#humanitysong

[full-of-mercy]

@humanitysong - from (x)

So many civilians evacuated the surviving cities' outskirts ahead of Knives's final attack that there are more abandoned buildings than occupied ones this far out.

Fortunate for all parties involved. Probably. Only a few worms scatter skyward from the gunshot-loud punch of body and weapon through the wood-reinforced corrugate metal roof, and then again through the upper floor.

Vash can immediately piece together the nature of the landing. Graceful is certainly not it. The weight of the canvas-wrapped Punisher and the strength of its wielder's grip broke momentum, but it made a poor parachute as it caught against the house's sturdy central beam and support rafters.

Granted, the rafters beneath the brand new impromptu skylight are snapped like brittle bones. The gun speared down stem-first through the floorboards and into the hard-packed dirt underneath, and Wolfwood spilled out alongside it. Sprawled on his back amid the debris—rusty roof panel fragments, splintered wood, and upholstery fluff from the crater of an obliterated sofa—he is an undignified heap.

Gasping for breath. Stunned but still breathing.

Urges and instincts conflict as he twitches, squirms, attempting to reassert some mastery of his limbs. That is a losing battle even as the high-pitched whine ringing in his ears fades.

"—Hnngh," he manages, most articulate as he fights against (and fails to repress) a rattling cough. He has no choice but to take a moment. That resignation comes as a compressed spring twangs from the smashed cushion, bouncing off somewhere unseen as a sort of final indignity.

The undertaker's clothing is different: rugged worm leather encompasses his legs, matched with the duster crumpled around him. He may have lost a few more buttons on his shirt upon impact, but the sidearm harness buckled over his chest remains intact and he managed not to land on the familiar hard carrying case secured at his side.

Dark eyes squint open, immediately cross, roll, and work to focus under scrunched brows. He isn't certain he can trust what he's looking at, and is too dazed to give it actual thought beyond cracking a (stupid) red-stained grimace-grin.

[forgivenpunishment]

@humanitysong

Wolfwood considers himself quite capable of handling any danger that gets thrown his way. For some reason, he's rather gifted when it comes to endurance. And strength. And guns. And accuracy.

Whatever he was before all of this... he must've been built for a very different world. Maybe a guard, or something. Hopefully, anyway. Hopefully it wasn't something more sinister than that—though, for some reason, when he tries to think about it, there's a weird aching pain in his chest that fills him with doubt.

Regardless—

It's been a year since he dug himself from, what seemed to be, his own grave. At least, he thinks it was his grave. His gut feeling said so—the only marking on the grave was the strange metal cross that loomed above it. It had the makings of a gun, and for some reason Wolfwood had wanted to... take it with him? But that seemed like a wasted effort—why would he need a broken hunk of junk like that?

Well, maybe it would've been useful today.

Since being alive, he's been assisting in the world's reconstruction effort. Short of a life's purpose, he's made it his goal to help settlers re-establish their towns with physical labor—again, because he's so good at it. Inhumanly good at it. Freakishly, even.

Already, he's helped one town out. Now it's time to move on to the next, and pray that wherever he goes next will jog his memory of... anything prior to the bleeding fingers and dirt crusted hair that came with digging. So far, no luck. He's breaking new ground here, and he doesn't even know if he can call himself the same person as he was back then.

Did anyone... care about him?

It's a question he often thinks about. Another pang of yearning comes with the thought of mattering to someone. There's someone there, almost. Almost. He can't tell if they're real or not, they almost seem angelic in whatever fractured shard of a faded memory that remains. They're a feeling, an emotion, they're a ray of sunshine—but, well, a ray of sunshine could just be a ray of sunshine.

Wolfwood is a guard for the caravan of settlers. With a Plant in tow, they're an easy target for bandits to terrorize and rob—he's here to fix that. With no more than an auto-pistol at his side, he's one of the most effective guards in the business, hands down. He's made plenty of acquaintances that appreciate the hell out of him, but none seem familiar.

Musing on this, he found himself distracted until the sound of gunfire snapped him out of the trance. Close gunfire. Guns trained on a mother with two children behind her. Before he can think logically, he jumped in front of them, shooting the bandit to his knees—he can't kill, this he remembers valuing for some reason—but it's not enough to prevent a spray of gunfire from hitting him ribs to waist. The tumble knocked him unconscious, leaving the rest of the guards to handle the conflict.

Thankfully, they were more than capable. Capable, but not without help from a stranger.

A stranger who is now standing at the flap of his medical tent.

A stranger who is the first person he's seeing after losing consciousness.

Wolfwood looks down under his threadbare sheet, noticing that he seems to have bled through the original bandages they had wrapped him in. The man must be here to help him, but there's something... odd about him. He looks so tired. For some reason, he wants to reach out and help him out, but with his current state, that's impossible.

