#angelictyphoon

[millionsnife]

@angelictyphoon || hey vash lets go look at corn

He has no idea how the others all managed to plan things without a single one of them communicating said plans to each other and yet still manage to all coordinate leaving at the same time without any of them realizing they'd all went off at once and left their traumatized idiot behind.

It's the only possible explanation he has for how, exactly, they've ended up in a situation where he's suddenly responsible for a version of his brother where he'd clearly won.

"...Wanna go pick some corn?"

That was a safe activity, right? Corn. No one could get shot, stabbed or set on fire picking corn.

#plantfam;; the high was worth the pain #main verse;; plant like me #angelictyphoon #i dont know what led them to here or where they're going but i'm sure it'll be fine #what can go wrong #knives wandering up unexpectedly behind grace to ask him if he wants to pick corn and getting almost fucking murdered #\

[forgivenpunishment]

“   you  want  me  to  punch  him  in  the  face  ??   ”

⩥ @angelictyphoon || hurt/comfort [OPEN]

“you want me to punch him in the face??”

He almost wants to say yes.

Seeing Vash commit an act of violence, for his sake, even, sounds like a treat to watch—but even Wolfwood has to admit that he kinda deserved to get kicked out of the bar. He's teetering the thread separating 'too drunk' and 'blackout drunk,' and ended up picking a fight with someone who complimented him.

Sitting on the wooden plank porch just outside of the establishment with his chin resting between his knuckles, he pouts up at the Stampede. "Nah, Spikey. I'm a big boy, I can fight my own battles. If I wanna," he slurs, "That guy? Not worth my time. 'Sides, can go get my own alcohol and it'd be better than drinkin' the piss they serve at this bar."

He grips Vash's thigh and attempts to hoist himself up, but his shaky legs give out under him and he's back where he was again.

"M'not that drunk. We can go haunt a different bar if ya wanna."

#angelictyphoon #[who will you save; canon] #[prying eyes; asks] #// narrator voice: he is indeed that drunk

[misplacedreporter]

@angelictyphoon || im here to hurt you

"I'd think she'd have wanted to be with you." Perhaps not physically, but in spirit, in thought? In mementos he could keep, something to remind him that she'd existed and had loved him so much. Definitely. Meryl's confident of that much. If she'd loved him even half as much as any Meryl tends to love Vash, then that's where she would have wanted to be.

They might have had different lives, but she doubts that they're much different when it came to people they loved.

"Sorry but your brother's a dick," she says finally around a mouthful of sandwich. "Like, that's a universal constant. Even the one single Knives I've met who wasn't trying to murder humanity anymore was kind of a dick." A pause to swallow before she continues.

"He was nice enough in his own way or whatever, like he even gave me bacon. But absolutely still a dick. Hey, you had a Milly right? What was she like? I don't know if she existed where I came from, I never met her but a few other Vashes I've met have mentioned her and she sounds cool."

#˟main;; a hell of a team #angelictyphoon #r || 28

[eventheodds]

❛  do you wanna feel how it feels?  ❜ He understands if it's too much, if she's still too scared. He also knows that she's always been curious, and, well, Vash gets enough business being who he is, never mind what he is and the status quo suits him just fine.

A tiny room in a motel next to a charge station, one of many rest stops that bridge long gaps of endless desert and blazing suns from one town to the next affords them some privacy.

Vash extends his right arm, and ghost light sprouts from the side of his palm, just below his elbow, and up to his shoulder. Feathery apparitions that take their time becoming fully corporeal. Pale and glittering like fine crystals of starlight scattered across a night sky, the feathers are softer than they look. "Go ahead."

A moment to rest, a moment to gather their bearings, maybe even to plan on what needs to be done next—it's a moment and she's not going to push for answers or try to seek them out.

At least not for now.

For now, the peace and privacy this room provides is enough, tiny as it is, though room this size is a small price to pay for what they have right now.

Right now, she's sitting on the only bed provided for this room, legs tucked beneath her and leaning a bit to the left, her arm the only support to prevent her from falling sideways. The bed itself is a double, though it feels a lot smaller than it actually looks, but she doesn't take up much space and there's plenty of room for Vash to join her.

