open post for pic prompts, starters, and texts. f/m or f/f for shipping. see here for more permissions. please link nsfw images. compatible with all seasons of wynonna earp.
( There's a storm, and they stand in the badlands. In truth, though, Yasha's pretty sure any lands she's in could count as the badlands. She's told her, tried to be honest, reveal herself for a coward: the problem is that Wynonna is always charming and funny, no matter how awful she makes herself out to be.
She worries that, sometimes, it might rely on Wynonna not wanting her, more than it relies on her not wanting Wynonna, and Wynonna's always deserved better than she's wanted.
So there they are, a place that's both cold and a desert, looking at a skeletal corpse of something awful. )
Uh—
I think— this might be a cleric thing.
( You know. Religious stuff. She's only kind of an angel, that hardly count. )
[ If only it wasn't the umpteenth time Wynonna's seen an awful corpse. Really, once you've seen one set of skeletal remains of something that is decidedly not human, you've seen them all, but as it turns out, they all tend to smell the same way, that vague, non-descript odor that more often than not makes her start craving a cheeseburger. She still doesn't know what that says about her.
Right now, she's staggered down to a crouch, bracing her forearms on her knees — mostly to get a better look, although she's actively trying to hold her breath so she doesn't take the first exit to the closest fast food joint once they're on the road again. Those cravings are real and sometimes unavoidable, and sometimes she thinks Yasha obliges her a little too often.
She pushes herself back up to standing with a soft grunt, swipes her hands over her jeans, and when she turns it's to nudge fingers against the inside of Yasha's wrist. ]
( A quiet response, before the contact registers, and she looks to Wynonna. ) Yeah, I mean— y'know.
( Illuminating, as ever. She squints at the body, fingers reaching out before she stops herself short. At some point she needs to remember that touching is not always the sensible choice. Instead she leans her face down close to it, frowning as she blows some of the sand covering it away.
This is gross, and her fingers tap over the symbol of the Storm Lord on her belt, the jagged overlapping thunderbolts. However, she knows Wynonna, so: ) I'd kill for some fries.
( A heavy drop of rain falls on the back of her hand, and she glances to the sky, dark clouds rolling in heavily. )
[ She doesn't anticipate a lengthy answer, and she doesn't get one, but out of the two of them Wynonna's the one who will always earn the superlative of "most likely to fill the silence by running her mouth off," which somehow hasn't been enough to steer this partnership awry.
They're going to have even fewer answers in front of them once the rain starts, so she fishes in the back pocket of her jeans and comes up with her cell phone, snaps a few quick photos and tries to zoom in for a few close-ups. Waverly's always way better than she is at documenting this kind of evidence, but she's going to do her best even as those first fat drops of rain start to come down overhead. ]
Just oooone more.
[ Thunder cracks, loud and sudden and hard enough to rip the sky open and she's jamming her phone back in her pocket and uselessly holding her arms over her head, turning tail back towards where they've got the truck parked. Maybe she'll make it back before she gets totally soaked through. ]
( Yasha doesn't move so quickly, or apparently grasp the urgency. As the rain falls she stays looking at the body for a moment, before looking back to the truck - and the figure of Wynonna scuttling back to it.
The rainfall is getting quickly heavier, and Yasha turns her face up to it, savours the scent of the earth when the rain hits, the way the air changes. Thunder rumbles in the sky, and she smiles as she turns to face it. Another crack of thunder far closer snaps her focus back to Wynonna.
She starts to bolt after her, trying to catch up to her path back towards the truck, that just got struck by lightning. The hood is immediately charred, metal warped and buckled, and the front window is less smashed and more bubbled and melted, a hole right through it. )
Come on!
( Did Wynonna just get hauled up over Yasha's shoulder? Maybe a little, yes. )
[ The sound that follows is a very sharp, uncharacteristic, undignified squawk, but that's what happens when Wynonna finds herself unceremoniously hoisted off her feet in the middle of a torrential downpour, neck craning to look back at the truck that now boasts a large, smoking hole smack dab in the center of its hood — and the next sound she makes is a cry of protest, maybe almost a whine, because goddamnit, she literally just sent the thing in for a tune-up and she's pretty sure her mechanic isn't going to be able to fix lightning damage. ]
Wait, where are you going?
