#dark vash I missed you

[rybajek]

live and suffer.

[vashwoo]

Routine

pairing: vash the stampede x gn!reader content: fluff cw: mention of injury and blood, mention of vash getting threatened with a gun a/n: mostly tristamp vash since the boots and arm are explicitly described, but it could work for the other vashs

Mundane routines can be grounding experiences for those living life on the run, and that certainly is the case for Vash the Stampede. Including you in his daily rituals made them a smidge more special.

wc: 1.3k

The Humanoid Typhoon lived a life where he wasn’t sure if dinner was on the menu in the evenings, or if breakfast was even an option when the twin suns rose. The outlaw was always left gnawing at his chapped lip, wondering if he’d even have the opportunity to make some quick cash the next town over to rest in a rickety bed.

When you live a life of uncertainty and guaranteed danger like Vash the Stampede did, you tend to grip and sink your nails into routine, mundane things.

The blonde unconsciously craved routine, even if the routine was as simple as brushing his teeth when it was dark out and spitting out the paste into a rusted basin. Even if his boring ritual was splashing uncomfortably warm and metallic-scented water on his wind-chapped skin and patting it down with his wrinkled shirt.

Routine is something he cherished to have. And he clung to any opportunity to keep them alive.

A routine was grounding. It was a reminder that he survived another hard day on this godforsaken planet. It gave him something to look forward to.

On the flip side, when a routine was interrupted, it unnerved him; it made his skin crawl. When you don’t have much to look forward to, tremors rattling a routine can feel like earthquakes.

The other week, after a terrible run-in with some bounty hunters, Vash shakily splashed tepid water on his face and reached down low for his shirt, only to miserably recall he tossed it aside after he used it to wipe down the blood from the freshly sewn wound on his leg. As water dripped everywhere, he released a shuddered exhale, only to feel a hesitant hand rest on his arm.

When injured man forced an eye open, he noticed you held out one of your own fresh shirts. Making no move to accept your kindness, you lifted it to his face to dry it yourself.

Despite snapping back to reality and fervently denying your offer, this was a welcome tremor against his nightly routine. You were an embraced earthquake.

“Vash?”

He blinks, snapping to attention as his gaze focused on the flickering embers in front of him.

“You havin’ a staring contest with the fire? Hope you’re winning.”

He heard you tease him under the shared sleeping bag a small distance away. His bright eyes squinted and peered over at you from his spot near the dying fire.

When he softly called back, inquiring what you needed from him, you sighed almost dramatically, draping your arm over your forehead like a fainting maiden. Vash snorts.

Hastily, you flung the fabric from your body and folded your arms over your chest, staring at him expectantly and petulantly. 

“Vash the Stampede. Did you forget that I sleep better when you’re right next to me?” You accuse lightheartedly, but he doesn’t miss the wobbly grin threatening to split your face in twain. For extra motivation, you sweetly pat the space next to you. His nose scrunches as he slowly raises himself from the simmering heat, kicking the flames out. Smoke wafts from the singed brush he collected earlier as he dusts himself off.

“Haven’t forgotten,” he reassures, keeping his voice low and light to not wake the others. The sound of his boots kicked up the sand as he finished his words, “…was just thinking.”

His routine before you came along and forcibly jammed yourself into his heart included brushing his teeth, spitting the foam into a basin or onto the sand, wiping the dirt from his face, ripping his boots off, diving into a sleeping bag on the unforgiving ground, and having yet another restless night.

It wasn’t like that these days.

Vash hoped he’d never go back to that old routine.

He liked his new one with you in it.

Your eyes softened at his words as you watched him gingerly undo his boots and holster. Your arms relax from their position as you prop yourself up to watch him. The silence between you two mixed with the desert air and the quiet hum of the worms around the campsite. Intimate.

The gunman swiftly undid the taut laces, tucking them into the boots.

Soon, Vash ruffles his tresses with a sigh and crawls next to you into the sleeping bag.

His routine, while delightfully altered since your loud arrival into his life, remained mostly the same.

He still spat his toothpaste onto the desert sands.

He still used the bottom of his ratty shirt to dry his face, and he still removed his boots at the end of the day before he buried himself into the bag. 

Nowadays, his routine didn’t end with him laying in bed, tossing and turning, praying for ‘no nightmares, please no nightmares—‘

He used to cross his fingers, hoping he’d wake up without hearing the sound of a clicking hammer and seeing up the barrel of a rusted gun. Early in his travels, well before he learned how to check his surroundings, he found himself rousing and at the mercy of desperate souls looking for life-changing money.

These days were better; he’d crawl into a sleeping bag with its seams screaming for mercy because he’d share it with someone dear to him.

These days, he’d train his eyes on you, watching your expressions as you rambled about the day, as if he wasn’t there to begin with.

He’d feel you shimmy yourself next to him, commenting about how warm he was and how good it felt when the rest of the world was so cold at night. You’d always face him, your breath colliding against his with how close you laid next to him. 

These days, he’d hear you whisper about whatever was on your mind as you brushed his hair back behind his ear. You’d repeat that soothing motion over and over. Your nail would gently scratch at his scalp on the way back around, and he’d sink deeper into the worn padding of the bag.

On harder days, the days that battered you down, you didn’t talk like this. You’d tiredly look at him, and he’d tiredly stared back. Vash would gently place his hand on your cheek and rub the apples of it, wordlessly offering his own affections.

On the nights when his flesh hand touched your skin, you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. He’d wipe any tears, and he’d wish deep down he could wipe away your troubles too.

On the nights when his mechanical fingers graced your skin instead, you’d croon at the chilled feeling, listening to the whirring of the motors and joints as he cherished your visage. You’d wrap your hand around his, stopping his ministrations.

Instead of crossing his fingers and praying he didn’t have to bolt the first thing in the morning, he would timidly cross his fingers with yours. When you didn’t pull away, he’d hold on a little tighter.

Currently, you were whispering about how ridiculous Wolfwood looked when riding a toma, struggling to balance himself and the obnoxious cross on his back. “I cannot believe he rides a toma like… like this…!”

When your arms excitedly shoot out and almost slam into his nose in the midst of mimicking and mocking the priest, Vash snickers and gathers your fidgety hands in his. Before you could grumble, he gives them a firm squeeze.

Today was a good day though. Even if limbs weren’t tangled under the bedsheets on a real bed, it was a good day.

“Thought you called me over to sleep, mayfly.” He chided without bite, hesitantly brushing his lips against the knuckles of your hands. You snicker and explain that nighttime is the perfect time to gossip about your sleeping companions. Thus, you continued but moved on to the next exhilarating topic.

All the while, the man in the nearly ripped sleeping bag admires the crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. When you shook with laughter, he felt his own lips quirk up as well. 

By now, the moons were high in the sky.

As you continued to chatter, your words slowly melded into one another. Vash felt his eyes grow heavy, and he was hoping for good dreams.

What a nice routine.

[vashs-turtleneck]

Not So Sneaky.

✧ Dad!Vash Drabble

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+ ONLY)

Summary: You and Vash try to take advantage of a quiet evening, but things never go quite as planned. Pairing: Vash the Stampede x f!reader WC: 1.1k CW: post trimax, pwp, p in v sex, cumming inside, slight breeding kink, daddy kink. AN: another one I wrote at work lmao I love getting paid to write smut

“I love you,” Vash mutters against the column of your throat, his lips tracing a wet path up to your jaw.

The moons hang up high in the starry sky. It's quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the worn bed, a pillow shoved between the headboard and the wall to keep it from smacking the surface every time he pushes his hips forward. You'd both much rather not be interrupted and take advantage of the peaceful night. Nights like these are a rare treat nowadays, after all.

“I love you so much.”

Vash pulls back from your chest and sits up on his knees, keeping your calves perched over his shoulders as he savors the graceful sight of your body rippling every time his pelvis slaps against your ass. His eyes look lower, following the black and blonde path of his happy trail down to the base of his cock, watching shamelessly as he pulls back to the tip before slamming right back in over and over again.

“So beautiful, mayfly,” he mutters, his voice quiet and strained. “Always so beautiful for me.”

He takes in the gorgeous sight of you all spread out and so pliable beneath him with your expression contorting into something euphoric. It's enough to break his last ounce of restraint, his patchwork chest trembling with every deep breath he takes. With a deep rumbling groan, he leans back over you, keeping your knees slung over the broad shelf of his shoulders.

“Gonna come, baby. Ah f-fuck! Gonna come!” Vash whimpers with a desperate and pleading edge to his tone. “Can I… inside? Can I come inside, mayfly? Please,” he begs.

“You're gonna get me pregnant at this rate, daddy,” you tease, your voice wobbling from feeling his cock hitting you in all the right places despite your best efforts, and Vash practically growls against the shell of your ear at your response.

“Yes! Yes, please! Want it so bad. Wanna fill you up so good!” he moans brokenly, pressing his forehead to yours and shutting his eyes tightly, his teeth gritting together as he tries to delay the inevitable.

“Let me put a baby in you. Please, angel. Wanna get you pregnant so bad!”

He looks up at you, his pleading eyes brimming with tears. With a look like that, you'll give him anything and everything he wants.

“Want it too, love. Come inside me. Please, come inside me, daddy!” you whimper meagerly, your hand tangling in his long dark hair and tugging, pulling a choked, angelic whine from his pretty lips and exposing the lovely bob of his Adam's apple.

His hips move more fiercely, the sound of his hips crashing against yours filling the room. The sounds you're making are far louder than you mean them to be, but you're both too beautifully blissed out to notice as he chases that euphoric high he can only get from the warmth of your body.

“Mmph– you're gonna come. I can feel it. Fuck, your pussy is massaging my cock so good, baby!” Those beaming azure eyes flutter open and look right at you, not wanting to miss even a second of your pleasure.

“Come on my cock. Come with me, mayfly! I'm begging you!”

His hands rest on either side of your head, tightly gripping at the pillows as he builds you both up to your peaks. Your back arches off the bed, your mouth falling open in a silent moan, your eyes shutting tightly as you feel that coil inside you about to burst, and you can tell he feels the same.

You're right there. You're both right there.

But he pauses suddenly and goes completely stiff, halting your oncoming orgasm and robbing you of the delicious feeling of his stuttering hips.

“A-Ah, no…wha-” you whine out in confusion, the denial of your release almost enough to bring you to tears. You buck your hips against his, your body aching for climax, but as you open your eyes, ready to give your husband an earful, you go silent, the burning need in your body immediately put on the backburner. 

His eyes are wide, unblinkingly staring at the empty space above your head. His dark brows are scrunched together, willing himself to quiet his heavy breaths and listening intently to the dead silence in the air.

“Vash? What's wrong?” you whisper, your hand coming up to cradle his scruffy cheek, running your thumb over that cute mole under his eye. 

He stays quiet for another few moments, unmoving, unspeaking, and every second he stays silent fills you with anxiety. What's going on? Does he hear something? You try to listen too, but your ears aren't as sharp as his. It's just… quiet.

Before your mind can start spiraling too much, Vash's body relaxes. He lets out the breath he was holding and hangs his head down, sighing in defeat before he turns his head back and towards the door of your shared bedroom.

“Kids! Back to bed!” he shouts.

It's then that you hear the gentle pitter patter of two pairs of feet echoing through the hallways, followed by the quiet whisperings between your first and second child.

