#tristamp is soooo

[boyfriendyke]

also i still cant fucking believe they took elendira's transfem swag. literally what the fuck did they do to her

[creepycoffins]

I saw someone connect knives to this quote and honestly they were cooking

[novasintheroom]

Touch me gently (Vash x Reader)

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 3k

♡ Warnings - mentions of having future children at the end

♡ Description: A drabble of various touches between you and Vash the Stampede as your relationship grows.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3 (separated into different chapters, as indicated in brackets)

Hands (056. Turn)

Neither of you are very touchy people.

Vash because he has to be careful.

You because you’ve never liked it.

It suits you both fine; neither of you signed on to the job to be touchy.

The boss wants a survey of a nearby gulch and valley. Hopes to find some good land for investment – water or oil or to build some new town with his name. You, the cartographer for the job. Vash, one of your hired bodyguards. The other two men look the part – grizzled, tough. Mercs. Vash stands out with his frame, the bold red coat. Still a merc, but he looks at you kindly, and you take to him as only a nervous scholar can. Some kind of comfort, if only in your head.

You shake the bodyguards’ hands. Vash’s is warm and a little clammy. You turn and do your best to not stare at the old-tech arm at his side. How curious, still.

/~*~\

Arms (053. Emporium)

The town square is full of life.

The other two mercs have gone off elsewhere to find booze or girls or bullets. Vash weaves on ahead. Always light on his feet, careful to dodge stray hands and still looking at everything with a smile. He’s careful to keep you in the corner of his eye. He loves this. He loves people. He’s in his element – one of them, anyway.

You, little scholar, are not. The crowds push in on the emporium – marketeers hocking their wares and greedy eyes follow your steps. You keep one hand on your purse. All walks of life brush past, children running around, toma pulling carts and calling out. Something lets out a boom, and there’s cheering down the street. Colored smoke rises from a stall with a dizzying aroma. It’s overwhelming, it’s more than you’re used to.

“Vash!” You call out. He doesn’t hear you.

Quiet halls with old paper and ink. The shuffle of pages, someone reading their research under their breath. Old tech flickering to life with a hum. Echoed rooms and soft music playing. That’s where you belong. That’s your safe space. Your element is so far away in this press.

A group of women pass between you and Vash. You lose sight of him. It’s jarring, how used to that red you’ve become, looking at it for some sort of comfort. He’s further ahead now, looking at a stall selling old tech baubles. You reach for him, that beacon of red, catching the crook of his arm and weaving your own through before you can think, before you can lose him again. He stills and looks down at you. Your jaw sets, your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You glance up, and ask with a look, Is this okay? Please let it be okay.

And he thinks for a moment. His heart warms. Squeezing your arm with his own, he pulls you closer to his side as you both step back into the throng. Yeah, it’s okay.

/~*~\

Feet (033. Trampoline)

Five months into knowing Vash, and you’re at his heels more than you ever were at your mother’s. Mostly to keep him out of trouble, but still.

The backs of his heels meet the sky more times than any grown man’s should. Summersaulting through the air to escape bullets, grabbing hands, the loss of freedom. You dog at him the entire time, your own feet pounding, pounding, pounding to keep up.

Vash meets the edge of a building, and he cries out, arms pinwheeling to keep him up. You lunge, snagging his ankles as he pitches forward. His weight pulls you, and you both fall. Luckily – as Vash’s luck often goes, metronoming from one extreme to the other – you land on a market stall’s tarped ceiling, bouncing once, twice, a makeshift trampoline. Now both of your feet are reaching for the sky.

Vash’s breath comes in and out like bellows. Yours isn’t better. In the distance, you hear shouts, screams, cries from the mob trying to hunt down the Humanoid Typhoon. You know you need to move. The stall owner is peering up at you strangely from beneath his tarp.

Still, Vash finds the time to look over at you and say, “You shouldn’t have done this.” ‘This’ meaning follow him, of course. A tired argument at this point, like he can’t get enough of saying it.

And you, you know you shouldn’t have. You have no business following an outlaw like him. Scholars stay hidden in their nooks and crannies and don’t do things like jump from building-to-building chasing after that waving red flag. You should focus on being a librarian, hand out books to word-starved children, build the world into a better place. Be who you should be.

You look back at him, a moment of stillness settling in your bones. “And let you have all the fun?” You shake your head. “No.”

A spark of something in his eyes. Clarity? Realization? He won’t tell you to this day, but his lips quirk up, and he drags you off the tarp and down to the ground. You both race off, leaving the bewildered shop keep staring after your dwindling figures.

