#<- kinda but not really; we shall see

[ashipiko]

is it obvious that i’m a trappoler or

[chrollogy]

harbinger banquet ✨

scara live reaction across the long table ^

i have stuff to yap about this piece! as you may notice harbinger!yue’s name there is ‘brighella’ which is taken from commedia dell’arte (following all the other harbingers names) so i took one from there too! BUT her real name is still yue, just like how arlecchino is called arlecchino but her real name is peruere or how tartaglia’s real name is ajax and so on ^^

harbinger!yue’s codename is ‘the prevaricator’ which basically gives a bit of an insight to her character — a cunning and deceitful individual who avoids the truth when speaking. (this may or may not have led to her rank being unacknowledged !!!) her codename also relates to her commedia dell’arte name in some way since brighella is known as a masterful liar.

i do want to make an ‘about: the prevaricator’ voiceline from wanderer himself KSJJSJDJSKAKS (since i made him one with yue (the akademiya scholar) too ><

also, i did do one with just ‘yue’ but it felt so out of place hence why i used a commedia dell’arte name for harbinger!yue :3 anyway thabk u for coming to my yap session

[qjpsys]

our grandma just now questioning our memory and asking if we were her age considering how "forgetful" we are.. bestie boo i have something to tell you..

[nattikay]

saw a stock photo of a cougar with an absolutely gorgeous face pattern and just HAD to turn it into a character. not sure what to call him yet...

[sureuncertainty]

more Silence Agenda art for y'all bc I'm actually super proud of this Kat is such a bitch and I like her so much

[violentlydefending]

KEEP LIVING, ICHI............

[calcifiedcadaver]

The jacket looks cool as hell but trust me when I say that touching the hood alone would give you a never before seen strain of super rabies.

Took a swing at my own version of a fell design! The original is iconic, but the image of fell wearing a leather jacket with a massive, scraggly ass hood and shoulder spikes was to good not to jump on.

I might expand on this later with my interpretation of him, but here's some trivia about his design for now!

The cheek spikes and nose are meant to mimic a gaster blaster and make him look edgier

The spikiness of the hood both gives it a threadbare, falling apart look, but also gives him pseudo-horns in a way

He actually doesn't have many scars and the only one visible is the crack on his skull

[landinrris]

i need you to do more social media fics! you’re so good at including a nice mix of mediums and keeping the storyline going

also love the fic

I'm glad you enjoyed! It's the first time I've tried to do something as legit as this chapter, so I'm glad it worked. Eternal thanks and kudos to people who post the social media html tutorials to ao3.

In terms of upcoming projects, I feel like the most likely place to do it again soon would be in a part 1/prequel to On Our Terms that would take place prior to them being/coming out. The other couple immediate in-progress things might not work as well.

[impossible-rat-babies]

if i don't end up enjoying stuff in the end, i do still like eshka a lot and might put her in other stuff

[clewis]

So I was rewatching season 2 (specifically 2x25) and I was hit in the head with an idea for a kinda angsty canon divergence story of sorts, mostly focused on clewis, after Cleo takes off into the ocean…..

[blackjack-15]

I KNEW NAT WAS PREGNANT i did not know she knew she was but i knew it!

RICHIE NO HONEY

"is that it?" *boink* "yeah" the bear is a comedy. full stop.

ebra you can do it baby i believe in you and i love you

and carmy's still cooking, still working. him and ebra.

oh syd's mum isn't there. she's not there is she she's dead or she's left or something

that was an Adorable story and i wanna see Syd imitate her mum who is definitely dead

oh candles. yeah. so why did she talk about her in the present tense to marcus? hiding it? hiding means there's prolly some trauma, and her mum wouldn't have been that old if she was the same age as her dad (he said they were both twenty when they started dating) so i'm gonna say sickness. might have been sudden, might have been prolonged, but sickness took her is my guess

"carm?" oh. i think i know who thiiiiiis issss

"claire. hi." yes, yes i did know who this is. that's not an enthusiastic reaction from carmy, but to be absolutely fair, he's rarely enthusiastic.

