#what vash would do without them

[nekofra]

I think we should talk more about these two

[ohitslen]

Knowing in my head that Vashwood would never work out if they were in a sentimental relationship adds a fundamental layer of delusional in my own personal VW experience

[follyshroom]

I know I technically passed the Trigun Stargaze date but I was busy fighting demons (sane Trigun fan reactions) until night became morning

[eldritchneuro]

Analysis can be wild because sometimes you'll end up with something insightful and then other times you'll be headshotted by something so incredibly cursed so suddenly that you wonder how the fuck you got here.

Anyways, Jesus Christ has still not apologized for his warcrimes in Korea and China

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

HI HI MAC. I JUST WATCHED THE NEW GEMINI VIDEO (was going 2 watch it this morning but i forgor 💀) HOLYYYY SHIT i am so creeped out EAUGH it was so good. creepy faces fuck me up AUGHHH. many thoughts head full. also i apparently love drawing characters as teru vash plush bc i started drawing teru vash and then realized oh iam just. drawing patton. so then i drew el woowoo 2 keep him company!! holds out my hands and places these guys in ur palm <3

OH FUCK LITTLE GUYS...... ohbtheyre so perfect. squeezing them like stress balls. <3333

UGH THE GEMINI HOME VIDEO. GOD. I KNOW. i rewatched it like 3 times this morning. that bit after it says the deal is broken with the body that gets progressively more shriveled up made me feel soooo fucking crawly. also the comeback of the jack dialogue. fuck yes. jack do you see me... i have become something else... im still in here dont leave me you bastards..... god that bit was so cool. the face jn the window at the end was what absolutely broke me last night tho like holy fuck thay shit gets me so bad

[tytonnidaie]

sorry i can’t go out I reread trimax and was once again hit with the realisation that at the very end knives wanted vash to kill him because they could never go back to being brothers like they were ever again and its all his fault . and vash saved him. yeah its gonna be all day

[dj-of-the-coven]

trigun 1998 episode simulator

[3 minutes of guitar solo]

Vash the Stampede: hi my name is Vash the Stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love. all I really want to do is have a sandwich and a morning coffee without getting chased by bandits

some bandit: (gunshot) absolutely not. square up faggot

Vash: rats.

[gunfight]

Vash the Stampede: my name is Vash the stampede. I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Love.could I please have a sandwich

Meryl from the Bernardelli Insurace Society: how long are you going to sit on your ass doing nothing but playing games with children and doing chores for the elderly and disabled and looking after lonely youths and cooking dinner for the homeless

Vash: I've been here for like 2 days

Milly Thompson: Hi Vash!

Vash: Hi Milly

[exit left pursued by bounty hunters]

Vash the Stampede: (panting, entering a bar) my name is Vash the stampede.... I am a hunter of Peace chasing the elusive mayfly of Good L*rd what is going on in here

Hostage: mphdsfhapff!!!! mffmpphhf!!!!

Villain of the week: well if it isn't the elusive Vash the Stampede! you see it all started when I was 4 days old and you kicked me like a football and then exploded my parents to death with a laser canon and killed every puppy in a ten ile (translator's note: this is the No Man's Land equivalent of the American Mile) radius

Vash: I don't remember doing that but well I suppose you can shoot me if it'll make you feel better

Side character of the week: Are you insane? Just shoot him instead???

Vash: but my mom told me not to be mean to people

Villain of the week: (still going) And as I am now 47 years old I have finally decided to get my revenge. Say your prayers, Vash the Pisshead

[Wall explodes and reveals a motorcycle with a sexy priest on it]

[sfx: guitar with a hint of electric distortion]

Vash: is that..... Wolfwood?

Meryl who was in the background this whole time: the priest?

Nicholas Dickolas Wolfwood: (brings his fingers up to a pair of luscious lips to grab the cigarette from right between them, taking one more slow inhale before crushing the cherry red underneath his heel)(sensually cocks one of his 8 guns) Are you just gonna let this guy talk down to you like that needle noggin?

Vash: I g-

[guitar riff bumper]

[guitar riff bumper]

Vash: -uess not, since you're here to help now... (slow, warm smile) Wolfwood

Nicholas D. ranged Wolfwood: Vash

Milly who was also in the background this whole time: Hi mr priest man! isn't this lovely, I haven't seen you since the last time you spoke with mr Vash yesterday evening when you were helping him buckle all those silly belts on his pants after he had lost them somehow

Vash: On a cactus

Milly: On a cactus! Oh it must've hurt so terribly; how fortunate that Mr Priest man was there to help you

Wolfwood: Hi Milly

[gunfight]

Villain of the week: ohhhhh curses!!! CURSES!!!! I have spent my whole existence getting ready to fight Vash the Stampede but he's just too good at swallowing all my bullets!!!!!!

Vash the Stampede: my tragic dead mother would be sad if I didn't swallow everyone's bullets so I've trained diligently every morning at digesting gunpowder without dying immediately

Wolfwood: [internally: I can't believe it. All this time I've spent walking the path of darkness, reaching to a pure light that I could never grasp, and yet here is a man who's dedicated his life and his body to the pursuit of Peace. I wish he were a woman so I could fuck him romantic style. I've got a whole plan for it and everything. Whiskey, sunset, a bed with no sand in it, 6 hours. This would be fully and completely possible if only he were a woman. Unfortunately he's not, but I can still think about the what-ifs. platonically of course. Maybe if he got some good dick he'd stop being so annoying. And maybe he'd stop making me rethink my morals. I wonder if the seven drunken handies meant anything to him. Platonically]

Wolfwood: Well anyway it looks like my job is done here

Vash: (teary) Will I see you again?

Wolfwood: I don't know. And besides, whenever I look at you, I'm reminded of everything I hate about myself. You know, it hurts.

[exit Nicholas D. Wolfwood pursued by repressed homosexual desires and immense catholic guilt]

Vash the Stanned Peat: (looking out the window like a widow whose husband was killed in action) Nicholas... D... Wolfwood.......