She'd not expect him to remember her passing comment about wanting to feel what his feathers felt like. His mentioning of it almost has her do a double take and she sits up right, both from the unexpected prompt and from not wanting to miss this moment.

Meryl watches as a soft light illuminates from him and she swears that the lights in their room grow dimmer. She watches as the light extends up his arm as apparitions appear in the form of feathers before becoming more real as each second passes.

She can feel her eyes beginning to water, tears threatening to spill from a myriad of reasons. She remembers the elevator shaft as those moments come back to her in a series of flashbacks that make her heart constrict; she remembers the feathers falling from the sky—at first she didn't know what they were but once they got closer, she could clearly see them as they floated down all around her and everyone else who were waiting with baited breath.

They appear to her now like starlight, the kind she sees almost every night because the night sky is almost always clear.

Her hesitation is not something she's trying to hide and he knows that there are still moments when she is wrestling with that lingering fear.

This moment warrants a better venue than some tiny motel room, but she leans forward, her brow almost touching his, as she extends her hand towards his arm. Fingers splayed, like she isn't certain how she should hold out her hand, there is a beat that passes where she silently tells herself that no harm will come to her here.

First contact has her almost draw back her hand like she'd been shocked.

"They're soft," she says upon a breath, like she can't believe it, but in the back of her mind she remembered they were.

Another beat.

"...what does it feel like, when I touch them like this?" She's close, closer than she had been before, and she need only whisper for him to hear her. Belatedly, she can feel a few errant tears running down her cheeks, but Meryl feels calm.

It's a calm like nothing she's felt before and it takes some effort on her part not to close her eyes and bask in this sensation.

#angelictyphoon #you stun me with your smile and all you bring — angelictyphoon #[ stardate: 0112 - 0114 ] #trimax? trimax :3c

[nothinglikegod]

“Oh, quiet down, I’ve had enough.”

"Whad'ya mean, you've had enough?"

Wolfwood slumps over the bar, elbows heavy, and eyebrows askew. His fingers are curled around a full shot 'a whiskey because he thought this was what they were doing: having fun, shouting, laughing, bantering being obnoxious---- because being stupid was the best way to forget a bad day.

#angelictyphoon #Ya still like me...? #guess well see

[strywoven]

closed. / @angelictyphoon ( ft. vash & verona )

Words on the page begin to fall out of focus as awareness is drawn elsewhere , pried away from the high peak of her home and into town— Head raises , ears twitching and tuning to her surroundings ; faint though it is , given the distance , Verona senses SOMETHING in Wellspring , something she does not recognize ( this , a cause for concern ; there is not a person nor creature alive here she has not committed to memory … if it is not one of them , then who ? or what ? ) .  Setting her book unfurled on the arm , Verona stands from her seat and ventures to the windows , peering outside.  From her manor on the mount , she has a view of nearly the w h o l e of her territory.  And her cursory examination – from a simple enough glance – tells her all’s well ; everything is normal.  But if that’s truly the case … What is this strange FEELING gnawing at her baser being ?

No other way to find out than to go down and look , is there ?  Calling out a good-bye to Pandora , who only just now enters the room looking – as usual – perplexed by his companion’s odd ways , she’s donned her coat and is out the door before a question can be raised about it ( not that she’s privy to granting answers ) .

… The ‘ heart ’ of Wellspring is marked by an EERIE MONUMENT erected shortly after the deaths of Verona’s wife and child , a figure seen from every corner of town ; nearly human-like , the body frayed / flayed by tree boughs and tangles of roots at the base ( seems whoever this is supposed to embody is given a saint-like reverence & gratitude from the locals , there’s candles & offerings dappled along her feet ) .  The Independent stands there , quietly gazing up at h e r , seemingly awaiting an answer to the question— Then it comes : an unfamiliar scent , a flash of red out of the corner of her eye … Verona hones in on it , watching it stride so casually along into Claudius’ tavern adjacent to her position.