“How does he always know!?” the little one utters in disbelief.

“Shh! Quiet, Nico!” your eldest mutters back, no quieter than her brother before she calls back out to her father, “But Papa, we're hunting for ghosts!”

“Not tonight, loves. Bedtime. Don't make me say it again.”

“Aww, man…” they both say in unison.

The two of you listen to your children's footsteps, hearing them walk away on creaky wooden floorboards all the way back to their rooms, until their doors are shut and you know that tonight's ghost hunting operation has been successfully shut down.

When he hears the clicks of the doors, Vash turns back to you, letting his body slump over yours and sighing, pressing the weight of himself on top of you with his face nuzzled to your neck.

Not even a moment of peace in the dead of night for a couple of parents.

“You had to use your dad voice a little bit,” you chuckle, running your hand through his raven hair.

Vash laughs breathily against you, shifting up to look you properly in the eyes.

“Where do they get these ideas from?” he asks, exasperated but undeniably amused by his little ones' late night shenanigans.

“I told you they've inherited your… eccentrism.” 

“Wish they'd inherit less of my quirks,” Vash chuckles. “At least they got your brains.”

“Well I love your quirks,” you coo, pulling him in by the jaw for a brief and tender kiss. “You sure you want more, daddy? They're already a handful.”

“Absolutely I do,” he whispers hoarsely without even a hint of hesitation, moving his hands to the backs of your thighs, folding you in half and parting your legs further, letting you feel the fullness of his cock.

“And you're just asking for it, calling me ‘daddy’ over and over like that.”

divider source.

[ohitslen]

Sharing a meal

I wrote something for this below the cut if you’re interested :)

They never eat anything too tasty, surviving with packeted rations and canned food in their journey. Sometimes they would stop at a little restaurant and eat a nice meal; it really tasted like something gourmet after days of going with grain bars and dry jerky.

There were fleeting moments in between conversations in which one of them would remember some dish, from back in the day when things were easier and they didn’t worry about too many things. They never went deeper into the topic, just mentioning how they missed a good meal.

Staying at an inn or any motel was an expensive thing to pay for. However sometimes they had some extra money from an odd job Vash did or from Wolfwood’s undertaker services, and they would always rent a room as a treat for themselves.

It was a surprise when they entered the room and saw a small kitchen. The space was a little too cramped but it had everything they needed, it was like a deluxe room when they though about all the places they had been at. None of them had a kitchen at all, maybe they had a tiny stove or a mini fridge, perhaps a table sometimes but never the whole set together.

They both looked at each other to confirm they really were seeing the thing, smiling excitedly.

They could make a meal for themselves.

Vash knew how to cook, he had done some work on kitchens throughout his life. A few times he helped Rem when he was a child, he knows how to defend himself. Yet he didn’t know any recipes by heart, not any that would be inside their budget at least. He could get creative and probably whip up a thing or two if he was given enough time.

“I know what to do” Wolfwood said with a smile that irradiated a melancholic warmth interrupting his thoughts . A smile Vash had only seen when he talked about the things he loved.

Vash didn’t suggest anything in the end and just followed what the other man told him to do.

He went to buy all the things Wolfwood asked him for. Vegetables and some thoma meat. There seemed to be some spices in the room so he only bought garlic and onion as per Wolfwood’s request.

When Vash got back, he found Nick at the table arranging the ingredients the kitchen already had. He was already showered, hair messy and with droplets of water hanging on the tips. Getting closer, he could smell the soap, the cheap shampoo and the lingering scent of nicotine that never seemed to go away. He was changed into a black, long sleeved shirt and a pair of loose dark blue pants.

His overall appearance made Vash think how the edges of the man were less sharp, he seemed more relaxed and at ease, even if it wasn’t entirely the case. He just looked, soft.

“Hey welcome back, did you bring what I asked you for or will I have to use your meat for this?” Wolfwood greeted him without looking up from his task, the ingredients being the most interesting thing in the world it seemed.

Something warm pooled at the pit of Vash’s stomach, he didn’t know why that was and didn’t bother to think about it either, just enjoying the feeling.

Smiling, he placed the bags on the table in front of Wolfwood, taking out its contents. “I’m sure I brought everything yeah, I hope my life can be spared”.

The priest snorted at him and grabbed a potato that was rolling off the table. “Aight then, make yourself useful and start washing these and then chop ‘em to reasonable bitable sizes”. Losing no time, he took the meat and was cutting it while giving out the instructions.

While Vash was washing and chopping, the other was already preparing the meat putting it in a pot with boiling water. Once Vash was finished with all he was asked to do, Wolfwood ushered him to take a shower while the food was done, wanting to have more space in the narrow place. Vash did as told in that as well.

The shower felt great, all of the gross stickiness from the sweat and other things were finally washed off from his body. He felt light and a thousand times more content.

As he opened the door the smell hit him in the face, a delicious scent that surely tasted even better. Wolfwood was stirring the pot, poking some of the potatoes to make sure they were on the right term, and they seemed to be as he turned off the stove.

Vash got closer, mouth already watering just from the thought of how it’d taste “That smells so good! What did you make?” He asked with a big grin plastered all over his face.

Wolfwood pointed at the table with his hand, signaling him to sit down a little dismissively while he looked for the bowls on his own. It seemed like he was the kind that with less people on the kitchen when he was there, the better. “Just a broth, nothing too wow it’s something easy, and on budget”. Vash hummed with wonder and served two cups of water to busy himself with something.

Wolfwood poured the two servings of the broth, it was still hot and the bowl must surely be scalding. Yet Wolfwood’s calloused hands never flinched, placing their food on the table without much trouble along with a pair of long spoons.

“Be careful or you will murder your tongue” he warned and Vash chuckled.

“Thanks for the heads up chef, ‘preciate it” the other just scoffed at the title and sat down across him .

They both mixed the broth while blowing at it in hopes for it to cool down a little. However seeing how they were both starving and didn’t care too much about getting burnt or not, they just started to dig in.

Wolfwood was eating eagerly, having spoonful after spoonful of his food. He was beyond delighted. It had been a long time since he had the chance to prepare the broth he used to have back at the Orphanage.

“It’s…delicious” he heard Vash say in a low and calm tone. When he looked up to see the man, he was shocked to find him with reddish eyes that were glistening with tears. It didn’t seem like when was doing a show or anything of the sorts, he just seemed…at peace.

It wasn’t anything extravagant, quite possibly one of the most simple dishes Vash has ever eaten. It was made with the things that they could afford with the little money they could spare, the ingredients were definitely not of the best quality, the vegetables could have used a little more time on the pot. And it was delicious.

Vash felt incredibly warm inside, similar to how he felt when Wolfwood greeted him when he got back, just a thousand times stronger. The first sip he had of it tasted like the best thing ever cooked in his whole life, something he would have every day of the year for the rest of eternity. He didn’t know why that was at first, but after having a second spoon of it he could tell what it was.

It tasted like home.

The flavor of it, it was homely, the savor of melancholy. It tasted like their conversations about missing the past. The tang of the times they would have a peaceful night in the desert grilling worm meat around a campfire. It reminded him when he got sick and an old lady had given him a bowl of soup. It tasted like the first time Rem had given them a try of what meat and vegetables tasted like. It tasted like all the things he missed, and the things Nicholas most likely missed too.

The familiarity of it made him feel fuzzy and full on the inside, and he couldn’t stop eating. He was slow while doing it, wanting to savor every bit of what he could have while it lasted. It was rich, it was simple and it was perfect.

“…You want some more?” At some point, Nicholas had already finished his own bowl and brought the pot over to serve himself again. He looked at Vash with something soft in his eyes the other could not name, his voice was gentle and gravely, sweet and easy on his ears just adding more to the warmth inside of him.

“Yes…yes please” Vash answered, voice cracking a little. Nicholas served him, the sound of the liquid being poured soothing his soul.

Vash ate again, and Wolfwood was looking at him. The priest was taking small sips of water from his cup, always holding it against his mouth even if he wasn’t drinking anything. Vash didn’t really notice when he had started tearing up, thick streams of salty water running through his cheeks, a pool of them welling up at his chin and falling down the wooden table making a puddle of happy tears.

Vash enjoyed the heartfelt broth. He was happy, that bit of simplicity was enough to make him forget of everything else and just focus on that moment.

It was so mundane. Vash smiled with overflowing tears in his eyes while Wolfwood just watched with a fond smile of his own behind his empty cup of water.

At that moment, they were not in a random room at a random place. They were in a place where they had brought their home to, sharing a meal with each other.

[chris-continues]

SUMMARY: in which you kiss (beta design) Vash <3

TW: a bit suggestive? You kiss. That’s it.

TAGS: @millionsvash @h4venpha @vashfantasy @macncherries @captaintweet

Your traveling companion was.. a rather quirky man, to say the least.

He brandished a bright red coat, clunky, round glasses, and most importantly, a mask. All of which overshadowed the rest of his lanky form, an attempt to distract from his appearance under the mask. That of which, was never revealed to you. Your curiosity perpetually poked at you from time to time- what was he hiding?

Everyone had their own share of secrets, of things they’d rather keep to themselves, and the last thing you wanted to do was to pry. Even when you both had gotten closer to one another, quite literally, as you were pressed in an alleyway awaiting for the coast to clear-

His mask never came off.

His torso pressed against yours, chest rising and falling rapidly. You could feel it from underneath your hands- he’d had to stabilize your stop earlier when you rushed into your hiding spot. You didn’t have the guts to move. Not that you really wanted to. God, you longed for him, and the lack of room between you two was something you had to savor right now. His gaze darted away from you, your breath tickling his jaw. Apart of you truly hoped people would continue their chase in pursuit of you two- if only to remain this close to him.

“Uhm-“ you paused, lips brushing his jaw accidentally.

A shiver ransacked his entire being as his arms, which were propping himself up on the wall behind you, shook slightly. “Ah, sorry-“

“Please.. quiet..” he pleaded, his mask shifting as his lips moved. You swore you could feel him biting his lip, fidgeting to the best of his ability.

You squirmed. A nervous habit.

“…mayfly…”

You tried to pull back, observing him. In the time you’ve known him, he’s relatively hard to read. Mask and all, obscuring the majority of his facial features (save for his eyes, hidden behind round orange lenses). The pinch of his brows gave way to his uneasiness.

“Did I make you uncomfortable?” You murmured, voice rumbling slightly.

He shook his head, eyes heady. His dark lashes fluttered oh so beautifully, mole peeking a bit past his mask. His reply was breathy. “You.. you can’t keep teasing me like this.”

You blink owlishly. Once. Twice. So you weren’t assuming things.

"Do you want me to stop..?" You drew your question out, heart thrumming in your chest. Zeroing in, awaiting his reply. He gave a brief shake of his head, eyes wide. As if it would kill him, he clung to any crumb of affection you had to offer. You hoped it wasn't circumstantial, knowing full well that if he had asked the same of you that you would absolutely never refuse.

In a flashing moment of bravery, you pecked his cheek. The fabric of his mask felt smooth on your lips, a small kissing sound resonating in the tight space between you two. Then his lips moved from underneath the mask, upturning the corner of his eyes cheekily.

"Hah.. you uh.. you missed." "Huh?"