he is however very nervous here -- defensive posture, his face is red, tense jaw, etc. not sure these two were friends when they knew each other -- not saying they were enemies or anything, i'm just not getting the sense that they hung out much

mmm. based on this convo with syd and her dad? he's never been to The Beef in his LIFE. it would come up that they've closed down his Usual Sunday Place to do this if he had. adding that to the list of chekov's guns yet to be fired, and it's gonna be a friggin chekov's cannon ball depending on when that fuse is finally lit

"i have a partner!" "and you trust him" "yes!" gosh dangit. the subtext is text all right but like....conflict is coming

"i'm older than her now" oh land her mum died young then. and she does not believe her dad when he says she's just as wonderful as her mum was

i'm really hoping richie is gonna take a shower. that cannot be healthy

kay still talking with claire! great that doesn't make me nervous about this season at all!

"you wanted to fix [the broken arm]?" "i wanted to understand it" a very valid viewpoint, not knocking it.

but it does show the difference between them -- carmy, like in the party with the kids, like when he's checking in with richie and natalie and syd and tina, wants to help people, wants to fix stuff for them. claire wants to understand how things work -- two different approaches, two different foci.

oh. mm.

okay. okay. okay.

first off, carmy's "i should really listen to myself" about telling that kid not to become a chef? further proof if you ask me that carmy will end up stepping back from professional kitchens in some way

but

if someone so obviously does not want to be doing what they're doing -- if someone says they should not be a chef, for example, and then says that they're opening a restaurant? the first question most people would ask is: "why are you doing that then"

what claire says is "you're doing the thing!" which. i don't actually have words for that response. what in the brain-dead -- i don't care if that's what you remember of him from school or being kids or whatever, how on earth is that the response?

"because you're the bear. and i remember you." spit bucket please!

who the eff says that in a grocery store to someone holding frozen veal stock

he has absolutely no idea how to take that, wow.

in fact, yeah, i don't think carmy has any idea how to deal with personal attention like that, and he needs people to be fairly direct b/c he's sort of oblivious when it comes to how people think/act around him specifically -- he seems to understand People as a General Concept pretty well, just not as they relate to him -- which speaks to abominable self-esteem and i'm going to guess that when he says "i never had any girlfriends" it's not because a few girls (it was probably only two or three, especially being as Carmy as he is, but still) weren't interested in him, it's because he absolutely did not notice, God bless him and keep him

"i'll just get your contact information" oh here it issss here's the thing i know about

and they were so careful to have him recite his number earlier so we'd know what it is

"01....0....2." it's a VERY deliberate choice to give her the wrong number. this isn't a spur of the moment choice, he thought this through. and when she repeats it back and he has the chance to say "oh no 01 sorry", he just says "yup", no hesitation. they're emphasizing to the view that he's okay leaving it there, that this is done on purpose, that he's lying and that he knows he's lying

now there are a multitude of reasons for him doing this. if you think he does actually want contact with her, then it could be he doesn't believe she actually would want to talk to him, he doesn't have any idea how to handle her and is running, etc.

you could even say that this is classic Carmy repression -- he's not letting himself do something he wants to do because he's repressing the desire for it. that one's probably the strongest argument -- really the only valid argument -- on that side

but.

i think that the reason to have this in this episode specifically? is because he and syd have that conversation about the three-star call in this episode

remember what he says? first 10 seconds feels like a panic attack, b/c you know you'll have to keep it up. your brain skips any sort of joy or celebration, and settles instead on dread. that's carmy's experience with getting an honor few get in the culinary world, and it shows that he's actually not happy in being a Chef-with-a-capital-C. this episode fairly beats that into the viewer, honestly

i think it's the same thing here. he knows if he gives her his number that he'll have to keep it up. his brain skips any sort of happiness and settles on dread. and -- finally taking his own advice here, probably because he just mentioned he should take his own advice, carmy is quite introspective, he's just a little Blocked when it comes to his own emotions -- he decides that it's not worth it. the panic and the dread and the sheer effort it would take to maintain this is not worth it

this conversation is not shot like it's easy. carmy's leaning on the side of the freezer like he needs something to physically prop himself up. the lighting is great for claire, who's comfortable, but it washes carmy out, makes him look even more tired.