When Verona enters the tavern she’s greeted with a chorus of raucous ‘ hello ’ s , the people here t h r i l l e d to see her come down from on high to join them for once.  Pausing , for a moment , Verona tips her head , acknowledges the flock in kind , but there is no time to linger and dither about with them , she’s here for … HIM .  Her gaze fixes on the man who entered her territory unannounced , uninvited ( though not uncommon for travelers to do so , there’s something to him that sets her on edge ) .

It takes all of a moment for her to stride up to him , the c r a c k of her heels nearly puncturing through the evening din of the place completely , loud as gunshots.  Clawed hand is the first thing to enter the frame , placed on the bar in front of him as she l o o m s further forward , her sharp hooks all but c a r v i n g into the wood ; the predatory energy she gives off is palpable ( a viciousness , an ire , an unnatural power ) .  ❝ Can I buy you a round … F r i e n d ? ❞  Sanguine lips pull back into a grin ( the barest notes of a deep growl undertoning her words ) ; all serrated ivories , lacking in amicable air , it’s entirely a threat.  ❝ Perhaps then you can tell me your business in MY TOWN . ❞

#❧ ⸺ how can ( queue ) say there is no story here ? ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. verona | threads ❞ #❧ ⸺ ch. verona | verse vii: trigun ❞ #angelictyphoon #vash immediately upon entering town: greeted by that freaky ass statue with offerings on it ??? #um... sure yeah #everything's cool here that's fine #not a cult btw #just a silly little town with happy little people YEP :)

[goldendivinewrath]

@angelictyphoon [From here.]

He wants to look, but he doesn't want to see. It's a familiar shape and a familiar voice, a familiar presence, but wholly separate. Not a reflection. Something, someone, he can and can't sense; but he knows better than to try too hard. It's--

Annoying. Frustrating. To understand that there are some things he might want to remain a mystery.

Particularly when the answer comes, and the smile that he can feel settling across his lips is tight. Forced. Tired. Maybe it doesn't show. Hopefully. He can't fool himself as well as he wants to. "I-- Yeah." That, even that, sounds slightly crushed.

He understands. And wishes otherwise. "I guess I've tried to stop thinking about it. Wondering. The...the point where it all..." He shivers. Is he cold? "I keep wondering, if it's all my fault, then shouldn't I be able to fix it..?"

Something in asking the question makes whatever's around him feel more solid. Maybe that's the wrong thing to do.

#IC #angelictyphoon #unknown verse/timeline #((tonight's perfect for semi-coherent word-ing apparently)) #lookitmequeue

[bluesummxrs]

@angelictyphoon followed the sinner

He knows he shouldn't approach, he knows his anger would get the better of him. It was so unfortunate that Knives would not let him just end him. Things would be simpler if only Knives could let go...

"It's strange how much you look like him."

#† IC #angelictyphoon

[astrcthesiai-archived]

@angelictyphoon :: from here

"Well, that does not look too good," Roberto observed the smoke from the dune buggy. It earned him a "No shit" from Wolfwood and a menacing glare from Meryl.

Roberto peered over at Vash as he reacted to his statement. He was not expecting a laugh, but he could not help but have a hint of a smile curve on his lips.

"Oh, I do, I put water in my flask 'cause I haven't gotten a canteen yet," Roberto answered the Human Typhoon. It just tastes weird because it has been mostly alcoholic beverages. "But nothing beats a good bottle of whiskey."

He glanced at the smoking dune buggy and the glares at Wolfwood and Meryl sent their way. "I should probably save my water," he said. Roberto turned to Vash. "Suppose we should help them? If we can't, we might have to wait till the evening and push the buggy to the next town."

#【🖎🚬reporter from bernardelli news agency】 #【🖎🚬observing the mess】 #【🖎🚬veteran reporter】 #angelictyphoon

[millionsnife]

@angelictyphoon || kentucky fries knives

He doesn't actually know where he is; Zazie had been reluctant to say where they'd actually brought the twins, mumbling something about human and hive-adjacent any time he asked before slinking off.

Vash isn't saying either, though he suspects that's a habit of concealing his attachments from Knives to protect his stupid, precious humans. And whoever owns the home they're hiding in, they haven't come to see him. At least he's not being gawked at like a particularly interesting animal, he supposes.

