Chapter Text
VashtheStampede @ HumanoidTyphoon
Don’t forget to mark your calendars! My newest single, Love&Peace, comes out in three minutes!
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Originally he only debuted as simply Vash. Only after a printing error from a popular website mistakenly thought his debut EP, The Stampede, was part of his moniker did it stick. His agency handled it with grace, making his new debut name Vash the Stampede.
He took the world by storm. Not only had he been one of the more open idols about disabilities and had no shame in showing off his prosthetic, but his entire idol campaign banked on the word ‘wholesome’. His music videos were never provocative, his outfits were always layered to where he rarely showed any skin. His rare live streams were bubbly and sweet, not an ill comment or swear word in sight.
His fanbase was dedicated and enamored by the idol. Within hours of his releases, his songs hit the top charts and stayed there for months at a time. His concerts always sold out instantly. Meet and greets had to be dealt with delicately, the idol always swarmed by men in black suits and intimidating sunglasses.
Vash the Stampede was loved by any who watched him. So loved, in fact, that it was a trending meme on the internet about how hard it was to get any new merch. Unless you had connections, you wouldn’t see any of the merchandise for at least several months after their release.
He only picked up the nickname Humanoid Typhoon after a disastrous first time on a live talk show. To this day, the embarrassingly chaotic scene was snipped and used in compilation videos and reaction videos no matter how long it’d been since his appearance. Interviews and invitations to other shows never let him forget it, either.
He’d been walking out onto the talk show stage from off to the side. His clunky boot had snagged on a loose wire and he’d pitched forward. In his panic, arms pinwheeling, he’d reached out for the first thing that could steady him.
Unfortunately for him, his gloved hands had twisted into the decorative curtains encasing the center stage. His weight had yanked the material off the rungs and it came tumbling down. The weight of the curtains blanketed one of the metal poles holding up overhead lights and it teetered, tipping to the side. It slammed into another pole and, in a horrifying mockery of tumbling dominos, continued on until almost all the overhead light fixtures had shattered onto the floor.
Chaos surrounded him. Stage hands and crew members were fluttering around. The cameraman was swiveling, trying to capture the moment but also keep a safe distance from any projectile. In the center of the hollers and cries, sat Vash. He was hunched over, hands covering his face.
“I’m a human typhoon,” he choked out, unaware that his mic was still connected and the audio was heard to any viewer who couldn’t look away from the car-wreck of a live show.
Since that show, Vash couldn’t run from the Humanoid Typhoon that the fans dubbed him. He took it with grace, embracing it almost as an inside joke.
Vash being a cinnamon roll for 13 minutes
Vash the Stampede dating crew member???!!!
Love&Peace lyrics |Eng|Rom|Han|
Compilation of every time Vash licks his lips during an interview
Million Knives hovered his thumb over the screen, icy eyes narrowing in intent as he surveyed the videos on his feed. He swiped up, scrolling through more videos. He pauses when his phone pings with a notification.
Vash is LIVE!
Knives raised an eyebrow, tapping on the message. His phone blanked for a second before entering the live stream. His other eyebrow followed as he stared at the focusing camera angle.
Vash was perched up on his wide bathroom sink like some sort of gremlin, knobby knees tucked up and over the side of the counter, the pajama sweats doing nothing to hide how slim his waist was. His oversized turtleneck long sleeve was hanging off his frame, baggy in all the right places to keep any prying eyes from lingering too long.
After the one and only time Vash ever wore skin-tight clothes, his clothing crew were paid handsomely to make sure such a mistake was never repeated.
Knives made sure of it.
Focusing back on Vash, he watched as the man used his black cat headband to push back his bangs.
“Hiiii~,” Vash cooed to the screen. Knives was unable to stop the scowl from forming as the comment section exploded. “I’m bored and doing my skin routine so I thought I’d let you all join me!” His smile was sweet, dimple parallel to his beauty mark.
“I’m probably going to get in trouble,” the idol muttered, eyes sweeping across the numbers of viewers watching his LIVE. Knives smirked. Of course he’d be hesitant. He usually wasn’t allowed to do anything media-related without Knives explicit permission.
