#ep: wild wild west | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heich0e · 2 years

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bittersweet - vash the stampede/f!reader (trigun stampede): 7k, listen there's only been 2 eps and i don't know the lore so i am loudy and emphatically declaring creative license, in my mind this is set before the start of stampede but not by much, heavy on the wild wild west core here, light angst, smut, fingering, needy vanilla sex, domesticity, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, boot-throwing related violence. 18+ NSFW MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

The desert smells bitter.

You wouldn’t think that sand would smell like much at all, but the fragrance that hangs perpetually in the air is heavy, singed, and acrid with the heady scent of life and its misery. Waste and runoff make their unpleasantness acutely known on the hottest days, and the fumes from old machinery that’s barely functioning thanks to age and disrepair—that no one can afford to fix, so they have to hold out hope it keeps running—clogs up the already noxious atmosphere as it rattles on throughout the day.

Mama used to tell you that outside of Jeneora Rock, the world smelled different. There’s somewhere else past the walls that mark the edge of the only town you’ve ever known, even past the wastelands—a place where almost no one ever goes, but that your Mama saw once. Or at least she said she did.

She told you it smelled clean. Sweet. Untouched by anything but the sun’s heat and the five moons’ glow.

Mama’s gone, has been for a long time now, and even though she never had much to give to you in the first place, that story is the most precious thing she left behind. You think about it almost as often as you think about her.

The end of another long day is marked by a familiar heaviness to your bones. Between the suffocating heat that makes you groggy and a hard day's work, there’s a palpable weight that bears down on you as you climb the never-ending metal stairs to your front door—your feet drag a bit more with every step.

The lock to your home is getting hard to turn. You’ve noticed it a few times now: a resistance as you slip your key into the keyhole, a pressure as you urge the mechanism to turn and let you in. There may be sand built up in there to clean out, or maybe it needs some oil.

But oil costs money, of which you don’t have much, so you really hope that it’s the former rather than the latter.

You examine the keyhole once you manage to force the lock open, dropping to your knees outside your door to peek into the narrow opening on the tarnished face of the lock. It doesn’t do you much good because the sun’s already dropped dark, and even if the light of day still hung overhead you doubt it would be enough to make the issue any clearer. You drag your thumb idly along a little scratch beside the keyhole that's probably been there for years; the metal is still warm to the touch from the heat of the day that still hasn’t quite broken, the surface a little rougher where the score is chipped in.

You sigh, picking yourself up off the ground and dusting off your skirt, and turn the knob into your home.

It’s dark when you get inside, but something feels wrong.

You shut the door behind you as you enter, pressing your back flat against it as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark. Your home, like every other one in town, isn’t really much to look at even in the plain light of day. You’re luckier than lots of people though, you’ve got a couple rooms all to yourself where some families have no choice but to cram many people into just one. Papa left you this house, cause now he’s gone too just like Mama, but not much has changed since the day he left it to you—except now there’s less empty bottles rolling around underfoot, and you get to call the little bedroom off the main room yours.

It takes a second for your eyes to get used to the dimness with the door shut tight behind you, so you blink hard to make it happen faster. You see the rickety little table against the wall near the door, and the chair on the other side of the room where you sometimes sit by the window to mend your skirts when they wear and tear—but only when you get home early enough to catch the last few moments of sun, cause Mama always used to warn you about sewing by lamplight. The shutters on the window are closed and locked now, but there’s no light outside them to let in anyway.

Something shuffles in the dark.

Papa left you a gun, too. Even taught you how to shoot it. Mama hated that. She hated how good you were at it even more. She used to say that shooting was gonna be your husband’s job someday, and that even in a world this wicked Papa was teaching you things you didn’t need to know.

But now Mama’s gone. And Papa’s gone. And the world is still wicked. And you’ve got no husband, but you have a gun you know how to shoot.

You keep it and a little stash of 7 bullets underneath your bed where you can get to it quick, but it’s on the other side of the house, and even though that’s not very far away you don’t know what’s waiting for you between the door and your bed. You don’t know if it’s faster than you are, either, so running for it would be a fool’s errand.

Inside your chest, your heart starts pumping a little harder, ‘til you can feel the wet thump, thump, thump right in the back of your mouth.

You know you need light. You need to be able to see. You can’t make any decisions until you know what’s between you and your Papa's gun tucked up safe underneath your bed.

Slowly your eyes flicker over to the lamp on your table, just within reach.

You suck a little gasp into your lungs to steel your nerve. The air is less sour in here—more familiar, a little more comforting—but the acrid scent of the desert still lingers on the edge of each breath. Slowly you reach towards the lamp and flick it on.

“PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ME!”

The frantic plea frightens you so terribly that it sends you tumbling to the hard floor, landing flat on your ass with your back thumping painfully into the wall beside your door. In front of you is a face that has no right being as familiar as it is; eyes wide in panic beneath a round pair of glasses, blonde hair tousled in disarray, two hands (one flesh and one crafted) lifted in innocence.

Your heart is beating even faster now under the tight pull of your laced waistcoat.

“Are you an idiot?” you hiss, instinctively tugging your boot off your foot and lobbing it forcefully at the unexpected intruder. “You scared the daylights outta me!”

The man sidesteps the projectile easily, and it clatters to the floor. The expression on his face morphs from one of panic to something a little more chagrined.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, drawing out the word. His tone sheepish, and his lips pull into an apologetic little smile.

You place a trembling hand on your chest, pressing down on the spot where you feel your heart thumping the hardest and willing it to slow. You stare at your scuffed floorboards and take a few breaths to ease the frenetic beat of your pulse, and feel yourself begin to wilt as the adrenaline in your veins starts to fade.

“How’d you get in here, Vash the Stampede?” you ask, looking up again at the man in front of you from your place on the ground.

“I knocked first,” he says with a grimace, “but you weren’t home and I…”

“Broke in because you’ve got someone looking for you?” you finish his explanation for him, your tone flat and entirely unsurprised.

He sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly as his head hangs forward.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

He lifts his chin only enough to guiltily meet your gaze.

“It’s just for one night,” he murmurs the plea, his bottom lip weighed down by a pout.

You shut your eyes tight, hands balling into fists over your skirt to hide the way they tremble.

“Fine.”

Vash falls to his knees in front of you, hands pressed to the floor as he gets right up in your face with a wide, cheerful grin. He’s almost nose to nose with you, the light of the lamp glinting in his glasses.

“Thanks so much! I promise I’ll be outta here before you know it!”

He doesn’t need to tell you that, because the pang in your empty stomach tells you that, even unspoken, you already knew it to be true.

Vash is travelling light again, just like the last time you saw him. He’s only got one bag that he begins to unpack onto the rickety table in your kitchen, leaving you to quietly go about your own business like you would if you hadn’t found him in your home that night. On the other side of the kitchen you unpack the meagre amount of food you’d managed to buy for yourself that day from little satchel you carried it home in. It’s barely enough food for one, and now you’ll have to stretch it between two.