[ Anything might be safer than the truck at this point, but they're also still out in the open, and she can't really get a good glimpse at where Yasha's headed when she's basically bumping and jostling over her shoulder. ]
Is this 'cause I took a few pictures of the body? Did I make a thunder god angry? Because I wasn't going to 'gram those, I swear!
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no subject
( There's a storm, and they stand in the badlands. In truth, though, Yasha's pretty sure any lands she's in could count as the badlands. She's told her, tried to be honest, reveal herself for a coward: the problem is that Wynonna is always charming and funny, no matter how awful she makes herself out to be.
She worries that, sometimes, it might rely on Wynonna not wanting her, more than it relies on her not wanting Wynonna, and Wynonna's always deserved better than she's wanted.
So there they are, a place that's both cold and a desert, looking at a skeletal corpse of something awful. )
Uh—
I think— this might be a cleric thing.
( You know. Religious stuff. She's only kind of an angel, that hardly count. )
no subject
Right now, she's staggered down to a crouch, bracing her forearms on her knees — mostly to get a better look, although she's actively trying to hold her breath so she doesn't take the first exit to the closest fast food joint once they're on the road again. Those cravings are real and sometimes unavoidable, and sometimes she thinks Yasha obliges her a little too often.
She pushes herself back up to standing with a soft grunt, swipes her hands over her jeans, and when she turns it's to nudge fingers against the inside of Yasha's wrist. ]
Hey. You okay?
no subject
( A quiet response, before the contact registers, and she looks to Wynonna. ) Yeah, I mean— y'know.
( Illuminating, as ever. She squints at the body, fingers reaching out before she stops herself short. At some point she needs to remember that touching is not always the sensible choice. Instead she leans her face down close to it, frowning as she blows some of the sand covering it away.
This is gross, and her fingers tap over the symbol of the Storm Lord on her belt, the jagged overlapping thunderbolts. However, she knows Wynonna, so: ) I'd kill for some fries.
( A heavy drop of rain falls on the back of her hand, and she glances to the sky, dark clouds rolling in heavily. )
no subject
They're going to have even fewer answers in front of them once the rain starts, so she fishes in the back pocket of her jeans and comes up with her cell phone, snaps a few quick photos and tries to zoom in for a few close-ups. Waverly's always way better than she is at documenting this kind of evidence, but she's going to do her best even as those first fat drops of rain start to come down overhead. ]
Just oooone more.
[ Thunder cracks, loud and sudden and hard enough to rip the sky open and she's jamming her phone back in her pocket and uselessly holding her arms over her head, turning tail back towards where they've got the truck parked. Maybe she'll make it back before she gets totally soaked through. ]
Shit!
no subject
The rainfall is getting quickly heavier, and Yasha turns her face up to it, savours the scent of the earth when the rain hits, the way the air changes. Thunder rumbles in the sky, and she smiles as she turns to face it. Another crack of thunder far closer snaps her focus back to Wynonna.
She starts to bolt after her, trying to catch up to her path back towards the truck, that just got struck by lightning. The hood is immediately charred, metal warped and buckled, and the front window is less smashed and more bubbled and melted, a hole right through it. )
Come on!
( Did Wynonna just get hauled up over Yasha's shoulder? Maybe a little, yes. )
no subject
[ The sound that follows is a very sharp, uncharacteristic, undignified squawk, but that's what happens when Wynonna finds herself unceremoniously hoisted off her feet in the middle of a torrential downpour, neck craning to look back at the truck that now boasts a large, smoking hole smack dab in the center of its hood — and the next sound she makes is a cry of protest, maybe almost a whine, because goddamnit, she literally just sent the thing in for a tune-up and she's pretty sure her mechanic isn't going to be able to fix lightning damage. ]
Wait, where are you going?
[ Anything might be safer than the truck at this point, but they're also still out in the open, and she can't really get a good glimpse at where Yasha's headed when she's basically bumping and jostling over her shoulder. ]
Is this 'cause I took a few pictures of the body? Did I make a thunder god angry? Because I wasn't going to 'gram those, I swear!