full disclosure, i don't know anything more than the fact that she goes behind his back (!!! i will have words!!) in the coming episodes sometime to get his real number, that's the extent of my knowledge.

but even without knowing that, watching this conversation? this isn't a full-fledged chekov's gun, this is at most a chekov's water pistol. she's gonna be here, but she's not gonna be omnipresent. her presence -- which i'm guessing will work largely as a distraction, pulling carmy away from The Bear, as well as being a Specter of the Past -- will cause conflict, rather than build a relationship. shot in the dark work, but given that we're shown how Carmy has a problem going all-or-nothing, and last season he went overboard on the "all" part of that, i'm guessing this season she'll be used to demonstrate the "nothing" part of his personality

which will cause problems and conflict, yes, and also provide an opportunity for the other chefs in the kitchen to grow into the roles they'll need to fill in carmy's eventual (permanent) exit from the kitchen. i get the feeling that the sign for "sorry" introduced here is gonna get quite a bit of airtime

this is long and rambly, but yeah! that's episode 2 -- two very relaxed season openers, i'll note -- we've got 8 to go, and i can feel the un-caged bear getting restless enough to start causing a ruckus....

[autumndragons]

first day of first new glasses in over a decade. having an extremely bad time

[mrpenguinpants]

let me put EVEN MORE PRESSURE ON YOU! Our second session is TOMORROW NIGHT!!!! And yeah 100% all the times as a player (my DM, before the campaign was scrapped, was a SAINT and I'm so happy he's at my table as a player this time around) was mostly just to see what shenanigans uncovered plots or that I could get away with. I was chaotic in trying to dig up plot (it didn't help it was my second campaign EVER so I was not the best at picking up plot hints that were dropped in front of me) I played two characters in the campaign, a druid and a wizard/rouge. My sweet children, I love them both dearly. The campaign may have ended but they live rent free in my head.

Druid - Uncover a plot hook early as a cat dramatically trying to get attention from a stranger in an alley, sneak past guards without being questioned as a cat mysteriously in an underground villain lair, CONVINCE AN OWLBEAR TO SPARE US???, Strike up a deal with a dracolitch (though I think the DM wanted That outcome, but no one else did), Strike up a deal with MOTHER NATURE, and try to hide a murder by burning down a house (it did not work)

Wiz/Rog - instead of writing out the list, I'll just write to you her introduction to the party: basically my PC steals baguettes from Sargent Armstrong (but french); runs into the group but gets snatched TM by our shifter fighter, interogated, has the best conversation ever ("You know, other people sell food here!" "I am the! Only! Baguette! Person! Here!" "Mmm."), two of the party members are about to pay on her behalf just to no longer be implicated, she casts cause fear on the guy and he sprints (and the party blames the wizard for it), and then SPRINTS INTO A SCHOOL SHE DOES NOT GO TO, GETS FOLLOWED BY WIZARD AND SAID PREVIOUS FIGHTER, DISGUISES HERSELF AS A STUDENT (THE BUFFEST ORC KNOWN TO MANKIND) AND FUCKS WITH THE FIGHTER JUST CAUSE as in the fighter rolled SO LOW

I'd recommend dnd but ONLY like,,, with your friends - new tables/playing with strangers is scary, especially bc the game's... old; I could go off on the racism and sexism baked into 5e and especially the earlier editions for WEEKS asdfghj so you gotta find a table/group that agrees with you, yk? ALSO!!! I saw on twitch/tiktok FOREVER AGO someone actually made a Genshin TTRPG System! Aka you can play DnD in the world of Teyvat as vision holders! There's a few, but the one I saw is "Roll to Ascend" on Youtube

-Lucky

Answering these out of order but how did your second session go if you remember? Aww, I'm sad that the campaign ended but I guess every story needs an ending. I think bittersweet nostalgia is the worst and best feeling ever because you're happy it happened, but sad it ended.

If I ever brush the dust off my Baldurs Gate save file, I will put all my stats into charisma because speech is the most OP thing ever. But I think the funniest part of listening to DND stories is that you take all the crazy events and condense them down. So to me, this sounds like you did all of this in a day rather than several campaign nights (or maybe you did do all of this in a night. That would also make sense).

