#˟wolfwood;; bullet of a broken gun

[misplacedreporter]

tag dump

˟main;; a hell of a team

˟ooc;; we're out of print!

memes;;

˟vash;; you're not as lonely as you think

˟self;; ace reporter reporting for duty

˟roberto;; booze and blackjack

˟knives;; swiss army knife

˟zazie;; bop a worm

˟vashmeryl;; still painting flowers for you (plantisvox)

˟wolfwood;; bullet of a broken gun

˟musing;; we're written in the stars

˟canon;; it's only dark when your eyes are closed

˟crack;; dark arts

˟mashwood;; i still fall for you like suns do for skies (gen)

˟merylwood;; love was never a choice for me (gen)

˟vashmeryl;; i understand more than you know (gen)

˟vashmeryl;; tonight i want to dance with you (typhoonvash)

˟royalty masquerade au;; fantastic mr fox

˟and so i called him atlas; for i placed the world onto his shoulders;; (wolfwood) full of merc

˟and lo! the lamb laid his head upon the altar of his own accord and was slain;; (sheepwood) apostacizing

hcs;;

˟merylwood;; I'm out of my head of my heart and my mind (full-of-mercy)

˟merylwood;; if you need a confession i'm guilty (forgivenpunishment)

˟merylwood^2;; just know that mine is a hand to hold (forgivenpunishment & full-of-mercy)

˟pokemon eeby deeby;; all along it's been a race against the clock

[kindagayfish]

General (Stampede) Wolfwood x reader headcanons cause he makes my brain go brrrr

Also, reader is gn and there is some nsfw below the cut!

You’re in the car when Meryl hits him, and the first one to his side to see if he’s still breathing. When he looks up at you and sees the sun haloing your face, he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven

Nickname’s you “angel” for the day

“And that just leaves the last one for me and the angel.” The dark-haired man flashes you a grin, nodding towards the fourth chamber inside the giant worm.

“Wait, hang on, why do I have to go with you?” You stammer out, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You guys don’t trust me right? Wouldn’t it be smarter to keep an eye on me then?”

“Would be better if I went instead,” Roberto cuts in, eyeing the man.

“Sorry old man, you’re not really my type.” He waves Roberto off before heading towards the opening of the chamber. “Now we don’t have any time to waste standing around.”

“Y/n” Roberto tosses you his gun. “Shoot’em in the knees if he tries anything.”

“Yes sir”

You’re surprised when he’s the one who pulls you from the giant worm’s guts. And after thanking him, he gives you his name.

Falling asleep on Wolfwood’s shoulder in the car is just a habit that wordlessly happens after he joins the group. At first you would just lean your head back and try to stay upright while squished between Vash and Wolfwood. However, this will lead to your head bobbing a lot and not actually being able to fully fall asleep so after watching it happen for the tenth time, Wolfwood just guides your head down gently onto his shoulder. Vash would definitely raise an eyebrow at him but Wolfwood would ignore it with the deepest blush on his face.

When you ask him to do something for you the first time, he’ll ask for a kiss as a reward.

If the request flusters you, he’ll laugh saying he’ll put it on your tab and wink. If you take him up on the request, he’ll completely lose his composure and be stuttering out nonsense (honestly didn’t think you’d actually do it).

Keeps his white shirt unbuttoned even more than normal after catching you staring one day (I MEAN HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’S TITS?????)

Will sometimes just hand you his cross just to see you struggle with holding it up. Thinks it’s hilarious and always waits until you beg for his help.

WILL MANHANDLE YOU JUST LIKE HIS GUN THIS MAN LOVES HOW STRONG HE IS AND WILL SHOW OFF EVERY CHANCE HE GETS

While running from danger Wolfwood will legit throw you over his shoulder and carry his weapon under his other arm

If you are getting shot at though, he will use his god-given strength to throw you out of the way. You might still get hurt, but better to be alive with a broken arm than be dead full of bullet holes.

I think every time he uses one of his vials, it also heals the damage in his lungs from that nasty smoking addiction and that’s why he can still sprint at full speed without wheezing

Will finally have his Oh shit I’m in love with them moment after you get hurt for the first time (I have a fic im writing for the confession and it’s so good omg) but keeps it to himself because he isn’t sure you feel the same. Probably thinks you wouldn’t ever want to be with a man who calls himself an undertaker.

Even before his big realization, Wolfwood was very protective of you. If you got into a disagreement at a bar, he knew you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from hovering behind you with a deadly aura, his eyes threatening any man who dare approach you.

A nsfw treat >:)

I honestly believe this man is the definition of a switch

Like I feel like he himself would be such a brat, but also could dish it out to a brat partner???

SUCH A TEASE

Praise and body worship!!!!!!!! Literally your body is a temple to him

I feel like he would have some silly and serious moments with you. Like this man makes LOVE to you, but also just loves to tease and fluster you and loves when you get shy/embarrassed.

But Wolfwood is also so easy to fluster too so it’s just a battle of who can shut the other person up first

He’s got some hot breathy moans (lord have mercy)

Wolfwood will say a prayer before going down on you

He’ll have you naked, situated on the bed so that your legs hang off the edge while he’s knelt in front of you on the floor

“Oh heavenly father, I have come to thank you-”

“Nicholassss what are you doing?” You laugh as you prop yourself up on one elbow to give him a look.

“Uh, thanking the lord for this meal? You’re ruining it. Now I have to start over.”

He’ll trail kisses up your leg and thighs while finishing his prayer, before finally bringing his eager lips to where you need them the most.

[anxiety-elemental-kay]

TriMax Volume 10: Haunting The Narrative That Doomed You by Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Still catching up on those meta posts before the end of October CAN THEY DO IT???

I've seen various of interpretations and arguments about the exact cause of Wolfwood's death. (Aside from heart failure/drug overdose.) Was it adhering to strictly to Vash's ideals? Was Chapel right in saying Wolfwood was foolish to try to live up to the morality of an immortal being?

Here's the question I would ask: If Wolfwood didn't want to adopt Vash's ideals, if he was willing to kill LR, what would have changed? Why was it important that Wolfwood tried to change before he died?

Wolfwood tries several times to disable Livio in that fight, up to and including shooting him directly in the heart, and even blowing up Razlo with a magazine (what's the word for that??) of machine gun bullets to reduce him to gooey chunks. After a while it's impossible to tell that Wolfwood was ever trying to save LR.

Absolutely none of the things Wolfwood tries kills them. Considering that LR goes on to get impaled by Elendira several times (and not the fun kind boo) it's difficult to imagine what Wolfwood could have done to actually kill Livio. So what would have been different?

Livio might not have stopped Razlo from killing Wolfwood if Livio thought his brother didn't value his life, didn't want to save him. Would Livio think to stop Razlo otherwise? Why would he? Even if Chapel still died, what would've happened to LR, when they had nowhere else to go?

This fight was always going to happen. Knives was never going to spare the orphanage, so Wolfwood would always go and try to save it. Chapel was out for Wolfwood's blood and was determined to use his brother to get his revenge.

Unless Wolfwood brought Vash with him from the start, I don't think that fight could've ended any other way. That's Wolfwood's fatal flaw, he still tried to do everything on his own even though there were people who loved and cared for him. It wasn't trying to break away from his violent past that killed him, his self-isolation did.

That's where the tragedy of his death lies. It didn't need to be this way. It was always going to be this way.

Wolfwood goes on to haunt the narrative that doomed him. Even though he died, the choices he made outlive him, and become his legacy.

Livio breaks away from Chapel, and follows Vash. Livio gains support from not just Vash but the colonists who knew Wolfwood. He's able to grow into his own person and make his own choices, things denied to him since he was a child taken in by the Eye of Michael.

If Wolfwood hadn't tried to spare Livio, could Vash have later brought himself to kill Legato? Could Vash bring himself to kill if Wolfwood never tried not to? If not Legato wouldn't have stopped at Livio, his determination to break Vash and prove his loyalty to Knives was too great. How many others might have died, if Vash hadn't broken his vow to Rem, to uphold his vow to Wolfwood?

I don't quite know how to conclude this post, aside from this: there are a lot of ways to kill of a major character, many of them Very Bad. I'll spare you the rant of a bitter ex-WoW player (rip Vol'jin you deserved better), but I'm sure everyone here can think of an example of a character killed off for cheap shock, because the writers didn't know what to do with them, or some other bullshit. That's not what happened with Wolfwood.

If you're going to kill a character in your story, this one of the ways you make it work: you give them a legacy, you let them haunt those that outlive them, you bring their story to an end, even if it's a tragic one. If there is an afterlife in Trigun, I know for sure Wolfwood is at peace.

[yurinaa-world]

Mmm idk Vash Wolfwood reaction of you sacrificing for them but like gets badly hurt but y/n doesn't die or u can decide that

Thanks in advance buddy 😊

Characters: Vash x Gender-Neutral Reader

Synopsis: Vash and Nicholas see you sacrificing yourself and getting hurt.

Warnings: Mention of a gun, blood, and spelling errors

Vash "The Humanoid Typhoon

Sitting on the ground of an abandoned building, the floorboards creak from your weight as a gunshot rings through the building. "Damn!" you grunted, clutching your gun to your chest while reloading your bullets. "Are you alright, (name)?"" Vash asked, "Who was sitting beside you? "I'm good, but this is not the time," you snapped back, reloading the one last bullet in the barrel.

A small round bullet went through the window, almost hitting "those sons of..." You growled under your breath, going up to the window and peering outside before shooting a bullet out at the window, breaking it with another shot. A loud bang filled the air as the bullet ricocheted.