/~*~\

Stomach (001. Trust)

It’s been a long day. The winds howl at the mouth of the cave, spitting dust and bits of sand like an angry cat. You and Vash set up camp deep within.

Dark with only a small electric lantern at your side, it’s hard to see the ink in your book. You don’t want to sit up to look at it, though. You squint. Vash finishes laying out his sleeping bag at your feet. He’s already set up some line and sound trap measures at the cave’s opening. No one needs to keep watch tonight.

 “We should get you a new book in the next town,” Vash says idly, “that one has pages falling out of it.”

 An old topic of chatter. “That’s because it’s well-loved,” you hum.

“You’re going to love it to death.”

You smile and raise the book to look at him. He’s set up near your legs, getting his sleeping bag ready and as comfortable as it can get on a stone floor. “Trust me,” you laugh. “I’d rather have it go like that than –“

And suddenly, he scoots up and puts his head on your stomach. A little pillow to use instead of his coat. You’re shocked, finger holding your place in the book as you look his way. He peaks back, a shy glint of blue in the lamplight. Is this okay?

Please let it be okay.

His head bounces when you laugh. You return to your book and knock his head gently with your other hand. Yeah, it’s okay.

/~*~\

Shoulders (082. Warmth)

His broad shoulders are distracting.

Burning white and too-hot already, the morning suns accentuate the curve of his neck, the slope of his back, tapering to a slim waist. Vash curls into a yoga pose in the shade of the outcropping, stretching his muscles and limbering up his joints. He’s shed his coat for the moment. Even he feels the heat today.

You feel a different heat. One you’re trying to not freak out over.

Since when has he been that built?

Your mind scrambles to get ahold of itself. That’s your friend, you think, chiding the rampant girlish thoughts of Holy Hannah, he’s hot.

Of course he’s also hot. Of course! It’s not enough that he’s kind to a fault and genuinely funny. And cute. His face is very cute. You purse your lips and force yourself to stare down at your notebook. You almost gag when you notice you’ve been doodling his figure this entire time, rather than writing notes of your latest escapade from town.

What are you, a schoolgirl?

Guiltily, you look up and watch him stretch his arms to the sky, from one side to the next. His eyes are dull, thoughts turned inward. You trace his shoulders again. They aren’t perfectly rounded – more square, and there are things underneath that slightly bulge and catch on his shirt when he moves. You eye those parts, wondering what it is that makes those shapes.

What’s under there?

Blue eyes suddenly flick to you, and you’re caught red-handed staring. But Vash, ever forgiving, ever one to give someone the benefit of the doubt, gives you a sincere smile. “Why don’t you join me? It could help!”

A blush’s warmth crawls up your back. Help? With what? “Oh,” you say aloud, realizing he means your own limberness needs some work. “Well, sure,” comes out before you think about it, and you put your notebook on your bag, padding over to him on bare feet.

He smiles, dimples in his cheeks. “Do you know how to do the cobra pose?” He’s testing the waters, unsure of how much you know. Vash lays flat on his stomach and bends his body upward. You follow him, feeling your abs and shoulders stretching. “Breathe in…and out…”

And that’s how it goes for a while; Vash teaching you new and old yoga poses, and you trying not to ogle your friend. Not what you expected today – but when does living with Vash ever turn out the way you expected?

/~*~\

Lips (097. Sinking)

The first time, it’s an accident.

You’re both pressed into a crevice in a canyon, fleeing a large worm set on making you its meal. The rock digs into your spine, and Vash is squished to your front, trying to be the shield. The worm screams and screams and breaks against the crack. Pebbles and sand rain down from above.

Vash leans down and shouts, “I think - !! – should – “

“What?!” You scream back.

Vash lowers his head just as you stretch to hear better. Your lips touch, his moving with his message and yours open in terror. Even then, you note how chapped his lips are. “We need to climb!” He starts climbing the sheer rock wall that shakes with every shove of the worm. All you can do is follow.

The second time is a coincidence.

It’s a dance at a bar. One of the many you and Vash have been to. Line dancing, dancing with partners, dancing alone – all on the docket. It happens when he’s leading you down the clapping line, cheek to cheek. He’s singing with the song, leading you back and forth and getting the crowd laughing with how he spins and twirls you, then how you dip him like a lady. You nearly drop him. He screams like a girl. You both lurch toward the other and your lips collide.

The crowd roars in approval, even if it only lasted half a second. There’re pats on the back, winks from the ladies, before you’re shoved back in line and the incident is moved to the back of everyone’s mind in favor of more drink and dancing. Vash’s cheeks flush every time your eyes meet.