You felt fabric against your lips once again, although you really wish you didn't. Curiosity pried at you, as feverish as the kiss. What was once a chaste meeting of lips separated by that godforsaken mask turned into him cupping your face, your back pressed to the wall amidst the barren alleyway. You felt his chest heaving against yours, the repetitive motion comforting, in a sense.

He felt.. so warm. So comforting. His palms to your cheeks, enveloping your face in its immeasurable value. Pure want coursed throughout you, appreciation seeping into the kiss. Perhaps one day, he'd be able to bare himself to you, to meet the plush of his lips, flesh to flesh as you breathed one another in. Perhaps one day, you'd be able to pepper kisses on his bare face the way you'd imagined every few times where you allowed your mind to wander. He was a beauty in your eyes, his lashes fluttering in a demure fashion whenever he pulled away, only to kiss you once more.

But for now? You were content with the press of your bodies, flush to one another as you felt the fabric of his mask dampen, the movement of what you knew to be his lips meeting yours.

[aimfor-theheart]

on the death of skirt chasers

a small think piece on how media has been stripped of romance, sex appeal, and charm over the last 20 years using trigun and trigun stampede as an example—specifically looking at this through wolfwood and vash as a tangible way to track this evolution.

it’s interesting and also unsurprising to me that trigun stampede stripped vash and wolfwood of some of their biggest personality traits from the 98 anime, which were their love of women. to be frank— they were both dogs lol

but vash was this sort of forlorn man who, meryl, upon meeting him, adequately describes him by asking, “are you the type of man to fall in love right away and get your heart broken?” or something to that effect. and he says what, no way! and then proceeds to fall in love with the next beautiful woman he sees and gets his heart broken by the end of the episode. and we were seeing this constantly throughout the show, then even in the later movie of the early 2010s badlands rumble.

and the 2000s are notorious for dubious, sexist comments from men who are women-obsessed. our action movies are packed with sexy female characters only existing for romance, etc. etc. we’re sort of at the tail end of it in 2010. so arguably, vash is almost worse here to me? he’s really pushy and borderline inappropriate with how stubborn he is. in a way that, while persistent in the 98 anime, he had a little more boyish charm to him and they never made him so forceful.

and then the middle and later 2010s happen where marvel takes over our action movies and romance and sex and womanizers are all but killed—originally, in reaction to the sexism. it’s important to note that the me too movement picks up in the middle and later 2010s too and becomes well-known by the end of this decade. and in response, i think we nosedive into puritanical ideas and sentiments by the end of the decade.

now we must always remember when a movement (ie feminism in this case) has a critique or reaction that catches on (the me too movement, men being pushy and overly flirtatious in our media, treating women in action movies only as sexy romance options, or showcasing toxic dynamics that subconsciously tell men to keep chasing her, even if she’s not interested) then the oppressive force (patriarchy in this case) will always transform as a way to take control again (bringing puritanical ideals back—we shouldn’t be showing sex or romance in our movies. we should not be consuming any dark content, ever. etc etc.)

i believe we killed romance and sex in the later 2010s because of an over correction of our sex-obsessed media of the 2000s—or rather, the patriarchy over corrected in order to maintain control. there were critiques of the 2000s that were valid, but like i said, the oppressive force will always transform to maintain power, so we hit puritanical beliefs again. “political correctness” if you will.

(capitalism surely has something to do with this too and it’s definitely along the lines of—be more beautiful and even hotter, but your body is not a sexual one, but a visual or capitalistic one. etc. etc. another topic, another time.)

and so here we are and we don’t really have any flirty or womanizing characters like we used to. and we see this very plainly in 2023s trigun stampede, where they have completely stripped vash and wolfwood of any of those traits.

and i sort of miss them? i think a 2023 forlorn vash who loves great and hard and gets his heartbroken would not be a bad thing—one who is effected and charmed by women, maybe rather than nearly stalking them like in the 2010 movie. i think it shows another piece of vash and that is quite literally that he wears his heart on his sleeve. and he gets hurt for it, endlessly. more than that there is a little more whimsy to him? and aching. he’s this lonely man who wants love so, so badly.

now, wolfwood in 98 version was less this forlorn chaser and more this suave womanizer. many jokes are made where vash is chasing a girl that wolfwood sorta already has if he wants her. but he’s this lone wolf who leaves everyone a little high and dry. (of course until the end—with milly —where, in a very classic lone-man way, he dies after leaving a woman with his child. the tragedy being that when he was ready to stop roaming and settle down with her and meryl and vash, he dies, thus still leaving everyone). and i mean even his appearance in the 98 version—big chested with low-buttoned shirt, shaggy hair and stubble. he looks like a 90s rockstar. he looks like your lone cowboy. he’s reminiscent of spike from cowboy bebop who has a similar charming air to him that never leads anywhere because he’s destined to be solo. the unintentional, intentional womanizer.

then the later 2010s hit and we kill the charming womanizer. (tony stark kills the womanizer. another topic, another time.)

and now in 2023, wolfwood is completely stripped of any of his sex appeal and suave personality that the 98 and even 2010 version of him oozed naturally. gone is the cool, tough, lone wolf. replaced with a sort of boy-bandish, squeaky-clean, semi villain, semi hero. he’s crass and he’s snarky and he’s supposed to be rough around the edges. but he doesn’t look it? and he lacks the charm that 98 wolfwood naturally had. which aided him when he talked to kids—he was softer. charming. people liked wolfwood, even when he was being crass. he knew how to talk to people, maybe even how to con them when he wanted.

2023’s wolfwood is tough to get along with. and while fun sometimes, i think it does lose this…romanticism to him? there is a softness in wolfwood that is sorta lost in 2023s version. while we get a fuller and better written backstory, we sort of lose this other aspect of him. we’re supposed to infer from his backstory and his relationship to his brother that he is a good man, just one put in a horrible situation, always had bad luck. whereas the 98 version, we saw that wolfwood was good with kids. gentle. women loved him—he charmed rowdy men, even swindled when he needed to. we saw that there was something good in wolfwood, even if he remained mysterious.

all this to say i do miss the romanticism? i do miss these men being…romantic? flirty? charming? and not even in a fangirl way but in a…humans are romantic creatures way? we are sexual beings? and romance and sex can tell us a lot about characters and their personalities.

and i think looking at vash and wolfwood in particular is a good way to track how we lost this romanticism in our media over the last 20 years—we literally see it in them, in their remaking in 2023, where they are stripped of it.

i think the mid and later 2020s will continue to return to it in some way—we already see this with the resurgence in romance novels (or these dark fantasy romance novels gaining popularity) and even fandom spaces being more “mainstream” on social media. but in late stage capitalism (and thus late stage patriarchy, racism, etc.) it looks a little like a carnival mirror of romance and sex to me.

another topic, another time. etc. etc.

[meguwumibear]

A Night Out Dancing

Tomorrow your party will reach JuLai. Tonight Wolfwood wants to dance.

thank you @/firein-thesky for commissioning this piece for the @ficsforgaza collaboration

The sky above No Man’s Land is inky and starless. The air stale and still. Despite the hour, the world around you is oppressively warm and dry. Nights in the desert are usually bitterly cold. You’re not sure what’s gotten into the weather today.

Vash at least doesn’t seem plagued by strange temperature, but then Vash can sleep through anything, including Meryl’s jerky driving, so the comparison isn’t fair. Meryl’s fast asleep too, tucked neatly into the driver’s seat. You watch her toss and turn for a while, wondering what she dreams of. Someplace nice, hopefully. Somewhere lush and flourishing and green.

Even Roberto seems to have found sleep, albeit at the bottom of a bottle. He’s snoring gently in the passenger seat, mouth wide open, empty liquor bottle still clutched tightly in his hands.

Seems everyone’s immune to the hot desert night but you.

There’s a chance it isn’t the heat keeping you up. It’s possible you’re making excuses, blaming the external world around you for your insomnia so you don’t have to turn inward, so you don’t have to confront your building anxieties about what the future holds for your little traveling party. It’s going to crack and splinter apart, isn’t it? Like that land mass you once read about in a book that spoke of some far away planet called Earth. Pangaea. A supercontinent forced apart by shifting tectonic plates.

Tomorrow, you’ll reach JuLai, and everyone will drift away from you. You’ll spend the rest of your life trying to remember what it felt like to be whole.

Fuck it. If you’re not gonna get some shut eye, you may as well make yourself useful.

Wolfwood is perched on a sand dune, resting against his cross shaped gun, lit cigarette in hand, nearly burnt down to the filter. He takes one final drag of it as he sees you approach, then snubs the thing out in the sand.

“I’ll take over the watch,” you tell him, eyes drawn to the little ‘o’ shape his mouth makes as he lazily releases the final dregs of smoke.

“Not your turn yet, sweetheart,” he replies. “Go back to sleep.”

If only you could.

“Haven’t been able to. Too much shit on my mind. No sense in my staring at the back of my eyelids when I could be doing this instead.”

Wolfwood stares at you through tinted shades he hasn’t bothered to remove despite the darkness of the night. The glasses are a part of his costume, of his carefully crafted mask that even after months of travelling together he’s still hiding behind. He told you he’s an undertaker, but he dresses like a priest. On a runaway Sandsteamer, you learn he is an orphan. You’ve learned nothing since.

“You should take better care of yourself,” he says, as if caring for yourself is easy.

“You’re one to talk,” you reply, eyes giving him a quick once over. It’s been a few days since you’ve spent the night somewhere with a working bathroom. Without a mirror or razor, the stubble on his chin has grown more and more pronounced. The hairs suit him, you think. Your fingers itch to run along his jaw.

“You’re staring,” he observes, mouth crooking into a smug grin because the undertaker or priest or whatever the fuck he is knows how handsome he is.

“Am I?”

Wolfwood stands slowly, brushing beads of sand off him as he does so. You try to keep your eyes on his face, on the slope of his nose, the dimples on his cheeks, but they wander anyway, along his broad shoulders, down his tiny waist. You’ll miss him when this is over, you decide.

“Wanna dance?” he asks suddenly. The question throws you off kilter. How long has it been since you’ve done something so mundane? Will you even remember how? Is it appropriate to dance given what tomorrow may bring?

“What about-”

“Needle-noggin and the lot are out like a light. No one will notice if we steal a few minutes for ourselves.”

He closes the gap between the two of you and links his right hand with yours, fingers interlocking. His hands are large and calloused from lugging around that heavy gun of his. Briefly, you wonder just how strong the guy really is.

 “But there isn’t any music,” you protest weakly. Wolfwood is frustratingly good at sapping away your resolve.

“Don’t need any. We’ll make our own,” he insists, slipping an arm around the small of your back and pressing you close, closer, and closer still.

This close to him, you can see deep into his eyes. There’s fear in them. Sadness too. He’s trying and failing to mask the emotions with a smile, with this dance. It must be so exhausting, you think, always having to pretend.

“One dance,” you surrender, relaxing into his embrace. He smells sharply of tobacco and nicotine, though you note hints of something a bit earthier underneath. Sweat, probably. It’s been a while since any of you have showered. “Then bed. Unlike you and Vash, some of us need our beauty sleep.”

A lopsided grin swims across his handsome face.

 “Aw, think I’m beautiful, sweetheart? That’s nice.”

