#Gunfight at Red Sands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whirlwindimagines · 2 years ago

Note

I wanna give vash a comforting head pats and some loving head scritches, tell him he has been working hard and needs to rest sometimes, the world not going anywhere, he can rest. May I request a scenario of vash sad he didn’t save everyone again and is sad, so reader hesitately reaches up to his head before deciding to give him a head pat, telling him he did his best with the circumstances he had, it’s not his fault for being unable to save absolutely everyone, and all that matters is he saved at least someone, and that’s enough? Plz and thanks

Okay but same ;p; Like let me hold Vash and tell him everything is gonna be okay! Studio orange let Vash be happy challenge, please. I’m a little sad, so lol this reflects that for sure This definitely got out of hand and turned into something else

Lol you can tell I wrote this after my therapy session.

‘I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror’

Vash x Reader

You wonder how Vash can continue like this, the gunfight had been as usual destructive and deadly. Neither of you made out of it unscathed and the town had suffered as well, it broke your heart how much Vash tried to make things right. How he didn't want to hurt anyone or let anyone get hurt, but you can't save anyone and especially not alone.

Vash had gone off on his own, he checked you for injuries and was distressed to find one. You brushed him off, saying you were fine and that you would take care of it and now you have no idea where he went. He wouldn't leave you here by yourself, you weren't worried about that. But you were worried about him.

Briefly, you wondered how Vash would handle this, but you knew it would be fake smiles and white lies, he must be tired you were tired of it. The suns were setting now, casting the desert in a purplish red light. You sigh standing and brushing the sand from yourself, you’ve done all you can to help the people here and they didn't want any more help from Vash the Stampede.

Wandering around the town you found Vash with the Thomas, he’s petting it gently Vash was much better with the creature than you were. You join his side quietly and he greets you with a small wave and a light smile. You try to greet him with one of your own but you can’t you are tired of the fakeness God you want Vash to express some emotion, sadness hell you’d take anger something.

“Are you okay?” you don't know why you ask; you could repeat his response word for word I’m fine are you okay?

“I’m fine are you okay?” his response pisses you off, you knew the words were coming but you were sick of it. You clench your fist at your sides, wanting to get angry, but you know that’s not what Vash needs right now. You can be angry on his behalf later; he stares at you confused as you deflate.

“No Vash I'm not okay.” he looks startled, his hands hovering over your body unsure if he should touch you, wishing he would, you step closer to the blonde as he speaks, “Where are you hurt?” shaking your head, he only looks confused you don't know how to express your hurt to Vash. Because it’s not your physical pain that’s hurting you right now, it’s his hurt you care about. You want to cry for him, to scream out and curse the world, because you know he never will, and that’s what hurts.

Taking a step closer your bodies are nearly touching, you reach a hand up and place it gently on his head. “You did your best, you know that right?” you ask and you can hear the stuttering breath he takes in, he looks directly into your eyes and you can see his begin to water. You smile kindly at him, patting his head gently before running your fingers through his hair so your hand is resting on the nape of his neck.

He may not want to hear this, but you know he needs to. “Not everyone can be saved, and that is not your fault. God Vash, you do your best every day, and if no one else sees that I do, I see you. We will get through today.” You pull him in closer, gently resting your forehead against his, you can feel him tremble as the tears slowly drip down his face. You hold him to you lightly, giving him a chance to pull away if needed. You don’t want him to, but you know you can only push Vash so much.

He doesn’t pull away instead he raises his hands and cups your face, holding you there so you can't pull away. You startle a bit when you feel his thumbs wipe your own tears, you didn't even realize you had been crying yourself. “It’s just….” You don’t say anything while Vash struggles with what he has to say. You’re hoping he’ll be honest, and not bottle up all the pain.

“I don’t know how to move forward” the words are whispered against your lips, as if he’s afraid to admit it out into the open. you close your eyes, and your heart breaks. Vash moves back, you think he’ll pull away completely but he doesn’t instead he places a kiss on your forehead, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

Vash pulls you into a hug then, his arms going around your shoulders while yours wrap around his waist, he cries softly and you let him holding on to him tight for as long as he needs. Your hands rub his back under his red coat, “I know, but you are not alone I'm right here and I’ll be right here as long as you need me. Let me help you anyway you need.” you answer trying not to choke on your words, putting as much emotion as you can into your words.

He sobs, gripping you painfully tight but you don't mind, letting him take all the comfort he can get and asking for nothing in return. His hands shift down your back squeezing again, the action jostles your wound and you let out a pained cry because of it. Vash lets go instantly stepping back. You're shocked by the sudden coldness, your hands hanging limply at your side. He’s looking at you wide eye, “I'm sorry.” he chokes out, he looks like he's going to run you can't let him.

You move forward quickly, he sees you coming and steps back right into the Thomas the pack animal moves forward startled it causes Vash to lose balance, injury, and boundaries be damned you grab him by his jacket and surge forward he falls straight onto his back and you let the momentum take you with.

He lands on his back hard, and you land right on top of him straddling his waist you still have a hold of his jacket, “Stop! Don't you dare run away.” you say it a little frantically, “I'm okay really just… stop.” you whisper, he looks up at you his eyes filled with tears. How did you even get here, you didn't mean to be forceful with Vash but you couldn't let him pull away when he was so down on himself. Blaming himself for everything, you know he blames himself for you getting hurt. But these things just happen.

“I just can't seem to do anything right,” he says it with a light chuckle, and you fist the material of his jacket leaning in, you watch his eyes go wide and a blush settles on his face you choose to ignore that. “Vash.” you say his name sternly, and he gulps at your tone, “I am going to say this in the nicest way possible, but if you say one more bad thing about yourself, I'm going to hurt you.”

You don't really mean it; you could never hurt Vash, but he does this light laugh that sounds real and it makes your heart soar. He grabs each of your wrists, and you loosen your grasp blushing as he looks at you softly. “Okay, I get it… I just don't deserve you, you’re always doing so much for me, and you're so kind! I just feel like-” You cut off his rambling by grasping his hands and intertwining your fingers with him, and you lean forward pressing into him it shuts him right up.

“What did I just say? This world doesn’t deserve you, don't ever think you don't deserve nice things, and comfort. You deserve the world, and I wish I could give it to you.” you pause, your heart beating wildly in your chest, thinking your next words carefully, but you want him to understand. “Can I show you?”

“Show me what?” his voice drops to a whisper, the suns have long since set and his eyes seem to glow in the moonlight, “How much you mean to me, how much I care.” you wonder if his heart is beating as fast, he nods and you drop his hands they fall limply to his side as you cup his face. “I need you to say it.”

He takes in a deep breath, the words leaving him in a whine, “Please show me how much you care about me.” he looks so embarrassed, but you smile brightly as you lean in kissing his forehead, “I love how kind you are.” you mutter, he makes a startled noise, but you keep going moving to kiss under his right eye, “How you see the good in everyone.” under his left eye next, “How strong you are, but only use your strength to help those in need.”

You pull back to check on his face to make sure you're not overwhelming him too much, his eyes are watery again and there is a slight tremble to his lips but he doesn’t ask you to stop or pull away so you continue, kissing him on the tip of his nose, “You put up with me and I appreciated it, even when I'm being difficult.” he lets out a light chuckle at this, and you smirk. Your eyes flicker to his lips and then to his eyes asking for permission to continue, your voice quiet in the night.

“Please,” he asks and well who are you to refuse, you lean in pressing your lips to his gently, he touches you now finding the courage to do so, his prosthetic resting on your waist, while his other hand comes to rest on the nape of your next.

You pull back barely out of reach, “And I really love how you never give up, even when it would be easier. You are so good Vash, and if I need to spend every day reminding you of that I will.”

He lets out a whimper, you lean back into to give him another kiss he holds you close, you feel his grip tighten on your waist. You don’t mind, letting him take as much as he wants. You don’t know how long the two of you stay like this, sharing soft kisses and shy touches. But eventually you pull back, resting your hands gently on his chest.

“Are you okay? Was that too much?” You ask softly, he opens his eyes to look at you, you can see the blush covering his face, and making you smile. He removes his hands form you, instead covering his whole face to block his blush. “Is that a yes then?” You tease lightly.

“Thank you…” he says it quietly, and it makes your heart melt, you grab both his wrist and pull them away so you can see his face, placing a soft kiss on the inside of each wrist you smile softly at him. “You don’t need to thank me; I’ll do this every day if you want.”

“Then it really will be too much.” He whines and you laugh getting to your feet and pulling him up. Once he’s standing you drop his hands, “never, I’ll never run out of love for you.” He’s blushing again hands covering his face once more, you love when he gets all shy. You step around him reaching up to tussle his blonde locks, “we need to find our Thomas now.”

He sighs dropping his hands, “I’ll find her.” You laugh he tells you to wait here and he’ll be back. Watching him leave, you hope that you were able to bring him some comfort. You hope he understood how deeply you cared for him, and that you would continue to be by his side no matter what.

Eventually, Vash came back he held out his hand from the top of the Thomas, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up, settling you in front of him. You thanked him as you grabbed the reins, Vash settled his arms around your waist. Resting his chin on top of your head you smiled, as you moved the Thomas forward, you didn’t know where to head next but it didn’t matter as long as you were together.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash imgaine #vash imagines #vash x reader #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun stampede imagine #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede #trigun x reader #trigun stampede headcanons

681 notes · View notes

sailxrmxrs · 2 years ago

Text

i truly underestimated the sheer amount of brainrot watching trigun stampede would give me but here we go. this is the culmination of many nights spent scrolling vash fanart and letting the thoughts run wild. circumstances mean there's a gunfight happening and vash is there by your side trying to protect you but oops a bullet scraped past you and now he's taking you to safety asap to patch you up and fret over your wellbeing. protective vash being soft and flustered hits me directly in a weak spot he's just so.....y'know. love that little man.

Surviving in a hellish desert in the throes of summer was already an arduous task in its own right. Settlements and towns were miles upon miles apart, the distance feeling even longer when the horizon was a vast pool of sand as far as the eyes could see. Not to mention the perpetual thirst and hunger that ailed your body at any given time of day. The relief that coming across some semblance of civilisation brought was beyond words. However, enjoying such a sight was too often spoiled by hostile hosts or unsavoury groups. Travelling with Vash the Stampede meant there was never a boring moment, even if he did draw trouble like a magnet. Today was no different, under the unrelenting summer sun was the sound of gunfire. It had been like any other day until someone had recognised Vash and all hell broke loose. As soon as the gunfire started, you both dived for cover shortly before Vash charged off without a second thought to try and take care of things by himself. He always tried to insist that you remained out of danger despite knowing he was fighting a losing battle. Not once had you let Vash fight alone nor did you intend to start now. Pistol in hand, you held your own, immobilising anyone who came close enough. Never enough to fatally harm them, just enough to leave them unable or unwilling to keep fighting. Vash had been adamant that neither of you would be killers and you were more than happy to comply. Peaceful resolutions were few and far between but that didn't mean lives had to be lost for the sake of some gun fight over a money reward.

Surveying the area, you caught sight of Vash's familiar red coat. He artfully dodged a bullet flying his way, rolling behind a broken-down car for a momentary shelter. A perfect opening to make your way to him. Survival in numbers was always the winning move. You aimed your pistol, shooting at your assailant's feet and sending them off balance. It gave you enough time to jump to Vash's side, ducking just fast enough to dodge the bullet intended for you.

"What are you doing?! You never listen when I tell you to stay out of trouble," Vash complained, pouting as you caught your breath. It was almost impressive how he could sound so casual right in the middle of a direct attack on his life. He reloaded his bullets, lips still downturned though you knew he was secretly grateful for the backup. Even if Vash preferred to keep you out of harm's way, he never once doubted your ability to keep up with him.