“With who?” Vash read the repeated question. “My manager.”
Knives snorted. Manager.Yeah, sure.
Knives settled back to watch as Vash began to walk his audience through his routine, showing off the name brand products of moisturizers, lotions, hydrating masks - the list was endless. His fingers, both real and metal, worked the liquids into his skin, humming one of his songs under his breath as he did so.
“So my manager was thinking I try appearing in a TV show,” Vash said. Knives frowned. Vash had no filter or zipper when it came to what he should and shouldn’t say. “I dunno, though. I’m pretty content with just singing right now.”
The commenters were having a field day, spamming the chat with suggestions of what shows he could try and star in. Vash laughed, not even attempting to read them all.
“Instead of that, you can’t believe what happened today!”
Knives settled his phone down to lean against his coffee mug, letting Vash’s voice wash over him as he went back to work. His brother’s soft words lulled him into a serene state. Faintly, he wondered about Vash recording an ASMR video. He had the voice for it and the fans would love it.
In a good mood, Knives leaned back in his chair, ignoring the guttural sob from the body bleeding out at his feet.
It’d been an accident.
Vash had been LIVE, showing off his dance work-out to fans to follow along too. He’d just finished the last of his moves, chest heaving against his baggy long sleeve and sweat glistening as it trickled down his face.
Without thinking, Vash had lifted the hem of his shirt, using it as a towel to mop up the moisture coating his chin and upper lip. He rubbed at his face with the damp shirt and then seemed to realize what he’d just done. He dropped his shirt but it was too late.
Those six seconds were all the internet needed to explode.
The fans knew from that one time they collectively pretended didn’t happen that Vash had a well-toned body. It’d be weird for him not to have lean muscles with how often he was active. They weren’t surprised by the flash of abs and chisled pecs.
No, they were shocked by the discolored flesh that stretched down his sternum and slipped under his waist-band. They were focused on the blurred black tattoo that rested above his heart, looking like a metal grate that cross-hatched over his skin. They were zeroed in on the scars that ran down his stomach, prominent against his glistening skin.
He flailed, nearly tripped over his own feet, and ended the stream.
The damage was done.
“You have such a lovely voice.”
Vash beamed, leaning into the warm touch that cupped his cheek. Soft fingertips brushed back his bangs, nails scratching along his temple as they were tucked behind his ear. Beside him, Nai watched like a hawk, unblinking as he tracked the movements.
“I think it’d sound lovely with Nai’s playing,” Rem hinted, nudging Nai beside her with a brush of her elbow. Nai’s stony expression brightened, unable to hide the excitement of his piano music being accompanied by Vash’s sweet vocals.
“That’s a great idea!” Vash clambered up onto the stool and Nai was quick to join him, the two pressing as close together as possible.
“I’ll make this song for you!” Vash, ever so sweet and pure, wanting to please and be praised for his love for all. Nai allowed a brief moment of bitterness to dampen his tongue before he swallowed it down.
“How sweet of you two,” Rem cooed as she settled down to listen. Nai didn’t correct her mistakes. Even though sometimes his heart hurt and his blood boiled by how often Vash talked about the woman, Nai couldn’t help but also feel warmth when her hands carded through his hair.
He’d allow her to assume he’d ever make music for her. It’d make Vash happy if it did.
He began slowly, fingers dancing across the keys in feather-light kisses. Vash swayed side to side, humming softly as he memorized the tempo Nai was building for him. Gently his voice filled the air, soft like a whisper that built up with the steady pace.
Rem’s awed expression shuttered and crumbled as she watched the two. Unaware to them, so lost in their own world of melodies, they never noticed the faint blue lines appearing across their flesh. They didn’t see how the potted plants along the side window seemed to bloom alive by the music, thriving as if the song was water to revive them.
She held her breath long enough to exhale at the end of the song. Her smile was strained as the twins turned to her, expecting praise and applause. She clapped, her hands meeting in rhythm with her hammering heart.