There’s a biting remark on the tip of your tongue that never fully forms. Yeah, actually, you do think he’s beautiful. You’ve thought so ever since Meryl slammed the news van into him all those months ago. The impact should have killed him—it would’ve killed you—but Wolfwood simply rose up from the sand as if rising from an interrupted slumber. Beautiful, even with rivulets of blood trickling down his face.

“Shut up,” you hiss, cheeks heating as you think a bit too intensely about his sturdy body which is now pressed flush against your own. Has Wolfwood always been this tall? This large? His giant frame engulfs you as the two of you sway together, in tandem with Wolfwood’s quiet humming.

You rest your head against his sternum, listening to the sound of his heart beating quick and urgent like the wings of a bird. His chest vibrates as he hums his tune. You can’t seem to place the song. Likely, he’s making it up as he goes, the tempo slow and somber like a dirge.

“Where’d you learn to dance?” you ask him, conscious of the way your two left feet have nearly tripped him up twice. Lucky for you both he’s not just a hulking lump of muscle. He’s got a great center of balance too.

You chalk your awkwardness up to the loose, shifting sands and not to the odd sensation forming in the pit of your stomach. More unfamiliar than unpleasant. You swallow a few times in an attempt to settle it.

Wolfwood shrugs, spinning the two of you round and round in circles. “It’s not all that different than fighting.”

There’s truth to that, you suppose, remembering the fight on the Sandsteamer. Wolfwood refused to talk about the stranger you all watched disappear into the open maw of the sand ocean, but it was obvious the man once meant something to him.

“You’re thinking too much,” he says. “Just follow my lead.”

So you do. You let him whirl you around the desert dunes for what feels like hours, grinning up at him through thick lashes when you manage to step on his toes. Again. He laughs, a little too loudly, and you have to remind him that if he’s not careful he’ll wake your sleeping companions.

“What are you going to do if everything goes well tomorrow?”

For the first time all night, it’s Wolfwood who stumbles. The misstep is small, slight, if you weren’t so entangled, you may have missed it, but you are entangled so you feel everything. You feel his feet stall as the question leaves your lips. You feel the rise and fall of his belly as he takes a deep steadying breath.   

His hand travels up the length of your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. He thumbs across your vertebrae and you recognize the ministration for what it is: a silent plea for you to let the topic drop and just enjoy this moment the two of you managed to carve out for yourselves amidst all the chaos of the world.

You let your head drop once more, tucking it beneath his collarbone, right above his heart, still rabbiting in his chest. He isn’t humming anymore. There’s nothing to help the two of you keep time as you continue to sway together, now gliding across the sand like worms.

Around you, the clouds begin to clear and bright, twinkling stars start to peek out from behind them. A soft breeze kicks up around you, and the sand particles scatter with it. Wolfwood—Nicholas—keeps you pressed against him as the temperature mercifully begins to drop.

Your mind still wanders from time to time, curious what tomorrow may bring.

Who cares, you decide. It doesn’t matter.

Tonight, you’re content to dance.

[eldritchneuro]

The great thing about being a media student is that you can take the series you've been hyperfixating on for the last year and have it be a legitimate source of references for your folio. So on that note, here's some technical analysis of some of my favorite shots from Stampede.

This shot is a rapid tilt upwards onto a slight low-angle shot of Knives, making him imposing and giving him more agency. (Note that a camera "pan" is along the horizontal axis, "tilt" is for the vertical). He has power, Vash does not, and this is emphasized by way Knives holds Vash's 'lifeline' in his hands, almost caressing it, a fact that is absolutely not creepy at all.

Said 'lifeline' also serves to finely cut the screen in two right through the middle and the overall shot composition is rigid, symmetrical and monotone, which plays into the more artificial and 'orderly' elements in Knives' characterization and design. Knives himself isn't completely symmetrical though, with one hand reaching up and the other down. Oh, and there's eye imagery here too - note how the light from above can resemble a pupil, and the ring around the middle resembles a scelera.

There's frame within a frame, and I thiiiiink you call this shot within a shot? I'm not entirely sure. Either way, it's very liminal, not really an extreme wide shot I don't think, but it has the same impact - loneliness and isolation. If anything, this framing works even better to that effect then your typical exws, because the pure black borders means there's literally nothing around Rollo but negative space.

It's actually not dissimilar to something like the camera shots in Alex Garland's Civil War, and both serve similar effects.

By showing a sequence through an obvious layer of mediation, like a camera or film recording, you place it in the past - someone after all had to process that film or edit that sequence. It separates the viewer and the character pictured, and highlights the passage of time. I often associate it with a sense of mortality and surrealism, because if well preserved, a photo from 100 years ago might just look as if was taken yesterday (yes I know this is an exaggeration because photos from 100 years ago were much more grainy blah blah SHUT UP it's about the themessss. The motiffffsss.).

I can't not do the pussy portal, can I? As above, so below - there's a contrast between Vash's dark roots and Knives' pale blades, although it's kinda subtle. There's something almost solarpunk-y? going on, with a mixture of the artificial (glass, knives) and the organic (roots, bulbs, Vash's body itself). Both elements feel like they're working in tandem here, as both organic and artificial share the same black-white-blue colour pallet, and Vash's portal takes elements of both light and dark, serving as a link between the two. Also if you turn a pussy on its side and add a dot in the middle where Vash's body is floating, it yet again starts to look like an eye.

The infamous Wolfwood title drop is more of a full sequence as opposed to a singular shot, but what the hell, it's known for a reason. Starts with an over-the-shoulder from Wolfwood's perspective, cuts to a long over-the-knee/plan Americain, close up of Vash's face in portrait, out to a wide shot, and then we get the title drop. As mentioned, it's a slow, drawn-out sequence - not many cuts. The structuring of time here is meandering and coupled with the warm mood lighting, soft music and intimate over-the-shoulder shot, it's almost a bit romantic. This is point where connection is being established, but not fully - there's still a lot of distance between Vash and Wolfwood in that wide shot, not to mention Wolfwood having to move away from Vash to grab his safety blanket Punisher.

There's also some miscellaneous smaller details. The Wolfwood title is placed on episode lucky number seven, contrasting his introduction in episode unlucky number four. And we can't miss that half-moon specifically above Vash in that wide shot!

[still--kicking]

if Lance is your favorite vld character and you miss him and want more Lance content, you should watch the original trigun from the 90s I'm being so serious rn

the protagonist Vash is a sunshiney pacifist sharpshooter with ✨trauma✨ who is allegedly a wanted criminal but no one believes it's him because he's so nice and considerate and always helping people, and does everything in his power to protect the people around him regardless of whether or not he knows them personally

he's also pretty, has strong bisexual energy, and has a fruity relationship with a dark haired man with a troubled past (who is maybe also an orphan but I could be misremembering)

the tone of trigun is definitely darker than vld, it's more for teens / young adults than kids, and it's only one season and is soo much fun and so well written. right now it's streaming on crunchyroll, hulu, and amazon, and they recently made a remake (2023 maybe?) but the storytelling in the remake was not as good imo and spoiled a lot of big twists upfront so I'd highly recommend watching the original one first

anyway, in conclusion:

[nanomooselet]

Wraith V / Through A Glass Darkly

I admit to maybe being overly obsessed with this thing.

Because of (naturally) the colours (and the fact that at 100%, it looks like a flatlining heart monitor, as if we needed more indications this is a symbolic death). Vash in red/magenta and gold, Knives in blue/white and violet - until it's complete. Then Vash wakes up, suddenly all-violet, while Knives is left only with blue and teal.

Why would that be? Because Vash is at last consciously using his powers? Maybe. Likely.

But I, at least, would also like to believe Tesla has more to her story than forever remaining an objectified victim, though I know I'm probably deluding myself. (I'm interested to see just what, if anything, Orange plans for her. I've always felt there was more to her perspective.) I like to think she's present too, in her own strange way, and not simply as part of Knives.

What do you think her opinion would be of these events? Of her brothers?

What choice do you think she would have made?

I, personally, suspect Tesla would have had powers both to bring and to take, just like Vash. I doubt his personality being destroyed and his body brutally exploited to access those powers (never mind the purpose they're accessed to fulfil) is a plan she would want any part of, whatever her opinion of humanity. I think Knives had no idea what he invited upon himself making contact with the Core, something that exists outside of time. I think Tesla and Vash are both stranger and more existentially terrifying beings than even he imagines.

Knives baptised his brother in order to make him fit to receive divinity - and in Christianity, divinity comes as three parts in one. Not two equal opposites, as Knives conceptualises himself and his twin, but a singular whole expressed as three aspects. Parent...

Child...

Spirit.

His plan worked perfectly. He could not have made a bigger mistake.

Having been baptised, having received the spirit, the answer finally comes to Vash, and the truth.

Whose side are you on? Who are you?

See, it's made a point in Stampede, more than before, that the twins are almost physically identical. The resemblance is close enough for them to be mistaken for each other, something which Knives exploits. Even spending so much time so far apart, it seems inevitable that they influence each other. When one looks into the other's face, he sees his own reflection as in a mirror.

Though that almost never happens in the series. Knives and Vash almost never share the same eyeline.

They don't see eye-to-eye or face-to-face. Not until the very end.

The English dub, the finale, the question Vash asks as he finally begins to cry - "Who are you?" There's a reason he asks the question in those words.

Roberto said it in the first episode in the scene where we met Vash as an adult, hanging in the desert. "This clown's the big bad Typhoon? Vash the Stampede… who are you?" (The first time Vash gets called a fool or a clown, and not the last.)

Vash isn't quite sure... or rather, doesn't know who it is that he should be, if not what he is now. He's only ever been a counterpart, either allied or opposed, to his brother, and Knives has made it very clear what he thinks of any attempts to be anything else.

The question Roberto asks is the question the whole series builds towards answering because Vash isn't certain there is an answer, without his twin.

Until the moment he sees his brother, really sees him, and finally realises... that is not his reflection. He can't see himself in this mirror. There's something missing. And if that isn't his reflection, then who is he, looking? Who is Vash?

Whose side are you on? Who are you?

Human or Plant? Gun or Superman? Darkness or light? Yin or yang? Water or fire, heaven or earth? Are you a spirit, or a body? A machine or a living thing? Daydream or nightmare? Monster or angel?

Both? Neither?

The answer he ultimately gives is... not choosing an answer. It's looking beyond the question and the assumptions that it carries; being truly free. Knives has no right and no means to dictate who it is Vash becomes, and he never did. The question he asks is meaningless, and the dilemma he presents is false.

There's no choice.

'Cause I'm Vash the Stampede.

For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

(1 Corinthians 13: 12-13)

The only true struggle is the struggle against oneself. And, at least in that moment, love wins.

[novasintheroom]

015. Black & White

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.0k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: It's a black and white film. Vash tries to pull a move while watching it.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3.

Carefully, you reach for Vash’s hand above you. You wobble precariously on the railing.

He gives you a cheesy grin. “C’mon, I promise it’ll be worth it!” His assurances are the only thing keeping you going.

After a particularly harrowing jump up and being caught by Vash, you ask for the fifteenth time, “Vash, why do we have to climb a building to see a movie?” You swear when you wobble along the edge of a balcony. Vash’s hands catch you, pulling you up again and to the railed balcony he has set himself in.