“Where’s your father?” Vash asks as he fiddles with his gun at the table behind you. “I thought it was him coming through the door, and I thought for sure he was gonna blow my—“

“He’s dead.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Uncomfortable, even. Vash’s hands still even as yours keep quietly peeling the sad, withered skin from the vegetable in your hand with the blade of a half-dulled knife.

“I’m sorry,” his next words are quiet. “Your father was a nice man.”

“My father was a drunk who got himself shot in a bar fight with a merchant who came to town and was talking big. He just worshipped you because you saved the plant.”

That same uncomfortable silence creeps in again in the wake of your words, but after a few moments you hear Vash pick up his tools and start tinkering away at whatever he’s working on once more.

“Is the plant still running?” Vash is the first to speak again, though a fair amount of time passes before he risks another attempt at conversation.

“More or less,” you remark, setting a little pot on the stove to boil with whatever ingredients you’d been able to scrounge together into a meal. You watch the flame of the element burst to life as you flick the switch, a little hiss as the fire licks at the edges of your only copper pot. “Some days it’s more reliable than others. But whatever you did seems to be holding up all right.”

“Good!” Vash says behind you. “That’s good.”

You turn to face him, the unevenly mended hem of your skirt swishing around your ankles. You lean against the little countertop behind you, with your arms crossed behind your back.

“I’ll pop by the plant before I leave town—”

You watch as Vash’s fingers nimbly fiddle with his gun, broken down into its component parts to be cleaned and maintained. You’re sure it doesn’t need it—are certain he’s fired less shots from that gun in the two years since you’ve seen him than you’ve heard in town this week alone—but it’s kind of nice to watch him work, to appreciate how certain and precise his every move is, and to see how concentrated he is while he goes about it.

“—just to make sure everything’s still in good shape.”

He looks up at you, like for the first time he feels your gaze as it traces the lines of his profile. He smiles again, that same wide, willful expression of cheer that he always endeavours to wear even though he might be the person least entitled to it.

You hum. “I’m sure everyone would appreciate that. You should stop by to see Rosa too, she’ll box my ear if she finds out you blew though town and didn’t go see her.”

The two of you eat across the table from one another in silence. Just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional loud swallow passing between the two of you. Vash seems hungry, but appears to be trying his best to be at least a little restrained as he eats with you. Even though you’d given him the larger of the two portions, he’s still finished his plate before you’ve finished yours, but he sits patiently across from you waiting for you to swallow your final bite.

“I’ll take these,” he jumps to his feet before you have the chance to even push your chair back from the table, snatching both of your dishes up into his hands. “I’ll clean up, since you’re letting me stay.”

You don’t deny him, and instead slump back into your seat, dragging your wrist along your forehead. Your skin feels grimy from the hot day and the filth outside. Normally you would have bathed before you cooked, but you hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day—and Vash looked like it may have been even longer than that.

“I’m gonna wash,” you say, standing from your seat. You pause, your fingertips tracing against the rough, rutted surface of the tabletop. You know you don’t have enough water for two baths in your tank. You used to bathe with your mother when you were little, then once you were older and Mama was gone, you got the bathwater first and Papa would get in after you were done. It’s never been an issue until now. “Er—Vash?”

At the sink where your uninvited house guest is scrubbing at the dishes in the washbasin that you’d filled ahead of time, Vash pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s taken off his familiar red coat, left hanging off the chair he’d been seated in at the table, and the black turtleneck he wears beneath it stretches taut over the musculature of his back as it faces you.

“The bath… there’s only enough water to fill it once. I don’t…Do you want…?” you aren’t sure what you’re even trying to ask him, but whatever is coming out of your mouth is even less clear than the thoughts running through your head.

“I’ll bathe second, don’t worry about me.”

Vash’s smile is gentle and obliging, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they narrow into little crescents. You nod stiffly, feeling heat flush through you at the softness in his expression, and shuffle off towards the other side of your home while avoiding his gaze.

The walls of your home are paper thin, and you’re certain that Vash can hear the splash of water in the tub as clearly as you can hear the scratchy, garbled sound of his radio from the other room. Once your skin’s been scrubbed clean of the day, you sit in the water with your knees pulled to your chest and your chin tucked between them. You strain to try to make out what’s being broadcast, but it’s difficult to hear since the reception in town is always so piss poor, and whatever coherent bits of news you manage to catch are just as abysmal as always.

It’s strange, hearing someone else in the house. It’s something you didn’t realize had become so foreign to you in the time you’ve learned to live alone. The idle puttering in the other room is a sound you didn’t realize you had missed. You lean back and dunk yourself into the water, where everything goes quiet.

The bathwater never gets very hot to begin with—tepid at the best of times, which seems unfair given the climate—but you know it’s not fair to waste time in the tub when someone else is waiting for it. You pull yourself up out of the metal basin, careful not to disturb the stopper in the bottom of the tub, and dry as much water from your skin as you can. Once you’ve deemed yourself sufficiently towelled, you pull on your nightdress and a threadbare housecoat overtop.

Vash looks up from the chair in the corner by the window when you emerge from the bathroom, and he meets your eyes so unwaveringly it feels decidedly like he’s trying hard not to let his gaze wander elsewhere. You fidget under his stare, fiddling with the fraying ends of the towel around your neck that’s catching the droplets that fall from your hair. He must realize that he’s unnerving you, because he averts his eyes to a point on the wall over your shoulder after a moment.

“My turn?” he asks, his tone chipper but polite.

“All yours,” you nod, stepping into your bedroom and leaving him to his business.

There’s an old trunk at the bottom of your bed where you keep some of the things your father left that you haven’t yet been able to sell or make use of. You find an old shirt of his near the very bottom, soft and worn-thin from years of washing. It’s something you could have easily sold or traded by now, but that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to part with—though you’re certain the day will inevitably come when sentimentality can no longer outweigh your basic needs.

You stand outside the bathroom door for a moment, your father’s shirt clutched tightly in your hands. You can hear the splash of bathwater you’re sure has gone cold from where you stand, only a few feet and a thin door between you.

You muster your nerve and tap your knuckles lightly against the door.

“I have a shirt if you need something to—“

The door opens, and you find yourself unexpectedly facing the bare chest of your one-night housemate, still damp and glistening from the bath, lined with silvery scars that the low light catches on.

You toss the shirt at him unceremoniously and turn quickly away, and Vash himself makes a little sound of surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be—“

“It’s fine,” you answer before he can even finish his apology, still refusing to meet his gaze. You gesture vaguely over your shoulder without turning. “Just take that.”

The bathroom door clicks closed again, and you clutch the belt of your housecoat over your diaphragm.

You need a drink.

You cross your home to the cabinet in your kitchen, reaching to the back of the nearly-bare shelf and pulling out a dusty old bottle that’s been there since your father died. It wouldn’t have lasted a day if he were still living, and you’ve made it years without ever so much as cracking it open.

Today however, you feel it’s well-deserved.

The dust caked on the bottle smears against your palm as you open it, and you wipe the grime furiously against the material of your housecoat as you pour a long glug of the amber liquor into a waiting glass. It’s vile, lukewarm from the constant heat of your home, and burns every inch of the way down—but as you set the empty glass back onto the counter, you still find yourself grateful for it.

You pour another drink.