"And let you have all the fun? No thanks." More gunshots struck the body of the car, swiftly ending any attempts at conversation. There would be time to talk things over later. First you had to get out with your lives in tact. You and Vash shared a look, silently communicating the usual plan of action and within an instant you were jumping back into the fray. In any other instance, being outnumbered would be cause for worry but with Vash at your side you knew that you would prevail. He hadn't earned his infamous reputation for nothing. Even if he was secretly far softer and much less prone to violence than the wanted posters suggested, his skill with a gun was on another level—though a decent helping of luck no doubt factored into his survival. Vash shouted over the cacophony of sounds, only just audible as he checked in with you. Even in the midst of battle Vash was as attentive as the situation allowed him to be. Every time you'd shout back that you were fine, that he should worry about himself but it did little to quell his worries.

The distant sound of cars approaching sounded from the deserted town centre. Whoever was leading this gang had called for backup and soon you and Vash were going to be surrounded. Your attackers were focused on Vash, intent on taking down the Humanoid Typhoon before worrying about the unnamed partner he'd found himself. He was worth a lot more in their eyes, which gave the perfect opportunity to slip away and take care of the threat before it became an even bigger problem. Usually you'd like to let Vash know if you were disappearing off somewhere but circumstance didn't allow it and you just had to hope he'd be able to find you once it was all over. You sprinted down past an old bar, its windows once boarded up but now littered with bullet holes. The place was certainly a ghost town. There had been no sign of life until a suspicious looking individual had emerged from the shadows asking who Vash was. There was no telling what troubles they'd caused here to clear out the townsfolk. Still, you couldn't dwell on maybes and what-ifs. What mattered here was getting out safely. And maybe finding some salvageable food and water to sustain you and Vash on the next leg of your journey.

Peeking out from an abandoned home, you caught sight of five men standing in what used to be the town centre. Whoever these people were they were no amateurs, at least judging by the size of their guns anyway. This could end poorly if you weren't careful. A more defensive approach was in order; sticking to the shadows to conceal your whereabouts was likely the only way you'd come out of this alive. You climbed through the broken window to the empty building beside you, making your way upstairs and onto the balcony. The wood of the balcony seemed to be holding together well enough to keep you mostly hidden from view with a few stray cracks and holes to keep an eye on your targets. It was the perfect spot to line up your gun and take aim without getting yourself caught too soon. You just had to hope the wooden barrier was enough to keep you from harm until you'd taken enough of them down. Your sight was limited, but even a few misses could suffice as warning shots to deter them from getting involved. On many occasions you'd watched grown men run screaming when a bullet struck metres away from their feet. All bark and no bite. Though something told you these men wouldn't go down quite so easily. Your intuitions proved accurate, the blind shots doing little to scare them off.

Within a few shots, your position was compromised and your targets had begun their own onslaught of bullets. A number of bullets struck the balcony though you still remained out of sight for the time being, the few hits you'd managed to land working in your favour to skew their aim. Judging by the speed at which they shot, you'd need to make a move. And fast. If one of them decided to make a run for the house you'd be without a solid escape route. Then, a bullet came flying, striking a wood panel beside you and giving your attackers a direct chance to shoot. You leapt up from your spot, running back into the house to make your escape. Footsteps thundered up the stairs leaving you no choice but to engage. Despite his imposing size, the man was not well-trained in close combat. His moves were predictable and clumsy, leaving one too many openings for you to take advantage of and send him crashing down unconscious. One threat down meant only four more to take care of. Then there was Vash and whatever chaos he was involved in right now. You couldn't let your concern for him cloud you judgement, pushing those fears aside as you made your way down and back out of the window you'd climbed in from. Gunshots were firing at an alarming rate though there was little strategy in it. They didn't know where you were just yet. Waiting behind the wall to the house, you let them edge closer before ambushing them with a fresh round of bullets. Now that you were on ground level, you could see two of the assailants holding back, no weapons in sight—though there was no counting on them being unarmed.

As shots fired, you tried to manoeuvre around the onslaught of ammunition but without sufficient cover you couldn't escape the scrapes of a few bullets. Cursing under your breath as one shot past your cheek and split the skin, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Vash. He was running like a fire had been lit inside of him. There was an intensity upon his face that you rarely ever saw. Even in the most dangerous and dire of situations, Vash always managed to send you a beaming smile. He was truly the embodiment of sunshine. But right now he was the eye of a storm crashing over all in its wake. He was ruthless with his shots, each one striking true and sending your attackers to the ground. Still alive, but perhaps wishing they weren't. The two men who had been hanging back and watching remained out of Vash's line of sight and, for the time being, out of danger. Not if you could help it. Raising your gun, you set onto the two remaining assailants. They were quick to return fire as they backed towards their car.

"Let them go. We need to get out of here," Vash called, making his way over to you. "Are you oka—" Vash halted mid-sentence, spotting the slow drip of blood down your cheek. Without another word, he was scooping you into his arms and running despite your protests. It was a minor injury, not one to panic over. But Vash didn't seem to think so. He carried you off to the other side of town, making for one of the abandoned homes still in good enough shape to act as sufficient shelter. He sat you down on an old leather couch, the material torn up and worn, as he rummaged through drawers in the neighbouring kitchen to look for something to clean the wound with.

"Can I trust you to stay there while I go back to our car? Assuming it's still in one piece, that is," Vash asked, eyeing up with caution. Worried knitted his brows as he contemplated leaving you here alone and unprotected.

"I can walk, you know? It's just a little scratch."

Vash shook his head, blonde hair as animated as his expression. "Doctor's orders."

"You're not a doctor."

"Am now. Stay there." Vash made for the doorway before turning back to add, "I'm glad you're okay."

When he returned with some supplies, Vash set to cleaning your wound. The bleeding had long since stopped but he was adamant that it required his utmost attention. His movements were gentle as he wiped away the dried blood with a dampened rag of fabric while his other hand softly holding your chin in place. He always touched you with a delicate sense of care, but this felt almost as if he were scared to break you any further. Despite his tenderness, something darker seemed to linger in Vash's face. As if he felt guilty for not being there just that little bit sooner. None of this was his fault. There was no way to predict such an attack would happen. It was simply the way of the land. Whether Vash viewed it that way or not was another matter entirely. Once he deemed you cleaned up and devoid of any other injuries, Vash tossed aside the cloth and leaned forward in his seat. He was uncharacteristically quiet, usually full of energy after making a safe escape from a fight.

"Vash?" Your voice was low, tentative so as not to startle him. "Please don't blame yourself for what happened out there. I'm fine, see?"

His eyes remained fixed on a hole in the flooring as he responded. "They came after us because of me. You got hurt because I wasn't fast enough."

"No." You immediately denied his admissions of guilt, edging closer to place your hands on his cheeks. They were as soft as usual, tinted pink from sun exposure. His eyes were glistening, tears threatening to spill down those rosy cheeks. "This isn't your fault, Vash."

"I was so scared. I thought I'd taken care of the last of them then I turn and see you're gone. I heard gunshots and—" He paused, voice cracking. "You don't know how I relieved I was to see you still alive."

Your heart ached, knowing all too well the fear that had likely stricken him in that moment. "I promised that we were in this together, didn't I? Can't go breaking it just yet." You smiled, heart fluttering at the sight of Vash mirroring the action. Your thumb swiped at a stray tear as you left a soft kiss on the bridge of Vash's nose. His cheeks warmed a deeper shade as he tried to pull away. He flustered easily but still tried to hide it every time to no avail.

"Think we're good here for the night? We could do with sleeping in an actual bed for once. One more night in the car might actually kill me."

Vash nodded, hands finding yours as he pulled you up from your spot on the couch. "Practice for the future, hm? All cosy in a little house. Could be nice. So long as you don't mind the bounty, that is."

"It's worth it if it's you." Vash's hold on your hands dropped, his hands moving to cover his bright, blushing face. Your laugh chimed with the sound of his whining complaints. What the future held in store for you and Vash was unknown, but you were certain that so long as he was smiling, all would be well.

#trigun x reader #vash x reader #trigun stampede x reader #vash the stampede x reader #trigun fanfic #2023 is the year of wolfwood n vash occupying 87% of my brain space #and honestly i don't mind this is great #no number of fics involving this man will sustain me he's just so #anyway goodnight to vash enjoyers and vash enjoyers only #anna writes

224 notes · View notes

hisuianhellion · 1 year ago

Note

🪐

Mass Effect - Death mention

It had been a few years since arriving here, ten in fact. No documentation. No familial or legal history to reference. A good few psych examinations to make sure she had even a shred of sanity in her skull when screaming about how aliens weren't supposed to be real, where the fuck was she, how the fuck did she even get here. All in front of a Lieutenant of a human space navy that somehow took sympathy on her.

She had told him rather plainly that she wasn't really the military type. But he didn't want her to just end up jobless and worthless on the Citadel. She'd either end up deported or shoved into one of the wards, landing a dead-end job within cultures she knew nothing about. But she seemed to have an aptitude for learning about other races more keenly than those who simply grew up with them, and that had Lieutenant Anderson's attention.

It wasn't forced, but she did still feel strong-armed into service. This or destitution. And it let her get plenty of training in, both on a physical side and a cultural side. Learning how Earth was in the late 22nd century. Learning about the myriad Council and Embassy races. And learning that the colonial mindset of human expansion and brute-forced progress hadn't faltered, but... hey. At least now they had competition in the Council races that held the galaxy in their political grip. What they said went, you just had to abide that.

Quietly sitting in her cabin, she found herself reminiscing. That first gunfight she had gotten herself into, clearing that Red Sand grift without a single casualty on her side. She ended up visiting the family of who died to make sure it wasn't missed. Not on her own side... but hey. Stupid kids making stupid decisions. And it taught her to make sure she talked before shooting, despite what training said.

A year later, a stint in a joint military exercise with the Systems Alliance and the local colonist militia on Elysium turned into what was thus known as the "Skyllian Blitz". It was the bloodiest battle she had ever seen at that point. She was just a Warrant Officer at the time, but Anderson had kept tabs on her. A couple of calls here, a recommendation for enrollment in the ICT program there, and she was an N4 by then. But that fight. That goddamn fight.

Commander, dead. Killed in the first barrage. Captain above him, currently not even there yet, but the SSV Agincourt was apparently en route. The ships above fell almost immediately after the Alliance Navy had appeared, yeah, but the ground troops found little rapport when the slavers and pirates opted to shift from collection to slaughter when they realized there wasn't going to be a way out that wasn't prison.

Anderson had chosen well those few years back, because without Rose stepping up immediately to make sure that the colonists had firearms, cover, and knew where to puncture the attacking Batarians and their hired goons? Well. Those Vorcha would've had a very easy time committing whatever atrocities they were ordered to deal.

Casualties were brought from hundreds, even thousands projected... to nineteen where she was. Nineteen dead, sixty injured but stable. Hundreds... down to just below twenty. And an entire invading army's ground invasion cleared out.

The very following week, she had been awarded the Star of Terra. A month later, she was fast-tracked through the ITC, graduating that in 2182 with the distinction of being a Commander with the N7 code. Six months later, she oversaw the Normandy's shakedown run with Captain Anderson himself, a man with so many medals he could melt them down into a life-sized statue of himself, so said Navigator Pressly. Anderson was her friend. Her confidant. The man who had made sure to put the training to the talent he saw.

And she had just replaced him. Backroom politics, stealing not just his old mission to make people see what Saren was truly like... but the very ship he was slated to command. She wasn't even a Captain at this point. She was the rank just below that, and yet... being a Spectre got her special privileges, it seemed.

