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wolfwood. trigun rp blog.

[wolfwoocl]

nicholas d. wolfwood of trigun | trimax | stampede

by fair | she/they | 18+

heavy trimax influences. low-activity. highly selective and private.

guidelines. art blog.

blogroll →

Trigun

@angelictyphoon, Vash the Stampede - ACTIVE @wolfwoocl, Nicholas D. Wolfwood - ACTIVE @nahashim, Knives Millions - REQUEST FF7

@wingsdreamt, Zack Fair - ACTIVE @serafim, Sephiroth - REQUEST @makoblue, Cloud Strife - REQUEST @labratdog, Nanaki - INACTIVE @strikingheaven, Tifa Lockhart - INACTIVE @villagerain, Balto (Katana) of the Turks - INACTIVE

WHA

@qifuli, Qifrey - INACTIVE @olugio, Olruggio - INACTIVE

[lovethisheart]

Sure, the Punisher is its' own jewel, and could take care of many threats, both evil and benign. But among the flash of bodies and gunfire, something's missing. Maybe the sense of relief that he'd saved fifteen men from their deaths by hanging, but at the same time, maybe guaranteed a few of theirs if they weren't quick enough.

It wasn't the feeling of him being dragged rather jerkily, as his boots skitter across the dry ground, muscles flexing him out of the way of danger, as easily as one blinks, out of the way of another hail of bullets. It's hard to think among the noises of screams and the terror of those previously imprisoned now were causing abrupt chaos. Most were running, but a few personal, physical grudges had to be cleared up, apparently. Yeowch. Who lets a prisoner have those kind of heavy duty boots on them all the time?

They're blazing out onto the burning red horizon, forty miles out of reach of that town and anyone with enough gas to catch up wouldn't risk it. It's always been uncomfortable pushing long limbs into the sidecar, and he'd rather just risk being close enough to smell the smoke rather than get into it. It would be timely though that just as that familiar cramp starts bothering him, a thought rounds back to Vash The Stampede.

Damn it, damn it damn it- "WOLFWOOD-!" Even if there was no response immediately, he must risk- while avoiding a flash of sand spraying into the compartment,screaming out at his driver. "My GUN-! WE LEFT IT-!" It was quite the keepsake for any spurned deputy- worse, if he was on a losing streak of a day already.

[wolfwoocl]

"You WHAT?!" Wolfwood yells over the roar of the engine. He might have a conniption. A real one, not just the threat of one. Grinding his teeth down to a pulp is a close second.

Vash had the entirety of the time they were scrabbling around at the sheriff's to look for his gun. Hell, maybe if he wasn't so busy stuffing seductive cotton in someone else's ears he might have remembered that he'd forgotten something important. All of which Nicholas chooses to keep to himself for once, because it's not like Vash would have had the luxury of making out anything but the curses interspersed between each word over the sound of Angelina's engine when he turns her around to rip across the dunes right back where they came from.

God.

"I'll kill you myself later." Angelina quiets to a whine as he pulls up to the carport attached to the sheriff's building. They've been gone at least an hour. There's no telling what the situation inside looks like.

For the moment it seems like some or all of the prisoners have escaped and the deputies are now licking their wounds or everyone is dead. Probably not that latter, although that would be highly convenient.

"Just be careful," he grumbles, as if he isn't going to cover the Stampede's entry and exit anyway.

[lovethisheart]

"Aw, not even a kiss out of the moment. You're a professional mood killer, too." His lips remain pursed, as if he really considered it a loss- But his eyes are already elsewhere, dimmed once more as the act has finally come to an end. It's perhaps concerning to arm-chair psychologists of their day that he could switch so quickly,from quick tongued to disillusioned and distant . Deft as ever, the keys are swinging around his fingertip before he's fully stood up. There were better to choose from, but receptivity could only be found out in the worst ways, as was his curse. But it's not a bad look on the preacher to be spurred to action once in a while. Even if it did pull apart his previous plans. When the door swings open, it's the duty of the gunslinger to haul dear sleeping Roger by his arms to a corner, where his slumped form and- with a little nudging- the tip of his shoe won't immediately be seen by whoever might come to check on him.

But now that the keys are in his hand, the consideration comes to mind of those still behind those bars. Surely, not all were in the same cell-block because they had mercy in their future. Clemency was not granted to those who were deemed worthy of death- and what was a few thousand added to that bounty of his? A flash of red dances from from door to door. clink. clink. clink.clink. Vash was back at Nicholas's side, the keys still whirling from his glove, until flung with a flick of his fingers into the grating.Shifting feet and confused voices begin to murmur,and thus, the fearless leader of the previously damned directs this newly horde of freed men with a mere pointed finger. They charge, and ...

"Exciting enough for you, Preacher?"

"You can have the next distraction. Promise." Vague for intentions. To allow the man in black be the subject of his next act, or allow for Wolfwood to put on sultry eyes for someone? Hard to say. But the plan is clear: smash and grab- even if there's chaos, no one ought to care about picking up some cross on accident.

A gun however, " Let's hurry."

[wolfwoocl]

“Time of my life,” Wolfwood drawls, unable to keep the pall of dread from dragging down the corners of his mouth. Sure, at least one of these poor fools is probably an innocent soul, but not all of them. Chaos, however unwisely gained, is incredibly advantageous when you’re a wanted man in search of a holy weapon of mass destruction.

He scans the hallways as the other escapees pour out in search of valuables and an exit sign. On each side, a series of partially cracked doors and their varying degrees of trusty, rusty security. Wolfwood squints, hoping for promising angles to beckon him in. Perhaps the gun locker? No, they’d have to know what the Punisher is to begin with. In a building this small and rundown, there isn’t exactly much room to store a giant cross.