Meryl who was in the background that entire time, yes, the whole time: shut the fuck up already

Vash: when will it be my turn Meryl. When

[roll credits]

[orangetintedglasses]

@forgivenpunishment // guess we're camping for the night

Traveling while there were outages was something ill-advised all across the planet. Even moreso when it wasn't just some localized thing-- with nearly an entire quadrant just one big question mark in terms of gang activity, weather patterns and a number of other hazards common to a hellish sand planet, no one knew what was going on and most public broadcasts were pretty heavy-handed in reminding everyone to stay safe, and not travel anywhere outside the influence of Octovern and May, labeling the entire area in-between as a dead zone until further notice.

How the cities themselves managed to get away without a scratch, though, no one was sure. But there was quite an uproar building about leaving the active cities and settlements not within their jurisdictions to the wolves...

Especially at the start of sandstorm season.

Vash was doing his part as passenger by keeping an eye out for trouble where Wolfwood couldn't as they went along their merry way, driving across a massive expanse of nothing but sand and half-ruined structures (which he assumed were old rest stops and brave attempts at making camp, torn down by weather and time), headed towards the first set of coordinates given to them by people in the last town. There, they'd said, they could find a couple of Plants who wouldn't see engineers for quite some time still-- and yeah, it was nearly a three hour drive, but get out there, calm them down and get them working again? That would hasten some of the recovery for people and places at least a hundred iles out. Maybe more, if they were willing to share.

So of course Vash-- ever the altruist --insisted that they give it a shot.

They were getting fairly close when the Plant spotted it: the beginnings of a storm gathering on the horizon. A dark smattering of wind, sand and lightning; not directly in front of them, but coming at them from the side, and coming at them fast. They had maybe half an hour, tops, before it caught up to them; Vash relayed this information to Wolfwood and the pair quickly detoured from their course, seeking out the closest structure that had a ceiling and four(ish) walls before the storm could strand them out in the open.

What they found wasn't... perfect, but it was definitely good enough. An old wooden structure with scuffed-up glass in it's windows, and big double doors still firmly on their hinges that Angelina could fit through to keep her out of the storm, too. It... had clearly had more floors at some point in the past, but the floor between the first and former-second floor was still there to provide them coverage, as well.

It was the best they could do on such short notice; the winds were already howling when they rolled up, and kicked up wisps of sand and dirt up and around their legs as they hurried the three of them inside. A bonafide blessing in the middle of nowhere.

"Yeah, this doesn't look like it has plans to let up any time soon..." Vash said idly, frowning out the window. Flashes of lightning and ominous, rumbling thunder overhead appeared to agree with him as he turned to face his companion, walking back into the center of the room.

"Guess we're sandwiched until further notice. Just glad we got here before it got dark..."

[revenantghost]

Man, I think the best and worst part of Knives’s character is just how compelling he is*

I get it. You get it. We all understand exactly how and why he is the way he is. So many people have put this idea into better words than I could. He witnessed an unspeakable horror at an incredibly young age. He knew he was different, that he was other, and a worry set deeply into his bones that humanity would reject him for being born who he is. 

And he was right. It was so much worse than he could have ever realized. He was born to be an object for humanity to use as they see fit. All he wanted was love and peace for himself and his brother. And after seeing that? What they did so mercilessly to Tesla? Who can blame him for not believing in any future with humanity in it. Who can imagine a future without unbelievable strife and prejudice when you’re outnumbered and are seen as an item to dissect and toy with as you see fit

And yet

And yet

In his fear, in his need to control and correct, the cycle continues. The abused becomes the abuser. He assaults his brother multiple times. He takes away Vash’s autonomy and manipulates his body without his consent. Hell he happily experiments with/tests and uses Vash’s body while unconscious. He says he loves Vash while refusing to hear a word coming out of his mouth. Because, if he has a moment of doubt, any hint of weakness, all of that anger slips away and he becomes that boy again--afraid and weak and alone

In his fear, he takes plants. He strips them of their independence and will, denying them their souls. Again, he uses the bodies of his siblings against their will. He displays their corpses to keep him angry instead of putting them to rest. He kills and breaks apart the body of his sister so that he doesn’t have to die, so that he can be reborn. He willfully denies the thoughts, dreams, and pains of his sisters and instead absorbs them, impregnates them, tries to kill them in the “right” way

In his fear, he drove humanity into hurting his kind more. He forced their hand into injuring and killing more plants than they’d ever dreamed of harming. He’s the one that put Vash into a constant position where he’s gaining mountains of scars. (His brother who, on the opposite end of the spectrum, has let the cycle of abuse continue while using himself as a shield instead of breaking free from the pattern.) He uses and discards the humans near him no matter the kindness and devotion they shows him

The same behavior Knives shows everybody and everything else

He’s awful. Absolutely sick and perverted and so stuck in his own mind that all he does is hurt and hurt and hurt

And yet

I get it. I’ve been traumatized to the point where all I want to do is cause pain in return. To feel that justice can exist and will come to pass, no matter the cost. To be so afraid that anger is the only safe emotion you can cling to. It’s what makes him one of the most compelling antagonists I’ve ever seen. Kudos to Nightow for fucking me up about Knives and his pain more by the day, honestly

*Except for ‘98 Knives lmao, that man is fabulously unhinged and overly dramatic about everything and I love him for it

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo Chapter Seven

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

Also @twistedcece @cenatour @ursinaw @xiaopleasecomehome @bearshideout @koebishrimpuwu @vash-yuu @help-whatdoimakemyusername @secret-potion @magmdnv @sunshine-for-serotonin @mel-star636 @silkkorchid @thatpersonuouknow @the-ace-reader @pamv11 @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @hrhqueenfox @goseew @luxthestrange @juno-of-wonderland @who-mst @despairingy-obsessed @lanxianschoenheit @ceramic-raven @sirenetheblogger @a13x15a5133p @abcdontbotherme @m0063576 @kimdourden @rammylog @starshiningsirius @im-here-for-the-fun-of-it @the-monochrome-jester @leleunderscore06 @tinymonke @lonelybluesworld and @thisisafish123 wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me! (Some of the tags might not have worked, and I’m sorry if so!)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

WARNINGS: none

Previous Part: Chapter Six

Next Part: Chapter Eight

Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

—-------------------------------------------------------

You balanced the boxes of donuts in one hand while you pulled open the door to the savannah exhibit open. Then, you slid inside, happily carrying the boxes through the heated exhibit. The heat was already causing beads of sweat to appear on your brow, so you made sure to hurry.