She had recruited humans and aliens alike to help her track down a rogue Spectre, murderer of his own friend, slaughterer of so many on Eden Prime. Garrus, Tali, Ashley, Kaiden, Wrex... even Liara. The daughter of Saren's own second in command. Therum was a melting pot she barely got that woman out of alive, and Feros was a lesson in horror she was still reeling from. It was costing her sleep, even...

Now she was here. In the captain's cabin herself of the SSV Normandy. She stared at the Star of Terra, haphazardly tossed onto the desk beside the bed. She rubbed at her eyes gently, standing up and beginning to walk outwards. A wave to Kaiden, who had opted to pass some time during their stop at the Citadel docks by chatting with Doctor Chakwas. Good guy. Very down to earth fellow. She ended up stepping forward towards the stairwell that led to the bridge, but nearly ended up slamming her nose right into a set of armor.

Red. Bulky. Holding a scowl behind it as a hulk of a man stared down at her with reptilian eyes. She looked up for a moment with a faint "eh, sorry", and went to shift past the Krogan.

Wrex reached out, grabbing her arm. And she stopped, her eyes clouding gently before she flicked them in his direction wordlessly. "... Wrex."

"Waite." His grip held her for a moment before letting go. "Don't you humans need that thing called 'sleep'?"

"Hasn't been coming easy. And don't act like Krogans don't need it, either." She turned a bit more fully to look down at him, crossing her arms. "Or does a guy like you run purely off spite?"

The larger of the two actually gave a faint huff, something of a laugh. The last month had gotten him to loosen up, and considering the armor he had just gotten back after a good long while... well. He wasn't all smiles. But he trusted Rose. He knew Rose had not just skills, but a brain between her ears. "Piss and vinegar, I heard a human say back on Omega once. But that isn't your kind of fuel." Her own smirk, forming at his words, faded soon after, and she shook her head.

"... Nah. Been hard to find the time. We've gotta head to Noveria soon, it's the last loose end I can think of."

"And you can handle that when you actually rest. I'm not following a half dead human to an early grave, I'm following a Spectre that knows how to take care of herself." Rose's frown began to deepen for a few seconds, only for her to sigh through her nose. Fuck. Even the resident loner, barely capable of saying anything more than her last name unless she tugs it out of him, is laying into her?

"On one condition." Wrex crossed his arms as well in response, meeting her gaze at the same height despite being a few steps below her, and he knit his brow. "You come out there with me. We go to Zalera Ward. And you have a goddamn drink with me. Mm?"

The look on his face crossed from annoyance at being denied at first, straight to shock at the offer, then immediately confused amusement. And the only thing that changed on his face was the slits of his eyes widening and narrowing in turn with a crease of his jaws loosening slightly.

"I put a gun to your head, so you pull a knife to my gut, eh? Damn idiot." And for the first time, a smirk tugged at his lips, and with a hand on her chest, he shoved her a few steps upwards. "Fine. I still owe you for the armor. But you're paying."

"Cheapskate."

"Put up or shut up, Waite."

#Anonymous #rosy recountings #mass effect #death mention #((Should I be in bed? Yes #Did that stop me? No #Do I love Mass Effect despite its issues? Yes))

7 notes · View notes

thechaoscryptid · 2 years ago

Note

"don't think I don't notice you yawning," Vashwood

(prompt me about sleepy people!)

(the mood music!)

Long days make Nicholas a shitty watchdog.

Sunset creeps along the sand, dragging itself by brittle claws toward the mouth of the cave he and Vash have hidden in. They're at least an hour out from any shred of humanity, but the knowledge does nothing to ease the tension that gnaws at his bones. Distance means little in the face of Vash's bounty; people only see him as an opportunity, a means to an end.

That fact means shit all to Vash, which leaves Nicholas to shoulder the burden of keeping him upright.

Today was difficult.

Nicholas doesn't know how the gunfight started, only that he finished it after Vash sprinted around the corner with red on his hands and a fresh hole in his shoulder. It was probably something stupid, because it always is: a stupid offer, a stupid question, a stupid fuck who thinks they stand a chance against a calamity who calls wrath to heel.

Christ above, he'd wanted to wring the bounty hunters' skinny little necks for ruining his chance at a good night's sleep, regardless of why they were after Vash this time.

It doesn't matter how many times Nicholas watches Vash's skin knit together in front of him, doesn't matter how many times Vash gives him a beatific smile and says he's okay - seeing Vash hurt rouses a beast inside of him, one shot through with rage and ruin and more bullets than he can count.

And that doesn't matter either, no matter how much Vash insists otherwise, because Vash the Stampede is fucking incapable of existing without attempting to atone for atrocities he thinks he's committed.

"Wolfwood," Vash says. His voice rasps as he passes Nicholas's cigarette back.

Nicholas takes a drag, but doesn't speak.

"Nick," Vash amends, and then, softer, "Nico."

Dropping his head between his hands, folded on his knees, Nicholas says, "I would like to go one day without losing a chance at sleeping somewhere with a mattress."

It's a hollow truth at best, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Vash slump forward.

"I'm sorry," Vash says.

Then stop trying to make yourself a martyr, Nicholas wants to snap, but they've had that argument so many times that he can recite it in his sleep.

He sighs, offers the cigarette back to Vash. "Keeping up with you is exhausting," he says instead. "I will, for as long as I can, but God, Vash."

"Don't think I don't notice you yawning," Vash says, cracking a thin smile. He leans into Nicholas's side with a low, heavy sigh, and brushes their knuckles together until Nicholas unclenches his fist. Vash's skin is warm, a small burst of sunlight under the silver stars. "The bags under your eyes have bags of their own."

"I know."

"You should sleep here," Vash says. "It's safe."

"Nothing's ever safe these days. I can't."

"You can." Vash rubs small circles against the back of Nicholas's hand, and Nicholas can't stifle the shiver that trickles slowly down his spine. "I'll be good. I promise."

Nicholas groans softly. "Angel..."

"Cross my heart," Vash says. His lips brush against the hollow of Nicholas's throat once, twice before he rests his chin on Nicholas's shoulder. "You do too much."

Nicholas doesn't do enough. He can't, not where Vash is involved - he'll never be worth the trust Vash places in him, will never deserve to be loved the way Vash loves.

He doesn't say this either, because that is a minefield of potential arguments at best, and Vash is right. Exhaustion prickles at the base of his skull, howls in his marrow and drags blurry fingers across his vision as Vash guides his heavy head down.

Long days and Vash's touch and his own haunted heart will be his undoing; Nicholas never been more sure of anything. But the suns have faded into night, and Vash has promised mercy, and Nicholas's pulse thuds steadily, without the sharp edge of fear.

And so, after a kiss and mumbled thank you, love, Nicholas surrenders to the dark.

#asks answered #vashwood #my writing #nicholas d. wolfwood #vash the stampede

29 notes · View notes

mrcowboydeanwinchester · 2 years ago

Text

💔 be still, my beating heart ❤️

jorowena ficlet - 1074 words - rating: T - cw for blood and stabbing - read on ao3

Rowena’s chest hitches, then, her mouth opening as if to speak, and Jo doesn’t think twice she just takes her father’s knife, which was so heavy in her hand and now is lighter than ever before, and throws it, hard, straight into the witch’s chest.

Or the Jo stabs Rowena homeoritcally in the heart fic.

Jo waits, knife in her hand in the center of the hallway. It’s all she can do now; there’s no use running from a witch this powerful. She’s heard the stories of witches before. Every hunter has.

Most hunters have faced one before, though, too. Well, there’s a first time for everything.

The familiar cold clink of high heels on stone echoes along the corridor, slowly gaining ground. Nearer and nearer the door, nearer to Jo.

It’s beginning to feel a lot like the end. It always does, Jo reckons, when she stands and fights rather than runs. It’s strange, not to give in to the instinct at moments like this, when she’s been running her whole life.

The clinks of footsteps come to a stop.

She hadn’t bothered bolting the door, there’d been no time, so it creaks open slowly and easily. The witch is revealed bit by bit, coming into startling view from the grainy dark of the doorway.

Then she just stands, facing Jo, calm as anything.

It feels a bit like a shootout, like the moment in a Western when the two gunfighters stand amid the blowing sand and stare at each other until the time comes. Until someone strikes first.

So Jo stands amid the cold breeze of the stone hallway and stares at the witch.

Rowena.

She isn’t hard to stare at. She’s a compelling woman - no taller than Jo, somehow handsome and pretty all at once. Hair, a little too red to be ginger, unfurls in ringlets down her back.

And Jo is no stranger to a little black dress, but she’s never seen someone wear one with a cape before.

Rowena stares back. There’s the barest hint of a sly smile unfurling at the corners of her mouth, but it might be the fleeting light.

Jo looks again, and the witch’s face has lost all trace of humor.

It hits bullseye, right in her heart.

Jo never misses, after all. Like the archery set out in the garden when she was a kid. Shooting and aiming for the heart.

Daddy’s little cupid.

Rowena blows a sharp pant of breath after the dull thud of the impact, but she doesn’t even take a step back. Just stands there, face unreadable. Maybe a little smug. Blood starting to drip down her little black dress.

The only sign that shows that she’s really felt anything is the way she folds her hands up to her heart, around the knife, like it aches. Or maybe like she wants it to sit deeper.

But she shouldn’t be wanting anything at all. She should be dead.

Jo never misses.

“You’re still alive,” Jo whispers, the words drawn out of her like the goosebumps all along her arms.

The witch hums, deep and rich. Now, there’s a hungry smile playing around her mouth. “I have been for a very long time,” she murmurs; her lips fall around the words in an accent Jo wants to taste. “Maybe I’ve been waiting for someone.”

The words are solid and the air is still after that. Hanging, mid-moment.

Rowena steps forward, her heels clicking boldly against the stone. The knife still in her heart never wavers.

She comes continually closer, and with every step, Jo feels the instinct she has felt her whole life, the instinct to run, fall away. Or maybe this is instinctual now, instead. To stand so close to Rowena that Rowena could reach out and touch her.

And then Rowena does.

The blood on her hands glistens in the low light as she brings them away from her wound and reaches down, down to where Jo’s hands are tense by her side.

For some reason, and she doesn’t quite know why, Jo lets her take them. Lets the witch take her hands, the blood slick between them both, working its way into the love and life and fate lines of both their palms.

The knife is still stood, pierced deep into her breast.

Now the witch’s blood is on both of their hands, and the handle of Jo’s father's knife, as Rowena cradles Jo’s hands with her own around the sheath and guides her to tug. Her fingers are taut and strong around Jo’s, deft amid the blood. The edges of her manicured nails scratch lightly against Jo’s skin.

Jo’s hands feel inadequate. Deep in her gut she wants the witch to hold her harder.

The knife comes out slowly, with a wrench and wet noise almost overpowered by Rowena’s shuddering gasp of pain.

So she is alive, but not unfeeling.

Rowena’s torn gasp settles itself on Jo’s neck, the movement of air flush against her skin, the witch’s quivering lips a movement away. She’s still got her hands wrapped around Jo’s, both of them holding the knife. Jo can feel the warmth on the blade still, from where it was in her chest.

Her mouth must be warm too. Her breath is.

“Waiting for someone?” Jo asks, a little ruined. Blood is dripping from their hands to the floor.

The witch loosens her grip on the knife and so Jo does too, it clattering needlessly away to the ground. It’s loud, but she barely hears it.

The witch has pressed her hands up to her breast, taking Jo’s with her, covering the stab wound. Blood is pulsating sluggishly out still between both their fingers. It’s a dark red. Darker than the lipstick on the witch’s lips.

Jo’s never really used lipstick before, never tasted it on someone else, either. Does it taste different on a witch? On a woman?