“Lemme…just…” He has to trust Vash to keep trouble at arm’s length long enough for him to go through each room.

The law takes its time waking up, but when it does, the amount of flying furniture, paperwork, and curses is a sight to behold during intermissions between rooms. Eventually, Vash’s beneficiaries do all the work for them. They slip past tangled lawmen and prisoners like a pair of dancers dodging the spotlight. One black, one red. 

Only one place they haven’t gone through. 

“Damn! They barely even made it past the front door.”

There it is, in all its alabaster glory. The Punisher, partially wrapped in its shroud, leans against the wall by their path to freedom. He’d bask in the moment to laugh if a bullet didn’t just go ringing past his ear. 

“You IDIOTS! Don’t let them escape!” A commanding voice bellows. That would be the sheriff, then. A glance over tells him that a portly man is presently engaged in a wrestling match with another prisoner. Not a concern for them, then.

“I’d prefer gettin’ shitfaced if we’re talkin’ distractions!” The Punisher, revealed as a bulwark to cover their escape, is a comforting weight in his hands. He swings it wide, casting off bullet shells and splintered chunks of wood. “Need a drink after all this shit…” 

They scramble out of the building and under the baleful glare of the twin suns. Though temporarily blinded, the gleam of chrome and shiny black paint out of the corner of his catch his attention immediately. Wolfwood grabs a fistful of the back of Vash’s coat to reel him back in before he gets too far. 

“There! The motorbike. That pretty, pretty lady is our ticket outta here.”

[typhoonvash]

"Four years is... nnh... a long time, Wolfwood," Vash replies softly with a soothing tone of voice. He knows that his partner is comparing himself to the impossible fact that he'd waited two centuries—a feat that no mortal man, even as enhanced as he is, should be capable of. No, just the alien mutant more than partially responsible for humanity's crash upon this wasteland of a planet is capable of bearing such a burden.

Wolfwood hits a spot just right, causing a breathy moan to eke out from Vash's throat. He cants his hips up with a sigh and a 'right there.' His arm shifts down, his fingers gripping his lover's waist right above his hip.

If he were thinking more clearly, he'd be full of thoughts about how now that they're together, perhaps Wolfwood will eat more than just meager rations—maybe he'll fill out a little more, maybe the both of them will. The thoughts—or the wisps of them that creep in—are blown away with the raw desire channeled between both of them.

He groans as Wolfwood shifts his attention to the rest of his scarred body; the contact alone leaving sparks with every kiss and nibble. It's been so long since anyone has touched him—and... and even then, it was Wolfwood all that time ago. Fast and desperate—they knew their time was running out... any time that they fell in bed with each other could've been their last, and they knew it back then. Now... now that they can afford to be slow, that today is not the last day they have together, or even the last day of the world...

"M'here now," Vash sighs, arching his back against a particularly tender thrust, "M'not leavin' anymore, not for the world. J-just you and me—and-and I can show you some of my favorite places out there..."

With a gasp, his violet eyes shudder closed as his face contorts into a furrowed image of sheer pleasure. They're not even going that fast—he must seriously be out of shape. Still, going this long without Wolfwood's touch does make it all the better... especially seeing him so... so eager and desperate. Vash has to stop himself from urging Wolfwood to go faster—God, he wants to savor the moment, but his more feverish desires are shallow and not well-hidden.

"There's a—a-ah—uh, a ramen place i-in—o-oh," Vash continues in his efforts to maintain conversation, but loses his train of thought. He spreads his legs wider and presses upwards, wanting his lover deeper. "N-noodles... nnn..."

Noodles always made me think of you.

The sentimental thought prods at him like a worm bumping into a light repeatedly.

Everything made me think of you.

Suddenly, Vash feels the need to open his eyes and certify that the man inside of him is indeed Wolfwood—the man out of time, his star-crossed lover—and as soon as he does he can feel the sure pressure of his throat closing, his teeth clenching as he tries to prevent the tears from breaking free. Another gasp turns into a stuttered sniffle, and his fingers push harder against the give of Wolfwood's soft skin.

"You're r-really here, right? It's... it's not a dream?" He can't help the little sob that escapes as realization dawns on him—where he is, who he's with, what he's doing—

"W-Wolfwood—ah—!"

[wolfwoocl]

He can hear the words. He might even understand them. In matters of formulating a response that requires more effort than merely breathing, he is severely overruled by other priorities. The sweet sound of Vash's voice and the breathy little moans that leave him with an inclination to coax out more of them.

The roller coaster of their own making has finally reached the bottom of the hill. His arms, one snaked around Vash's narrow waist and the other pressed against Vash's back, cradling the base of his neck, finally relax.

Wolfwood shivers. Where he begins and Vash ends is lost in a slick mess of their fluids.

Though tender to Vash's encompassing, unrelenting embrace he might be-- God, how does he do that?-- Wolfwood finds himself better able to give shape to his thoughts in way that isn't entirely eclipsed by heat and flying violet sparks as the high of aftermaths stops ringing in his ears.

Wolfwood makes a blanket of himself, draping bonelessly over Vash without the slightest desire to move. Just a second to catch his breath, to breathe in the scent of sex and wandering thought questioning the merit of sleep over running a marathon.

He lifts his head just enough to blink incredulously at Vash.

"...Spiky. Noodles? Really?"

There’s much he can do about the stinging of his eyes. As if Vash hasn’t seen him get a little watery-eyed before. He could hide it better back then, maybe. 