I have a friend group that plays DND but I don't think I'd "fit in" with them. Not that they are bad at DND or I think they wouldn't accept me, but I feel like I'd need to find the right people to be okay with it. New tables are scary as hell because I have no idea how much rp they do or if I'm doing too much rp. I will check out that youtube channel tho :0 my friend actually recently recommended me a DND podcast that he listens to.

[demonsfate]

soonish....

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[empoleon]

stranger things have happened

• rated m, one shot, 3088 words

• also available to read here

Wolfwood is humming something against the fabric of Vash’s shirt—his shirt, because Vash has taken to wearing his articles of clothing as of late—when Vash speaks up.

“They like that,” he says softly, tilting his head back with a smile.

Wolfwood pauses, lips ghosting a kiss near the spot where he was singing. “’S just something I heard a long time ago.”

From the orphanage, but it goes unspoken. Vash is fairly certain it’s in Wolfwood’s mother tongue as well, but he doesn’t comment on it—bringing that up now would probably embarrass him enough to stop and Vash certainly doesn’t want that.

They're in bed together at some rundown inn—traveling too much with Vash in his current state puts a bit of a strain on both of them, so it’s easier if they make frequent stops. They just need to be careful. They have to be careful.

Wolfwood would never forgive himself if something happened to—

It’s almost unnerving to feel the faintest movement touch the skin of his cheek, stopping his train of thought immediately. It’s such a brief feeling and he almost questions if it actually happened, but Vash beats him to it.

“Nick, did you—?”

“Yeah,” Wolfwood glances up at him, unable to hide the awe in his voice. “He moved.”

 .

 150 years. A century and a half, and Vash did not know about this. 

To be fair, there is a lot about himself that he isn’t aware of, either purposely brushing it off as a one-off occurrence or simply refusing to acknowledge it. 

Plant anatomy wasn’t something he was keen to learn about. He understood his basic, primal needs and that was that. 

Humans, on the other hand…

Cross-species breeding simply never came to mind. And even if it did, Vash was far too busy enjoying the feeling of Wolfwood on top of him, holding him close, whispering things he longed to hear—knowing that each spoken word was true—he loves you, all of you, every single piece of your being, every scar and blemish branded from God himself.

(He loves you.)

 .

 “Oi, blondie—you want to tell me why you dragged me out here again?”

The dim lighting in the old saloon feels suitable at this moment, one of the lights flickering idly. It’s noisy, overcrowded and Vash almost reconsiders his priorities. 

“How ’bout a drink first?”

It’s not something Wolfwood refuses, but he eyes the glass of water that is placed on their shared table. It’s murky in color, with a few specks of dirt swirling around, but it’s better than what they have seen in the previous towns. 

Wolfwood grabs his own glass, filled with a smooth amber tinge. “So,” he takes a swig and licks his lips. “What’s wrong?”

Vash wants to laugh. Leave it to Wolfwood to get straight to the point. 

“Nothing! Well, mostly nothing,“ Vash gives him a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know how it is.”

Except Wolfwood doesn’t know, with the way Vash keeps skirting around the topic at hand. 

The alcohol in his system is beginning to warm him up, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Vash is about to say something unimaginable. It worries him.

There’s a ruckus outside the saloon that quickly enters through the double swing doors, men shouting unintelligible things—words like ‘bounty’ and ‘where is he?’ are all that Wolfwood needs to hear before he downs the rest of his drink and roughly grabs Vash by the arm. 

“Hey, wait—I didn’t get to finish my drink!” Vash whines dramatically as he stumbles to his feet. One of the men arguing with another patron glances over towards them and Wolfwood curses.

“Damn it! Will you shut it?” He swivels around and pulls Vash into a corner of the saloon, trying to obscure the view of the humanoid typhoon from any onlookers. Miraculously, it works.

The commotion dies down after the barkeep threatens to drain the tap and close up for the evening. Those who initially caused the uproar either slip back out into the night or decide it’s time for a drink.

Vash really wishes he could have one right now, too. The water on the table may not taste great, but his throat has never felt so dry.

His arms find their way around Wolfwood’s waist, and he holds him there for a moment, in the corner of that saloon. The lights flicker again.

“I need to talk to you.”