The door opened to the rec room and the three looked to see one of the doctors standing there. Rem’s chest felt heavy as she watched how Nai gripped at Vash’s hand, keeping him anchored to his side on the piano bench.
“Plant 2,” the doctor intoned and the hand gripped tighter, “you’re up today.”
Vash’s eyes flashed from Nai to Rem before going back to Nai. He grinned, fighting away the trepidation. He had to put on a brave face. Showing Nai he wasn’t scared and wasn’t about to be hurt was for the best. Nai’s tests involved books, puzzles, riddles, and computers. Vash’s tests involved needles, liquids that made his head spin and sound have color, and endless pain.
Vash begged Rem not to tell Nai. He was always healed by the time he went back to their shared room. It was okay, Rem, really, it never hurt.
Vash gave a good-hearted shove at Nai and bounced off the bench, skipping his way over to the doctor.
“Want to hear my newest song today?” Vash asked innocently, trying to keep the light tone. The doctor humored him, allowing the young plant to begin singing a random tune as the door closed behind them.
Rem looked away from the door and met steel blue. Nai looked at her like one would a dying bug on the side of the room. Disgusted and indifferent. It was during these moments when Rem did nothing to keep the two from separating, that Nai seemed to close himself off to her. As if her silence and reluctance to go against any of her superiors caused her to diminish in value to the boy.
Nai turned his head and settled back on the bench. He lifted his hands, straightening his back.
The notes that wailed from the piano buried deep in Rem’s chest like a cold knife.
The news came out that he’d gotten all his scars from a childhood car wreck. It added up. It was a terrible accident and with some internet sleuthing, fans were able to pull up the public police report of the incident.
With the reveal of all the scars Vash had been hiding, fans rallied to have Vash start wearing a more variety of wardrobe. No more pants, long-sleeves, and layers upon layers. They wanted shorts! They wanted leggings! Crop tops!
#ShowustheStampedeSkin trended for an embarrassingly long time, if you asked Vash. Not that anyone did. They knew to keep their mouths shut if it involved anything even remotely related to Vash’s lack of fanservice.
“I personally think you’d pull off this crop top wonderfully,” Meryl said as she dusted more blush along Vash’s cheek bone. Beside her, Milly was applying a subtle amount of lip-gloss to his lips.
Vash let his eyes drop to the open spread of clothing sketches Meryl had worked all night on, feverishly possessed to do the hashtag justice. He eyed the sketched crop-top, finding it a bit too revealing. It hooked along his neck like a turtleneck but left his collarbone to his navel exposed, only connected along his sides to cover his ribs and underarms. The back was the same, giving clear view to his tattoos that covered his scars. It was also sleeveless, which would allow fans to see his scarred, burnt arms and where his flesh met his prostethic.
Though, the longer he looked at it, the more he grew curious.
“Y’know,” Vash’s eyes flickered up to meet steel blue in the mirror’s reflection, “this doesn’t look that bad. If you have the time-”
“I’ve already made it,” Meryl blurted and flushed, chancing a glance at her boss. Knives glowered at the two before he huffed. He knew when to chose his battles. Experience told him that going against the two women would have losing be inevitable.
Instead, Knives said, “Not in public. No photos and if I don’t like it, it’s being burned.”
Vash laughed and let Milly tilt his head up to apply a faint layer of glitter along his temples. Meryl mentally fist-pumped and promised to bring the clothes next time he had a shoot.
Knives and Vash shared a top-floor penthouse. They actually shared the entire top floor, Knives unable to cope with the idea of sharing a space with humans. The bodyguards on his payroll were housed on the previous floor, on duty 24\7 for free lodging and decent hotel food. Only one or two of the bodyguards were allowed in their room, and that was only during the times Vash was dropped off or Knives returned home from work.
Their pent house was as standard as any that could be bought with money from questionable sources. It was large, it was furnished, and it housed a dangerously dark secret.