The hyenas were where they were the other day, by the waterfront, chatting animatedly between each other. At least, they were until Ruggie yelled “Hey!” and, in a storm of dust, raced over to meet you.

Ruggie stood in front of you, eyes gleaming, no signs of being afraid of you anymore, “You brought donuts!”

“Yes, I did promise you that I would!” you said with a laugh.

Ruggie wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on your stomach in a strange hug. You couldn’t really hug back with the donuts in your arms, but it made you smile all the same.

“What kind do you want?” you asked, opening the top box. Ruggie snatched up a chocolate frosted donut with rainbow sprinkles and plopped himself down on the dry grass below, chowing down on the donut without leaving time to breathe between bites.

“Slow down, Ruggie, you’re gonna choke,” you laughed, motioning for him to calm down. Ruggie looked up at you with a mouth full of donut and he looked so innocent you couldn’t help but melt a little. 

He tried to say something, but it was muffled by the chocolate in his mouth. He seemed to realize you couldn’t understand him, so he chewed, swallowed, and said, “All for me?”

“Nooo, everyone gets a donut,” you laughed, “You are not eating 36 donuts on your own.”

Ruggie pouted and continued to chomp on the rest of his donut. The other hyenas came up and each took their own donut. Once they were all finished, you picked up another chocolate sprinkled donut and handed it to Ruggie, “One for the road, hon.”

“Road? Hon?” Ruggie was confused, tilting his head at you as he tried to understand.

“It’s a phrase and a nickname,” you said, patting Ruggie’s fluffy hair gently, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ruggie leaned into your touch as he scarfed down the new donut. You waved goodbye to the hyenas, who all hesitantly gave you a little wave back, before heading across the savannah to the far end, where the lions laid.

“Hey guys!” you yelled, “Who wants donuts?”

No response. Oh well, you were used to that.

“Hey Leona, which donut would you like?” you asked the king of the savannah.

“I eat meat, not sweets,” he replied coldly.

“Have you ever had one before?” you asked coyly, “Or are you just trying to avoid me?”

Leona’s jaw hardened and, after a moment of glaring at you, he held out one hand with claws extended, “Give me a donut.”

“You have to pick which kind,” you explained, “There’s too many flavors.”

Leona growled, but he allowed you to open the box and show off its contents to him. Leona reached for a powder sugar donut and gasped in surprise when he saw his fingertips, “This donut! Its white covering sticks to your paws!”

You tried not to laugh, “Yeah, powder sugar gets everywhere, but it’s really good.”

Leona raised the donut to his mouth hesitantly. You smiled encouragingly and he tentatively took a bite. His eyes fluttered closed at the sweetness and he let out a pleased hum.

“Still don’t like sweets?” you teased.

“You were right, herbivore,” Leona conceded.

The lion halfling sat up on the rock and called out to the other lions, “Take one donut each! Do not be tempted to take more just because of their sweet flavor.”

“Thanks, Leona” you said, turning the box so the other lions could see. One by one, they each took a donut.

You watched them eat (and Leona lick powdered sugar off of his claws) for a while before you realized the sun was starting to go down. You bid them goodbye, not realizing that Leona’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight, licking his lips both from the powdered sugar and the predatory instincts he felt around you.

You finally left the hot savannah and headed for the wolf exhibit. A little girl came up to you and asked if she could have a donut. “Of course you can!” you said cheerfully, letting her pick from the leftovers.

From his perch not far away, Leona’s eyes narrowed, one thought going through his head until you disappeared into the wolf exhibit. You would make a good mother.

Unaware of Leona’s dark thoughts, you walked through the wolf exhibit. You barely made it a few feet when the wolves popped out from their places behind the trees.

“What do you want with us?” one of the wolves snarled, “You keep returning!”

“I’m a researcher,” you explained calmly, “I have to come back, that’s my job.”

“What’s that you’ve got there?” another wolf demanded to know.

“Donuts!” you said happily, opening up the box and showing it to the halflings. Disgusted, they backed away into the shadows without another word. You sat down on a tree stump, disappointed by their reaction.

“Donuts,” a gruff voice said. You instantly brightened when you realized Jack had stuck around.

“Yes, would you like one?” you asked. He nodded and sat down in the grass next to you, taking a random donut from the box without really looking. His eyes lit up at the flavor and he began devouring it like a man starved.

Pretty soon the both of you decided to split the remaining dozen. You both chowed down and, by the time it was over, you felt like your stomach may burst. Even so, you and Jack smiled at each other.

“Frosting,” Jack said, shyly reaching out his thumb to brush away some crumbs on your lips. He leaned in close and, for a moment, you thought he was about to kiss you. Instead, he nuzzled your cheek affectionately. You wondered if he could feel the heat radiating from it.

Jack placed a gentle kiss on your temple and your face grew even warmer. “I… um… I should probably get going.”

It wasn’t just an excuse- it really was getting dark outside. Jack backed away with a nod and escorted you to the exhibit door. You gave him a pat on the head and he melted into the action, sighing softly at the feeling of your hand on his white hair.

Then, without further ado, you headed on home to write your notes out. A special about lions was playing on TV.

“When a female is in heat, she will mate with a male from any pride, and they will stay together for three or four days. During this time, they will mate every 20–30 minutes, with up to 50 copulations per 24 hours.”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, “That’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not a lion.”

[buried-l0cket]

Polygun but it’s how they all see each other

i always really like in books with different narrators when how a character looks itself is unreliable narration bc they describe themself differently compared to how the other pov characters see them, and the dungeon meshi shapeshifter chart scratched that itch for me art wise and I got inspired ✨

To be more specific this is what they each picture when they think of each person 👉👈

Details under cut!!

Meryl clothing details aside because I think she’s just short and the boys aren’t looking at her traveling clothes too hard (and vash clearly likes making his own clothes with how much his overly intricate jacket design changes so ofc his version of her outfit just looks like another one of his designs 🙄) all of the clothes are based on specific parts of the manga!

A big thing with these designs was taking moments that were important regarding each characters relationship with the pov character and adding in visual nods to that to show what memories stuck with them to shape their image of that person.

The clearest example of this is everyone thinking of a different Vash coat, for Wolfwood it’s what he was wearing when he turned him over to Knives, to Meryl it’s his final fight coat, and for Milly it’s when she met him.