Once you’re securely on solid metal (and sitting down to cement it), Vash says, “We got the best seat in the house here!” His arms wide for dramatic effect. And you do. You’re a distance away from the screen, obviously; the crowds below who are paying for the movie are fenced in. High above the crowd of movie-goers, however, there’s no elbowing or awkward side glances at the stranger next to you. You don’t have to fight to see the screen in front of dozens of heads, either. You settle next to Vash, humming softly as he pulls out the snack bag from his pocket. “And,” he says, stuffing a handful of chocolate in his mouth, “we don’t have to pay for overpriced goodies!”

You take the bag and pour out a good chunk of chocolate-covered nuts into your palm. “How did you find this place anyway? I didn’t see any signs pointing to a movie playing tonight.”

Vash chuckles around his mouthful. “I think it’s some sort of club. Happens once a week around here.” He swallows and continues. “I was getting chased one day by some thugs. Only way out was up, so I climbed up here. They couldn’t find me, and that’s when I noticed the movie playing.” His smile becomes sheepish. “I come here whenever I make it to town now. It’s a nice little treat.”

“And free,” you nudge him with your shoulder, grinning as he laughs.

You chatter quietly to each other as you wait for the movie to start. When it does, the lights go out, and a black-and-white film begins playing. “Oh,” Vash says, “I’ve seen this one! It’s really good. Really, really old, too.”

Taking another helping of chocolate nuts, you ask, “Is it Earth-old?” You hope so. It’d be so nice to see a movie from Earth rather than the snippets you get in the archives. There’s a hush over the crowd as the movie starts.

“Yeah,” he says, lowering his voice and pointing as the title pops up: Sunset Boulevard, “it’s one of the few that made it from the crash. They found this database that someone kept of these old movies, so that’s what we get to see most of the time.”

You settle into watching the film. It’s dramatic from the get-go, and you’re enthralled. So enthralled that halfway through, you miss the exaggerated yawn Vash pulls. An arm suddenly wraps around your shoulders. You tense in surprise. You shouldn’t; it’s Vash, and there’s this unspoken thing between you two that’s been brewing for months now. But still, you tense.

He must take it as a bad sign. Muttering “sorry,” he pulls away.

That won’t do.

You look at him with your heart in your throat. He’s not looking at you, staring ahead at the screen and trying to not be sullen. With a deep breath, you take his arm back, putting it around your shoulders. He’s staring now. Tentatively, you scooch closer, feeling his side – now tense, just like you – press into your own. You both sit there for a moment. It’s…awkward.

But then Vash relaxes. He pulls you all the closer, and you let him. Hesitant, still so hesitant, you lay your head on his shoulder. Your face is on fire; you aren’t sure Vash is any better, but the dark hides everything.

After a moment, Vash offers you some more nuts. For some reason, it elicits a laugh from you, and the tension falls off the both of you like water. You start quietly chatting with each other again, commenting on the movie, on the characters, on the stale taste of your treat. Vash takes the liberty to twirl your hair around a finger as he talks. You, in turn, snuggle closer to him, enjoying the warmth he provides in the cooling night air.

The movie screen goes black eventually. Small crowds below begin shuffling out of their seats and through the fence door to return home. You and Vash stay sitting there, silent, letting the dark surround you. His hand has long since stopped twirling your hair, and you both breathe quietly.

You should get up and stretch. Shake off the feeling of his arm around you. But you don’t want to move. You don’t want to break whatever spell this is that you’re both under.

“Ready to go back to the inn?” He eventually murmurs. You finally look at him, doing a double glance at the way his eyes light in the dark. Even behind his glasses, they’re wonderfully, eerily blue. Two beams of light blocked only by the frames. You’re reminded again why it’s so vital for him to have his eyewear.

You can’t think of anything to keep you here any longer. So, you nod.

And you tell yourself as Vash leads you down balconies and exit staircases that it was not the night for confessions anyway. Everything is still too raw, too new to just jump into ‘I love you’s. You aren’t ready. Even as his hands linger at your waist a little longer than they should when he lowers you to the blessed ground, you tell yourself Vash isn’t ready, either.

Still, it was a great date all around.

[greetingfromthedead]

Gingerbread (Vash x GN!Reader)

Plot: You join Vash in a visit to Karsted City. To keep you being there a secret, Lina and Grandma Sheryl mingle with the townsfolk, leaving you and Vash to bake cookies to be decorated later together with Lina. Rating: E (for this part) Tags: No use of "Y/N", Established Relationship, Fluff, Festive Cheer, Holiday Traditions, Christmas Cookies, Gingerbread Making, Banter, Playfulness, Physical Tenderness, Shenanigans, Spending Time Together, Kissing, Licking Vash's Prosthetic Like a Whisk, Cuddling, Cookie Eating Word count: 2.4k

"It sure is nice to be here, but are you sure it is safe?" You ask as you wrap your arms around Vash's waist, knotting your fingers on his stomach and hugging him from behind. You feel the shifts and movements of his muscles as he continues to knead the dark brown dough that already starts to make the room smell heavenly and sweet.

"Yeah, Grandma Sheryl and Lina went to the church; they said they would mingle in town so nobody would get the idea to come here for a surprise visit. As long as we don't turn on the big lights, it's doubtful anyone would get suspicious of us being here. It's okay, love." Vash explains calmly. He has learned that it helps to settle your nerves, so he tries to do it more and not just shrug and go with the flow.

"I feel bad for them having to leave just for us. I was also looking forward to spending time with them, not to mention you've missed them both so much. Will they at least be back to have dinner?" You continue to question him, burying your face into the soft knitted sweater Sheryl made for him.

"Of course they will! They wouldn't miss a festive dinner together! They might just be here a little late. More time for us to make these gingerbreads!" he replies, the soft smile you love so much dripping from his voice.

"You're right! It was hard enough to get the ingredients! We can't let them go to waste!" New determination energizes you to loosen your hug and step out from behind Vash. You roll up your sleeves again and kiss his cheek. Vash tilts his whole body towards you to make sure you can reach his face and even turns his head afterward with his lips puckered. His hands are still busy kneading the dough in front of him, so you give in and put another light kiss on his lips. His front is covered in flour; his nice jumper is only protected thanks to the frilly apron he wears. The flour even dusts his face, a more prominent line on his forehead where he swiped over with his forearm. It's endearing, and you can't help but smile at his messy appearance.

You leave him to his task and start to look for the supplies necessary for the next steps. Preparing the baking trays takes some time; you need to smear the metal with butter and some flour to make sure nothing will stick to them once baked. You also check that the oven is preheating to the correct temperature, and you lay out the few cookie cutters you have so that they are easily accessible. A heart, a star, a little man, a bell, and a cat.

"I think the dough is done. You've kneaded it for long enough," you say as you fight the drawer filled with utensils to get the rolling pin out. Somehow the drawer has gotten stuck and won't budge no matter how hard you pull.

"Yeah, it feels all smooth and ready!" Vash answers and forms a ball with the dough. "Ohhh… Mayfly?"

"What's up, love?"

You finally manage to wiggle the utensils enough to pry open the drawer, the culprit being the rolling pin itself that had gotten lodged in the worst position.

"It's my hand…" He trails off, and you turn towards him, resting the pin on your shoulder like a bat. "I think I need your help."

Vash looks like a puppy that has gotten into trouble. He lifts his skeletal prosthetic that has gingerbread dough stuck in every nook and cranny.

"Well, good thing we gave it a good scrub with that toothbrush before we got started!" You laugh gently and go to him, leaving the roller on the counter and taking his right hand, scraping it clean with a butter knife first and wiping everything mostly off, leaving only a little bit of oily residue behind.

The other hand is in worse shape, and you carefully start removing the bulk, using a small spoon and the knife to get large chunks off and smushing them together with the rest of the dough. Vash looks a little ashamed for being in this situation, but he enjoys watching you work away. He starts to wonder if you will use the toothbrush again to get the smaller details clean, but then you lift his hand up to your face and put two of his metal fingers in your mouth to suck them clean, your tongue swirling around them. Vash suddenly feels flustered as you look up at him, his fingers still lingering on your tongue. The sweet taste of sugar blends with the spices, and you're happy with how the dough turned out. You suck on his fingers as you pull them out with a pop, shifting his hand to lick and kiss the next parts clean, from the other fingers to the knuckles and his palm. You treat his hand like a whisk. Vash's face and ears turn a deeper shade of crimson as he watches you with a mixture of endearment and embarrassment. His heart beats so loud in his ears, especially when you smile at his expression. You are so precious to him.

"Alrightly, it's toothbrush time!" you announce after getting him mostly clean and having indulged in raw cookie dough. You hold on to his hand as you drag him to the sink and lather the prosthesis in soap before scrubbing it completely clean. Vash tries to interject and offers to do it himself, but you ignore him, just giving a small bump with your hip as acknowledgment that you heard him at all.

After getting him squeaky clean again, you return to your dough; you take over the business of dividing the large ball into smaller portions and rolling it out evenly on the well-floured surface. You finally get to the part where you can start to cut out shapes. Vash stands right beside you, his arm often brushing against yours as he reaches for a cookie cutter or when he presses it into the dough. You start filling the prepared tray with cookies, carefully spacing them out so they don't merge together while baking. Vash eventually even leaves all the cutters to you and takes a knife, carefully starting to cut out his own shapes. Among them is a fairly large cross. It is a bit uneven, but Vash doesn't mind; he looks very proud of his work.

"What's that?" you ask, suspecting the answer but making sure.

"It's the Punisher!" he says with a very pleased expression as he carefully transfers it onto the tray.

"Thought so!" you respond with a smile, glad to see him so happy.

With the tray filled, Vash puts it in the oven and makes a note of the time. You already start work on the next set, rolling out more dough, and Vash joins you in making even more cookies, filling a second tray in the time it takes for the first one to bake. The kitchen is filled with your soft voices and the warm scent of gingerbread. It is easy to forget that your life is rarely this peaceful.

Vash is busy carving out the shape of a flower when it comes time to check on the first batch in the oven. You take the mitts and open the oven door. The hot puff of air hits your face, carrying the scent of cinnamon and sugar throughout the kitchen. You take the tray out to inspect it closer, not wanting to leave the cookies raw.

"Oh no," you chuckle as you look at the tray of freshly baked gingerbread.

"What's wrong?" Vash looks up with concern.

"It's the Punisher," you reply, trying your hardest to stifle a laugh.

"Did it break?" Vash still doesn't understand and steps closer to look for himself.

The cross is now misshapen; the dough has risen and expanded in the oven. The long straight remains vaguely the same, but it seems longer and wider; the sharp corners are all rounded. The shorter offshoots to both sides have also lost all of their shape, becoming blobs that melt into the top part.

"It has become the Penisher!" you exclaim, no longer able to keep yourself in check and letting out a loud cackle.

"You're right!" Vash looks over your shoulder, tracing the shape of the gingerbread in the air, "There's the shaft, and there are the balls!"

Vash joins your laughter, and somewhere, far, far away, Wolfwood suddenly feels very irritated for no apparent reason.

Like a well-oiled machine, you churn out more and more cookies, leaving them on the counter to cool while filling the tray with new, uncooked ones. Rarely is there a second of just waiting around, but when there is such a moment, Vash uses it to leave kisses on your cheeks and lips. You cherish these sweet gestures, feeling grateful for the love and joy that fills your heart. By the time all the gingerbread are done cooking, you have cleaned up the kitchen together. No sign remains of the mess you caused, except for the cooling cookies. You even clean off Vash's face and sweater.

