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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

School House Blues

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Identifying Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Warnings: N/A

Request from Anon: Hey so I saw your post that said requests for certain characters were open and I was wondering if I could ask for a din djarin x plus size reader with this prompt please? : (19th c) I’m the town’s school teacher and you’re the gruff wanderer/traveller/cowboy/outlaw/etc. That’s come to town. You help me fix the school house and wrangle the little demons I teach. I was thinking the kid could be one of her students! Thank you so much in advance ♥️♥️

Summary: When the bounty hunter strolls into your little mining town you don’t think much of it, but with a little boy in his wake and your school house in disrepair, he becomes more than just a passing visit, but a welcome constant.

Notes: You know me too well, Western AU/historic AU Din is so good as a concept and ughhhhhh this was so wonderful to have requested and I hope desperately that it’s good!

Reader isn’t really specified as plus size just because it didn’t really come up in the story? Although she is described as being quite soft and sweet in appearance.

Archiveofourown

He comes into town with one hand clenched around his horse’s reins, guiding the bay and white creature with a bounty hogtied swearing and cursing over its rump, and the other hand holding a little boy of no older than six at his hip. It’s quite the sight, one that momentarily distracts you from your grief at the fact you’re teaching your children out of a saloon now since your schoolhouse was burnt to the ground.

He’s imposing or he would be if the little boy wasn’t smiling up at him with big brown eyes. It’s hard to be imposing when you’re clearly the world of a small child and it makes you smile from the porch of the saloon. You’d been organising the boxes of donations the townsfolk had put together, since all your books, slates, chalk, paper, pencils, and the like had burnt in the fire, when he strolls past. He glances over at you and tips his head, hat dipping over his chestnut eyes and it flusters you for a second when you finally see his face.

He’s handsome, incredibly so, too handsome to be in your small mining town you think. Deep brown eyes, a prominent nose and plump lips set in a perpetual pout. His jaw is sharp and his beard and moustache are trimmed neatly, despite the bruising on his face and the layer of dirt from the road he’s truly beautiful, a thought that flusters you further. The small boy sat comfortably at his hip and playing with the fabric of his suspenders is adorable, soft round cheeks and large brown eyes, but he doesn’t look much like the man and you’re curious what the story is there.

The boy is old enough to be in school with you, to sit and learn his letters and to read while the older kids move on to learning about science, history, mathematics and poetry. There are a couple of children his age in your class, Timmy and Mary-Beth, both just getting the hang of gripping a pencil correctly. You wonder if he won’t be joining your class soon or if he and his guardian will be out of town before you can even consider preparing for a new student.

You watch the man hitch the horse outside the Sheriff’s office, the one that’s not got a sheriff at the moment. You hope he’s not looking for quick pay, the lawman that resided in the Sheriff’s office at the moment was just there until they could find a new sheriff. He’d have to telegram out to get the bounty money. Your last sheriff had up and left after being shot at by a couple of drunk miners, he’d decided that was enough and quite the same day. The town had been a little more unruly since and it was beginning to make you and some of the other townsfolk uneasy without someone to keep the peace. The temporary lawman had been lazy and uninvolved thus far. It was after the sheriff quit that your schoolhouse burnt down and you weren’t sure it was coincidence.

You watch the man place the boy on his feet and say something quietly to him before brushing his hair fondly. He grabs the bounty off of the horse, and slings the man over his shoulder. It’s impressive that he doesn’t struggle up the steps to the office even with a fully grown man thrown over his shoulder, the little boy follows after him as he goes inside.

You return to your organisation. There aren’t that many books, not like you used to have. But, while you wait for some of your teaching associates across the country to send you items, they will do. There’s enough paper and some slates for all your students to practice their writing and get their work written down which is a relief and even a globe that the general store owner, Mr Hewitt, had found in a back cupboard for you to have.

You’re trying to lift one of the boxes of books when he comes back out again, the little boy still trailing behind him, but this time something shiny is pinned to the man’s blue shirt. You don’t think too much about it as you struggle to lift the box, your heavy skirts not helping you move much, hindering your progress and causing you to trip each step forward you take.

You hear his boots on the wooden stairs before you see him, he towers over you, as he takes his hat off, more polite than most men in town. You get a better look at the shiny thing pinned to his shirt and realise it’s a sheriff’s badge. The same one the old sheriff used to wear, you look from it to him and then down when you hear a little giggle. The little boy is still following after him, a sweet smile turned on you this time as he leans around the man’s legs to watch you.

“Miss, I can take that.” He gestures to the box in your hand, it’s not a question, and it’s straight and to the point. But, you’re grateful for the offer and hand it off to him without complaint. He’s stronger than you, that’s clear to see, his arms thick from years of hard work.

“Thank you…” You wait for him to tell you his name, trailing off as you lead him into the saloon that has been set out for the school day. There is a black board at the front, tables and chairs littered around the room, the liquor shelves have been emptied for books to replace them.

The fact that Mr Karga had offered the saloon for the school was a miracle and while many in town grumbled about their favourite place of vice no longer admitting them during the day time, most were supportive of the decision to help the kids continue their school. Nevarro wasn’t a large town and mining was its main source of income, but the children deserved a chance to do more than just become miners and the school helped them do that. You helped them get into colleges on scholarships, to find jobs as clerks and apprentices in other parts of the country.

“Din Djarin.” It’s a nice name, rolls of his tongue like honey. He doesn’t smile, not really, not properly, but there’s a little crinkle at the corners of his eyes that soften his face and make him seem warmer somehow.

“And this little one?” You smile at the little boy as he begins to bravely step out from behind his guardian to greet you with a smile. He is a quiet boy, not the usual talkative sort you find with a six year old, but who knows what he’s been through even at this young age.

“Grogu, he’s my…” He furrows his brow, clearly thinking hard on the right word. That alone tells you he is not his son by blood, a small fact that makes him even more interesting. Not many bounty hunters would take in a small child. “Son.” he finally says. Deciding it is the best term. Grogu isn’t his by blood, Din knows this, but the little boy he’d found all alone surrounded by death, was slowly becoming like a son to him. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Family is more than blood.

“Will he be joining my class? I run the school, currently we’re based here...in the saloon. Not my ideal place to teach but needs must.” You gesture around you to the makeshift classroom. You don’t like that the place still stinks of liquor or that at night it goes back to being a saloon where people drink, gamble, and fight. But, you don’t have a better place right now and the children need somewhere to learn. You can teach in any building, even if you dislike this one.

You fit the image of a school teacher he thinks. You look like a respectable young woman, dressed appropriately, all neat and proper. Your hair pulled up and pinned away like it’s supposed to be. Everything about you is proper. Part of him wants to see you become ruffled, stop being so demure. It’s a thought that makes him frown at himself, the thoughts inappropriate especially towards a lady like yourself.

“Yes. We’ll be staying for awhile. What happened to the school house, Miss…?” He took on the job as sheriff the moment the lawman offered it, the pay was good, gave him his own accommodation and it meant he could settle down for a bit, give the kid an actual childhood. Bounty hunting was something he was good at but it wasn’t exactly safe to do with a six year old in tow. At least this job used his skills catching lawbreakers and put them to use in a place the kid could grow up. It helps that the teacher of the town is pretty too, he thinks.

You give him your name before answering his question, “Well, after the last sheriff quit, the schoolhouse burnt down and along with all the things we had in it. Luckily it was at night and none of us were in the building. Burnt right down to the ground, nothing left…” You say it with a heavy sigh, thinking of that sweet little schoolhouse. The white painted wood, the familiar rows of desks with names carved in them, your favourite collection of university level texts at the back for the older and more advanced kids to explore. You had been teaching in that schoolhouse for the last five years and in a way it had become a second home for you, if you weren’t at your own little home, then you were in the schoolhouse marking work or planning lessons for the coming days.

“Anyone know what caused it?”

“No. We didn’t exactly have the mind to investigate and if it wasn’t an accident it was probably just some drunk who didn’t know any better. But, we make do and Grogu,” You crouch down next to the small child, moving your skirts to do so comfortably, “will fit right in, I think, don’t you?” The little boy smiles at you and giggles, before hiding behind his father’s leg again.

“Have any plans been made to rebuild the schoolhouse?” Sheriff Djarin it seems is very straight and to the point, his tone isn’t unkind or aggressive, but his words are clipped, short, brusque as if he’s not quite used to being more flowery or saying much. You supposed a bounty hunter didn’t typically need to say much, but you hope he’ll become more comfortable with talking, at least to you, as time goes on.

“No...i’ve been trying to put some pressure on the mayor to get it done but...he just doesn’t seem to care all that much now there’s a temporary solution.” You say as you begin unpacking the box that he brought inside, exercise books are brought out and sorted into piles, ready for the children to write their names on the covers and start afresh.

He frowns, brow furrowing deep, lips turned down at the thought of the schoolhouse just never being rebuilt. It’s clear to him that saloon isn’t the place for a school and it’s even clearer that you are distressed with your new working arrangement, that you miss having a building that is entirely your own and entirely dedicated to teaching young minds.

“I’ll sort something out. Is class starting soon?”

“Yes, not...not long now.” You double check the clock realising the kids will begin arriving in less than an hour and you feel wholly unprepared for the first day of school since the schoolhouse burnt down.

You watch him crouch in front of Grogu, hand ruffling his hair fondly, “You’re going to stay here today, get some learnin’ in ya. I’ve got things to do, but I'll be back later, promise.” You’re surprised and warmed when he puts out his pinky finger for the kid to grab, a little promise that seems to you like something more. You wonder if the boy was scared of being left again, if this was Din’s way of reassuring his new son that he wasn’t going to leave him. The little boy wraps his whole hand around Din’s pinkie not quite understanding how the promises work yet.

“Have a good day of teaching, Miss Y/N.” He nods his head at you, grabbing his hat as he walks out the saloon with a purpose. The hat is placed on his head the moment he’s out of the doors and it’s that little element of politeness that surprises you. He carries himself like a gentleman but looks like any other rough and tumble man wandering the west. But it’s his treatment of Grogu that confirms the sort of man that he is.

I’ll sort something out. You smiled to yourself realising that perhaps the new sheriff would be the best thing to happen to this town in a while. Someone who actually got things done for once.

“Do you want to find your seat? Maybe do some drawing before class starts, Grogu?” You ask the little boy smiling at him as he nervously shifts from foot to foot, looking back out the doors as if hoping his father would walk back in. It’s clear he hasn’t had to do this before, be separated from him and left with a stranger, but you put on your softest smile and gentlest voice and wait patiently for him to nod his head before offering him your hand.

He takes your hand and you help him get settled into his seat, you decide to put him near the front so you can help him easily and get him settled near you. He only knows you after all, and you think being around all the kids and far away from familiarity might be too much. You give him some paper, scrap bits that you don’t need anymore and a pencil leaving him to draw while you get ready for class.

---------------------

The school day goes...well, it’s hectic and your hair is frizzy and falling out of the updo you styled it in that morning by the end. The children are unsettled in this new environment, the older kids, those nearing adulthood frustrated by the younger kids who can’t seem to focus or be quiet. Your brain feels too large for your skull and you sigh out a goodbye to your students as they leave out the saloon doors, one or two shoving through the swinging shutters much faster than needed.

Grogu is the quietest of your students, sweet and attentive, he doesn’t speak a word, but follows your instructions well. He is behind on his writing letters and reading, that much you know from working with him, but he’s a quick learner and applies himself with a determination you rarely see. He doesn’t always play well with others. At lunch time you’d noticed him stealing food from the other children. It continued despite giving him your own lunch knowing his father hadn’t had time to prepare him something after coming straight into town and getting to work. He doesn’t share well either, but seemed to understand when you sat him down and talked to him about it. You suppose that being away from other children and only travelling with your father figure who would share his food with you without a thought, it must be confusing. The manners that he now has to observe, the rules of society that he’s never had to worry about until now. He looks suitably admonished despite the gentle way you chose to talk about it with him, that alone makes you think he’ll likely stop stealing the children’s cookies and be more willing to share.

“David, careful!” You call out when one of your older students nearly gets trampled underneath the sheriff’s horses’ hooves as he runs across the thoroughfare without looking.

“Sorry, miss!” David calls back over his shoulder, still storming ahead your warning lost on him.

You sigh heavily and rub at your temples, stress enveloping you. A tug, swift and sharp on your skirt has you looking down. Grogu has a hand fisted in the fabric, pulling to get your attention. Once he has it, his arms open, hands up towards you, opening and closing, a universal gesture to be lifted.

It surprises you, he is...quiet and reserved. You expected time to be needed before he was comfortable with you in any respect, especially after having to tell the boy off. Instead, he lets you lift him to your hip, hands reaching for strands of your hair and twisting them, surprisingly gently between his chubby little fingers.

You watch your students run in different directions through town, their books and lunch pails in tow. Some stop on the open green, playing games together before their parents demand them back home for dinner. The warm little body in your arms is a soothing presence and the boy almost looks like he wants to say something, but just makes a soft cooing sound instead.

“Not much of a talker are you, little one?” He almost shrugs his little shoulders before looking up at the sound of heavy footsteps and clinking spurs. The sheriff leads his horse up to you, eyes following David with a shake of his head. Clearly, just as bemused as you at his lack of common sense.

Grogu smiles and giggles happily at the sight of his father, arms reaching out for him. You pass him over to Din, trying to ignore how close you get to the man to do it. He radiates warmth and smells woodsy mixed with some sort of soap he must use. This close you can see little birthmarks dotted across his neck.

You step back once the boy is settled in his arms and smile, soft but tired. “Sheriff, how was your first day on the job?”

