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citrusveins.bsky.social
Citrus🍋
@citrusveins.bsky.social
160 followers 300 following 140 posts
30s | she/her | on that kiribaku/vashwood/satosugu train choo choo motherfuckers 🚂

🪐 @finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🤠 @loveandlassos.bsky.social

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVeins/
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Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #9 🚀

Another day, another messy fight. Why does this one feel so much worse than the rest? Here's to hoping they can work it out ❤️‍🩹

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 09 by N. Wolfwood; status: Complicated. Debt collectors showed up today. A group of idiots who'd get lost inside of a space helmet, but stupid enough to fire their guns anyway. I could've wrapped it up cleanly, left with my pride mostly intact. Could've taken the whole thing like I usually do -- fast, sharp, and with minimal mess. But no. That's not the way today went. He couldn't keep his trap shut. Spikey steps between me and the gang and decides to offer himself up. His bounty for my debts. Just threw it on the table like it was the easiest thing in the world! As if I couldn't handle the mess myself. As if he belonged in that crossfire. Did he even think? Does he ever? I was pissed. I *am* pissed. How can he be so damn reckless? So blind to danger? Tossing his life away for me, thinking he's some kind of hero. I don't know if he was trying to take the peaceful route or thinks that he deserves the consequences he's been dodging for years. In any case, he's more of a fucking moron than I thought and that's saying something. The fight went sideways fast. He moved towards the collectors, and I shoved him back with my gun leveled at his stupid head. Told him I'd shoot his dumb ass if he moved again. Then the other idiots took their chance and it was... Fuck, it was just chaos. Guns firing, shouting, dodging. A whole thing that wouldn't have even happened if my idiot hitchhiker didn't insist on taking the fast-track to sainthood. We got out clean again. No casualties, of course. I'm still mad at him. Mad he's reckless, mad he's stubborn, mad he has a stupid grin that makes me want to punch him for no reason. But underneath all that? I can't stop thinking about what it means that he'd do that for me. And I sure as hell don't want him thinking he has to.
November 7, 2025 at 4:22 PM
Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #8 🚀

Looks like us Earthlings weren't the only ones up late last night 👻 Vash and Wolfwood over here seem happy to exist in their own bubble. Hmm, what may they be talking about, we wonder?

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 08, visual record only; status: Night Owls. This entry captures a joyful moment after a long night. Wolfwood, drunk as the systems dutifully record, sprawls on his back on the floor and smokes, laughing in the middle of a story he's telling. Lying next to him, Vash looks at Wolfwood while he listens, cheeks flush and heart rate elevated (though, sober as he is, it's unlikely the alcohol is to blame).
November 1, 2025 at 4:31 PM
Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #7 🚀

Our duo has some time on their hands while repairs are in progress. Eating together, talking just for the hell of it— Could this be... a date? 🧐

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 07 by V. Saverem; status: Something Like Friends. Yesterday I nearly got my fingers welded to the hull. Wolfwood called me an idiot, but he laughed, so I think it was worth it. He waved me off before I could cause "irreversible damage to his baby" and said he'd handle the rest of the repairs. My new life-or-death mission: get food. I scoped out the station's food court, and after some serious deliberation, I picked the least suspicious option and brought back two trays. Wolfwood gave me a look like he was about to draft his last will and testament, but he ate everything anyway. Didn't even grumble. A glowing review by his standards! We talked while we ate. Just normal stuff. He told me about some mechanic who tried to overcharge him once. His stories always come with enough teeth to remind you that he's seen more than he lets on. I don't like that he has to carry all that weight, all those little dark secrets tucked away, and yet here I am, keeping plenty of my own. Bit hypocritical, I guess, but it made me want to be a little lighter, a little more open; even if he never noticed. We also debated music. His taste is terrible, by the way, though he'd argue otherwise until the suns burned out. Kids were running around the hangar as we ate and worked. I thought he'd snap and lose his temper--he gets this sharp look when people get too close--but he didn't. Just watched them go, even smiling a little to himself. It's strange. These ordinary moments--eating, fixing things, sharing silence without the weight of survival pressing down--they stick with me. More than the fights. Maybe because they prove life doesn't always have to be sharp edges and running. I think I like this part the best. The quiet. The normal. Him.
October 28, 2025 at 8:29 PM
Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #6 🚀

A moment of calm within the chaos of Vash and Wolfwood's lives, the eye of the storm if you will. For our two outlaws, peace is hard-won and sweet.