“Take it easy,” you hear a voice say behind you, accompanied by a breathy little laugh.

You turn and see Vash hovering not far from you, his black turtleneck folded over one arm and your father’s shirt over his no-longer-bare chest. His hair is wet, a towel draped around his shoulders just like yours, and he’s taken off his usual eyewear. The mole underneath his eye seems more prominent now that he’s scrubbed himself clean.

Your empty glass dangles from the tips of your fingers, the acerbic taste of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You hold it out to him in offering, and he scrunches up his nose a little bit.

“I really shouldn’t—“

“It’s rude to turn down a drink your host is offering you, y’know.”

Things like rudeness don’t mean anything to anyone these days, least of all yourself. Decency is a luxury few people can afford.

Vash sighs, still smiling, and takes the glass from you. Your fingers brush as it passes from your hand to his, and then you take the bottle and pour another healthy splash into the waiting cup. He brings it to his lips, wincing against the fumes alone that waft up from the glass.

“It’s better if you don’t sip it,” you offer him, though even then you know the guidance doesn’t help much.

He tips it back and drains it.

Two drinks were enough to have you feeling woozy, but you pour yourself a third for good measure. You spare Vash the pain of another, much to his apparent relief, and let him off with just the one before tucking the half-drained bottle back into the cupboard you’d dug it out of.

When you turn around again, Vash is crouched down, examining something on the ground.

Your boot. The one you’d thrown at him earlier.

He peers up at you from the floor, he lifts the shoe slightly.

“It broke again.”

A memory floods back to you then, unbidden.

Sitting side by side with Vash on the edge of the steps outside the same house you live in now, but when the way you lived was different. The plant had just been repaired, and there was a palpable feeling of effervescent joy sizzling through the town around you. An uncharacteristic camaraderie amongst the people of Jeneora Rock as the celebration of Vash’s handiwork spreading through the narrow, grimy streets. The two of you were away from it all, sitting quietly together in a strange sort of celebration of your own.

You were less a woman than you were a girl back then, but still somehow neither. He’d patched the sole of your boot back on when it had ripped loose. And you’d laughed when he handed it back to you with an endearingly clumsy flourish, the sound as high and bright as the sun that hung in the sky overhead. You still remember the way your laughter had made his smile grow.

The patch job had lasted a year. You’d sobbed the day it came loose again, just shortly after the death of your father. You’d been using twine tied tightly around the toe of the boot to hold it together ever since.

Vash blinks up at you from the ground as you stare down at him with what you’re sure is a vacant look in your eyes.

“I brought you something,” he says, hopping up and skittering over to his rucksack with your boot still in his hand. He rifles around in the bag for a moment, his mechanical arm shoulder deep as he roots for what he’s looking for. His eyebrows shoot up and he grins when he locates it—a wide, brilliant smile splitting across his face as he pulls his arm out.

He holds his find up in triumph.

You look at it with narrowed eyes.

“What… is it?” you ask, after a moment of trying to identify the small, relatively unremarkable little container in his hand.

“Boot glue!” he says excitedly, waving it in front of your face. “I thought of you when I saw it! The merchant wanted an arm and a leg for it but I managed to—”

Tears have sprung up in your eyes against your will, and you quickly turn away from him to hide them from his sight.

“Hey, are you okay?” Vash’s voice is softer now, less enthusiastic and more concerned.

That softness is what upsets you more than anything. Tenderness is a foreign thing in the desolation of the wastelands.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, scrubbing your hand over your stinging eyes.

For thinking of me.

For knowing that you’d come back.

You leave that part off, but you feel it just as much as what you say.

You drain that third glass that’s been sitting on the counter waiting for you, hoping the burn of the liquor as it sloshes down your throat to your stomach will give you something else to focus on. Or, if nothing else, that it might numb the sudden pain that’s laid roots down in your core.

Vash sits at the table as he patches up your boot under the lamplight, much like he had the first time. You watch him from the chair in the corner, under the shuttered window, with your knees drawn up into your seat with you. You’re more shameless now than you had been while he cleaned his gun, observing him keenly as he scrubs your boot with a rag and leftover water from the dish pan. He makes sure no more grime clings to it before he carefully smears a thick layer of the glue along the sole, pressing down firmly to make sure the adhesion takes. He holds the boot up in front of him when he’s done, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, eyeing it from every angle to survey his own work.

You watch him just as raptly.

He turns in his seat once he’s satisfied, holding the boot up.

“All done!” he says, hopping up to his feet and shuffling towards you. He crouches down in front of you and holds out his hand expectantly. Slowly, you stick your foot out, and he cradles it gently in his roughened palm.

Carefully he slips the boot onto your foot, tightening the laces once it’s fully in place.

“How’s it feel?” he asks you, peeking up at you from his place on the floor.

“Feels good,” you reply, with an equally breathy tone.

The lamplight doesn’t reach this corner of the room quite as brightly as it does at the table, but you can still make out a blush that sits high and pretty at the top of Vash’s cheeks. You wonder if he’s starting to feel the flush thanks to the liquor, or if maybe it’s something else entirely.

“G-good!” he stammers a little, fiddling with the laces at your ankle. “I’m glad!”

“That glue must have been expensive,” you say. “Thank you, Vash.”

He shoots you a smile as he loops his fingers through the laces. “It's the least I could do, especially with you putting me up for the night.”

For the night.

Just for the night.

The reminder makes you ache a little.

Vash helps you slip your boot off again, carrying it over to the door and setting it down beside its mate.

“I’ll leave this here for you, in case you need it again,” he says, screwing the top back onto the little pot of adhesive at the table. “There’s not much left, but there’s some.”

You nod from your seat in the corner, one leg up and one leg still down—your nightdress drawn up to your knee from when he’d helped you into your boot.

Vash ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck, dry now after his bath. Yours remains a little damp, but you’re sure it won’t last long as the residual heat from the day still hangs in the air even though the sun has long set.

“It’s late,” he finally says after a moment. “You should sleep.”

You hum in agreement, moving to stand from your chair. The room spins slightly around you, those three glasses you’d knocked back sneaking up on you while you’d been sitting down. Your foot hooks in the hem of your nightdress because of the way you’d been sitting, but before you can stumble theres a strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. A warmth pressing into you as your face meets a heaving chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Vash murmurs, his grip on you tightening for the briefest moment.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, and you don’t meet his eyes as you nod, letting him lead you towards your bedroom.

Your hands fumble at the belt of your nightdress, pulling it off and tossing the garment across the end of your bed as Vash helps you onto the mattress. You tuck your feet under the thin sheet before leaning back against your pillows, and Vash is quick to turn and head towards the door after helping you pull it up to your waist.

“Wait,” you call to him before he can retreat. He pauses in the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going to sleep?”

You hadn’t thought much about this, and you ought to have considered it earlier. You only have the one bed, but you have two pillows you can share and a spare blanket in the trunk at the end of it that you could offer him if he wants to sleep on the floor.

But you don’t want to tell him that.

“I’ll just take the chair,” he says with a blithe smile, jutting his thumb towards the armchair in the other room.