"I'm sure Lina will love to help decorate all of these tomorrow! Or knowing her, perhaps even today after dinner," Vash comments as he looks at your creations as if he's in a fine art gallery.

"I'm sure she will. Guess it is a good thing she's not here. She would have a hard time being patient and waiting for them all to cool down," you chuckle a bit.

"We made quite a lot. We can't make enough glaze for all of them," he continues in a thoughtful manner, and you quickly pick up where he is steering the conversation.

"Hmm, yes, of course," you nod along. "We should definitely prioritize which ones get to be decorated. No point in putting effort into the broken and bloated ones! Nobody will know what they are supposed to be anyway!"

"Yes. To avoid any confusion, do you think we should separate the substandard ones from the rest?" He tries to sound as pretentious as possible.

"That's a good idea! We should pick them out and put them on plates so we can move them away from the rest more easily!" you keep nodding and taking out a large plate, shifting closer to the cooling gingerbread.

"I'm suspecting that separation won't be enough! What if someone wastes precious glaze on them? Or if their ugliness infects our perfect creations?!" Vash sounds outraged as he takes a long step to your side, leaning over the cookies.

"Fair point. We should dispose of the ugliest ones! It is for the best! We are doing everybody a favor!" you agree with him, hand already reaching out to pick up a bell that looks like it has melted in the desert heat.

"Indeed. For the greater good!" He hums in agreement, picks up some broken gingerbread to put on your plate, and then turns away with a fake serious face. "I will get the necessary tools for the job."

"Do you happen to mean milk?" you look after him.

"Of course I do!" he responds with a mischievous grin.

You continue to fill your plate with broken and misshapen cookies. The dim light remaining in the room makes it hard to see which ones are broken, but you manage to compile a small heap, and Vash returns to your side with a big glass of milk. His free hand lands softly on your lower back; his touch feels tender and sweet, and he keeps his arm around you as you walk over to the couch.

The living room has also gone almost completely dark, making the little lights decorating the room shine all the brighter. The smell of freshly baked cookies fills the air, creating a warm and comforting atmosphere. You leave the plate with the gingerbread on the side table for easy access. Vash puts the milk next to the cookies and sits down first, sinking into the plush cushions of the couch. He shifts a bit and then some more until he is all but lying on the couch. Vash looks at you and spreads his arms with a smile. You take his silent invitation and make your way into his embrace, snuggling up against his chest and feeling the warmth of his body envelop you.

He pulls down the blanket that was laid out on the backrest of the couch, covering you both with it, creating a cozy cocoon.

"Hey, Mayfly?" He speaks softly, and you feel the vibrations of his low voice through his chest.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Vash whispers, his warm breath tickling your ear.

You lift your eyes to look into his. They shine back like gems, the tiny string lights reflecting back as tiny dots. He looks happy and at peace, something you wish to offer him every day for the rest of your days.

"I love you too," you reply and shift closer to kiss his lips. His arms tighten around you in a hug as he kisses you back, a familiar dance of your love for each other. His mouth tastes like sugar and spice, truly festive and full of warmth.

"You started without me!" you say in a low, almost threatening voice as you look at him. His eyes widen in surprise as if you had pointed a gun at him.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist!" He responds sheepishly. "You ate the dough first, though!"

One of his hands reaches out into the abyss, feeling for the edge of the side table and nearly knocking over the glass of milk to reach the gingerbread. He picks one and offers it to you with an apologetic smile. You were never mad at him, so you can't keep a straight face and burst out laughing again before taking a big bite of the cookie he still holds. The cookie tastes warm and spicy, just like the holiday season.

All is good. Everything is perfect. Together you lay on the couch wrapped in a blanket with cookies and milk. The holiday lights twinkle in the background, and festive smells linger in the air. There is no place you would rather be than in Vash's arms at this moment, and Vash feels like all his wishes have been answered with one perfect gift—you. As you both snuggle closer together, you feel loved and cherished.

Optional smutty Part 2 »

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

Divider and banner by saradika

[mediocreanomaly]

Creature!Vash train continues! :D

May we have some nsfw with mer!Vash please?

Authors Note: Yes of course! Sorry for the delay my creative brain was fried. Also theres alot of build up so uh...smut with feelings? Sorry if thats not your jam but Mer!Vash has customs you know. Enjoy!

GN!Reader!!! I don't go into detail about the readers uh...equipment so you can read it as either or

Read the SFW Pt.1 Here!

Mer!Vash X Reader NSFW

•It had been a tedious process for Vash to court you. He was doing everything in the book to show off how good of a mate he would be.

•He brought you lots of fish (dead this time after the last incident) to show he could provide food

•He scavenged lots of shiny objects to show you how good at finding resources he was

•He'd make you sit at the rocks and watch him swim for hours to prove how strong of a swimmer he was, and despite his missing arm, he was in perfect health! He'd be a great mate for you, see?

•You seem receptive enough to the advances, always eagerly accepting the courting gifts, bringing him new foods to try when he visited, you had even bought a few cookbooks to figure out what he liked and although you hadn't gotten him a courting gift since the gold earring that currently hung proudly from his ear lobe he knew. It was time to make you his.

•There was one final step, a courting ritual custom for merfolk to see if you'd finally take him to be your one and only mate. He was equally nervous and excited pestering all the other merfolk he considered himself close with about it for days on end.

•Wolfwood is admittedly uninterested not caring about anything human related in the first place, luckily Meryl and Milly are more on the excited side letting Vash ramble away about his perfect future mate. Meanwhile, Nai is fully against it, angrily telling him off anytime Vash even brings it up… but you can't please everyone!

•So Vash steels himself, pulling himself up on the rock the two of you have deemed your meeting place, only this time he has something special planned

"Come here!" He calls to you in his own choppy mimicking of human language, although he was getting better at it, he still preferred merfolk speak.

•You hear Vash’s voice and trail out of the lighthouse, confused as to why Vash is calling you out so late. Vash makes an excited chirp noise when he sees you and slaps his tail against the rock to encourage you to come closer

•You laugh and stagger over the rocks to get to him, but before you can reach him, he dives into the water, swimming under into the dark. It's hard to see him this late at night but you sit down on the rock trying to make out the outline of the merman

•You were admittedly confused at the mermans antics. Vash had become more and more clingy lately, although you secretly didn't mind. You enjoyed the company more than you probably should and luck for you Vash seemed to enjoy you just as much if the increasing visits were anything to go by

•You were a bit confused about what he was trying to do, though. Waiting for him to resurface so you could sheepishly admit that you couldn't see whatever it was he was doing under the water

•That is until you do see him. Bioluminescent markings begin to shimmer through the water, a light blue running along his body, showing the intricate patterns that Vash swims in. Your eyes go wide, watching as he swirls around streaks of blue dotting through the water. He moves so gracefully, it's mesmerizing. You can't seem to take your eyes off him when he begins making noise

•It's high pitched, but it's sweet. Like a lullaby you had forgotten, was he singing? He must be. You had heard him make all sorts of chirps and trills but this one was different, more melodic and pleasant. You let your eyes flutter shut as you listen to the song. For some reason, you feel like you know the tune despite having never heard the song in your life

•After a couple minutes of listening to his song you hear the sound of splashing. You peek your eyes open to see Vash has popped his head above water, he looks...confused? Or maybe expectant? He sings again letting his song fill the air around you then he pauses looking at you waiting. You blink dumbly at him for a few seconds before you find your voice

"...oh! It was very pretty Vash I didn't know you could sing like that, is that all you wanted to show me?" you ask.

 Vash blinks at you before his brow furrows as he makes frantic chirping noises. You startle, slightly caught off guard by the merman's distress. Did you say something rude? Before you can get an answer to that question Vash's glowing tampers off and he dives into the water leaving you alone on the rocks. You wait for a moment wondering if he'd pop back up after half an hour like with the earring, but hours pass and the dark is starting to make the air around you chilly. You frown and count your losses wondering what had gotten Vash so worked up.

•Vash is heartbroken.

Had he misread the signals? You didn't seem to reciprocate his mating dance or his mating call at all! He had tried so hard too! Was his song not good enough? He was sure he didn't have the prettiest voice out of the merfolk but surely it was decent enough, right? Or maybe it was the dance? Perhaps he should have swum a different pattern? He had been practicing for weeks though...

•Nai is the one that finds him pouting making weak sad chitters as he lays dramatically on the sea floor.

•Nai is no help. Telling him the merfolk equivalent to "I told you so" and suggesting he just find another merfolk to court if he was so desperate to have a mate.

•But he wasn't desperate to have a mate, he was desperate to mate you. For the next few days Vash is a sorry sight, slowly drifting around the ocean, frowning every time he finds something shiny since he'd usually just give it to you. He just doesn't understand what went wrong...he shakes his head, he couldn't give up that easily, he had to try again, you were the only one for him, he was sure of it.

•You wait on the rocks till sunset again, hoping to see Vash swim up and explain in broken English that he had been busy or that he was off collecting rare human items. Then at least you could scold him for worrying you, then at least you could see his face

•Ever since that night Vash sang to you, he hadn't come around. You still weren't sure what you had done to upset the merman so much but whatever it was you didn't think it dictated getting the cold shoulder

•You began to wonder if maybe you were boring him. He was always coming here, sitting on the rocks, or pulling himself into the sand to entertain you. Since you weren't merfolk, there were just some things you couldn't do; maybe Vash was starting to realize that maybe you hadn't tried hard enough. You stew in the fact that maybe you and you alone was what had chased Vash off

•It's two weeks later when you've determined Vash isn't coming back that he shows his face again. You aren't even looking for him, instead coming back from the night market when you hear a familiar chirping noise coming from the lighthouse

•The second you hear it you take off down the gravel path to your home racing to see if it's who you think it is, and there he is. Perched on the rocks, blonde hair, red tail and that damn gold earring still hanging from his ear, he looks apologetic and abashed as he makes soft cooing noises towards you which you think is supposed to be an apology.

•You dive for him, wrapping your arms around his wet shoulders trying to starve off the sobs you feel building in your throat.

"Vash! You scared me half to death! What if you had got poached! Or hurt! Or-"

•Vash cuts you off by nuzzling closer to you making a quick series of chirps with broken "I'm sorry’ s" mixed in. You grumble, not yet ready to let this go, but you're more than glad he's safe. You sigh and run your hand through his hair and he gives you puppy dog eyes and a toothy grin. Idiot.

•Just as you get used to the weight of him lying against you, he shifts against the rock to get your attention before diving into the water. Again, his body begins to glow, the light glimmering under the surface, and again his song begins. The soft melody fills the air

•Ah, he was...playing again? You take a deep breath not wanting to disappoint him this time, you stand up on the rock and it seems you’re doing something right because Vash looks up at you excitedly, he sings the melody to you again then watches you, you blink and he grimaces before repeating the same notes-

•Wait a second. You tilt your head and try singing them back, mimicking the tune to him. His eyes go wide and a smile breaks out on his face and he makes a loud trill noise swimming in an excited circle before singing again, now that you know what to do you laugh and do your best to sing along

•He swims in lazy figure eights and you walk forward dipping your feet in the water, despite still swimming Vash keeps his eyes trained on you as if waiting on something, you pad into the water giggling thinking you finally understand this weird merfolk game when about waist deep in Vash grabs you

•You yelp as Vash drags you deeper into the water, trying to keep your head up. He's making excited noises nuzzling against your throat, you feel his tail begin to wrap around your legs as he presses you up against the rock, his clawed hands reach down the swipe along your shorts ripping them off in a single clean motion

•Oh. Oh. Everything clicks in your head all at once, the weird gift giving, the flustered state he was in when you gave him the earring, the dance the singing, Vash didn't see you as a friend, he saw you as a mate

•You blush at the idea but your mind is currently reeling from the merman currently being very eager about running his webbed fingers over your sex.