"Vash, get out of here as fast as you can," you said. "What about you?" He exclaimed, "At this point, we both will get killed!" You responded, "Don't worry about me; I'll come join you when I'm done with them." You replied, "Please don't die." Vash begged, "I won't." You answered, turning your head towards Vash. "Just go!" Vash nodded his head and scrambled to his feet as he ran out the back door.

Before a sharp pain shimmied your shoulder like a bullet, you fell backwards onto the ground and dropped your gun by your side, blood pouring down your wound. You gritted your teeth, clenched your jaw in pain, and gripped your wound's hand tightly to stop the bleeding. You gritted your teeth together and took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

Grabbing the gun again to end this before another bullet flew past, hitting the wall behind you, You cursed quietly before pulling the trigger again, shooting the remaining men who were shooting at you and Vash. Once you empty the bullets, you put the empty gun to your side of your pants.

You gritted your teeth again and tried to push yourself up, but the pain in your shoulder made it hard to move. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment, before starting to limp towards the back door. The door handle was broken, but you didn't care as you pulled the handle open, wincing at the cold air that hit your wound.

You stumbled out of the ruined building. "(Name)," a family voice shouted, causing you to flinch and nearly fall over. Vash runs up to you and says, "(Name), you're bleeding!" He gasped, grabbing your arm, helping you stand straight, and supporting most of your weight on him.

He helps you limp into the alleyway, sitting you against the cold wall. You sigh and lean against the wall, trying your hardest to keep breathing and not pass out as your shoulder pulses in pain every time you breathe. You couldn't focus on anything other than the searing pain, which you had no doubt was going to scar. "It's going to be alright, I promise," Vash reassured, letting out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob, his hands shaking as he held onto you. "........I....promise..." you replied, hot tears rolling down your face.

".......Promise....." you repeated.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood "The Punisher"

Curses leaving you and Nicholas' mouths as you both shoot bullets at the enemy and run away from it, bullets going all around your heads and hitting the ground with loud bangs, making your ears ring in pain while running and jumping for cover, you and Nicholas being meters apart from each other and trying to avoid the bullets that are coming your way.

"you alright" He asked you, "Yeah, I'm fine; how about yourself?" You reply back, panting from the adrenaline rush that has been flowing through your body. You were still able to keep your feet moving, but you could tell Nicholas was getting tired.

 No wonder when he's carrying around a huge cross, looking out to see or shoot your enemies, your heart sinks seeing a gun pointed Nicholas' way. "NICHOLAS!' you yelled out, pulling him out of the fire, feeling the bullet hit your body, the sharp pain shooting through your body.

Your vision is blurry as you fall on the ground, tears stinging in your eyes, and your ears ringing loudly as the world falls silent, even gunshots going still, as if time stopped for you as you lie there on the hard ground, breathing heavily.

"Hey, are you alright, (name)?" Nicholas lifts you from the ground, placing his hand under your head to support your weight. "What happened to men who were shooting?" you ask, still gasping for breath. "Forget about it, damn it," he replies with annoyance laced in his voice. You smile lightly, seeing the anger and sadness mixed in his expression. "I'll be fine; it takes a lot to kill me," you say, trying to joke to lighten up the situation.

His expression turns into a glare. "It's like you'll let me die anytime soon." You let out a shaky laugh before coughing again. "You better not die or I'll kill you first."

"I won't"

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[deludedfantasy]

Trimax Vol 8 Ch 1-3

I'm losing my mind over this volume, I swear to god. It makes me feel like I'm chewing on glass. Anyway, here are some unhinged thoughts about the first half of volume 8.

Ch 1

The fact that the broken posts of the bridge look like crosses reads as very ominous to me…

Ok, this page. This page has lived rent free in my head for two months since the first time I read this. At first, I didn’t notice that Vash was balancing on the stump of his arm, it just kinda looked like he was doing one of his insane workouts but then. Oh but then. I looked closer and I Realized and the cold dread set in. 

You know what else gets me? Knives stripped him of his clothes. He left Vash in only his pants. But worst of all, he took away his arm. You could argue it was because it has a gun in it, but all he’d really have to do is take the bullets out and it wouldn’t be useful anymore. Taking away his arm is just adding insult to injury and in particular shows his just blatant disregard for Vash’s bodily autonomy. Just because it’s not flesh and bone, doesn’t mean it’s not a part of his body! It’s his arm, goddammit! And Knives said, I’ll take this away from you, this isn’t part of you and I just don’t think you need it. It’s pointlessly cruel and punitive. I think he’s doing it just because he can, to show how powerful he is, and how Vash is his.

Knives really said, “I was going to use Legato’s powers for my evil plans, but actually, it’s better for just torturing you.”

Vash is right! Knives is going on and on about how humans abuse and misuse Plants, but Knives was the one who crashed humanity on a desert planet. These people are trying to survive with the only resources they have. Vash knows it’s horrible and unfair, but what choice do they have? They’ve been forced into a trolley problem of epic proportions and somebody has to die, either a lot of humans or a single Plant. What kind of choice is that?

Oh, Wolfwood. What are you thinking about? His mission is over, he’s led Vash to his doom, and now, he’s just smoking another cigarette. Is that a face of regret? Or despair, that he couldn’t do anything to stop what was coming?

So Knives’s ship is something of an anomaly. It seems like humanity doesn’t have the capability to make anything that flies anymore, so it’s a shock when it appears over the city. No wonder that one kid is asking their mom where their camera is. 

Wolfwood isn’t shooting to kill! How interesting, I say with tears in my eyes. He’s always listened to Vash and now, he’s started to take it in. That he doesn’t have to be a killer, even if that’s what his mentor made him to be and is still trying to make him be.

Another instance of Wolfwood’s magically appearing handgun. 

But man, Chapel is fucking evil. He sends Double Fang to slaughter those soldiers to teach Wolfwood a lesson, to make him hurt, for not doing it himself. Because Double Fang doesn’t give them a quick death like Wolfwood would. His is hard and bloody and revels in the carnage and you just know it makes Wolfwood sick. 

Vash asks Knives, “Do you really believe people cannot change?” He’s not just asking him about humanity, Vash is asking Knives if he doesn’t believe he can choose a different path too. That even though he’s started all this and is intent on destroying humanity, he can’t find another way. Vash still sees something of his sweet brother in Knives and he’s begging him to stop.

OMG TESLA. The mention of her makes Vash so angry, he actually manages to fight against Legato’s control of him! This was what I was talking about in my meta, the hypocrisy of Knives using Tesla for his crusade, and Vash directly calls him out for it!!! He’s using her to fuel his rage and hatred rather than looking at the fear inside himself. 

Oh, I love this conversation so much. Vash is right, they do have a duty to Tesla, but not in the crusade Knives created. “Only the victims of violence can truly describe its essence.” Because they know what can be done to them and have seen the results of it, they’re the only ones who can stop it. They’re the only ones who can change the story because they know the ending and the pain it causes. They’re the ones that can stop the cycle. Instead, Knives is just continuing it. 

Also!! Vash calls out Knives for bottling up his feelings and letting them morph into something big and ugly and toxic, enough to motivate him to do these terrible things, to turn Tesla’s death into a crusade of hate. When he asks, “Is that who you really are?” it hits really hard, because we know what Knives used to be like, that sweet curious child. By never letting any of that fear out, it turned that cute little kid into a hateful, murderous man, and despite all the terrible things Knives has done to him, Vash still sees that little boy. He wants Knives to see it too. But he won’t, because he’s gone too far to stop now.

Ch 2

Ugh, Chapel is really twisting the knife here. Wolfwood already feels like he doesn’t recognize himself, that he can’t go back to the very place he gave everything up to protect. To then hear it from the man that twisted him into this shape only makes it sting more. 

Look, I already hated Chapel from my first read of the manga, but now I hate him even more. He’s so cold and cruel. He’s telling Wolfwood all these things to hurt him, and he does it with such glee. He looks down on Wolfwood’s love and care for the orphanage. It’s straight up fucking evil to tell Wolfwood that the place he gets most of his assassins from is the orphanage, that Wolfwood didn’t manage to protect those children. 

These moments, as the soldiers are trying to figure out what happened across the bridge and we see the carnage Knives left behind, were particularly chilling on my first read. I was kind of in denial about where this was all going and really didn’t think we were going into what’s essentially an Apocalypse scenario. The way it’s revealed is so fucking brutal and it still makes me so tense.

And then it just keeps getting worse and worse. Knives accused humans of only being able to cause death and destruction, endless suffering, but look at what he’s doing. The empty cities, the riots, the kid crying over his dead parents—he isn’t doing anything that humans haven’t done before. Another instance of his hypocrisy. 

NOT VASH IN THE OUBLIETTE. 

And Wolfwood…poor Wolfwood. He’s just sitting there and looking so angry that he can’t do anything. I personally think that he’s also feeling guilty so his part in it and that’s only making the anger at himself and the world worse.

In one chapter, the world is completely decimated…but at the end a ray of light. The girls are back! They’re still alive and they’re working with Luida! I love how every time we leave them, we’re reintroduced to them in a similar way. But this one is so very silent, with two lone, cloaked figures riding across a barren landscape. When they enter the building, rather than the usual jokes and talking, they’re greeted warmly as equals and we get the feeling that someone is still fighting for humanity when Vash can’t.

Ch 3

Really hoping that a chapter called “Counter Attack!!” will give me a little hope after all that despair. 

This chapter, and the reveal that Meryl and Milly have spent seven months traveling around the planet trying to bring aid to people, leaves me with a great hunger to see some of their growth and adventures during this time. It would be such an interesting spin-off series.

Especially because Meryl looks so different. She’s always been serious, but somehow she seems even more serious and determined. There’s a darkness behind her eyes that didn’t used to be there before. How did she deal with all her trauma surrounding Vash and the subsequent breakdown of society, not even knowing if he was alive, if she’d ever see him again and be able to work through what happened between them?