It won’t be comfortable. You know that from experience, having fallen asleep there a few times yourself after a particularly gruelling day. The stuffing is lumpy and the springs are painful if you press against them the wrong way. You know he won’t complain about it. You even know that it’s probably still more comfortable than lots of other places he’s rested his head over the past two years.

But you want to be selfish.

For once you don’t want to be alone.

“Vash,” you say quietly, and you watch his entire body go rigid at the sudden bare vulnerability of your tone. “Please stay with me.”

You’d asked him the same thing once before, but different. The words once murmured desperately against his lips as you clung to his red jacket. Staring at him with eyes full of hope and a freshly patched boot on your foot.

He’d looked at you the same way back then too. That smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As gentle of a no that he could ever offer you.

“I know you have to leave,” you murmur, eyes downcast to your hands as they rest atop your lap. “I don’t expect anything like that from you. I know it’s just for tonight.”

“Please don’t cry.”

The bed dips beside you, and Vash tilts your face up towards him. He looks troubled when you meet his gaze, even in the dim light of your bedroom you can make out the conflict on his features. It’s strange to see him not smiling, wrong almost.

But your eyes are dry.

“Stay,” you repeat yourself, meeting his gaze resolutely. You swallow hard over the lump in your throat, bracing yourself for the impending sear of rejection.

Vash cups your cheeks in his hands, and you can’t tell if it’s your cheeks or his touch that feels so warm.

“You deserve someone that can say yes to that and mean it properly,” he says ruefully, not dissimilarly to what he’d said the first time you’d asked the very same thing of him.

“I’m not asking anyone else,” you whisper, “I’m asking you."

You wonder if your mouth still tastes like liquor as Vash’s tongue dips inside of it, hovering over you as you lay sprawled across your bed.

It didn’t start like this, of course. The first kiss had been gentle, hesitant even—like Vash wasn’t quite sure if he was going to see it through at all, poised to flee at any moment. But neither of you could deny how right it felt when his lips brushed yours, an immediate wash of relief and of unadulterated want inundating you all at once. You’d been the one to crane up and bridge the gap, but soon Vash was crawling into your bed overtop of you, easing you back to lay flat as he succumbed to the same need you felt thrumming through your veins.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now—a gesture that earned you a pitchy, needy little groan from him as your fingers twisted through the blonde strands. It only seemed to make him more eager as he parted his lips against your own in a deeper kiss.

There’s something a little clumsy about it all, an eagerness and inexperience to every touch and graze. But it’s not the same as it was at first, no longer hesitant or wary—his reservations have been peeled away as surely as the clothes the two of you are wearing, until you feel nothing but his skin against your own.

Vash’s hands are as greedy and rapacious as his mouth; touching, grabbing, grazing anything he can reach. His calloused fingers cup themselves around the swell of your chest, squeezing lightly, and when you reward him with a little moan it stokes the flames of his curiosity, and his touch moves to the pebbled bud of your nipple next. He rolls it tentatively between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly, and when you gasp against his mouth, arching further into his touch, he makes his own little pleased sound of surprise before lavishing your other breast with equal attention.

His metal hand touches you more gingerly than the other, and he tends to favour the one made of flesh and bone. The contrast in sensations is a little disorienting—smooth, hard metal versus the life-roughened heat of skin on skin. It’s dizzying. You want more.

“Vash,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your lips are stinging now from the constant kissing. He’s scarcely left your mouth uncovered by his own since they first connected, but at your hoarse whisper of his name he pulls back slightly, watching your face for any sign of reproach.

“Touch me more, please,” you say to him, cupping his cheeks as he presses his forehead into yours, both of you sharing the same breath in the little space between you.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a hum, nodding a little, and kisses you again as his hands slip further down your willing, waiting form.

If he’s surprised by the wet wet heat he finds between your legs, it doesn’t stop him. One finger and then two find their way inside you slowly; he moves in gentle thrusts and scissoring motions that have your jaw going slack. His palm presses against the swell of your clit, and each time your hips jump it grinds into the heel of his palm, earning a keen from the back of your throat.

“Feels good?” Vash trails kisses up the top of your cheek until his lips are by your ear. His breathing is laboured and the air of each breath is hot as it ghosts across your skin. Your tongue feels leaden, but you nod repeatedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and keeping him close.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to breathe out, “’s good.”

It’s even better when you feel the stretch of him pressing himself inside.

The sound that’s pulled from the depth of Vash’s broad chest as he carves his way into you makes your toes curl—high and sweet and desperate.

“’S hot,” he slurs, his hips giving a shallow, desperate thrust.

He’s needy, pulling you closer as he moves you how he wants you. He loops your knees up over his elbows, his mouth frantically finding it’s way back to yours as the weight of his entire body bears down on you.

The next thrust is harder, deeper. And the pace only increases after that.

The rickety headboard of your old bed knocks against the wall each time he brings his hips down against yours. It’s loud, but so is the sound of skin on skin, and you have the distant thought as the bed frame creaks that it sounds like it might splinter underneath you—but you don’t find it in yourself to care as the pressure in you core steadily builds, threatening to burst. It blinds and deafens you to anything but the pulse that pounds in your throat. It makes your fingers curl against the skin of Vash’s shoulder blades until your nails dig into skin.

He’s still kissing you, wet and messy and noisy as his tongue presses into your mouth. He never stops kissing you.

It's nice to be with someone. To be touched. To feel wanted and needed.

Especially by him.

Your eyes flutter open, and as though he can sense your gaze on him Vash’s do the same. His expression is heavy-lidded as he pants, a little drop of sweat sitting high on the edge of his blushing cheek. He smiles a little, a soft, gentle expression you’ve never seen before.

A tenderness in his gaze unlike any you’ve ever experienced.

The pressure in your core comes undone.

He takes your face in his hands as pleasure rips through you like a sandstorm, blistering and unescapable. He’s still kissing you. Keeping you so near. In the haze it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, everything clouded into something thats both and somehow neither. Something new.

“Close,” Vash whines, grinding his hips down against your own.

Your muscles ache, the pleasure has worn you raw, and your lungs are pricking with the need for a full deep breath you haven’t been able to draw into them now for some time. But even so, you don’t want it to be over. Can’t bear the thought of being apart.

The headboard rattles a few more times, and then the pressure between your legs is gone as Vash pulls out and spatters his spend across your stomach with a long, low groan.

It’s hot. The mess on your skin, the sweat that clings to you, the paltry breaths of air you draw into your lungs. Even the sheets of your bed have absorbed the heat from both of your bodies, sticking to your skin as you collapse into them in boneless heaps, chests heaving and hearts racing side by side.

You tilt your face towards the boy crowded into your narrow bed beside you, and find him watching you expectantly.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair away from your eyes.

You hum, leaning into his touch.

Vash’s gaze travels down your body, eyeing the mess he’s made of you with wide eyes. He pops up suddenly, clambering out of bed and tripping clumsily over the sheet that’s fallen half-way off the mattress as he skitters out the door. You’re not too worried that he’s going far, considering he’s still stark naked, but you watch the doorway curiously as you wait for him to return.