He gives you a humoured smirk, one you’re not expecting, it takes you aback slightly. He looks...charming, approachable. Little dimples at his cheeks that soften his features in a way that makes you want to step closer. With a huff, not quite a laugh, he says, “Eventful.”

“That makes two of us, sheriff.” He notices the tired creases beneath your eyes, the once unrumpled appearance now dishevelled, hair coming out of its updo and blouse and skirt wrinkled and creased. You look like you’d had a rough day and he hopes Grogu wasn’t part of the cause. He still hadn’t figured out how to discipline the kid, he always turned those big brown eyes on him and he just couldn’t tell him no.

“Din. Call me Din.”

“Then you should call me Y/N.” There’s a moment of silence. You stare at him, at the way his hat casts shadows over his face, at the gentle hold he has on Grogu, the open top buttons of his work shirt and the dig of suspenders into his shoulders. He stares back at you. The gentle softness of your cheek, the marks that make your skin your skin and not someone else's.

“We’re going to start building the schoolhouse as soon as the wood shipment gets here, I sent a telegram off today to get some good lumber in.” It surprises you in the most delightful way. When you said the mayor had been dragging his heels you meant it, but you hadn’t expected this new face to come in and make a start on what the mayor had been reluctant to do.

“We’re?”

“I’ve convinced some of the men around town to pitch in and I know a thing or two about building.” In truth he’d intimidated more than persuaded. Most of the men were lazy, and had more concern for their own vices than for helping out. But, a mixture of convincing them they’d get their saloon back and reminding them that he was now the town’s sheriff seemed to get a few of the stronger and more skilled townsfolk to agree to help.

“You’re the sheriff. You shouldn’t be building the schoolhouse, Din. You’ve got more important things to do.” You feel bad that he’s doing this, being quite so involved, when he’s starting a new job, one that takes up most of his time. Being a sheriff is a full time job, almost 24 hours a day 7 days a week. He has people to keep in line, criminals to catch, laws to enforce, and building a schoolhouse wasn’t on his list of priorities. It’s sweet and makes your heart ache oddly, but you feel guilty for adding another thing to his plate.

“This is important, Miss...Y/N. The kid can’t learn in a saloon forever and you can’t work here forever neither.” He can see how desperately you want your schoolhouse back and something in him wants to provide that for you, to care for you. He tells himself it’s also for the kid, that his son deserves a proper schoolhouse to learn in. That all foundlings, all little children deserved a place to learn, like he had growing up in the covert.

“At least...at least let me and the children bring food and water down once you get started. I...you’ve not even been here a whole day and you’re already doing more than anyone else ever has...Thank you, Din.”

“It’s my pleasure, meg ba'jurir” You do not understand what he calls you, but you recognise that cadence, the rhythm of the language. Can almost see the symbolic nature of the alphabet. It surprises you that he knows what you’re sure is Mando’a, having only heard one other person in your life ever speak it. Mandalorian family groups were uncommon, but where they were they seemed to keep people in order, to value community. It made sense that he would take on the job of sheriff, adopt a child not of his own blood, if that were the case.

You bite your tongue and don’t ask, you don’t know him and it is too personal to ask about his upbringing, culture or heritage. Perhaps, after you know him better you can ask, but you can almost hear your headmistress at school reminding you about manners and decorum even in a little mining town.

“He didn’t...he didn’t cause any trouble today did he? He’s not used to being around others or...we’ve been on the road for a long time now.” He looks down at the little boy sitting at his hip, who’s playing with the metal star on his shirt. He knew that Grogu could be difficult, sweet, adorable, hard to say no to, but undisciplined and not used to the rules that people usually abided by.

“I...I did have to have a word with him today…” You can already tell Din’s disappointed. He clearly loves the boy, but part of loving a child is wanting better for them and getting in trouble isn’t part of that.

Din sighs heavily before catching the boy’s eye, “Ad’ika…”The boy clearly knows what’s going on and hides his face in his father’s shirt, suitably embarrassed about his behaviour. You think that’s enough to probably deter him from stealing from other kids in the future. You also think you might bake him some treats and use them as an incentive to work hard. You suspect bribery would work well with Grogu.

“He paid attention beautifully and he’s already doing so well with learning his letters, but he’s...he’s quite…” You try to think of the best way to say that the boy just can’t resist taking other children’s food.

“You don’t have to spare my feelings, Y/N. You can tell me.” You look Din in the eyes, deep brown meeting your own and sigh out before speaking.

“He likes to steal the other children’s food. I gave him my lunch and he still tried to steal Charlie’s cookies and Mary Beth’s macarons. I know he’s probably used to food being a thing he can just have since you’ve been travelling as a family unit…”

“Osik... I forgot to give him lunch. I am a terrible father…” Din looks at his feet, free hand rubbing over the scruff on his jaw. You feel the instant need to reassure him.

“You’re not a terrible father. You just came into town this morning, immediately took on a job, and instantly went to work. You’re not a terrible father.” You hesitate, but reach forward anyway, a hand on his arm giving a quick reassuring squeeze.

“Vor entye, Y/N. Thank you. Have you eaten?”

“Oh…” You hadn’t really thought about it, that you’d given your food to Grogu to stop him going hungry and that you’d spent all day teaching with little more than the porridge you’d made yourself that morning to keep you going.

“Don’t even think about lying to the sheriff.” You did in fact consider lying to him, but the look he gave you reminded you of an overbearing mother hen who wouldn’t let you get away with it. Combined with the fact he was indeed the new sheriff, you felt it best to stick to the truth for now.

“No...I haven’t.” You admit, feeling suitably admonished by him and a little guilty for even considering lying about.

Din adjusts Grogu on his hip and nods his head behind him towards the street, “Come, I’ll buy you dinner at the café.”

“You don’t have to, Din. I can make dinner at home.” You think back to the soup you were going to make that night, and even though you haven’t the energy in truth to make dinner, you can’t ask him to buy you it. It is too much and unnecessary. Any good teacher would have made sure their students were fed.

“You kept my ad fed in place of yourself. I’m buying you dinner.” His voice left no room for argument and so you found yourself following after him across the street towards Reeva’s Café.

---------------------

Din’s presence in town becomes apparent very quickly. He does not allow the men to wander drunk through the streets, start fights, or harass women. He does not suffer law breakers or those who cause the peace to break. He is swift, effective, and there isn’t a member of town who doesn’t respect his authority even if some don’t particularly like having to listen to him.

For you it is a refreshing change. You don’t worry about the children wandering around town in the evenings or about walking out of your home at night. You don’t worry about your meager belongings being stolen or a fight breaking out in the saloon on an evening and ruining the few bits you have for the school.

He is quiet and polite, not much of a talker, but everything he does shows a man of honour and good morals. He is sweet with the children as well.

It had become common place for him, while waiting for the lumber to begin the schoolhouse, to come into the saloon while you were teaching. He said it was because the day time left little for him to do as sheriff, but you think he just enjoys helping with the children. They make him smile. A real smile.

Sometimes he just sits with his son on his lap and helps him with his letters, other times he wanders between tables helping those who need it or using his presence to quiet the children after an exciting lunch break. Reminding them to respect you, their teacher, and listen.

Your favourite, and the childrens’ favourite times were when he’d sit down and tell them stories of his travels. For a man who didn’t speak much, Din Djarin was a natural born storyteller.

That’s how you found yourself taking a step back, sitting on one of the saloon bar stools off to the side as Din took your place at the front of the class. He had an ability with the little ones that amazed you, none were ever scared of him despite his height, posturing or the guns holstered at his side and slung over his back. He always managed to make them smile and laugh, always got their curiosity going and inspired them equally. He made it a point whenever he talked to your class to share stories of both men and women he’d met who’d done amazing things, you could tell he was trying to get the girls in your class to see they could be more than housewives or washerwomen and you appreciated it.

“So there I am standing toe to toe with the biggest grizzly you’ve ever seen…” He gestures with his hands, standing at the front, arms out front to show just how large this grizzly bear was. His voice took on a different, more dramatic quality then normal. Grogu clapped his hands from his seat on your lap, the little boy having grown increasingly comfortable around you.

“Now this grizzly has to be 8ft standin’, and he’s the angriest bear you’ve ever seen and i’m sure that’s the end of me. I’m about to become a grizzly bear’s dinner, Sheriff Djarin stew!” You laugh along with the kids at the prospect of Din becoming stew for a grizzly bear, you’re never sure how much is fiction or truth in his stories, although part of you wouldn’t be surprised if they were all completely true. He was...he always seemed larger than life despite being so quiet. Like some sort of figure out of a western story.

“When out of nowhere, charging between me and this mean grizzly, comes the largest bull moose I've ever seen…”

“What’d you do?” Mary Beth pipes up, big blue eyes open wide.

“Well, I got the he-” He stops himself looking at you, you raise an eyebrow reminding him that cussing around the children would not do well for him, “-out of there as quickly as I could! One thing you should never do is stay around to fight a grizzly, never ends well to go toe to toe with one. That moose was being kind and giving me a chance to get away.” It amuses you that he always manages to twist a moral into the story. This time about kindness and helping those weaker than yourself, along with a healthy dose of not getting into situations with angry grizzly bears of course.

“Well, I think it’s time I let Miss Y/N, get on with her mathematics lesson.” Groans and grumbling rises up from your students as you place Grogu in his seat and begin making your way to the front. You watch Din frown at them, hands on his belt, leaning into one hip more than the other. He is the perfect picture of a disappointed father. Lips twisting downwards, pulling on his moustache.

“Hey, now! Miss Y/N always makes your lessons fun so don’t you start giving her trouble or else i’ll have to stop coming in for story time.” It’s a threat that promptly has them settling quietly in their chairs and getting their books and pencils out.

You rest a gentle hand on his arm when you reach him, quietly telling him thank you. It’s heavy with meaning. Thank you for being there for the children. Thank you for providing them with stories. Thank you for always settling them and reminding them to respect me. Thank you for thinking about the schoolhouse. Thank you for settling the town and keeping the peace.

He just nods at you with the smallest hint of a smile, enough to make you feel the tiniest bit flustered as you watch him walk to the chair where he’d left his hat, holsters, and lasso.

“Say goodbye to the sheriff, children.” You tell them as all of you watch him make his way to the doors. He stops before them and tips his hat at you all with a smile, but the moment he’s out the doors it drops and in his place is the hard sheriff who won’t stand for trouble.

---------------------

Once the lumber comes in and the plans have been drawn up and approved by yourself, at Din’s insistence, the work begins. The schoolhouse design had been run past you because Din didn’t want to miss anything that was needed or that would help you teach. He had told you not to worry about size, scale or cost, that the community was pitching in and that the mayor had found a fund tucked away somewhere for the school. The fund miraculously appeared after Din had a long meaningful chat with him.

He wouldn’t tell you that he’d made threats against the mayor about digging up some of his dirty laundry, but he had. The mayor had a lot of skeletons in his closet and also a nice stack of credits he was sitting on in his own personal mayoral vault. The fact that the mayor had been so reluctant to rebuild the schoolhouse when he easily could have almost made Din see red, but he didn’t think it would look good if he beat the man to the curb as sheriff. He was supposed to be upstanding and law abiding, if he wasn’t why would any of the townsfolk be?

A few days into the project you decided it was time you made good on your promise to come to the site during lunch time with the children to bring water and some food. You and the children collect pails of water and the baked goods you’d made the night before, trudging through the streets. You held Grogu on one hip, the small child the slowest of his classmates, and carried a heavy pail of water in the other, so heavy your shoulder slumped down on that side to accommodate the weight.

The children were happy to help, after all, many of their fathers and older brothers were working on the school site and it was a chance in the school day to see people they cared about. You were also sure they wanted to ask the sheriff a multitude of questions and beg for a story, but you’d reminded them that they weren’t there to get in the way or interrupt the work, just to offer food and water.

You’d reluctantly admitted to Reeva that you found the sheriff attractive, after the older woman badgered you day in and day out about the time you spent with him. You could admit he was handsome. His eyes were deep brown and spoke more words then he often did. He had both a look that could intimidate and also soften into something warm and safe. The beard and moustache he sported made him look ruggedly handsome and his shoulders were broad and wide. He looked like he’d stepped out of a story book or from an illustrated newspaper short story. Rugged but clean, dangerous but kind.

You had to admit though that this was your favourite look on him. As you came upon the building site he was busy sawing a plank of pine in two. His shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow exposing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His suspenders had been flung off his shoulders, resting at sides no longer covering the strong back that was tensed as he worked. The top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, almost indecently so to show a pronounced collar bone, strong neck, and dark chest hair and the brown hair on his head had begun to curl from the sweat he was working up. It shouldn’t have been attractive. He should have looked like any other man working up a sweat, you shouldn’t have wanted to wipe his brow and brush your fingers through the curls of his hair. But you did.

Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you look down at the little boy at your hip, “Should we go say hello to your father?”

“Papa!” He clapped his hands at you in confirmation. You’d slowly learnt that papa was one of the only words he said, you weren’t sure if he chose not to speak or simply couldn’t. But, given his increasing aptitude with writing his letters, you thought it likely that he simply chose not to speak.

The call instantly has Din’s head popping up from his work like a startled deer and you watch as his eyes roam across the children until he catches sight of his son at your hip. The smile that lights his face is so bright that it’s almost blinding, there is a longing you feel whenever you see his happiness to see Grogu. Some deep part of you that desires that sort of family bond. He loves his son so deeply, it doesn’t matter to him that their blood isn’t the same and part of you wants desperately to be part of that love and happiness.

“Children, hand out the food and water, will you? But be careful!” You remind them as they run towards familiar faces, it is still a building site after all, and the last thing you need is a child getting hurt in any way.

