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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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La Petite Mort - La Drague

Summary: Reader and Lorraine take a ride into the woods for a picnic...and other things.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: The angst is coming....enjoy this while you can

LPM Part I LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V LPM Part VI

LPM - La Drague

Somehow, the day after your barnyard tryst is even hotter than the day before. Waves of heat roll off of the dusty hills, the sun sweltering above your head, making your skin burn. The cattle in the field gather together under the batches of hickory trees, their wispy branches providing thin strips of coveted shade. Getting them moving in this weather will require significant effort on your part and your grizzled veteran of a horse.

You pat his dappled gray neck and sigh, “Well, CB, the faster we get these ladies back to the barn, the faster we can get to the pond.”

CB nudges you with his nose as if to tell you he’s been ready long before you were. You ruffle his black bangs and reach up to the horn of your saddle, hiking your leg into the stirrup and swinging yourself onto his back. You lean forward and give him another pat on his shoulder, and he picks his head up, ears high, ready to work. If he does well, you’ll be done in enough time to catch Lorraine before lunch, a thought that sends a tingle from the tips of your ears down to your toes. With the proper motivation (yours being the possible opportunity to see her naked again), one could accomplish wonders.

You nudge CB in the sides, getting him to move toward the handful of cattle lounging in the shade. They pick their heads up lazily, watching you with bored eyes. They were so used to you and CB by now you hardly had to herd them. They had their routine. You just had to get them moving into it.

“Alright, ladies,” you yell, clapping your hands above your head, “let’s get those derrières movin'!”

They gaze at you, their jaws moving in slow circles as they chew their cud. You give them grace, understanding they don’t want to return to the heat. But they need to get moving or you won’t make it back to the house before Mr. Day returns from his trip into town. You glance down at your saddlebag, weighing your options. The fastest route is the one you decide to take, reaching over into the leather bag to pull out your revolver. You sling the cylinder open, checking for bullets in the chambers.

You slap the cylinder back in and point the barrel into the sky, “Now listen up, heifers! There’s a real pretty lady waitin' on me right now, so I need you to get your asses in gear! I’ll even line up a date with a bull if you save me the money of wasting a bullet on the sky right now.”

The cows shuffle further from you but make no effort to move back to the path that will take them home. They’re going to scramble when you fire the gun, and it’ll take more effort to herd them in the right direction, but at least they’ll be moving.

You sigh, shaking your head, “Well, girls, you’ve given me no choice. Desperate times and all.”

You pull the trigger, the gun in your hand sending a familiar shockwave down your wrist. The chemical reaction in the barrel sets off a bang that immediately earns a reaction from the cattle. CB doesn’t flinch, well accustomed to gunfire. You spur him as the cows scramble, working their space bubbles until you have them all in a group and lumbering back toward the barn. You push them a little harder than normal, in a hurry to get your job done for the morning.

When you come into view of the barn and the house, the driveway is still empty. A wide grin spreads across your face at the sight. You lock the cattle into their pasture and tie CB to one of the posts, making your way toward the house. A curtain swinging closed catches your attention, and seconds later, Lorraine is flying out the back door. You stop walking and watch her, your hands on your hips. She doesn’t slow when she gets closer to you, instead crashing into you, her lips immediately finding yours. She shoves your hat off your head in her haste, her hands and lips frantically taking you in. You respond immediately, but your shock makes your hands slow, and she’s already pushing you back against the barn wall, her fingers working at the buttons on your shirt.

You laugh into her lips, your hands coming up to stop hers, “Woah woah, Raine, slow down.”

She stops long enough to look into your eyes and pushes into you again, her lips on your neck this time. “I dreamt about you last night,” she says, her words coming out muffled against your skin.

You let her continue as you mull over your surprise. You knew you were good, damn good in bed. But you hadn’t expected to find her so wild so quickly. You had half worried she might be awkward or embarrassed about yesterday’s activities, but she’s nearing on barbaric the way she’s pulling at you. You realize you’re lost in thought, and she’s already got your shirt unbuttoned. You shake your head, trying to clear the haze that had settled over you. The excitement building in your stomach makes you feel like you’re buzzing, her hands running across your ribs amplifying the feeling. You glance around the open yard and begin to feel too exposed. Her father could come home at any moment and find you in a compromising situation.