It may be Trimax but I will always have a soft spot for 98 millywood so those two’s impression of each other has been influenced by that, but more specifically just the idea of them both alone together, layers and walls down, hair messy from sleep. Their relationship is one I just see very clearly developing over a lot of late nights at inns and bars during traveling!

Vash is the trademarked inventor of Savior Martyr Victim complex supreme and when he thinks of everyone he sees times they’ve been let down by him. To me he’s the biggest broken gear in their dynamic because of the way he holds himself back and isolates, the ship really works in spite of him most of the time. But he also sees traces of times his desire to be by their side was cemented. His Meryl is heavily based on after she was kidnapped by the GHGs and he lost control in front of her, but her hair is longer + earrings are gone like when they saw each other again after Knives released the ark, and she has a black turtleneck peaking out from under her traveling clothes the way it did under her space suit during the final battle. His Milly has the hair and undershirt of the final battle but her outer clothes are from when they traveled together for the majority of Trimax. His wolfwood isn’t doing too well.

Meryl’s versions of Milly and Wolfwood are both pretty similar to how they looked when she first met them, wolfwoods hair is just a little longer like I imagine it being towards the end of Trimax and is very windswept, from their short first meeting in the original Trigun manga run I always got the impression she thought he looked very cool lol, she was staring up at him like ://0 the whole chapter.

I mentioned it before but honestly most of Wolfwood’s Vash is based on how he looked when he turned him over to Knives, not only do I think that moment stuck with him but I feel like it’s a good visual summary of all the mixed feelings he has towards Vash. He’s drawn to him and sees how sad he his but he also sees how inhuman he is and the threat he and knives pose for the people he cares about and prioritizes. At the end of the day Wolfwood chose the orphans over Vash twice and never went back on that, and a big part of why he broke Vash our of Knives prison was just so he could go fight Knives to the death for humanity’s sake, and I think that’s important to his character and their relationship.

Similarly, Meryl’s Vash is really just final arc Vash. She’d already developed a very strong impression of him before then but they would go weeks to even years without seeing each other and each time the way he looked and the way she felt about him would change drastically, it seemed to me like it wasn’t till she was on the ship advocating for him and the people living on gunsmoke that she knew how she felt about him and what kind of person she saw him to be. It was also a huge moment for her character wise with the way she faced her fears in the name of human connection and made the active choice to not be as apathetic and closed off as she realized she had been in the early manga.

I think Milly’s first impression of Vash was strong and accurate enough to not change much, this nice guy is Vash the Stampede and there is definitely something weird about him.

I don’t know why Wolfwood doesn’t know what Meryl’s hair looks like, what’s wrong with that guy? In general his version of Meryl is very inaccurate now that I’m looking at it, I promise he likes her

+small details that are my personal headcanon and not the characters interpretations are Meryl and Wolfwoods hair being a bit more curly/textured than canon, Milly’s eyes being green, and Meryl’s earrings being silver (gold earrings with a white black and blue outfit and silver guns?? C’mon girl accessorize properly)

[drunkenlionwrites]

Make It Worth It

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader

Summary: after being on the road for weeks and not being able to find a room for the night, you feel terribly frustrated until you and Vash see a secluded dark alleyway and have the same idea pop into your heads. 😈

Content warnings: nsfw, semi-public sex, strong language, g/n reader, penetrative sex, voyeuristic implication but no direct voyeurism Word Count: 1.6k

The town is sleeping when you get there.

“Marta’s Guesthouse” greets you with barred shutters, bolted doors and not even a candlelight flickering behind the windows. You knock until your knuckles ache, plead to test the waters- but nobody opens. Not even a flick of a curtain. “Come back when the suns are up and don’t stir any trouble till then!” someone finally replies to your inquiries.   

“They must be afraid of bandits,” Millie whispers sympathetically, as though this reasoning could soothe your annoyance at the cold shoulder you received. “We’ll just have to make do.”

Make do, she says. In a car crammed with too many bodies and not enough room to stretch your legs, let alone sleep. But what other option is there? You can’t blame them, really. You’re dusty and worn, arriving too late like ghosts in the moonlight. Who would open the door for you? Millie must be right, maybe the townsfolk are cautious for a reason.

Meryl climbs into the car with a grumble. “At least it’s not freezing.”

“Speak for yourself,” you mutter, rubbing your arms.

Wolfwood shrugs and says something about keeping watch. You’re not sure if  he really will watch out for any trouble - but you’re too tired to care. All you want is sleep, but fresh air will have to do. Some space. The stretch of your spine without someone breathing on your shoulder. Ugh, even when standing outside with your own two feet on the ground, your brain is glitching and making you feel like you’re still driving in a car. You hate this feeling.

“I’m gonna walk a little,” you say, tugging the collar of your jacket up.

Vash is beside you before you even finish the sentence. “Mind if I tag along? You know…bandits and stuff.”

You nod. Of course you do.

The streets are eerily quiet, filling only with the sound of your footsteps. The moons’re caught behind a haze of thin clouds, casting everything in dim, silvery blue. And still - he walks close to you. His shoulder brushes yours once, twice. It’s nothing. Or maybe…

It’s been weeks. Weeks since a real bed in a separate room. With a door that can be closed. Weeks since any privacy. Weeks since a single moment alone with him that didn’t feel like you’re being scrutinized by someone else’s gaze.

And when you finally pause at the mouth of a narrow alleyway, shadows cloaking the walls like a curtain, your body turns toward his before you even consider everything properly.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” you whisper.

His eyes shine faintly in the dark.

“I really, really hope so.”

Then his hand is in yours. Then it’s against your waist, and your back meets cool brick, and you’re pulling him in like you’ve been starving - and maybe you have.

His kiss is clumsy at first. All teeth and breaths between them, and soft moans of relief. But then it deepens, his hands finding your face and oh how great it feels to finally be touched without any restraints. You shudder against him, your fingers are slipping under his coat and digging into his back, dragging up until patches of his skin greet your fingers. You moan softly into his mouth, and his whole body trembles like he wasn’t ready to hear that sound. Not yet. But he’s glad you gave it to him anyway.

"God, I've wanted-" he breaks off, his mouth trailing hot against your neck. "-for so long."