Din finishes sawing the plank before striding over to you, hand pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow. You look...radiant. The summer sun shining over you, causing your skin to glow, your hair to shine. Your smile is as soft as your eyes and you're gentle in the way you hold his son to your hip, like he belonged there. Like the two of you belonged together. Din can admit that he enjoys your company more than he probably should, he can even admit that a part of him deeply desires you, wants you to join his family unit, become part of his aliit. You’re tender and kind to all the children you teach, your children as you often call them, and you’re incredibly kind to Grogu who you treat with more understanding than most school teachers ever would. You keep order in your classroom through kindness and mutual respect, not through fear or punishment. The maternal shine to you draws him to you in a way that, had he not been Mandalorian, he might be ashamed of. But, family is everything to him, Grogu is everything to him and if he is to put down roots here, he can’t help but consider putting down roots with you.

It’s a silly thought though, you’ve not known each other long and he isn’t well to do or gentlemanly. You’re far better educated than him, kinder than him, and it is a pipe dream that he doubts will ever come to fruition. It doesn’t help that he struggles at times to even talk to you, let alone make his feelings known.

“Miss me, Ad’ika?” He calls to the little boy, carefully pulling him from your arms when you offer him. If you allow yourself to, you can almost imagine he’s taking your own child from you, that the two of you have formed some sort of family. But, you are just his son’s teacher and he is just the sheriff of your small town.

The boy babbles at him, not real words, nonsense, or attempts at words that don’t translate, but you can see that improving. Can almost imagine what settling down here can do for the boy, give him a chance to learn, grow, make friends, and find some stability and safety.

“He’s been itching to come over all day, they all have. I was struggling to get them to focus on their history lesson.” You had 15 children all desperate to get out of the saloon and visit their fathers for lunch. It had been a...very difficult lesson to say the least and you still felt a little frazzled.

“History?” The boy tugs at his father’s hair and you watch him wince as he speaks, pulling little chubby hands from brown curls.

“The fall of the empire and the rise of the republic. Not the most riveting subject for them I'm sure, they much prefer when I tell them about different societies rather than politics.” You want to say like Mandalore and the Mandalorians because you want to draw him in, desperate to have more of his time even when he’s already doing so much for you. You enjoy the odd hour here and there when he takes over your class and becomes the teacher, where you can just sit and listen, learn yourself.

“Mandalorians believe that our history is our future. We learn it as soon as we can walk.”

“So it is Mando’a you’ve been speaking?” It warms you to see him open up to you like this. He is a private man, quiet, and insular. While he can yell with the best, and demand attention, can intimidate and even persuade, it’s all part of his job. The face he puts on as sheriff. He is quiet about himself, sharing little and not so often. You revel in the trust placed in you wherever he tells you a little something more about himself.

“You noticed?” Most people don’t even know Mando’a exists, let alone recognise that the words he slips into his speech are such. He finds they slip out more around you, than with others. He’s comfortable with, he is happy to share himself, his culture with you and it...it is a startling discovery about himself. He has been insular and closed off for longer than he would like to admit.

“I can’t speak it and I..I don’t know it well, but, I recognise the cadence. I grew up in Naboo and there was a Mandalorian there, she used to speak it when I would sit and practice my letters with her.” Atin’a Caivass was a kind woman to you even if she could be hard. She had been one of your teachers, always pushing you harder, to do better. Yet, it had never felt frustrating or like a chore, the Mandalorian had always made it a desire to impress her, but also to prove to yourself that you could. She had always been kind to you and the other children, gentle but firm, like you were one of her own. You saw similarities with how Din treated the children. He was kind and gentle, but never overlooked an opportunity to firmly correct their behaviour or mistakes. A perfect balance. Not too soft and not too harsh.

“You never learnt?”

“She was very protective of it and I...I was always too afraid to ask.” You confess. You had always been fascinated with it, like any young child when faced with a new language, but you had always believed it something sacred, and had worried that you would offend her if you asked to learn. “Ad’ika? What does it mean?”

He can’t help but laugh at your pronunciation and sounds it out for you, “Ah-Dee-Kah, it means little one.”

“Ah-dee-kuh?” You are even more beautiful, he thinks when you butcher his language, trying so hard to get it right that your eyebrows scrunch together and your eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Ah-Dee-Kah” The little one squirms in his arms and he places him on the ground, only to watch him plunk himself on his bottom and play with the dirt. He had always had a fascination with dirt and rocks, more so than any of the toys he had actually brought or made him.

“Ah-Dee-Kah”

“Perfect.” You smile blindingly at his praise and he wonders if he can forgo his job as sheriff and simply teach you Mando’a every minute of every day. “You can always ask. If you want to learn. It’s nice to hear it from another person’s lips, not just mine.”

“I would like that very much...maybe when you’re less busy? You’re rather booked up at the moment, what with being sheriff, storytime for the children, and building a schoolhouse. You’re a busy man, Din Djarin.”

“I like to keep my hands busy.” You look down at your feet before looking back up at him, unsure how to respond to what you were sure was meant as a perfectly innocent comment. Din almost swears, osik, once he realises how that sounds, lifting hand to the back of his neck to rub it.

The silence that you fall into isn’t uncomfortable necessarily, but feels almost solid, like a physical thing and not just the quiet that comes with two people not talking for a moment. There’s a tension there that is not wholly unpleasant but hard to describe or pin down.

Seeming to remember the pail of water you’re carrying you place it in front of him, “Water, so you can clean off or if you’re thirsty. There’s some pastries somewhere as well, to keep you all fed...Can’t have you keeling over on us or else we’d never get our schoolhouse.”

You take a step back and cast your gaze around, making note of where each of your 15 kids are. You’re caught watching Jerome splash water on Annie, about to go and tell him off when you hear splashing much closer to you.

You thought he couldn’t excite you more than he already had. Thought that Din Djarin couldn’t possibly tempt you more, cause your well-mannered sensibilities to crumble further. You were utterly, terribly, ridiculously wrong.

There’s something to be said about the man pouring half a pail of water over his head to rub away the sweat and dirt from a hard day working in the summer sun. He flicks his head back, long neck outstretched as water droplets fall like mirror glass over his tanned skin. His hair sticks to his skin, kissing it in a way you realise you desperately want to and his shirt clings to broad shoulders with the familiarity of a lover.

You spin back around away from him flustered, determined not to look as you march towards Jerome. You decide in that moment that perhaps it’s best not to bring pails of water at lunch time. You might just not survive to see the school built.

---------------------

For the next two months your routine features lunch time trips with the children to bring water and sometimes food to the men building the schoolhouse, and the odd afternoon story time hour when Din feels confident enough to leave the others to continue working without his guidance. Each day the schoolhouse comes together more and more and each day you fall a little bit more in...in whatever these feelings for the sheriff were.

You also have the startling realisation that Grogu has wormed his little way into your heart in a way that none of your other students have. You have a soft spot for the little boy, especially as he becomes more vocal, begins to say more little words, including the delightful name ‘Miss Y/N’.

Din is a temptation in himself, each time he teaches you another word or phrase in Mando’a and his lips wrap around syllables or every time he works hard to build the schoolhouse muscles pulling taut underneath the weight of wood. He tempts you in a way that no one ever has and you can’t quite explain what it is about this man that makes you desire to be in his presence, to kiss him, to hold him, to be close to him both physically and emotionally. You want to know everything about him, to understand him better than you understand yourself.

In some ways it is a relief when the schoolhouse is finished and in other ways it feels like a loss. Part of your routine, part of the day where you always see Din was no longer needed or necessary.

When you bring the children over at lunch time, it’s to show them the finished building, the one they’ll be in come Monday morning once you have the time to move all the books and other odds and ends into it. They’re all excited as are you, to see it...it strikes you in the heart so badly that you can’t move your feet, can only stare at the building with tears in your eyes.

It’s beautiful. Not large, but larger than the old one. Freshly painted white, with a school bell hanging out front. It strikes you that this isn’t just a schoolhouse, but it’s your schoolhouse. Din had been adamant about building it for you.

“Children, why don’t you go inside and take a look? You’ll be here on Monday!” You wave them all off as they run ahead and up the wooden steps, throwing the door open none too gently. “Careful! We only just got it!” You call out and receive a series of sorries back.

“Shall we go find your buir?” You look down at Grogu, who’s hand is holding the heavy fabric of your skirt. He smiles up at you and nods his head with a quick little ‘papa’ that has your heart warming.

You hear him before you see him, “Now don’t go breaking the tables when we’ve only just put them together, girls!” Already laying down the law to 3 of your children as you enter the schoolhouse. They had seemingly been swinging on tables in a most ill-mannered fashion that has you putting on your teacher-face and raising an eyebrow at them from behind Din. They promptly stop and return their feet to the floor with an abashed look.

“Sorry, Sheriff. Sorry Miss.” They call to you both before scurrying away in hopes of avoiding punishment, leaving you, Din and Grogu alone in the main room for the building. You let it go. It isn’t an issue, they need to learn to respect things, and not damage them, but that does not have to come at the cost of punishment when a quick look and a reminder does enough.

Din spins at them calling out to you, faster than he seems to have expected, looking decidedly dizzy for a second before the mask of sheriff falls right back into place.

“Y/N, how do you like it?” He opens his arms wide and gestures to the main room of the schoolhouse. A large blackboard already nailed to the wall at the back, rows of tables and chairs set up so every child could see you. A desk at the front for your things. It is sweet and fits your needs infinitely better than a saloon ever would. You even note the bookcases along the walls, enough space to place many of your books for the children to have easy access for when they wish to learn something more than you could teach them.

“It’s...it’s wonderful, Din. It’s beautiful. I...I can’t thank you enough...I...I’m a little lost for words.” You can feel the happy tears starting to pool in your eyes again, the gratitude making you a little bit emotional. “I don’t think I can ever repay you for this.”

“You...you don’t need to repay me, Mesh’la. This...you and the children deserve a school, a place to teach and learn. You don’t have to thank me or repay me for doing what the damn mayor should have done in the first place.”

You nearly don’t do it. Nearly let that fear that wells up inside you and the proper manners, the belief that you were about to be far too forward than was ladylike, stop you. But, you think back to his kindness, his gentle nature, the calm and order he’s brought to town. The son of his that you have a large soft spot for. The handsomeness of his features, the sharpness of his profile. The gentle hand he always places on your back as he helps escort you somewhere. The respect he shows you at every turn and his willingness to share his culture and upbringing with you. You think of all the things that make up the Din Djarin you know and you think of what he has come to mean to you.

With a silent prayer and an apology to your late headmistress for being more forward than is ladylike, you push yourself forward and into him. Lips soft and chaste lifting to meet his, only briefly. You do not push for more than a second of contact, but it is enough, you hope, to get the thought and intent across. That he is someone you would like to get to know more, that he is someone you could happily be courted by, even marry one day.

He doesn’t even have time to blink, it happens so fast. One minute you are standing a few steps away from him thanking him, the next your lips are pressed to his in the shortest sweetest kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of. It takes another second for him to realise what’s happened before he’s reaching a hand out to cup the nape of your neck and drag your lips back to his for a significantly more substantial kiss that leaves you a little breathless.

When you pull away from each other you don’t go far. Din presses his forehead to yours, hawkish nose pressing into your cheek, a soft touch that grounds you with his presence. The hand at your neck, rubs a soothing thumb across your skin. Your own have chosen to grasp at the suspenders over his shoulders, to keep in close proximity.

“I’d very much like to court you, Miss Y/N.”

“I think i’d like that, sheriff.”

---------------------

Mando’a Translations

Meg Ba'jurir - roughest way I could get to someone who educates or a teacher with meg being who and ba’jurir being educate

Osik - Shit

Vor entye - Thank You

Ad - son

Ad’ika - Little one, term of endearment for small children

Buir - Father also Mother basically parent.

Mesh’la - Beautiful

Aliit - Family (Clan)

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Taglist for this fic:

@lex-ham

#din djarin x reader #din djarin / reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian reader insert #reader insert #readerinsert #western au #putting down roots #din djarinxreader #din djarin/reader #female reader #female identifying reader

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mandalorewhore · 4 years

Text

Common Ground

Part 2 of Hunter (formerly Hunter and Prey)

gif by @themandaloriandaily

Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex (fem recieving), Cock Warming, Descriptions of violence/blood , Edging (maybe?), Dirty talk, Praise kink, Size kink, Big Dick Mando, Blindfolded Sex Words: 11.7k AO3 LINK

Summary: Reader and Mando land on Nevarro to meet with Karga

A/N: im sorry to niceguy!Karga in season 2

This would be less awkward if you knew how to talk to the man.

The awkwardness is probably one-sided though you doubt he’s brooding over what the two of you did last night in this cockpit. You’re not a blushing virgin afraid to talk about sex, but it would be nice if you actually knew something you both had in common, since you’re going to be spending a lot of time together. The extent of your conversations have been about sex, mechanics, and killing people. That’s pretty fitting for the two of you, you suppose. He is… Officially? your bounty hunting partner now.

However, he’s very comfortable in silence, so much so that it seems to be a central part of his character, much like the armor strapped to his body. Is being reserved a part of the Mandalorian creed too, or does he just prefer it? Does he want to talk about how you sucked his dick mere hours after abandoning your jobs as mercenaries? What is he thinking about right now? You could probably ask him all this, you know. Your internal argument is boiling over like a forgotten pot as you ruminate in the passenger seat of the Crest’s cockpit.

You woke up in his arms a few hours ago, curled up in the pilot seat together, your face feeling a bit grimey due to not scrubbing it clean after he gave you that facial. Feeling cozy in the quiet moments that follow waking, you snuggled in closer to his warmth, still only separated by the thin layer of his undershirt. You started when his palm squeezed your shoulder, his way of letting you know he was already awake.

