#humanitysong

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.

@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.

〚 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.

x // GAZE DRAWN TO THE EXTENDED HAND, Ratha sniffs for a moment. Even from a distance he can feel the warmth and pulse of a beating heart, but something strikes him as unique about this one. The scent is different; reminiscent of a human's, but also not, and coated in the smell of sweat, desert salt and hardship. It does little to deter him; Ratha has always been a good judge of character. A tall, lanky figure who towers over most of whom he meets—yet not the slightest bit imposing.

His snout leans to finally press into the offered hand before that sky blue gaze wanders elsewhere, this time towards the translucent green prosthetic. It too, is warm; but it doesn't pulse the same way the rest of his body does. There is something electric about it; something that evokes the beast's curiosity. He knows man always carries two hands of flesh, not just one . . . so why not this one?

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