Her knees are getting weaker with the every beat of Rowena’s heart Jo can feel through her bloodied palms. Trembling, almost, now, but the witch seems to return it, and as if with gravity, she sways closer too.

Words spill from the witch’s lips again, out from around her tongue in that foreign accent Jo wants to push her fingers inside of.

“Someone like you,” Rowena says. There’s barely any sound to her words.

Just air.

Just the warmth of her heart, her blood, in Jo’s hands.

And then, the heat of her lips crashing into hers.

#i made like 3 jorowena posts and then thought fuck it it's ficlet time #and look i actually did it all in one go!!!!!! 1k words in one go!!!!!!!!!#this was so much fun thank you sapphic for once again inspiring me to create #rarepairs ily #jo harvelle #rowena #jorowena #sapphicnatural #spn ladies #homoerotic stabbing #rowena mcleod #femslash #spn fic #spn drabble #rarepair #ola writes

46 notes · View notes

the-hoarse-bard · 4 years ago

Text

At last, Vegas. Well, Freeside at least. Before we get to the strip to face down Benny, I have some OTHER revenge to seek. That bastard Carlos who raided my stash back in Primm. Apparently his hideout is in the hills north of town.

Bingo. The front door was locked up tight. Luckily, I noticed the alternate entrance on the roof due to the ladder sticking out of it. It was a bit of a leap from the hill behind the structure to the roof, but I made it. I told ED-E and Boone to keep watch in case Carlos came home early and headed inside.

Apparently, Carlos had sold off most of my stuff to some whackos at Crimson Caravan before deciding to become some kind of law bringer in North Vegas square. Crimson Caravan was closer so I decided I'd look around there just in case either of the people who bought my crap were hanging around. I unlocked the door from the inside and regrouped with ED-E and Boone before setting off.

I immediately recognized my old fatigues Mojave Express had given me on first joining up on some weedy little bastard. I decided to play it coy, asking him about the outfit, hoping to catch him in a lie. Unfortunately, he was a total dumbass, constantly fumbling over his words and making an ass of himself. When he didn't get the hint that I wanted my clothes back, I decided to just come out and threaten him. He immediately folded and gave them back before running off to Freeside with his tail between his legs. I swear I almost heard Boone laugh.

Damn, I haven't worn these fatigues in a long while. Forgot how many pockets were on this jacket. Definitely not cool enough for Mojave weather to be comfortable, but they always did a great job of keeping the sun and sand off me during long hauls. No one else around the compound had any of my stuff that I could see, so I suppose it was time to track down Carlos in North Vegas.

Carlos stood out like a sore thumb among the poor population of the area. My old bright red bandana certainly didn't help him blend in. He was certainly more suave than that weedy little rando who'd bought my fatigues, but still very much made a jackass of himself. After a lot of talking himself up, he asked if he'd like to come along to witness him taking down a local gang of criminals. I needed a laugh, so I agreed.

Carlos stopped a bit of a ways away from the criminals he'd come to face off with, a group of fiends by the look of them. He told me to stay back while he handled things. He stepped toward the fiends and gave a short speech about bringing them to justice... Before one of them shot his head off.

There was a bit of a pause before one of them pointed the three of us out and the gunfight ensued. I pulled a grenade from one of the pockets on my fatigues, damn those things were convenient, and chucked it at the fiends. It took out one of them, Boone popped another ones head like a cherry, and I put all six shots in Lucky's cylinder into the last ones chest.

I took my stuff back from Carlos after the dust had settled. He'd stolen the clothes I usually wore on long distance deliveries. Cool enough to be comfortable, enough coverage to not get sun stroke. He'd also apparently used the money from selling my other clothes to buy a pair of holsters. A side holster fitted for an enormous revolver, and a back holster for a brush gun. Apparently Carlos had dropped so much on these he didn't have guns to put in them... Genius. Well, supposing Carlos was dead now, may as well take his old home for myself. Be nice to have a foothold in Vegas.

I found a note on Carlos about where the remainder of my crap was. They'd been purchased by some guy called Marty in Westside. Carlos' note mentioned he seemed more than a little delusional, but that it wasn't his problem. Great. I can't have the normal people want my stuff, I have to get the weird thieves.

Marty was even easier to find than Carlos was, as he had purchased the outfit I wore in bad weather. Bastard must have been sweltering in that overcoat. He barely let me say a word before he started rattling off about his personal history, which got increasingly erratic and nonsensical as it went on. Clearly he was suffering from some kind of heatstroke. Eventually, he finally stopped talking and beckoned for me to follow him. Boone just shrugged, and we followed.

As we walked, Marty sang some kind of corny little song about himself. Eventually, he spotted his targets.... And immediately shit himself at the sight of them. One of the bandits shot him in the back as he limped away. Boone shot back at them, taking down all three easily himself. Well.... Glad I didn't have to kill this jackass myself.

I let Marty keep his pants, but god I was so right about this coat being way too hot. I could barely stand to wear it for even a minute. My stuff finally back in proper hands i.e. mine, Boone, ED-E, and I all headed back to Carlos' old place to relax a bit and store some of our travelling gear before heading for Benny.

#story post #fallout new vegas #Will #Courier's Stash #Westside #Freeside #North Vegas

7 notes · View notes

badger-writes · 4 years ago

Text

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt Filled: Impaled Palm

Fandom: Star Wars

AO3 Link

Now, Greedo’s not stupid.

He knows that being a bounty hunter, that working for Jabba, is going to carry certain risks. He also knows that any mercenary worth their salt isn’t going out into the hunt without being properly equipped – any idiot can just buy a blaster and blunder into a gunfight, after all. The real hunters, the good ones, have all kinds of tools and tricks for every situation.

Greedo might not have the budget that some of those other hunters are running around with. But he’s clever, you see – clever enough to engineer himself a particularly devious and cheap economical gadget of his own.

The recipe? One SquibLabs sabacc holdout, the kind that sits flush against your forearm just behind your wrist; a spare throwing knife thin enough to fit in the slot once you’ve jimmied it open wider with a spanner (balanced blade optional); a spanner (for aforementioned jimmying plus tinkering with the internals) – and presto! Now you’ll always have a trick up your sleeve – literally! And for much cheaper than one of those Vac Attack discthrower models.

“You’re cra-a-azy, Greedo,” B’il’li tells him through a haze of alcohol when he shows off his new toy in a Mos Eisley alleyway. “You’re gonna hit the big time with one of those? Tha-a-at busted little gizmo will never work out.”

“Oh yeah? Just watch.” Sneering smugly, the Rodian stretches his arm out toward the opposite wall, and with a click against his wrist and a satisfying -

SHUNK

- the knife up his sleeve rockets through the air and buries its point into the graffiti-stained sandcrete.

The Gotal’s eyes goggle. He has to take another swig of bottled swill to believe them. “We-e-ell, I’ll be!”

“What’d I tell you? Works like a charm!” Greedo crosses the lane and, with a little difficulty, works the the blade back out of the wall. “The only part that gets kind of hard is when you have to get it back into the slot – you’ve gotta, uh… you’ve gotta really stick it in … come on… just – just get in there…”

The Rodian’s overlong fingers fumble with knife, sleeve, and holdout for far longer than his earlier moment of triumph is willing to wait. Watching him struggle, B’il’li’s earlier awe fades even quicker. He idly draws from his bottle as Greedo audibly flounders with the uncooperative widget.

“There!” Greedo gasps, as the knife settles into its recess with a sound that’s less click and more clunk. “All done. Easy peasy. And now you’re ready to—”

As he’s rolling his wrist, his palm passes carelessly over the cuff of his sleeve, and something must jar loose in the holdout’s internals somewhere because there’s a click and a –

SHUNK

- and suddenly his palm is exploding with pain, and he can’t quite divine exactly why until he brings it in front of his face and takes in the sight of the blade stuck all the way through the meat and bone between one side of his hand and the other. And even then, it still takes his brain a second to process it.

There’s a cough in his throat like a choke and a sob, and it leaves his snout as a kind of unflattering honk. It happens again as he cradles his impaled hand in the fingers of the other and clutches it to his chest, tears welling in the corners of his bulbous eyes. This provokes a much different reaction from his Gotal colleague, who begins belly-laughing in a distinctly caprine fashion.

“S-stop laughing!” Greedo hisses, whimpering. “I – I’ve just been stabbed! This isn’t funny!”

“Agree to disagree there, Gre-e-e-edo,” B’il’li chortles.

Glaring, the Rodian tries to dislodge the embedded blade; the suckers of his fingertips wind tremulously around the narrow pommel of the knife and tug as gingerly as they’re able, but even the most delicate touch sends pain shooting up his arm. When he goes lightheaded and his eyes are swimming in red, he finally takes the hint and stops playing with it.

“Oh, shit,” he whines, as globs of blood slide off the edge of the tip and spatter the sand, stain the toes of his boots. “Ohh, karabast, I need a medic –”

“Haw haw, ha-a-ave you tried getting the first knife out with another knife?” the Gotal interjects, and apparently the mental image of doing so is the height of comedy for him because he doubles over against the gutted Gonk droid/public trash can next to him, holding his forehead with one furry mitt as if afraid his horns will fall off from the sheer hilarity of it all.

“S-stop laughing at me! I’ve been mutilated! It isn’t funny! Now are you gonna help me or what?!”

“Ahh, sure I can. Lemme see.”

No sooner does Greedo proffer his injured hand than the Gotal seizes him by the wrist and tears out the offending foreign object without so much as a word of warning. The resulting scream sends several womp rats in the surrounding vicinity scrambling for cover in the slums’ accumulation of urban flotsam.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT,” he shrieks, shoving his hand in his armpit to staunch the wound.

“You wanted help from me, I helped,” B’il’li shrugs indifferently, still chuckling. “What else was I supposed t’ do, go find a me-e-edtech?”

The Rodian growls and trudges off in search of a tub of bacta he can soak his palm in, fuming incandescently. The idiot Gotal can laugh all he wanted, but once the holdout mechanism works properly (and stop launching sharp objects straight through his hand), he and everybody else in the mercenary game better watch out.

And he can get it to work.

After all, Greedo’s not stupid.

#bad things happen bingo #star wars #greedo #prompt fill

4 notes · View notes

kook-meister · 3 years ago

Text

my first game in months, and I am graced by a Wraith who chose to sacrifice herself in the ring to give me the win: a short story

I walked in solo. Not by choice. My other two teammates never showed up. I waited until the dropship was almost empty before landing away from other squads. I picked up a Flatline and a P2020. I meandered my way upriver, taking my time, sticking to the shadows and rock walls so I wasn't seen.

I got shot at looting a care package. My heart sped up as I snatched the purple shield and snuck off. I looked back to see the lone attacking Octane dashing down the riverside - the direction I had came from. I cut through one of the many through-mountain paths and wound up in the sand.

As I emerged out the other side, a Valkyrie squad rocketing into the air startled me, prompting me to cling to the rocks and hope they didn't see me on their flyby. I stopped behind a tree at the approach of jangling equipment. A squad emerged from one of the walled building complexes. I didn't know if it was the one I'd spotted seconds before. Even as I had to rotate partway around the tree to stay hidden, they didn't notice me, and ran off through another tunnel.

Round four was closing in by then. I kept along the sandy side of the divide between the bleak desert and the lush river, hyperaware of distant gunfire and echoes of what I kept thinking were footsteps. I grew closer to the Airbase, the ring nearing the fifth round, and the fifth squad having just been eliminated. Paying close attention to the lukewarm trail left behind by enemies, I slipped into the base.