I’m sure many people have pointed out this panel, but man, Meryl’s face here. The circles under her eyes, the grimness. She knows everything, she’s seen so many horrible things, but there’s still a spark of determination. 

Luida and everyone from Home knows exactly what kind of enemy they’re up against. They understand how powerful Knives is and that they stand little chance against him. But they’re going to fight anyway. For Vash and everything he stands for and everything he did for them. 

I love Luida so much. Everyone else in the hangar gets really worried after Meryl tells them what happened in July and what Vash is capable of. But Luida, as usual, sticks up for Vash and reminds them of all the good things he has done for them, how he’s always fought against Knives. And how they owe him, not just to fight, but to help him out and rescue him. He’s not just the destroyer of July, he’s also, above all, always been a protector. And now he deserves someone to save him. 

Oh and Luida’s moment of doubt, her wondering if she’s a coward. Meryl comes forward and admits she’s had the same thoughts. She’s worried about the same things. They both have such a sense of duty and responsibility, but it comes with the burden of never knowing if you’re doing the right thing. 

It’s interesting to think about much, much earlier, when Meryl had her doubts about herself way back during her early days with Vash, when she wondered if she was too cold and calculating. Luida is having a similar moment. There’s something so human about it, their fear that they aren’t doing enough or the right thing. I just love the female characters in this story and their complexity so much. 

Oh my god, this Plant memory. It has lived rent free in my head for months. For all Knives’s talk that humans abuse Plants and don’t care about them, look at this little girl and how joyful she is about it. How the humans thank her for her work. It’s a drop in the bucket compared to Knives’s rage, but it’s wiggling its way in. It’s making him doubt everything he’s ever believed about humanity’s cruelty. 

Vash in that cage/coffin thing fucks me up so badly. You know Knives locked him up like that to “protect” him, so he wouldn’t get in the way of Knives’s work and not kill himself quicker trying to stop him. But it’s so, so cruel to shove him into that small space and isolate him like that. 

Is Knives getting overwhelmed by all of the Plants’ memories? He did absorb so many of them. That’s a lot of minds for any one person to handle, even if he’s a hyper-intelligent Independent. 

YES YES YES. WOLFWOOD TO THE RESCUE. The ambush of the fighter planes was just a distraction for him to get in and get Vash out!!!

Still wonder exactly how he managed to get on the Ark during all this. Was he hiding out on it from earlier? Or did he somehow jump from one of the fighter planes?

[a-chip-in-inosukes-nichirin]

Shot Through the Heart and You're (Not) to Blame

Fandom: Trigun Stampede

Rating: Teen/Mature

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Angst

Pairings: Meryl Stryfe/Nicholas Wolfwood/Vash the Stampede (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Tags: Meryl Stryfe, Vash the Stampede, Wolfwood/Nicholas, Roberto, Whump, angst, Protective Wolfwood, Protective Roberto, Protective Vash, father-figure Roberto, bullet wounds, injuries, Violence, Canon-typical misogyny, Swearing, blood, Hurt Meryl, Meryl Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Third Person POV, Meryl-centric

Word Count: 2.9k

Meryl gets caught in the crossfire, and things don't look so good.

Cross posted from my AO3 account

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meryl rolled over, still groggy as her lids started to lift, the blanket tucked tightly around her shoulders. The double bed she’d shared with Vash last night was suspiciously empty and her sleep fogged mind wondered if he’d gotten up to use the bathroom. Usually, she and Roberto would share one double while Wolfwood and Vash shared the other, but her superior and the so-called priest decided to stay up smoking and drinking despite the plans to leave early the next morning, leaving her grumbling about being woken up when they finally decided to head to bed. Vash had timidly offered to share the room with her as he was tired as well, and after a moment of consideration and squinting at the human typhoon, Roberto nodded.

They two of them had settled down to sleep with minimal talking, Meryl asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. She’d slept like a rock until waking up just now from the sound of the doorknob jiggling.

Vash must have forgotten his key, she thought and sighed, not wanting to leave the cozy warmth of the bed just yet.

A sharp crack! had her eyes snapping open as she pushed herself up, short hair stuck to her face. The door had been busted open, handle now broken. She was about to snap at Vash for being impatient when she froze. Vash was not in the doorway. Nor was it Roberto or Wolfwood. She didn’t recognize any of the men standing there, guns levelled at her head. They wore dirty tank tops that left their broad, sunburned shoulders out, heavy boots, and thick, loose pants.

“Where is he?”

“Who?” Meryl’s heart was pounding loudly in her ears.

“The Humaniod Typhoon; where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Meryl said. It was the truth. He was gone when she woke. Where? Who knows. He was the Human Typhoon; he didn’t exactly keep a schedule.

“Don’t play dumb,” the tallest -and broadest- man strode forward, the rest of the men spilling into the room behind him. “The innkeeper said he was in this room!”

“Well, he’s obviously not!” Meryl snapped, her nerves getting the better of her. She regretted not sleeping with a gun under her pillow.

A shot rang out, and Meryl gasped, clutching her calf where a bullet had grazed. Small feathers puffed up from the hole in the bed where the bullet had ripped through the mattress.

“I’d think twice about lying, whore,” the man was uncomfortably close to Meryl. She could see his stained teeth and smell the tobacco on his breath. The other men were rooting around the room, searching for clues.

“I’m not! He left already!” Meryl gritted her teeth, a hand pressing to where blood beaded on her leg. It wasn’t deep; it probably wouldn’t need stitches. Still hurt like a bitch though.

“Then tell me where he is now,” the barrel of the gun was pressed against her collarbone. The cool metal of the gun barrel made her shiver. “Or things may get a little messy.”

“He didn’t tell me.”

The barrel of the gun pulled away and Meryl let out the breath she was holding. The man turned his back, taking a step away and sighing. His once-white tank top stretching even more as he took in a deep breath, gun resting against his shoulder in what could only be described as “nonchalant”. Meryl had the briefest hope that they would all just file out of the room without any further conflict.

Meryl registered the gun smoke and noise before realizing she was falling backwards off the edge of the bed. She hit the ground with a thud, wondering what had knocked her there. She could hear commotion near the door, which was blocked from her view on the floor. Several rounds of gunshots pierced the air. Cries were heard and gurgling like someone choking on their own blood. Something slid down her face and she reached a hand up to wipe it away as she tried to push herself up from where she’d been knocked on her back.

She pulled her hand away to see blood. Was that hers? Meryl realized the gurgling had been coming from her throat and she coughed, trying to pull in air. Blood dribbled down her chin and onto her rapidly darkening shirt. There was a spot that was pulsing, burning with pain. Thick, dark fluid spilled from a hole a little under her right collarbone.

The realization hit Meryl like a truck as her arms gave out and she fell back to the floor. She’d been shot. Meryl had close calls before; almost falling off the edge of a crumbling cliff, bullets grazing her on occasion during a shootout, getting knocked around a bit, but she’d never been in any actual danger of losing her life before. Up until now, she’d been protected by an immense amount of luck.  Roberto had always been there to pull her out of the way while Vash or Wolfwood took care of whatever was causing the problem. She wasn’t genetically modified like Wolfwood or skilled like Vash. Bullets and falls would cause lasting damage.

The pain was radiating from the wound, rolling over her with each heartbeat. She tried to maneuver her hand to stop the bleeding but everything felt heavy and disjointed. How much blood had she lost? It felt like a lot. She was drenched with blood and sweat, adrenaline running through her body, but refusing to make itself useful.

Shots rang out for an eternity before dying down.

“Where the hell are they?” she heard Roberto’s voice, laced with worry.

“Hell if I know,” a dull thud that must have been the Punisher hitting the floor was heard on the other side of the bed.

Meryl tried to call out, but her head felt light. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.

Running feet were heard faintly before, “Oi! Where were you?”

Vash’s voice sounded after a moment of panting, “I… I was buying bullets before we left.”

“Well, where’s shortie?”

Meryl wanted to scream, I’m here! Help me, I’m bleeding out! She’d never been one for tears- she was a tough reporter- but they stung her eyes as she opened her mouth to take in as much air as she could, her lungs not cooperating.

“She was still sleeping when I left.”

“There’s blood on the bed,” she heard Wolfwood curse softly.

Three figures appeared in Meryl’s field of view. They were all a little blurry from the tears in her eyes, but they were there.

“R...ber…” Meryl gurgled, struggling as the blood that had accumulated in her mouth spilled over her chin.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Roberto was kneeling next to Meryl, both hands pressed to her chest, staunching the sluggish blood flow.

“Why the hell did you leave her here alone?!” Wolfwood was yelling at Vash.

“I-I’m sorry,” Vash’s face had crumpled into guilt and shame.

It’s not his fault, Meryl wanted to say. She’d do anything to make that look on his face go away. He already suffered so much regret and guilt; she couldn’t be another burden.

“S-sss…” Meryl hissed, unable to form words.

“Don’t try talking,” Roberto murmured. It was unusual for Meryl to see him this serious. He’d always been more laid back, leaving her to do all the worrying.

Wolfwood had knelt down opposite Roberto on the other side of Meryl. He had a lollypop stick clenched between his teeth. Meryl could feel tears dripping down her face as the pressure applied by Roberto didn’t exactly feel comfortable.

“She’s bleeding out. I’ve got it slowed, but I need bandages,” Roberto pointed to where Punisher sat propped against the wall.

With uncharacteristic obedience, Wolfwood swiftly unwrapped the cloth from his cross and handed it to the reporter. Vash was frozen behind them, panic painting his features. Meryl could see the thoughts at war in his head. He trying to decide if he should run. Meryl’s mind wasn’t sharp right now, but she knew that if he ran, they’d likely never see each other again. Meryl reached out a shaky hand.