You gently hold her shoulders, pushing her back, “Wait,” you say as she reaches up to kiss you again, “Wait, Lorraine. I have an idea.”

She sighs in frustration, “Daddy is gonna be back any time now.”

You huff out a laugh at how cute she looks, her eyes wide and dark, her nose scrunched with impatience. Her hands are still on your sides, her thumbs running back and forth over your skin.

“I know,” you say, looking down at her, “that’s what I’m worried about. Come with me.”

You pry her fingers from around your waist and take her hand, pulling her toward CB. She follows willingly, only a slight pull of confusion on her face. You scoop up your hat and drop it on her head, the brim sinking over her eyebrows. She laughs softly and pushes it back, letting you lead her along the fence posts. Her fingers fall from your grip as you untie the reins from the post, and she stands up on her tiptoes to hug CB’s neck.

“Hey, handsome,” she says, and he glances at her, then back to you.

You pull yourself onto his back and offer your hand to her, but she frowns up at you, your hat sliding down into her eyes again.

“I can ride on my own, you know.”

You shake your head and laugh, “I know that, but we’re in a bit of a hurry at the moment. Are we not?”

CB stomps and shakes his head to accentuate your point, ever the wingman. Lorraine shrugs and reaches up, letting you pull her up onto his back in front of you. You pluck your hat from her head and place it back on your own, and she leans back into your chest. With her body flush against yours, you feel the heat in your belly begin to glow, every nerve standing at attention. The reins gathered in one hand, you pull to the side, telling CB to turn and begin walking down the fence, away from the house. Lorraine drops her head back to rest on your collarbone, and you can’t help but kiss just below her ear, making her shiver despite the blazing sun.

“I hope you’re takin me where I think you’re takin me,” she mumbles, closing her eyes, her body gently rocking side to side with CB’s steps.

You smirk, already knowing where she’s thinking, “I am.”

You guide CB through a thick line of trees, picking your way along a trail you’ve all walked many times before. You hardly have to tell him where to go; he knows his destination now that you’ve pointed him in its direction. He slowly makes his way through the trees and underbrush, plodding along obediently. Lorraine is quiet and relaxed, every few minutes, she runs her palms up and down your legs, giving you goosebumps under the denim. You break through into a clearing, and Lorraine sits up, knowing this is your stop. A large pond is hidden away there, only accessible through the clearing. You pull CB to a halt, and she slides off his back with you just behind her.

You turn back to him to pull the blanket roll off the saddle and a small bundle out of the saddle bag. Lorraine scratches his nose and plants a kiss between his nostrils when he drops his head to her.

You pat his rump, “Alright, buddy, go do horse stuff, I’ll see ya soon.”

He sidles through the clearing to the grass near the pond and ducks his head down to snack. You unroll the blanket and lay it in the grass, the trees around the clearing providing shade in the shapes of branches and leaves. You set the bundle from your saddlebag on the corner of the blanket and start to pull your boots off. Lorraine watches you curiously, until she understands what you’re doing and follows suit. You’re down to your underwear by the time she gets the picture. Her eyes are trained on you as she unties her shoes, watching you closely as you strip out of your remaining clothes. She licks her lips, hurrying her hands.

You grow impatient and sprint to the water bank, striding in knee-deep and diving in, the cool water washing over your head. When you resurface, Lorraine is in her underwear at the edge of the water, chewing on her cheek.

“Well, now is a weird time to get shy,” you call out, smiling wide.

She shrugs and shakes her head, sighing. She glances around into the surrounding trees, stretching up on her toes to see further into the dense brush.

“You just tried to strip me down in front of your house not thirty minutes ago, and you’re worried now?” You tease her, backstroking further out into the water.

She throws her hands up in defeat and strips down, tossing her clothes back toward the blanket, and wades in.

“It’s cold!” She yelps, hesitating ankle-deep.

You swim up to a point where you can stand with your shoulders just breaking the water, wind back, and swing your arm, splashing her in a wave. She squeals and tries to retreat, but you’re already grabbing her around the waist, pulling her into the water. You fall backward, dunking both of your heads under, and let go of her. When you surface, she’s spluttering and pushing her hair out of her face, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. You expect to be chastised, but instead, she opens her eyes and lunges at you, splashing your face and giggling.