You throw your head back, hungry for any touch he gives you and pull your hands from his back to raise arms up and place them on his shoulders as you wind your fingers through his hair and pull. He gasps, and the noise he makes is so fucking needy, it goes straight to your core.

“We don’t have long,” you murmur against his ear.

“I don’t care,” he groans, already rocking against you, desperate and unashamed. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”

And give it you can.

Clothes pushed aside just enough, hands fumbling between you. Your back to the wall, his breath ragged, as he helps you push your pants down in desperation. His pants are proving to be difficult though. You whine, "Why the hell do your pants have so many buckles?" "You always told me I looked hot in them, Mayfly!" Vash retorts, chuckling even though desperation is laced in his voice the same way as in yours. "Cool? I take my words back…we need a damn map to get these off!" you chide as you try to work out all his buckles, your fingers bumping into his now that both of you are busy with them. "Left thigh, third one down—no, wait—ow, not that one! It’s decorative!" "I swear, if I die of horniness in this alley, it’s your fault." You say with voice so angry and loud, that Vash loses it and laughs out loud. "Then let’s make it worth it, baby - just skip to the middle one." He says, undoing the said buckle himself and as you tug his goddamned pants down, though not as low as you’d prefer, he’s already pulling you up, getting ahold of your thighs and ass. You gasp as your back hits the wall again, this time higher - your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands tight under your thighs. He’s breathing like he just ran a mile, and his mouth finds yours again in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, no time for sweetness now.

The head of his cock bumps against you, clumsy in the dark, and you both groan at the contact. It’s barely anything -but it’s all you want right now. You whine and reach down to guide his cock inside of you – urgent, desperate, needy. You do it somehow clumsily, and once Vash feels how your walls begin to swallow him - he pushes into you with a choked moan, the stretch making your eyes roll back. It’s not slow, not gentle - but he’s still careful. One hand leaves your thigh to brace against the wall, the other tightening under your ass as he starts to move - short, deep thrusts that make you whimper into his shoulder.

“Fuck…you feel…” he bites off a sound, face buried in your neck, “-so good, so warm- I’ve missed you- missed this so much.”

You cling to him like you’ll fall apart otherwise, legs tightening around his hips. Every thrust grinds you against the wall just enough to make your breath catch. You know you back will be scratched and sore in the morning, but the way Vash is angled so perfectly and hitting just the right spot is making you forget about those trivial unimportant details. You’re both panting now, the air thick with heat, your names breathed against each other’s skin like a prayer.

Your head drops back with a soft moan. “God, Vash- keep going…just like that-”

He shudders. “You’re gonna make me-”

“Good,” you gasp, rocking into him. “Want you to.”

He curses under his breath, pace stuttering. “I can’t-hold back…not after this long-”

“I don’t want you to.”

That breaks him.

He growls something unintelligible into your throat, thrusts turning rougher, sloppier—chasing it now, no rhythm, no finesse - just need. You reach between you, fingers fumbling where your bodies meet, and when you touch yourself, it only takes a few strokes before you’re falling- shuddering hard, gasping against his ear, moaning his name cause it’s the only word you remember.

Vash follows with a broken sound, buried so deep inside you it feels like you’re made for it. He thrusts through the aftershock, hips twitching, mouth open against your neck as he spills into you with a groan that sounds like pain and pleasure all at once.

Then: stillness.

Only your breathing. The distant chirp of small worms flying in the air. A few soft sounds of fabric shifting as he lowers you back down slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

You stay pressed to him, forehead against his chest, heart beating too fast.

“…God,” he mutters after a moment, voice dazed, but happy now, relaxed. “I think I saw the face of the universe.”

You snort into his chest, laughing breathlessly. “Was she impressed?”

“Absolutely. Gave me five stars. Said I was a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes and gently smack his chest. “You’re the least discreet man I’ve ever…”

Tssk.

You freeze.

The sound cuts through the night like a slap.

You both freeze.

Then the faint scratch of a lighter. A curl of cigarette smoke. And a familiar sigh.

“Well,” Wolfwood mutters, leaning against the mouth of the alleyway like he’s been there just long enough to hear something he shouldn’t. “Glad I decided to check the perimeter.”

Vash squeaks. Actually squeaks, the mortified noise muffled into your hair. His hands quickly reach you and pull your pants up hastily. Nimble fingers fighting with your zipper and buttons.

You don’t even look to the side as you say: “You’re supposed to be watching for bandits.”

“I am. And two hormonal idiots going at it like alley cats count, trust me.”

Wolfwood flicks his cigarette to the ground and steps on it, judging by the sound. “When you’re done, try not to trip over your pants, this alleyways awfully dirty.” “…We’re never speaking of this,” you say to Vash once Nick’s footsteps are barely audible.

“Which part?”

You pull him in by the front of his coat and kiss him again, slow this time.

“All of it.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

hello hello (●’◡’●)ﾉ if i may, could i request a scenario with vash and reader in an established relationship? vash has saved a town and it's one of the few times where he's celebrated, everyone making merry at a bar. him and reader are getting to be sufficiently drunk and the reader has the sudden urge to spoil vash, resulting in them plopping themself onto his lap, cooing, petting his hair, tickling his chin and telling eeeeveryone what a big, strong man vash is. basically they're being gross and flirty and drunk together and it's silly 😔

i hope you're having a wonderful day!! 🩷🎀

"Everyone, I wanna propose a toast: To Vash the Stampede! For saving this town! And for saving my heart from loneliness! Here's to love and peace!"

"TO LOVE AND PEACE!"

"CHEERS TO VASH!"

"Thanks, Vash!!!"

"WOOOHOO!!"

"God bless the merry couple!"

As cheers rang around all throughout the bar, you stepped off the table and slumped back in your seat, a grin spreading from ear-to-ear. You took a lot of pride in having enough confidence to make that toast...and that you've achieved your goal of making your boyfriend blush redder than his coat.

Indeed, there were rare times where you and Vash could let your guards down when he's a wanted man. But after the heroic deeds he performed earlier in town, the people called for a celebration at the bar, not caring about the 60 billion dollar bounty on his head for once.

There were no lives lost, no major injuries, and the destruction was limited to a few shattered windows--thanks to the bandits and their shitty aiming skills.

After they got hauled off to jail, everyone at that point knew who Vash was, and invited you two and the rest of the group for some rounds.