“If this is a dream, then I’d better be fuckin’ dead. Bringin’ up noodles for Chrissakes,” he mutters, tracing the scars from Vash’s shoulder down to the top of his chest. A sour face is hard to keep when he can’t keep the fondness from his voice. “Tell me everythin’ then. All the stuff we’re gonna do.”

Nicholas offers Vash a squinted grin and gleaming eyes. 

“I’ve got the time to hear ya out.”

[wolfwoocl]

"Look, it's snowing!"

"Huh..."

Wolfwood watches the fog of his own breath float up past the end of his nose, then angles his head enough that he can see Vash looking up at the sky in wonder.

The deserts of No Man's Land did not leave him a stranger to the extremes of blistering heat to biting cold, cycles of suns chasing moons across the once endless sky. Funny to think the sky is no longer endless. Broken now by clusters of man-made structures that seem to grow year by year like a concrete jungle. If Wolfwood didn’t know any better, he would have thought Vash looked like he’d never seen snowfall in his life.

Vash was still missing the first time Wolfwood witnessed the change of seasons in this strange new world.

"So it is." His smile is partially hidden by the flipped collar of his jacket, but it is there nonetheless, comfortably nestled in the sound of his voice as they watch the powdery snow accumulate across the landscape. With a growling ‘brrrr’ off his lips, Wolfwood shakes out the fresh layer of snow covering his coat. Damp clumps go flying every which way as Nicholas steps right up to Vash. With a scoff, he shoves his shoulder into Vash’s.

“Th’ hell are ya all smiley about? Happens every year now, don’t it?”

[lovethisheart]

Roger had the voice of a man that had long been turned by whiskey. He drawled all the worse when he was apparently lovestruck, really putting all of his mouth and sinking his voice from tenor to tenous, vague bass. As if he had been socked in the jaw before this, and he'd woken up too lazy to enunciate his words.

Just the type that was easy to catch off guard. Simple, sweet. Probably deserved better in life.

"Oh, Captain Clems', not in front of the other prisoners...they'll get jealous..." Saying the words 'violent' and 'retribution' was not appropriate to keep this mood. They were in dangerous territory in a situation that would quickly get worse if things turned suddenly. Vash comes in closer; it's a shame the bars aren't wide enough for their foreheads to touch. That was one way out that would've been nice to utilize.

"If you're afraid of me escaping, well," A singular finger slips down between Roger's knuckles, until he's interlocking their digits, pulling him in closer.

"I know a few things near that belt that could help keep me close." Internally, he'd gotten to be a little dead to flirting; especially when the end goal was deception and likely adding one more person swearing they'd destroy him, even after life had left his corpse.

His foot kicks out to add to this brickload of charm he was laying out thick, but his boot is tapping. Impatiently. Plan B could certainly go into effect, but at much more risk.

[wolfwoocl]

Ugh. Watching this is too painful. Wolfwood does his best to tilt his head so his bangs obscure as much of his peripheral vision as possible so he doesn’t have to watch Roger practically prancing and skipping in place with every word that leaves Vash’s lips. Messing with the tilt of his head does nothing for his perfectly functioning ears, however. 

Screw this. 

Wolfwood has about as much as he can take in the next thirty seconds when he rises to his feet with the clattering applause of dropped toilet bolts. From there, it takes no time at all for him to sandwich Vash between his chest and the heavy iron bars separating the infamous Humanoid Typhoon from his admirer– and more than close enough for him to reach through the bars while Vash is gripping Roger’s hands to pull the poor young man in by palming the back of his head hard and fast enough into the jail cell bars the he can feel the resounding gong through the back of Vash’s coat.

“Got bored,” he sniffs, doublechecking that Roger is truly snoozing the rest of the night away in a crumpled heap on the ground in front of their cell before pulling his arm back through the bars and taking a step back to straighten out the front of his suit. 

“Anyway, fish out his keys. Then we can get the hell outta here before they cart us off to God knows where.” 

[goosesource]

🪶— #CHANGE OF SEASONS Prompts for all four seasons.

AUTUMN

"Here, I made you coffee/tea."

"Nothing is more satisfying than eating soup on a chilly day."

"Let's go on a walk and admire the leaves together."

"Want to carve pumpkins together?

"School just started and I have a mountain of homework already!"

send 🌽 for our muses to walk through a corn maze together

send 🍎 for our muses to pick apples together

send 🥧 for our muses to bake a pie together

send 🍬 for our muses to go trick or treating (or pass out candy) together

send 🎡 for our muses to go to a country fair together

WINTER

"I should've worn my other jacket."

"Do you want help shoveling the driveway?"

"Your snowman looks better than mine..."

"Winter is the worst season. It's too cold and the flu spreads like wildfire."

"Look, it's snowing!"

send ☃️ for our muses to build a snowman together

send ⛸️ for our muses to go ice skating together

send 🔥 for our muses to cuddle by the fireplace

send 🎁 for our muses to exchange gifts

send ❄️ for our muses to have a snowball fight

SPRING

"My allergies are killing me!"

"Want to help me water the garden?"

"I love seeing all of the flowers blossom."

"I think there's a baby deer in the back yard!"

"I didn't realize it was supposed to rain today..."

send 🧺 for our muses to go on a picnic together

send 🚶 for our muses to go hiking together

send 💮 for our muses to plant flowers together

send 🫛 for our muses to plant vegetables together

send 🐕 for our muses to adopt a baby animal

SUMMER

"On a scale of 1 to 10 how bad does my sunburn look?"

"Do you want to cook on the grill tonight?"

"Should we eat inside or outside tonight?"