She stays a few feet closer to the shore, unable to stand with her head above water at your depth. You watch her for a moment, committing to memory the way the water droplets run down from her hair over her cheekbones and her faint tan lines around the collar of her neck. She stops laughing as you take her in, biting her lip and moving toward you. She has to swim to you, and when she reaches you, she wraps her arms around your neck to keep herself above water. You hold her waist as her legs wrap around your torso, and you quickly remember why you’d trekked all the way out here. This time when she kisses you, you don’t stop her.

You carry her a few steps closer to the shore, your hands sliding down to hold her weight. The water ripples around your bodies as you grow more frenzied, her hips rolling into your stomach, her hands on your jaw. For a split second, you worry that you could get used to this, having her like this, and lose her. The thought flits through your mind, making you falter, but when she sighs into your mouth, the sentiment dissolves like sugar under your tongue. You stay there a bit longer, enjoying her tongue on yours, your skin relishing in the cool dark water, the sun drying your hair and shoulders. It can’t last long because you want more from her, and she’s demanding more from you. You carry her out of the water and over to the blanket, where she unwinds herself from you and lays down, pulling you on top of her. You kiss her lips again, groaning at the feeling of her against your stomach.

You dip your head to her neck, licking at her skin, and her hands slide over your back, exploring your body, familiarizing herself with the valleys and canyons between your bones. She’s calmed a bit now that you’re pressed into her, her breathing slowing and her eyes less wild. You, on the other hand, are growing in intensity, starving for more of her, inching your way down her body, tracing the constellation of bruises you’d left on her the day before, ensuring they stay another day. You make a brief stop at her breasts, biting and sucking at each nipple before moving on, kissing your way down to her hip bones. You take your time making your way across her body, intent to learn more of her triggers, commit them to memory to recall any time she beckons you to her.

She likes it when you bite, but not hard. Just enough to leave a light imprint of your teeth, and she likes it when you soothe the mark with your tongue and lips. She responds to your hands wandering over her skin, positive feedback in the form of a caught breath when you reach up to her breasts as your mouth makes its way to her belly button. Her nails dig into your skin, but when yours press into her, she gasps, and her hips stop, telling you to be more gentle. She likes to see you glance up at her as you make your descent, her hand pushing your hair out of your eyes so she can see you kissing the insides of her thighs. She’s especially fond of you pressing a kiss to her center, your lips pushing gently around her clit, your hands running up her legs to hold her hips in place.

When your tongue runs through her, you lose her eye contact and focus on the more immediate part of her body. You push your tongue inside of her, exploring her sensitivities you hadn’t had the time to reach last time. She responds with a groan, one arm slung over her eyes, closing out one sense to heighten another. You dip your tongue in a few more times, then drag it up to her clit, lapping over it. Her feedback is loud and immediate, her hand reaching down to anchor you there as she rolls her hips up. She likes a flat tongue, light pressure, and consistent speed, whining when you try to change it up. You take note, learning her as she learns herself. You watch for the landmarks, what sounds she makes when she’s getting close, how her body writhes under you, and which muscles tense in what order.

When she cums, her breath catches in her throat, and her eyes flutter closed, her body freezes, her breathing stops altogether for a moment, and then she’s falling apart at the seams. She rolls her hips and rides it out, looking to elongate the moment of bliss as far as she can. She pushes your head back when it becomes too much and falls limp as a wet leaf on the blanket, shivering with aftershocks running down her spine. You kiss lightly at her again, making her jump and shy away from your lips. You crawl up her body and kiss her jugular, feeling her blood pounding under your lips.

You roll off of her and sit at her side, content to watch her regain her senses. It’s another piece of her that you tuck away for future reference; she needs time to come back around after an orgasm. Her eyes are glassy and far off, her hand absently stroking your knee. You turn and unfurl the bundle on the corner of the blanket, revealing a chunk of bread and strawberry jam. Lorraine turns her head at the sound of the jar opening, and her eyes light up. You tear a piece of bread and dip it into the jar, pretend to offer it to her, then pop it into your mouth when she eagerly reaches for it.

Her brows furrow over her eyes, and her lip curls as she sits up, snatching the jar from your open palm before you can hold it out of her reach.

“Hah!” She shouts triumphantly, smirking at you.