While you were initially wary that it was some setup that would end in Vash running for his life and guns blazing, it thankfully became very much the opposite:

You and your friends having a grand old time, eating food and sharing drinks. By the time you made the toast, your boyfriend already had a buzz, indicated by the tie wrapped around his head and him retelling the story of today's events to you---even though you were there the entire time, witnessing them firsthand.

"That was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Vash feigned a tiny sniffle, his arm pulling you closer to his side. "A toast..for me....V-Vash the Stampede..." His lips began trembling a bit, and you glanced at him, worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..everything's great! How did I get so lucky??" Tears were quick to fall from his eyes, which he tried rubbing away before chugging more of his drink, looking to you with a sniffle. "You're so good to me, [y/n]..almost too good..you care so much and...you're the reason I believe in love and peace!"

"Awh, you're such a sap." You chuckled, forgetting that his emotions were dialed up to 11 at this point (then again, they were almost all the time). Reaching a hand up, you tousled with his spiky hair a bit. "You deserve this. We both needed this break."

"I know...can we toast just to us, mayfly?"

Without waiting for your response, he clinked his glass to yours. And you simply smiled back and took a big swig of your drink, feeling the alcohol burning your throat.

But you didn't care.

It was only a matter of time before it kicked into your system.

............

"Vaaaaaash!!"

"Yeeees?"

"Did I ever tell you..wha...what a good, strong, and handsome man you are?" You tilted your head, looking up into the puppy-dog eyes of your boyfriend, who was now just as wasted as you were at this moment.

It was fine, though. The twin suns will rise again tomorrow and it'll be just another day in Gunsmoke, on the run in the hot desert.

You could afford to let loose for one night.

"Yah really think so?"

"Oh, I know so...and I'm gonna tell everyone here allllllll about it. But first.." You moved out of your seat, and at first Vash assumed that you were trying to climb onto the table again to do another toast-

Until you instead climbed into his lap.

He froze up, a small squeak of surprise leaving his lips. Even now, he wasn't used to this kind of closeness..although he welcomed it nonetheless as you wrapped your arms around the tall man, noticing how red his face was turning.

"You're so cute when you make those noises. I wonder what other sounds I could extract outta you, hmm~?" As your index finger lightly tickled the area under his chin, he couldn't help but giggle, hugging you tightly to ensure you stayed on his lap.

He wouldn't mind being like this forever.

"C'monnnn, you're such a tease."

"And you're such a sweetheart. Always protecting me, preaching about love and peace...and not takin' shit from anybody. God, you're so hot for that. We need more men like you in the world."

"But you already got a man like me, mayfly..." He pouted.

"I know. Aren't I blessed? You damn angel." Laughing softly, your hand rose up to his cheek, and he seemed to know exactly what you wanted, as he crashed his lips into yours mere milliseconds later.

It was a sloppy kiss: long, messy and uncoordinated, hands becoming entangled in each other's hair....but that was quite alright.

He needed this. You needed this.

You couldn't help grinning as you overheard hollers and whistles from the other spectators, while your friends at the nearby table looked amused, grossed-out, and even a bit..embarrassed for you two. Yet they knew better than to interrupt.

Wolfwood, however, could only imagine the aftermath once the alcohol finally ran its course...

........

"M-My stomach still hurts--BLEAUUGH-!!"

"It's okay. Let it all out..I'm right here." Rubbing Vash's back up and down, you sheepishly looked to Wolfwood as your boyfriend was currently emptying the contents of his stomach into the bucket you've given him. "How has he not built up a tolerance to booze yet?"

"Beats me..but the misses didn't want him throwing up in the car. So let 'im stay there as long as he needs to." The priest brought a cigarette to his lips, a bit amused by the sight. "We'll be waitin' when you're both ready." He turned on his heel and headed back to where Meryl was filling the van's tank.

You sighed, only to hear Vash sigh even deeper as he finished puking his guts out. He looked up at you, wiping the saliva from his chin with a tired smile. "S-Sorry about this. Guess I had more than I could handle...again."

"That's okay." You took the bucket, pushing it somewhere out of both your sights. "I know you'd do the same for me."

"True, but with bedrest and medication...i-if we could find and afford it, obviously." His gaze flickered to the still-lively bar, frowning a bit. "Part of me's gonna miss this town..I doubt the next one will be just as inviting. But I gotta have some hope, right? There's a lot more good people out there, I know it."

"It's a big planet, so we'll see." You shrugged, grasping his hand and making his attention snap back to you. "I'll be sure to tell them how strong and handsome my darling Vash is, too~" With a wink, you had the man swooning again, as he shifted closer to you.

"You sure you're not drunk?" His eyes squinted with suspicion.

"Drunk or not, everything I say about you is true. And one day, I want you to believe those things about yourself."

"[Y/n]..."

"If anyone dares talk about your bounty, I'll tell them to shove it."

"I-I'd rather have you not-"

"Nobody--and I mean nobody--can put a price on your head. Not even 60 billion double dollars. Because you're worth everything to me."

"...a-are you flirting or trying to make me cry again?" Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. "Because it's working.."

You huffed lightly, smiling as you patted his cheek. "As long as those are happy tears, angel. You ready to go? You won't get carsick?"

"I won't!" Vash jumped to his feet the same time you stood up, still holding your hand as you led him to the van, following you like the loyal dog he was.

You're grateful the toast at the bar put him in good spirits...and that he was still blushing over your drunken kisses and words of affirmation.

Even though his own gut had to suffer the consequences for a little while, it was all worth it.

[novasintheroom]

125. Scar

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.2k

♡ Warnings - mention of scars, negative view toward scars (from Vash toward himself)

♡ Description: You finally lay eyes on Vash's scars.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

The lamplight of the inn room is gold. Dusty. Yours and Vash’s shadows sit squatly on the walls. His chest is bare.

Slowly, Vash realizes – his brain is going haywire. How did he get here? When did he take off his shirt?

He looks to you for guidance. Your lips are kiss-swollen, your clothes ruffled, but your eyes are worried. “Birdie?” You ask, sitting up from lying on him. The bed shakes with the movement. “What’s wrong?”

But he can’t answer. Wide-eyed, he feels his hands curling up on his chest. He feels the scars all over his body – ridges and bumps and ugly, ugly, ugly.