"Want to go get ice cream together?"

"Can you help me put sunscreen on my back?

send 🌊 for our muses to go swimming together

send 🐟 for our muses to go fishing together

send 🚗 for our muses to go to a drive thru movie theater together

send 🗺️ for our muses to go on a road trip together

send ⭐ for our muses to go stargazing together

[lovethisheart]

"Oh sir, the trouble is..."

"I can't think of anything, now that I see you up close. You made me forget, striding up like you're the captain... I don't really mind if you aren't...you can lie to me as long as you stop shouting so loud. "

Fingers slide down the metal, like the warm, sweet syrup he was lowering his tones to. The gaps are wide enough to bring one hand through and gently stroke the bars like guitar string, lonely and wanting more. This isn't a traffic stop, but if he had more of a ledge to rest his arms on it would be a perfect way for him to prop up his chin. And days, well, this jailer wasn't tall enough to look longingly up at him, but a bit of hunching really does create the same effect.

While so close in that big red jacket, it's easier to take up a bit of peripheral view, and slide just in front of the dislocated toilet while he treats the officer to a smile.

"You look bored. And, if I'm right there's no better way to kill time than if you talk to someone you're unfamiliar with, right-?" He offers his hand in the air. Leaning in as close as the bars permit without his nose breaking the boundary. Best not to risk it being snubbed, quite literally.

[wolfwoocl]

Odd. Why did he feel a sudden, pointed desire for violence? The young, fresh-faced deputy is no threat to him– to them, he self-corrects. Something about the way Vash’s voice, cloying and sweet, directed solely at their minder rankles. It’s totally disingenuous. No one could possibly fall for such an obvious–

“Aw, shucks…” 

The man is a decidedly unflattering tomato shade from head to toe, rubbing the back of his neck, wiggling on the toe of his shoe, looking up at the ceiling…the works. Wolfwood is one more poorly executed solicitation short of having to scrape his jaw off the ground. 

Biting down on his tongue, Wolfwood scrambles off the bench and crawls over to the toilet to nudge it back into its rightful place while Vash has the deputy’s view of their cell partially obscured. The mounting bolts are still noticeably askew. Given that Vash has the poor man absolutely rapt, that should buy him enough time to unscrew all the bolts and pocket them before their captors become wise to the scheme.

“Name’s Roger Clems,” the young deputy says, drawn to Vash’s fluttering lashes like a moth to flame. “I wasn’t awares that the infamous Stampede was a proper gentleman…” 

Roger leans in close now, one hand wrapped around the bars right next to Vash’s hand. “Always thought that I oughtta be in charge of this place. Since you asked me so nice, I could show you some authority…”

Wolfwood clamps his hand over his mouth to fight back the urge to throw up.

[goldendivinewrath]

@wolfwoocl

Something dual-toned and very much an inhuman sort of sound manages to display mild offense, but he doesn't bat the helpful hand away. He could probably use some help when things are... actively on fire, after all. But if he thought he was a jittery wreck before, well--

Actually? It's not so bad. The glowing is a little... weird, and that's saying a lot for him to think of himself as weird, but Vash kind of feels a little bit-- Settled? In this oddly shifting form? Like static surrounds him in a pleasant sort of warmth.

Of course the whole high beam eyeballs thing is going to be a really big problem if he can't figure out how to stop that. It's hard not to look at Wolfwood for his reactions, to try and see what the expression on his face is, so he glances and looks away. Not too often! Probably.

"I didn't, uh." Vash pauses to pick at longer than usual teeth (fangs, one might call them) with a claw, dislodging a bit of wire insulation stuck between them. "I didn't really know I could do that. This." Eyes darting back to Wolfwood, he then decides he doesn't really want to know the man's reaction after all. "I mean, I was... I knew there were wires here and the electricity was kind of obvious, but then I just... sort of..?" There's an elaborate gesture made with hands and tendrils and something with was and was not a wing-like structure. Melting or forming? Does it matter?

He just whines as Wolfwood lifts his arm, and that's familiar and sounds just like him enough. "I am perfectly healthy for my-- Ah. Build. Thank you." And then, because there cannot be a missed opportunity, "But more donuts and noodles would be worth trying, right?" It might be a little difficult to do the puppy eyes thing with flashlights or whatever's going on, but--

Oh, wait, wait-- "Hey, are your shoes insulated?" Perfectly innocent question! Probably.

[wolfwoocl]

The movement of Vash’s extras look as natural as they are disturbingly intriguing. Ignoring the fact that “disturbing” was a label slapped on only after the fact. There are parts that look solid, feathery one moment but somehow tendrilously liquid the next. He resists the urge to find out what would happen if he tried to put out his hand towards it and instead squeezes Vash’s bicep. The muscle certainly feels appropriately dense and heavy.

He has to squint like an old man without his reading glasses whenever Vash glances his way, but he supposes it can’t be helped. They’re trying to hold a conversation, after all. Half of which reverberates through his bones whenever Vash opens his mouth. Which, when he thinks about it, is also weird in its own way, but then questioning anything too deeply about Vash’s …creature compulsions… is always futile.

Hopefully this doesn’t become a regularly occurring transformation, because he isn’t sure how he’s going to explain away a giant, energy-charged Plant creature in front of an entire town. 

Oh, the moon, y’know, it does funny things to a man. No moon in the sky, you say? That doesn’t mean it ain’t there!

“Huh?” Wolfwood blinks once, twice, before abruptly recalling that they are still in the middle of an active situation.