You tear another piece of bread and hand it to her, keeping the larger piece for yourself. She rolls her eyes at you and dips her piece into the jar, closing her eyes and humming when the jam hits her tongue. You laugh and shake your head. This girl and strawberries were going to be the death of you. You reach for the jar, but she holds it away from you, motioning to the bread in your hand. You sigh and hand over the piece. She dips it and gives you back the jar, a self-satisfied smile on her lips accompanying the jam. You quirk an eyebrow, you don’t need the bread. You dip two fingers in and suck them into your mouth, maintaining eye contact with her while you lick the sugary preserves from them. Her jaw drops, and her eyes never leave your mouth until you’re smirking back at her.

She leans over and pushes you onto your back, her lips crashing into yours again, her tongue running over yours. She tastes like strawberries, sugar, and something so uniquely Lorraine you can’t place your finger on it. You sit up and push her down your lap, her legs wrapping around your waist as you sit her back on the blanket. You lean forward to kiss her again, nipping at her bottom lip as your hand slides down the front of her body. You’re met with eager anticipation when she realizes what happens next, her hands running around to the nape of your neck. You slide two fingers inside of her, the cum from her previous orgasm lubricating them easily. She pulls your body as close as she can to herself, leaving you very little space to move your arm, but you’re letting her do it, a slave to her every whim.

It doesn’t take much to have her trembling again, already sensitive and still turned on. She drops her head into your shoulder, panting on your collarbone as you curl your fingers, hitting that spot you learned she liked. She’s whimpering in your ear, and you’re fully committed to immersing yourself in the symphony of noises pouring out of her, but a sound in the distance snaps you out of your trance. You don’t stop moving, continuing to build her up, but your eyes are scanning the trees, quickly checking your surroundings before diving back into lips. She throws her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as she turns her face to the sun, and you kiss her throat, taking her in savoringly.

You can see CB out of the corner of your eye, just aware enough to see him pick his head up and look into the trees. Your instincts are torn in half, wanting to continue reveling in Lorraine’s soft moans, slick skin, and tight grip around your shoulders. The other half of you is screaming something is off, and CB is watching the woods far too intensely. Lorraine is too intoxicating to really allow you to think straight, but when she cums, tightening around your fingers and slumping into your shoulder, your head finally clears. CB whinnies, and another horse in the distance answers him, making you go rigid.

You don’t have time to get dressed, or to bring Lorraine back to earth, so you do the only thing you can think of in your lust fogged brain. You wrap your arms under her hips, stand with her and hurdle into the water. She screams as soon as the cold hits her skin, and you push her off of you.

“What the fuck y/n?!” She shouts, her eyes full of confused fury.

You slap your hand over her mouth, your eyes wide. Watching over her shoulder, you can see a shadow approaching through the trees, and you let go of her again, gesturing with your head for her to look. She frowns and turns, then turns back to you, her eyes bulging.

She slaps you on the shoulder and whispers, “Shit,” her face is washed in fear, “it’s my dad.”

You nod, unable to speak as your mind races, trying to come up with any excuse to give Mr. Day when he inevitably breaks into the clearing. You can’t think of a single thing, the haze from Lorraine’s body still making your brain sluggish and dumb. She bites her lip, her eyes racing over you, thinking quickly. Just when the chestnut head of Mr. Days' horse breaks through the trees, Lorraine splashes you and begins to laugh louder than her natural laugh, putting on a show. You pause, confused for a second, and realization dawns on you. You swim back from her a few feet and splash her back, your acting nearly as poor as hers.

“Girls!” You wince as his voice rings out over your head from the shore.

You turn slowly toward him, pretending to be shocked seeing him there. Lorraine giggles and yells, “Hi, Daddy!”

Her tone and face are the picture of innocence, and you thank the heavens she’s found some inner actress now. You wave your arm above the water, careful not to expose yourself. “Howdy, Mr. Day!”

For an agonizing moment, everything goes quiet. His eyes are sweeping over the scene you’ve left, the blanket, the bundle of bread and jam, your clothes strewn through the clearing. You think there’s absolutely no way you’re getting out of here without getting shot at. Then, by the grace of some holy entity, he laughs. When he laughs, you laugh too, the hysteria built up so high you nearly cry. He walks his horse right up to the water and turns her, his belly shaking with his humor.

“Ah, to be young again! You two don’t stay out there too long. There’s still work to be done today.”

You salute him with a deviant grin, “You got it boss! Just coolin off.”