•You moan, a little nervous about the claws his nails tamper off into but it seems he’s also mindful of that, using his tail to keep you up in place against a flat rock as he focuses on pleasing you, making soft coos and trills as your writhe in pleasure under him

"V-Vash, don't tease," you manage to whine out, pawing uselessly at his shoulder. He mimics a human laugh, and nuzzles against you, but luckily complies, he ruts against you and from the slit that sits pretty along his tail, what you assume to be his cock emerges, it’s a bit different than a human one, longer, thinner at the tip but it thickens up the further down the shaft it goes, and it's coated in something slick he seems to be producing

•It makes your mouth water, and you wonder what it would be like in your mouth...another time maybe, you'd have to ask him about it. As of now Vash lines the tip of himself up with you and you’re a little apprehensive about the fact he's about to do this with no prep, Vash seems to notice your apprehensiveness and makes comforting cooing noises before purring lightly and nipping gently against your neck, the vibrations flowing from his chest serve its purpose as you relax in his grip

•Slowly he presses in, it's actually not bad, the further he sinks in the more noticeable the stretch is but he goes slow enough that it's more erotic than it is painful. Vash finally bottoms out, pausing and cocking warming himself with you for a moment while you adjust, he makes various clicks and chirps that you’re pretty sure translate into some sort of merfolk praise. He could probably talk if he wanted to but from the way his irises are blown wide with lust, you’re pretty sure his minds is too far gone to try and mimic any English right now

•After you settle and the ocean water lapping at your body begins to get a bit cold from the lack of movement you pat the blonde's shoulder to try and signal him to move, he chirps and begins to slowly pull out, you whine at the loss now used to full feeling Vashs cock was providing you but it doesn't last long, as soon as it leaves he's thrusting back into your warm heat

•You aren't sure what you expected, perhaps considering the gentle way Vash treats you you had expected something soft and slow. Something that, in foresight you should have known would be a falsity considering he was acting on instinct. A fact that was becoming evidently clear as he growled, movements fast and a little sloppy as the clawed hands holding you up begin to lightly sink into your shoulder and hip, the snarls only broken up by needy keens as he ruins you

•It's hard to think like this, the sounds of the waves mixed with the equally wet sounds of you and Vashs body meeting repeatedly is making your mind melt in the most wonderful way, the cold of the water, the warmth that’s blooming between your legs, you don't even realize your drooling until Vash moves his arm away to reach down and touch where you need him most

•You wail, scratching at his back while he makes equally loud noises, somehow speeding up even more as he chases release. You feel yourself teetering on the edge, near your tipping point as your body tenses in what’s sure to be the best orgasm in your life when your feel Vashs sharp teeth clamp down along your neck and- oh fuck

•You scream his name as your body milks him for all he's worth, mind blanking as you cum, Vash finishes with you, pressing in as far as he can as thick ropes of cum are pumped into you filling your impossibly fuller. He doesn't seem eager to let it escape either, staying in you even after he finishes trembling slightly from the over stimulation when the waves jostle your bodies together and licking over his mating bite in apology, purring and cooing at your body he carefully cradles in his arms

•You groan, recovering from...well everything when you lazily turn your head to look at the cursed merman, he offers you a sheepish smile a bit of your blood still staining his lips but the pride that's currently shining through his eyes lets you know he doesn't feel that guilty about the situation in the slightest. You huff in mock annoyance and kiss him, something he eagerly accepts, chittering happily against your lips only to sport a dopey grin when you part, causing you to laugh

•Well...there’s plenty of fish in the sea, you're just lucky you ended up with this idiot

[shmothman]

Public Displays

Vash the Stampede x Reader Words: 1520 Rating: G Summary: when evading bounty hunters, sometimes it's best to get creative. A/N: remember that scene in... which marvel movie was it, winter soldier? where natasha tells steve to kiss her because "pda makes people uncomfortable" and the guys chasing them won't look too closely? yeah. that. (as usual, i primarily had 98 vash in mind while writing.) Read on AO3

“I heard that Vash the Stampede was headed toward town.”

Your eyes meet his across the table; yours nervous, his resigned. You’ve been lucky lately, passing through several towns with little incident, so you suppose you’re due for some… excitement. Still, maybe that group of rugged-looking men across the bar doesn’t have any frame of reference for what he looks like.

“Heard he wears a red coat,” one says.

“And he’s got spiked-up hair,” another chimes in.

…Yeah, it’s time to take your leave.

You place a few double dollars on the table and nod in a way you hope is surreptitious, and thankfully, Vash takes your cue. You’ll leave first, and he’ll follow.

You grab your bag and slink toward the entrance, watching the group of men in your peripheral vision. They look like rough characters, and they clearly just rolled into town, still covered in desert sand and sweat and grime, guns strapped to their hips. You grimace as you make your way outside into the cool night, crossing your fingers as you wait near the door for Vash.

You breathe for a moment, then two.

“Hey!” you hear from inside the bar, and your heart skips a beat. “Hey! That’s Vash the Stampede!”

Time to go.

You get a head start, knowing Vash will be right behind you, and, true to form, he’s beside you in an instant, a sigh on his lips as he steers you down a dark alleyway, caging you against the wall like a shield as he peeks around the corner behind you. Your pursuers haven’t figured out which way you went, but it’s only a matter of time.

“Anyone there?” you ask, made slightly breathless by both exertion and proximity; the instinctive way Vash protects you with everything he has, his chest nearly pressed to yours. 

“Not yet,” he says, blue eyes glinting in the darkness. “Come on, let’s go—”

“Wait,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrist. 

He looks at you with furrowed brows; questioning.

“The coat. That’s what they know you by. Did they get a good look at you in the bar?”

“Good enough,” he says.

“We have a better chance if you lose it. And the glasses. Just put them in my bag. I’ll mess up your hair and we’ll walk off like nothing happened.”

He frowns, clearly unconvinced. 

“Oh, c’mon,” you say. “It’s better than nothing.”

That, he concedes to. “Alright,” he says, undoing the buttons of his coat. You know that his underclothes make him stick out—that strange, skintight material with so many straps and cut-outs, a large scar visible on his exposed shoulder—but it’s dark anyway, and no one would connect it with Vash the Stampede. He folds his coat and offers it to you, and you stuff it into your bag, then take his glasses, too.

“C’mere,” you say, and pretend to feel nothing as he leans down to let you muss his hair—your heart races as you try not to linger; try not to focus on the way it feels beneath your fingers, the way you wish so badly to be able to touch him like this.

Now isn’t the time. 

“There.” He looks... different, like this; with his hair down and his coat missing. It feels vulnerable; intimate in a way that makes your cheeks warm. You swallow, looking away. “Let’s go. Act casual.”

He nods, looking out around the corner again, turning his head both ways before slipping out into the street and giving you a nod. 

You’re going to have to get back to the hotel and grab your stuff; you’ll probably have to leave town to avoid a confrontation. You suppose you’ll be sleeping under the stars tonight.

Better than the alternative.

You set off down the road, and it isn’t long until you get to an area that’s slightly busier, one with people still walking around despite the chill and danger of the desert night. You draw closer to Vash’s side, taking a deep breath as you reach for his hand.

He stiffens slightly, and you notice the way his eyes dart over to you, though only in his peripherals.

“They didn’t see me with you,” you say quietly. “They expect Vash the Stampede to be alone.”

Vash nods, but... there seems to be a slight nervousness in the way he moves. 

Maybe you’re just imagining things.

A clamor ahead of you draws your attention, and both of you freeze as several rather familiar-looking men come marching down the street. Right toward you.

“We’re looking for the Humanoid Typhoon,” you hear one say to a man walking by, loud and slightly slurred. “You seen anybody suspicious ‘round here?”

You don’t hear the townsperson’s reply, but you do tuck yourself against the porch to a closing shop. This is bad. Even if they’re looking for a red coat, you don’t know if you’ll be able to escape their notice, not out in the open like this; maybe this was a terrible idea, things are probably going to devolve into a gunfight—

Unless...

Heart pounding, you turn to him. “Kiss me.”

Immediately, Vash’s face goes a bright vivid red, and you can feel yours warming to match. He makes an unintelligible questioning noise, something like, “buh?”

“They won’t look at us,” you whisper harshly. “PDA makes people uncomfortable.” You wouldn’t be doing this if you could think of any other way out—of course you’ve been dying for even an ounce of his affection, but not in such dire circumstances. Not if he doesn’t also want it as badly as you do. 

And you want it badly.

But… Vash agrees easily, blue eyes so bright as he nods shakily, leans into you. “You sure?” he asks, hardly more than a whisper, and his warm breath tickles your lips in a way that sends a shiver up your spine. Oh god, he’s going to kiss you—

“Yes,” you say, and that’s all it takes for him to close the gap.

He only presses his lips to yours chastely, angling his nose and wrapping his arm around you to shield you from the view of your oncoming pursuers, but it’s enough to make sparks burst behind your eyelids, to send you reeling, dizzy and euphoric in the thrill of finally. The only thing you can think of is how warm he is.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hammering away in your ribcage, and distantly, you fear that he can feel it—that he’ll immediately know that this is something you’ve wanted. You don’t want to take advantage of a situation like this, don’t want to take advantage of him… but his breath comes quicker, his lips trembling, and for a moment, you think that maybe this is something he wants, too. You truly can’t help bringing your hand to his face, cradling his cheek in your palm the way you’ve dreamed of for so long now, can’t help rubbing your thumb over the cute little mole beneath his eye, can’t help parting your lips, ever so slightly. 

And you feel something break in Vash—his restraint, perhaps—as he responds in kind, pulling you closer like he has no choice but to do so, opening up into the kiss with a tiny whimper that sends heat coursing through you like a tidal wave.

This… this can’t be pretend. Not anymore.

Tossing inhibition to the wind, you allow your tongue to brush his bottom lip, and Vash shudders—you can feel the way it rushes up his spine, settles at the base of his neck as he invites you in, pressing harder into you. He steals the breath from your lungs but you wouldn’t have it any other way, losing yourself in his embrace, in the noise it makes when he separates from you briefly, only to return eagerly for more—and then again, and again, and again until you’re dizzy and reeling.

You’re in heaven. He is heaven.

Suddenly, he stops, and so do you, stomach turning pleasantly until you realize what you’re doing, the butterflies quickly turning anxious.

“Um,” he says quietly, muffled against your lips. “I think they’re gone…” his voice is pitched high and reedy, a kind of desperation you’ve been dying to hear.

You separate, face flushing. “Oh,” is all you can think to say. 

He laughs nervously, eyes not meeting yours. “We should—we should go get our stuff.”