When he does, he has a cloth in hand—still damp from your bath earlier in the evening. As gently as he can, Vash cleans you up; the cloth cool is against your sticky skin, and feels nice. Once he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he presses a kiss to the valley between your ribs, lifting his face to smile up at you.

You shoot him a feeble smile back.

He slips into bed beside you once more, crawling up towards the pillows and pulling the rumpled sheet up to your chins as he goes. He settles in, and with one sweep of his arm he tucks you safely against his chest, with your ear resting over his heart. His hand pats gently along the back of your hair down your spine, keeping you close to him.

Vash smells good. Clean and comforting. It makes you think of the place your mother told you about once. You wonder if he smells like that place, or maybe even better.

You wonder if he’s ever been there before.

You wonder if he’d tell you if you asked.

You open your eyes, though the effort pains you in your exhaustion, and you see him peering back at you. Vash’s lips pull into a smile, but it's one of the ones that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. An expression that you know is more for you than it is for himself.

You think the two of you have a lot in common, then. That maybe the two of you understand the same loneliness. The same feeling of being haunted.

Your ghosts live on in the trunk at the end of your bed and at the back of your cupboard, covered in dust, tucked away out of sight.

Vash’s live on inside of him, and it’s where he seems determined to keep them.

In that moment you know that even if you were to ask, he’d tell you nothing—and he’d do it for your own sake.

Tomorrow you’ll wake and the air will smell bitter and burnt, and he’ll be gone, but your boot will be mended, and the little pot of glue will remind you he was there. But tonight you’ll dream about the place your Mama told you about, and tomorrow you’ll still have the smell that clings to your sheets. So for now, the world smells different.

And that has to be enough.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede #trigun stampede fic #trigun stampede writing #writing

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tanoraqui · 2 years

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key elements of Crownless (the Young Aragorn show that lives in my head and heart) season 1:

(Note that I will play a little fast and loose with timelines and for the sake of a better story. And/or take ruthless advantage of canonical slow Dúnedain aging to spread the timeline out over several decades)

First episode(s) is Aragorn (age 21, functionally late teens) leaving Rivendell to start wandering the wilds with the Rangers. I would do Elrond & his people dirty and say that Aragorn has been kinda sheltered growing up, a little because Elves tend to baby Men, especially young Men, and mostly because everyone wanted to be sure Isildur’s heir was safe as darkness grew in the world, especially after his father was killed when he was 2.

So Aragorn starts with significant book smarts, homely peace smarts—historical knowledge, animal friendship, herblore, diplomacy skills, technical sword/knife/bow skills…but he doesn’t know the dirty fighting tricks that win a fight. His tracking, hunting, forest stealth, etc. skills…suck at first. He’s prone to freeze in urgent healing (or combat) situations, because he’s never done this on his own before—though he has a natural talent for the ‘calling people back from death’ thing we see in LotR.

(This gives Aragorn obvious skills to pick up that demonstrate his character growth as a leader, while also establishing from the start that his real talent in kingship is, always was, diplomacy, strength of character & connection with his people, literal and metaphorical healing. Also, weirdass plans, often based on things he read, with success resting on luck/prayer/hope more than any reasonable thing…including a willingness to trust strange new and/or sketchy people…and they work.)

Maybe eps 1-2 is a double-length episode: opens with newly widowed Gilraen arriving in distress with a toddler 18 years ago, then first half is mostly restless late teen!Estel in Rivendell, ending with Elrond revealing his true name, broken sword, time to go forth… Smash cut to Aragorn tripping in the forest and falling in a stream while 2 other baby Rangers laugh at him and whoever’s stuck training these new recruits sighs heavily. There’s a lot of “this is the new Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Isildur’s heir?”

Format: 22ep 44min monster of the week (like GOD INTENDED) focused on the newest young Rangers: Aragorn, Halbarad, Dúnawen (OC: “maiden of the west”, don’t @ me for naming), as they range throughout Eriador learning how to be badasses guarding the boundaries of civilization. Monsters include orcs, wargs, mortal bandits, trolls, giant spiders, a small ice wyvern that made its way to northern Dale, barrow-wrights, unhoused fëa, rival clans of Men or maybe Dwarves who are about to go to blood feud war…

…and a slowly mounting season plot of the trouble of 3 Nazgúl reoccupying Dol Goldur, after the White Council forced the “Necromancer” out 15ish years ago. (Riling up ghosts throughout the countryside? Something something themes of moving on from the past. Also, can’t go wrong with an episode in which heroes must confront their literal personal ghosts.)

Repeat cameos from Elrohir & Elladan, cousins of all Mannish Dúnedain (and kind of older brothers to Aragorn in particular.) Are they helping him? Are they harder on him than on the other new recruits? Are they good cop/bad cop-ing it?

Arwen! Meet briefly ep1 and/or she’s a key feature of midseason finale; return in season finale to be badass. “Tinúviel! Tinúviel!” scene in Lothlórien casts a hiccup in a fledgling romance between Aragorn and Dúnawen

All combinations of Aragorn/Halbarad/Dunawen ARE welcome, nay, encouraged. They’re functionally in college and they’re all hot, and constantly in near-death situations. I advise the writers to have fun. Bisexuality is free.

Gandalf introduction early, ep2? Probably also in finale (something of a large team-up).

Late season bottle episode, maybe just before a 2-parter finale, in which due to a thunderstorm/mudslide/cave-in incident, Aragorn, Halbarad and Dunawen are trapped in a cave/small series of caves with a random assortment of other travelers on the road west of Bree: a pair of Dwarvish merchants, a few men, 1 elf (journeying to the Havens to Sail?), and 1 hobbit, Mr. Drogo Baggins of Hobbiton, who was making a perilous journey to Bree and back in order to fetch his beloved, very pregnant wife a particular kind of cheese she was craving. No loss of air threat, but they’re stuck. Obviously getting Drogo home is of utmost importance (and everyone else needs to get home safe, too). Tempers run high! Only once the Junior Rangers sort out their late-season interpersonal drama can Aragorn rise to the occasion and organize/mediate this microcosm of Middle Earth’s populace to dig their way out of this cave.

Aragorn is exceptionally good at facing down Nazgúl and their weaponized despair because he has—indeed, he is, by name!—hope. This show is about hope first and teamwork second, and looking badass in a beautiful landscape while Howard Shore music swells third.

[s2 in notes]

#lotr #lord of the rings #Aragorn #ficlet #my fic

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franglishetchocolat · 7 months

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Started the project of renovating Riverview , lot by lot , without using Store items nor custom content - except for RH rugs -. Once done (which should take a while, I’m taking it slow), there should be a save file with all of the makeovers, in the meantime here is the latest one.

The WATER HOLE JUICE BAR & Grill

Remodeling of the Water Hole Juice Bar in Riverview,

Renovated on patch 1.67 -Originally in Riverview so best placed there - (Size: 20x25) - Lot label: Local Watering Hole

Wild West themed bar & grill. Closed off the backyard and added the rodeo object. There is now a terrasse on the rooftop with some more activities to do.

youtube

Using Items from:

No CC, No Store Item

EPs: WA, Ambitions, Late Night, Generations, Pets, Showtime, Seasons, University Life and Island Paradise.