There’s an unspoken feeling about the way he fell asleep in your presence. You may work together now, but you’re still virtual strangers and Mando is a professional. You doubt he’ll pass out in front of you again.

Slumped in your seat, you mull over every second that passed between the two of you. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting there like a lump of metal. Unaffected. Impassive. If you didn’t have first-hand proof of the deliciously warm skin he hides, you would’ve passed him off as a droid.

Actually when you think about it… when it comes to conversation topics, maybe metal is the place to start. As in, the ship that is now your impromptu home for the foreseeable future. You’ve gleaned that the Crest is like home to the Mandalorian and, come to think of it, he seemingly opted to sleep on his little cot down in the ship’s hull instead of taking up a bunk back on the space station. If he were anyone else, the gesture would’ve been ostentatious. It gave the impression that he was ready to leave at any moment.

But no one wants to confront a Mandalorian.

Bringing up the Crest is probably a safe option and you’re knowledgeable about ships. You can hold your ground when it comes to the technicalities of mechanics. Plus, you can be charming when you want to be; on merc jobs you weren’t put into the femme fatal role for no reason. Although you’ve casually lured men to their death, you’re more nervous to chat with Mando. But you’re determined to try. Try to be appealing...

“I’m curious… Once I have some credits saved up, would you be interested in adding mods to the Razor Crest? I haven’t gotten a good look yet, but I’m floating some ideas around.” You bite your lip automatically out of apprehension, but hoping it comes across as playful. You’re not out of line or anything; it's been hours since you last exchanged any words so it's not like you’ve been chatting his ear off. Still, you worry that you sound extra loud to someone who’s spent so long in stillness.

“That may be useful. What were you thinking?” Mando’s response comes only a second later, and even though he faces the cockpit’s transparisteel windows as he speaks, you’re giddy at his swiftness to respond.

“Well, I would love to touch her up a little. There are some issues with the hyper-drive and coms that could be fixed pretty easy. As for modifying, I saw that you installed a mobile carbonite-freezing chamber for bounties?” He nods to affirm your guess. “I could move that ‘round to utilize the space for storage and better suit two people living here. Either install a bed that can swing down or-”

“Separate beds are unnecessary. We can sleep in shifts or share the bunk.”

“O-oh. Sound’s good.” You gulp, feeling a little warm. The implication makes you sweat even if he shot down your idea. “Well, upgrading the deflector shields would be a good idea. Protect her better, plus efficient heat dispersal during atmospheric flight would let us jump into hyperspace faster. If we need to run or just want to fuck off somewhere.”

“Hm. That is a good idea. She’s fast but there's always room for improvement.” He accentuates his response by patting the console lightly, and something about the way his hand lingers gently on the surface reminds you of a parent touseling their child’s hair. A smile stretches across your face, finally relaxing a little after being so tense all morning. For someone that you thought was so serious, he sometimes reveals a sentimental side to his personality. It makes you want to ask him more, to know more about him and how he thinks, but you’re so nervous about asking him anything even slightly personal, anything that has to do with his preferences or opinions. Your short exchange about his ship went pretty smoothly you think, maybe you can ask him more, you’ll just stay on the topic of starships. That should be fine.

“Do you have a dream ship?” You blurt, sounding a little less casual than you were trying for. Oops.

He takes longer to respond this time, seemingly thinking the question over. “No. Maybe when I was younger. I have the Crest now, there isn’t a need to plan for another ship.”

There's that seriousness again, the way he responds to you makes you think that he has never had to answer hypothetical questions before. It makes perfect sense, the average person doesn’t go around asking tall, intimidating Mandolorians about their hobbies. What a Gonk Droid. I’m jealous he can get away with talking like that. Still, you do want to continue this conversation if only to hear his voice. “Nothin’ about planning Mando, just a little make-believe. Personally, I like an A-Wing, the RZ-1 variant is classic even if the 2 is flashier. X-Wings are neat too, minus the pigs flying them.”

A weird huff passes through his voice filter and he finally turns to face you. You’re caught off guard by the sudden eye-visor contact, so it’s a second later when you process what that noise was, and the realization makes you positively giddy. “Oh shit, did I make a Mandolorian laugh? Am I on Spice?”

“That’s funny- pigs don’t deserve the nice Starfighters.” He laughs again, clearer this time while warmth feelings bloom within you at his reaction. It’s so unbelievable to you that he’s here laughing at something you said. You never once heard a reaction like that from him before now. “Those fast ships are impressive and great for combat, but I need a bigger space… a YV-929 would suit my needs.”

“Of course it would, there’s like 1000 guns on that blocky thing. Plus the Empire banned it and you like to break rules.” The ship he named is virtually the same build as the Razor Crest, just with more guns, which is amusing to you.

Creature of habit, you think, finding yourself leaning subtly closer to his body with every exchange. You don’t think you’re imagining him doing the same.

“16. Could add more though.” He murmurs and something in his voice makes you think that he isn’t being entirely humorous.

Maker, he is probably mapping out all the baster mods he could stick on that bulky freighter. You’re still amused by his very literal sense of things. You settle back in your seat to observe the hyperspace light streaking across the cockpit, a comfortable silence falling over the cockpit.

As you sit there and ruminate, the topic of weapons brings forth a vague memory in your mind.

Someone once told you that Mandalorians aren’t considered great fighters due only to reputation and rumor. Most people are aware that armor and weaponry is part of the Mandalorian culture, but fewer are aware that such items have religious significance, going much deeper than a learned skill. Mandalorians are revered as great warriors not just because of their physical training, but because fighting and waging battle is a form of prayer.

Despite finding rumors about Mandalorians to be generally exaggerated, you feel this one may be true.

You’re curious but afraid to ask him to elaborate. The fact that neither of you exchanged more than a few words when you worked together is proof of his preferred privacy. Even though you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t mind giving you some sort of explanation about his culture, you decide to avoid any personal questions.

Plus you really don’t want to come across as asking about his helmet.

You break the silence shyly, trying to smoothly bring up a different topic. “Down in the hull… I haven’t explored much of your ship, I don’t want to come across as snooping. But I’m wondering, what sort of manpower have you got stored here?”

“I installed an armory. Do you want to see it?”

Fuck yes you want to check it out, his personal collection must be a wet dream.

“Yes, I’d love to!” You reply excitedly. The weapons Mando carried were always fascinating. You especially admired that rifle he slung across his back. You’ve never seen it in action but you heard it evaporated its targets. The two spokes at the end made you wonder how it shot. There has to be different settings on the gun, it would be impractical to evaporate all your targets especially if you need to bring back bounties, dead or alive. The bullets he slung across his chest must be paired with the rifle based on their size and shape when you compare them to the rifle chamber. What sort of charge do they contain to completely disintegrate its victims?

You’re tapping your fingers on your bottom lip, calculating how the rifle might function when his leg brushes past you. Glancing up in surprise, you realize he’s already headed to the cockpit ladder, twisting his upper body as he turns his helmet to look back at you.

“Come on.” You’re unable to read his face but something in his body language makes you think he’s amused by you. Flushing red, you scramble upright from the leather seat to follow him down to his armory. He slides first down the ladder, not bothering to use the rungs. Being unfamiliar with the area you opt to carefully descend one portion at a time, unaware of the view you’re giving Mando. By the time you reach the bottom, he’s diverted his gaze.

Tall body moving to a panel on the wall, he punches in a four-digit code, prompting a smooth metal cabinet on the opposite wall to slide open with a hiss. You shake your head at this. The man has a tiny metal cot but he installed a hydraulic system for his weapons cabinet. But when you look closer at the exhibit your jaw falls open.

Oh my… Now that’s sexy.

The two side doors hang open to reveal a space in the middle filled with large blasters. His mid-sized guns are stacked horizontally above each other while the longer rifles lay vertically to the right of the center display. The doors contain smaller handguns of varying design and purpose. Each weapon is unique, there is not a single inch of wasted space given to any blaster if it doesn’t have distinct properties. Eyes locked on the arsenal, you scoot forward and make grabby hands at the cabinet.

“Oo, they’re beautiful! Can I- May I see?” You are immediately drawn to a cylindrical pistol mounted at the very top of the stack, the gun’s sight a smooth metal and grip warm brown. Despite its deadly properties, it is a fucking gun, something about it looks soft to the touch. You’re finding more and more that you enjoy the juxtaposition of lethality and softness.

Even though you’ve made no specification on which gun you want to hold, Mando reaches out and selects the very gun you’re attracted to and hands it to you. I should stare less, it's like he can read my mind. Despite resolving to do so the thought is fuzzy, unimportant when you’re so excited about handling one of the prettiest pistols you’ve ever seen. Mando watches you from a few feet away.

“Good choice. I usually conceal-carry that blaster since it’s small on me, looks like the perfect size for you though.” Mando’s compliment has you grinning up at him, feeling giddy and full of light, but you’re quickly drawn back to look at the gun. Turning the weapon over in your hands you admire the polished metal, the texture making a satisfying noise as you run your fingers on its silky surface. The weight is perfectly balanced as you aim it at the wall, lining up the sight with a seam in the metal paneling.

“You can carry it from now on.”

What? It’s a good thing you know your trigger safety otherwise you would’ve pulled the trigger in shock, probably ricocheting the blast into your head. The giddy energy drains from you, replaced by apprehension and confusion. Why is he giving me so much shit?

Of course you’re thankful. You’re incredibly thankful to be on the Razor Crest at all; however you can’t help feeling as if you owe Mando on a level where you’re incapable of repaying him. He didn’t have to take you with him when he dropped Ran’s crew, he didn’t have to indulge your sexual fantasies, he didn’t have to comfort you, didn’t have to partner with you, and he doesn’t need to give you this blaster. It is certainly a collectible, a rarity. A Mandalorian wouldn’t have it on hand if it were some run of the mill E-11 handed out to every Stormtrooper in the Empire.

But what can you even say to him? It would be incredibly awkward if you refused him right now. Your mind races.

Best focus on the easy stuff. As long as he doesn’t drop me off on some wasteland I’ll be fine. That blaster is too pretty to decline so with your willfulness broken by aesthetic pleasure, you holster the gun on your hip, opposite the blaster you already carry.

“Thank you. I’ll put it to good use.” You try to inject as much gratefulness into your voice as possible, even though you still feel odd about taking it.

“Yes, you will. Get ready and come back to the cockpit, we’ll be on Nevarro in a hour.”

------------------------------------------

You’re used to men like Greef Karga but that doesn’t mean they’ll stop being annoying.

The way he speaks like he’s owed something from you just because you’re listening, the way it’s clear that every decision he makes is in self-interest, the way he eyes the women around him, yourself included. He isn’t outright dismissive like some men; such as the guard placed behind him only having eyes for your partner; but you can tell he either doesn’t take you seriously or he is more concerned about how he can sexualize you.

He definitely isn’t treating Mando as a joke. Annoying.

But, it’s not all bad. You got a kick out of how a hush came over the dusty cantina when the Mandalorian entered. He had been walking behind you which, with a little imagination, gave the effect that they were all reacting to your presence instead. Even though in reality, no one had ever reacted to you that way unless they were leering. You like how they fear him. It's a turn-on.

You wish they would fear you like that.

Someone says your name, startling you out of your thoughts. You realize that everyone at the table is looking at you expectantly but you didn’t hear the question at all. Kriff, you need to show yourself up more. Mando’s reputation is practically handing you the job but you still need to sell your skills to get anything decent out of Karga. He’s so stingy with the quarry's, even with Mando despite how he kissed the Mandalorian’s ass when greeting him. You figure that Mando didn’t take on bounties often, which put his skills in high demand.

“Uhh, sorry. A bit distracted. Can you repeat the question, please?” You reply, accentuating the please with a bat of your lashes while looking Karga full in the face. If he’s going to objectify you, you may as well play into it. Smiling, he leans forward and pushes a glass of Spotchka into your hands, lingering a little longer than necessary when your fingers meet.

“I asked if you wanted a drink. Take it, I can see you need one.” He winks at you while you stare indignantly, wondering what he means by that. It’s not like you’re sweating bullets in here. You’ve been here countless times on countless planets. Seedy cantinas with seedier people. Hopefully, he’s just flirting and doesn’t think you’re nervous. Maybe the flirting is backfiring.

You grip the glass and wet your mouth with the drink, enjoying the burn for a moment. Mando tilts his helmet at the way you accept Karga’s drink, seemingly looking sideways at you. Narrowing your eyes at him, you drink again and turn back to Karga.

“Thank you, the Spotchka here is lovely.” It’s average, but flattery can’t hurt. Karga laughs robustly at this.

“It’s no Alderaan wine, but it’ll do.” He drains his glass then pours himself another, filling it to the brim before turning to your partner. “So, Mando! Word travels fast around here. I take it you’re a full-time guild member now! I’m not surprised, always took you for the loner type. In fact, I already updated your status to full-time before you landed.” Karga waits for a response from Mando but the man sits silently at your side. Unbothered, Karga continues, “But, I am surprised you stayed that long with Ran in the first place. Must be the pretty ladies he keeps around.”

The comment makes you cringe but you still smile brightly back at him since what he is inferring is clear. Can he just register you already?

“Not alone. She’s with me.” Mando’s reply is short and flat, with no reaction to how you’re attempting to work Karga’s attention, nor at the revelation that Mando’s departure from mercenary work has apparently spread across the sector.

Karga’s smile twists into a smirk as he glances between you and Mando, looking at both of you as if he wants to fit your bodies together like a puzzle. “Well, well, well Mando. Didn’t think you were the type. Is she a bed warmer?”