 .

 “Guess he likes my voice,” Wolfwood smooths a hand against the swell of Vash’s belly. 

“He?” Vash can’t hide the curiosity in his voice at the word, raising an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure?” 

“Spikey, there is absolutely no way in hell you’re giving me a daughter,” Wolfwood states it so seriously that Vash starts to laugh. “I mean it. My heart won’t be able to take it.” 

 .

 When he finally manages to tell Wolfwood what has been ailing him, he isn’t entirely sure what to expect, reaction wise.

Yelling or swearing? An average response, perhaps the best possible outcome, especially when it comes to the man Vash has known for so many years now. Calling him names falls under this category as well.

What he didn’t expect was the silence, or Wolfwood’s cigarette falling out of his mouth a second later. 

“You’re—”

Vash nods, unable to say anything else. It’s hard to meet those dark eyes that are glued to his body.

“And it’s…” Wolfwood trails off, motioning to himself.

Another nod. 

There’s a long pause before everything goes back to normal—whatever that actually is, Vash isn’t certain, but it feels like he can breathe again once Wolfwood regains his senses and finally says more than a few words.

“I thought you said we didn’t need to use condoms!” Wolfwood exclaims. “I asked you three times!”

Three separate times, in fact. Vash groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, we don’t need to—we’ve never had—I didn’t think this was possible,” he settles on saying, because it’s true. 

This was purely impossible, and yet somehow, after 150 years, his body finally decided it was time. 

“With how often we fuck, I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner,” Wolfwood mutters. 

He’s not wrong, as embarrassing as it is to think about it.

“So…” Vash wrings his hands together, eyes flickering between Wolfwood and the cigarette that has long since been forgotten on the ground. He moves his boot to step on it, putting it out. 

“So,” Wolfwood parrots, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Are you okay? With all of this, I mean.”

“Me?” Vash blinks, confused. “I guess so, I was mostly worried about—”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Wolfwood reaches over and pulls Vash into an embrace.

“Save it, blondie,” he says quietly. “You and I both know I’m fine with kids.” Wolfwood is also not wrong about that. 

“That’s not what I asked you.”

Are you okay with this? Is this what you want?

“I—yeah,” Vash lets out a shaky breath. “I really am.” He wraps his arms around Wolfwood’s neck and buries his face into his shoulder. “Thank you, Nick.”

For everything.

 .

 A daughter… she would look just like you, Nick, Vash thinks to himself while Wolfwood continues to argue with him—with their child. And she would act like you, too.

“I don’t need two needle-noggins in my life,” he says sternly, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “So please inherit some damn common sense—”

“I have plenty of common sense,” Vash interrupts him. “For example—”

Wolfwood scoots his hand up underneath Vash’s t-shirt and squeezes the warm skin of Vash’s hip with a rough hand, eliciting a yelp out of him.

“Don’t say another word,” he grumbles, “unless you want me to knock more of that so-called sense into you.”

Vash’s smile is everything devious in nature. “I would love to see you try.”

 .

 The first time Wolfwood sees just how different Vash is as far as humans go, he’s equal parts aroused and surprised.

“You really weren’t kidding,” he says while trailing a finger across the inner part of Vash’s upper thigh, tracing a scar that mars the skin there. It stops just short of what he could only describe as thin, petal-like folds, tightly wound and—quivering? “This is pretty freaky, spikey.”

“Don’t tease me,” Vash all but huffs as his body is out on display for him. One too many drinks later and they find themselves in yet another unfamiliar, yet all too recognizable inn bedroom. 

It was easy for both of them to make it to this point—they always, always do, but this time it is different. It’s edging closer to something that neither one of them can turn away from.

Wolfwood grins at him. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

 “Can you—y-yes, right there,” Vash’s calves tighten around Wolfwood’s shoulders instinctively, hands gripping the bed sheets beneath him. 

“Easy, Vash,” Wolfwood is a little breathless when he pulls back, a hand trailing along the metal of his prosthetic. “Digging into my neck a bit there.”

Vash almost immediately tries to sit up, looking extremely concerned. “Shit, I’m so sorry—”

Wolfwood carefully presses a hand to Vash’s lower abdomen, stopping him. “It’s fine, sweetheart,” he licks his lips. “Lie back down.”