“Vvv…Vashhh,” she slurred, her lips not quite working.

His eyes snapped to where she lay, Roberto on one side, Wolfwood on the other, white shirt stained crimson, blood pooling in the hollow of her throat.

One second.

Two.

“Dammit, needle-noggin’, she’s asking for you so get your ass over here!” Wolfwood snapped.

Vash settled himself at Meryl’s head with lightning speed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he breathed repentance like a prayer, muttering with his eyes pressed tightly together, his forehead touching hers as he provided his lap as a cushion for her head.

“We need to get the bullet out,” Roberto glanced down at Meryl. “It’s going to hurt.”

Meryl’s only response was a gentle fluttering of her eyelids. She felt so tired…

She was only mildly aware of her shirt buttons being undone, and the strap of her bra being pushed off her shoulder and out of the way. Something bumped the wound and she jerked, the raw nerves screaming. Roberto was digging in the hole under her clavicle with a pair of tweezers, or something similar. Every time they touched her exposed flesh it stung.

“Got it,” Roberto tossed the offending metal to the side and immediately uncorked his flask.

This really wasn’t the time to be drinking, Meryl thought.

Roberto paused, and then poured the contents directly onto wound. Screams burned her throat as she thrashed. Vash pressed his lips to her forehead, hands carding through her damp hair in some semblance of comfort.

“Stop, stop!” Meryl screamed. The booze dribbled into the cavity created by the bullet, and it was almost worse than everything else. Her body went limp, adrenaline slowing as Roberto and Wolfwood tag-teamed wrapping her with bandages and wiping of the remaining blood. Meryl’s teeth were chattering, whimpers escaping her lips in a pathetic display of weakness as she turned her head and pressed into Vash’s human hand, seeking comfort. His touches were gentle as he caressed her cheek. Fat, salty tears dripped onto her face from Vash’s eyes.

“I never should’ve left you alone,” he whispered, voice tight with guilt.

“We need to get moving,” Wolfwood’s eyes shifted to the holes in the bedroom wall. “It’s not safe to stay here.”

Roberto gave a grunt and tightened the bandages. In one swift motion, the older man had Meryl cradled in his arms. Vash and Wolfwood were close on his heels as they made a beeline for the truck.

“One of you will need to sit in the back with her,” Roberto said, “Keep an eye on her while I drive.”

“I’ll do it,” the words were out of Vash’s mouth before he could stop them.

Wolfwood pressed his lips together, an unspoken comment lingering in the air. Vash climbed into the backseat and Roberto passed Meryl up.

“Don’t let her jostle around too much.”

Vash took off his coat and wrapped it around Meryl, zipping it up so she looked more like a caterpillar than a human. He settled her down so her head lay on his lap again, and began running his hands through her hair. Meryl had fallen asleep at some point during the trek to the truck, her chest rising and falling with the exhaustion of a life-threatening ordeal.

If only I’d been there… Vash traced the round part of Meryl’s cheek, still speckled with a little blood. He was never there when someone really needed him.

The truck rumbled to life and gently bumped out into the desert and across the wide expanse of sand. The drive was silent for a long time as the sand stretched out behind them, putting distance between them and the town. Roberto glanced up to the rearview mirror after a while, noting the crumbling expression on the Vash’s face.

“She’ll survive,” he said gruffly. “Just make sure her wound doesn’t reopen.”

Vash nodded mutely. Wolfwood snuck a glance back at Meryl. Her brows were furrowed as she turned her head towards the front, eyes screwed shut still.

I should’ve gotten there faster, Wolfwood clenched his teeth, pulling out a cigarette. He rolled the window down a crack and lit the end. If only I’d gone to check right when I heard the first gunshot.

Roberto leaned his head back against his seat, letting out a long breath through his nose. Wolfwood glanced at the man, who seemed to have aged ten years in the last few hours. He pulled out another cigarette and held it out to the reporter. Roberto raised his brows a fraction but took it and even allowed Wolfwood to light it for him.

“I never should’ve left the newbie alone,” Roberto sighed, puffing out the smoke. “She’s… my responsibility. I should’ve been watching her.”

“It’s not!” Vash had to stop himself from jumping forward. “It-it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left her alone. I thought it would be fine, I was just restocking bullets before we left, but… It’s all my fault…”

Wolfwood took a drag from his cigarette. “You’re right.”

Vash stiffened.

“It is your fault for leaving her. It’s the old man’s fault for letting her share a room with you instead of someone else. And it’s my fault for not getting there sooner.” Wolfwood kept his eyes glued to the window, refusing to meet the shocked gaze of Vash. “We’re all at fault. So shut up and stop whining about it. Just… make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Vash nodded; the harsh words strangely comforting. He couldn’t help the tears swelling up, plip-plip-plipping onto the jacket wrapped around Meryl.

The small reporter shifted, turning her head towards away from the front of the car and towards Vash’s stomach. The plant froze, doing his best to not wake her. A small hand lifted and was enveloped by Vash’s large one.

“V-Vash?” Meryl asked, her eyes still closed.

“I’m here,” he put his free hand on her head.

“Promise…”

“Promise?” he cocked his head.

“Promise you won’t run away,” she murmured.

Vash swallowed. It was all he’d wanted to do since seeing her laying there on the floor of the hotel, eyes wide with terror as the blood had bubbled out of her. Every moment he wanted to flee; afraid his presence would kill her. He was dangerous.

“You’re… a good guy,” Meryl shifted, nuzzling into his black shirt gently.

Butterflies jumped in Vash’s abdomen, her pointy nose tickling him. Warmth bloomed across his cheeks and chest.

“You’re delirious,” Vash mumbled.

A bullet bounced off the passenger side mirror.

“We’ve got company, old man,” Wolfwood said, glancing at the mirror, which was miraculously still intact, minus a chip in the edge.

Roberto’s foot pressed down on the gas. Vash placed a hand on Meryl’s stomach to steady her as the car began to shake.

“Who is it?”

Wolfwood looked out the window. “Looks like a small group of bounty hunters. Probably the rest of that group that we left in the hotel room.”

 The car bounced, hitting a bump in the sand. Meryl cried out, hands flying to her chest. Vash pulled down the zipper frantically and watched in horror as the bandages started to darken.

“Shit, Roberto, fuck!” he pressed down on the wound. “She’s bleeding again!”

The older man slowed the truck a fraction in an attempt to smooth the ride out. Vash swore again, panicked as he felt the warm liquid still bubbling up and around his hand.

“It’s still too bumpy!”

“We can’t slow down much more than this or we’ll be dealing with more than one bullet wound,” Roberto’s knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel.

“Keep driving, I’ve got this,” Wolfwood said grimly. He climbed out the window, pulling himself onto the roof of the truck. Jumping the small space between the truck and the trailer, he crouched to avoid the bullets that whistled past. He pulled Punisher from its spot under the bags and lifted it, setting his sights on the rapidly approaching group. It wasn’t a big group, thank god. It looked to be about seven riders on Tomas’s and two vehicles holding two or three people. Wolfwood levelled Punisher and steadied the weapon, eyeing the group. A bullet clipped his shoulder and he had to regain his balance. Once he was solid again, he looked down the sights and scowled.

“This is for shortie,” he muttered and fired.

Inside the truck Vash was struggling to keep Meryl’s wound from reopening. He could hear the Punisher firing repeatedly. Several moments later Wolfwood slid back in through the window.

“You can slow down old man,” he grunted, looking a bit dustier than before. “I took care of them.”

“You didn’t kill them-”

“Yes, I did,” Wolfwood snapped at Vash. “And don’t give me shit about it. It was that or shortie here bleeds out.”

Meryl’s eyes opened in a squint as Roberto slowed the truck to a crawl.

“Thank you… Wolfwood,” she smiled blearily.

The dark-haired man couldn’t hide his red ears as he muttered to himself, turning back to gaze out the front window. “Shut up and stop bleeding already.”

“How’s she doing,” Roberto glanced in the rearview mirror.

“I think its starting to stop,” Vash said, still pressing down with enough force that it felt like Meryl’s ribs would crack.

“Good,” Roberto relaxed a fraction.

There was a beat of silence.

“I could use a drink,” Meryl croaked.

Roberto cracked a tired smile. “Me too, rookie. Me too.”

[pancake-breakfast]

Time to finish up volume 1 of TriMax!

Archive

Trigun Volume 1: Covers + 1-3, 3 Detailed Thoughts, 4, 4 DT, 5-6, 5-6 + DT, 6 DT, 7-8, 9-10

Trigun Volume 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 1 Supplemental Research, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Volume 1: 1-2, 2 DT, 3-4, 3 DT

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 1, Chapters 5-6 below.

Chapter 5: Dancing Revolver

Gods, Vash always has to do that little hip jut, doesn't he?

Eyyy, geranium scene!

It's funny because geraniums are seen as almost plain here. They get used a lot in, like, planters for strip malls and such because they're hardy, drought-resistant beasts that need very little care and grow nicely from cuttings so they're cheap AF to reproduce and spread around. (BTW, if you ever want to add some pretty geraniums you see out in public to your yard/patio/whatever, you can just "borrow" a nice stem from that plant, take it home, and probably grow it for yourself.)

Vash is a growing boy. Of course he's thinking with his stomach.

As someone who has tended to them, I can confidently say that geraniums are definitely determined....

I'm sure he's trying to look somewhat fierce here, but mostly he just looks annoyed.

Uh oh. Vash might have the attention of someone who will try to do some damage.

Yeah... don't go pointing guns at people (purposely or no) if you're all tensed up. You might make a regrettable move.

Oh, no. I remember this guy from the anime. Please send him back where he came from.

LOL, this Elena girl is abandoning her duties to check out Vash the Stampede.

