#w. 27

[wolfwoocl]

@millionsnife from (x)

Ohh, he’s got a name aboard the ship already. Bakery man. Not the best, not the worst. The box of donuts remains in his hands and he’s still under the microscope. 

“Wh–” 

Did that man just compliment his…? Wolfwood looks down at the open front of his shirt, puzzling over one, the fact that Vash found it necessary to mention a random baker’s pecs to his brother, and two, that this was somehow part of the basis for Knives’s…approval, for lack of a better word. 

And he still has this damn, greasy box in his hands. Knives has shown exactly zero intent on taking it from him, much to his dismay. Putting forth great effort in ignoring the sense of impending doom awaiting him farther down the corridor, Wolfwood puts one foot forward. Then another. Following. 

“Sure.” He doesn’t know what else to say. Knives doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist, and Nicholas still hasn’t determined whether he’ll still be in one piece by the time he steps off this ship.

As they walk past the endless stretch of immaculate, moulded glassfiber walls, he scans the various blinking lights in the overheads, the secured doors further down the passageway, the low-frequency thrumming of machinery and something or other he doesn’t have a name for. A few passing crewmen dressing in coats and plain white uniforms (scientists?) give him a few odd looks, but with Knives standing next to him no one slows their stride to examine him further. He’s never been in a SEEDs ship before. 

Wolfwood’s jaw falls open in surprise. “That was you. Er, yeah. I got ‘em.” He pauses, then adds, “Thanks.” 

Probably better not to mention that filling in the hole in his door, sanding it down, and repainting it had been a royal pain in the ass. Nevermind what the hell he was supposed to do with a weird-looking knife. No handles, no practical way to hold the damn thing, and it was sharp.

“So…you’re a big knife appreciator, huh?” 

Stellar ice-breaker.

[stealingpotatoes]

i was so shocked when carth revealed he had to be way older than i thought but then i realised the game had also not given me much idea how old i was either

(commission info // tip jar!)

[blondebrainpowered]

The Playhouse, 1921

[kobebibebi]

i can't wait for the new season so here's birb kyle

not many ppl may like him but he is silly to me

[kerosnes]

PRIORITY.

[wolfwoocl]

Fascinating. So the intensity of glow changes with mood. He's not sure in what other scenarios this information will ever be useful to him, but he has to admit it's fairly endearing (and obvious) as far as tells go.

"Sure. Got one right up here, even." Wolfwood tugs the glass panel aside to reach into the display case to retrieve a glazed pastry from the trays, drops it into a waxed sleeve for her, then arches a brow at Meryl as he offers the donut out. "Damn, no respect for a baker's trade secrets, huh?" He manages a straight face for a few seconds before breaking out into a grin and clapping Meryl on the shoulder. "If y'think you can manage to crawl your little ass out here at the crack of dawn, I'll show ya!"

She beams at him as she starts tying off the sleeves of the borrowed shirt. "Great! And yes please." Vash shares his donuts whenever she visits and they're always so good. Meryl thinks this is the place he gets them from, though admittedly she's never asked so she could be wrong.

The glow brightens as she thinks about the snack, wondering if he has those jelly ones she likes. He should, right? Or did the lack of power mean he couldn't make those?

"Do–you have the jelly ones right? They're the best donuts. Ooh, can you show me how to make those? Then I can eat them all the time–"

[yumenosakiacademy]

[bred-is-a-dumb-name]

I really liked this idea <33

(Inspired by the lovely @green-static ^w^)

[aquapede]

LET ME SEE!

[wolfwoocl]

Vash has already shot so far down one branch of the conversation that Wolfwood does not have the opportunity to correct him or get a word in edgewise. Not without chewing off his head outright. Whoever minds Vash on a day-to-day must have the patience of a saint to let him over analyze every possible point of discussion and wring himself into a red-blond ball of stress. 

Wolfwood watches Vash the entire time, lips parted. Parts disbelief, parts amused. Tiny part annoyed (read: flustered) that Vash has anchored him by the wrist and he can’t very well bring himself to yank his arm away.

‘Virile’ is not a word he has ever heard someone apply to him, but then, up until a few days ago he’d never met an Independent either. He can feel his cheeks grow hotter, and this time Wolfwood manages to wiggle his arm away out of Vash’s grasp.

The impression of Vash’s cool fingertips lingers on his skin. He tries not to focus on it.

“There ain’t a missus, if that’s what you’re worried about. Just me out here, and I haven’t been in town that long. Have family, but…Well, let’s say I’m not the best son when it comes to keepin’ in contact.” 

Wolfwood scratches his chin, casting his eyes down and aside. Vash looks perfectly human. So did Meryl, except for the mesmerizing Plant markings. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was supposed to have seen those either.  

What’re the odds that he’s met a second Independent Plant before month’s end?

Higher than one would think, apparently.

“So…It’s fine. I get it. I won’t tell anyone you were here. ‘Ppreciate you comin’ by anyway. Nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ll see you around sometime, Vash. Enjoy your donuts and…happy early birthday.”

Even if they don’t see each other again.