“Er…Probably not. I mean, dress shoes don’t typically come with rubber stompers, so…” Hmm. A quick look around suggests he should probably not stand so close to the live cables still writhing within arm’s reach. He drops Vash’s arm and jams a shoulder against his chest. Shoulder? Collarbone? It’s a little hard to fully discern what’s going on anatomically when he’s being flashed every other second or so. 

“If you want– nggh–” As it turns out, creature Vash also has an impressive amount of inertia. He can’t tell if all his pushing is doing anything. “--more donuts or noodles, y’shouldn’t be snackin’ on random shit in here! C’mon, get yer damn ass up and let’s get the hell outta this death trap ‘fore I get turned into fried shrimp.”

[eventheodds]

It could almost be like there is a voice, part of the rational part of her mind, that wants to chime in and remind her that thinking about things in and for the future could be setting them up for failure, regardless of how many times she tells herself that this cannot fail.

They cannot fail.

She’d once been good at keeping everything ship-shape even if things were capsizing around her. No Man’s Land has a tendency to create unknown obstacles even if the people here have adjusted to this roughened life. Staring down a barrel of a gun to stall for time while also protecting those she cares about? Not a problem. Working on overcoming her fear at being subjected to a tidal wave of raw emotions and memories depicting something utterly traumatic? She’s working on it.

It is a struggle to rip off a piece of jerky with her teeth, more so to chew it, as it feels like leather in her mouth rather than a piece of cured meat, and if it had taken her this long to finish a bite, they’d be here all day long. Meryl pockets the rest, just in case, and can’t help but nod in agreement to Wolfwood’s description of a bowl of noodles. Wouldn’t matter if it was too hot for soup, she’d easily have a bowl herself with the way he talked about how it would come prepared. The image of both of them sitting flanked by Vash and Milly comes to her and Meryl mentally adds that to her to-do list, even if that voice of reason is telling her to not get too far ahead.

Sometimes it helps to have something to look forward to rather than just focusing on the present. 

She gives another cursory glance at their shared meal, looking over anything she can slip into pockets that might serve them well, but she refrains, other than pocketing the rest of the jerky. She doesn’t know what will be required of them when they get to the ship, and if it would mean leaving things behind. 

She’s about to head out the door when she knocks into Nicholas’s back, staring up at him with a mild bout of confusion, “Wolf—”

Meryl stops talking and listens, understanding what he’s saying and where he’s coming from. In the short while they have been travelling together, despite what she learned from Zazie, she trusts him.

Because if they intend to see this through, there can’t be any doubt in her heart about him. 

“Yeah, his name is Bhodi. When we arrive at Ship Three, he gave me a code word to use once we’re close enough and he’ll be the one to see us inside. If there’s time, maybe we’ll be lucky enough to snag some walkie-talkies for us to keep in touch.”

It feels like a tall order, especially since neither of them have a visual to plan out what will meet them once at Ship Three, but she thinks Bhodi won’t let them split up without being prepared. She hopes, at least.

“Okay.”

The pit in her stomach grows heavier with each passing second knowing there is no turning back from this point on. 

Meryl ducks under Nicholas’s arm and heads outside, walking to where he parked Angelina. Shaking the sand off the pair of goggles and placing them on, there is a silence that falls over her as she goes through the motions while the last step before the jump looms right before them.

[wolfwoocl]

He does not say, I don’t like it, because the circumstances have left them with little choice. Consequences being what they are, he cannot overcome them on his own. He needs to trust Meryl in order for their plan to work.  As much of a bastard as he is and has been, he owes her that much. Wolfwood watches Meryl’s retreating back a few seconds longer before letting out a long exhale in preparation for the next segment of their journey. He follows her out into the blinding light of the suns.

Back in the saddle with the surrounding desert a blur around them, Angelina carries them across the sand sea. Time is precious; the roar of her engine fills their ears, drowning out the possibility of conversation as the race across the desert to reach Ship Three as quickly as possible. 

Ship Three’s outline finally appears off in the distance just as the twin suns are reaching the low point in their descent from day to night. 

Wolfwood takes them all the way up the winding path to the grasping stones playing host to the cable car that typically ferries passengers from the ground to the ship. When Angelina quiets, the hissing winds are a discomforting contrast from the rumbling of an engine that accompanied them for the past few hours.    

“Off t’see yer pal Bhodi now, right?” Wolfwood asks, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his weight against Angelina while he keeps an eye on their surroundings. Nothing but mist and big hulking rocks. They’re only partially hidden by the spires and irregular stone formations, allowing them to be observed at their discretion. Bhodi is the only one they’re expecting at this point. Anyone else requires swift deflection on his part so that Meryl and Bhodi can make their preparations uninterrupted. 

“I’ll wait here. Give me a signal when you’re ready, and I’ll be there.”

[wolfwoocl]

what's one subject your muse will get irrevocably angry at?

I like to think he's hardened his heart to instances of cruelty for the sake of cruelty for the most part. That isn't to say he's completely immune to it, but he can look the other way if he has to. If children are involved, on the other hand...

[typhoonvash]

Vash can't rule out the possibility that he could hurt himself by thinking too hard now—as much as he wants to joke about it, there's a sad truth to it that halts his tongue before he spews another mood-killing statement. He just... has to let Wolfwood take control now. He wants this—they both want this—and it's frustrating that his mind is refusing to give into the whims of the moment.

But, as nervous and tense as he is, Vash's body doesn't lie when it comes to the way he clings to Wolfwood with each kiss and he can't stop the bubbling of giggles that crop up when they have to make a pitstop.

Wolfwood's alive. They're alive. Together.