You’ve never seen them.

You’ve never seen him.

Your brows furrow. “Vash, what’s – “ You look at the movement of his hands. It clicks, then. Looking past his hands, at his scars, you gasp, “Oh…Oh.” You sit up, scooting yourself away and stuttering. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t – ! Vash, it’s not – we don’t have to – “

He can’t hear it. Skin crawling, eyes shaking, toes curling. He wants to cry. He should do something.

You stop your panic, realizing his own. “Hey,” your voice has a tinny feel to his ears, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about…” You look around and quickly reach for his shirt, thrown to the side. “Here, I’m sorry…hey, Vash? Vash?”

He’s waiting for it. To see it in your eyes: the disgust, the hate, the fear. Who could love someone who looks like this? Swallowing once, twice, he reaches for his shirt, the ringing in his ears slowly dissipating. The black material scrunches in his fist.

You scoot back, making sure not to touch any of him. You look ashamed. “I’m…Vash, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about your scars. I forgot you don’t like…”

A part of his mind realizes – you’re not repulsed by him, but by your actions that lead here. You became too passionate, too eager, and he, in his love-drunk state, let you take off his shirt. But still, a larger part shrinks at the way you won’t look at him. He desperately needs reassurance. He needs you to…to what?

Your brows twitch with guilt. Vash finally snaps himself out of it – because you need him. “It’s…alright,” he gets it out, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. He swallows once, twice. “I…” He looks at you. What should he do?

Tilting your head, you say, “No, it’s not. Don’t pretend like it is, Vash.”

His shirt bunches more in his hands. “But I…I let you…”

“Because that’s you, Vash. You’d let me – “ Frustrated, you shake your head, waving your hands. “No, I’m not turning this into you comforting me.” You put a hand to your heart. “I went too far. I’m sorry.”

The fog of his brain is clearing. Pursing his lips, Vash throws the shirt over his head and tugs it down. He’s ruined yet another moment, hasn’t he? All because of…He sighs. “Mayfly, it’s not your fault.” He looks at you, your downcast eyes. A trail of warmth bleeds from his heart. You care too much, far too much about him.

“I always forget about your scars,” you whisper. You glance up and away again. “I haven’t seen them. I wasn’t trying to…”

“Mayfly, I let you. It’s my own damn fault, not yours.”

You shake your head and reach for his hand. He gives it. “Vash, birdie, you weren’t ready for me to see, and I let myself get too caught up without thinking about you.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you murmur again, “I’m sorry.”

“We both made mistakes, then,” he concludes. That’s the end of it. He squeezes your fingers. “Okay? And we’re both okay.” Another sigh, and he looks down. “I’ve…been meaning to show you, anyway. Just wasn’t expecting it tonight, is all.”

You blink, looking at him from eye to eye. “Would you…I mean, would you mind telling me about them?”

He straightens a bit and cocks his head. “Like how I got them?”

You nod. “I’ve…been wondering.”

“They’re not…good stories,” Vash hunches, “I mean…a lot of them…” He trails off.

Lips thinning timidly, you whisper, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, birdie. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

And he knows that. If he were in your position, he’d be itching to know what happened to you, who did what, who does he have to go after – he stops that thought there. Licking his bottom lip, he asks, “You sure you’re okay? With the stories?”

And he’s graced with the smallest of smiles. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

Vash breathes deeply. He knows you’re telling the truth. Still, a part of him trembles in fear. What if you react badly? What if you leave? Everyone always leaves –

“Vash,” you murmur. Finally, you scoot closer, letting your knees touch his legs and reaching out, taking his face in your hands. He sighs and leans into the touch, hand coming up to hang on to your wrist.

With his other, he lifts the hem of his shirt and points at the pinched circle of skin on his left side. “I was caught by this scientist guy. He figured out I was a Plant and kept me locked up and experimented on for three weeks. This is where the tube went to pump me with…I don’t know what.”

You don’t even flinch, but stare at the mark. “How long did it take to heal?”

“There were chemical burns, so…a while.” He hisses like he can still feel it. “Yeah. A while.” He points to the next: a large gash on his other side. “Got this one from an explosion that went off right by me. I was trying to shield a little girl from it.” Blue, blue eyes, so sad and forlorn. “She didn’t make it.”

Gently, you thumb under his eye. His skin twitches. You lean forward and peck his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Then, being brave, he takes your hand – the one he held on to – and guides it under his shirt and up to the grating over his heart. You let him rearrange your fingers how he’d like, and he sighs. “A pair of sisters caught me. They wanted to see what a man’s heart looks like – whether it’s as small as they believed. So they cut me open.”

Here, you clench your jaw. Gently, ever so gently, you press against the grate, as if you could keep his heart from falling out just with the action. Unbidden, he smiles. “Somehow, I managed to get to the next town. They happened to have a surgeon. He sewed me up, heart and all. I…I asked him to put the grate over my heart. Make it harder the next time around, y’know?”

“There won’t be a next time,” you promise.

“Don’t know that,” he murmurs, but lifts your hand to press a kiss to it, silencing your protest.

There’s a thousand more he could show. He isn’t sure he has the energy to do so right now. Instead, he pulls at your wrist, gently, gently guiding you to lay on him again. To bring comfort to you both. You’re hesitant, eyes looking between him and his chest, seeing if it really is alright. When he nods, all forgiven, you carefully fall on him. Goosebumps rise from the feel of your breath through his shirt. Your hands curl under you to keep from wandering to the scars you want to touch, to love.

You both stay like that for a long, long time.

[eldritchneuro]

Ah Knives. Classic abuser bullshit - 'You aren't doing what I want so there must be something wrong with you'.

Of course, Knives' evaluation of his brother is a deeply subjective one, and deeply flawed. He considers Vash's attitude towards others nothing but an impediment, even though Vash's empathy has very much saved his hide multiple times. Be kind enough to folks and you too can snag a genetically-modified assassin and a couple of plucky reporters by your side! (If you know anything about what some journalists have to get into for their stories, then you know Meryl and Roberto are far more intimidating then Woowoo in the long term!)

Not that it matters of course. 'Sickness' is just an excuse here. Something to point to in order to justify abuse. And it's not just limited to Knives. It's rhetoric that extends throughout the Eye of Michael itself, and indeed into many real-life evangelical cults.