Lorraine rolls her eyes and sinks under the water, air bubbling up where she disappeared. Mr. Day chuckles again, shaking his head.

“Y/n! Mrs. Day wants you to stay for dinner tonight, she says you’re gettin' too skinny workin' out here. I’ll see you both this evening, don’t ruin your appetite.”

“You got it, sir, I will not eat anything else until supper!” You yell back.

Lorraine slaps your shoulder when he turns his back, scrunching up her face at you, silently telling you that your joke is not funny. You giggle; the double entendre was funny, and you didn’t care what she thought. When Mr. Day is out of earshot, you relax, letting out your breath and sinking yourself under the water. When your head breaks out of the water again, she jumps on you, laughing.

“Today I learned somethin new about you,” she giggles as your arms wrap around her back.

“Well, I learned lots about you, so we’re even.”

She tsks, “What could you possibly have learned about me today?”

You raise your eyebrows, “I already knew you were a terrible actress, what with your performance yesterday in front of your dad.”

She slaps your chest and gasps, “I am a perfectly acceptable actress, thank you very much. Plus, I learned you crumble under pressure.”

“I do not!”

Lorraine makes an over-exaggerated shocked face, mimicking yours. “Howdy, Mr. Day,” she deepens her voice, mocking you.

You laugh, having to admit the situation would have been worse had she not thought so quickly to save you. “Alright, that’s fair. But I got your naked ass into the water before he saw us, so I get points for that.”

She nods, “You did. But it was only to save your own skin. You know daddy keeps a magnum on his hip all day.”

“I am well aware, Raine. Which is why we’re in the water right now.”

“Did you mean what you said about not eatin again until supper?”

You scoff at her, “I have created an insatiable monster.”

She shrugs and leans down to kiss you.

——

The days that follow end up being much like the day at the pond. You and Lorraine wound up in increasingly risky positions, and Mr. Day nearly caught you almost every time. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he knew what he was doing, but you thought you’d be dead if he knew.

On Wednesday, Lorraine had snuck you into her room, and after watching her write at her desk for less than five minutes, you were crawling under it to hike her skirt up and taste her. Luckily, when her dad swung the door open, you were completely hidden under the desk, and Lorraine told him she might have a fever when he’d asked why she looked so flushed.

On Thursday, he nearly caught you knuckle deep inside of her. The only thing saving you was the backfire of the tractor you had been working on before she’d come calling. When it burped black smoke, you pulled out of her, hiding her behind the tire and leaning on it so he couldn’t see.

On Friday, you thought you’d be clever and drive off somewhere in your truck. You set a bed of blankets in the back and watched the sunset before she climbed on top of you. Her dad somehow passed by, saw your truck, and, thinking you were stuck in the mud, drove over to check on you, only to find Lorraine sitting in the back. Your body was hidden by the truck bed walls. She convinced him you had run off to pee in the woods, and he’d moved on.

Saturday was the day your blissful little existence was slapped into reality. You were hauling hay bales into the barn again, reminiscing on the first day you’d finally kissed Lorraine. Exactly like that day, she was sitting on the side of the tailgate, flirting with you openly and watching you do the manual labor. It took you twice as long to unload the truck because you would push your way between her knees and kiss her, making her giggle before you’d move another bale.

When you saw the dirt cloud down the driveway, you’d assumed it was her dad coming home from the auction, but as the vehicle grew nearer, you realized it was a van, not a truck. The driver parks it in front of your truck, and the back doors are thrown open. You glance up at Lorraine and watch as she pales when she sees who steps out. You turn back to them and realize what caused her reaction.

RJ was grinning ear to ear, his camera in one hand, the other stretched out to his side, “Rainey, baby! I’m home.”

Hearing your nickname for her coming from him turned your jaws into a vice grip. You stared at him as he approached, ignoring you completely. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Lorraine stiffen and slide off the tailgate. She lightly brushes you as she walks past, her pinky hooking yours for a split second. It would have been comforting if she hadn’t fallen straight into his arms like she was made to be there. You feel sick to your stomach. You feel naive, stupid to believe that what you had was more than just a temporary thing. You can’t look at him when he leans down to kiss her, so you turn back to the truck, pull another hay ream down, and haul it into the barn.

You come back out to grab another bale, but a woman is sitting on your tailgate now, a suggestive smile painted across her features.