He's still bored. The radio hasn't been much distraction, not really. Not when it's all news of Julai and speculation on how Vash had been trying to destroy it, why he'd tried.

"Idiots," he mutters, scowling at the latest report running in the background. "Vash–" Turn it off.

#alternate ending verse;; do you remember why i walked on water for you #angelictyphoon

[forgivenpunishment]

⩥ @angelictyphoon || just like old times [x]

"Well don't get too excited, Blondie," Wolfwood rolls his eyes at Vash's false smile, "Least you could do is pretend to be happy I'm here."

He pauses.

"Pretend harder, I guess."

Nudging his toma to stand next to the Typhoon's, he gives Vash a playful shove—nothing enough to push him off of the bird, though. He's unsure whether his companion is actually unhappy to be traveling with him, or if something else is fogging up that needley brain of his. Probably both.

Wolfwood searched and searched and searched for over two years trying to find the man who everyone presumed was no more than ashes at the bottom of a crater—well, everyone but the federation, he supposes. 60 billion double dollars... that'd be enough to drain any well-off resident of this planet dry.

And yeah, he's in dumb, hopeless love with the guy. He hates admitting it to himself—God knows he doesn't deserve him—but it's just a simple fact of life. They talked about it before everything went down; Wolfwood wonders if Vash even remembers.

Of course, it doesn't help their already strained relationship that he was handed 'rumors' from the remaining Eye of Michael superiors. He hoped that the cult would disappear with the destruction of July, but that'd just be too easy, wouldn't it? Contract's never complete so long as he carries the burden of their 'gift' with him.

He'd often catch himself staring fondly at the outlaw—just like he was then—and it's becoming a problem. Nicholas the Punisher can't get close to anyone. It only puts them in danger. Puts him in danger too, but that's secondary.

... But it's so easy with Vash. He falls further into the sandtrap of affection every day he wakes up next to the guy—it's almost disgusting.

Speaking of waking up next to Vash the Stampede, "Yeah, camp sounds good. Doesn't look like there're any caves around here, looks like we're sleeping in the sand tonight."

Wolfwood stretches, cracking several spots in his back with a yawn, "Bottom of this dune look good to you, or do you wanna hold out for a different one?"

#angelictyphoon #[every beginning has its end; thread start] #[who will you save; canon]

[misplacedreporter]

❛  there’s nothing left to say.  ❜

"Maybe for you, but I damn well have plenty to say!" Not that Meryl even knew where to start. How did you say glad you aren't dead but why didn't you tell me sooner? to your assumed dead friend without sounding accusing about it? Not that she thought anyone would blame her if she had.

Had Wolfwood known the whole time?

Had he been lying every time she'd asked if he'd found anything–later. She'd ask later.

"Not even a letter? A note? A, I don't know–a carrier worm or something? I wasn't worth even that much?"

Zazie of all people had thought her worth coming to see in person, to warn about some mysterious threat from 'beyond the light' or whatever, whatever that meant, but Vash hadn't even thought her important enough to drop an anonymous note that he was okay.

"Never mind. Where's Wolfwood? He find you yet?"

#angelictyphoon #˟canon;; it's only dark when your eyes are closed #s2???? s2 #anyway she's mad and my hands went wild

[eventheodds]

@angelictyphoon continued from [ x ]

There is a part of her that knows this will not last for as long as she'd like it to. She knows that, in what feels a matter of moments, this room will no longer be a safe haven for them. In a matter of moments, they will be pulled in different directions and will be made to do all that they can to survive these final moments.

Meryl desperately wishes they can just stay here.

It's safe here.

She looks at him as he takes one of her hands, her eyes closing for the briefest moment when she can feel the press of his lips against her fingers, and Meryl can begin to feel her heart breaking.

She's told him he's not alone, that he doesn't need to go at this alone, that she will be there--that she promises to always be there, even when she's scared, because she is, but even Meryl Stryfe, the Iron Lady, should not be making such promises because she doesn't know what tomorrow will bring.

Maybe it's just enough to be like this, to be here and not think what will happen once either of them step outside of this room. She's terrified of what he will have to face once he leaves, knowing that this is just temporary.

She's terrified of losing him.

