR ANOTHER LIFETIME IF I HAVE TO.

[peacebringing]

SLEEPLESS NIGHTMARES NEVER END

... BUT I NEVER FORGET MY HOPE.

Vash the Stampede, as written by Livia (she/her, twenties). Has verses for 1998, Stampede & Maximum. Rules & biography (plus verses!). Currently a WIP.

[peacebringing]

Cue the wolf blowing a kiss to the gunslinger from across the bar .. ;3

“Awh Wolfy, I dihdn't thnk yhou had a fhing for 'widdle 'ole me...”

Mid-chew was when the kiss caught his focus, swirling in dizzying loops 'till it landed before his feet. Was the dizziness due to the act of Wolfwood, hunched over a dingy bartop, buttons popped and peeking skin on display, or the rapid rate in which Vash devoured his earlier-ordered appetizers? Attributing it to the latter, he gulped down his chew, coughed, beat on his chest a bit, and sauntered up to the counter, elbow knocking against the polished-but-not-nearly-enough wood with an audible owfunnybone!

“You keep doing that, these ladies'll just get jealous, you know,” throwing an arm over his eyes (and knocking his glasses askew), Vash wept. “How will they feel whenever VASH THE STAMPEDE has been rudely stolen by a fellow patron? Unless...”

Hands falling to his cheeks, a look of abject horror skated across Vash's face!

“You're... dumping me for them?! After all the time we've shared together, you'd throw me away like - like I'm a wadded-up napkin with a ketchup stain?!”

In a flash, neutrality.

“It's not fair for you to keep all the girls to yourself, you know. What if I wanted to have a good night for once? What if I wanted a pretty girl's pillow to rest my widdle weary head on?”

All chips of denial, scrapings of his soul. Perhaps, if he whittled at it enough, the reality - the touches of truth residing in every joke - wouldn't crash down on him so hard. Wouldn't smash him into smithereens, make him the next stain on this filthy floor. Yeah, Wolfwood was that kind of guy, able to charm the least likely of bedfellows with the least amount of ability. Maybe it was the suit, hugging him too precisely, too perfectly. The mystique of his gaze, the very same Vash felt drawn to, found his eyes drifting to. A swallow.

“Hey... you wanna' take up my tab for me? Pweeeese? I really, really want to drink tonight.”

[filiasiderum]

〚 ❄ 〛DESPITE HER irritation from just moments ago, Eva remained patient with the customer now before her even as he seemed to struggle with some inner conflict just looking at her menu — lips pursed out into a frown as she began to question if she had made it too complicated, although it read so clearly to herself… Anyone familiar with the town her business was set up in could understand it, but given the influx of travelers coming from much further out? Maybe she should heavily consider simplifying it…

" Anything, huh..? "

That doesn't make her job much easier, but it'd at least give the woman some creative freedom to really impress this unfamiliar face — whipping up something unique that'd surely blow him away, guaranteeing a returning customer and the money that comes with that? Eva's getting a bit ahead of herself, blinking with confusion at his request.

" Donuts… I should still have some baked goods a friend brought in recently, but no promises on if there's any donuts left over. "

The smile returned to her features as she straightened up where she stood, pulling the menu away from him to put it away on her way back to her small kitchen, but not before holding his gaze once more. A donut she could do, but that was hardly a suitable meal… Leaning back in to catch his attention, the menu tucked away underneath her arm, Eva spoke to him once more.

" So a donut and… Whatever sort of meal I can whip up for you? A donut's not gonna be enough to keep you full. "

[peacebringing]

Baked goods...? Like the perked ears of a canine, Vash's smile tilted a centimeter higher; the homey coin of phrase made his stomach rumble amidst the burst of warmth, the kind of hungry you get from returning home after a long day. Luckily, if she hadn't said anything for a whole minute more, Vash was ready to apply dewy eyes and the type of beg he'd learned from the here-and-there fuzzy companion he'd graciously gotten to see. Palm-to-palm, Vash's mouth opened with a click, to order precisely... whatever that was, and —

“No no, really, I wouldn't... couldn't possibly eat more,” something of a white lie, as Vash very well could clean out the kitchen and then-some. Still, the crowd of people knocked at his conscious, the giggles of children and clatter of utensils... they'd need all the food they could get. Besides, Vash would be in and out, and how poor of him would it be to eat their food and stumble out with only a bill paid in-full as thanks? “You're already doing so much. Normally, I... would've been tossed out by now.”