HAHAHAHAHAHA, it's the Vash slaughter song!

"Won't leave a single man alive." Vash, you're so full of shit right now, it's hilarious.

Sorry, Wolfwood. Now you have to deal with Vash being dramatic and calling attention to himself.

The funniest thing about this page to me is how Vash goes from screaming, "AAAAAAAA!!!" in Japanese to screaming, "AAAAAAAAA!!!" in English.

Pretty sure he just turned into a windmill of legs and coattails.

Yeah, from what I gather, bullet-proof vests don't keep you from getting nasty bruises and broken ribs. They just keep the hot lead from entering your body and doing the kind of damage that's harder to recover from.

He's remembering this morning's training session, I see.

Hey, Vash warned them....

Did he miss, though? Did he??

LOL, yeah, he did not.

This is, like, a Vash catchphrase at this point.

Well, if he didn't have Vash's attention before, he has it now.

Chapter 6: Sin

This doesn't have anything to do with the manga; I just want to note the number of times I've tried to navigate these pages by pushing left instead of right on my keyboard ('cause that's the way you read manga) is really, really high.

The contrast between the doctor's optimism and Brad's pessimism. Also, doc's viewing glass.

Wolfwood is having WAY too much fun spectating here. He looks like he's genuinely enjoying the chaos of it all.

Even scum can beg for its life when the tables are turned. Is the regret true and will it stick, or will being allowed mercy only open the door to further atrocities down the line? Do we have the right to decide?

Vash is making a choice, and it's not a choice to do nothing.

Hehhhh, people saying, "What do you know about my pain?" to Vash. Yes, this kind of pain is unique and individual, and Vash hasn't been through anything quite like losing a daughter in such a horrific fashion (that we know of; he is quite old), but he does understand both horrific loss and unimaginable betrayal, as well as the grief, self-blame, and feelings of utter helplessness that can come in its aftermath.

Poor Vash. He looks like hell after that fight. Probably feels like it, too.

Vash gave the father time to not become a murderer, and that's the sort of thing that would be of infinite value to Vash.

This panel, though. Important character notes here. In fact, one might say the only person Vash might not see as family on this planet is his very own twin.

The doctor sure has some trust in Vash getting out of things. And... he probably knows Vash well enough to know Vash would regret if his situation caused trouble for the doc and the rest of the people on that steamer.

LOL, Wolfwood, making a dramatic entrance, ready to bust through everything with hot lead and his beloved bike. He looks like an antihero arriving to save his kidnapped woman.

Hahahahahahaha, he pretty much buried Vash in rubble with that entrance. Mmmmmaybe didn't think it all the way through....

This panel has the same energy as Wolfwood telling Vash that kicking a rocket out of the air was "fucking stupid."

Awww, Wolfie, your heart of gold is showing....

We're just gonna ignore these panels where WW warns Vash that one of these days, pushing his luck won't work and he'll have to choose. I'm sure there's no foreshadowing in that whatsoever. Nope, none at all.

Ok, I tried to ignore it, but I also want to note I think Stampede did an excellent job capturing this running theme of how Vash is walking a precarious path trying not to choose. I don't remember that theme at all in '98. (Not saying it wasn't there; just saying it doesn't stand out in my memory.) Meanwhile, it's not just core to Vash's story in Stampede, but it's core to Meryl's and Wolfwood's stories in Stampede, too, even if in theirs, it's not mentioned so explicitly by the narrative.

Goshdarn it. That stupid Hitler-moustached, too-tall bowler hat guy is still here. Yes, yes, I know he wasn't dealt with so he can't just leave. But I want him to leave because it's better than him being in the narrative.

SEE?!!? GOOD PEOPLE DON'T HAVE PEOPLE PUPPETS LIKE THAT. SEND BOWLER HAT GUY BACK!!!

Uuuuhhhhh.... Look, I get that Legato (like a good percentage of the major characters in this story) likes fetish gear, but wearing a freaking iron maiden is taking it to a whole 'nother level.

Also, is he really big, or is this new creature person very small, or is the panel just framed weird for weird perspective? Questions....

Author Bonus Chapter: Gun Love Island

SALUTATIONS!!!

If this panel is meant to be the inside of Nightow's brain, it's a... very busy place. I do have a special appreciation for the dragon dissolving into a single sexy fishnet leg.

Oh, so the '98 anime had already started by the time this collection came out.

"First half of the story." LOL, half. Lies. But this might be a bit of a translation error. I've seen it elsewhere. Seems like (and I could be wrong here since I'm not a Japanese language expert by any means) the Japanese terms for parts of things don't necessarily mean equal parts like they do in English. To clarify, in English, if we say "a third," we mean 1/3 + 1/3 + 1/3 = 1, but the Japanese term that usually gets translated into 1/3 (三分; literally "three parts") can also mean 1/3 + 1/2 + 1/6 = 1. It's still referring to one part of three out of the whole, but that part is not necessarily equal to the other parts. Then again, the characters usually used for "half" are 半分 rather than 二分, and to the best of my knowledge, 半 does indeed mean equal halves, so maybe I'm wrong in this instance. I don't know, I'm not reading this in Japanese and I've only studied the language for like 3 years, which is nothing for Japanese.

Hahahahaha, sounds like Trigun is a bit of a case of the story running away with the author. It happens sometimes.

I'm also happy that people like Nightow's characters. Thank you very much.

[finifugality]

❛  you’re  drunk  and  you’re  talking  too  much .  ❜ @fatewoven

Wounds wrapped, dirtied and torn closed shed to be dealt with another day, the two not-so-strangers find themselves sitting on opposite ends of a couch, drinks in either hand. Vash, without any explanation, had quickly taken the right side. The last thing they needed was another panic attack between them. Instead, they passed a bottle between them, only getting up to grab another when that one had been drained. Silence stretched, because what more could be said? Vash had refused so many answers, had pushed Wolfwood's patience and kindness to the limits. Finally, when the room was covered in a soft haze and all of his senses had dulled, his tongue finally unstuck itself from the roof of his mouth. Stories spilled out - nothing of importance in the grand scheme of things, but everything that mattered most to him. The memories he held the closest, the treasures he clung to when he needed a reminder of why he lived. Tales of trying new foods, to failed cooking experiments, to making up constellations, they poured out of him like a dam had broken. Maybe one had, after all the wetness on his face hadn't come from spilled drinks.

He was careful, though, so careful, to not say 'you' in any of these. These were tales of Vash and Wolfwood, two outlaws on the run in the wild deserts, before grass would grow and when bullets were bought more than anything else. They weren't about Nicholas, the man sitting beside him. But... but maybe they were, in a way, because Nico somehow knew him. Recognition in his eyes, a desperation there to know the truth. The bottle was lifted again, only for nothing to pour into his mouth. In the brief silence, Nick chose then to chastise him. "You wanted to know. You asked about him, so I'm telling you. The friend I miss. The one you look like - the one who's got the same fucking name." His prosthetic runs harshly down his face, rubbing at his cheeks and pulling them down. "I think. I'm almost positive he's the reason you're having those nightmares of me." The ones that caused him to wake up and point a gun at Vash, the ones that led to them separating. If only Vash were better at running, at staying away. He'd slacked off in the last few centuries. He should know better, trying to plant his roots only destroyed cities, only got people killed. "If you want me to shut up I will." Very nearly does he toss out a line, something about shutting him up in another way. That was something Vash would have said to Wolfwood, flirting in a way the other man never took seriously. This Nick probably would, though, considering it all. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Nico." The words would never be enough - not for the past nor the future. "I will get you out, though. Whatever the Eye is doing, however they're hurting you. I will save you this time." Wait, no - he winces because that was wrong. "Not... you're different. You're not him, sorry. I'll save you, like I should have been able to save him. Is what I meant." It's not, a traitorous part of his brain whispers, because he'd always been using Nick as a stand in, hadn't he? From the first night they met.

[splashtailstar]

[ID from alt text:

1. Sequential illustrations of various Vash’s throughout his journey in Trigun Max through the use of the zero gravity space, floating. The background is flat black. First, younger Vash is curled into a ball, his knees pulled near his chest and arms crossed against them, looking at a star. Palette is warm yellow. Next is Vash, Rem, and Knives floating together, Rem at Vash’s left with a hand on his shoulder and her other hand on Knives’ arm. Knives floats from the top down, arms open to release confetti and stars. Palette of greens, Knives in a warmer hue. Then young Vash and Knives are back to back in their ch.76 outfits, Knives faces upwards with a scythe formed out of his wrist and a bullet hole at his shoulder. He’s color in red. Vash leans against his knee, a hand holds a gun, the other freshly cut and bandaged. He’s color in teal green. The last Vash, now older, is of pre-Trimax. He’s further curled in on himself, his coattails float upwards to cover him. Color in teal blue and red.

2. The first shows Vash in his early Trimax outfit, slightly curled in on himself floating, but is surprised out of it with Wolfwood “stepping” into his space, pulling a coattail to stop him from hiding. They both hold their respective weapons with their right hand and the rest of Vash’ coattail floats around him. The palette is blue, accented by the previous teal. Bullet shells float around them.

Vash is now joined by Meryl and Milly, Meryl who hugs him tightly with her face in his chest and Vash looks at her surprised. Wolfwood also now hugs hum too with one arm around his back. Milly’s arms are spread open, encompassing a hug to all of them and smiling brightly. Mail, posters, and a pen floats around them. The palette is pink, accented by the previous blue.

