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𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

The reason why I am writing this letter to you is somewhat difficult to explain. It's something much bigger than me, a greater power beyond my comprehension that unfortunately, is slowly consuming everything around me. I’ve come to find myself plunged into deep despair, and at the same time, I learnt to accept the cowardice that has been invading me for not being able to muster the necessary strength to look at you in the eyes and tell you what you will read here in a few moments.

Pretty easy right? To hide between words, ink and paper. I'm sorry about that.

I will start by saying that, when I first met you, I came to realize that everything I knew and defined as my world would transform into something entirely different. You were the strike of lightning in the pouring rain, a hit that came with enough force to demolish an entire city. Your presence was all over the place, making it hard to ignore you. Every step you took resonated loudly in my head. And despite of what your name represents and what people often acknowledges you as, I have realized that it only covers a small part of what you truly are.

I think you are incredible, Vash. You are kind, you are a gentle being. You are the most wonderful coincidence that I have met in my life. You are an imperfect creation, but so am I. And so is everything else. And no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to fully comprehend your greatness. But that's okay, because I already came to create my own conclusions. Just like you don't need to fully understand why I feel the way I feel when I notice you are near me. Or how the blood flows violently in each and every of my veins when I hear you breathing softly while you are sleeping on my chest. Even when, I suppose that you too have already come to create your own conclusions about it.

My love for you has grown so unbridled that I fear of losing my mind. So, that's why I decided to get away from you, from the room we shared, from the city where we used to travel together. Having you by my side hurt, because despite the suffocating closeness, you were still miles away from me.

And it hurt, it hurt immensely because my heart is exposed. Open the palm of your hand and there you will find it, bleeding and throbbing with emotion and life. While yours, is hiding behind an iron barrier attached to the left side of your chest. A barrier I could never cross no matter how hard I tried.

And because of that, I wish your gaze had never met mine. I wish you had never saved my life. I wish our lips had never touched. I wish you had never felt embarrassed to undress yourself in front of me. I wish I never had to see you cry while nightmares tormented you at midnight. I wish your pain would just go away. I wish you never had to suffer. I wish you had never deprived me of the right to love you.

I wish for so many things.

And I also foolishly wish that you loved me as much as I do, despite everything, despite all of this.

I love the scars in your body that form together a map I have traveled so many times with my lips, a map vividly embodied in my memory. I love your eyes and the color of your hair. I love the little mole that adorns the highest part of your left cheekbone. The aroma of your skin and the contrast of temperatures that your hands emit when you embrace me. I love when you laugh and I also love that you are easily moved to tears. I love the sound of your voice at any time of the day. I love listening to you hum that song you like so much and I love dancing with you that waltz we drunkenly invented one night out in the dark alley of a bar, and therefore, only you and I know. I love all the versions I've met of you.

I have even come to hate that word, ‘love’, because I consider that is too vague to describe what arises within my being when I lift my stare from the floor and see you standing in front of me. But I've learned to settle for it, so yes, I love you. I absolutely love everything about you, your worst and your best. I love you, Vash. And I am a slave to my own body because it refuses to feel otherwise, to think otherwise.

I will be devoted to you until eternity comes to an end, even though I don't really have a clue of how long that will be.

Knowing you, that idea does not please you at all.

So, forgive me.

Forgive me for stumbling upon your way that rainy day, and for trying to love you the days that came next.

Forgive me for that, and for all the other things, so I can leave without wanting to look back.

                   -Yours entirely. Yours forever.

What followed after was the image of Vash going through the door, running after those faint footsteps of your boots imprint in the unforgiving sand of May City. Holding against his chest the crumpled piece of paper that had the last bit of your essence. The trace that a weak, broken heart left behind as an old souvenir. Pieces slowly intermingling with the ground, waiting to be picked up by the hands that undid them in the first place. And as he ran, it wasn't just the scorching sun of a summer afternoon the only thing that burned. The love you felt for that mysterious man with the empty smile and tender eyes was consumed in ashes. The sun was burning, but your heart and your soul, were burning even stronger. And Vash ran, he ran for hours until his legs sank in the dryness. Ran until your trail was lost. And he cried too, cried until exhaustion did not allow a single more sob to come out of his throat. But he managed to stand up, just like he always has, and kept searching. Praying silently to the heavens for another coincidence, another way to find you once again.

𝘛𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵

Vash the Stampede x reader (no pronouns used)

The piece below contains the bleak words from a remitter that considered not deserving a response from its addressee. A mere confession from a worn out soul to another.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man with a geranium colored spirit.

A farewell letter dedicated to the man that will be loved until the five moons that adorn the sky, fall before the eyes of this desolate heart.

Seguir leyendo

Scars

Summary: Scars to some are something to be proud of, a story that unfolds across flesh; but to others, scars are something to be hidden, something shameful and disgusting. But here is a man who thinks so lowly of himself, yet upon him is an artwork of peace and love.