Definitely more truthful now. Hands tucked neatly on his lap, tapping some tune he heard a few towns over, Vash's smile transformed to something a bit more sheepish, a touch more withdrawn.

“So... your friend brought baked goods? That's kind of her to do. Do you both work here? I haven't seen any other servers, apart from you. Or... the cook, for that matter?”

[ofhope]

I'm just going to leave this here, and keep it here: every blog's on hiatus. I've got a bad depression ongoing that I just can't shake. I don't feel comfortable writing, I don't feel comfortable with my characterization, and existing in most social situations is just... eating me alive.

I know this is the however many-th post here made on the subject, but I just can't get comfortable here. I can't get comfortable in my own skin, nevermind anything else. I'm sorry. I can't guarantee I'll get to you fast, but I'm available to talk on discord about our ships / etc. I don't know when I'll be back. Apologies.

[peacebringing]

I want to write here sooo bad but I am physically incapable of creating a promo for here. 🥲

[peacebringing]

World's cutest man-plant.

[filiasiderum]

〚 ❄ 〛EVA HAD been well on her way to taking a break, feet tired and brain even more after a huge rush of people had come into her humble establishment — it'd been a busier day than normal, one that had both her and her gals working nonstop to entertain the masses. When the crowd had dwindled down to just a few stragglers, the woman had finally let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, body already carrying her towards the nearest seat.

That was, until her assistance was needed.

Another sigh left painted lips, albeit more irritated than the first, as she turned to look at the patron — despite the exhaustion clearly written all over her expression, Eva listened with growing curiosity, a single brow raised in interest at his clear struggle. This poor guy had ' new customer ' written all over him, from the weak smile gracing his pretty features to the way he stumbled over his words.

" No need to apologize, I get that the menu can be a bit much for newcomers. "

Offering a kind smile of her own, Eva gestured for him to follow her back over to the bar, taking her place on one side while allowing him to follow and take a seat on the other. Leaning herself against the counter, a menu soon found itself in her hands as she scanned it over, letting out a thoughtful hum before fixating her gaze on him once more.

" How about this; you tell me what you usually like to get, and I'll give you a couple of options. Sound good? "

[peacebringing]

“Oh, is that... so?”

An apology, unspoken, on his tongue. To apologize meant to consider others' similar efforts a chore, and that was... mean. In regards to Vash's own actions, he thought the opposite: to fight against unraveling any such complexity, Vash settled for... noncommittal. It was just shy of comforting, knowing he wasn't the only one puzzled by it. Leaning just so on the balls of his feet, Vash's eyes studied the same menu, the same words, the same price points over and over again, failing to put any visualization unto the ... was he even sure they were words?

“Thank you so much! Uhm...” trouble, Vash's appetizer was normally trouble, followed by an entree of lead (directed always at him, never sourced from him), polished off with an armful of apologies and a long walk elsewhere. Come to think of it, Vash can't fully recall the last meal he had time to sit down for and enjoy wholly... but he did remember one. “I like all kinds of food, really. I'm - I'm not picky at all. I eat anything! Um... do - do you guys have any...? Desserts? Donuts, specifically? I can't remember the last time I had one.”

As soon as the request fell from his lips, inklings of guilt seized his chest. Though his hopeful gaze didn't die down, Vash did tack on a it's no big deal if you don't at the tail-end, there.

[peacebringing]

I'm so so so excited to start talking Vash here and writing about his alien properties and his human ones and how --

[peacebringing]

“You... didn't have to follow me.”

The campfire illuminates the creases of a frown. The meat sits heavily in his stomach, but only one half pleasantly: Tonis likely hadn't had the same meal. Nor Rosa, nor any other lying outside the outskirts of what remains of Jeneora Rock. Folding his knees close to his chest, Vash wondered if they'd have anything to eat at all. Was partaking in a meal spitting in the face of their tragedy? — the one he wrought?

The gut-deep snores of Roberto brought Vash back, and his eyes flickered to Meryl, apology written within glistening irises.

“After, after all of that. I thought... I thought you and Roberto would head back. It would've been safer.”