Every argument dissolves into a fizzy afterthought when his back hits the cushion of their nest. The carefully selected mattress—nevermind how many times Vash had to try to remember if Wolfwood preferred a firm mattress to one with squish—and the bedding that he'd spent too long flipping on which patterns and colors he wanted (only to settle on a solid dark red comforter with dark gray sheets) cradle him when Wolfwood's arms do not anymore. He can't help it as he bashfully grasps a corner of the bedding and wraps it over a majority of his face, only leaving a single luminous eye to peek and take in all the glory of Wolfwood's form.

"You're lookin' at me funny," Vash says dumbly, as if he can't believe it. Which part he can't believe more—the fact that Wolfwood is here and looking at him or the way that he's looking at him—he's not sure. His face is burning bright behind the cover of the comforter, his dark hair only bringing the color of his cheeks out even more.

With the kiss to his knee, Vash stretches his leg to caress Wolfwood's face as a reward. His body disagrees with the action, as a shot of pain to his hip attempts to stop him from flexing his limbs in such a ridiculous way, but he doesn't let it show. That same leg trails down his partner's side and curls around his lower back, weakly pulling the man forward. Closer. He wants his hips closer. Vash's biology only continues to reveal just how strong his desire is as tendrils reach out with intent to bring Wolfwood inside (and, perhaps, to never let go).

He reaches out with his one arm, wanting Wolfwood to come back down for kisses. The comforter remains partially on his face, loosely jostling off of it with the movement and revealing more blossom-red blush.

"Want you slow," Vash eventually requests, his hand cupping Wolfwood's cheek and pulling him down tenderly, "Don't want it to be over so soon... even if I can have you whenever I want now. I wanna look at you."

He tugs until the corner of the bedding is pinned between their foreheads and their lips are pressed against each other. Vash doesn't close his eyes, instead searching umber hues for two centuries' worth of answers.

"Does it feel like it's been two hundred years to you? O-or does it feel like you just woke up...?"

[wolfwoocl]

“Darlin’,” Wolfwood breathes, allowing Vash to guide him back down to his lips and drinking in their kiss like a man parched. His voice rumbles warm and heavy by Vash’s ear as he slips his hand under Vash’s neck, holding him close and gently pushing away the blanket so obstinately obscuring his view of his partner, “By the time we’re through, you’ll be walkin’ funny.” 

Vash must be able to hear the grin in his playful threat, even when Wolfwood’s lips and teeth quickly migrate to Vash’s exposed neck to lavish attention equal parts hunger and equal parts deliberate over-affection. 

Slow. 

There are parts of him at odds with this command and others still rife with enthusiasm when it comes to unbidden imagery of their complementary silhouettes in the sheet, on top of the dresser, pressed against the windows, the floor, the bed, and any other available surfaces they encounter along the way. 

Wolfwood groans helplessly in agreement when Vash reinforces his request with a compelling squeeze. He responds in kind, sliding his hand from Vash’s neck to the small of his back to hold him close and lift Vash’s hips just so. The warmth trapped between their bodies and the slick of Vash’s thighs as he rocks his hips leaves no room for even the possibility of a counterargument. 

Slow it is. 

“It feels…” God have mercy, he barely has the faculties to piece together a single sentence, let alone hold a conversation. Vash’s eyes are wide, endless, intoxicating. He’s lost in them far longer than the time it takes for him to actually answer Vash’s question.“Feels like a dream. God, Vash.” Sweat beads his brow as his fingers dig into Vash’s back. Closer, through the steady rhythm of thrusts and intermingled sighs. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Those four years…Only survived ‘em lookin’ for you. And that was just four years, hah…”

[lovethisheart]

His finger sticks stiffly in the air.

"I, am... getting there. Quit, griping so loud," Maybe the throbbing in his skull had nothing to do with it, but rubbing the sore spot ought to coax just enough sympathy to get Preacherman to quiet down to polite tones. If it didn't, well, he had to adjust his expectations for future endeavors.

A flex of fingers on the other hand, patting his own chest, to be sure of it.The body had a way of pretending that some parts were really, actively there, when they definitely were not. Briefly, his hand dips into his jacket...and slips back out, exhaling softly. Even if these high-rolling denizens were set on Justice upon them, they had not been so thorough as hoped. For example, to remove a limb would have been extremely cruel, unusual, though they were bound for death. if they had any idea what it could do, it might've been just a little harder to escape.

"Been a while since someone's knocked me out cold. Usually, they can't get past the first line of defense." Vash touches the ends of his hair for added effect, while stalking around the little cell. A little humor, offered, and if there was no acknowledgment, it was still worth trying to ease his own mind.

The wall closest to the bench has one, bare essentials toilet; at some point, the porcelain top was destroyed, as there are still shards floating in the exposed water tank. The adjacent wall has a grate, toward the ceiling, for airflow. Despite being set in a highly developed portion of Gunsmoke, it seems their prison was as basic as those as far removed as little settlements, like May. Three walls of painted white concrete, One wall of bars, and an indeterminate amount of time before their names were removed from the Census.

"Mr. Jailer-! We'd like to call home-! That's a law here in this town!" His voice echos down the hall to absolute emptiness. If someone was near, they didn't care enough to respond immediately. Then, stalking away from the bars, he throws up his hands. Really, short of saying ' Open sesame' for efforts.

"Do you think-?" And then his head shakes, jostling the little toilet jammed against the wall, kicking the screws. Bit by bit, it pulls away from the wall. " No- nevermind. If I held you hostage... they wouldn't care." Dim light shows on the other side, with another hefty jerk of his body backward, like a dog trying to get the upper hand on a tug-toy.