Your grip tightens on the glass. What the fuck is he implying? You’re rising in your seat, about to let loose on Karga when a gloved hand settles on your shoulder and pulls you down. Excuse me? Do I have to go off on everyone here? Why the fu-

“She’s my hunting partner, my equal. Don’t insult us again.” Oh okay, you don’t know why he stopped you and he still doesn’t sound all that offended, but at least he’s defending you.

Not wanting to be spoken for, you add on, “I’m prepared with my information so that you can register me in the Bounty Hunters Guild. Pull up your holo, I’m done with the small talk.” Your back is rod-straight in the cantina booth, trying to look down at the Guild leader even if he’s seated higher than you. “Also, your Spotchka is shit.”

Karga’s is unphased at your reactions, even rolling his eyes. He replies bluntly, “If you’re going to join my guild then you need to prove to me that I’m not wasting my pucks on you. Don’t rely on the Mandalorian’s reputation. If you aren't out of some brothel then you were a mercenary, were you not?”

At first, the audacity of Karga has you fuming, ready to stand again despite whatever Mando wants. However, as you’re looking out of the corner of your eye at the crowd you realize that the bodies filling the cantina are no longer milling around quite as naturally. It's subtle, to an untrained ear and eye not much has changed. The chatter around you remains at a consistent volume and no one is blatantly staring. But your senses are sharp enough to tell that everyone in this room is On Greef Karga’s side. If a fight broke out you’d likely lose, even with Mando being worth ten men and the shiny new blaster strapped to your hip.

Also, your prospects with the guild would be fucked if you fought everyone right now, which is the whole reason you’re here. You have to play nice and it infuriates you… But you still need the job.

Taking a deep breath to quiet your anger you look to your left away from Karga, only to be startled by Mando’s visor locked directly on you. Sharing a look, one that you can only guess the meaning behind, you find the patience to calm down. You turn back to Karga, locking eyes steadily.

“Sorry for insulting your drinks, that was petty of me. But I am not sorry about how you implied that Mando would keep some poor sex slave around, nor am I sorry for reacting that way. I’d like to start over… If you’ll accept my apology, I’ll accept yours.” You can’t help letting some stubbornness slip into your words. If he’s supposed to be your boss then you aren’t going to keep up a pretense of respect after that. Not without an apology.

You’ve never given much thought to how you look to other people, how you affect the crowd when you enter a room. It’s not that you don’t think you’re pretty. Being assigned roles by Ran that allowed you to dress up and distract targets was a direct affirmation of how you looked, even if they were creeps. But when you walked into this place, the only heads that turned were for the Mandalorian. You've never had the experience of being scary to other people. You’re always having to prove yourself and show everyone that you’re someone who can handle what’s handed to them, an equal to every other hard character in the galaxy’s Outer Rim... it’s tiresome.

Karga is looking at you again, a little differently this time.

“I respect you for being blunt. Do accept my apology.” He sounds sincere enough so you nod, lips drawn tight. Heavy metal suddenly settles on your knee, Mando’s vambrace is laying across the soft flesh on your upper thigh. He squeezes, oh stars. Now you’re feeling flushed for other reasons than anger.

“Do I get an apology?” Mando asks Karga quietly, voice frustratingly mild just like the other two times he’s spoken up in this booth. The other man grins at Mando, more jolly than he should be considering who he insulted.

“My apologies, Mando! Do stay with the guild, your skills are irreplaceable! I’m afraid my jokes can go too far.`` His response is light and humorous but no one is fooled by the tone. A Mandalorian is far too valuable to lose.

After a few seconds pass between the two men you clear your throat, annoyed by everyone dancing around each other while you’re still not signed up to hunt bounties. It’s your only purpose here but whatever. Karga directs his smile at you, pulling his holo from behind him out of his guard’s hand.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, sweetheart. Now, I’m going to put your basic details in… Do you happen to be registered elsewhere, such as under an Identichip?” You shake your head; you always worked behind a moniker. “Great! That makes this easy for me. Simply provide a name, real or not, and I’ll set up a chain code so quarries are tied to your data.”

You provide your name while Karga fiddles around on the device. It’s unclear if it is really that complicated to work the thing or if he is just stalling. This feels a little too easy so far. Didn’t he make a huge fuss about proving yourself? You decide to ask outright, wanting to bring it up instead of waiting around for him to finish.

“I thought I needed to prove myself to you. Aren’t you worried about wasting pucks?” You were trying to tease but the bite in your voice can’t be helped. You worry you might’ve gone too far when Karga looks up at you with open annoyance.

“Do you want to go out back and shoot a few bottles down? Seems childish to me.” He huffs out a short breath and returns to his holo. “I know that you worked with Ran’s crew on mercenary missions which grants you some cred. You can tell me what your specialties were on such jobs and it might convince me to give you the mid-level pucks instead of entry.”

This is unfair, everyone knows it, he’s the one who told you to prove yourself and now he’s making you feel stupid for reminding him. He’s the one who was so concerned about wasting his precious pucks. But now that you’re here… you might actually be able to talk Karga into giving you a better quarry. Taking a deep breath, you start to list your qualifications.

“On mercenary jobs, I usually took a stealth role due to my stature. For certain missions, I would dress to infiltrate a group, sometimes carrying hidden weapons but mostly I would conceal poison in my jewelry, skin powder, or anything similar. I’m a great shot and am knowledgeable about starships. When I first started I had to work my way up the ranks, the lowest being mechanics. Within a year I managed to go from handywoman to assassin... There’s more if you want to hear, although I can’t directly prove anything.” You wish you could actually show all these skills to him instead of just telling him. Karga is right, shooting down dusty bottles like some sort of carnival game would be pretty useless, but at least it would feel more substantial than this.

You’re about to open your mouth and tell Karga more when you��re interrupted by Mando, and he finally sounds emotive, no longer inscrutable in tone. “This is all true. I haven’t worked closely with her on every job but I noticed her when I did. Her stealth was critical to our success during hits. She often worked on my starship. The Crest always came out in better shape once she looked at it.” You’re not sure what emotion is in his voice but whatever it is, it reminds you that his hand is still resting on your knee under the table.

Trying not to smile too widely, you bring your hand down on top of the one on your leg, giving it a pat of thanks. Karga’s eyes follow your movement but thankfully he stays silent, leaning back with a pensive look.

“Alright, this is all very interesting. Tell you what, and don’t take this as an insult, you can either have two entry-level pucks or one mid-tier. It all adds up to the same amount of credits, however, the mid-tier quarries will boost your rank… Mid also comes with a time constraint.”

There’s always a catch with this man you think, a little displeased, but at the same time, you understand that he can’t maintain his business if all pucks were given away in good faith. Mid-tier seems like the best deal, and you aren’t just here for the money. Presumably, this will be your job for a while so you may as well aim ambitiously.

“What are the last known coordinates of the mid-tier bounties?” You ask him, trying to sound like you’ve not already decided to take it.

“One for Corellia and one for Mimban. Neighboring planets.” You grimace, recognizing the names. How lovely, you get to choose between two shitholes. Karga is correct, the planets are right next to each other, so at least you don’t have to worry about fuel. Corellia is more dangerous but the planet is explored thoroughly when compared to Mimban and you’ve already been to Corellia once.

“I’ll take the Corellian bounty, thank you.” Karga slides the puck across the table with an unpleasant scrape before drawing out three more, stacking them in front of the Mandalorian one by one.

“Two are bail jumpers but the credits for each are decent. I also threw in one S level criminal, let's see how you do with that one now that you’re dedicated to my wonderful guild.” Karga grins at Mando so widely that it is almost a grimace. Well, he didn’t have to beg for the good pucks. Yeesh… Mando’s arm lifts from your knee and he gathers the pucks wordlessly.

Mando moves to leave, rising quickly from the booth and leaving you scrambling behind him, slipping your puck in the pocket on your pants. He’s at the door by the time you remember to say goodbye to Karga. Not wanting to be rude even if you don’t really like him, you turn and wave. “Um, bye! Take care.”

He waves back. “You as well, girl.”

A powerful hand grips your forearm and pulls you none too gently to the doors and out into the acrid, volcanic air.

----------------

It would be nice if the man who called you his equal an hour ago would tell you his plans. Instead, he had placed a small bag of credits in your palm and told you to go get some food and wait. You couldn’t find it in yourself to snap at him since you were starving, the last time you ate was probably several days ago, before Cantonica. Your hunger might explain the snippiness you’ve felt all day, actually.

Having finished your meal of dubious-looking soup, you get up to explore a bit before heading back to the ship. The settlement is small and you think it may be the only town on the planet or at least the only one in the area. The land around you is flat enough to see for miles. It’s impressive that Mando disappeared considering the lack of terrain to hide behind. He must be in the city somewhere.

As you wander through the busy main strip, peering at different vendors and booths, you start to feel dejected. Mando defended you, spoke up for you, and even backed up your claims so that you’d look better in front of Karga. Then he just… disappeared. Somewhere. No communication. That's fine.

It’s a little worrisome, the speed at which you’ve become attached to the man. You’ve been together for less than three days, and you already feel weird being alone. You know that you’re being unfair to yourself right now, it's not abnormal to feel lost on a foreign planet plus you literally just lost everything you’ve worked for as a mercenary. But in the end...

Being here, alone and penniless, reminds you of home, the one you had as a child. It’s something you try to forget about.

Swallowing the memories away into that off-limits area within yourself, you decide to leave the bustling road and wander down a dingy alley. Probably not the smartest move but you do have two blasters on your hip. The sounds of the crowd fade in the background as you wander farther and farther down the twisting path.

It’s almost funny how quickly things go south.

Mere minutes later, you find yourself backed up into a wall with two Rodians aiming their blasters at you, your huddled form reflected in their massive, black eyes. One of them jabs your arm with his gun saying something in that grating, echoey voice that most Rodians speak with. You get that they’re both aiming deadly weapons at you but you’re honestly just irritated.

“I don’t have credits on me fellas, you can search me but you won't find shit.” They must understand Basic because one of them pins you to the wall while the other pats your body down, searching for anything valuable. Pulling the empty credit pouch from your belt and throwing it to the ground, he twists you to face the wall, grabbing at one of your blasters. The rare one that Mando just gave you. You start to panic now, the positioning of your bodies making you nervous as you realize how vulnerable you are, fearful that they aren’t just looking for something to steal. Kicking backward at the Rodian pinning your arms, you start to struggle against them, trying hard to wiggle free and pull your other blaster.

You must’ve connected with a kneecap because you hear a sickening crunch at the same time the Rodian howls, falling to the ground. His companion makes a furious sound then lashes out at your face, fingertips just barely connecting with your cheek as you duck slightly too late. Your face stings and feels wet, his gloves seem to have sharp points on the ends. You pray that they aren’t spiked with poison.

The injured member is still preoccupied with his hyperextended knee, granting you just enough time to pull the other blaster from your hip before he joins his partner and turns on you. You throw yourself to the ground, aiming at the same time and squeezing the trigger right before you hit the earth. The shot connects with the Rodian who swung at you and he falls to the ground, shriek cut short. Twisting to your side so you can attempt an evasive roll, you attempt to line the sight up with the chest of your living assailant but your shoulder connects with debris on the ground, jerking it out of your smooth movement.

The blast misses by a few inches.

The pain from whatever you landed on shoots to your fingertips, numbing them. Noticing your distraction, he hurls his body at you thankfully unable to jump accurately due to the injury you gave him. Despite that, he lands on your legs and starts to drag you toward him, abandoning his blaster in his rage while dirt billows around your struggling bodies.

You’re terrified, fear making you clumsy as you handle your blaster. You don’t want to die being strangled by some alien in this dirty alley but the numbness in your fingers has you moving slower than usual, hand heavy as you try to aim again. Sucking in a deep breath you scream, hoping that someone on the busy strip will hear you. But no one is coming for you and there is no time to wait. Panicked, you fire in the direction of the Rodian, not taking care to calculate possible ricochet points in the area. A shot connects, his heavy body falling on your hips, dead.

Fingers still numb, you hurtle upwards and try to wipe the dust out of your eyes to look at the bodies. The first Rodian you shot is a few feet away, slumped against the wall you were pinned to, blaster marks littering the brick surface from your panicked shots. Disgusted, you shove the dead body off of your legs and stand up.

As you analyze the second alien you realize something doesn’t add up here.

Somehow the blaster shot that killed him seems to be on the back of his head. How is that possible? Did I manage to reflect it off something and hit him from behind? You’re approaching the body to look for other possible causes of death when a large shadow leaps from the rooftop, landing heavily in a cloud of dust. You curse and aim your blaster at his head, pulling the trigger before you realize who it is.

He’s lucky his helmet is pure Beskar.

“Mando! What the fuck, I could’ve killed you!” Stomach feeling like it’s full of rocks, you march up to the man and slam a fist into his chest plate, hard. Looking up into his visor you feel a flash of misguided anger, lifting your fist to pound on his armor again. “Where the fuck were you anyway?!”

A large hand flashes up to catch your wrist before it can connect with his chest. He looks at you darkly. “Do you always hit people to thank them?” he asks, while his other hand reholsters the silver blaster back onto your hip.

“What do you mean, you-” The pieces connect in your mind, the impossible blaster shot in the back of the head of the Rodian and Mando’s positioning on the roof.

He saved your ass. Again.

You already realize your anger is misdirected, he didn’t do anything to warrant it. But the adrenaline and fear paired with your entire experience on Nevarro have wound you up to the point of lashing out. You shouldn’t be mad at him, and you should definitely apologize for almost killing him. Also, you should be thanking him for saving you even though you probably would’ve survived the mugging anyway. That criminal was unarmed at the end there.

