Trigun 1998 - Tumblr Posts
who was gonna tell me that Matthew Mercer did voices in the dub for Trigun (1998)
Did that meme with Milly Thompson from Trigun (1998) per the request of my gf and our friends >:3c
I can fix him (no really I can) gives such VashWood energy
excerpt from the first chapter of my slow burn Vashwood romance, Like Real People Do [regularly updating on ao3!]
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The problem was that Wolfwood was in love. Hopelessly, stupidly, pathetically in love with Vash the Stampede. It hadn’t started out that way, of course. Did it ever? All he knew was that somewhere between July and whatever godforsaken town they found themselves in now, he had fallen hard.
The blonde had ridiculous ideals, a bottomless stomach, simultaneously the best aim and the worst clumsiness of any man he’d ever met. He was brave and reckless and foolish and brilliant, and he was utterly out of reach. Wolfwood didn’t suppose that Vash had even considered the possibility that he was anything but a traveling companion, a sidekick. Not maliciously, of course. He figured Vash cared for him about as much as he cared about anyone, that being far too much. But Vash cared about him like a puppy, or a very reliable gun. Wolfwood loved Vash like the sun, like an angel. Like a man.
Tonight, Vash opened a nondescript door in a nondescript lodging house and flipped a smile over his shoulder at Wolfwood. “Only one bed, preacher man.”
Wolfwood looked him up and down. “You don’t usually complain, needle.”
Vash laughed and flounced in, sprawling on the bed with a puff of dust. “I’m still not, don’t worry. Dontcha wish you could bring a girl back or somethin’ though? Must get old havin’ to share with me.”
Wolfwood looked intently at his cigarette. “Sure. But I wouldn’t want ya to get lonely. Not my fault you always strike out.”
Vash pouted. “C’mon, they just don’t know what they’re missin’!” He put on an exaggerated baritone voice. “The six million double dollar man, the Humanoid Typhoon, the peace-loving gunman! Ladies can’t help swooning for me!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wolfwood smirked. “Just lemme know before you kick me out for your conquests, huh?”
Vash nodded earnestly. “Of course! I’m not a jerk.”
“Tell that to the girls next time.”
Vash sat up on the bed, a hand pressed dramatically to his chest. “You wound me, Nicholas.”
Wolfwood rolled his eyes. “C’mon. You definitely won’t have any luck if we don’t head downstairs before closin’ time.” He hefted the Punisher on his shoulder and sucked in another lungful of smoke.
Vash posed in the room’s cracked mirror, making sure his hair was spiked up as high as possible. “Alright, alright. Let’s go!”
Wolfwood claimed a table in the corner and got to work building a cloud of smoke around himself. Vash leaned on the bar, his red coat fanning out as he gave a megawatt smile to the girl behind the counter. “Two beers please, gorgeous!”
Wolfwood shook his head with something like fondness. Vash always came on too strong. He’d likely be picking up the pieces of the blonde’s broken heart later tonight, but he wouldn’t complain. At least he got to hold something of his.
Vash stumbled his way to Wolfwood’s table a few minutes later, waving a hand to disperse the smoke. “I was cultivating an aura over here,” Wolfwood groused.
“How is anyone gonna see us like that?” He slid Wolfwood a beer. “Here, make this last, alright?” Wolfwood stared into the bottom of his glass as Vash leaned his toned forearms on the table. “I think the bartender girl likes me,” he grinned.
Wolfwood snorted. “Ya mean she didn’t slap you yet?”
“Heyyy they don’t all do that!” Vash whined.
“Whatever you say, blondie. Ya gonna kick me out of the room then? Give a man time to find other arrangements, would ya?
“Nah, it’s not like that. Not yet, anyway. Besides, I don’t wanna get locked down too fast. The night is young!”
“Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Wolfwood pretended not to notice Vash’s failed attempts to wink at the bartender, who was conspicuously avoiding any glimpses toward their table. Eventually the gunman tired himself out and slumped on the tabletop, defeated.
“Maybe I read the situation wrong somehow, Wolfwood. Ya think that’s possible?”
He blew a slow stream of smoke to the ceiling. “It’s not impossible.”
“Awww man! She probably thinks I’m ridiculous.”
Wolfwood stared at Vash long enough that the blonde started to blush. His voice was uncharacteristically soft. “Who cares what she thinks.”
“Hah, yeah. I guess so.” Wolfwood couldn’t take his eyes off the soft pink that dusted Vash’s cheeks, the way it crept down his neck and reached the tips of his ears. It made him dizzy, reckless.