The ring closed off the airship docks. I took my time as I climbed up some stairs to the main level. I was alone, thankfully. Sounds of a gunfight came from a building a little ways out front of the base. I kept my distance. Three squads were left. My fingers began to tingle with tension. I'd be pushed out into the open with the next ring. Light footfalls had me duck behind an APC and wait until they were far enough away to safely peek around. Through my scope, I saw an opponent clamber up a ledge and around the building. I seized my chance to dart behind a boulder before clearing the open sand to a patch of straw-like grass against a concrete wall. With my Flatline close to my chest, I waited, sweat slicking my palms.

Bright orange walls thudded into place for the second final circle. Unsettling silence engulfed me. Only me and the other squad remained. More footsteps came from behind me, and I held my breath when a short black figure ran out from the other side of the wall. They travelled the border of the ring and opened a care package that I'd left untouched out of fear of announcing myself. I thought it was an Octane, but there was no mechanical whirring within the stride. A Wraith.

She came back across the small open stretch of sand when the minimap updated with the last zone. One that would force us both out into plain sight. She stopped just before a second boulder. She was facing me. I'd been seen. I took the first shots. Red EVO damage numbers popped up, and I was immediately doubtful of my survival. The Wraith ducked in and out of cover but didn't fire back. I let go of my trigger, cautiously stepping into the road, confused. Part of me wished this would unfold how I wanted: no guns, only fists, a melee fight to the death.

To my relief, an arch of shield batteries and ammo spewed over the sunbaked rock and the Wraith stepped forward. I followed her example and discarded my inventory. She was within arms reach in a quick jog. I landed a punch on her, but there was no hit back. Figuring she wasn't ready, I let her pick up a syringe to heal, and I climbed the nearby hill for a better fighting ground. When I turned, she wasn't behind me but instead sprinting into the zone.

The Wraith was deep beyond the border by the time I'd gotten to its edge. Even if I ran in after her, she'd go down before me, and I didn't think she'd pick up a medkit if I offered one. Conflict made me pace back and forth. I wanted a showdown - not a sacrifice. I painfully watched as she braced against flinches of pain. Her knees gave out. Then her elbows. And then I was crowned the champion over blaring fanfare.

never caught the name of said Wraith because my game glitched out within seconds of the game ending, but I hope they know they'll go down a hero in my memory

#apex legends #s tier gamer moment

4 notes · View notes

elcinelateleymickyandonie · 4 years ago

Text

Phyllis Coates.

Filmografía

- Así que quieres estar en política (1948, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Las chicas inteligentes no hablan (1948) como Cigarette Girl (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres estar en la radio (1948, corto) como Mrs.Alice McDoakes / Radio Voice (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres ser una niñera (1949, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Your Show Time (1949, Serie de TV)

- Así que quieres ser popular (1949, breve) como secretaria de oficina (sin acreditar)

- Un beso en la oscuridad (1949) como Mrs.Hale (sin acreditar)

- Busque el lado positivo (1949) como Rosie (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres ser un hombre musculoso (1949, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Entonces tienes problemas con los suegros (1949, breve) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- La casa al otro lado de la calle (1949) como Gorgeous (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres hacerte rico rápidamente (1949, breve) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- My Foolish Heart (1949) como College Girl on Phone (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres hacer una fiesta (1950, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Entonces crees que no eres culpable (1950, breve) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres abrazar a tu marido (1950, corto) como Alice McDoakes / Baby McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres moverte (1950, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- My Blue Heaven (1950) como Party Girl (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres un aumento (1950, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Blues Busters (1950) como Sally Dolan

- Forajidos de Texas (1950) como Anne Moore

- The Cisco Kid (1950-1951, Serie de TV) como Marge Lacey / Miss Lacey / JoAnn Doran

- Valentino (1951) como Casting Clerk de Universal Studios (sin acreditar)

- Hombre de Sonora (1951) como Cinthy Allison

- Canyon Raiders (1951) como Alice Long

- Así que quieres ser un vaquero (1951, corto) como Alice McDoakes / Cindy Lou (sin acreditar)

- Estrellas sobre Hollywood (1951, Serie de TV)

- Nevada Badmen (1951) como Carol Bannon

- Así que quieres ser un colgador de papel (1951, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres comprar un auto usado (1951 corto) como Alice McDoakes.

Justicia de Oklahoma (1951) como Goldie Vaughn

- Así que quieres ser soltero (1951, corto) como Alice Peckinpah McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Así que quieres ser plomero (1951, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Superman y los hombres topo (1951) como Lois Lane

- El Longhorn (1951) como Gail

- Stage to Blue River (1951) como Joyce Westbrook

- El sol se estaba poniendo (1951, corto de televisión) como Rene

- Así que quieres conseguirlo al por mayor (1952, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- El pistolero (1952) como Anita Forester

- Racket Squad (1952, Serie de TV)

- Así que quieres ir a una convención (1952, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Así que nunca dices una mentira (1952, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Fargo (1952) como Kathy MacKenzie

- Canyon Ambush (1952) como Marian Gaylord

- Águilas de la flota (1952) como Dorothy Collier

- Así que quieres ponerte los pantalones (1952, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Resumen de Wyoming (1952) como Terry Howard

- Invasion, USA (1952) como Mrs.Mulfory

- The Maverick (1952) como Della Watson

- Schlitz Playhouse (1952, Serie de TV)

- The Range Rider (1952, Serie de TV) como Doris Burton / Jane Tracy

- Los archivos de Jeffrey Jones (1952, Serie de TV)

- Furia abrasadora (1952) como la Sra. Penn, mujer en la acera

- Craig Kennedy, criminólogo (1952, Serie de TV) como Natalie Larkin

- Aventuras de Superman (1952-1953, Serie de TV) como Lois Lane

- Días del Valle de la Muerte (1952-1964, Serie de TV) como Dora Hand / Edna Wiley / Lois Bouquette / Mary / Annie Stewart / Margie McMahon / Virginia Arcane

- Tambores de la selva de África (1953, serial) como Carol Bryant

- Mariscal de Cedar Rock (1953) como Martha Clark

- Ella está de vuelta en Broadway (1953) como Blonde (sin acreditar)

- Peligros de la jungla (1953) como Jo Carter

- Ramar de la jungla (1953, Serie de TV) como Donna Sharp

- Así que quieres un televisor (1953, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Summer Theatre (1953, Serie de TV) como Marge Minter

- Soy la ley (1953, Serie de TV)

- Así que amas a tu perro (1953, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Topeka (1953).

-Aquí vienen las chicas (1953) como Chorus Girl (sin acreditar)

- El Paso Stampede (1953) como Alice Clark

- The Red Skelton Hour (1953, Serie de TV) como Sketch Player de apoyo

- Entonces crees que no puedes dormir (1953, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- El escaparate de tu joyero (1953, Serie de TV) como Betty Tucker

- El show de Abbott y Costello (1953, Serie de TV) como Millie Montrose

- Así que quieres ser heredero (1953, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Terry y los piratas (1953, Serie de TV) como Georgia Pettigrew

- El llanero solitario (1953-1955, Serie de TV) como Jane Johnson / Naomi Courtwright / Ann Wyman

- Crown Theatre con Gloria Swanson (1954, Serie de TV)

- Entonces estás teniendo problemas con el vecino (1954, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Gunfighters of the Northwest (1954) como Rita Carville

- Las aventuras de Kit Carson (1954, Serie de TV) como Jane Sanders

- El duque (1954, Serie de TV) como Gloria

- Defensor público (1954, Serie de TV) como Amberlee Tolliver

- Es una gran vida (1954-1956, Serie de TV) como Lola Denton / Ann

- General Electric Theatre (1954-1958, Serie de TV) como Heather

- La chica pantera del Kongo (1955) como Jean Evans

- Padre profesional (1955, serie de televisión) como la enfermera Madge Allen

- Topper (1955, Serie de TV) como Queen

Cabalgata de América (1955, Serie de TV) como Barbara Leland

- El millonario (1955, Serie de TV) como Alice Sands

- Willy (1955, Serie de TV) como Betty Estrada

- Etapa 7 (1955, Serie de TV) como Alice / Kay Murray

- Teatro de ciencia ficción (1955, Serie de TV) como Karen Sheldon

- Lassie (1955, Serie de TV) como Miss Vernon

- The Great Gildersleeve (1955, Serie de TV) como Sally Fuller

- Frontier (1955, Serie de TV) como Medora De More

- TV Reader's Digest (1955-1956, Serie de TV) como Nancy / Mother

- Navy Log (1956, Serie de TV) como Marge

- Four Star Theatre (1956, Serie de TV) como Marsha

- Así que quieres ser bonita (1956, corto) como Alice McDoakes, también conocida como Cynthia (sin acreditar)

- Salón de las estrellas de Chevron (1956, serie de televisión) como Mary

- Así que quieres tocar el piano (1956, corto).

Crossroads (1956, Serie de TV)

- Así que su esposa quiere trabajar (1956, corto) como Alice McDoakes (sin acreditar)

- Niñas en prisión (1956) como Dorothy

- El maravilloso mundo de color de Walt Disney (1956, serie de televisión) como Mrs.Martin

- Dios está en las calles (1956, breve)

Esta es la vida (1956, Serie de TV)

- Chicago Confidential (1957) como -Helen Fremont (sin acreditar)

- Déjelo a Beaver (1957, Serie de TV) como Betty Donaldson

- Yo era un Frankenstein adolescente (1957) como Margaret

- El sheriff de Cochise (1958, Serie de TV) como Vera Watson

- Flecha de sangre (1958) como Bess Johnson

- Richard Diamond, detective privado (1958, serie de televisión) como Monica Freeborn

- Cattle Empire (1958) como Janice Hamilton

- Esta es Alice (1958, Serie de TV) como Clarissa Holliday

- Tales of Wells Fargo (1958-1961, Serie de TV)

- Gunsmoke (1958-1964, Serie de TV) como Edna / Rose Kinney / Hattie Kelly

- Perry Mason (1958-1964, Serie de TV) como Inez Fremont / Frieda Crawson / Norma Carter

- Westinghouse Desilu Playhouse (1959, Serie de TV) como Belle

- Black Saddle (1959, Serie de TV) como Maggie

- Lux Playhouse (1959, Serie de TV) como Ellen Packer

- El increíble mundo petrificado (1959) como Dale Marshall

- Hennesey (1959, Serie de TV) como Dr. Patricia Granger

- Cuero crudo (1959-1961, Serie de TV) como Elizabeth Gwynn / Nora Sage

- Los intocables (1959-1962, Serie de TV) como Angela Lamberto / Ellie Morley / Renee Sullivan

- El programa de DuPont con June Allyson (1960, Serie de TV) como Penny

- Ojo hawaiano (1960, Serie de TV) como Laura Seldon

- The Best of the Post (1960, Serie de TV) como Mollie

- Gunslinger (1961, Serie de TV) como Teresa Perez

- The Patty Duke Show (1963-1964, serie de televisión) como secretaria

- The Virginian (1964, Serie de TV) como Mrs.Marden

- Gunsmoke (1964, Serie de TV) como Edna

- La gente de Slattery (1964, Serie de TV) como Helen Mayfield

- El fantasma de Thompson (1966, película para televisión) como Milly Thompson

- Summer Fun (1966, Serie de TV) como Milly Thompson

- The Baby Maker (1970) como la madre de Tish

- Whisper Kill (1988, película para televisión)

- Kiss Shot (1989).

-Buenas noches, dulce Marilyn (1989) como Gladys Pearl Baker

- Midnight Caller (1991, Serie de TV) como Meredith Gaynor

- La Sra. Lambert recuerda el amor (1991, película para televisión) como Katherine

- Lois & Clark: Las nuevas aventuras de Superman (1994, Serie de TV) como Ellen Lane

- Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman (1994, Serie de TV) como Mrs.Howard

- Hollywood: La película (1996, video) como Old Dora

- The Forsaken Westerns (2017, Serie de TV) como Nancy Carnes (aparición final).