SPs: High End Loft, Fast Lane, Outdoor Living, Town Life, Mastersuite, 70s 80s 90s pack, the Movie Stuff Packs. I also own Diesel but I’m pretty sure I haven’t used anything from it in this lot.

DOWNLOAD

I use markers on my lots: skip level, hidden room, public room… So to be able to modify any of these buildings you need to have cheats on: ‘testingcheatsenabled true’, then ‘restrictbuildbuyinbuildings false’ To see/remove the markers you need ‘buydebug on.

#sims3 #letsrenovate #riverview #download #Youtube

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jessharperfan · 4 months

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EP94 War Hero

Laramie was the TV series that started a slew of similars. Wild Wild West, The Virginian, The Big Valley. Alias Smith and Jones, The Lawman, Laredo, etc... Sexy buddy cowboys in tight jeans and round muscular asses on your TV. The prototypically American cowboy.

Laramie featured cinematographic framing that never failed to captured close-ups of crotches and asses, and faces. The triumvirate.

This EP has so much of the oozing goodness of Jess Harper that this is merely the opening scene.

#laramie #jess harper #60's tv westerns #sexy cowboys #jess' ass #jess harper's perfect ass #Stage Coach Crotch

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emodonnie · 11 days

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thank you @mimpinightmare for these questions!!! <3 everyone’s been doing them so honestly I’ve been feelin kind of left out😞

ANYWAY:

How did you enter this small, niche football fandom of ours??

my sister introduced me to it about a year ago! At first I was annoyed, but after enough episode replays, sadly, I was obsessed

Youngest memory you have of the show?? like I said, I’m pretty new to it and didn’t watch it growing up (I was a wild kratts kid). I do remember asking my sister what she was watching that summer evening, and I looked over her shoulder, and it was the first ep😭

Which character from Supa Strikas would you DIE FOR, and Why?

I LOVE COOL JOE!!! (and the matador guy ig) JOE IS SO TOO SILLY FOR THE REST OF THEM I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM!! ><

honorable mentions: ms Altivo, eagle eye, inyo, and brenda

Out of all the coaches, which one do you wish to KNOCK some sense into them?

unpopular opinion, but literally Coach. HE LITERALLY CARES ABOUT SOCCER HMORE THAN HIS TEAM HALF THE TIME LIKE ITS ACTUALLY INSANE!! :((

Favorite episode of the show?? (you can list more than 1, if you want)

TOO MANY!!: living the el life, greetings in sunny ferituvia, fastest gloves in the west, spinner takes all, total replay, cool aid, fly hard, on klaus inspection, strika chord (basically s6)

Out of all the background characters from Supa Strikas, which one you wish to come back as a recurring character?

kat or the guy who pretended to be shakes dad in strika chord. They’re both so intresting and should have appeared more. (also eagle eye. even though he technically is recurring, he doesn’t get enough screen time💔 he’s so cool)

THANKS AGAIN!!💗

#supa strikas #supablr #questions

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 1 year

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Sexiest Podcast Character — Scripted Bracket — Round 1

Propaganda

Chance Sequoyah (The Penumbra Podcast):

Fuckin. She's. I mean. Are you serious? She's a lesbian bandit in the wild west who raises orphans with her wife whom she met while she was robbing the train her not-yet-wife was riding. And just... everything about her. Fuck dude. I can't even describe it. Just listen to it, she's only in one proper episode (and one bonus ep) it's called The Coyote of the Painted Plains and it's only like 40 minutes. Shorter if you skip ads

Yaretzi (Hello From The Hallowoods):

Hot werewolf lady

#Round 1 #Chance Sequoyah #Yaretzi #The Penumbra Podcast #Hello From The Hallowoods

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worlddevoid · 2 months

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MASTER POST: World Devoid Essentials

!!!HALT!!! - READ BEFORE ENGAGING -

+Rules of Engagement+

DNI if you are homophobic, aphobic, transphobic, racist, ableist, sexist, classist, etc.- basically don’t interact if you're going to be a dick

Respect our characters' sexualities and identities. Baz is ASEXUAL (sex repulsed - NSFW media will be blocked) and Cassie is AROMANTIC (romance repulsed - Romanticized/Love content will be blocked) [Cassie is very sex positive though, so NSFW art for her exclusively is welcome ;)]

BAZ AND CASSIE ARE PLATONIC ONLY. BAZ+CASSIE SHIPPERS DNI

Reblog, Reblog, Reblog! If you like our content, please help us reach more people by reblogging it beyond just liking it. Unfortunately, likes don’t count for much out here in the wild wild west. We appreciate you!

With those things being said, we welcome all respectful engagement and look forward to sharing this story with you! We would love, love, LOVE to see your fanart and theories/takes as the story progresses! We can’t wait to see what you create! See you soon, freaks!

Summary

The cold, autumn sun just peaks over the horizon on a small, dirt road in the middle of rural Illinois. It is Sunday, October 1st in the year 2000. Two self-centered college students, Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Clive and Sebastian ‘Baz’ Moraz, are returning from a several month long trip after ditching classes to hunt cryptids in the woods of the Sand Ridge State Forest. Upon their return, they begin to unveil that things are anything but normal. Can these dense besties figure out what’s going on?

***Master list***

Episode 1 - This Is (Not) Your Morning

1.1

1.2

1.3

1.4

1.5 (New! FINAL PART OF EP. 1)

Episode 2 - Ey, Mall Of Terror, Ay!

2.1 (Coming Soon To A Tumblr Near You!)

...

Other Links

Cassie Clive Character Sheet

Baz Moraz Character Sheet

Author’s Note

This is the quickest idea we have ever put into action- it just kind of happened. We were driving on a long road trip and our two brains combined into one and suddenly it was taking form. We spoke the idea out loud and within the same day we had started our text based role play. We haven't stopped since! More details fell into place as we played and the story just started to take shape on its own. This spontaneous texting turned into an entire world with a full plot and line of characters. Buckle up and join us for the ride in a story that is basically writing itself...but the prophet to paper transcribing is being done by a couple of nerdy siblings- Charley Sikora (They/Them) & Chester Sikora (He/They). This is our passion project and both the story and the characters have been rotating in our heads at the speed of fast; non-stop like a 7-Eleven weiner heater that's been zapped by lightning. We only hope you enjoy it half as much as we do! Thank you for taking the time to read :)

Charley @charzardmain

Chester @same-soup-just-reheated

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hongtiddiez · 5 months

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my stand in ep 2 thoughts, feelings, etc.

alright i wanted to write this up nicely but it took me... two hours to get through the episode bc i kept stopping to write notes, so i'll do my best i guess.

weird thing about me is when i watch shows and write notes for these posts i always write the notes on napkins? i have like 5 different notebooks in arms reach at all times but i really like scribbling on a napkin for the true unhinged effect.

anyway blah blah reminder i'm just a silly dude on the internet, idk shit about dick, i just like to say shit, don't take me too seriously.

also please DO NOT leave novel spoilers in my reblogs, tags, or replies without some kind of warning label. please? it seems to happen with every show i write meta for and i LOVE that people get hyped but there's no way for me to avoid it when it's in my notifications like that.

some before the actual episode stuff; after learning last week that some of the kinnporsche people worked on this it really becomes apparent, especially in the style of the intro.

the music choices also seem a bit reminiscent of kinnporsche (and a little bit of not me) which i really enjoy. it feels kind of familiar and comforting.

immediately i loved how soft this episode started, the slight stubble on each of them, the way joe speaks so softly as if afraid to shatter their little bubble of peace, etc. i also love that the show doesn't skirt around the topic of sex and the fact that sometimes sex is awkward and clumsy, especially with a new partner and doubly so when it's your first queer partner.

and then the peace was shattered with ming kissing his back yet again. ouchies.