But you don’t care. You weirdly want to argue with him, to try and break that cool attitude he’s been maintaining nearly all day.

“I could’ve gotten him easily. If I didn’t hurt my arm he would’ve been dead before you arrived, also you didn’t answer my fucking question. I thought I was your equal, Mando.” You mock his earlier phrasing from the cantina, hoping he’ll snap and say something back. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he does something so strange that all the turbulent emotions you’ve been harboring fly out of your body in one instant.

Bringing up one glove to cover your eyes, he holds the hand you punched him with at the bottom edge of his helmet, pushing it up with your clasped fingers. There is a quiet hiss and you can feel the weight of metal digging into your knuckles as the Beskar lifts. Your fingers meet with soft lips, coarse facial hair brushing your skin as he presses a kiss on the blossoming bruises there. Heat rushes to your cheeks and you suddenly can’t remember what you were yelling about.

It’s odd. You’ve seen the most intimate parts of him but only now, having felt his lips, do you truly recognize how rawly human he is.

Too soon- he draws away, the helmet settles back on his head. You step back blinking as the light hits your eyes, cradling your hand to your chest like it's been hurt. Which you guess it has. You can’t really feel it.

Unable to meet his gaze you stare at his boots, “You’re weird and I don’t understand you.” Your words sound embarrassingly breathless.

He chuckles quietly. “Good.” And after a beat of silence- “Do I get an apology?”

Annoyed at how he mirrored you throwing his words back at him, you look up glaring, but you’re unable to put any actual heat into your halfhearted expression. You’re still thinking about how soft his lips felt plus, you actually feel bad for lashing out at him.

“Yes, um, I’m sorry Mando, I was only mad because I was scared. I actually could’ve killed you, and those guys almost killed me- or worse.” You shrug, eyes round as you look at the violent scene in the alley. “Plus Karga is an asshole and you disappeared, telling me to wait around like a kid. I was in a bad mood.”

“Yeah.” He offers shortly. Is he gonna say more or- “Karga is an asshole.”

“...Is that all you’re going to address.”

“You’re a good shot. You could’ve killed these muggers without me, I just didn’t want you hurt.” He smoothes away a strand of hair from your cheek, tucking it behind your ear before gripping your chin, twisting your head to look at the scratches the Rodian left. “Pretty girl.”

Flushing red again while frozen in his grip, you stand there with him as he examines your face. His gaze is piercing, and you don’t know what he’s staring at. It doesn’t take this long to examine a face. You think he’s just looking at you.

“Let’s get back to the ship, that scratch needs some Bacta gel.” He drops his arm abruptly causing you to sway at the loss of an anchor. Hand flashing out to grip his bicep, you regain your balance before starting to pull him along, heading to the street.

----------------

The walk back to the Crest is short.

You don’t know your way around this city but shipyards are easy enough to find. You recognize the signs pointing it out after your time spent as a mechanic, streets gradually widening to form into a flat strip of land for the vessels, heavy machinery appearing here and there. As you walk, you oddly find yourself getting dizzy, steps starting to drag as you realize you may have injured yourself in the struggle. You can’t recall if you hit your head or if anyone hurt you aside from the gash on your cheek, which has begun to throb. Did you knock your head on the alley wall?

The Mandalorian grunts behind you when you trip, quickly overtaking your pace to throw your arm over his elbow, then walking at your side and subtly holding you steady. The Razor Crest rises into view over the horizon, so you speed up, relieved. You want to sit down so badly that you even try to jog but Mando holds you back. His helmet ducks down next to your ear.

“Don’t overexert yourself. I want to make sure that scratch isn’t poisoned.” He murmurs, voice overwhelmingly low. Your stomach twists with desire and surprise at the tone of it, he sounds like he’s flirting with you.

“Does danger turn you on or something?” You blurt, wondering if there is a pattern to the man's desires. He did let you suck him off right after yesterday's conflict and now he seems to be coming onto you after an attempted mugging. Is this a Mandalorian thing? Weirdo. He doesn’t answer you, but the ship is right there so you break away and march up to the lowering ramp.

You pause in the middle of the hull noticing some changes. The small cot seems to be upgraded, a patterned blanket is folded at the end and there is even a pillow. That sorry excuse of a fresher is more orderly too, shower hose hung from the ceiling like an actual, well, shower. There’s a sliding metal door for privacy installed on the entrance now too. The previously barren hull has a touch of coziness now, not enough to get in the way of efficiency, but everything is just a little more livable. It is unlikely that he did this just because you live with him now but the gesture is still thoughtful.

“Is this what you were doing?” You ask excitedly, walking across the room to sit on the end of the cot.

“Not the entire time.” He answers vaguely, fiddling with his vambrace to close the ramp and flick the lights on. You just sigh in response, laying back against the bed, the thin mattress has a soft squish that cradles your sore body. Eyes sliding shut you take in the lovely sensation for a few moments. A shadow covers the light behind your eyelids. You open them to peek at the end of the bed, already feeling a blush hot on your cheeks.

Mando is standing there, towering over you with his legs just brushing your dangling lower half. He leans over your frame, arm reaching over you like he’s going to prop himself on top of your body. Your heart pounds as he comes close enough to settle his hand next to your head, helmet hovering right above your forehead. The visor tilts down to look at you frozen underneath him, heat pooling in your lower belly. An almost inaudible hum comes through the voice filter sounding like the beginning of a word as if he were about to say something but decided against it.

You find your voice, asking him in a trembling whisper. ‘Wha-what? Did you say something?”

He makes that low noise again, replying, “Those scratches need Bacta,” before he gently shoves his hand under your shoulder and pulls, sitting you upright at the end of the cot.

Your eyes are round, lips pursed in confusion. Honestly, you forgot all about that.

“O-Oh yeah…” You manage to stutter out as Mando backs up from the opening, making his way to the storage shelves to rummage around. He comes back to the cot with a tin box, undoing the clasps to fish out a tube of gel and gauze. The imagery of medical equipment reminds you of the throbbing on your cheek, which is now accompanied by a throbbing in your cunt. Very conflicting feelings.

“There’s no discoloration or swelling, you’re likely not poisoned.” He starts wiping at your jaw with a wet fabric that smells of chemicals, cleaning off the rust-colored blood that dried there. “How are you feeling?”

“Ummm, fine pretty much.” His gentle motions make it hard to think, the swiping over your skin is so gentle that you’re zoning out. That is until he reaches the actual wound, which stings harshly from whatever liquid is saturating the fabric. You flinch, “Ouch! Well, it hurts now.”

“That means it's working.” Mando picks up the gel and dabs it on your cheek which helps to soothe the sting. “You say you feel fine yet you were stumbling around a minute ago. Are you sure you’re alright?”

His question is sweet but you don’t like how he points out your loss of balance. It both concerns you and is slightly embarrassing. Are you alright? You aren't sure, the stumbling could’ve been from a number of things, exhaustion, blood loss, or any other affliction. You feel worried now, grabbing at Mando’s free arm and locking eyes with the visor.

“I-I’m not sure… I’m kinda freaked out, is it possible that a toxin could have a delayed-release? What if I kneel over while we’re in hyperspace?” You finish the sentence a little high-pitched, unable to hide the worry in your voice. The Mandalorian circles your wrist with his fingers, bringing your hand to rest on top of your leg and placing his palm over it. His thumb rubs soothingly over your knuckles.

“I don’t think you’re in any danger. I’ll take a blood sample for testing then we can stay on Nevarro for an hour, just in case.” You make a sad noise when he removes his hand from yours, but he’s already sifting through the box of medical supplies, probably to find something to test your blood with. Pulling out a tube he turns to you and holds your hand again, which makes you smile until you realize the tube contains a needlepoint to prick your finger with. Oh yuck, you hate needles. A life spent surrounded by danger and that tiny jab still makes you nervous. Breaking out into a cold sweat, you look away as Mando jabs your pointer finger; he must’ve noticed your reaction because his thumb starts up that soothing pattern again.

“You’re a trained mercenary who is scared of needles?” His tone isn’t mocking, he seems to be trying to distract you. You just stick your tongue out at him instead of verbally responding, worried that your voice will shake. For some reason, Mando freezes at this, one arm halfway to the metal box, the tube of your blood in hand. It is so odd of him that you instantly take note of the reaction, wondering what you did. After a second he starts jerkily moving again, laying a small strip of paper down and dripping your blood on it. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the paper, refusing to face you even when you poke at him.

‘What? I can’t stick my tongue out at you?” You prod him again trying to provoke a response. You gasp when his hand flashes up and stops your finger in its path, his thick fingers wrapped around your wrist just like when you punched him in the alley.

“Not,” he punctuates the word by dragging your hand down his waist, “When it reminds me of my cock down your throat.”

Your clit throbs again, slickness starting to gather between your legs. “Ummm… sorry?” You reply dumbly, throat going dry when he presses your palm into his growing bulge with a groan.

His helmet glances at the strip of paper again. “Results are normal. We should still stay on the planet for an hour, just in case… How will we fill the time?”

You don’t know how to respond. Any former thoughts you had in your mind have flown away, leaving you blank. Staring at Mando, your mind races to form a decent response, but you must’ve hesitated for too long because he rolls his hips into your hand, fully hard now.

Whining, you lean toward him reaching out your free hand to wrap around his neck, but he moves away from your touch leaving you flushed on the cot. His helmet looks you up and down, contemplating something.

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks for the second time, voice an octave lower than before. He picks up the roll of gauze, unused at this point, and holds it halfway lifted in the air in front of you. You aren’t sure what he is going to use it for, you assumed to dress the wound but from the way he is holding it, he must have other ideas. He would’ve already patched you up if this were just about the fabric’s typical function.

“I’m feeling fine. The gel is working.” It’s the truth. You can’t feel your cheek throbbing anymore. The Bacta in your bloodstream has a calming effect as well, soothing your anxiety from before. You feel good even, clear-minded and thrumming with energy. You can’t imagine what he is planning but you know you want him so badly it hurts. Your heart quickens.

“Mando…” You breathe, the way you say his name is both a question and a prompt. He answers by unrolling a strip of gauze and holding it out in front of your face. The breathing through his modulator is audible now, pants heavy with desire.

“I cant- I can’t go slowly, if I fuck you right now. I want to try something else.” You nod fervently, completely ready for whatever he is thinking of doing to you however, you’re admittedly confused when he starts wrapping the gauze around your head and over your eyes. Mando unrolls several layers of gauze, a decently thick strip obstructing your vision to the point where little light penetrates the fabric. His voice startles you when you hear it right by your ear, asking, “Is this okay?”

You’re still wordless, nodding in response again. Mando hums and parts your legs with his hips, pulling you to his body and grinding against you. You mewl into the empty space in front of you and fling your arms out to find him, suddenly needing to feel as much of him as you can reach.

Hands connecting with his shoulders, you pull him down hard as if you were going to kiss him. The helmet bumps you in the face instead.

“Oops..” You murmur, embarrassed. Admittedly, you forgot all about the armor barrier between your bodies. Mando huffs softly and bumps you again, gently as to not hurt you with the heavy metal.

“Wanna guess my idea? “ He asks, sliding down your body, his fingers trailing over every inch of you, touching you as if to replace him kissing down your body. He reaches your hips and pauses there. You can’t see anything but you’re guessing he is staring at you, the thin leggings don’t leave much to the imagination. A finger presses onto your clothed slit, running up and down the length of your pussy to gather the wetness there. You can feel yourself soaking through your clothing, Mando’s fingertip is gliding wetly along your folds as if you were unclothed. You arch into his touch, needing more from him; the overwhelming sensation has you falling back onto the cot, laying there with your legs parted and the Mandalorian still between your legs.

The world feels like it’s spinning for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being the desire you feel for the man crouched before you. Other, more complex thoughts on the situation swirl in your mind, paralyzing you with their intensity. You honestly didn’t think he would want you sexually again, especially not so soon. It just didn’t make sense for your idea of the Mandalorian, the image you carry of him as a person, all based on your time together even if much of that time was spent living separate lives. He flirted and inferred to sex a few times today, plus there was that kiss he lay on your bruised knuckles earlier. He defended you, backed up your claims, and spoke of respecting you and your skills. He’s done so much for you today, but you’re still blindsided as you sit here before him, unseeing in more ways than one. Most of all... you can’t stop thinking about that kiss.

Seconds after you physically attacked him and he offers you a kiss. It was the absolute last outcome you expected from your efforts to taunt him, you wonder if he’s even allowed to do that considering his vow to never show his face. You knew he was actively sexual just from your awful experiences on the mercenary station, although you never gave much thought to that drive. It didn’t need much thought, in your opinion. He is a man after all. Face bared or hidden away from the galaxy he still has needs, even if he is devoted to a religion that you can barely fathom the depths of. Your wants and needs seem minuscule next to the enigma of the Mandalorian.

This all seems unimportant when his fingers hook in the waistband of your leggings and pull. You whimper and lift your hips, trying desperately to speed up the process and bare yourself to him. The blasters you carry are still attached to your waist but you don’t try to remove them. Sex and guns pair together perfectly for the man.

Cool air hits your pussy at the same moment he moans low in his throat. “Fuck, look at you. Beautiful.”

That reminds you, “Can’t look, can I? N-not like this…” You still weren’t sure about the gauze blindfold he secured over your eyes, your only idea so far is that he must be into this sort of thing. Not that you’re complaining. The temporary loss of sight has heightened every other sense you have, especially touch and sound. You’re certain you’ll remember every word of this encounter for the rest of your life. He’s complimented you several times over the past few days. Pretty. Beautiful. You’ll never forget that.