“Sorry about that,” he says later, when you’re both stumbling to your rooms and the noise downstairs has died down. His hand is to his neck. Bashful. “You know, the whole…” he gestures with his hand, moving it from his mouth to yours in the air.

“No, I, uh – no, it’s fine,” you stammer, feeling your own heat of embarrassment. But you laugh to ease the tension, “Hey, best kiss I’ve ever had!” Your jaw snaps shut, teeth rattling, and before you can say anything else, you flee into your room with a squeaky “Goodnight!” following the door slam.

Vash flushes, staring at your door. His heart thuds in his ribcage, quick and bright. He lets out a chuckling sigh and goes to his own room. The motions of changing to pajamas, brushing his teeth, and cleaning his face is a soft blur. When he’s finally lying in bed, a hoarse giggle escapes, hands fisting the blankets and turning his head into the pillow to hide his smile from the moonlight.

The third time is a damn shame.

You’re nestled in the crook of his arm, both of your legs hanging off a ledge as you sit on the side of a porched building. Your stomachs are full for once, merriment of your hosts tucked away in their house as you take a moment to yourselves. Another damsel in distress saved. Another day lived.

A content sigh slides out of you, and you rest further on his shoulder. You’ve borrowed a blanket from the lady of the house, wrapped around your shoulders to fight off the chill of night. The last of the suns sets. Everything is blue and quiet.

“You getting cold?” He murmurs, wrapping you closer to his side, opening his coat wider to allow you in.

You smile at his voice. “Nah, you’re a furnace. I dunno how you stand the heat.”

You’re close again. Too close. Always too close, Vash thinks, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. It brings your eyes to his, and there’s a sudden something between you.

He can’t ignore the look in your eyes. The love there. But he buries his own echo of it deep and wonders, why me? Why would you pick me?

Still, he leans forward.

Still, you do the same.

And just as your lips brush, just as he feels the warmth of your breath fan over him –

– someone opens the door of the house and calls out, “Vash, ______, get back in here before the little worms getcha!”

You two spring apart like you’re both on fire. Maybe you are. An “Oh!” falls from your host’s lips, and she hides inside in embarrassment.

A coiling, sinking feeling rests in Vash’s chest. He isn’t sure what to call it. It feels close to regret, maybe indignation? Embarrassment? It’s hard to look at you. His ears are burning. When he finally peaks over, he sees you do the same. You both look away quickly. “Uh, uhm,” he says, then clears his throat, “they’re probably starting the games. We should – “

“ – yeah, we should.” You nod, standing and twirling around to retreat. But, you stop, seeming to catch your cowardice and glance at him. Hesitantly, you offer your hand out.

Vash looks at your hand. How many times have you offered it to him now? Too many, he thinks. But you always do so willingly. He takes your hand and stands, following you back into the house, the feeling of your breath entwining with his still on his mind.

Damn shame indeed.

/~*~\

Nose (107. Sigh)

In the dim morning light, you feel his nose brush yours.

His nose is straight, somehow, despite all the times it’s been broken. You feel his enviously long lashes brush your cheeks. You try to keep still.

“Morning,” Vash whispers, and kisses your eyelids.

You still don’t move, feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and his lashes flutter on your own now. “You’ve stopped snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” you say, groggy, and smile when he lets out a laugh.

You hum, scrunching your body up into a ball and burrowing closer to him. He lets you – he always lets you – and his hands run up and down your back, along your sides, under your thighs. The careful caresses of a sleepy lover.

The suns rise once more, blinking into existence one at a time. The motel’s dusty windows let in a fraction of their light, old and cracked. You reach out and trace his chest with calloused fingertips. Your eyes slowly close.

Times like this are rare. A comfy mattress to sleep on, a safe room to be in (with locks that actually work), and nothing but each other to keep company. It’s perfect. Delicate.

“Hey,” he says, leaning his head down and nudging his nose with yours. “I had a dream. We had this big farmhouse with lots of land, and you had your own library in it, and I was an actual Plant engineer, but just for the city near us.”

“Oh yeah?” You yawn, shaking your head to clear it of fuzz. “No more travelling for you?”

“Guess not.” He continues rubbing your back, eyes never leaving you. “I think my mind made up that all the Plants were doing well enough to not need me as much. We even had two dogs and a cat.”

Your lips quirk up. “Can’t have a farmhouse without those.” You yawn again into his chest.

He hums. “Nope. It was a big house. I got lost in it a few times, but then the kids helped me find my way out – “

“The kids?”

He sputters to a stop, and you’re suddenly much more awake, looking up at him through lashes. His eyes rove yours, wondering if he should keep going. “The kids,” he says quietly, “yeah. I…think there were three.”