His legs loosen a bit, this time more mindful of Wolfwood’s fleshy shoulders. Vash had insisted on leaving his prosthetics on, enjoying being able to anchor himself against his lover. 

Wolfwood continues where he left off, nose brushing the inner, wetter petals that are waiting for him, taking in Vash’s scent with a soft inhale. 

He flicks his tongue across them, watching as they unfurl and invite him into something far greater. 

“Nick—” Vash arches his back with a groan. “More, I—”

“More what?” Wolfwood murmurs it against the opening of his slit, lips finding their way around the swell of a small bud that is nestled between it. “Full sentences.”

“More, please,” Vash’s voice trembles, “Don’t fucking stop.”

“Language, sweetheart,” Wolfwood presses a kiss to the bud, nips at it gently with his teeth and proceeds to curl his tongue around it. 

He sucks long and slow, far too slow for Vash’s liking, evident in the way he hears another groan come from him. 

Vash’s hand reaches for Wolfwood’s hair, tugging as he rocks his hips closer.

“Oh, Nick,” he gasps this time and Wolfwood is certain that he’s close, noticing how the room begins to glow a touch brighter. 

Seeing those intricate patterns spark to life across various parts of Vash’s body ignites something truly deep within Wolfwood, far deeper than any spoken word of some higher being he could imagine.

They dance across scarred legs, skipping over pieces of well worn beryl-infused metal, trailing up Vash’s torso, his neck—

Vash shudders when he comes, fingers flexing into Wolfwood’s hair, purposefully forcing the man to stay put between his legs.

Not that Wolfwood would have ever minded.

He laps up everything that Vash gives to him and tries to coax out even more with his mouth, relishing the sweet taste that hits his tongue. 

“Still with me, darlin’?” Wolfwood breaks away from him with a quiet gasp. He brings a hand up to his lips and wipes at it, grinning. 

“Uh-huh,” is the only coherent response he gets, Vash’s body going limp with bliss. “’S good, Nick, you’re so good.”

“Preaching to the choir, I see,” Wolfwood runs a hand up Vash’s thigh, tracing along the intricate plant markings and noting how they shimmer brighter with each touch. “Let’s see what else that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

 .

 “How did the appointment go?” Wolfwood eventually asks, moving up to settle beside Vash. “Did Brad ask about—”

“The feathers,” Vash nods and sighs quite dramatically. “It was going so well, too, but then I sneezed and everything just,” he lifted up both his hands and spread his fingers, metal and flesh flexing wide, “Exploded?”

“Exploded?” Wolfwood can’t help but laugh. “Our child is already a menace, I can't believe it.”

One morning Vash had awoken to small, downy feathers attempting to sprout from his shoulders and forearm—the last time that happened, any time that happened, actually, was when they—

Well. Vash definitely didn’t relay that information to Brad, but he didn’t try to hide any of his bodily changes when he went for his most recent checkup. 

Luida suspected it had something to do with the pregnancy—that energy, a life, now being constantly generated from within him. He was bound to have some… interesting side effects.

“I couldn’t believe it,” Vash says after a moment. “You should’ve seen the look on Brad's face when it happened though, or the room,” he pauses and glances at Wolfwood with a smile. “Completely covered in feathers.”

Wolfwood snakes an arm across Vash’s chest, moving to rest his head on his shoulder. “Bet he loved that,” he closes his eyes. “Glad everything went smoothly, blondie. I should be able to come next time.”

Vash turns his head and presses a kiss to Wolfwood’s hair. “Luida would like that. She’s been dying to see you again, you know.”

“More like dying to have someone help out around the ship,” Wolfwood sighs, but there’s no malice in his tone. “Say, next time we visit…” he lowers his hand down Vash’s chest, stopping pointedly at his stomach. “They’ll be able to tell us what the little sprout is, yeah?”

Vash’s small intake of breath doesn’t go by unnoticed and it causes Wolfwood to sit up, getting a better look at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Well—” Vash starts to say, but closes his mouth promptly. 