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 06 by N. Wolfwood; status: Not So Bad. Docked at some nowhere station to top off fuel. Not much else here--just rust, sand, and people with their heads down. The kind of place you only stop because you don't have a choice. We didn't. Needle Noggin's been quiet since we landed. The kind of quiet that gets under your skin if you let it. He just stands near the ship, studying it like he's memorizing every seam. Not fixing anything. Just cataloguing details nobody else would care about. Normally, silence like this makes me itch. I'm used to noise. People pleading, bargaining, filling the air with words they don't mean. But him? He doesn't feel the need to explain himself. He just observes. Exists. The thing is, he exists like a man who's spent too long being told he shouldn't. Like every breath is on borrowed time, like the space he takes up is something he has to earn. It's there in the way he hunches his shoulders, the way he watches a room before he dares touch anything in it. And maybe that's why it hits different. Because when he does let himself just... be, the air settles around him in a way I can't explain. The hum of him being there feels different from anyone else's company. It's almost peaceful. (Yeah, I hate admitting that.) He's probably not even aware of it, but his presence steadies a place up. Even when he's not talking, not moving, it feels less like empty space and more like... Hell, I don't know. Something worth sharing. There's a part of me that wants to tell him to cut it out before I get too used to it. Don't need the kind of habit where silence feels better with someone else in it. But I didn't say a word. Fuel's topped, ship's ready. Nothing else to report.
October 24, 2025 at 10:39 PM
citrusveins.bsky.social
HAZEL 😭🖤 You always make me smile. Thank you so much!
October 24, 2025 at 8:15 PM
Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #5 🚀

The night is long, the freighter crew deck cold, and the one remaining bunk bed so very small 😌 whatever will our spacefaring duo do?

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 05 by V. Saverem; status: Bunkmates. We had to stay put on the freighter last night. Patrols were crawling the upper decks, so leaving the crew deck wasn't an option. Only problem was, Deck C was so full of freight overflow that the spare bunks were all storage now. Which left us with one option... One bunk. One bed. Wolfwood wasn't exactly thrilled. The second I suggested it, he shot me a look that could've peeled paint off the bulkhead. Called me three different names before dropping his bag hard enough to almost punch a hole in the floor. He insisted we draw a line down the middle, said if I so much as crossed it he'd shove me onto the deck. I wasn't going to argue. It's been a long time since l've had to share space like that and I know how uncomfortable close quarters can be even if only for a few hours. It's funny, though, how quickly you remember what it's like, not being entirely alone. You don't realize how empty the silence has been until it's broken, until it's suddenly filled again. Anyway, of course, Wolfwood kept up the act. Rolling his eyes, muttering about how I take up "too much damn room" and that I better not snore. (I don't!) But when the heater stuttered out halfway through the night, he shoved the blanket toward me. Said it was because my "teeth were chattering loud enough to wake the dead." If you ask me, that sounded a lot like concern! I couldn't really sleep, but... I didn't mind. The bed was small, the room colder than it should've been, and he never stopped grumbling under his breath every time either of us moved. Still, there's something steady in him. Reliable. A weight that grounds me, even when he's pretending to be irritated and I know he's pretending. I think, despite it all, this is the most rested l've been in awhile.
October 17, 2025 at 7:01 PM
Reposted by Citrus🍋
finalfrontierzine.bsky.social
🪐 MISSION LOG #3 🚀

Uh oh. Trouble follows our duo wherever they go... But they got each other's backs, no matter how dire the circumstances. They make quite a team, don't they? 🤝

[ #Trigun ][ #Vashwood ][ #VW ][ #WV ]
Mission Log 03 by N. Wolfwood; status: Coworkers. Had a cargo run lined up. Supposed to be simple: pick up a crate, drop it off, get paid. Nothing flashy, nothing loud. Needle Noggin's face lit up like he'd seen a damn miracle when he learned that the job was, in his words, "honest work." Figured even with him riding shotgun, we could make it through without incident. Soon as we dock, some jackasses show up. Bounty hunters. Not just some backwater gang, either; real guns, real numbers. I don't know how they keep catching wind of us, but it's not like my so-called co-captain looks exactly discreet. It should've been a slaughter. Outnumbered, outgunned, boxed in tight with no good cover. Was weighing how many of them l'd have to drop to get back to the ship. I would've handled it; been doing this long enough. Would've been messy though. Fatal for every bastard looking our way. But then there's him. Spikey moves like the bullets already told him where they're going. Fast, clean, precise. Every one of his shots finds its mark and takes the fight out of a man without taking his life. Buys us space without painting the walls red. By the time we punched back out into the black, nobody was dead. Not a one. Don't get me wrong. He's still a walking target. I swear the universe rearranges itself just to see how much trouble it can put him in. And now, by extension, me. But he's no amateur. So yeah. The job's botched, I'm down a payday, and our faces are probably plastered across two more systems after today. But he's still here, and so am I. He shoots straight when it counts. Not sure yet if that makes him more dangerous, or the only reason I'm still alive.
October 7, 2025 at 7:24 PM