His voice cracks from a lack of air and disuse as he speaks, "Uh, hey. Haven't seen you around before."

That's all he can manage. Wolfwood feels... speechless... for some reason.

[reddragon-cowboy]

@humanitysong asked: xxx but how about a hc those two share in their relationship?

Send me XXX and I will share a nsfw headcanon about my muse. Notes: Biting. Pining. Height difference. Pred x Prey dynamic. They got a primal/breeding kink :'> It's a bit vague under read more but still. This somehow got turned into a quick little oneshot/drabble. . . More here

Now, Spike wouldn't accept just any ole bounty available that Big Shot provides on their television segment. For one, his crew knew by firsthand experience how fickle he can be, exhibiting an indifferent attitude when a bounty doesn't suit his interests enough to get involved in the chase. In his mind, it's not worth it to put in the effort for someone that lacks value. Typical small fry. But other than that, he loves the chase of running after a high-paid bounty, ever prepared with his handgun pulled out its holster and lowered as he draws close to his target on quick, silent feet you could barely hear approaching. There’s a specific thrill in the chase of hunting down anyone seen as prey.

And in his eyes, Niah was a rare beauty to behold, a priceless gem scavenged from the caves of old earth, someone worthy of the chase who could fulfill his utmost desires carnal in design. And, well, he also liked to play games. . . games like cat and mouse. He'd play as the cowboy while she's the bounty. Or he'd take on the role of the predator in the wild while she's the prey who dashes through the thicket he must catch in the bushes, which actually falls in line to their opposing natures: wolf & rabbit. It's one of his favorite games to play. . . in fact. . . Niah was his ( only) favorite person to play it with since she plays her part so well.

For starters, he'd give her a head start, allowing her to slip of out his grasp, maybe even let her disappear out of sight to let her think she can get away, set the belief in her mind that she can run away. And she might act innocent and naive during these games they play, but Niah was certainly no fool and knows her place. She well knows she couldn't escape the smell of a bloodhound, knows how capture was inevitable as his nose trails after her, following her sweet fragrance that lingers in the wind like a beast who prowls within the underbrush, lurking beneath the surface of day in search of its next meal.

In one way or another, Spike would eventually have her cornered or pinned down beneath him, trapped between his jaws as teeth sink into her skin, nipping at her soft flesh with fervor and intense want. It'd feel humid as his hot breath wash over her cheeks with a fierce warmth, sultry whimpers sneaking in-between her curvaceous lips as he plants bite marks upon her neck with a low growl. Wet tongue buried deep in her mouth till air escapes her lungs, his heavy weight pressing down against her, and she'd squirm beneath his strength that keeps her still where he wants her. And. . . oh ? Where does she think she's going ? Don't tell me she's trying to escape again ? Well, that's kind of silly to think a little prey like her can slip through his claws so easily.

This is something she wanted, after all, to be owned by him as she lets him do what he pleases, let his primal instincts take over as he devours and breeds her.

[duunswitch]

@humanitysong replied to your post:

"we are on an entirely new planet. whatever rules we make up count"

​"I grew up on this planet, Vash I know the law."

[misplacedreporter]

humanitysong asked:

he doesn't think twice ( not even once, really ) to immediately get involved when he sees a group of bandits trying to rob a young woman. he takes quick care of them - some hits to the back of their necks to have them pass out and some rope to neatly tie them up did the trick just fine -. he brushes his hands against each other to get some of the sand off, now taking a proper look at the girl. she looked... vaguely familiar. a little bit like meryl ( maybe they were related? ) "you're okay there? you really shouldn't travel through these parts all by yourself, you know?"

"I'm fine." Meryl dusted herself off, tucking her pistol back into the holster against her side. "I probably would have been fine, I was kicking in knee caps."

This was only her second world, and already it was pretty different from the last one. He was different from the last one–assuming he was Vash. She hoped he was, it'd make things easier if she could ask him for help.

"You're–look, this is going to sound weird but my name's Meryl. Are you Vash?"

[civilplantgineer]

"You're not supposed to be in here." Mickey crossed his arms, leaning against the door as he watched the mystery blond. "How'd you even get in here? It's a restricted area."

This asshole was gonna be trouble, wasn't he? Mickey could already tell.

[millionsnife]

@humanitysong || this isn't right

"...You're not my brother. Who the hell are you?" For one thing, he isn't insane. His eyes are too clear to be Vash, vision unclouded by madness. He has a prosthetic for another; Vash would never have consented to such a human object attached to him.

Knives shifts, fingers curling around a knife that spikes from his palm warily. "How did you get here?"

That too was a sign that this wasn't his brother. Vash hasn't left Julai in a century, not when it's the seat of his power. And Knives know how to hide from his brother, keep his ever searching gaze from finding him. No, even if Vash had left his vaunted towers, he'd never find one of Knives' safehouses.