Créditos: Tomado de Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phyllis_Coates#

#HONDURASQUEDATEENCASA

#ELCINELATELEYMICKYANDONIE

11 notes · View notes

whirlybirdwhat · 4 years ago

Text

hey there, space cowboy

There's a story to be found on an unnamed desert planet, without water and with three suns burning the sky red. There's a story to be found between drinks and gunfights, and the way friends call out to each other when there's nothing but sand in sight.

There's a story to be found with the Straw Hats, and red blood spilled across desert sands.

Or: Zolu Space Cowboy AU, drabble series featuring all of the strawhats.

Read on AO3 For Better formatting!

PART 1

In another life, Zoro thinks they would have belonged on the sea. Endless depths beneath their feet, sun glinting off the waves, air full of sea spray and salt and adventure – the life of a pirate, an outlaw on the seas.

(Free.)

Who knows, perhaps they could still have that life someday.

But for now, Zoro makes his home in the endless stretch of the desert, where three suns shine dimmer than Luffy’s smile but hotter than a burning fire, and the horizon never seems to end. Where sand is as rolling as ocean waves, where the path he travels gets lost between shifting dunes, and where dirty cliffsides provide meager shade. Where, where, where Zoro is never anywhere but nowhere all the time.

(And still, people say he gets lost. How, when there isn’t anything on this blasted hell planet?)

The desert (the entirety) of this unnamed planet is a lawless land, one with few rules and fewer morals. People look at you and see your weapons before your face, assessing you before a fight can break out.

(Everyone has a gun, but it’s the people with shitty ones you have to look out for. Those people survive by other means (fists encased in black, swords slicing red blood across golden sand, kicks cracking mountains and slingshots flashing faster than a bullet) – and they are always so much more dangerous than those who import state of the art weapons from the only fucking port on the entire planet.)

(Those people – the people Zoro’s part of, the people that Zoro can defeat in moment if he tried because he’s he has to live – are survivors, victors, alive.)

Miles stretch between towns, cliffsides more common than a motel to lay your head, but Zoro’s used to it now. He never stays in town for long, the only thing it being good for is booze and bloody knuckles. He enjoys it when he can but –

The horizon holds more gleaming treasures than a seedy saloon in the middle of nowhere.

“Zoro.”

The name is said with the easygoing conviction of someone who knows he’ll listen. And really, the speaker is the only one Zoro would ever listen to.

(Well. There’s a bit of nuance to that, because Nami knows when the dust is kicking up into a devil, and Robin knows negotiations, and Usopp knows poison and Chopper knows medicine but - )

“Luffy.”

(He’s the only person that Zoro would listen to without question, without condition, without doubt, without the glimmering thought of mutiny.)

Luffy, smiling under a golden hat (crown) of straw, brightens at Zoro’s own tone, the way Zoro is now distracted from the cliffside he is hanging his feet off of. Luffy passes Zoro a bottle of whiskey, his own bottle dangling between two scarred fingers. “Nami says we should reach Devil’s Peak by daybreak.”

“Yeah? Think there will be a fight?”

Think there will be an adventure?

“It’s us.”

Of course.

“Nice.” Luffy takes a swig out of his own bottle, settling down beside Zoro so they can stare out at the setting sun together.

They’ve been heading towards Devil’s Peak for a while now, drawn by the promise of the best liquor this side of the Divide and a treasure hidden in the caverns of the cliffside town.

An adventure, Luffy had said, learning about it from a bloody bandit lying at his feet. A profit, Nami had said delighted, and mapped out a path immediately.

Zoro doesn’t think he’ll mind if there’s no adventure or treasure or even booze to be found there.

(Well, maybe not the last one.)

The ride there has been eventful enough – it was the usual standard of eventful at least. Merry, their crystal powered wagon, outfitted to scale narrow cliffs, had half broken down before Usopp could fix her up, there had been no less than six bandit attacks, they had gotten off track for three days, booze had run out before they stumbled upon a suspicious treasure trove of it, and Luffy had befriended a giant lizard (who was now, under the new name of ‘Beans’ helping pull Merry as her jets sputtered and flickered to keep moving.)

The journey is all he really has now – what’s the point of getting from A to B, if A and B are just shitholes and busted lips and sorry people?

So, he enjoys it.

Though – privately, to hold up his façade, even as he tips his own sun worn hat closer to his face – he would like a bed to sleep in.

(This unnamed planet has three suns with burning rays. It’s dangerous to travel in the day during scorching season (which is most of the year, as the planet travels between all three suns), so naps are made in cramped tents and quarters during the day. Night is when they travel during the scorching season, when this planet turns away from the light for just a moment, meager hours to precious to waste on dawdling so the pace is deadly. But… Zoro misses the rising sun above his head sometimes – misses being able to sleep whenever and not just when the chance of dying is close to zero. But – it’s the desert.

A merciless, unforgiving place.

What can he do, but survive it? Enjoy it?)

Beside him, Luffy starts humming, some old campfire song that Zoro distantly remembers from last night.

Its peaceful, this quiet moment. The way the setting sun frames Luffy’s face and the brim of his hat casts shadows in all the right places. The chill that slowly settles over their skin like whispers, the breeze that ruffles the bandanas around both of their necks.

The bottles of whiskey are set aside for a moment as both of them lean in closer to each other. Shoulders brush and Luffy kicks Zoro’s ankles twice before Zoro mutters an angry quit it! only to be met with a Shishishi!They settle, the sounds of the camp, a party, really, fading in the background, leaving only them and the setting sun.

Luffy’s fingers brush Zoro’s, and he is quick to snatch his hand in a gentle hold.

Luffy’s hands are calloused as he traces them over Zoro’s. They aren’t like Zoro’s, which are hardened from swords made of desert steel and years of practice, but rather the kind one gets from living in the desert and the wilderness for years – the kind one gets when a strong grip is all that’s between you and falling off a cliff, between you and losing a fight, between you and your freedom.

Luffy snickers, a soft thing, as Zoro switches the hold so he can trace over them instead. His head lands against Zoro’s shoulder, straw hat bumping off, and letting black hairs tickle Zoro’s skin.

Zoro doesn’t mind.

(The desert is an unforgiving place, a nameless place where nothing that has meaning really survives, and Zoro does not know how long this easy going pace will last. They have six in their motley crew, their gang, right now, and every destination is more dangerous than the last as they make their way across the desert.

Eventually, one of them is going to fall.

(And the sorry bastards of this hideous planet will cry A Straw Hat is dead! with tears in their eyes as they read the scrap of paper they call news with one of his friends’ bodies on the cover They will cry and no one will know if it is joyful or terrified.

It’ll probably be both.)

But that is not now – now is peaceful moments under the setting sun, liquor warming his lips and a hand in his. Now is the gleaming gold of a hat and a familiar sloping scar, now is the warmth of a body pressed against his and the chatter of dear friends – family – in the background.

Now is not forever, but it is all that matters.

So no, Zoro does not mind. He doesn’t mind at all.)

23 notes · View notes

hell-on-training-wheels · 4 years ago

Text

@downydatura Here’s your Mirror Match snippet. 🤠

Honestly, the younger gunslinger couldn't wrap his head around the time merger bullshit; the universal rules clandestine to him and there was no use mulling over too long about something that wouldn't provide an answer blatantly. Besides, the complexities of chronological oddities wasn't what he wanted to think about.

He grinned before taking another sip of wine.

What he wanted to think about, was how hard he was going to fuck the older Black’s cute little healer and how much his older self would hate it after he found out.

Somewhat relevant to the subject, his memory drifted back to Abilene, Kansas and to a feud he was too disinterested in his youth to pay attention to but found comparable to his idea now.

It had been between none other than his mentor, and once Union man, James ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok and the Rebel owner of the Bulls Head Saloon, Phil Coe.

The immortal-esque cowboy chuckled lowly with fondness at the thought of the once Marshall of Abilene — the same one who taught him how to twirl pistols and also how to make them sing. He had barely been a teen at the time when the long-haired sombrero wearing legend had taken a liking to him after Abraham, his surrogate father, had taken a badge to serve as one of his deputies.

Every once in a while in his adolescent youth, he'd walk into the Bull's Head Saloon, trying to sneak whiskey with another secret mentor of his, John Wesley Hardin, under Abe's watchful eye. Hardin would give him whiskey under the table, while Erron listened to the wanted desperado talk about Texas in between both of them watching as all three men, Coe, Hickok and Abraham, fawned over the same woman that worked at the Bull's Head.

Erron smiled at the memory of her, remembering his own little adolescent crush on the dark-haired and eyed, Jesse Hazel. Everybody liked her, and if there was one woman that could stir them all up with contemptuous jealousy towards each other—especially when the woman liked to toy with their affections and rub it in the other three men's faces —it was Jesse.

Hickok had it the worst for her. The man's already respectable reputation before Abilene made for easy living for him, and he enjoyed the hell out of the perks, so he didn't particularly like that Coe was courting her as well... and the fact that she liked Coe more.

Boy, could Hickok get jealous, and in a town whose residents and traveling cowpunchers were almost always filled up with whiskey, it was a troublesome mix. Everybody also knew that besides women, playing jokes and poker, Bill loved his liquor, and also that he wanted Jesse bad.

The Yankee never did like the Reb (for other than obvious reasons), and it was one of the many instances between them that grew further rancor between the two men that eventually led to a deadly altercation between the two.

Jesse Hazel... she knew exactly what she was doing. Stringing Bill along all the while she really loved Coe, all the while taking delight in watching two bulls tussle because of her.

Erron raised his goblet of wine slightly to the empty chair, toasting to old ghosts for the idea, before he finally caught the flash of red he'd been waiting for — this time not accompanied. His older self's woman (he didn't know her name or really cared) dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, finally making her way to the door. He sat there, electricity flaring across his nerves in anticipation as he brought the cup of wine back to his lips, his eyes never leaving, and drank.

He watched her, her back still turned towards him, while she took out a key, unlocked the door and pushed herself into the house before closing it.

The bounty hunter licked his bottom lip, swirling the goblet absently in his leather-clad hand. He was aware of two scenarios that could play out: one, understanding the older Black's habit of seeing her during the afternoon before going back to the palace, could very well walk in on them in the act. It brought an evil smirk to his face, and despite that he might catch them in the middle before he could finish, found himself liking it. He was always up for a good or gun fight, no matter how precarious.

The other was he would simply just fuck her brains out and let her tell the older gunslinger of their rendezvous and revel at him getting as jealous as Hickok with Jesse. He clicked his tongue in mild disappointment. He would love to see the look on his older counterpart's face, but knew he wouldn’t, when she told him the next time they hooked up — especially knowing she'd prefer him in the end.

There was no doubt about it. The younger gunfighter had stamina, more youthful handsome looks, and always left them satisfied. He doubted his older self — even if time slowed down his age — could offer the same after 150 years.

Another notable difference between them was he wasn't one for comraderies with his whores while the elder Black seemed to take up the habit now. Which was why he liked the idea of screwing his woman so much. It was an open target for him to shoot at. If the situation was anything like Coe/Hickock, he suspected his other half would sever ties with her after finding out who she truly fancied. And then he’d break her little heart by never showing up again.

Sorry darling. I don’t stick to one skirt, no matter how nice it is.

Black finished his wine, looking over the rim of the goblet with a predatory blitheness towards her house.

That will finally get your attention, now won't it, old man?

Finally, Erron made his move; standing from the table before dropping a few bronze coins for the wine and nothing else as a tip for the shitty service, before making his way to the door of the bar.