"will tong be at the set?" he's just not even trying to hide it. he basically said 'yeah ur great and all but tong????' but DAMN if poom isn't the absolute king of microexpressions.

at this point i can't really tell if tong is being a spoiled prince (derogatory) or if he's tired of acting in general? judgement withheld until a later date.

and then we jump into this actress being a parallel to ming and OOF OUCHIES MY ORGANS. she's a fan of tong but has to "settle" for joe - just like ming. and yet joe takes the time to be kind, to soothe her worries and put her at ease, because he has a heart of absolute gold. "it's her first movie but she was left to drown by the male lead." it's ming's first love and he has been left to drown in it.

mek's acting is really endearing. this is my first exposure to him (ive seen some of his social media and really like what he stands for as a person) and i'm instantly drawn to his performance. he also pulls off a great balance of adorable/sexy.

OOH THE SHOW SAID BISEXUAL OUT LOUD. A WIN FOR THE BI'S WE LOVE TO SEE IT.

i personally find ming's jealously hilarious. what a little caricature of toxicity.

anyway, it seems to me that if ming could get over his feelings and enjoy what he has in front of him he could be part of and enjoy a very sweet family, as it does seem tong IS giving him love, just not the exact flavor he craves.

the cut to joe's training made me laugh. little oat lore dump but my bio dad was actually a stunt man for movies (which is another part of why i was so excited for this show) and i can promise you nothing like this was part of it. what do i know, though, maybe things have changed since the early 2000s lol.

(no, they're probably not any movies you know, aside from maybe wild wild west [1999]. he mostly did westerns, historical docudramas, and historical fiction.)

ANYWAY AGAIN. with this little glimpse into ming's home life we get to see that he's very accustomed to doing what he wants and getting what he wants, which makes a lot of sense when applied to his almost obsessive behavior regarding tong - and now joe. i did absolutely LOVE linin and her sassy independence (minus the 'i can buy anything i need'.)

but... girl... did you just spray perfume in your mouth?

your actions are strange and unsettling. i like that in a woman.

ugh getting into ming venting his frustrations on joe's body. listen. liiiisten. while toxic without prior discussion... i'm into it. it may or may not be one of my favorite tropes in fanfic. toxic and unhealthy as fuck and i'm here for it.

AND THEN DAMN POOM THOSE NOISES. ACTING FOR YOUR LIFE BBY -- and the SNEEZE AT ORGASM LMAAAO oh i hope that's a running bit for some comedic relief.

because we then make a SHARP pivot into "then stop me" and there's so much potential for pain and self loathing there, for joe to think "i can't blame ming, i didn't stop any of it." i'm sat.

a little side bar, but i'm enjoying the fact that while there is discussion of topping and bottoming as a narrative device there really aren't any stereotypes here. i think on a surface level people would think "oh joe is the top" (pit babe style) and the show said no actually he isn't. love that for us.

"you can even move in haha jk" but the thing is, not jk, because joe would do that for ming - for anyone - bc that's the type of person he is.

[i had to stop and have a lil snack here]

hold up is this wut out drinking with them? OH SHIT IT IS. OKAY. it didn't give us much but at least it's a little connection to him finally. we knew joe knew him from his first life, just didn't really know how.

"i missed you" and when was the last time someone missed joe? not who he's replacing or the space he's filling, but HIM?

love ming's goofy ass locking the door and going inside just so he can make a dramatic ass appearance like he's 'the other woman' or some shit LMAO.

"what's in you to make me jealous?" quite possibly the worst dialogue tree choice ming could've picked.

[joe's emotional well being -45]

[everyone hated that]

"don't be so full of yourself" something joe has never been a day in his life. "you're just a stand-in." he knows. it's not something he ever forgets.

but after all that toxicity we have ming back home, seeking out joe's food for comfort, and we finally get to see him interact with his sister. i LOVE that she knows the importance of being a little silly as a treat, one of my biggest life mottos. we also get to see more of how ming is surrounded by love that he misses out on bc of his own wallowing and self sabotage.

oh, the homoeroticism of sparring with your bestie.

[everyone liked that]

oop- joe is wearing the shirt ming borrowed while sol is wearing a shirt with the word 'fantasy.' i'm good, i'm fine, gwenchana, gwenchana.

ough. sol with too many eyes on him and none of them sincere and joe with nothing but sincerity to offer but remains invisible. oof ouch.

enter ming with more religious imagery to match last week's cross scene. something something the sin of greed? confessing your sins? coveting - idk man, i don't have any religious trauma, my family let me just do my own thing.

but with ming knowing joe's true feeling every toxic thing he does is going to be 1000x more painful and i'm here for it. bring it you fucked up little guy.

"we can't mess with each other's privacy" don't mess with MY privacy. "you can't mess around with anyone else" emphasis on YOU, not we.

and then it's driven home what a romantic joe is, both with his workout heartbreak poetry and this little lady and the tramp noodle moment. this man, again much like pit babe, wants to be domesticated so bad.

and i know we all have hated on ming, that's the point, he's been a caricature of a toxic relationship spelled out in neon letters --

but when was the last time ming laughed with someone like this?

ok im exhausted, i'm falling into bed to read fanfic, but i'm absolutely in love with everything this is doing so far. i haven't written anything as in depth as this since last twilight (pre-betrayal) so it's really nice to feel insane again.

#oat meta #my stand in #my stand in the series #poom phuripan #up poompat #mingjoe #mek jirakit #clairedaring #usersasa #<- again let me know if you want to be added to my tag list - if you don't have a tracked tag i'm happy to ping you in the replies

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zeep-xanflorp · 10 months

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ok i'm just gonna ramble ab unmortricken bc i have exactly ZERO COHERENT THOUGHTS AB IT

evil morty backstory - i rlly like that they just made him some random morty who rose above everything after getting sick of rick's abuse. it makes what he did feel even more earned and weighty. i think his motivation is a bit extreme still but i can't rlly blame him.

it's cool seeing infinity beyond the central finite curve. the jetsons inspired bit was v amusing bc i forgot about them lmao. but otherwise it seems absolutely wild west beyond the curve and i LIVE for that.

i also didnt imagine that we'd be seeing him again. i thought the way he left the show was perfect and if they brought him back it would just feel cheap but it DOESNT in this episode i love his appearance.

i rlly like seeing our morty be supportive of rick. he's literally trying everything to cheer him up and it's very important to me.

the prime decoys confuse me. like do they all share a consciousness? is prime just very very good at fucking with ppl that he's made all the decoys communicate w each other?