They hadn't, though. Hadn't left him to deal with E.G. the Mine. Vash hadn't wanted to say it, hadn't wanted to voice it, and as soon as the inquiry abandoned his lips, he wished for nothing more than to tug it back, stomp it out like Wolfwood had his fifth cigarette of the day. He couldn't, however.

“Why?”

Chin against his dirt-speckled knees, he hadn't the -- the lack of shame to regard Meryl's eyes any longer, drawn in instead by the sputtering sparks of the fire.

@timewounded.

[peacebringing]

Frankly: Vash hadn't gone through all that life has to grant. Thus, whenever a bar has a long menu, chockful of words he hadn't seen, sentences he couldn't pronounce, his tongue felt knotted. Most taverns had two options of beverage, tinted tap and a potent beer that burned his throat, and one offering of food... sandwiches. Sandwiches were a first choice most times, Vash able to stack his ceiling-high with a pocketful of coins in spite. But... none of these names had -sub or -wich in the title.

A sluggish hand hovered just above a shoulder, one pace ahead of him -- not quite touching, not quite not, but enough to allude to his presence... cough cough, in case the hand wasn't enough.

“Ex-- excuse me,” a smile that didn't go to his ears, a smile haphazardly thrown on, tilted in all the wrong ways but innocently so, mistakenly so. “Can you... help me order? I'm sorry, I've just -- never been to a city this large before.” There were reasons for thus, but Vash needn't indulge them. “I can make out the names, but I ... don't know what they are. Or, well... I can't make out the names, and that's why I'm - sorry.”

Head ducked, Vash prepared himself to blindly ask for this, that.

“I... can probably figure it out, myself. Just thought I'd ask.”

@filiasiderum.

[peacebringing]

The air was almost too thick here. The clunk of slot facets falling into place, the shuffle of chips slid to another hand, the whoops and claps of success — a pat at his empty pockets betrayed Vash's desire to join in, a lukewarm beer filling his each and every short-lived fantasy. Escaping to the shadows was a go-to tactic of his, 'specially should he stay in the realm of sleep: how was he supposed to know his wetter-than-usual bed was a teleport into some weird... thing?!

(Was that what the guy was talking about on the way to his room? -- Conversation slipped through the yet bridged gaps in his mind, particularly whenever eyes were dancing from wall to wall, hoping the tint of his frames forbid, if only temporarily, any recognition of his all too famous ... reputation.)

“Wha-agh!”

A none too graceful trip, a stammer over his own spindly limbs. This area, while not obscured, while not lacking people, hadn't had someone right in front of him! Probably! Vash, in truth, was too focused on the passing plate of finger foods, cheeses and fruits and--oh good, Vash's sound of anguish was enough to avert their attention!

“'Ey, fanks! Been mheaning toh' try summa'this,” through a mouthful of saltines, Vash offered a hand free of crumbs. “You c'mere of'ten? This's my first time!”

There was a gulp somewhere, replaced shortly by another fistful of foods.

@finalvictor.

[peacebringing]

scratches head. I don't know the right timing for this stuff anymore, but - starter call?

[peacebringing]

The man ashes his cigarette and takes one long drag before tossing it aside, not giving an absolute damn where it would land. Look around: this entire shit show of a planet was an ashtray in case no one’s noticed!!

“Blondie,” he speaks softly, leftover smoke departing his lips as he pulls the stampede closer by the arm. Their lips were mere seconds away from being flesh on flesh, as breath meets breath. The setting was right, the mood: perfect.

Too perfect. “… Tch.” A quick, simple sound, just enough to break the wolf’s character, adding a glass shattering indifference all the same. A snicker lead to a cackle, showing no remorse to Vash’s priceless expression as this went on.

“Yeah, right. You wish, don’tcha?” Wolfwood snickered, a flirtatious wink to follow.

“Huwhah?”

Vash was recognized for a number of traits, none with a flattering lilt... a lack of grace was noted among the several, willowy legs knotting themselves in attempts to slow his own pacing... only for it to be slowed for him, in the form of a hand gripping his arm. Vash wasn't the strongest, nor the most frail, but how could one not note Nicholas D. Wolfwood's own strength? Such a confrontation was natural, having had it thrust upon him in semi-coherent oh's, and of course he is, and ow, actually. Wasn't the first time Wolfwood used action to get his point across, wouldn't be the last, but this wasn't a reprimand, a lesson taught, it was...