"I don't think they would've done anything with your Cross." As if it weren't a very destructive gun, rather than just a pious part of a religion taken quite literally. "Historically speaking, it'd be a bad idea to try and execute you with it..."

[wolfwoocl]

“I’ll gripe all I want for havin’ to put up with ya,” Wolfwood snaps back, but it’s clear there’s no real venom behind it. His ongoing mission still deserves most of his attention, now set upon picking at the walls, looking for weak points in the pocked concrete where there are none. Nothing worth noting on a planet that doesn’t bear the slightest concept of water damage.

Whether he finds Vash’s joke amusing or not remains to be seen. What little he offers is the slightest arch of his brow. 

After their inspections, it is plain to him that there isn’t even enough room for the both of them to pace about like disgruntled zoo animals. Granted, Vash has a strange habit of filling an empty room with his presence in some fashion or another, so that’s nothing new to him. 

He wouldn't have minded staging a hostage situation, but they are of the same mind on their odds of success after their hijinks with McMahon.

“Oh, don’t worry Spikey, we’ll find it.” Like hell they were going to leave without the Punisher. Unfortunately, these sorts of things need to happen in the right order. He's since moved on to the corner of their box to investigate the concrete dust where the bolt plates holding the toilet in place were starting to come loose. If he can unscrew these things by hand they might be able to lift the whole thing out…Though he abandons his plan mid-flight to throw himself into a seemingly bored, cross-legged recline back on the bench when one of the jailers finally heeds Vash’s calls.

“What’s the trouble here now?”

They’ve gone and sent one of the greener constabularies to the cell, it would appear. The young man who approaches them has both hands gripping his belt and a painfully forced scowl set into his jaw in an attempt to look more threatening than a box of puppies. Wolfwood tries not to burst out laughing as the deputy gives them a once over from a respectable distance. There isn’t even a damn hair on that boy’s chin.

“I said, what’s the trouble? Just settle down. The sheriff’ll know what to do with the both of yas shortly.”

[goldendivinewrath]

@wolfwoocl [Replying to a reply from here because words snuck up behind me..?]

Vash makes a vaguely animal sound, like someone who's never actually heard a dog growl and tries to mimic it anyway. That, of course, gets some not-small amount of drool to drip over bare wires between his teeth and he--

Glows. Very, very brightly, going extremely rigid in the process while sparks fly and a slightly worrying sound of gathering power lingers in a low hum at the outside edge of both their senses. Finally all the lights go out completely around them, but Vash is... still...

He does finally drop the wires with a single smoky cough, but there are lines glowing all over his skin that might remind him of neon. The thing is, his eyes are also glowing, and that kind of has a flashlight effect on everything he's looking at.

So... it can't take that long to stop glowing. Right? Blinking flashlight eyes land on Wolfwood. "I'm, um. Charged?" He's making a assumption. A wild guess. An explanation that actually explains nothing. The usual.

[wolfwoocl]

He'll chalk up not having to wrestle live wires out of Vash's mouth as a win. Unfortunately for him, the list of good news also stops right about there.

Blinking a few times to clear the floating lights from his vision, Wolfwood grimaces and reaches out and pinches out a tiny flame burning on the tip of Vash's hair...or feather...spike thing. He never really gave it much thought as to what went where and how with these transformations but he certainly has plenty to think about now, standing here in the dark with a gigantic alien night light.

"Damn it, Needle-noggin, point those damn blinkers somewhere else. Already near-well blinded me once already..." he grumbles. And though he would never admit it aloud, cutting the beams of light by waving his hand in front of Vash's face is entirely too entertaining.

He gingerly steps over a chewed-up cable that sparks and snaps at him when he gets too close.

"If yer hungry you could've just said so. Instead of...doin' this."

Whatever this attempt is. Do Plants get some sort of nutritional value from trying to eat electricity? What if he was wrong this whole time about feeding Vash all those donuts and liquor? He doesn't know enough about Plant biology to theorize anything, much less try to rectify it.

Wolfwood lifts up Vash's right arm, a limb, far, far too long, from the armpit like he's testing its weight.

"Are you malnourished? Have we not been feedin' you enough? Were you always this thin?" He squints intensely.

[typhoonvash]

Nah, it's completely out of the question—it'd be impossible for Vash to hold himself back from this, even with how heavy the guilt is, and it's completely obvious that Wolfwood wants this too. Vash would prefer to make his partner feel good first, but... how can he say no to this?

"H-hey, you won't, um...."

How does he word this in the least insulting way possible?

"When we were in the cave, you were so excited that you, um," Vash's sentence is broken with a soft moan as he follows Wolfwood's curious fingers and encourages them to massage his clit softly. He can feel his body begin to wake up, every touch causing a reaction like ripples in still water. A thin tendril peeks out and flattens itself against Wolfwood's finger, providing necessary lubrication while also beginning to wind itself around the digit, clinging to his hand in a revealing manner—his body itself is warning the priest: 'Don't leave me again.' It's only a matter of time before every one of his petals begins to do the same, they'll begin to beg the man to come in, stay a while...

Even without insertion, he's finding it difficult to stand still without wobbling from one foot to the other... perhaps screwing in the shower is not the greatest idea for someone just rescued out of several years of dormancy. Maybe—as much as he loathes to admit it—he needs the bed.

... now that he thinks about it, he's not sure what the stimulation will do regarding the literal sparks he seems to be capable of. Yeah... water isn't the right idea here. Plus, even if he doesn't need to concern himself with being overly wasteful anymore, it is a waste of hot water... electricity and clean water aren't resources to simply scoff at.