evil morty outsmarting rick is a great recurring theme in the episode. "filter for probability stasis" YEAH U TELL HIM LITTLE DUDE. we've never seen a morty like that EXCEPT for him and i think it's wonderful.

the exchange between rick and evil morty. "you're such a narcissist" / "literal glass house" / "you think you're better than me?" / "jesus i HOPE SO" SHITTING

i didnt initially like the decoy trap thing being full of loads of other ricks. it made me feel like our rick wasn't very important to this dude and rick just made an enemy of a guy who didn't know he existed. BUT i don't stand by that anymore. the rest of the episode made me change my mind very quickly with.

the omega device. holy fuck this is the worst reveal to come out of this episode. she wasn't just killed, she was ERASED by prime in every reality. like she is GONE gone. that's why we've never seen her, save in flashbacks and memories. she's gone.

and i'm pretty sure it's our rick's fault that he did that. we see his beth and his diane be killed by a bomb, not wiped from reality like slo mobius is later in the episode. so his family was killed BEFORE all the shit with the omega device. ik correlation ≠ causation, but it rlly explains why our rick in particular is so hungry for revenge. if he was the one that made prime kill diane everywhere then he had to be the one to make prime pay for it.

i like how the multiple monitors seems to be prime's signature move. it happens here and in the s6 premiere.

and oh fuck the parallels. "when i invent something it works, it's called being talented" in story train vs "when i make a weapon in works."

oh man the diane head weapon thing. it's interesting that it was programmed to mock rick sexually, but even on our rick who knows it's a trap, it still affects him seeing her face again. "god i missed that face." and then the blank stare when she asks for a kiss. pretty sweet and fucked up.

rick and evil morty having to work together to get their portals working. the contrast between our morty freaking out and evil morty blank staring.

the bit with the portal closing too soon. i know it happened earlier this season and i think it's so funny lmao.

I CANNOT STRESS TO YOU ENOUGH THAT I WAS SO MADE WHEN I WORKED OUT THAT INSTEAD OF YELLING WHILE GOING THROUGH THE CURVE THING IN THE MIDFLE OF THE EP HE WAS SCREAMING "PRIME" THOSE DIABOLICAL LITTLE BASTARDS AT ADULT SWIM.

prime calling rick the Wife Guy. hilarious. raises questions. makes me gnaw on my cell bars.

AND THEN the second incredible reveal of the episode: "Honestly, Wife Guy, I do miss when it was just us. The only two Ricks who actually invented portal travel." WHAT bestie prime bby girl u need to say that again. you guys were the ONLY ones who invented interdimensional travel, every rick's claim to fame. but no they just got the technology from prime who started a boys club of ricks who wanted to leave their lives behind that our rick refused.

but the reference to a time when they were closer, when it was only them - HELLO?? maybe i'm grasping at straws bc i want them to bang but holy shit.

the confirmation of the fan theory that rick based his AI voice on his wife. 10/10.

and then the fight scene. oh gods the fight scene. rick just screaming that he'll kill prime. prime regenerating constantly, looking unscathed as our rick becomes more and more dishevelled. it's too perfect i CANT. but otherwise they both seem pretty evenly matched w all the implants and stuff so without the regeneration i think rick would've had him. oh well.

rick like literally died during the fight.

the cool grandson/shitty grandpa exchange gives me breath. i LOVE how it's a morty that outsmarts prime. it's what he deserves.

prime still trying to be a smartass to evil morty, growing more and more panicked as it goes on bc he doesn't know what to do with the situation and control for once is not in his hands.

"what are u gonna 'aw geez' me to death?"

evil morty not even explaining his plan, just silently dragging in our rick and reviving him. saying "knock yourself out" with the intended double meaning. prime's almost scared expression as rick gets dragged in.

and then our rick has a choice. he can stop evil morty from keeping the weapon plans or he can kill prime. but that's a choice he made already. it's not even a decision. so his other enemy gets away.

the brutal brutal scene at the end when rick is just hitting prime. no tech, no implants, no gadgets. just fists. and rick beats him literally to a pulp as prime screams and laughs at him and taunts him further. it's meant to be sickening. it's meant to be personal. and it accomplishes that perfectly.

they don't even show prime's body in great detail. it's RIGHT in the background but we heard the sounds of the punches, we saw his nose break and his bloody teeth and haemorrhaging eyes and his brains coming out the side of it head and all we can make out is his fucked up swollen and broken face in the background as he sits still attached to the chair, a river of his blood pouring from the room.

but its not triumphant. they made rick's revenge hollow and bittersweet. its over but it destroyed rick in the process. who is he now that he isn't hunting prime? fucking no one.

then "look on down from the bridge" starts playing. we heard this in season 1 in rick potion #9 after morty had to bury a version of himself. he was struggling with the purpose of his life after switching universes. but he deals with it and overcomes it.

i think that scene is rick, for the first time in the entire show, struggling with his nihilistic philosophy. bc yes, he's shown to be an existentialist in the show (the difference being existentialists are "nothing matters but this matters to me" instead of "nothing matters so i don't have to do anything"). he had a drive. he had ppl he cared about. but now he's reached his goal he just feels empty and hollow. everything's meaningless and he's NOT okay with that. he never has been, but he has to grapple with that finally now he doesn't have a distraction. i don't think he can just bounce back and move past what happened.

ppl are saying this episode felt overstuffed and maybe it was but i'm very pleased with it and want to know where it's going.

i feel we still don't know the full story with prime. i'm predicting a flash back episode in the future explaining what the nature of their relationship was like before the bomb incident.

we also know that evil morty has this weapon that could destroy all ricks. so that is just a ticking bomb.

anyway i can't wait for angsty rick.

i actually watched unforgiven for this episode bc i'm a big fan of westerns anyway. the only real parallels i can see is they both have a group of three (two are already partners and the other one is the call to adventure) and an unsatisfying ending. bc that's the nature of westerns. they should NEVER end happily, and if u think so then ur wrong (/nsrs enjoy media how u want).

some things i haven't mentioned but enjoyed nonetheless

the schematics for the omega device is titled <SCHEMATICS BOOGER-AIDS-V2>

the arm/leg swap best in the fight

the comparison between the song at the end playing here and in season one shows with just visuals how the dynamic of beth and jerry's (and beth's) marriage has evolved since then.

everyone freaking out when indiana jones rick shoots and it ricochets off the wall and evil morty just stands expressionless until it hits his forcefield.

morty going to hug rick covered in blood, realising, hesitating, and then doing it later anyway to try and make rick feel better.

evil morty making a point to say that he doesn't want vengeful summers coming after him for omega devicing rick. not vengeful mortys, vengeful SUMMERS.

just evil morty in this whole episode was an absolute delight i need to see him more.

THE TEAR MARKS AFTER RICK EMERGES FROM BEATING PRIME TO DEATH

slo mobius' wife almost going down the same path our rick did only to find someone she loves and focus on that, saving her. makes me wonder if they're gonna try putting rick in a relationship.

this ended up being way longer than it should have. anyway. very pleased. this season is hitting all the marks for me overall.

also don't be too hard on me i didnt edit this 😭

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