A thin string of smoke, breathed against his own lips. Close. Why - why this level of closeness? Was Vash's eyes fluttering due to the pungent scent of nicotine, the ow factor, or was it in competition with the flit-flit-flit of his heart? When had he last fully blinked, when had he last took a breath? -- didn't need to, but the sting of his lungs stated otherwise. Underneath a fog of smoke: a plume of oak, the sting of alcohol from hours prior. Vash had caught the scent once, detailed it in his thoughts, forgot he had: now, it had the lingering effect of familiarity. Was it normal for his thoughts to swim in such spirals?

Vash was no stranger to drunkenness, but this was of a separate category.

“Wolfwood.”

Not an inquiry: no matter the reasoning, the sensation this moment, this fleeting passage of time, held was stitched into his memory. The shadow of bags beneath his moonlight gaze, the crinkle in the corner of his eye - the chapped piece of skin on his bottom lip, the single breath Vash couldn't see, but felt. The glossy finish, a telltale of nervous biting—

... You wish, don't'cha?

Huh?

Breath punched out of his chest, Vash, veil ripped from atop his head, could at last steel his hazy eyes. A minute cock of the head, a shagging posture, his arm falling lip betwixt the pair of them...

“I wish for... what?” blink-blink-blink, glossy blown pupils and a scrunched, contemplative look. “I wish you'd give my arm back but that's about it, I think...”

What was that, actually? What had that been?

“Wait, why are you laughing—”

[pisces-amor]

[peacebringing]

A rush of buzzing sour stained his throat. Every flavor: its merits, its delights, none hated… but the following burn always caught him by surprise. Chasing this, a cough or two, a fist pounding at his chest -- was it even possible for something to “go down the wrong pipe” for him?

“I never get used to that,” Vash says, as if his actions hadn't demonstrated it. “I… thought I would've, given that this is my second glass and all.”

Bleary eyes sought out his companion's, elbow resting - then sliding - across the bar with a muffled skid. Gaze now glued onto his dampened jacket (what was here, even, condensation from his drink?), Vash dabs at the dark blotch with purpose, as if a paper napkin alone could erase the wetness. … He tried, anyway.

“Wolfwood, how do you do it?” 'it' being downing glass after glass as if it were a career path rather than a nervous habit, but Vash's expression (glossy, persistent: a genuine ask rather than flitting conversation) furthered it: how do you…? “Drink this, I mean.”

Blinking for a moment too long, Vash abandons his task for favor of finishing off his second, last. If Vash looks at his glass for too long, he can note it's gone a few days past needing a thorough wash. He opts not to think about it.

“And smoke that at the same time,” a curl of his lip; not at the act itself, but the inciting trail blaze. “Doesn't it hurt your throat…?”

In all his years, a number Vash no longer counted, a thought that tumbled his stomach, he had never once smoked. There was a rule about it, Rem said once—wasn't good for him, Knives. First time he had been exposed? Brad, hair graying at the temples, pops and clicks coming from every which device he touched, took off in a huff.

The first whiff made him choke.

Over the last few weeks, Vash has found the air easier to breathe.

“Don't you... have to inhale it?”

@crosspunisher.

[kakashi-vibes]

why am i so sexy. Everybody wants to stab me

[peacebringing]

To start!

While Scruffy Vash is, undeniably, handsome... as I've discussed with Nick, I want to play up Vash's inhumanity and lend more proof to his Plant nature. Therefore, Vash - in my own opinion - is unable to grow hair. In the earliest we saw Vash, he had his signature mop of hair. So, for lack of better phrasing, I believe this served as a "template" for him - the "preset" he was "born" with, so-to-speak. Thus is why he is so prideful over his hair and why he styles it so consistently and why it being let down during his time as Eriks is so... pivotal.

Vash not doing something with his hair was to hide, true - but also to showcase the depth of his depression, his inability to take care of something that is important to him.

Likewise why he is so against being shot in any regard, of course hand-in-hand with his disliking of pain. If something happens to his hair, that's it! It's done for! He can't grow anymore!

This is also true of his skin: he doesn't have human skin. So, whenever Vash is wounded, instead of new skin forming over the wound... it scars. It's covered with patchwork, with stitches, with metal, because Vash can't heal like anybody else. He forgets, the viewer forgets, and those around him forget: he isn't human.