3. Vash’s hair is darkened half, indicating post vol 10. He’s smiling brightly, head tilted back as Wolfwood holds his neck and face, pressing a kiss on his cheek with closed eyes and a gentle smile. The beads of his broken rosary floats upwards. From Vash’s back, a half of it sprouts a full feathered wing, filling up most of the right side canvas. The other half sprouts his plant-feather wings, curling around the side of the canvas . The palette is of the previous pink, bright red, and a red/orange tinted white. Confetti floats around them. On the bottom right, two roots are shown to lead into the next piece.

4. Knives carries an unconscious Vash with an arm around his back, similarly to how he did in vol 97. Knives’ expression can’t be seen, blocked by the smoke coming from his face, but the blood on his face mimics tears falling. The palette is of greens, accented by the previous bright red. Still being in zero gravity space, Vash’s unconscious body floats and Knives floats along too, but roots are forming from his body, giving him footing to push along. The roots eventually form into a full ground on the other half of the canvas and a tree that separates the two sequences. The background on the other half of the canvas is now white and Vash lies alone against the roots in his outfit post vol.97. He is no longer floating. From the tree, it sprinkles out the same confetti and stars from the first illustration in the thread.

5. The roots from the previous illustration comes into this page, giving an expansive ground. At the center, it shows Vash being hugged energetically by Meryl, Milly, and Livio, all of them jumping at him, and all of them tilting back to eventually fall together. The background is white with blue clouds in the distance and the silhouette of Hopeland’s Orphanage. At the top center pictures the roots carrying a red apple. End ID]

the blank ticket in your hand is just waiting to be filled in.

happy birthday vash! (ID in alt text)

[kopawz]

how bout trigun :-] did you know that the dude who makes the bizbun comics watched trigun thats a silly little fact

good for bizbun! its a nuts show i think if people just want to enjoy a silly time they should go watch trigun

blorbo: yeah it's vash i don't know how else to tell u this, he's just very funny to watch fail AND succeed, he's so messed up but he also makes so much sense; i am rotating him in 3D in my mind through the ps2 game that was cancelled for it

scrunkly: milly!!!! my friend milly with a big heart and big machine-stun-gun i love her so much!! she isn't stupid though. her airheaded disposition is only a facade to keep hope in others and herself. also she is so Tall have you seen her, have you seen my scrunkly gangly friend??? she is nearly as tall as vash and that man is like 7 feet tall WITH the platform boots.

scrimblo bimblo: meryl is so cool... but she puts up with SO much bullshit i can't imagine being her. imagine working at an insurance company assigned to prevent disasters from happening. then they assign you and your partner to a guy who is literally known for somehow summoning them like hurricanes. you find the guy and he is the most embarrassing person you have ever met. his self-employed job description is "finder of love and peace". he has a gun but he never fucking shoots people with it, AND it is broken. he has a big dumb red trench coat that CANNOT be comfortable in the almost always scorching weather. he has a bounty of one million smackaroos on his head due to being "responsible" for all the damages from people trying to kill him and has no fucking idea until you tell him. and you're not even getting dental.

glup shitto: kuroneko, the small black cat that keeps popping up in the background of the show!! who's cat are you?... where did you come from?... i care for that little animal

poor little meow meow: mister wolfwood, he's so fucking hilarious. he's a priest but, like. i don't think he actually knows what being a priest means i think he just adopted that title because it sounded cool. like he drives a motorcycle, has a confirmed kill count, carries a really big gun with a bunch of other guns in it. he punches vash out of a coma he was faking. guy of the year in meow meow terms.

eeby deeby: legato bluesummers, that evil bitch who's introduction was him eating a hotdog, before promptly making vash hallucinate that a child died in front of him, telepathically threatened to kill vash and everybody in that town, and then left. he then sent several guys after him that include but are not limited to: a cyborg lady, a literal child with demon powers, a giant robot and her mom, and some guy who can shoot bullets through a saxophone. i hate him. he's so funny and fucked up

[nicholas-wolfwood]

Fill out for your muse, tag, and repost!

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT → MUSIC

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

Favourite Genre/s: Jazz, Swing, Country

Least Favourite Genre/s: He hasn’t found any music he particularly dislikes (due to a small selection back home) but he’s likely to not enjoy rap or heavy metal.

Guilty Pleasure: Midvalley’s music

Music Device of Choice: He doesn’t have one; he gets his music from record players or live bar performances.

Have they seen any artists in concert?: Do the above two examples count as a concert? If not then no.

Ten tracks from their player: (just going to put songs I would put on his blog/that I associate with him ‘cause he has no player of his own)

Airbrone Ranger Infantry

There Will Come a Day

Wolf

You Can’t Take Me

Bullets in the Gun

Awake & Alive

These Broken Wings

Living on a Prayer

Gunpowder and Lead

For You

Do you share your muse’s sense in music?: Somewhat. I enjoy Swing and I’ve been a Country lover all my life, but I’m not a huge fan of jazz (some I like but not a lot), and I don’t like Country Western or Bluegrass. I also dislike most rap songs, but I do enjoy some heavy metal.

Livio the Doublefang

Favourite Genre/s: He doesn’t know enough

Least Favourite Genre/s: None

Guilty Pleasure: Children’s songs

Music Device of Choice: Short-wave radio

Have they seen any artists in concert?: Nope

Ten tracks from their player: (Same limitations as Nick, obviously some apply to Razlo)

Baby Mine

I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas

The Man I Want to Be

Dollhouse

I Can’t Decide

When You’re Evil

Wish I Had an Angel

Monday Morning Church

Blown Away

Cell Block Tango

Do you share your muse’s sense in music?: Nope. I’m a music whore and Livio’s only heard like two songs in his entire life.

Tagged by: @jaundiced-champion​

Tagging: @sufferforgrace, @handsomepeacock, @hanjithenewcommander, @goodtobejack, @humanoidtyphoon, @godxofxegypt, and anyone else that wants to do it!

[princess-of-purple-prose]

[ID copied from alt: Drawing of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun. A slightly beat up Wolfwood stands with his gun aimed in front of him, his concentration broken as he's taken aback by Vash next to him. Vash hunches over Wolfwood protectively, gun also aimed in front of them, his wings safely encasing them both from the sides as the feathers catch stray bullets from hitting them. Vash's expression is severe, concentrated and angry. End ID]

Open Me Up: Chapter 5, Pandemonium

Inspired by @what-immortal-hand-or-eye's fic :]

[angelictyphoon]

Dire straits and Vash the Stampede go hand in hand. Society's premier human disaster. 

They have him wounded. Pinned down and surrounded by wanton destruction. Vash clamps his hand down over his thigh with a wince. The blood seeping between his fingers is warm, vital, but the wound is not fatal. 

Bluster and intimidation is easier than shooting a moving target. The collection of salvaged weapons, guns of questionable make and in even more dubious states of repair, are less of a concern when paired with owners who shoot with the accuracy of the blind taking a swing at an elusive pinata. Vash squints down at his leg in a bid to recall the very moment the bullet broke skin. He can guess where the sniper's nest might be based on the available sight lines, the briefest glimpse of the white tail formed by the broken sound barrier.

If he can take care of that pesky bolt-action rifle first, all the rest are manageable. 

Just as he steels himself to launch out from his hiding spot, a blast wave rips through the air and Vash can feel his heart thundering in his chest as the ship's shredded fuselage hisses and groans. Could a stray bullet have hit a fuel line or an old, pressurized canister of oxygen? Cautiously, he rises to a partial crouch for enough height to peer over the reinforced backing of the solar panel now riddled with bullets. 

Nothing but confusion and scavengers shooting wildly into the cloud of dust and icy fog like a bunch of headless tomas. 

Something else. Something…someone…

Friend? Foe? Vash breathes out and closes his eyes. He angles his head. Slowly, upwards, capturing the sound of chaos, parsing it. 

There.

Movement with purpose. Someone who knows what they are doing. They've found the sniper, and through closed eyelids Vash makes a face as the rifle bounces, tumbles off the surface of his cover. He cracks his eyes open. They're close now.

Well-trained, efficient. Almost as if–

Vash practically jumps six feet into the air when two enormous shadows emerge from the cover of fog overhead. One, all right angles and gleaming steel, lands next to him with a heavy, solid thunk. Just in time to absorb a fresh wave of bullets. 

The other…

Vash blinks. Once. Twice. 

The irritated apparition does not disappear. In fact, it seems to grow more irritated when Vash continues to stare dumbly back without moving. Or breathing. Or much of anything, really. If it seems as though Vash’s eyes are glistening through the wisps of fog that snake around their cover, it is not Wolfwood’s imagination.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you could start with a, ‘hi, how are you doing?’ for once.”

The crashed vessel is a house of cards waiting to fold, its shape supported by sheer stubbornness and the flicker-fading power still thrumming through its sundered conduits. The vultures take its size for strength and its stability for granted, and while the sniper holds his perch and searches for his target in the settling dust cloud and disturbed coils of frigid vapor, he is not alone.

Not as the groaning injured struggle to unearth themselves from warped, fallen steel, not as a compassionate few set aside panic to get one another out of the line of fire. Not as the brass of a bullet casing ejects, falls, pings clarion on graphite. The carbide barrel is steady, the hands wielding it steadier, all at an angle to the Stampede, sight broken with the hexagonal cover. He knows where he struck. It is his job to keep the spike-haired man pinned.

Keen senses can hear it over the dross, the decisive clack-click of reloading, of a bolt sliding back into place.

Glowstick-grounder whistles shrill and sharp between bony fingers, pointing his automatic where Vash's shadow disappeared. There are more of them, most more interested in the target in their midst than the threat they pose to their own. Collateral damage is just that: collateral.

Fewer heads, greater shares.

Their motivation is clear when the Cheshire grin howls out a whipcrack, "Light him up! Typhoon bounty's dead or alive, boys!"

His aim is imperfect.

Their aim is altogether imperfect, but if they do enough damage, they might flush him out. They might get lucky. It might be their big break.