Vash, satisfied with the current motion of Wolfwood's fingers, shifts his hand to the arousal pointedly pressing against his thigh. He slips his fingers around the shaft and pulls the loose skin towards himself gently, his heart fluttering at the tangible memories of being so tactile. He... really did miss it, as much as he shamed himself for it when Wolfwood was asleep.

"I... guess what I'm asking is, uh, can you do this? It'll be a real turn-off if you start throwing up and having a heart attack again. A-and if I have to resuscitate you, you're sleeping on the—in the—uh... guest room, sir."

As if Vash could possibly separate himself from Wolfwood's side now that he's here. It's enough to make him laugh immediately after saying it. He... pointedly ignores the fact that he nearly told Wolfwood to sleep on the couch. That would definitely do... something to the mood that's worse than this.

"Because, um, if I start and set the pace, I might not take it easy on you," Vash chuckles again as if punctuating his own laughter, then buries his red-hot forehead into the crook of Wolfwood's neck, planting a kiss as he lands. "I missed you... a lot. Often. A-and I'm not as fragile as you think I am. So I could, um... Well, you know. We might want to get out of the water."

[wolfwoocl]

They are not as fragile as they think they are. There is a now and it is here, and that is sufficient, despite Vash’s well-intentioned line of inquiry and what it may or may not have done to bruise his pride. 

“Huh. Don’t hurt yerself thinkin’ so hard, blondie.”

He has two perfectly good hands, one which continues pleasuring Vash with regular, rounding movements with his fingers and the other that reaches to cut the flow of water. 

“‘Sides, we’ll find out what’s what, won’t we?” 

Wolfwood politely declines Vash an opportunity to respond by capturing his lips and hoisting him up by gripping around his thighs. He is still plenty hale enough to do that; carrying Vash’s weight blindly through the bathroom and navigating his way back to the bedroom proves a doable, if not somewhat clumsy endeavor between wandering hands and occasional pits stops to push Vash up against the wall and devour him one kiss at a time. They make it past the open doorway into the bedroom eventually. Their bedroom. The concept tickles in more ways than one, but the thought does not occupy the space of his mind for long as he drinks in the sight of Vash, gazing back at him with covetous violet-aqua eyes, scars, fleeting arcs of electricity and all, reclining against the soft sheets. 

When Vash decides enough is enough, biology has not left them bereft of preparation, and Wolfwood is more than happy to oblige even if Vash’s petals are not initially eager to release his fingers. 

Time seems so immaterial now, no matter how much of it they have lost to circumstance. 

Nicholas cannot track the passing seconds anymore than he can remember to breathe as he presses a kiss to the inside of Vash’s knee and relinquishes the precious little control he has left to Vash and the movement of his own hips.

[lovethisheart]

Again, again, again, he fires at the duo of brothers, buying precious seconds. Duo? It doesn't matter- maybe the triplet had tripped. He was missing from the fray, somehow.

The cross smashes into a roulette table, after hitting several before it like a very oddly shaped skipping stone. Vash is able to slide off its metallic surface smoothly before the chips start flying with shards of wood like before. No chance of recovering anything from the previous game, now.

"Everyone's out-!" The face of property destruction still needed to know that there would not be one casualty. Not a single body among those that wanted to live, damn their winnings and pocketbooks. If Nicholas even cared to know.

Bullets are still whizzing overhead. Frantic voices and thudding leather shoes, and all he had time for was to upend another table to make cover for Wolfwood. His pistol aims at the colored, decorative glass from above Huey's head, ten feet away. It was one of the few remnants left of this oddly shaped building before it had been converted into a casino.

" Let's go, Wolfwood-!"

They were five feet from the door. But when it opens, it is not their salvation. His chest heaves as the twelve-gauge pushes snugly against his sternum, a controlled finger steeled against a misfire.

Military police. His hands are sky high when a pistol comes to his head, in his peripheral vision, a grinning man in a navy blue suit holding it there steadily. Ah. This had to be Dewey, then.

"Well. This took a turn."

The world goes black after a distinct thunk.

[wolfwoocl]

“For the record,” comes the sound of Wolfwood’s disembodied voice when he can finally see Vash stirring on the bench, “Yer still the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.”

Like a dog with a bone, Vash could simply never leave it. A person in need could never be overlooked under any circumstance. Nevermind all the rules and strings that came with any one of Vash’s pacifist missions. Mired in his own fair share of misdeeds, Nicholas is certainly not blameless. From the sleeve of his jacket and with a practiced sleight of hand, Wolfwood draws a pair of aces. He looks at them for a moment, sour-faced, then flicks them to the ground with a sigh. If only his pulsing headache could be tossed away so easily.

Upon detaining the two miscreants, the local constables also kindly stripped them of any meaningful valuables. Not as thoroughly as they could have, as made evident by the overlooked playing cards now on the floor of their cell. Wolfwood pats down his pockets one more time and finds his dour mood drastically improved upon recovering a single, crumpled cigarette. An unlit cigarette is still better than no cigarette at all, and Wolfwood summarily jams said cigarette between his lips as he rises from his end of the bench to pace behind the bars.

All wrought iron, solid in its construction and just as immovable. Wolfwood tests each one just in case. 

“They’re talkin’ to the federales as we speak. That sheriff is practically droolin’ to have ya shipped out with ‘em to November ‘n collect yer bounty.” With July lost, only the first city would have the resources to put such a notorious criminal to trial– and Wolfwood knows all too well which way the scales of justice will tip for mankind’s first human disaster. 

“Get the hell up and help me look for a way outta here, will ya?”

[carnivalfair]

and if i chose to become my worst fear?