In the back room, locked by three bolt-locks and a thumb-print reader, was where Knives kept his darkest secrets. Vash wasn’t allowed in and after the first months of curiosity waned, never bothered to figure out what exactly was in the locked room. It was Knives and Knives alone. Vash couldn’t deny his brother his own space after having to put up with him for the rest of their lives.
The bodyguards who knew of the exstence of the room made their bets, hushed and snickered during the late nights when the lack of action made them bored and drowsy. Maybe that’s where Knives kept his murder weapons. He kept his victims locked up in that room, sound proof and easy to lock in any smells.
Legato glared at them when they made their guesses, unable to stop the scrunch of his nose when Wolfwood jokingly said, “Maybe it’s where he keeps all his Vash memorbilia.”
The bodyguards laughed, amused, imagining their boss collecting posters and acrylic stands of his own brother. He followed Vash’s activities as much as any manager would to their charge.
It was a good joke though.
Behind the closed door in the back of the penthouse, Knives allowed himself to unwind. He fell into the pile of blankets adorned with his brother’s smiling face, each blanket a limited addition with tiny chibis of Vash on the inside lining. The walls were covered in posters, not a speck of the plaster to be seen. Each one was autographed and signed with a heart from Vash, posters that fans had sold on the internet. Knives had bought every single one, unable to fathom the idea of any other person putting their hands on posters that Vash had touched himself.
The bookshelves that lined the room were almost overflowing with album covers, vinyl records, acrylic stands, buttons, charms - all and more displaying Vash. The room was absent of dust or grime, Knives painstakingly dusting and cleaning the room every single day to keep it immaculate. Only the best for his little brother.
On the plush shrine was a collection of little Vash plushies, the deformed and adorably round designs allowing them to be easily stackable. Knives didn’t know how many he had at the moment - at least over fifty. They were tiny and adorable and if he hugged them all, it felt like hundreds of tiny Vash hugging him back.
He would die before ever showing Vash his shrine. He just couldn’t bear to imagine the idea of Vash walked into a room covered in his face and not think his brother had a few loose screws.
So what if he bought out the first five rows at every single concert so no fan was close to Vash? So what if his phone’s gallery was just screenshot after screenshot of Vash from interviews, paused dance videos, music videos, and the like. So what if he regularly prowled the various marketplaces online to see what fans were selling that had anything to do with Vash.
It was normal, healthy, and wholesome support for his brother.
The blurry image seemed to have been captured by a moving person, the focal point nonexistent as the edges carried no details. It showed Vash, wearing a thick red hoodie and sweatpants, climbing out of a non-descriptive black car. The man who’d offered his gloved hand to Vash was not one of the internet-famous bodyguards, but instead someone with a tall and bulky physique.
The image spread across the internet like fire, burning any ships to the deep dark depths. Because with that photo, two more cropped up. One showing Vash hanging off the mysterious man’s arm like a glorified trophy, and another showing the man leaning in close to Vash to whisper something in his ear.
Rumors spread. Was Vash gay?! Was he dating some hot sugar daddy?
Could Vash hook a sis up?
Vash scrolled through his twitter feed, cheeks a sunburnt red as he continued to look at all the comments.
“Someone wants your info leaked so they can ask you to pay off their student debt,” Vash read, looking over his shoulder to Knives. The man looked up from his salad, lips pulled into a disgusted snarl.
“Turn that thing off. You’ll rot your brain,” Knives chided.
“But Naaaaaai,” Vash whined as he dropped the phone screen-down onto the table, “the fans want to know who this mysterious money bag is! We have to answer the people!”
“I don’t understand how they can assume I’m a sugar daddy,” Knives scoffed.
“It’s because someone was able to make out your stupidly expensive Italian suit,” Vash pointed out. Knives shot the idol a sour look and stabbed viciously into his cucumber.
“It was specially made,” Knives mumbled in defense. Vash laughed.
“I’m surprised none of your employees have come out to reveal your identity,” Vash said, stretching out onto the table top. Knives used his free hand to run his fingers through the idol’s product-coated locks.