Authors Notes: This is something I wrote a while ago but I think it's still good enough to post :) Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Slight nudity, nsfw themes.

“Your scars,” she lightly grabbed Vash’s chin and let the pads of her fingers run along his jaw. Small nicks and lines of new flesh rested on his neck, the further down you went the more gruesome the injuries became. Fingernails lightly pressed into his soft skin; she wanted him to know she was here, alive and real—not some illusion or figment of his imagination, but a breathing being that found it in herself to worship the God before her; he didn’t believe he was worthy of such a title. He always ignored the praise, telling her that no God would look so terribly ugly. The mere thought that he saw himself as some monstrous creature made her heart hurt. She smiled and finished her sentence, “—tell a story.” 

He faced away from her, blonde hair damp from the shower he had taken moments before. “A story?” His voice was quiet, nervous. A lamb standing before a slaughterhouse. He was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, hands gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. She knew that he didn’t like being vulnerable like this, shirtless and trapped in a room with a woman who always seemed to walk right past his walls and barriers, right into his very soul. He needed to know though, needed to realize how much she truly, utterly loved him.

She hummed, staring at his light blue eyes—they reminded her of humanity, of the good that rested in the world and all the people that rested under the skies, waiting for another day to arrive—as she smiled softly. She let her wall fall slowly, each brick cracking with determination. She had to let him see how she really felt, how every time she looked at him all she could see was beauty. Godly. Divine. A relic of some holy religion that has been long forgotten. “Do you want to know what these scars say?”

He turned his head and made eye contact, only to break it immediately. A light pink dust covered his cheeks, and from the way he kept trying to move away from her touch, she figured he would refuse her advances. She would accept his refusal, but it wouldn’t be any less disappointing. She wanted to get on her knees and pray, beg to be able to touch such a divine being—someone who, despite the horrors of the world around them, managed to keep a heart so pure and truthful. No human could do such a thing, he had to be something else, something completely heavenly. 

He found himself looking at a small dip in the wooden floor, memorizing the grain. His grip on the sheets tightened. She pulled her fingers back and let them hang by her sides. She should’ve known not to press too far—

He nodded. 

She paused.

He . . . agreed? She blinked and let a soft grin cover her face, heart pounding with both excitement and nervousness. This is it, she thought, this would be the moment she could show how much adoration laid within her bosom. “You can stop this story at any time,” she tilted her head and put her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. The light pink of his skin changed into a deep red, slowly crawling down his neck. “I’ll always be here to recite this poem to you, so don’t worry about missing any of it. Don’t worry about pushing yourself. Okay?”

He nodded, fear seeping down into his very pores. She could tell that every part of him was screaming to run, hide away and cover himself; yet he carried on, and God, she wanted to cry from happiness. He was trying, he was starting to see himself from her eyes. He was starting to know how much she adored him. He was, despite the devilish terror that tormented him, pushing on. A soul so very brave yet so very paralyzed.

She traced her fingers down to his shoulder, where a large scar rested. He shivered as her touch moved across him so intimately. Knuckles brushing against the veins in his neck, making his blood roar and heart scream. “This one tells me of your bravery,” she slowly traced it and moved lower, towards his chest. She ignored the quiet, scared breaths, and the nervous twitches—what he needed right now was reassurance, a way to know that he isn’t a monster, but a God worthy of a devoted priestess. “And this one tells me of your kindness, compassion. How you care so deeply for others but ignore yourself. This one shows me how dedicated you are to your goal, your morals. How unshaking you are in the face of tragedy and pain—you know what you want and strive for it every day. Despite the hardships you face, you move on.” The pads of her fingers lightly caressed the scarred flesh, thumb rubbing circles. He bit his lip and opened his mouth, but she shushed him before he could speak any ill-words about himself.

“This one, oh, this one,” she leaned closer and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He stiffened and let out a strangled breath, the tips of his ears burning red. She brought her fingers to his left arm, feeling the border between flesh and metal. “This one is important, do you know why?”

He was silent. 

“Because it shows that even in the pits of cruelty you manage to find a way to save, a way to choose the lesser evil—no, not even the lesser evil. You manage to find a way to avoid both and accomplish everything at once, you don’t take the devil’s offer, you forge your own path.” She pressed a light kiss to his neck. Her lips were cold against his warm, flushed skin.

“Mayfly,” he forced out, hands awkwardly hovering over her, not sure what they should do. “Please.” He wasn't sure if he was begging for her to stop or continue on; head dizzy with so much confusion and affection. How can she love me?

She kissed him again, slowly trailing down his shoulder. She took her time, pressing a kiss to each scar, uttering praises that would put any man in the grave from happiness. “Your scars tell me how you survive despite the pain. They tell me of how kind you are. They whisper about how you take on the world and suffer under the weight of it. They tell me of how you think you’re nothing more than a disgrace,” she pressed a kiss into the center of his chest, getting onto her knees between his legs. “But that is wrong, my Love.” He flushed bright red and snapped his head up to look at the roof, not able to find it in himself to look at her. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw her between his legs, uttering praise and kissing his flesh—the parts of him that he was so deeply ashamed of.