“Who’s this RJ? You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty thing hidden away out here.” She drawls, her eyes running over you.

Your step falters as she flirts with you, and against your better judgment, you glance at Lorraine. She’s not looking at you. Her eyes are burning into the woman’s head, her jealousy only evident to you. It’s comforting to know she’s jealous because it means she cares, but seeing her still under RJs arm makes you feel petty.

You offer the woman your hand, “I’m y/n. I work for the Days.”

“Oooh, a gentleman,” she coos, taking your hand and holding it instead of shaking it, “I’m Maxine. Pleased to meet you, handsome.”

“Pleasures mine, ma’am,” you grin at her, kissing her knuckles.

You drop her hand and look to Lorraine again, and it makes you regret what you’ve done, at least a little. There’s anger in her eyes, and she’s still under RJs arm, but you can see hurt there too. This situation had become volatile and delicate all at once, and it was going to take a gargantuan effort to get out of it intact.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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whisperthatruns · 9 months

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You can drink water from any well or jump in and drown yourself. You can hang yourself from one of the garden branches or pick a half-rotten apple. Bless this landscape of choices, clear as a clear night. Turnips and beets grow straight into the throats of the dead.

Valzhyna Mort, from “Ode to Branca,” Music for the Dead and Resurrected (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020)

#quote #valzhyna mort #ode to branca #music for the dead and resurrected #poetry

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miami-lolz · 1 year

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In hindsight, this quote hits a lot harder considering “Mortyest Morty” isn’t even his Morty. And he’s not the “Rickest Rick”.

Does not include any spoilers for Season 7.

I feel like this quote is slept on a lot because it makes you wonder if he was even aware of the implications of what he said or if he said it knowing Morty wouldn’t understand. I don’t even think he would want to admit it, but he’s not “The Rickest Rick” mainly because he cares. Specifically, he gives a shit about a Morty that isn’t even his.

It’s shown subtlety throughout the show, like in the Season 1 Finale, Ricksy Business, when Rick got teary-eyed over a slide show showing Morty throughout his life. In A Rickle in Time, where Rick is willing to let himself die to save Morty, his last wish is for Morty to grow up better than him. As jaded and backward as he may show it, Rick definitely cares. Rick has had to switch to multiple universes and watch various versions of his family including his original Diana and Beth die throughout the show. Morty was his only constant, though, and he’s grabbed onto that. But for as much as he cares, Rick has a habit of pushing away, which comes into effect in the later seasons. Morty tries to help and relate to Rick to an extend. He constatly extends a branch to Rick, who almost always puts him down.

However, the more Rick pushes away, the more frustrated Morty gets. He starts calling out Rick on his BS and has even cussed him out several times. He’s threatened to stop going with Rick in the early season, but those were practically mute. Rick could easily force him or make him forget he started refusing. Rick only started taking Morty seriously when he began acting out. The more that Rick pushes back, the more the Prime part of Morty comes out, usually at the expense of anyone around him. I think that is the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back and pushed him to leave in Forgetting Sarick Mortshall with the two crows thing. Something that still upsets Morty if someone mentions it in season 7.

It also makes you think that the reason Morty has gotten progressively more aggressive and violent over these past couple of seasons is that the Prime part of him is getting more prominent. For example, in Edge of Tomorty: Rick Die Rickpeat, Morty got so obsessive over a future that he didn't brutally die; he quickly brushed off Ricks's death. It's somewhat out of character for him, though. He also attacked other soldiers and the general populace, just for him to find out it wasn't really worth much. Rick is getting more combative because he sees that part of Prime in Morty, which scares him. The episode Looks Who’s Purging Now was the starting point for his volatile behavior; Rick seems genuinely shocked and somewhat horrified as Morty's anger problems get the better of him, and he lashes out, killing many people even when they are hiding. Rick lied to Morty because he didn’t want him to know what he could do. Near the end of The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy, Morty threatens Ethan with the machine Summer used after he ghosted her and messed with her body issues. In the after credit scene, we see a deformed Ethan stumbling in pain, implying Morty used the machine on him.