“No really, who cares what she thinks? Anyone would be lucky to be with you, Vash.” The words were out before he could swallow them, and Wolfwood briefly considered drowning himself in his beer.
“Gee thanks, Wolfwood. Guess it’ll be another cozy night for us, then. At least till someone realizes my worth.” Sarcasm lingered on the last word, like he didn’t quite believe it.
The cigarette suddenly felt like it was burning Wolfwood’s lips. He stubbed it out hard on the table, willing the awkwardness to dispel with the smoke. “Well. I’m gonna call it early. Good luck down here.” The priest was up and gone before Vash could protest.
As soon as he disappeared upstairs, Vash slumped down his seat. Why did he always do this? That would’ve been such a good opening, he thought miserably. When was Wolfwood going to realize?
The familiar doubt that haunted Vash reared its head. Wolfwood was never going to realize, because he would never think of him like that. Could never want him like that . Vash wasn’t even human, just a battered, alien thing.
He picked up Wolfwood’s discarded cigarette in shaking fingers and pressed the end to his lips. The paper was cold and damp with Wolfwood’s spit, but the core was still warm. Vash sucked it softly, the acrid burn in the back of his throat like a penance.
Female characters who are the sole voice of reason <<<<<<< Female characters who think of themselves as the sole voice of reason but who are actually just as insane as those around them
non-confrontational cowboy that wont turn around after the 10 paces
〔 𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐇𝐂𝐒 〕𓂃 ⟡
uncanny vash x reader
cw: body horror (not rlly but just in case)
a/n: i’ve seen multiple drawings/hcs on uncanny vash so this is me mushing them all together sorry (this is slightly creature vash as well!)
- i feel like most uncanny vash hcs are more like.. creature vash hcs
- uncanny vash: okay he’s fucking creepy guys. his pupils like voids surrounded by a shining blue iris, they’re kind of always unfocused even as you talk to him. he chitters, chirps, clicks, its scary sometimes when you wake up and hear him in the middle of the night.
- uncanny vash hums too, but its always to himself. like an almost silent humming, just a soft sweet tune rumbling from his chest as he stares at nothing in particular.
- he doesn’t talk much, truthfully. relies on vague gestures or small chirps. usually when he talks its with you, but still it mostly consists of short sentences and phrases.
- a lil self indulged but he can unhinge his jaw, drop it and there’s rows of jagged teeth. and it makes you a little scared to be honest, like shit what he could bite my face off while kissing me if he wanted to.
- but of course he doesnt. he locks his jaw back and gives you a sweet, innocent smile, just showing his front row of teeth. and the duality is so unsettling you think about his rows and rows of sharp teeth while you kiss him
- first time sleeping next to him and you genuinely thought you were going to die. like you’re falling asleep, just barely conscious, and this deep rumbling sound starts. your eyes flashing open and your heart is beating out of your fucking chest, eyes darting around for the source.
- and it’s your fucking monster, creature, boyfriend—THING sleeping. vash’s long ass arms and legs wrapped around your body while he purrs and clicks right in your ear.
- for the first couple of days, honestly, you can’t sleep. cause its so fucking loud and right next to you. it takes a while, but you end up getting used to it to the point where you can’t sleep without his silly noises. and he’s just happy to be there, he has no clue he purrs in his sleep.
- i feel like maybe he forgets how fragile humans are and he sometimes handles you too roughly. like he’s playing with your fingers and he tries to move them in a way that is impossible for a human, and you have to tell him that you don’t like that and its bad. so he learns to handle you more gently.
- uncanny vash doesn’t… really understand love. at least not in the same way humans do, like he just does not get what kissing does or hand holding, he likes to express his love in very different forms.
- he likes keeping you close to him at all times. now im kinda projecting my “normal” vash hcs but hear me out. you’re like the shiny rock he found and he just keeps you in his pocket because mm so shiny, so pretty.
- he is very much possessive of his shiny rock indeed. keeping his abnormally large hand on your back or your neck (you had to introduce hand holding to him.)
- love bites are his thing! maybe not necessarily leaving marks, but the feeling of your flesh in between his very much dangerous teeth gives him butterflies!! please let him nibble on you
I wrote a thing about Vash burying Wolfwood in the 1998 continuity
Twin Sized Mattress
(1.6k words)
He was dead.
Vash had to keep telling himself that as he looked at the upturned dirt, the makeshift grave. He didn’t have the resources for the burial Wolfwood deserved, who was laid gently in the hole in the ground, around the size of a twin-sized mattress.