Your lips thin for a moment, teeth worrying your bottom lip. “Whose…I mean were they…?”

“Ours?” His voice is just as quiet. His hand takes yours from his chest, holding it over his heart, and says, “Yeah, they were.” He licks his lips and a blush rises to his cheeks. “Two of them had your eyes.”

The information settles on you like a warm blanket, and you give him a sleepy smile. “That’s too bad. I’d prefer they have yours.”

He stares at you a moment. Then, Vash lets out a sigh of relief and pulls you closer. Kissing your temple, he says, “Nah, they need your pretty eyes.”

You’ll agree to disagree.

[tristamp-gunpede]

Tristamp as text posts 17/?

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[as-the-stars-foretold]

you ever think too hard about how tristamp Vash consistently called Knives "Kni/Nai" like even until the very end

"Who are you?" hits uhmmmmm way harder

[beldaroot]

thinking about how any mention of rem is completely ignored by knives.

he was willing to spare her during the big fall but the fact that she sacrificed herself to save the human ships was the last nail in the coffin. so, he pretends he has no guilt over killing her.

but it's so evident that he still loves her; that the betrayal hurt that much more because he loved her so much.

while knives killed her, vash keeps her alive. and in doing so, wasn't all the love that vash learned from rem what saved knives in the end?

knives killed her and it killed him but it also saved him and in turn saved her legacy.

happy mother's day y'all <3

[vrronica-sawyer]

I tri her gun till she stampede

[petrichorium]

Bee has me rambling abt trigun regency au and we haven’t talked abt him at all but I am also thinking about. Lower class underground boxer Wolfwood and young dowager reader who gets dragged to one of his matches………..

[graham--folger]

ohhhh wolfwood really does haunt the narrative doesn't he. i feel normal about that

[duncanor]

Being a new (queer) Trigun fan be like:

"yo, there' s a reboot of that old cool 90's anime! It's pretty sick. "

"i completely forgot what the 90's version looks like, let' s rewatch it!"

"wow, it really was rad as hell I LOVED IT maybe I should read the manga now"

". . IT'S QUEER?????? THERE'S TRANS REP? HUUUH ??? THE STORY AND BIBLICAL METAPHORS ARE GOING TO KILL ME DEAD!!! MOM COME PICK ME UP WHAT IS THIS BODY HORROR BDSM GEAR RESIDENT EVIL ASS BS (I mean that in the most /pos way possible btw)?? "

"anyway, back to Stampede......... Ye, it's.. Nice.."

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

what kind of cratures do you think the trigun gang would be?

CREATURES IN GENERAL OR SEA CREATURES. BECAUSE MY FRIEND MONTY N I WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT TRIGUN FURSONAS THE OTHER DAY. but i am the sea creature guy at heart so im gonns give u those i hope that is ok 😌 there are many benefits to being a marine biologist.

Vash: he is... so very shark coded to me. everyone looks at him and sees a dangerous killing machine. frequently covered in scars. do u see the connection here. he is specifically a thresher shark to me because of the whole sharpshooter thing and also the sad sad puppydog eyes 💙

Wolfwood: i am torn between two different types of eels for him. giant morays are more aesthetically pleasing but personally i have to go with a wolf eel both for the name and because ive worked with these guys before and theyre sooooo cool so im biased

Meryl: not technically a sea creature because she is just so bird coded to me. White-Tailed Tropicbird

Milly: is it cheating to have two cephalopods on this list. because i think i really want to say giant pacific octopus for milly. either that or a whale shark 💙 yes those are two completely different animals no i will not be taking criticism at this time

bonus Knives because i love him and i feel the most strongly about this one:

BOBTAIL SQUID.

... and also a bristle worm . for what i hope are obvious reasons

[screechthemighty]

Costume symbolism: Vash comes into the room with his hood on, keeps it on until the point when Nai threatens Luida. It falls off as he's confronting Nai, telling him he won't let Nai take anything else from him. The moment when he chooses humanity, opens his heart to them.

He never wears a hood again.

[novasintheroom]

002. Reluctance

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.4k

♡ Warnings - angst, Vash self-destructing his good life w/ you

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Part 1 (you are here!) ---- Part 2 ---- Part 3 ---- Part 4 ---- Part 5

He keeps the floorboards in mind as he sneaks around.

It’s easy – he’s had plenty of practice doing it. Just pick up his stuff in one swift motion, tie the bag closed, put his shoes on. All while glancing at you, in your bed and sleeping, not stirring at his shuffles.