“Still haven’t guessed?” The Mandalorian rumbles at your thigh, pulling your pants off your ankles and spreading your legs as wide as the cot doorway will allow. A short growl rips from his throat, his touch leaving your thighs much to your dismay as he fumbles with something. There is a heavy thud that you can't make sense of, he had to have set something large on the ground to make that noise but you don’t know what- oh. Oh, stars I can feel his breath.

He took his helmet off. For you. The pieces are falling in place quickly but you can’t react to it- you can’t even breathe, every implication of his gesture setting your world ablaze. Your heart is pounding, arms stretched out from the tension you hold in your limbs, you need an anchor, anything-

There's a hot puff of air on your clit and gloveless fingers digging into your thighs. He must’ve removed those too.

It’s like you’ve been sucked into a stasis chamber, the buzz of your cerebral cortex halting all efforts to process what’s happening, enveloped in a place so quiet that you feel fucking crazy. The anticipation is killing you, you’re going to die here and that’s alright, that’s fine, you’d love to die here, in fact- wait where is he? His face is somewhere near your aching center, you know this because you can feel each breath he exhales ghosting over your pussy, the muscles in your hips want to squirm and seek him out but you can’t. Not with all this atmospheric pressure gathering, the weighted air pressing harder and harder down on you and you know you’re about to break. But you’re terrified you’ll disrupt the spell that keeps you both frozen here, still and aching with pleasure. You’re gathering the courage to make the first move when Mando finally breaks the silence.

“From now on,” you interrupt him with a gasp at how different he sounds without the voice filter, the tone is so much fuller and warm, but he then continues unperturbed, “This is fucking mine.”

Your yelp echos off the walls when his hot, skillful tongue liiicks up your slit, flicking at the very top of its path off of your clit.

Fuck this feels so good, this feels so good, how does it feel like this, so fucking amazing? He barely even talks, how is he so dexterous with his tongue? Tortured noises fall out of your throat as Mando licks through your folds, trying to taste everything his mouth can possibly reach. He rolls his tongue repeatedly over your clit making you tense up and shake from the overwhelming sensation. There's a sound in the hull, you can barely discern the source of it at first but you suddenly realize it coming from your own mouth, a filthy mantra falling from your tongue.

Mando-Mando-Mando-Don’t stop- Please dont-Mando

He stops.

“Hey! What-” Your hands fly down and flounder around finding soft locks of hair and immediately latching on for dear life. Impatiently tugging at his scalp, you try to scoot down and find his talented tongue, your clit feeling cold and achy without his touch. But he’s so strong, a solid pillar of immovable stone and you can’t budge him at all, his only reaction being a deep growl when you yank a little too hard on his head. You must’ve pissed him off because one hand is suddenly on your heat, cupping your pussy with his palm but leaving a gap between your bodies, torturing you with the lack of friction. You whine pathetically at this game.

“Mando-fuck- why… pleeeaaase.” His touch leaves you entirely and you’re more desperate than ever, writhing to the point where you almost slide off the thin mattress onto the floor. Your inner thighs connect with broad hips again, this time without the barrier of your leggings between you. When your cunt presses into his crotch you realize you can feel more than the cloth of his dark pants, he must’ve pulled his cock out because you can feel his skin, the skin of his cock brushing over you plus just a patch of it from where the hem of his pants is pulled under his balls. A ragged sound tears from both of you when his thick length parts your lips, grinding against your clit.

“I-I thought you weren’t, I mean you said-”

“I’m not g-going to fuck you-” he gasps out, voice breaking despite the clear determination in his response, “not yet. I want you to use me and make yourself-fuck- cum. Fuck yourself on me.”

You’re speechless, there are absolutely no words in any of the Galaxy’s countless languages, known or unknown, that can succinctly express just how fucking turned on his suggestion makes you. Is this his way of giving back to you after you made him cum the night before? You don’t know, fuck- you don’t care either. Fuck whatever complex you had about owing him, you deserve this and you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your fucking life.

His broad body is propped over yours, cock grinding into you over and over again as he rolls his hips and groans out, “Well? You want it like this, pretty girl? Or do you-”

You interrupt him by reaching between your legs and finding his cock, pushing it down your lips to your aching hole. He sucks in a sharp breath and everything is frozen in that quiet place again, just for a split second, before you press his length into your body, sinking down to the hilt.

A broken sound comes out of you, your throat so tight that your vocal cords can’t rub together to produce anything louder than a squeak. However, the Mandalorian is not without his words, a string of curses tumbling from him in that gorgeous, rough voice. Fuck, holy fuck, you wish you could hear him speak like that for the rest of time, his real voice without the modulator hits you straight in the gut. He called you beautiful yet he doesn’t realize the power of his beauty has completely destroyed you. You’ll do anything for him, for that voice. When he claimed your pussy as his you realized that there was never a point in time where it didn’t belong to him. The Mandalorian moves mountains with his claims.

He is like a mountain himself, completely stilling his body the second you let him inside you. You clench down on his thick length and drag yourself off of him, leaving only the swollen head inside your hole. You’re burning up, a sweat breaking out over your entire body as you try to take his cock. He’s so thick inside you, stars you can't control your fluttering lower muscles that pulse from the strain. The saliva and slickness helped him slide inside initially but now you’re clenched around him painfully tight as you try and adjust to his size. He lays so still for you, still muttering curses at the feeling of you, yet patient as you work yourself on his cock. But at some point, you can’t help letting out a little wail when you fuck yourself on him, the debilitating mix of pain and pleasure is fucking overwhelming and he can tell you’re struggling.

Mando settles lower on your body, elbows next to your head and armored torso brushing against your upper half, the ridges on his cuirass catching your nipples through your shirt. The movement slightly ruts his hips, an inch of his cock entering you accidentally. You swear and freeze at the sensation, face screwing up-it’s so good but you hurt just slightly. His mouth must be close to your face because you can feel his breath on your skin when he starts whispering filthy encouragement.

“You’re doing so fucking good for me, taking my cock- fuck you’re so tight, how are you so tight- Maker that has to hurt, you can do it baby, keep-keep trying.” The elbow to your right lifts off the thin mattress, his hand caressing down your body, over your breasts, down your side, gentle trails from his fingertips ghosting over your skin and sending tingles all over. This helps to relax your muscles a little, you feel the walls of your cunt loosen just enough to relieve the uncomfortable ache. Wetness gathers around his cock from his encouragement, as you slide with more ease along him grinding yourself up and down on his solid cock.

It is fucking indescribable, a nearly out of body experience fucking yourself on him, every time you bottom out the thick head presses into a spot that sends flashes of white behind your eyelids. You can't even moan right now, the only noises you manage are shuddering gasps and whines as you feel yourself rise higher and higher. The peak is right there, you can feel it, you’re right fucking there-

“M-Mando, I’m gonna-gonna-fuck, I’m going-I-” You’re frantic, unable to string together the words

The hand exploring your body diverts its path, reaching between your legs to rub strong circles around your clit.

He’s saying something to you but you can’t understand him, a rush of blood in your ears drowns out all other senses, the only thing you can feel is your blinding climax and the thick cock in your body. You’re clamped down tight on him as the sensation rips through you, building you up and destroying you over and over again. You can’t comprehend how he has the control to just hold himself there, you feel like you’re being wrung dry with how tightly you clench around him with each pulse of your orgasm. Eventually, the white noise fades from your ears and sensation returns to the rest of you, limbs tingling as you stretch the taut muscles.

Mando is trembling above you, arms shaking from the effort of propping himself up for so long. A soft noise leaves you and you wrap your arms around him, trying to soothe the tightness in his muscles like he did for you but the armor gets in your way. He makes a low noise in his throat when you skim over his side, finally allowing himself to rest when he lays on top of you, one arm still holding his full weight back so as to not crush you. You reach an arm under his shirt trying to feel more of his skin, but the padding and metal still attached to his body prevent you from moving more than a few inches.

This time, you’re first to break the silence, “What did-what were you saying?” you ask, not wanting to miss anything he says to you in his real, unfiltered voice. He doesn’t say or do anything at first, his hesitation lasting long enough that you resign yourself to never knowing. But then he lifts his head from where it lays next to yours and you feel the sharp tip of his nose brush your good cheek, over the bridge of your nose to the other side, then press closer into you as his lips meet yours.

His kiss is so gentle that you forget he’s still hard inside you. All you can think about is the heat of his mouth crushing against yours, pressure held back enough so that he doesn’t dig into your injured cheek but filled with a promise of the energy he holds in his powerful body. You fucking hate those Rodians more than ever because you would give anything for him to kiss you with his full strength right now, holding back nothing.

But soon -too soon, he draws back from your mouth and pulls his cock out of you. You blush at the obscene noise your wetness makes as he curses and wrenches the last inch away from your pussy, leaving you empty.

‘Come back to me…” You whisper desperately, reaching out for him.

“Fuck I can’t- I don’t want to hurt you.” Mando spits out, sounding wrecked, “I want to so fucking bad but I-”

You try pleading with him, wanting him to feel just as much blinding pleasure as you did from the way your bodies fit so perfectly together. “You won’t hurt me I swear, I can take it-you said I could.”

He groans in a tortured, painful way, hesitating for a moment and you think you might’ve just convinced him to come back and fuck you- but the hand that eventually touches you isn’t anywhere near your pussy. He’s wrapping the gauze from your eyes, pulling it from your head to press into your cheek. You blink as your eyes adjust to the yellow light of the Crests hull, the usually dull fluorescents are piercing. Still, your vision is not quite blurry enough to hide the gleam of the polished Beskar sitting back on Mandos’s head. You swallow your disappointment at losing the pure tone of his voice to that damn modulator.

“I can't,” he says softly, “you’re bleeding again. It was too rough.”

You can’t argue with him. You feel a bit weak and dizzy which is not just from your powerful orgasm. Sleeping in the cockpit didn’t grant you the most restful night; you’re exhausted, slipping away even as he speaks.

“I’m sleepy...” You mumble, your speech very simple when you’re this exhausted. Mando makes a low noise, indiscernible in tone now that it is passing through the voice filter. You hate that thing for stealing away the depth of his voice even as it fades with your consciousness.

“Sleep now… I’ll pilot the ship while you rest. Sleep…”

And so you do.

------------------------------------------

It’s many hours later. The ship hurtles through hyperspace as you stand and examine your cheek in the tiny mirror of the fresher, basked in yellow light. The wound isn't very deep but it’s long, stretching from the high point of your cheekbone halfway down to your jaw. You grimace at the sight. That will definitely leave a scar...

The Mandalorian is moving quickly behind you in the ship's hull, arranging the carbonite freezing slabs in a way that you can’t make sense of but don’t really care about. You’re too preoccupied with your reflection to consider it. Mando takes note of this.

“Warrior marks.” He tells you, walking across the length of the ship to lean against the doorway of the small fresher. “Wear them proudly, burc’ya.”

Wear them proudly.

And so you do.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #fanfic #smut fic #mando x you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #the mandalorian fanfic #smut #din djarin #star wars #star wars fic #fanfiction

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wheres-sam · 4 years

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I binge-watched the spn anime because of the brain rot

It’s bad except for the parts that are good, and it’s pretty to look at. Here’s a comprehensive list of pros and cons. Spoilers ahead!

Pros:

- more psychic kid backstories: Max (Nightmare), Lily (Darkness Calling), Jake (Loser)

- more psychic Sam

- more Azazel

- basically if you want more about the psychic/demon kids, watch the anime

- more young Winchesters

- the monsters, the superhuman abilities, the fight scenes, it all looks really cool animated. (But PSA it’s violent. It doesn’t shy away from blood and gore.)

- Sam and Jessica backstory

- more of the brothers being cute and funny together

- Missouri isn’t forgotten

- includes some Japanese legends/mythology

- the impala looks great in every scene. They did Baby good

- the “Supernatural” intro title

- the outro sketches of the boys hanging out with Baby

- Episodes adapted from the original show are different, but I like some of the changes? It’d be boring if it was an exact retelling and the visual medium wasn’t utilized. (I know I said spoilers before, but this is when they get detailed. If you wanna skip over, I’ll tell you where they STOP.)

Nightmare goes more into the abuse Max has suffered. Instead of locking Sam in a closet, Max sends Sam through the floor and covers the hole by breaking his bed in half, and it’s extremely sexy how Sam shoves the 2 halves apart with his mind. Later on Dean puts bandaids on Sam and they talk about demons loudly in front of a fast food intercom.

In My Time of Dying highlights the guilt Sam feels over Dean. In both the og and the anime John verbally blames Sam for not shooting Azazel, but where in the og Sam goes right on arguing, in the anime he reels back for a moment like he was slapped. Dean’s spirit touches Sam’s shoulder, and Sam knows immediately that it’s Dean. He doesn’t even question it. Instead of “Are you here?” it’s “I know you’re with me. I can feel it.” And I love that. Dean figures out right away he’s dealing with a reaper, and the reaper takes on the appearance of Mary to convince Dean to move on to the afterlife. Instead of a Ouija board, Sam uses a laptop to talk to Dean, and the first word Dean types is “Sammy!” Dean is so fond of his little brother and Sam is so baby.

Rising Son is an anime only episode, but it draws inspiration from John’s journal. Dean has a proper breakdown over his dad’s death and the possibility of having to kill Sam. Ms. Lyle, Sam’s favorite teacher who turns out to be possessed, is explored. John takes Dean hunting, and in the journal Dean hesitates to shoot a buck, and little Sam shoots it thinking it was endangering Dean. In the anime, Dean’s cornered by a moose and Sam makes it explode with his mind and it’s so !!! How little Sam’s first words are, “I’m glad you’re okay. It didn’t hurt you?” The boys are covered in blood and guts and Dean’s like 👁👄👁 “Why are you here? Did you do this?” And then Sam starts freaking out a little, the shock sets in. “I don’t know. I don’t know, honest.” And he’s staring at his hands, and I am a big fan of Sam showing superhuman signs as a kid. Like in the journal, Ms. Lyle tries to take Sam. She gives Sam the illusion of a choice to come with her or stay with Dean, and Sam chooses Dean. This ep is pretty much when John figures out Sam has demon blood. He kills another hunter that wants to kill Sam.