Not without Zazie sounding an alarm.

His eyes flick past the false plant, checking just to be sure. No Wolfwood, so not sent by his brother.

[meteorwinged]

@humanitysong || a bird in the hand is a daughter or whatever

Meteion turns her head skyward, squinting tiredly at the suns before slumping again and trying to cover her head with her wings. It's hot and she can't bear it anymore. She doesn't have the energy to do much more than dig herself into the sand and chirp tiredly at this point.

Of all places to expire this is going to be the worst.

She has no idea how long it is before the shape of someone's emotions rouse her, head lifting to cheep plaintively in their direction. They're very red, whoever they are.

Help?

[deathsdevotee]

@humanitysong followed

"I truly am cursed, aren't I? To have you of all people stumble here."

[eventheodds]

@humanitysong

It is an impressive ship.

Not as big or as expansive as Ship Three, but there are enough corridors she can get lost in and plenty of windows where she can see the stars—closer this time than she could back on No Man's Land.

The planet that was left behind in search for aid and resources seems so far away now, but she is not alone. Some were asked to make this journey, while others volunteered.

Meryl finds herself sitting in what is supposed to be the ship's canteen, at a table sequestered away from the others, looking out from one of the large windows that shows her the endless expanse of stars and the promise of salvation.

The rest of humanity is back on a planet they had been forced to endure to survive on after Earth was no longer habitable, but there is only so much Plants can do, despite their willingness to help.

Even now, after what feels like an age, though it has been just a little over two years, Meryl can still experience the sensation of love and understanding as those feathers rained down upon them in what had truly felt like humanity's final moments.

She is not immune to being overwhelmed by such memories.

Tears brim her eyes, unbidden, when she thinks about it all, the weight of everything endured and what will need to be endured to continue surviving. This mission, this journey across the stars, is one such endeavour.

For the most part, the others aboard this ship have left her alone and she is grateful for the peace she has managed to find, but she feels an acute pang of loss, like someone is missing.

Her vision becomes unfocused and Meryl decides to get up from her seat, having been here for far too long—with the exception that she told Vash she would wait for him to meet her here. Her gaze turns back to the canteen, looking about for him. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her olive green cargo pants, Meryl tucks the chair back under the table with a nudge of her boot and begins to walk towards the double automatic doors.

A familiar tall figure in the distance catches her attention and Meryl jogs to meet him halfway, just stopping shy of crashing into his arms.

"You're late!"

The automatic doors have closed behind her, but there is enough people milling about in the corridor that leads to the canteen that spare them a glance.

She pays them no mind, her focus solely on Vash.

Reaching up, she grips the lapels of his shirt with her fingers, anchoring herself to him. If she tugs, he'll still be towering over her even while hunched.

"C'mon, I want to show you what I found," she says and pulls back, taking his hand in hers and tugging him to follow. There is a chance he's already seen what she intends to show him, but the fact remains that Meryl is excited for him to explain it all to her.

A map of the stars—and not just stars, but galaxies and nebulae and known black holes.

When she had volunteered to join this mission, she had believed it would have been more tedious negotiations with all the travel. She did not, however, expect to find herself so enamoured with all of this—with the ship, with the mission itself, and the feeling of hope that kept stirring in her chest whenever she looked out at a pane of glass and saw the cosmos with her own eyes.

And that she could experience all this by Vash's side.

[newsecured]

🎲 he always wants meryl kisses !

〚 kiss roulette | @humanitysong 〛

36. A kiss to the shoulder

Her head slightly raised from the pillow. By the sun blinding her she could tell it's already morning. Yet at the same time it felt too early for her, sight a little bit too blurry to worry over looking at the clock.

Once she turned the other side, it wasn't a challenge to notice Vash lying right next to her. A sleepy smile appeared on her face. Hands wrapped around Vash to pull him closer to herself, kiss placed on his shoulder, before resting her head on him with a bit of nuzzle. Did she wake him up? In all fairness she wasn't sure, but she spoke up anyway.

❝ Good morning Vash ❞ Despite the greeting, it looked like she wasn't going anywhere. Or properly waking up for that matter, soon falling asleep once again.

[astrcthesiai-archived]

“Wolfwood, stop trying to eat him! What is that thing?” Upon closer inspection it’s Vash in creature form.

[duunswitch]

@humanitysong || homewrecking

"Zazie told me they want a divorce." Zazie had never said any such thing but that wasn't important.

[misplacedreporter]

@humanitysong replied to your post:

....he's slowly stepping away, awkwardly looking into any other direction. look meryl for the sake of survival he won't answer you

"I asked you a question."

[stellarhistoria]

"A few more years?" vash is YOUR age showing?

( alexios is turning twenty - three ... eventually. )

[millionsnife]

"Vash put down the cherry tart, Rem said that slice was mine–"