You’ll be furious when you wake up and see all his things gone. Hurt and angry. He can hear your yelling now – how could he just leave? After everything –

A lump forms in his throat that he tries to clear away. There it is: reluctance. After everything…that’s precisely why he must leave. Don’t you see? You’re not safe following him. He’s got enough bad luck to go around three times over. But you’re stubborn, and loyal, and all the things he wants in a friend, and that makes it impossible to talk you into leaving.

So he does it for you.

He’s a coward for doing it this way, but that’s never stopped him before. One step at a time, he walks to the door – minding the squeaky boards. It’s painted blue with midnight light. The way out. Away from this new little life he was just getting used to.

He leaves his coat for last. Puts it on, one arm then the other. He checks his pockets, checks his gun, checks to see that he has everything, then does it all again. He knows he’s stalling.

He takes another glance at you. You’re nothing but lumps and piles of blankets where he stands, but he sees the top of your hair poking out near your pillow. He can hear your deep breaths of sleep. Hopefully, this is the last time he’ll see you. You’ll move on, use that degree you have properly, start your own little family, grow old, die. That’s the way of things.

Vash’s heart aches. I want those things, too…He smooshes the thought and shakes himself. He’s been around you too long for even letting that thought pop up. He’s done this before. This time should be no different.

The door creaks open. He steps out. Turns. Looks at that top piece of hair one last time.

Then the door closes, and he’s down the stairs, out the inn, and into the night.

Gone.

dividers

[whom-to-kill-whom-to-let-live]

I’m not asking for a lot here but please please please studio Orange let Legato stick his freaky little tongue out next season please and thank you.

[ofdreamsanddoodles]

aster episode 8 made me. so mad. it was a little aggravating. like im gonna keep watching but it made my hopes kinda dwindle a little bit.

i rlly hated the like. generic story beats if you know what i mean?? like.

vash gets saved by humans who magically know to check for signs of him being a plant despite also them not knowing ahead of time that he is an independant, and also they dont trust him at first until he can do something for them, then suddenly he is a real person!

and then suddenly conflict emerges when they hear a very small partial conversation and then make assumptions despite vash showing no evidence over the years they knew him to this point of him being evil! and then suddenly they find that one piece of paper where he apologizes for his guilt and promises to atone and suddenly they believe hes good again!

and also what they did to knives.... i will never forgive this. why are they kinda building him up to have been evil from the start like come on please dont i really like knives arc and his character in general. dont do this to my evil guy....

it fills me with fear of how stampede is gonna go...

i think with knives it could still go either way, bc they aren't positioning him as like, an evil kid (before the fall at least), i don't necessarily like that he's more "inhuman" it kind of makes it seem like it's more natural he'd distrust humanity or whatever, but it's not like knives doesn't have a reason to be distrustful of humans if luida & brad are just like. locking vash up solely because he's not human. idk if the show will actually bring that up, though, because it is very much people do things for the sake of plot instead of their actions moving the plot if that makes sense

the generic storybeats are getting like. really blatant. i remember seeing a few people complain about rosa in episode 2, for flipflopping so fast on vash & everyone. first she loves him, then she's after his bounty, then suddenly they're all enjoying a beer together. it'd not as bad, but it does kind of feel like they only go back to the bar at the end so they can get to a "day is saved, lets party" end scene. like, the plant is still dying. it's natural to celebrate getting it back, but nothing actually gets solved for them.

none of luida's and brads reactions make sense to me though like luida's like "i've heard of independent plants" except... all information on them is classified??? so how would she??? even know?? it just feels like the show thinks we need this information quickly but a lot of this would probably be solved if they'd just... given us another episode for backstory. like it's really hard to not see it all as contrived, especially when brad's yelling about how vash is OBVIOUSLY working against them after they'd spent 5 years together, only to immediately do a 180 and ask Luida to apologize to vash for him. like, they could have just had him be more hurt than angry (they'd known each other for five years, he vouched for vash, & yet he was still keeping such a big secret, that's definitely a reasonable time to have complicated emotions) but instead they just went the most basic route possible. it's not a story, everyone's just getting herded around into the plot rolls they need to fulfill. it's frustrating!

[upboundline]

oh. fwiw.

trimax and tristamp are entirely different timelines, so this woowoo has no clue who the tristamp people are by sight. straight up does not recognize half of them when they're too different. he can get meryl, knives, and sometimes vash (though tristamp vash he mostly parses as like. eerie.), but some of them like ts livio hes just ".....who are you?" like he's meeting a sibling of someone he knows. tfw the very jarring moment when you wake up and everyone is different from what you expect in weird sideways ways.