"Wait—wait—wait—hothouse flower—p-pretty—" Vash comes to life, seemingly in a panic, "Am I that obvious? You... you knew I was a Plant the whole time?!"

He hisses the last part, as though he doesn't want others hearing this apparently obvious discovery. The way Nicholas's shoulders seem to sink is... odd. It's almost like disappointment. If he weren't potentially discovered, he'd read more into it.

Did he say something bad?!

"H-hey, come back here!" the blond jumps to his feet and grabs Wolfwood's wrist, practically dragging him back to the table, "If... if you already know, th-then I need to know how! Does anyone else know?! Are you... maybe you were sent out here to take me back there, ohhhhh....."

Vash worries himself, tapping his foot against the concrete—still squeezing Nicholas's hand.

"I'm sorry I said too much! I know it's too risky for me to leave, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

What would Rem have said? 'Take deep breaths,' he thinks, and so he does. He's... jumped to a lot of conclusions.

"O-or was that just some kind of... human euphemism... and you didn't actually know that I'm... oh no—"

Well, this guy is the closest thing he has to a friend outside of his family. Even if they just met, they've been in contact for years without knowing. The idea jump-starts his heart in a way that he should perhaps see the doctors about, just in case it's a malfunction.

"Erm... I guess you know now," crystal-blue eyes flick down to Nicholas's wrist, then back up to meet his as Vash releases his hand, "Humans and Plants... they're not supposed to interact, you know? Well, at least, I'm not supposed to interact with humans—that's why I had to mention that I couldn't go to first base with you or 'get hitched.' B-but I got curious! And you're the closest I have to an acquaintance, or even like... a pen pal or something... so I wanted to see you. You're a little younger and perhaps more... virile than I was expecting."

His eyes wander again and his cheeks feel hot. What is he looking at? The concept of well-built humans is not new to him, but he wouldn't describe any of the researchers as well-built—or even attractive!

Again, Vash observes his surroundings. The man seems to be here alone. Other than customers, he's not sure that he has a family or a partner—which is totally normal for one of the researchers, since they really don't get out much. And they're kind of boring. And lanky. From his point of view, with his knowledge of humanity, they're perhaps not the most desirable of partners.

This man—Nicholas D. Wolfwood—however, now this is a man seemingly at his prime who should have someone. It's a good thing he doesn't have them here—only because then this could be weird! It's already weird! But logically it'd be worse if two people knew about him instead of one! Or worse—if a child knew!

"Someone like you... must have a lot of friends, or admirers, or a family. You're quite strapping and you're clever. And you make really delicious donuts. I'm glad I could see you before you go home and—"

He pauses.

"Is it hard to keep secrets from a partner? Oh no, what have I gotten myself into... Look, you can't tell anyone about me, I mean it—not even your partner or—or your children, or... or anyone!"

Sometime during his motions, he set the donut down on a napkin, awaiting him to resume consuming it.

Well... at least he tried communicating with the outside.

[wolfwoocl]

[ GUILT ]: having just done something that they know the receiver won't be pleased with, the sender sheepishly greets them once they arrive to see the damage. [/slaps indie plant meryl sticky note on wolfwood]

After two days of no electricity the powers that be aboard Ship Three finally decided to send someone out and take a look at the distribution lines. He was content to watch the tiny silhouette outside darting around from indoors while working over a fresh batch of dough when a startlingly loud pop-bang and a flash of light compels him to rush out from behind the counter with floured hands.

He’s heard of Independents; Plants that could exist outside of their enclosures. They could walk and talk and do all the same things that people can, except they were Plants. He’s never met one. 

Until now, anyway.

“The hell kinda techs are they sending out to– uh.” His tirade breaks into a stammer when he blinks down at the soot-covered mess with little glowing Plant lines peering back at him.

Plants. Plants are the whole reason they’re all able to live on a giant, sandy rock. His brain scrambles between showing proper deference (the way he was taught, with both hands clasped together, head bowed) and reprimanding the sheer idiocy he just witnessed.

How was he going to fry all this damn dough now?

He claps a hand to his forehead with a sigh. The fact that he has flour all over his hands is entirely absent from his mind. “Ugh. Okay. You…You alright, Short Stuff? Still got running water in the bakery, could get ya cleaned up at least.”  

[ianthewife]

genuinely, whole-heartedly believe that like 80% of all faulkner’s actions and reactions are so easily explained by him being a chronic youngest brother. it’s like an ancient curse or a genetic disease to him. like i be clutching my head, gritting my teeth going “whyyyyyy are you like this, my guy??” then remember he is the youngest son and yeah. yep. that tracks. unfortunately for everybody.

[blondebrainpowered]

Stevie Ray Vaughan, 1983

Photographer: Ebet Roberts

[so-very-small]

them: so, why do you fantasize about being kidnapped by a giant? why would you want to leave your life behind?

me:

[cloudabserk]

the most surprising thing for me about reading armand’s perspective is that even though he’s 500 years old he continuously refers to himself as a child, a little boy, etc in his own internal monologue. i’m really curious to see if they’ll preserve some of that element of his character for the show

[catsushinyakajima]

Come join to me to un-dilf-ify Keith’s dad and then immediately get distraught about a single dad who died in his late twenties