In Promortyus, Morty also showed little remorse for killing off all the aliens and went out of his way to cause damage, though he regretted it once he had to come back. A Rickconvenient Mort, Jerry was genuinely disturbed to hear Morty admit he murdered the Tina-Teers. And during the scene, Morty was extremely brutal. Its not the first time Morty has committed some diabolical crimes for someone he's interested in or generally cares about. In the episode Mort Dinner Rick Andre, his violent streak hits its crescendo. Once he got fed up with the Narnia people, he committed mass genocide out of frustration, and by the end, he didn't show much remorse.

I think the most damning evidence is the episode Rickshank Redemption, where during a stand-off, Morty is so fed up with Rick yelling at him during a standoff that he shoots Rick in the head. Not an arm or leg but in the forehead. He absolutely shot to kill. And yeah, you could say it was a spur-of-the-moment action based on frustration and impulse, but I think that was put in the episode not just a funny bit but a glimpse of what Morty is capable of. It was Morty basically saying "If were all going to die, Ive earned the right to be the one to take you out." There’s something symbolical about Morty killing both his best friend and the person that’s hurt him for years.

Its an interesting dichotomy as Rick seems to be mellowing out; Morty is slowly getting more comfortable with violence and generally more confident with himself. Rick is someone who gives off the bravado of a uncaring, cold hearted galactic criminal. However, the truth is Rick is someone who cares deeply for the people he's close to, and gets no enjoyment out of violence. Morty, on the other hand, is someone who tries to be caring, mercy full and forgiving. That being said, deep down he wants to stop having to constantly take the high road and give back all the pain and abuse he gets from others. These personality traits between the two constantly clash and the longer the live together, the more you see their original persona's corrode.

The season six finale, Ricktional Mortpoon's Rickmas Mortcation, adds to this as Rick compares Morty to a “suicide bomber” because he was reckless and says he gets that from Prime. But C-137 is the only constant in Morty's life. He’s been through multiple universes and timelines but has had the same Rick for most of his life. Most of Morty's issues stem from things he had done or witnessed with Rick C-137. For example, the Vat of Acid Episode is what I would consider Rick at his absolute lowest. It's almost the kinda behavoir you would expect Prime to pull. Messing with Morty's head and killing a bunch of other Mortys just to say, "I told you so." Even going as far as gaslighting him by saying he COULD have listened to Rick tell him how it worked, even though Rick probably wouldn't have told him either way. It caused communication between these two to break down. At that point, you can tell Morty doesn't have much trust or faith in him, and when Rick replaces himself with a robot that treats him just a little bit better, Morty immediately notices. He even thought Rick was messing with him and brought up the vat of acid episode. This is another example of how the Ricks action leaves permeate consequences and effects on Morty. Don't get me wrong, Morty is far from perfect and flawed, but so is Rick. They have real emotions and conflict, and it's these factors that separate them from Prime (at least from the glimpses of him that we have seen)

However, Morty does exhibit certain traits unlike what we've been lead to believe is normal "Morty" behavior. In Rickmurai Jack, Morty tries to lie to Rick and even goes as far as to age himself nearly 40 years to get him to come back. Another example is in The Whirly Dirly Conspiracy, Where Morty coaxes Rick into going on an adventure with Jerry to keep him from committing seppuku, though there's a good chance it was just to get a break from adventures. Rick can’t really blame most of Morty's behavior on Prime because any behavior he picks up past season one is from him and him alone. But even then I don’t doubt that there are behavioral similarities between him and Rick Prime. The Prime universe was everyone’s personality amplified.

Rick almost likes to pretend his the top dog, the Rickest Rick but as few others, including Bird Person and the toxic version of himself, has pointed out, he’s not. He’s highly capable but he’s also vulnerable. Season 6 ended with Rick getting Morty more involved in the search for Prime, forcing him to face the truth of Mortys origin. But regardless one thing is for certain, Morty is really the Mortyest Morty in the finite central curve, and that scares C-137.

#adult swim #rick and morty #rick c137 #morty c137 #morty prime #rick prime #character analysis

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queer-ragnelle · 1 month

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hello!! i am pretty new to tumblr so still finding my way around, and part of my current project was going to be looking into fandom space to see how some of the word of mouth and online space mimics oral storytelling. i am especially looking at villains in arthuriana and fan interpretations and headcanons for this, so any advice of where to look hereabouts would be really lovely!! ty for your time and hope you have a great day!!

Hi anon! Welcome!