He’s right. You need to skip town, pronto. But as you make your way back toward the inn, you can’t keep from dwelling on his kiss; the way he held you. You had thought your feelings to be unrequited, but... you can’t have misread that. 

You’re going to have to talk to him about this. There’s no way you can pretend it didn’t happen—no way you can go back to the way things were—and despite the danger, the adrenaline singing through your veins, despite the nervousness you feel at his own anxiety, a smile finds its way to your lips as you steal out of town under the cover of darkness, your pursuers none the wiser. 

Vash kissed you. And there’s no going back.

[vodika-vibes]

For commander Monkk can I request a cute little fic where he has a crush on his generals former Padawan, now turned Jedi knight, and teaches her how to swim when both their battalions have a day off and spend it at the beach 👉👈

I'll Love Every Version Of You

Summary: One year ago your master, Kit Fisto, promoted you to Jedi Knight though it would have been his preference to keep you at his side until the war's end. But the Jedi needed more Knights and you were old enough and skilled enough that keeping you as a padawan would have been a waste of time. This is your first real break in over a year, and you get to spend it on a peaceful tropical planet, with your former Master…and his battalion.

Pairing: Commander Monnk x F! Twi'lek Reader

Word Count: 1190

Warnings: Reader is described as a twi'lek with freckles.

A/N: I wasn't sure where to go with this, at first, but I think I'm happy with this one. Maybe. I'm super dizzy, so it might not be the best, lol.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You’re glad for the break.

The last year has been you, and your battalion, running from one crisis to the next without much of a chance for a break, save for what time you can take while traveling through hyperspace. 

You’re exhausted. You feel like you could sleep for a year and still not get enough rest.

Which is funny. You don’t remember being half this exhausted when you were Master Kit’s padawan.

Of course, even when you’re supposed to be resting (Vax is going to have your head on a silver platter if you don’t get your stress levels down at least a little bit), you still have work that you need to consider.

The truth is, you’re worried about the next mission.

It’s based on a water planet, and while you know how to swim, your Master is from an aquatic species after all, you’ll be the first person to admit that you’re not the strongest swimmer.

Not through any failing on his part, though.

The failing is all you.

You stretch out on the blanket you’re relaxing on, and bury your toes in the hot sand. In truth, as a twi’lek, you’ve always been a poor match for Master Kit as a padawan. There were plenty of aquatic initiates that he could have chosen from, and yet he chose you.

You remember the other Councilers commenting on how unusual it was that Master Kit didn’t take another Nautolan or a Mon Cala as a padawan. They were careful to not make it seem like they didn’t approve, but you’ve always been a sensitive child.

A huff falls from your lips as you feel your stress levels rising.

Vax is definitely going to kill you. He only signed off on this because he thinks you’re going to stress yourself into an early grave.

“Well now, look who it is,” You turn your head to the side when you hear the familiar voice, and a small smile crosses your lips, “Was wondering where you were hiding, kid.”

“I’m hardly a kid anymore, Commander.”

Commander Monnk, your Master’s right hand, and someone you’re lucky enough to call a friend, laughs and sits on the towel next to you, dripping water onto your bare skin.

His dark eyes scan your bikini-clad form, and a small smirk lifts the corner of his lips, “Oh, I can see that, mesh’la.”

You seriously consider flinging some sand at his face but think again. He’s always been like this, flirty and teasing. He doesn’t mean anything by it.

“I figured I’d sunbathe someplace private so people won’t stare at me.” You shrug, “Plus, Master still gets a funny little twitch when he sees me wearing bikinis.”

“Well, you are his daughter.”

“Former Padawan,”

Monnk rolls his eyes and tweaks the end of one of your lekku, “Semantics.”

You toss a small grin up at him, and he grins right back at you. You missed Monnk. You like Commander Vash. You do, he’s smart and competent. But he’s not Monnk.

“So,” Monnk continues as he leans back on his hands, “What’s bothering you?”

You sit up and fold your legs, “What makes you think something’s bothering me?”

“Vash.”

You scowl out towards the water, “He’s a snitch.”

“Also, according to Vax, you’ve been stressed. And haven’t been sleeping well.”

This time you direct your scowl at him, “Is my entire battalion spying on me for you?”

“Come on, mesh’la. Don’t be like that,” One of his fingers traces a line of freckles on your shoulder making you shiver, “They’re worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

The sigh that falls from you is so heavy it makes you wince. 

“Well, clearly you’re worried about something.” And, of course, Monnk catches it. “Come on, talk to me.”

“We have a mission,” You admit, “To an aquatic planet.” It’s all you say. It’s all you have to say.

“Ah.”

You draw your knees up so you’re able to rest your chin on them, “I don’t know what to do, Monnk. My battalion thinks I’m a great swimmer, and that I’ll do wonderfully on this mission. But I won’t.”

“Your swimming hasn’t improved since leaving General Fisto’s side?”

You shoot him a pained look, “When would I have the chance?”

“No wonder you’re so stressed.” Monnk shifts slightly, draping his arm over his raised knee. “Alright, let’s get some swimming practice in.”

“What?”

“This is a pretty secluded spot you’ve found, no one will see us practicing your swimming.” Monnk continues.

“This is supposed to be your vacation too, Monnk.”

“Yeah, and this is how I want to spend it.” He hops to his feet and offers you his hand, “Come on.”

It’s the easiest thing in the world, to reach out and take his hand. It’s Monnk, after all.

He leads you into the water, and then out until you’re standing on your toes to keep the water off your face, “Here’s a good place to start,” Monnk murmurs, his hands warm against your hips, helping you keep your head above the water.

“If you say so,” You scrunch up your nose as your toes leave the ground due to a wave.

“Ah, don’t look like that mesh’la. This will be fun!”

“For you, maybe.”

Monnk laughs, but when he looks at you there’s something soft and affectionate in his gaze. His hands, warm and calloused from years of weapon handling, slide from your hips to rest on your sides. “How are you still so impossibly soft?”

“I use lotion to keep my skin healthy,” You reply.

“Yeah? Need help with that?”

“Pervert,” You counter, affectionately.

“Just to you, mesh’la,” Monnk says automatically. It’s a familiar conversation, one you’ve had with him time and time again. Monnk has never shied away from how he feels about you.

He wears his heart on his sleeve, at least when it comes to you.

“Alright!” Monnk’s hands tighten around you, “Are you ready to begin?”

“I suppose.”

“Good,” He pauses, “Hm…I should charge you for this.”

A startled laugh slips from you, “I have to pay you to teach me how to swim.”

“All good swimming teachers are paid,” He counters solemnly.

“Alright, but I should warn you, I’m not paid.”

“A kiss,” Monnk says, his gaze serious and slightly wistful, “I teach you in exchange for a kiss. Maybe two.”

“Two? Aren’t you being a little greedy?” You tease.

“Well,” His voice is low as he lightly presses his forehead against yours, “The economy is in shambles—”

You don’t let him finish, as you tilt your head to press your lips against his.

He reacts immediately, his arms locking securely around your waist as he pulls you as close as he can. Monnk immediately deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding across your lips.

The force almost sings with what he feels for you. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you. No matter who you become. No matter where you go. 

And so, you slide your arms around his neck and allow him to pull you closer. After all, you love him too. He’s Monnk, after all.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

@kimiheartblade

@padawancat97

@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@cc--2224

@adriennelenoir

@cdblake1565

@sweater-sloot

@heidnspeak

@wax-birds

@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

@maniacalbooper

@rebell-ious

[drunkenlionwrites]

I want your take on uncanny vash with some relationship/affection headcanons too please!

Damn, that's a popular request! 💖

Okay, so I’m not on twitter, so I totally missed the beginning of this trend, but I’ve seen some snippets here on tumblr and I absolutely love this thing as a total monster lover at heart. Though interpretations vary from something more Lovecraftian to even something from 5 nights at Freddy’s or your standard local creepypasta. My take is more or less canon-compliant, cause Trimax already gave us soooo much food that we can explore deeper. What can be ever uncannier than a walking talking man-made creature, who’s also a sentient matter generator as well as extremely empathetic being with heightened senses who also possesses telepathic abilities to some degree.

There’s always been something slightly…off with Vash. Something you couldn’t pinpoint exactly. Something about his body proportions. His lanky limbs and his overly controlled movements. The way his body could go from rigid and collected when you’ve been in danger to mellow and seemingly boneless when he’s been partying with townsfolk.

The way his teeth have been slightly sharper than an average human being. The way his skin was seemingly poreless and smooth, always milky-white no matter how much time he’s spent under the scorching suns.

A few times you for sure saw his eyes glowing in the dark. You did, right? Just the way the cat’s eyes would look when reflecting light.

His eating habits, when you’ve noticed them, also left you dumbfounded. You could swear that he could go on days and days without eating a crumb, later defensively claiming he ate when you hadn’t seen or that you’ve just forgotten and anyway why is it such a big deal to you? When you hit the town, he immediately was lost in diners, or saloons, or cafes eating humongous portions of food that you were sure would make you puke all your guts out, but made Vash only smile at you contentedly.

The smell of him, that was always of hotel’s cheep soap, or dust and sand, gunpowder, and cold night breeze, but never of sweat or any kind of natural body odor you can imagine a man clad in leather clothes should smell after a few days of travel without bathing.

 The texture of his hair, coarse and springy and thick, and always so so clean, but smoother and silkier where his black strands began. ‘Good genetics’ he claimed.

You’ve also never expected him to have such deep and profound displays of emotions: rage, grief, hurt. They always felt so raw and palpable in the air. It seemed like it was too hard and thick to breathe, making you unable to move and think clearly. When you carefully asked Wolfwood about it later he claimed he felt the same as you.

His pained screams were nothing but animalistic, otherworldly too…you couldn’t forget the sound even if you could. It was something between a malfunctioning screeching machine or the wail of a distressed animal.

When you gained the knowledge about him being an independent plant, receiving awkward profound apologies from Vash for lying to you and dismissing your concerns to him, it all made so much more sense and made you feel strangely more at ease with all his oddities, your brain still unconsciously catching things that were off with Vash.

Nothing you’ve seen before could compare to the moment you saw him communicating with his sisters, all kinds of feathers growing out of his body, while he’s been leaning his forehead to the glass.

The way some otherworldly flesh parts have been manifesting out of him at times have been chillingly terrifying and incomprehensible for you. Seeing the way he demolished the moon with his power didn’t register with you for some time until Wolfwood repeated it enough times for you to make sense of it.

Relationship/affection uncanny valley stuff:

It has been pretty normal with the perfectly sweet and affectionate Vash, except the slight buzzing sound that reminded you of the sound of refrigerator emitting from him during sleep or when he’s been completely relaxed. You’ve been surprised once again but decided to not bring it up to Vash to not make him feel self-conscious and uneasy again.

Once after an especially stressful day you’ve awakened being encaged in some sort of a cage surrounding you and connecting back to Vash, fleshy, soft to the touch but weirdly sturdy, covered in all sorts of feathers and small wings and weird small body parts, resembling humans. You almost screamed, but Vash woke up first from your rustling the sheets and moving next to him. With a surprised yelp from him, the fleshy structure started quickly decomposing and falling off you, disintegrating before hitting the bed. Well, that’s some protective plant boyfriend for you.