People often recounted their loved ones looking peaceful in death. This was nothing like that. Wolfwood looked like he loathed everything about the situation. But he couldn’t.
He was dead, he reminded himself.
He looked like he was simply having a nightmare, his brows furrowed, even in rigor mortis. Vash felt heavy, ill, as he looked at him, wanting to memorize his features. He didn’t want to forget him, the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he loved. The way he cared , even when the man really didn't want to.
The reality was, Vash couldn’t forget him, even if he wanted to, even if he tried. It wasn’t possible. That didn’t stop him from being paranoid anyways. A man, involved in his life for such a short span of time compared to the 150 years Vash has been alive, had altered many things within Vash. The way he saw himself, most prominently.
Wolfwood didn’t see Vash as a monster nor as an abomination. He saw him as a person , even when Vash physically wasn’t one. Wolfwood defended Vash, even when Vash himself wouldn’t. He blocked the stones thrown at him by the townspeople, he felt anger for Vash when he refused to.
He called him an angel frequently, almost nonchalantly. As if he wasn’t aware of the words he was uttering. But Vash knew Wolfwood was aware. Aware of the impact it held on Vash, aware of the way those words pierced through him, so intimate it hurt.
He wouldn’t hear Wolfwood call him angel ever again.
He was dead, he reminded himself.
Vash sucked in a breath, painfully aware that he was the only one still able to draw in air. The nagging feeling that the man in the ground should be him ate away at his insides. His hand idly reached into his pocket, taking out the pack of cigarettes he had taken out of Wolfwood’s suit pocket before laying him in the grave.
The edges of the box had been stained dark crimson, almost brown now, with blood from Wolfwood’s wounds. Vash traced his thumb over the stains, almost reverently. Blood spilled in a human sacrifice. He took out a cigarette, placing it between his lips, trying to imitate the way Wolfwood usually held it. He didn’t want to forget that either.
He didn’t light the cigarette, as he looked down at Wolfwood. He had to finish burying him first. But even imagining it, the dirt thrown onto Wolfwood, felt innately wrong. Vash shouldn’t be burying him like this. He should have a coffin, a gravestone, not some hole in the middle of the desert. A nameless grave, known only to few.
“Well…” Vash sighed, “This is shit, isn’t it, Nico?” Vash said, his voice hoarse. He wasn’t sure why his voice was so rough. He hadn’t cried yet, not allowing it. He knew if he cried now, he would latch himself to Wolfwood’s body and never let go, opting to bury himself with him. A lump formed in his throat and he struggled to swallow it back down.
Vash stood in silence for a moment, just looking at Wolfwood, raking his gaze over his form. It was almost physically painful to look at him. It always hurt to look at Wolfwood. It was like looking directly into the sun. Vash’s sun. It hurts for a different reason now, similar to when a star dies, so do all the planets around it.
“Nico…” Vash started, not quite knowing what to say. He hoped Wolfwood could even hear him, he hoped that God, the one Wolfwood whispered prayers too when he thought no one was looking, would deliver his message. The rosary Wolfwood had given to him months ago felt like it weighed fifty pounds, hanging around his neck. It felt like a magnet, connecting him to Wolfwood, wanting to drag Vash down with him. He clutched it with his metal arm, too holy to touch with flesh.
“I always thought I was going to be the one to bite the bullet first.. It’s ironic that it’s the opposite…” He said, his voice breaking. Tears fought their way to spill, and still, Vash wouldn’t allow it. “I hope you can still protect me from up there…or wherever you are now” There was still so much to say, but he can already imagine how Wolfwood would reply. Vash wanted to apologize for not being able to help him, but he can practically hear Wolfwood scolding him.
“Stop beating yourself up. It’s not your fault, Needle-noggin’” He would say. Yet, Vash would still feel like it was. He always did. There was silence again, like Vash was waiting for Wolfwood to reply.
He was dead, he reminded himself.
How many times was he going to say it to himself until he believed it? No matter if it took centuries, millennia. He couldn’t, not after all that happened.
His subconscious rendered him useless. He felt…he didn’t know what he felt. Vash and Death were old friends. He experienced death first hand, lived and breathed it. He caused it. This was different.
The grief he felt was different .
Vash knew what grief was too. He knew it with Rem, with the people Knives had killed because of him. This feeling he felt, weighing heavy in his chest, was nothing like that.