Honestly I'm at a bit of a loss where to even begin. The scope of Arthuriana and what constitutes a "villain" is so vast. There are the obvious Black Knights and usurping nephews, but even those characters have more than their fair share of morally gray/nuanced portrayals depending on where you look. Medieval literature in and of itself was varied even before we get into modern interpretations and the far reaching corners of fandom. I think in regards to this, it might help to narrow your scope to specific "villainous" characters—Morgan le Fay, Sir Mordred, False Guinevere, Sir Meleagant, and the mysterious Knights of Green and Red and Black.

There's also the matter of where you intend to make the cut off. What constitutes "canon" character interpretation? Where does "canon" end and fan extrapolation begin? To my mind, personally, anything after the Middle Ages falls into the "modern" category, which would include Alfred Lord Tennyson's The Idylls of The King on our end of the divide. Speaking for myself, I don't devalue any interpretation based solely on the era of it's inception. If Sir Thomas Malory wrote in Le Morte d'Arthur that Sir Gareth married Lyonesse, then it is so. But when Tennyson claims that, no, Sir Gareth married the Savage Damosel Linet, then he is also correct. Each iteration is it's own self-contained world and anything is possible within that framework. So it is for "villains," as well.

But that said, the beauty of Arthuriana is that each new addition to the literary tradition (and I include films, TV shows, video games, comics, and every other conceivable medium) builds on what came before. I don't necessarily enjoy or recommend them all, but there's definitely a connection from one retelling to the next. In John Boorman's Excalibur (1981), Percival is first revealed as a strange boy wandering the forest who happens upon Lancelot sleeping. Percival is captivated by him. He endears himself to the knight by waking him with the smell of meat he hunted and roasted especially for him. From there, he's brought back to Camelot to begin working under Kay in the kitchens and eventually rises to knighthood. When I first saw this, I was elated. "It's just like in The Adventures of Sir Lancelot!" Go back thirty more years. In The Adventures of Sir Lancelot (1956-1957), there's a character named Brian, a kitchen boy. After Lancelot helps end the siege that was threatening the castle Brian worked at, he begins following Lancelot around, and one morning, cooks breakfast for the knight. By the end of the episode, Lancelot has all but adopted him, and enrolls him in lessons to begin his squiredom, and eventually, achieve knighthood. Sound familiar?

Could it be that John Boorman, as a child, watched The Adventures of Sir Lancelot, saw what they did with their Brian/Gareth hybrid, and said, "I like that idea, I think I'll use it for Percival." To me, Boorman drawing on that 50s show for his own work is no different than Tennyson building on what Malory had done, who in his own turn wrote from the Post Vulgate.

Now we come to the present day. Bloggers share these stories. We quote the texts. I stream movies and TV shows every weekend in the Arthurian Theater Server. We make connections from one creation to the next. You can see the web of inspirations all interconnecting. Then we branch off into our own new interpretations based on the foundations of these creations that came before. I don't know how popular an opinion this is, but I think that goes beyond "head canon," because there is no canon. Arthuriana is a continuously flowing font made up of tiny beads of details. The stories can only function with the existence of the others. It's not derivative in the same sense as one drawing a little too heavily from their favorite childhood fantasy novel. This tradition dates back hundreds of years. We're just continuing it with the technology of our time.

You want to focus on "villains." But I wonder—Is Morgan le Fay's character beholden to a specific source? How do we determine what that is? If one chooses to write Morgan le Fay sympathetically, or even outright benevolent, is she still a "villain?" Is she still Morgan le Fay? Personally, I think we should respect what came before us, and consider how that impacts the new addition we intend to create. Change Morgan too much and she ceases to be recognizable as Morgan, and I'm here to read about Morgan! I think it's important to maintain the same resonance which has kept us interested for so many centuries. And yet the basis for sweeping changes is all around us. Just as Morgan plotted to kill Arthur and seize his throne, she also rode by his side in the boat to Avalon, where he sleeps still. The range of possibilities is vast beyond imagination. So go wild and get creative, I'm not your mom.

I don't know if that answers your questions or not lol. You're welcome to send me another ask or a private message if you want to talk more.

I also open up this question to my followers for a larger sample size—What do you guys think?

Thanks for the ask and have a great day!

#arthurian legend #arthurian legends #arthuriana #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #gareth #sir gareth #percival #sir percival #perceval #sir perceval #excalibur #excalibur 1981 #the adventures of sir lancelot #anonymous #ask #my post

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