'These people are sick, and making them not-sick is more important than then their human rights' isn't just the excuse Conrad uses to torture innocent children. It's the drivel of the Nazis, of the colonists that murdered entire indigenous civilizations. It's the excuse used for conversion 'therapy', and the horrific treatment of people in prisons and psych wards. It's the same abusive bullshit swallowed and vomited up again and again and again.

Actually, speaking of stuff like psych wards, are there any other disabled people who find Knives and co's assumptions about the dependent plants rather... uncomfortable? Specifically:

Knives' attitude towards 'freeing' the plants is that they should be made independent. Removed from their bulbs, removed from human care and made into something that can walk around and do stuff.

Which seems fine and dandy. He's right that the plants deserve autonomy and choice. But it's the core assumption underlying this that's the problem. To him, the plants in their bulbs are also sick. They are sick specifically because they are in their bulbs and can't do what he and Vash can do. Therefore, they must be 'cured', even if it means violating them.

Even though Stampede saves it's critique specifically for the way outsiders take advantage of dependent plants, not plants having to be dependent in the first place. And for all his talk, none of Knives' sisters are asked to weigh in on his grand plans. For all we know, many dependents could be quite happy the way they are and have no wish to be anything different.

To clarify my point, what happens if we reframe this dynamic? What if we were talking about, say, a high support needs autistic person, who literally would not be able to survive without being dependent on others? For people like that, the assumption that liberation and agency must mean independence isn't just untrue, but also something that will (and does!) prove fatal.

See the problem?

[merbear25]

Vash with no.4 for your valentine day event would be MWAH CHEFS KISS!!!!

This prompt was perfect for him!! I really hope you like it! I adore him... He deserves nothing but good things! (I'm not about to cry YOU are)

No matter where he went or who he met, his greatest fear hit him head on without fail. Undeserving of moving past his mistakes, forcing himself to make up for what he’d done time and time again, but it was never enough, neither for them nor him. How could he accept your affection when he saw the lowest of the low in his reflection? It all starts with trust.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, hurt/comfort, Vash’s insecurities

Take my hand (Vash)

Despite the walls he threw up to protect you from getting too close to him, caring about him came as easily as opening your eyes, and each time you did you couldn’t deny the warmth that accompanied the sight of him. A gleeful smile, outgoing demeanor, a goofiness that didn’t always fit the circumstances: he tried so hard to keep the grief from showing.

However, the more time you spent together, the more those cracks showed. Sitting in the corner of the room, not saying anything, yet his silence was screaming for the connection he deemed himself unworthy of.

“Vash? How are you doing?” Not wanting to bring up the incident directly, you thought it would be more gentle to avoid specifics. Both of you knew what you were referencing anyway: a town flipping their opinion of him quickly and without remorse for the man who had just helped them moments before.

“I’m great.” He couldn’t even fake the chipper tone.

“Sorry, it was a silly question.” You paused to consider what he must be going through. Having been rejected by damn near everyone who had at one point opened their arms to welcome him must wear one’s spirit down to the point it dragged through the dirt.

“You don’t have to apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The tone was soft and remorseful for making you think you had to say ‘sorry’. “I’ll be okay, I just need some time alone.”

The thought of him being by himself at a time like this made you worry. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay with you. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I’d just like to make sure you’re… That everything is alright.”

No objection was given, although that didn’t mean his mind wasn’t racing. After what felt like hours, he finally brought up what was plaguing him. “I hope you don’t feel obligated to stick around.”

“Why would I feel… I’m here because I care about you.”

A rush of emotions flooded his chest as he processed that last bit. “You shouldn’t though. You’ll just end up getting hurt. That seems to be all I’m good for.” The gentle rocking of his shaking form brought you to your feet.

“You’re worth so much more than what you give yourself credit for.” Without a second thought, you went to his side. “You mean so much to me, you have no idea.” The shake in your voice eluded to the pain you felt seeing him like this and hearing him talk so lowly of himself.

Those affectionate words stayed with him as he desperately tried to get himself to the point he could hold them close and hold onto them forever. “And you’d have me like this? Scars and all?” The hesitation he took in looking at you made that lump in your throat sink deeper. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” You scooted closer to him and leaned to the side in hopes of getting a better look at his expression. When that sinking rock in your throat finally plunged into the depths of your heart, you swore you could feel it shattering. 

A man who was worn and defeated contrasted his happy-go-lucky attitude. His emerald eyes were hanging to the floor and those lips that usually held a smile seemed to be struggling not to quiver. He gripped his pant legs and tugged on them, back and forth, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just—” He trailed off not wishing to burden you with the turmoil that was ever constant. You leaned in closer, hoping that he wouldn’t shy away from opening up to you again. “I’m not sure that you know what that entails exactly.” The fall in his voice hinted at the emotion rising within, which was carried by the self-loathing he couldn’t escape.

Your eyes held on him; each twitch of his bottom lip, the wetness in his eyes threatening to make his genuine yearn for connection known, none of the subtleties went unnoticed or disregarded. You took a deep breath and spoke in a voice as warm as a summer’s day.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Wanting to say ‘a demon’, he refrained and simply shook his head. “I see a man who is kind, gentle, caring, selfless, one who made a mistake - an accident - a long time ago and has been punishing himself ever since.” 

“How can I forgive myself if that moment still cuts so many so deeply?” The hatred in his words only spat venom inward, hoping the acid would finally sink in.

You treaded lightly, so as to avoid him spiraling into the depths of self-ridicule he so often found himself in. “I’m not saying you ought to take the leap into forgiving yourself, but taking steps away from self-hatred can carry you far.”

He buried his face in his palms, trying to withhold the flow of tears that were now reluctant to stop. “What if I can’t do that?”

Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around him. As he clung to you, you allowed his hot wet face to soak through your shirt. “That’s why you have me, and not just me but also your other friends who care so much about you.” 

You stroked his dirty blond hair, hoping he’d be open to letting you assist him on this trying escape from the iron maiden he’d casted himself into. “Sweet Vash…” 

You couldn’t help but cradle him closer. The large man who was mischaracterized by the masses and internalized it to the point he felt he could never escape: tortured more by himself than anyone else. But, your helping hand out of the tangling thorny vines was taken, leading him towards the long and winding road of healing.