Another hail of gunfire pocks the floor, splashes the walls, denting and perforating facade panels, dirty spots of gunpowder black and grey on what would have been glittering white and silver. Minutes of it, unrelenting, autos and semi-autos rattling slugs without remorse.

A shunk-thump belches past the pit. A mechanical scream splits the fracas along the trajectory of a pressure-launched grenade. It arcs high, slams meteoric above the entry hall and detonates, ripping through the compromised structure. Shrapnel and debris rain, scaffolds collapsing with their bulkhead support into a smoldering mass. Hoses rupture, cryonic coolant spewing to the sky as the child sun finally slips below the horizon like a knife plunging into flesh.

Ablaze.

Not in fire but in ice. The arena is lit with the reflected radiance of encroaching night. The shock of cold clashes with the ripple of dispersing desert heat, all condensing into a shimmering, shivery fog. Shouts of alarm echo back and forth, marked here and there with muzzle flash fired in random directions.

There, another sound. A fleshy crunch, a chilly clatter. The rifle falls, bounces hard enough to tumble to a stop in the gritty dust caking the honeycomb barrier.

A shape drops down from above, close. Closer, closing in with a grate of shoes on rubble, growl-grunt-hiss. Lost in the fog. Difficult to see, except shadows, voids.

Gunfire ricochets off of the dark slab interposed at Vash's flank, braced, shielding.

Cursing.

"Goddammit, really?!"

[punisheye]

Wolfwood and his shadow mirror each other's wounds— bullet to the gut, bullet to the shoulder, a slice on the cheek, but lacking the broken, bruised ribs. And the Shadow still handles it much better. If Wolfwood were at his full strength, unhindered, he'd still be standing tall and fighting without flinching.

But now he feels more human than ever, with blood in his mouth, an arm around his ribs, his breathing hard and uneven, pain shooting through him with each movement. Even when he died in the face of the younger Stampede, he wasn't in as rough of shape as this. It'd be so easy to reach into his jacket for the thing that would heal him in an instant, wouldn't it?

Especially now, with Vash pinning it to the sand, gun to its head. It gives him time. His heart jackrabbits.

The acrid stench of that blue liquid is thick in his nose; it's drying in his hair, on the skin of his neck. It burns there, too. Always burned worse than alcohol going down. Wolfwood, with one arm braced on the Punisher, dips his fingers beneath his jacket. They brush over the pouch there, five vials tucked away neatly just beneath his gun holster. Temptation.

But what Vash is saying makes him pause, and clearly rattles the Shadow, too, because it's gawking at him, eyes wide. It's the same as Wolfwood's own.

"I—"

Both the Shadow and Wolfwood speak at the same time, which makes them both shut up. The monster's eyes cut to him, then back to Vash, and its teeth bare in an ugly snarl as it twists under Vash, using its full weight to flip them over. The opposing cross is held over its shoulder, angled down so Vash has to stare up the length of it. Fingers twitch, prepared to turn the dial—

And another bullet tears into the Shadow's firing arm, then another. Adrenaline has Wolfwood stumbling forward, his own Punisher forgotten in the sand, only his Grader held close, and he full-body tackles his twisted doppelganger, sending them both sprawling into the sand. The other Punisher skids to a stop a few feet away. Wolfwood shoves the Grader under the Shadow's chin.

It looks up at him, stunned. The gun nuzzles into its chin, pushing its head back. Its eyes blaze with rage, and Wolfwood's finger is on the trigger when he sees it, something flash there, just beneath the anger.

Fear.

He pulls his finger from the trigger before he can even think about it. The gun is pulled back. The Shadow trembles with fury and something else and its breath is coming out in short gasps. It isn't trying to fling him off.

Wolfwood hunches over it, his hand pressed to the sand. Their eyes meet and he says, voice hoarse, "I see you."

"You coulda shot me then, ended all this—" It rasps out in response. "I'll kill ya, both of ya, as many times as I have to, y'know that?"

"Well, I'm still sittin' here, alive. You haven't tossed me off even though we both know you can."

It swallows. Its fingers twitch as its hands raise, coming up to hold Wolfwood's face. Its hands are cold. Its nails dig in.

"I killed our friends," it mumbles.

"...I know."

"They still trusted me."

They believed in him. In Wolfwood. Despite all these awful, ugly things bared to the world. They saw him— not a monster, but him, and it makes Wolfwood dizzy.

"I know."

"I don't know why," its voice is weaker now. Those nails don't dig any deeper. "Why they'd still love me. Look."

"I'm lookin'. I see you. Are you scared?"

Silence, save for the wind that blows over them. Wolfwood swallows hard. The Shadow is still looking at him, red eyes wide. And so, so afraid.

It— he doesn't respond. It's enough of an answer.

"You don't gotta be scared," Wolfwood says, and he feels a little like he's back at the orphanage, consoling one of the younger children. "No one's gonna hurt you anymore."

The hands on his face are warm, now. The Shadow makes a choked sound. His arms fall to the ground again. Wolfwood slumps down, his cheek pressed to dark hair, his hand coming to the back of his skull. He closes his eyes.

"Yer safe, Nico."

In the freezing desert night he holds the manifestation of his self-loathing and he doesn't let go. No other words are exchanged. There is nothing else to say.

He doesn't know how long the three of them are there before a stronger gust of wind passes through, where the shadows melt away and Wolfwood is left holding nothing, his forehead pressed to the sand.

★ --;; Dual crosses swing up to aim and fire and Vash is out from behind Wolfwood again in a flash; it won't do much good to stay at his back when there's only one target, right there in front of him. Especially not with a rain of gunfire crossing the gap between them as though it were a terrible bridge between them both. It at least gives Vash enough of an opening to duck and weave himself through one of the crumbling sections of the wall that blocks off the city. To take aim and fire once then twice and again all in rapid succession, though it does worryingly little to the shadow's grip as bullets ricochet against his Punisher's side, as one more embeds itself in his shoulder. It doesn't even flinch.

Wolfwood's rushing him before Vash has the chance to move again. Instinct dictates him to take up the rear, to take moving cover for what it was, just like the countless times before metal shield had left the path open for his own precision. Despite whatever handicaps the Stars may have put on him though Wolfwood' still fast, all trained muscle and honed reflexes, and even as Vash is hauling himself back up and over with his own regained speed the clang of metal against metal still reaches his ears before he makes it.

On fleet feet Vash circles, gun raised and trying to get a clear shot between flailing weaponry and limbs alike so as not to catch Wolfwood in the crossfire-- but it's too late, and the sickening crunch of barrel against rib send that nauseous feeling in his gut back into overdrive as Wolfwood skids across the sand.

"Nick!"

How quickly nearly every emotion in Vash's chest is replaced with protective rage. One foot goes flying in front of the other only to be cut off by another round of machine gun fire warding him off, sending him dancing sideways and perpendicular away from where they so desperately want to carry him. A hiss punches through bared teeth as pain blossoms in his thigh, dark leather painted even darker with bloodstain. The ease with which the doppelganger strides over to where Wolfwood is pushing himself up sends another flare of anger up his throat.

Vash isn't stupid enough to think that the shadow is completely distracted by bared teeth and blood spit up against the sand; the Punisher's too far away, in too close of a position to them for him to run and grab hold of it. The scent of the vial feels as though it singes his nose, even as far away as he is, and it sends him reeling. Makes every nerve in his body light up, because he'd sworn if he'd ever seen one of those cursed things again he'd shoot it right out from between the holder's fingers.

His body moves and everything's a blur. White noise had begun blaring in his ears as soon as the chemical scent had scorched his nostrils, and before he's even entirely aware of where he is there's the distinct bang of the Grader radiating in his ears. The shadow staggers backwards on unsteady feet just as he's on top of the both of them, just in time for Vash to ram his shoulder into his back.

It's stupid. It's so, so, stupid, but he knows how poor the cross does in close quarters, and in a rare flex of his own strength Vash has one knee dug into firing wrist, pinned at what's got to be a painful angle as it attempts to keep its hold on the dial, regardless of whatever angle the Punisher is left with, the other knee dug tightly into punctured gut. The barrel of the Colt sits square between his eyes.

His finger sits long against the barrel.

The sand settles quickly from the brief altercations, having been kicked up so violently. Harsh pants push their way past his lips as the angry buzzing in the back of his head dies. Even with his own strength Vash knows for a fact it would be nothing for the shadow to throw him off again, just as he had sent him sprawling in the dirt, but he's at least got to try.

"Stop this," he manages, voice a low growl and eyebrows furrowed. "You loved those kids before I ever even showed up. Are you deaf? I said you're bad at playing. You were never a monster. This isn't ever what your heart would be. I couldn't change something if it wasn't already there. So let it go."