His boots sunk into the sand the same time he adjusted his eyes to the setting sun that turned the sand on fire and made its glare blinding. The black and red-striped leather jacket he wore warmed almost instantly in the desert sun, and he felt it heat up his back as he finally came to stand in front of the door of the healer's home.

He contemplated for a fleeting second if he should knock on her door, knowing it was the first thing his elder self did, but then he remembered... he wasn't old yet.

Black grabbed the handle, testing it to see if it was unlocked, and smiled faintly when it was.

When he walked into the dimly lit and empty room, the only things there being an almost bare table and made bed, and something else he hadn't expected to stumble on...

#my fic #mirror match #sorry you did say no spoilers 😉#still WIP but hopefully will be done soon.

14 notes · View notes

meilas · 4 years ago

Text

Movie recommendations from one of my residents 12/3/2020 Rest in peace, sir

In the Heat of the Night ✔️The King and I ✔️One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest Birdman of Alcatraz ❌Titanic (I started watching this one years ago and I never finished b/c I was too scared) North by Northwest Lethal Weapon Goldfinger Dr No Thunderball You Only Live Twice From Russia With Love Barefoot in the Park Three Days of the Condor Quigley Down Under Hitch Roadhouse Dirty Dancing Giant Cat On A Hot Tin Roof Some Like It Hot ✔️Jurassic Park Latin Lovers Where Eagles Dare Home Alone Jaws Airport 1975 Firefox Top Gun A Family Affair OR Family Plot Enemy of the State Mr Blanding Builds His Dream House The Natural To Catch A Thief The Wedding Guest Hunt For Red October Do You Wanna Dance It Happened on 5th Avenue No Time for Sergeants The Sweet Smell of Success Boom! Kim Guns of Navarone Bridge on the River Kwai The Adventures of Robin Hood Dial M for Murder The Magnificent Seven Gunfight at the O.K. Corral ✔️The Quiet Man Dirty Dozen The African Queen Blackboard Jungle Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner ✔️All Quiet on the Western Front Desert Fox Hawaii ✔️The World is Not Enough Blood and Sand Meet John Doe Yours Mine and Ours Shane Ben-Hur Citizen Kane His Girl Friday Roman Holiday High Society Maltese Falcon It Happened One Night

2 notes · View notes

survivorwildwest · 4 years ago

Text

Episode 5 - We’ll Get Through It

Colby looks defeated as Tsitsistas returns to camp. Michaela places a hand on his shoulder as she enters the shelter for the night. Colby nods in appreciation.

At high noon the next day, the tribes meet Jeff in town for the next reward challenge. “The thing about the Wild West,” Jeff starts, milking the theme for all its worth, “people were always coming and going, between towns, kind of like on Survivor. Everybody, drop your buffs.”

Everyone throws their buff in the air and grabs a velvet bag from the barrel in front of them. They unwrap the velvet bags to reveal their new buffs. The buffs are designed to look like bandanas and don the Survivor: Wild West logo, which features a cowboy on horseback, horseshoes and a crude rendering of a desert landscape.

Jerri opens her velvet bag and says, “Teal.” Wendy opens hers, “Orange.” Russell opens his and looks at Jerri and Wendy, “Orange.” Jerri and Russell stare at each other as they separate, but Jerri stares a bit longer.

“Uh, Jeff. My buff is white,” Bi says.

“Yeah, mine too,” says Wardog.

“If your buff is white, you will be ditched.”

“What’s that mean?” Wardog shouts.

“You will be locked behind bars in the town square until the next immunity challenge, at which point, each of you will join your new tribes.”

The new tribes are, on Tsitsistas: Colby, Russell, Ben, Lauren, Wendy, Kass and Brandon. The new Suhtai is: Elizabeth, Michaela, Jerri, Ken, Todd, Carl and Hannah.

“Today’s challenge is for both reward and individual immunity. The last remaining member of each tribe will win individual immunity, and the last remaining person overall will win reward for their tribe: the opportunity to go to tribal council first and sit in on the other tribe’s while eating a feast of burgers, fries and whiskey and... this,” Jeff says, holding a darkened wine bottle, “to be opened later.”

Jeff stands before fourteen stationary oxen. One line of seven facing another. “For today’s challenge, you will sit on the back of this oxen. If you lose your balance, the oxen’s torso will rock back and forth until you fall off. Last person on their oxen for each tribe wins immunity.”

They each take their places and the challenge begins. Hannah falls almost immediately. After a few minutes, Carl falls, then Wendy. Russell drops soon after. Then, everyone else sustains a good posture. Kass begins to tip, distracting Brandon. Kass can’t recover. Brandon tries to not laugh, but the suppression backfires and throws off his balance. He falls into the desert sand below. Elizabeth swats a fly away and her ox begins to twist. She doesn’t recover. Colby slips and, in trying to reaffix himself, falls off. Lauren and Ben remain for Tsitsistas. Michaela loses her focus in the heat and falls off. Jerri looks over to make sure she’s okay, causing her ox to rock, throwing her off. Todd and Ken remain for Suhtai. Todd looks over at Ben and says, “Hey Ben. Do you want to do a winner’s alliance?”

Hannah and Michaela laugh from the bench as Ben yells, “No,” falling in his fervor.

Todd turns his attention and says, “Congratulations, Lauren.”

“Yeah,” Ken says, not trying to not break his focus, “Congratulations.”

“Thanks Ken,” Lauren says. Ken slips when he hears her and his ox begins to rock. “Thanks, Todd.”

“No problem,” Todd says, remaining stationary.

Ken clenches his thighs on the ox’s swinging body, but it’s too wet from his sweat. He can’t regain balance and slips off.

“Oh, man,” he says when he hits the ground.

“Lauren,” Todd says.

“Uh-huuuuh?”

“How important is going first to you guys?”

“Uh-huuuh...”

“It’s that important to you,” Todd asks, his ox beginning to rock.

“Yuuuup.”

“What do you want for it?”

“The bottle.”

“What,” he asks, his ox near shaking.

“I’ll let you guys go first if you give us the bottle.”

“What’s in the bottle?”

“Your win.”

“Okay, fine. Do it!”

Lauren bends forward, wrapping her arms around the ox’s neck as she slowly swings her leg over his torso. Jeff hands her and Todd individual immunity, then says, “Suhtai, you will attend tribal council first tonight, then watch Tsitsistas’ tribal council as you indulge in burgers and fries and whiskey.”

Todd rubs his belly.

“But, this,” he grabs the darkened wine bottle, “thanks to a trade made between Todd and Lauren, is going to Tsitsistas. You can open this back at camp as a tribe.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a coyote plays in the sand.

In jail, Wardog and Bi are locked behind bars in two separate cells in one room. They’re alone in the room but for one desk near the front door. After a few hours, Wardog is putting his white buff over his nose like a bandit.

“I’m like a real outlaw,” he says, pointing finger guns at Bi from across the jail, “pew, pew.”

“So, Wardog’s doing whatever he’s doing and I notice something on his buff,” Bi says in a talking head, “Our tribe buffs had cowboys and rope and a gun, but this one has a bow & arrow pointed at a star.” She holds the new buff up to show off the clue. “So, I started looking around for a star and I notice this toolbox on a shelf on the wall between us with a star painted on the side. I didn’t even see it until I was looking for it.”

She heads to the corner of her cell, looks at the shelf overhead, and determines she can’t reach the toolbox. So, she uses the bed made of thin wooden planks as a step up to the center bar of the cell.

“Hey, what are you doing,” Wardog asks as he jots over to his side of the tool box.

Bi reaches through the bars and opens the toolbox. Inside, she finds two screwdrivers and two rolls of twine. She grabs one of the screwdrivers and looks over her cell. She notices the planks of wood making the bed she’s standing on have been screwed.

“And then it dawns on me,” Bi says in a talking head.

“Have you seen any keys?”

“Uh, what, no, keys,” Wardog asks, “We’re trapped in these cells until the next immunity challenge. That’s the whole point.”

“I don’t think it is,” Bi says, looking up from unscrewing the planks.

“Just, look for the keys for me, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Wardog surveys the room as Bi finishes disassembling her bed.

“Bi!”

“What?”

“Next to the door.”

Bi looks up from tying twine around the planks to see Wardog pointing at the front door of the Sheriff's office where they were trapped.

“Awesome. Thank you.”

She finishes building her pole arm and reaches it 20 feet across the office but it drops on the front desk, knocking a newspaper from the desk and onto the ground. She realigns the pole, this time resting it on the center bar of her jail cell. She crouches slightly to get the upward trajectory needed to reach the keys. She slips her pole through the keyring and lifts it so the keys slide into her hands. There are three keys on the keyring. Two are large, rusty, black keys, clearly meant for their cells, but the third is smaller and cleaner. Bi reaches around her bars and tries one of the keys in her own lock. It doesn’t work, so she tries the other. The metallic lock disengages as Bi twists it. She opens the door and frees Wardog. She holds up the third key. “We need to find whatever this unlocks.”

“It looks like a key for a safe.”

“I was thinking the same thing. Where would a Sheriff keep a safe?”

“Under the front desk,” Wardog says, removing the chair from the front desk.

“Wardog, oh my god!” Bi tries the key and it works perfectly. Inside, she finds a box, locked with a combination lock.

“What the fuck,” they both groan.

Wardog notices the newspaper on the ground. He looks at the front page to see an article about the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. He reads it over, then asks, “How many numbers?”

“Four”

“Okay, okay, okay, try One-Eight-Eight-One”

She tries it, but it doesn’t work.

“Okay, try One-Zero-Two-Six.”

She enters the combination and it unlocks. “How did you know that?”

“It’s the date of the shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.”

She looks inside and then says, “Wardog, can I trust you?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She pulls out a sheriff’s badge and a paper telling her this is the Idol Nullifier.

“Oh, holy shit.”

“No one knows about this.”

“Wardog.”

“Bi.”

“You. Cannot. Tell. Anyone. About. This.”

“Bi, I won’t say a word.”

“I saw what you did to Wentworth. I’m not gonna let the same happen to me.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, Bi. Here. Here. Let me prove it to you.”

He runs back to his bag and pulls out his extra parchment. He tells her, “This is an extra vote. No one else knows about it.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, Wardog. Don’t use that until the merge. I’ll tell you when its needed.”

“Okay, sounds good,” Wardog says, trying to quiet an excited squee.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

“Your real name isn’t Wardog, is it?”

“That’s just what everyone calls me. My real name is Dan. Dan ‘The Wardog’ DaSilva,” he says with a joking bravado.

“Alright, Dan,” Bi laughs.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a carpenter bee buzzes into its home.

Back at the Tsitsistas camp, everyone crowds around Lauren as she attempts to uncork the wine bottle, but the cork won’t come out, so she smashes the bottle on a rock. Inside is a small envelope, sealed shut with red wax. The front of the envelope reads, “Open at tribal council after the votes are read.”

“What do you think it is,” Brandon asks.

“I think we get to pick between Bi and Wardog,” she explains.

“You want Wardog, I assume,” Ben asks.

“No way,” Wendy says, “Our tribe was terrible on Edge of Extinction.”

“We had one of the worst tribes in Survivor history,” Lauren tells them, “Both of us and Wardog were on it together. Then when we swapped and lost Wendy, we were even worse. Taking Bi is the right move if we can.”

At Suhtai, everyone congratulates Todd, then Michaela and Ken introduce themselves to their new tribe.

“Hi, I’m Michaela. I’m from Texas. I played in Millennials vs Gen X and then again in Game Changers.”

“Hi, I’m Ken, I also played in Millennials vs Gen X, but Michaela and I were on different tribes. I was on the Gen X tribe.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, the wind blows across the desolate earth.

In the hills of the Tsitsistas camp, Wendy and Russell check in with each other. In a talking head, Russell is ecstatic, “This could not have worked out better. I’ve got my little dumb girl with me and no Jerri to align with her behind my back.”