“You deserve kindness,” she kissed another scar, “compassion,” another, “love,” another, “and anything else you could dream of.” She grabbed his waist and slowly stood up, hands coming to a rest on his shoulders. “You think you are ugly, horrid,” she grabbed his chin and made him look her in the eyes. Tears glistened on his eyelashes, cheeks burning harshly with both adornment and embarrassment. “But you are nothing short of a God, nothing short of beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be by your side, to feel your friendship and love. The world treats you unfairly, makes you think you are a demon, and I will not let those lies poison you, do you understand me?”

Silence sat in the room for a moment—thick with too many emotions to count.

Tears started to slip down his face. Abandoning all reservations he had, he grabbed her hands and pulled her forward, sending them both into the bed. Arms curled around her and pressed her body into his, warmth melding into a hearth of love. “What—” he managed to choke out, “what did I do to deserve you?” He shoved his face into her, overwhelmed with just how much he loved her.

“What didn’t you do?” she huffed and slowly ran her hands through his hair as he silently sobbed into her neck, “you’re a saint, Vash. If anything, God should’ve given you better gifts than me.”

“You’re the best thing I can think of. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” his voice was weak and quiet, emotions pouring out of him so fast he couldn’t control them. He knew he'd be ashamed in the morning, cursing himself for being so open, but he couldn't help it. Love and safety were before him, tempting him with peace. How could he deny such a great thing?

She opened her mouth to argue but sighed in defeat. The night was about him, and she wouldn’t let her insecurities get in the way. “Even more than doughnuts?” She jokingly whispered to him, hoping to lighten the heavy mood that had overtaken the silence. He began to calm down, his sniffles fading from the room.

He paused and peeked his head out from under her, “that’s unfair.” 

She blinked and grinned, “are you saying you love doughnuts more than me?” 

He let out a strangled yelp. “No!” he shot up, dragging her into his lap and he pressed his back against the wall. “I just love them in a different way!” His hands came to settle on her waist, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin. Small tears ran down his cheeks, dripping off his chin into his lap. She wanted to catch each one and hold it close, making sure that every part of him was cared for.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, nose pressing against his. “Can a doughnut do this?” She kissed just under his eye, wiping away his tears, before lightly tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. He shivered and tensed up, eyes focused solely on her.

“No,” he breathed out in a lengthy sigh. He glanced at her lips before meeting her gaze, face slowly heating up once again. He wanted to look away but something about her was pulling him in, making him face his fears.

“Or how about this?” She dragged her lips along his cheek before meeting his, tension snapping in the room all at once. He was gentle, nervous, as if the moment he gave into his desires she would wash away into the ocean of sand that rested outside the messy bedroom window. She pressed into him a little harder, slowly coaxing him out of his shell, and the moment he fully emerged, she drew away.

She pulled back and smiled at him. He hesitated a little, a small whine echoing out of the back of his throat. Her heart twisted hearing that sound leave him—she wanted to hear it again, and again. Such a sweet sound . . . something that made every nerve in her body ignite with excitement. “So, do I win? Am I better than a doughnut?”

He gripped her hips and pouted, “much better. Can we finish that kiss now?” He wiped his eyes on his shoulder, rubbing the rest of his tears away. He glanced down at her chest before trailing back up to her crimson eyes, which held so much love and affection he had to turn away before he became overwhelmed. 

Badum, badum, badum. When had his heart started beating so fast? It felt as if the winds of the desert had settled into his chest, roaring to be let out, to be free once again.

“Only if you beg.”

He thought for a moment, only a moment, and decided that he was in too deep—might as well finish the play? Right? The show must go on. Besides, maybe she'd give him something more. So, without even a moment’s hesitation he purred out a “please, love~” He tossed his head back and whined, “Please! Just one kiss, please. One?”

He blinked in shock at the sound of his own voice, so high-pitched and needy, and promptly screwed his eyes shut from embarrassment. He gripped his lover a little tighter, hoping she'd let him off the hook easily. Though, he supposed he wouldn't mind if she was—no! He shook his head and huffed. Don't think about that. He wasn't going to ruin this precious moment with his. . . unsightly desires.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shook her head happily, “I didn’t expect you to actually do it.” She snickered and lightly nibbled on his ear.

He turned an even darker shade of red.

“I’ll do anything you say," he mumbled into her neck and wrapped his legs around her. He wanted her impossibly close—to meld into one, to be one.

“Love yourself then. Accept that you’re wonderful and deserve every good thing life has to offer.”

He pouted and pressed his nose into her cheek, “fine, but I’m getting another kiss.”

She hummed, “alright. Deal."

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

Vash The Stampede themed bookmark!

It was a ton of fun to draw 😁

Check out my video about it:

YouTube

Vash The Stampede (for my friend) | Trigun | #art #trigun

A Vash themed bookmark for my friend! It was a ton of fun to make 😁