Trekking across the desert of No Man's Land, trying to find shelter in the last safe place, had not been easy. She can still remember those hard nights and even more difficult days when the dual suns felt endless with their light and their heat; the nights where the five moons looked so cold and distant and uninterested in their plight to survive; the stars were more so distant and unforgiving, completely unawares of the plight of humanity to make it through the night.

Yet, somehow, she trudged on. Through the exhaustion and hopelessness she was feeling with each and every step, she continued on because she put her belief in someone that gave her hope.

However, now, the calm before the storm, feels like it is a goodbye for the last time.

She moves with him, accommodating him as he shifts so they both can be comfortable in what feels like their final moments. The tears she'd been holding begin to fall and Meryl does her best to not make a sound. She tells herself she needs to be strong because others will be counting on her.

She needs to be strong.

It is the hardest thing she has ever done--harder still than navigating that unforgiving desert and feeling lost.

"You'll come back, right?"

Her voice is soft, small, and it's clear that she sounds scared. Terrified.

Please, be strong.

#angelictyphoon #you stun me with your smile and all you bring — angelictyphoon #verse: trimax #if you would like post trimax i can do a little rewrite and set it then?

[knaivcs]

🎤 what's something about knives you didn't expect to learn when you started writing him?

🎤 ⸻ VOICE MEME. using this site, send me *voice* or 🎤 and a question, regarding the character(s), the mun or anything and I will make an audio about it.

Answered on Vocaroo for the 2ND TIME because I'm a dumbass who had his mic off...

#† ooc. #angelictyphoon #† VOICE MEME.

[full-of-mercy]

@angelictyphoon

Echoes. It echoes. Memories, impressions, fabrications of the mind, flickers of reality, of surreality, at the end of a life.

Rhythmic.

You'd see a man...

Fists battering compacted sand in the shadow of a sacred place - sacred, not just in a manner of faith, but in the spirituality of survival.

Percussive.

...forcing himself to play the Devil...

Bullets slamming from a gun barrel - sacrifice means to make sacred. 

Guttural.

...while his heart screams.

Engines roaring, popping, ripping like thunder through the desert sky, shadows blotting out the suns. Doom can look like salvation, and salvation can spell doom. 

When a man is about to lose everything, he realizes what mattered to him most. He sees it clearly for the first time.

Confetti - crimson petals - embers.

I don’t want to go. I want to live!

An anguished howl. A dome of light. 

Silence. Blackness.

Yawning and vast and dark, it echoes. Glimpses. Flashes. Dreamlike over rolling dunes and falling skies, playback-rewind, cascades of electricity and chemicals through fading pathways. A word here, a joke there, reaching out without acknowledgement. Haunted, haunting.

Alight. Fulgurating, branching. Reaching out, reaching out.

Beat. Heartbeat. Breath, whispering and dry and close. 

It echoes.

“...Vash?”

...

Gloaming light slants through dust-streaked windows. Another day in No Man’s Land promises insipid heat, rippling with the mirage of relief over endless rolling dunes, over the blackened and blasted structures that cling to the sand with the dogged determination of human life.

The ceiling fan turns languidly overhead.

The trouble with cigarette smoke is that it lingers - a trace in the air, a stain of nicotine on fingertips and skin and clothes, detritus on lightbulbs and ceilings. Ash. Ash and sweat, musk and gunpowder. There, just the faintest of wisps, a shadow of vetiver and sandalwood in the dim space. There and gone, an echo of an echo. 

Time.

A flat circle, a straight line. Has it been weeks, months, years? The dreams are there on the edges of reckoning, discordant, haunting.

The floors and the streets below the cramped hotel room are awake with the dull rumble of morning activity. Voices through thin walls speak of banal things - of coffee, of breakfast, of hangovers. 

Nothing changes except everything. 

#verse: sky's still blue #[ stardate: 0116+ ] #When I open my eyes to the future I can hear you say my name -- angelictyphoon

[carnivalfair]

old man yaoi...

scene from an rp thread with @angelictyphoon/@full-of-mercy set in an au where they came from different bad end timelines/worlds.

#trigun #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun maximum #vashwood #trimax