“Ahhh!!!” Wendy screams in her own talking head, “I can’t get rid of him!”

“So, what are you thinking,” he asks Wendy.

“I think it’s going to be one of us.”

“I think so too. Do you have an idol?”

“No,�� Wendy lies, “do you?”

“I don’t. Jerri just said she thought you might have one,” he says, staring at her for several seconds, gauging her reaction.

In a talking head, Russell admits, “Jerri never told me anything about any idol, but hey, maybe she’ll tell me if she has one!”

“I don’t! We should look for one.”

Elsewhere, Brandon and Ben scurry to shade. “What’s going on, man? Have you talked to Russell yet,” Ben asks.

“Not yet, but I will. I think we should stick with him for a while but I have no problem cutting him when we have to.”

“Good. That’s what I was thinking too. Do you think he’ll be into it?”

“Oh yeah, Hantzs don’t turn their back on each other.” Brandon lifts his knuckles and Ben taps them with his own.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a blue scrub jay rests on a tree branch.

On the other side of the desert, Hannah and Michaela catch up at the Suhtai camp. “So, have you been working with Ken,” she asks with more energy than she can contain.

“We haven’t voted together.”

“What?!”

“I’ve been working with Colby and Ken just does whatever Lauren tells him to do.”

“Okay, okay, lemme think.”

“I’ll vote for him. I don’t give a shit. I voted for him last time.”

“So, he knows he’s a target?”

“I think he probably already knows. I figure, if it’s not him, it’s me. And if it’s not me, it’s you.”

“Alright,” Hannah says, shrugging her shoulders with disdain.

“Who instead?”

“I think we could get people to vote for Carl. I promise you, we can cement a working relationship with Ken here, and if he and Lauren are close, that’s more numbers for us in the merge.”

Michaela considers it.

“Carl brings nothing to the table for us,” Hannah explains, “He and Elizabeth are close, but that’s it. They’re not gonna stick with us every tribal. And what if we get Bi? She’s definitely going to align with them.”

“Damn, Hannah,” Michaela says after some contemplation, “okay.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a ground squirrel stands on his hind legs and chirps to his brethren.

Elsewhere, Carl, Elizabeth and Todd discuss the vote. “Honestly, between the two of them,” Todd says, “I’m most worried about Michaela. I don’t think Ken is anything to worry about.”

“What about Hannah,” Carl asks, “Weren’t they close?”

“They were on a tribe together. I don’t know if they’re close.”

“I don’t think she’s gonna leave a sure-thing alliance of three though,” Elizabeth explains.

“If we get Bi, we’ll be in the same situation as them unless we take one of them out,” Carl says.

“Guys, we’re already three,” Todd reminds them.

“For sure,” Carl tells him.

“We have to go to tribal before we can even worry about that,” Elizabeth says.

“We need to talk to Jerri,” Todd says.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a long-tailed brush lizard camouflages itself against the bark of an old tree.

Back at Tsitsistas, Russell has isolated Brandon in the shelter. “Would you look at that,” Russell says, “the two Hantzs finally playing Survivor together.”

“It’s about to get fun.”

“It sure is, nephew. It sure is.”

“You find an idol yet?”

“Not yet. But I will, don’t you worry. Have you?”

“I haven’t. But, Ben found one.”

“Oh, really,” he says with a curious grin, “Does he still have it?”

“No, he played it.”

“Okay, that’s good to know. Thank you, nephew.”

“No problem, uncle. So, are you close with Wendy?”

Russell chortles, “Wendy is my lamb.”

“So, she’s with you?”

“Indeed she is. That little girl will do whatever I tell her to do. Long as it ain’t her, she’s happy.”

“So, who are we voting for?”

“Colby. This is my tribe now.”

“Alright, Colby. Me, you, Ben and Wendy.”

“Four of seven. Perfect.”

“Perfect. Who do you think they’ll target?”

“Probably Ben. He’s the only winner over here. I don’t know why y’all didn’t do it earlier.”

“Ben’s my closest ally.”

“Not anymore.”

Around the Tsitsistas campfire, Kass, Colby and Lauren discuss what to do about the vote. “I think Russell sees us targeting him, so maybe we go after Brandon,” Colby suggests.

“Works for me,” Lauren says.

“Can we get Wendy to our side? Isn’t she close with Russell,” Kass asks.

“I’ll talk to her,” Lauren says.

“Talk to who about what?” Ben asks as he takes a seat at the fire.

The other three around the fire look at each other. Then, Colby makes an executive decision and says, “Look Ben. There’s no point dancing around it. I know you’re close with Brandon but it’s only right to tell you. We’re going after Brandon tonight. We were gonna try to get Wendy’s vote but, I guess you’re in on the plan now.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, okay. Thanks for telling me. You’re sure it’s not me?”

“It’s definitely not you,” Lauren says.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”

“Yeah, good. I’m telling you the truth.”

“Kass?”

“It’s Brandon, bud,” she tells him.

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a roadrunner sprints down the dusty Route 66.

Collecting any firewood they can find in the desert, Todd tries to convince Jerri to vote with him and the Davids, “Look,” he says, “the Millennials are a really tight-knit group. Vote with us tonight, and me and you can run this game at the merge.”

“Okay, so who do you suggest?”

“Michaela. She’s the biggest threat, she’s got the most connections of anyone. The sooner we get her out the better. She’s too smart.”

“Then it’s me, you, Carl, Elizabeth and presumably Bi?”

“Presumably.”

“That puts us at four and five in their alliance.”

“Or, it puts us at one and two in our alliance, Bi at three. She already knows she’s number three between those three. We could talk her into coming to our side.”

“Alright, Todd. I imagine the other side will be coming to me trying to make the same argument. What do I tell them?”

“Tell them Ken because you’re doing a woman’s alliance thing or something.”

“Or something.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a tarantula crawls up on a rock.

In an area of rock they deemed their cubby, Ben and Brandon talk in hushed voices. With genuine concern, Brandon looks into Ben’s eyes and says, “Russell says he trusts Wendy, but I don’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Russell says they’re targeting you.”

“Who?

“Colby, Kass, Lauren.”

“Wendy?”

“Russell says no, but she might flip. I wanted to give you this,” Brandon says, pulling out his idol.

“Oh, no, Brandon. I can’t.”

“Just take it tonight. If you feel like we can trust Wendy, just don’t play it, but if we can’t, play it and we send Colby home. Colby’s going home either way.”

“Oh wow, Brandon. That’s- wow. Thank you,” Ben says before putting his second idol of the season in his pocket.

Lauren finds Wendy in the shelter. She sits down in one of the chairs Ken made. She takes Wendy’s hand in her own and says, “Hey, how you holding up?”

“Well, your shelter is a lot nicer. So, I’m good,” Wendy says, “How are you?”

“I’m good. I wanted to talk to you about… where you’re at re: the vote.”

“Oh, yeah. What were you thinking?”

“Well, I know you and Russell are close but I think Brandon might put a wedge between that.”

“So, Brandon?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t really care, honestly. I’ll vote for Brandon. Russell will be mad but so what, he’s always mad.”

Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, a spider leaps from one rock to another, carrying a string of silk behind it.

Around the Suhtai campfire Michaela sits next to Jerri. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who appreciates dilly-dallying, so I’m going to get straight to the point. Colby and I formed a working relationship on Tsitsistas. I know y’all are close. I’m close with Hannah from my original season. She’s close with Ken. He’s close with Lauren. We all stick together, we’re set in the merge. What do the Davids promise you, next tribal?”

“Alright, Michaela. Where am I putting my vote tonight?”

“Carl.”

“Okay.”

“Carl or Michaela,” Jerri contemplates in a talking head, “huh. I’m set either way! Ha!”

Jeff first greets Suhtai around the campfire at Tribal Council. He points to Todd, wearing individual immunity, a few seats away, “Feel good?”

“Anything could happen tonight, Jeff, so I am very pleased to be wearing this.”

“What do you think this vote will be about tonight, Elizabeth?” Jeff asks.

“This is really about choosing sides.”

“What are the sides, Jerri?”

“Well, we’ve got the Millennials, as we’re calling them, that’s Michaela, Hannah and Ken, and then the Davids; Carl, Elizabeth, and Todd I guess.”

“I’m a flight attendant, so it works,” Todd says.

“And then there’s me,” Jerri says.

“So, when Elizabeth says ‘choosing sides’ what she means is, ‘which side is Jerri choosing?’”

“Would seem that way, Jeff,” Jerri says with a knowing smile.

“Alright, it is time to vote. Michaela, you’re up first.”

Everyone votes. Jeff tallies the votes, asks for any idols, and when no one stands to play an idol, he reads the votes. “Michaela, Carl, Michaela, Michaela, Carl, Carl, fifth person voted out of Survivor: Wild West, Carl.”

Carl grabs his torch and gives everyone a gracious nod as his torch is snuffed.

“Suhtai, you will now enjoy your reward as you sit in on the Tsitsistas tribal council,” Jeff says.

Suhtai sits among the fireflies as they eat their burgers and sip their whiskey. It’s not good whiskey, but everyone’s happy it’s there. Tsitsistas takes their place around the campfire. Ken catches Lauren’s eye as he sits and he smiles to see her still there. Jerri looks at Ken next to her and rolls her eyes big enough for Colby to see. He laughs as the ice in her whiskey hits her lips.

“Tsitsistas, welcome to tribal council. As you can see, Carl was voted out at Suhtai’s tribal council. Are you surprised, Russell?”

“No, not really. Carl was a charming guy. You gotta get charming guys out before they charm their way to the end.”

“Is that how you do it Russell, you just charm your way to the end,” Jeff asks.

“Hey, don’t give away all my secrets, Jeff,” Russell jokes.

“Is there concern with Russell and Brandon being on your tribe together, Kass?”

“There’s always concern when either one of them is even in the game. The fact that they’re together can be seen as scary, but they can’t actually do anything without us, so while there is concern, I am not concerned.”

“Colby, Concerned?”

“I wouldn’t say that. We’ll get through this. We gotta lose somebody, but we’ll get through it.”

“Worried that somebody could be you, Ben,” Jeff asks.

“Oh, sure. You’re always worried it could be you, especially as a winner. I assume there’s always a target on my back. They’ll wanna weaken me however they can, if it’s flush an idol, or vote out one of my allies, or turn on me to further their own game. I know that. I’m ready. I just hope they’re ready for me.”

“Alright, with that it is time to vote. Colby, you’re up first.”

Colby casts his vote for Brandon. Russell votes for Colby. The rest of the tribe makes their way into the cave to cast their votes. Jeff leaves, tallies the votes and returns to read the votes. Suhtai leans forward in their seats as Jeff reads the votes from Tsitsistas: “Colby, Brandon, Colby, Brandon, Coolby, Brandon, sixth person voted out on Survivor: Wild West: Brandon.”

Burgers fall from the mouths of Suhtai as Tsitistas gets up to bid Brandon adieu. Ben goes to hug him goodbye, but Brandon walks past with his torch for Jeff to snuff. The votes for Colby were Russell, Wendy and Brandon. The votes for Brandon were Colby, Lauren, Kass and Ben.

“Now, Lauren, you won something in the challenge. What does it say?”

Lauren opens the sealed envelope in front of everyone, “As the holder of this letter, you can take whichever prisoner you want before the other tribe.”

“So, think it over,” Jeff says, “I will get your choice at the next immunity challenge. Other than that, I got nothing for ya.”

#Survivor #Survivor Wild West #Jeff Probst #Jerri Manthey #Ben Driebergen #Russell Hantz #Hannah Shapiro #Ken McNickle #michaela bradshaw

1 note · View note