This was deeper. He didn’t even know how to put such an emotion into words, he didn’t know how to make it tangible, for him to understand. But it was there, festering. It threatened to consume him if his guard was down, desperately trying to claw its way out of his chest. It wanted everyone to know Vash’s pain.
Vash forced it back down. He wouldn’t suffocate others with his own grief.
For him, guilt and grief usually went hand in hand. And the guilt Vash currently felt was continuously running scenarios through his head, on loop. Scenarios where he had done something. Scenarios where Wolfwood would still be alive.
He snapped out of his stupor, cutting those running thoughts off. He couldn’t let those types of thoughts take hold right now. He sighed.
“I’m sorry…” was all he said, his teeth biting into the unlit cigarette he still held in his mouth as he picked up the shovel again, preparing to cover Wolfwood’s delicate corpse—in reality it was anything but delicate, covered in scars and calluses, open wounds—with coarse sand. But before that, Vash grabbed the hem of his coat, the ends already tattered with wear, and used his metal arm to tear off a piece the size of his forearm.
It wasn’t much, but Vash needed something to shelter Wolfwood from the roughness of the world. Vash had tried to do that when Wolfwood was alive too. In those quiet moments they shared. They were nothing amazing, no grandiose professions of love or anything of the sort. Those feelings were shared in quiet, small moments. Moments when Vash watched the sunset silently next to Wolfwood, who was smoking a cigarette. Or moments when they could only afford one bed at an inn, and they lay together, backs facing each other.
They would always wake up pressed against each other in the morning. Even in sleep, they would be seeking comfort from each other. Vash knew the same thing would apply in death.
Vash began to cover Wolfwood now with shaking hands. The shovel felt heavier than it should be, the sand he lifted with it even more so. He moved like a machine, rhythmically dumping sand onto Wolfwood. This was wrong, he repeated to himself. Yet, Vash continued anyway. The sun was setting when he finished, and he let the shovel fall to the ground, scrounging through his pockets.
He pulled out Wolfwood’s lighter, holding it in his palm. There were scratches littering it, and it was obvious that Wolfwood had had this lighter for a while. It was a miracle it still even worked with how many packs the man smoked in a week.
He clicked the lighter to life, bringing it to the end of the cigarette. He inhaled deeply, the sting of the tobacco searing through his throat and nose. He coughed harshly, tears stinging his eyes. He sobbed. The sound surprised him, as if it wasn’t coming from him, as if he wasn’t expecting it at some point.
Vash rubbed furiously at his face, trying to force the tears to stop, but the relief he felt wouldn’t allow him. He took another ragged inhale, the tobacco stinging again, but this time the sting was dulled by the nicotine. The smell of the cigarettes would linger, buried in his coat, his hair, his skin. Any other time, the smell of Marlboro Reds would be comforting to Vash because it reminded him of Wolfwood. Now, it felt like he was being crushed under the weight of grief, under the tears that wouldn’t stop spilling.
He gasped between the sobs, feeling like he couldn't breathe. He had half the mind to start clawing at the sand, to dig him back up. He wanted to. Vash wanted him back, wanted to see his face. But he knew that no matter how much he looked at Wolfwood, how much he memorized, how much he reminisced, Wolfwood wouldn’t wake up. He wouldn’t come back.
He was dead , he told himself.
He is dead . His mind refused to stop repeating it.
No, Vash wouldn’t learn to accept it, even if he repeated it a million times. He inhaled the tobacco again, his tears reluctantly ebbing to stop. He was sure this feeling was going to be permanent, and for however long Vash lived, he would have a bleeding wound. A wound around the size of a twin-sized mattress.
(Very Messy) Vash doodles while watching FMAB with my friend
I need the Hozier and Vashwood enjoyers to LISTEN
LISTEN
the new song Too Sweet by Hozier
IS JUST WOLFWOOD'S POV ON VASH
LISTENNNN
during the chorus, the bells aren't actually wedding bells. They're DEATH KNELLS. WOLFWOOD???? WOLFWOOODOODJFJSJDJSHDB GRGRGRG??
I can say a lot about this but stringing the thought together is hard, I might post this again that isn't just coherent babbling and literally detail every bit of the song and how it relates to Vashwood
Side note what's with Hozier and making Vashwood coded songs (Unknown/Nth)
Blame Elvis Presley for this.
The moment I got "Youre the devil in disguise" stuck in my head, my brain immediately made the connection on how perfect this song is for og Vashmeryl (in more ways than one)
And well, hyperfixation and lack of impulse control made me churn this out in one weekend.
Rendered chibis here
Frames here
You can also find this on YouTube