[fatedstrands]

Two weeks had passed, with the apostle gone from view, claimed to be 'away on business'. No one knew where he went after his missions, only that he often was missing for a blissful time. Which left Wolfwood without the blue haired man to give him his mission brief. Instead receiving them from Conrad. It was meant to be a simple reconnaissance mission, nothing dangerous, just inspect the Plants of the city and report back. But of course, Lady Fate has a different plan. It had started with the cries of pleading women, of children begging for their mothers only to delve into a gunfight. A gang of traffickers had slid into town with their only goal being the school near the edge. Thirty men made light work of the wolf, if only for manpower and using the children as shields once they noted the hesitance. Grubby hands grabbed a pale skinned child who pried back, trying to break free as large tears stained the muddied face. "F-father Summers... Please..." his voice was small, broken as he's pulled close to the pig faced leader's sick grin, slurred words purring about the price the kid would fetch them. Others are grabbed as the soldier lay wounded beneath the weight of his Cross, under the weight of his weakness. The child is lifted, ready to be thrown into the van as the first victim- And that's when a familiar cacophony of shattering marrow rings out in the air. Soon followed by the harrowing cry of the leader now crumpling to the ground. From beyond his body, nothing showed, but any whom had felt that agony knew the misshapen formation of hand and knee. Steps near the wolf, the child's eyes lighting up as he scrambles away from the man. "You came!" he staggered, sunkissed hands darting from the corner of the broken's vision, snatching the youth behind their frame. There's silence, a fear struck into the eyes of the attackers before it drove them to a frenzied madness. Guns raised, ready to open fire only for bones to snap and bullets finding home in kin over innocents. Screams of horror and agony rose and suddenly stopped with a finality that were not of their own doing. Familiar heels tapped into view, stalking towards the damned on the ground, several writhing mutely in agony. "Marline. Take the children into the building. I wish them not to see this." the voice was powerful, a dark hatred hidden beneath the calm commanding tone followed swiftly by a woman calling for the children to rush to her, crowded away. The moment they were gone, the devout stalked closer still, bodies deforming the closer he got, one form scrambling from frightened will to the front of the vehicle until a hand snatches a throat, slamming him into the side furthest from the school. Something deep and cold is hissed only to the man in his grasp, a violence that resonated in the very air like a blackened aura of death. Soon, the vehicle peeled free, leaving the mangled corpses behind. A simple signal from a hand had figures rushing in, carding the ruined away. Finally, the boots turned to the saint, moving ever closer to the dimming vision before the form knelt. Hands guided the wolf to his back, the touch frighteningly tender in his dying state as the now revealed gold and bronze eyes looked on with a softness unseen. "Now is not your time." a crack resonated like a haunting repetition of weeks gone by, hands guiding the wounded pup to part his lips. "It will do no good for the young to see you like this." those words, murmured with such peace, the sweet sustenance of a glass vial found home in the dying frame. "Come back to us, little Wolf." it's a gentle plea rather than a command, a thumb idly brushing over the blood stained jaw as the man cradled the broken as he healed. "Breathe for me, Nicholas."

It had been a while since Wolfwood had been thrown - like a rag doll. He'd never get used to it. Every time he was broken, it felt like the first time… and like it would be the last time. He was prone to panic when darkness settled along the corners of his vision, always worried that he was living out the last few seconds of a life wasted; that he'd never be anything more or experience another good thing again.

Pain is almost a mercy as it distracts. It gives him something tangible to suffer through, instead of letting him sink into the EXISTENTIAL TERROR OF NOT BEING. 'Stay awake, feel it.' He tells himself as some organ on the inside ruptures, as his poor back collides against the unforgiving wall of a pew. A disc has slipped. 'Feel it,' he tells himself.

Nick still hollers; still cries sometimes… He screams as his hand is smashed under Legato's heel. he's not seasoned enough to be stoic when his extremities are mashed into a soup of broken bones and severed nerves. "Auuh!! GOD! I-!" His good hand snaps to Legato's ankle. As if its grip could stop Blue from twisting, as though he had any power to change the slow delivery of damage.

Wolfwood is wilting into the seat when his system is threaded. He communicates a weak moan because he expects to be pulled apart; to be needled through until the darkness comes. But the pain he receives only comes from being pre-broken. His body is inconveniently puppet-ed. He feels himself sit up, feels his neck crane. His jaw trembles open. Below its hypnotism, Wolfwood's chest jumps. His throat rolls with a frightened swallow as his tongue and teeth are placed on display.

Oh, Christ. What's this gonna be? What is he going to lose today? Or is it going to be worse than all that? Maybe it's not what he'll lose, but a nightmare he'll gain. Maybe he's going to get his mouth fu-

Legato shocks him with an offering of sacred blue serum. Wolfwood wants it so bad that he is immediately demoted to a beggar. He'd say 'please' if he was in control of his vocal cords. Instead, His breast leaps with something like hyperventilation. Or arousal. His good hand opens and closes absently. He knows that dose is going to free him from pain and fear.

He gulps it down like a baby bird when Legato delivers. Wolfwood gasped between swallows and morns a lost stream that spills from the corner of his mouth. His eyes pin themselves to Legato as he drinks. They are the only part of him that does not convey despair. Somehow, they are steady. Anchored perhaps, by confusion. They follow Legato. They ponder him frantically when the empty vile is pocketed and they try to understand the return to an alter of self-harm. They can't, but they try…

[full-of-mercy]

Wolfwood does not have an answer for Vash. What can he even say that won't bring the city crashing down on him again? The residual energy bleeding from the crystalline glass of the crater sparks in his vision, hums in his bones, the final echoes of death and life and transformation. Not just humans, but Plants.

Thousands of them, evaporated in an instant. Light, heat. Shock. Ash. Visceral and silent and uneasy, restless. Whatever the Eye did to him, it was nothing holy despite the hymnals and prayer. He walked the halls of July's Plant ship, suffered in the light and in solitude, and the sonorous dirge just skirting the edges of awareness is familiar.

Or perhaps he's simply lost what is left of his mind.

"Worry about resting, Blondie."

That is all he can say. All he can offer, keeping Vash tucked close for the ascent.

The lip of the crater blocks both sound and light except the blurry smear of the galactic glow in the dome of stars. Something about this place toys with the senses, like stepping through an obfuscating curtain into Purgatory.

They are not alone, and it is not a pleasant surprise. Of course it couldn't be the reporter girls with their news van, that would be lucky, and they cannot afford to operate on luck.

Wolfwood bursts into motion, twisting against the hail of gunfire, shielding Vash with his body and his cross. Bullets ricochet off of obdurate Lost Tech, sparking bright in the night as the Bad Lads howl out their battle cries and waste bullets on something too fast to track.

There is no need to restrain his preternatural speed. It would be easier to shoot them all. Make them a few more victims of July. But—

No. No.

Quicker than any human ought, he pounces up near the escort truck and plants a hard boot-tread into one Lad's face. Momentum drives the goon into the ground in a twitching mess broken glass, twisted metal, broken nose. Wolfwood perches briefly on the truck hood, hunched like a gargoyle over the bundled man in his arms, before bounding over to the other side to shelter Vash against one bulky tire, shielded with the Punisher dropped directly beside him.

Just then, the passenger door creaks open. Nicholas barely blinks, snatching the neon-spiked gunman by the jacket and ramming him with a headbutt, dropping him stunned but alive off to the side.

Not without stealing his hat, though. It's brimmed, it's black, and he's feeling spiteful.

"Alright Spikey, c'mon—"

He does not wait for confirmation and Vash is too injured, too bundled in canvas to really fight, he figures. One more heft, and he tucks his charge into the passenger side of the truck, wedging the Punisher in beside him stem-end pointed into the cargo space behind.

The Bad Lads are at least smart enough not to shoot at their fuel escort. Points for them.

Wolfwood clambers around to take position in the driver's seat, not without pulling his sidearm to finally fire back—

Aiming for the other cars' wheel wells with uncanny accuracy. He empties the clip and guns the motor, lurching them forward and around as their would-be pursuers struggle to catch up.

"Thanks for the lift!" he shouts out, mashing the button on the dash to kill the lights.

He can afford to run dark. Moonlight is plenty to see by. Any edge in a pinch. "Y'alright? They'll be fine."

You would do the same for me. Such heavy and meaningful words, yet how was it possible that he could remember none of it? There were no memories he could call upon, but there was this strange sense of safety the other man was radiating, the way he held Vash’s body so firmly against his chest, the way he obviously meant to carry him all the way out of this hell and back to the world of the living. There were still so many things he didn’t understand, so many answers he craved, but it felt like there would never be enough time to answer all his questions, but he had to try.

“What is this place? What happened here?”

It was me. I did this. His mind denied him the memories of his past actions, but it would not hesitate to give another spark to the guilt and heavy feeling inside his chest. Vash whimpered and pressed his face to the crook of the neck of the man that carried him, as if it would help to shield himself from the pain and confusion that was about to drown him.

The steady and firm steps of the man that carried him showed no hint of the emotional turmoil he was going through himself, and when eventually they reached the edge of the crater, the endless vastness of the desert stretched out before them. But it was not as empty as it should be. With the tragedy of JuLai only happening two weeks prior, there were still people around, most of them residents of nearby cities that were hoping to find their loved ones in the rubble, little did they know there had been no chance of survival for anyone who was just human.

Luckily for Nico and Vash most of them were asleep, so these people didn’t see them ascend out of the crater, being alive when the man in Nico’s arm should be dead, for more reasons than one. It would have only been fair. To trade his life for all the innocent humans that lost theirs in the destruction of their home.

They could have sneaked past everything, Vash didn’t make a sound except for a painful sigh here and there whenever the other man’s fingers pushed painfully into his back, but luck was not on their side, it never had been and it seemed that still did not change. Leaving the camp of people behind it seemed like they stepped into a completely different world.

Music blasted and shiny neon signs illuminated the darkness around them, and Vash tilted his head to stare at the lights with wide eyes, barely being able to comprehend what he was seeing. There were three cars parked not far from where they stood, a handful of armed people standing close together, arguing over something. They all wore skintight suits, decorated with even more lights and everyone around these parts of Noman’s Land would easily be able to identify them as members of the Bad Lads Gang.

Right now they were arguing about if it would be a good idea to go and raid the camp ahead or if they should concentrate on the bounty of the Humanoid Typhoon as they were certain he just had to linger around here. And they were not wrong. Of course they would notice the man carrying a gigantic cross on his back and a person in his arms, and one of the Lads pointed at Wolfwood, obviously remembering him from a previous encounter.

“That’s.. that’s them! He has the Humanoid Typhoon! Open fire!”

And just like that the duo of Wolfwood and Vash found themselves in another shooting.