“Wait,” Wolfwood reaches over to the side of the bed and suddenly the room is illuminated by the warm glow from the lamp. “Vash, don’t tell me you—” he glances back over at him and studies his face for a moment in silence. Vash desperately wishes Wolfwood wasn’t so damn good at reading him for once. 

“You already know, don’t you?” 

Vash groans and brings a hand up to his face. “It was an accident, Luida brought it up before I could stop her. I’m so sorry, Nick.” 

Wolfwood exhales and slumps back against the pillows. “Unbelievable.”

Vash attempts to roll over to face him, being on his back for so long starting to become a bit uncomfortable. “Nick?”

Silence. 

“Nicholas,” Vash pouts—he definitely has no right to do so, but he can’t help it. “I can just tell you, would that make it better?”

“No,” Wolfwood sighs. “I still want it to be a surprise.”

“I can act surprised when she tells us!” Vash says with enthusiasm. Wolfwood gives him a withering look. “No? Okay, okay,” he frowns, “it was worth a shot, though.”

“You are a complete needle-noggin idiot, you know that?” Wolfwood reaches over to flick Vash’s head. “And… it’s all right, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Wolfwood stresses the fact with a poke to Vash’s cheek. “I can wait a few more weeks. You better not bring it up on accident, though, or else—”

“I won’t! I promise, scout’s honor!”

 .

 Wolfwood is a lazy kisser—Vash used to tease him for it, but it wasn’t as though he was much better—or had any practice.

And they really did have the time now for these sorts of things.

He sighs as Wolfwood peppers a trail of kisses up his chest, taking his time with each scar and meld of flesh and metal his lips come past. 

“Nicholas,” Vash’s voice is light, full of warmth. “I thought you said— oh!”

Wolfwood captured his mouth with ease, stopping whatever teasing comment that was about to be said. 

His lips are chapped, but still somehow soft, warm—Vash has half a mind to point that out, but Wolfwood won’t allow it with the way his mouth is working. 

Vash gives in and sighs into the kiss, tugs him closer, prosthetic fingers raking through Wolfwood’s hair. It’s enough of an incentive to keep going, by any means. 

Even if there is shouting outside the inn bedroom’s window, or the ringing of a few gunshots sounding off in the lingering desert air. 

Vash breaks the kiss to turn his head, ignoring how Wolfwood sets his aim for his throat.

“Should we go—mmh,” Vash tries to suppress a moan, unsuccessfully, “check that out?” 

Wolfwood pauses, lips lingering near Vash’s collarbone. “During the middle of this?” 

He has a point. 

And to further express said point, Wolfwood slowly rocks his hips along Vash’s thighs.

“You’re right,” and Vash can’t believe he’s saying it with a smile on his face, one that Wolfwood can’t see from this angle, but knows that the man can feel. 

The whole room is lighting up, after all.

“It can wait,” Vash decides, and Wolfwood takes him.

 .

 One minute of silence passes between them, and then two. 

“Okay, I can’t do this,” Wolfwood rolls over to face Vash. “’M not going to be able to sleep unless I know.”

Vash is unable to restrain himself from laughing. “Really? Surely there’s something in your good book about rewarding patience.”

“Always be humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love,” Wolfwood recalls the passage in a low voice. “I think I’ve been pretty gentle lately, all things considered.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Vash agrees, amused. “Not so humble, though. Might need some brushing up on that.”

Wolfwood slides a bit closer to Vash. “Good thing we’ll have some down time for the next couple of months then—I could use some practice.”

“I happen to know an excellent teacher,” Vash says. He feels Wolfwood snake an arm across underneath the blankets, reaching for his shoulder to pull Vash in an embrace. 

“If you say Brad, I swear to fucking God—”

Vash’s huff of laughter is the only response Wolfwood gets before a pale hand beckons him closer. 

Even in the now-quiet of the room, Vash’s whisper to his ear is perhaps the softest thing Wolfwood has heard in a very long time. 

He can’t help his too sudden reply, his own voice on the verge of cracking. “Really?”

Vash nods. “Yes, really.”

And if Wolfwood hid his face in the crook of Vash’s neck, eyes filled with a dampness that threatened to spill over and unable to say anything else except a murmured ‘thank you’—

It was enough.