Knives shrugged. Those under his boot knew better than to risk being squashed. For some unfathomable reason, Vash assumed Knives was some sort of successful businessman. He never bothered to correct the man, finding it easier in the long run. Still, how had the internet taken a look at him and wrote him off as a sugar daddy? He was the same age as Vash.
He allowed a moment longer to keep his fingers in Vash’s hair before pulling away. If any strands caught on his rings and kept to him, only he would know that he’d later seal them in an airtight bag in his treasure room.
Loud thumping alerted the bodyguards on duty, Livio and Wolfwood, to something happening on the top floor. The two wasted no time in hauling up the stairs to burst out of the fire exit. The front door to the penthouse was wide open and both Knives and Vash could be heard inside, yelling and crying out in hurt.
Wolfwood and Livio stopped in the living room entrance and stared.
Knives and Vash were tumbling on the ground, Vash holding one arm out above his head while Knives tried to climb him like a koala to grasp at the item in his hold.
“GIVE IT TO ME!” Knives all but shrieked out. He shoved a hand in Vash’s face, trying to push the man back into such an awkward angle, he’d have to drop the item.
Livio blinked. In Vash’s prosthetic hold was a tiny plushie. Unlike Vash’s normal plushies, it had black hair, black coat, and black eyes.
“Get off me!” Vash snapped, teeth sinking into Knives’ wrist when the man nearly dug his fingers into his cheek.
“Calm down, calm down!” Wolfwood broke out of his stupor, easily hauling the two off each other. Vash hugged the plushie to his chest, hair tousled and clothes overstretched from pulling. Knives heaved for air, eyes burning in manic desire as he eyed the plushie.
“What’s going on?” Wolfwood felt like a parent all of the sudden. The others would never believe this.
“He tried attacking me!” Vash accused, inching further back when Knives took a threateningly quick step forward.
“He was going to throw it away!” Knives snarled. “That’s an ultra rare Black Night Vash plushie! Only 50 were ever made due to a manufacturer error.”
Livio shared a look with Wolfwood, a wordless, “are you shitting me?”
“It’s not even supposed to exist!” Vash argued. “The other ones got trashed too!”
Knives looked ready to draw blood. Back when the plushies were first made, the factory mixing up the color pallets with another commission at the time.. Only 3 crates worth were created before they caught their mistake, and the factory was quick to trash any that they could. Some, however, were able to escape the purge by the pockets of workers who knew it’d fetch a pretty penny.
Knives always felt like he was a failure for never acquiring one of those Vash plushies. Only for Vash to come home with a gift from one of his costume designers to unveil the plush.
Knives wanted it. He was going to get it, dammit.
“Just give him the damn doll.” Wolfwood looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there. “You two are grown ass men, the fuck.”
Vash pursed his lips before tossing the plush at Knives. Knives snatched it out of the air quickly and tucked it into his pants pockets, protecting it from Vash. The two glared at each other before turning on their heels and parting. Knives to his secret room, and Vash to the fridge to drown his anger in sweets.
Wolfwood and Livio left quickly, not wanting to handle childish sibling fights after having to referee their own siblings at home.
Not even an hour later, Knives emerged from the room and locked it back up. Vash sat sprawled on the couch, zoned out eyes staring blankly at the TV with a half melted tub of ice cream settled on his stomach.
Knives sighed and sat down next to Vash, pinching the carton of ice cream between his thumb and index finger to move it over to the coffee table.
“Sorry I freaked out,” Knives said softly.
“Sorry I bit you,” Vash grumbled.
“Yeah, what the fuck?” Knives showed off his wrist, raised little red bumps. Thankfully Vash hadn’t broken skin. “There is a time and place for our kinks, Vash.”
“Nope.” Vash grabbed the closest projectile, a throw pillow, and pelted Knives with it. “Shut your mouth!” Knives allowed the laughter to rumble out as he tried to shield his face from the blows.
Even with the love and the wholesome displays the two showered each other with, sometimes that instinct embedded into their DNA called for petty fights and half-assed apologies.