Crossroad is based on Crossroad Blues, and I love how the crossroads demon shows up. It’s hard to describe, but it’s so neat, like she’s walking underneath Dean in this mirror world, and then the mirror world takes over the regular world, so you really get this sense of otherworldly seclusion, existing outside of time.

What Is and Should Never Be shows Dean is a firefighter in his ‘Mary never died’ world, and Sam got to play soccer growing up like he wanted. The brothers hold each other after Dean is saved from the Djinn.

AHBL part 1. When Azazel shows Sam that he fed Sam his blood, Sam gags and slaps a hand over his mouth, and I like that reaction more than the live action. The psychic kids get to go more anime with their powers, and that’s a lot of fun. They don’t need weapons. Ava slams Sam into the brick side of a building and cuts him without touching him. Jake snaps Ava’s neck with one hand and then catches Sam in his arms. When Jake attacks Sam, there’s no gun or knife. He’s relying on his super strength, his fists. Sam throws his arms up to protect himself, and (accidentally?) pushes Jake back with his mind, and the collision creates a crater in the ground. Jake puts his fist through Sam’s chest to kill him. It’s brutal and it’s rad as fuck. These kids are terrifyingly powerful.

The Sam and Dean reunion before Sam is killed is not as emotional as the live action imo, but what the anime does intrigues me. Hurts in a different way. Because Sam is stunned after he uses telekinesis again, on Jake, and when he hears Dean behind him Sam freezes. He doesn’t look relieved to see Dean, but wary and weary. It’s Dean taking steps towards him, not the other way around, and it has to be because Sam doesn’t know if Dean saw him push Jake back. Sam doesn’t know how Dean’s going to respond to all this, to him, having powers that come from a demon, the demon, Azazel. Sam hasn’t had a chance to process anything. He’s scared. He’s tired. And the way the anime focuses on Sam’s eyes here. Gah. “Dean. Dean, I’m...” I’m sorry. I’m all right. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m a monster. There’s also this one shot between Sam and Azazel that sends me because of how anime it is.

AHBL part 2. I love how Sam brought back to life is animated, with all the color returning to his face and a light wind rustling his hair and his lips parting to indicate his soul returning to his body. Jake attacks Dean, and, a lot like how Sam activates telekinesis to save Dean from Max in Nightmare, Sam gets a burst of superhuman strength. He rips Jake’s arm off and tackles him to the ground and beats him to death, punches holes into his body, and it’s so savage and bloody and scary, and I love it. The Devil’s Gate opening looks so cool animated. Same goes for Dean shooting Azazel with the Colt.

Not to turn this into a meta post, but I also noticed how the last couple times Sam uses his powers they’re colored green-yellow, the same colors as Mary’s ghost when she reveals herself in the anime’s Home, and I don’t know if that’s intentional, but it’s neat how it draws a connection to Sam’s biological family instead of Azazel’s blood.

The Spirit of Vegas is like Bad Day at Black Rock, but Dean has all the bad luck instead, and it shows off the silly cartoony physics that make animation fun. The boys sleep outside and split a chunk of bread for dinner. Also this lil bit of Dean’s hair tied in a bow.

- (STOP) the brothers are pretty. I am not immune to animated Sam and Dean Winchester.

Cons:

- Jensen doesn’t voice Dean until the last 2 episodes

- The English dialogue is really bad sometimes. I wish I could’ve watched the sub, but I couldn’t figure out how to change the language

- Some character designs are really different from the live action, and maybe that’s petty, but if you’re gonna change the characters diversify them? Don’t just make them unrecognizable white people

- Missouri’s design as a stereotypical witch doctor is racist

- Gordon is replaced by some British guy named Jason?? Why

- There’s an LGBT character who is not accepted by her family and, while that bigotry is always shown to be negative and she dies the hero of the episode, she still dies ://

- In the English dub Lily’s gf is made into her roommate instead. Idk about the sub

- Bobby’s pretty much a totally different character

- Sam and Dean are OOC sometimes

- Dean’s hair usually looks darker than Sam’s and it drives me crazy

- The storytelling is, overall, not nearly as good as the live action

- The non-Japanese lore in some episodes makes no sense. Sometimes it’s just plain ridiculous?? Like there’s a giant robot made of cars and scrap metal controlled by a demon? ? I wish I was making this up

- Meg’s role is severely reduced

- No Harvelles or Roadhouse

- Shadows are overused, but maybe that’s because the og show is so dark?

- I don’t mind the art style. I like the aesthetic, but I wish it was a little more expressive. It doesn’t do Sam’s puppy eyes justice.

- AZAZEL’S SHADOW?? PROPORTIONS?? PEA SIZED HEAD

- Idk why they mashed season 1 and 2 together? The story feels rushed

- there’s not as much chemistry between Sam and Dean, but that’s a given without J2 on screen

- Nobody tells you!! That there’s scenes after the credits!! And some of them are important! Why are important scenes after the credits??

The anime would not be good on its own, without the heart and depth the live action brings, but it works as supplementary material you can cherry pick from. I would watch more if there were more episodes.

It hasn’t turned me off from wanting an spn anime. I’d like to see it continued or redone, with updated animation and better scripts. There’s a lot of potential in exploring more about the psychic kids and Sam’s powers, storylines that were cut short in the og show. Animation is a great medium for showing off the supernatural, getting creative and creepier with the designs, dramatic with the fight scenes, without having to worry about bad CGI. I don’t want a live action reboot, but I think a redone animated series could be a lot of fun! (As long as it’s not an excuse to make any romantic ships take over. SPN is a platonic love story, and I like it that way.)

If you made it to the end here and are interested in watching the spn anime, you can watch it for free on the CW Seed app! You can probably stream it elsewhere, but idk where!

#spn anime #supernatural #supernatural the anime #my detailed pros is pretty much me letting you know what episodes are worth watching #and why #its bad but I kind of like it #I like what they were going for. the potential it has #I like sam and there's lots of sam

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luckgods · 4 years

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Opus 10, part 2: Dexter, Sinister

Prompt: “Paralyzed by fear” for Bad Things Happen Bingo Warnings: torture, mostly non-graphic violence, past minor character death, panic attacks, dissociation, some ableism against a sometimes-nonverbal character Word count: 2.1k Summary: Luce finds themself captured by a stranger with a grudge.

—

So. This is... bad. Fuck.

Luce generally tried to be a realist. But some situations called for preparation for the worst.

Case in point: being tied to a chair and having a knife brandished at you by some evil... oh, that chestplate, she was a Storm-Hunter. Whoops.

Maybe keeping the stolen cloak hadn't been the best idea. (Well, was it really stealing when they were already dead? And the Storm-Hunters had threatened and then nearly killed Vesca, which technically made them the aggressors, so Luce felt pretty justified.) And it was enchanted! Cloaks like that didn't just fall out of the sky every day.

Well, that was fine. Luce could deal. Even if this lady couldn't. Find out what she wants, give it to her, get out. Or distract her until Ari notices I'm gone. Easy as pie.

Which was a funny phrase, because Luce had seen Uncle Keren's pie recipe, and it did not look simple at all. Focus.

Appease, distract, mitigate. It was just another performance: find out what they wanted, give it to them, get out before they realize you'd emptied their pockets.

Showtime.

"Why... what do you want with me?" Luce aimed for halfway between confused and frightened.

"Where did you get that cloak?" the woman asked.

Ah. Easy. "Stole it out of some rich idiot's hotel room in Voiraux. You'd think they'd get better security with all their money, right?" They forced a laugh.

Really, Storm-Hunter or no, it was embarrassing that this woman had gotten the drop on Luce. Luce was supposed to notice if the people around them were dangerous. Can’t protect anyone without the basic ability to identify threats.

"I think you're lying," the woman said.

Luce widened their eyes slightly, and then pressed their lips together. "I'm not, I promise, I— do you want it? You can have it! I didn't realize anyone would— well, obviously I stole it, but rich people don't usually even notice if something goes missing, that's why—"

"Shut up!"

Luce snapped their mouth shut.

"I don't want the cloak, I want to know which member of your little cadre killed my brother in Atropos!"

Oh. Double fuck.

"Well. Um."

Luce squinted at the woman's face. She didn't look familiar.

New plan: distract. Her brother... possibly the boss. Fucker deserved what he got. Possibly some goon. Also deserved what they got. Worth guessing? Can't hurt.

"He was the... leader?"

"Yes," the woman hissed, "and he was going to make us rich. And renowned. And you fucked it all up."

Keep her talking.

"In our defense, he did trick and then nearly murder our friend. He tell you about that? I mean, not the murder part, on account of... yeah, but the seduction. It was a whole thing."

The woman turned her back on Luce, and exited the room. She re-entered holding a cocked crossbow.

"You know, carrying loaded weapons is—hnnf—"

"You don't get to speak about him."

Crossbow bolt to the stomach. That's a new one.

Luce tilted their head back, glancing at the ceiling. They couldn't hide the grimace on their face, but they could give themself the dignity of some false privacy while they schooled their face back into some semblance of calm.

"Could have just... told me."

"You're lucky I need you to tell me how to get to your friends, or that bolt would have gone into your chest. Or maybe not so lucky."

Luce affected a wide, strained smile. "Any day I'm living... is better than one I'm not."

"Let's test that, shall we?" the woman asked. She turned away again. Probably to grab more weapons.

Well, if that's how she wants to play it. "You could always... ask... your brother."

The woman screamed in rage and whirled on Luce, planting a heel in their stomach, knocking the chair onto its back. Pain exploded up into their chest, down their spine, burst across their skull where it collided with the ground. Their lungs were paralyzed, burning but unable to draw in air.

Okay. New plan. Fuck. Fucking ow. Avoid dying until Ari notices I'm gone. Piece of fucking cake. Then avoid dying when Isaure has to fix me. No, unrealistic. Avoid dying until Isaure can kill me herself. It's the least she deserves.

Anything to distract from the pain.

Luce didn't realize they'd shut their eyes until their head spun as the chair was hefted back upright. The woman was back. They'd missed her footsteps. Lot of use you are. Focus.

They grunted as the change in position jolted the crossbow bolt, still embedded in the back of the chair—and their torso. Couldn't help but wince, wincing made it hurt worse. Tears welled up in their eyes.

"Weak, aren't you?"

Like to see you get shot and tossed around and shed nary a tear, Luce thought, but their voice was no longer working. Fine. "Fuck you," they whispered.

"What was that?" You fucking heard me. The woman laughed. "Not so tough at all. Tell me where your friends are or I'll figure out a way to make you scream."

Luce glared up at her. If their hands had been free, they'd have had a lot to say to her, not that she'd understand any of it. "Not fucking scared of you," they whispered instead. "Figure out a fucking way."

The woman's brow furrowed. Take that. "Is that a challenge? No matter. You'll tell me, or you'll die in misery and I'll just have to hunt your friends down myself."

She hefted a metal rod—fire poker, should have noticed, oh fuck—and swung it down on Luce's forearm. Luce heaved out a voiceless gasp. Oh, Lady. This is only going to get worse.

More blows. Arms, legs. A couple to the chest, not too many, probably doesn't want to break a rib and risk collapsing a lung, so considerate. More questions. The stomach was the worst. Like being shot anew every time the poker made contact. Gonna be puking blood when this is over. Luce didn't answer. Didn't scream. Would have struggled to produce a full-throated sound, even if they'd wanted to. Broken speech is good for something. Bet she's mad.

Eventually, the beating stopped. Luce could hardly tell through the tears blurring their sight, but they'd bet good money that the woman's face was contorted in fury.

Their theory was confirmed when she growled, "Why won't you break!"

Luce offered up a shaky grin in response. Squeezing their eyes shut to concentrate, they whispered, "Untie... hands... I'll tell you."

The woman only snarled in response. Worth a try.

Luce kept their eyes closed, tracking her retreat with their ears instead. Leaving. Regrouping. Good. Time. Speed up, Maré. Need you.

They half-drifted, breathing in time with the pulsing in their stomach. Ari, Maré, Maré, find me. Don't tell Darnell, he doesn't need to see. Secret, safe, secret, keep it. Time. Give it time. Find me.

The woman returned. Her steps were slow and heavy.

"What," Luce murmured, head lolling to the side, eyes blinking open lazily. Weapon? Knife. Hunting. I'm the prey. Threat established, they closed their eyes again. It wasn't much, but the darkness was a slight balm to their headache.

"Everyone fears something," the woman said. "You don't fear pain, I'll give you that. But you fear something. Death, I can tell. You don't want to die." She paused for a long moment. "Fire, probably."

Luce couldn't restrain the slight laugh that escaped them. Fire. Nothing would be as terrible as the all-engulfing flame that had scarred them in the first place. No, they didn't fear fire.

"Not fire," the woman concluded. Whoops. Ah well, she deserves one for free.

"You're a peacock. If you weren't already disfigured, maybe a threat to your pretty face would get you to talk."

"Rude," Luce whispered. "Still pretty."

"Still, there's more than one way to skin a kobold. You still wear makeup. Hands?"

Luce did not freeze. Their breath did not hitch. They forced their lips to curl into a smile. "So sweet... you noticed."

She doesn't know. Don't let her know. She doesn't know, she can't know, don't let her know, hide, hide, hide-hide-hide.

The silence dragged on and on. Luce put all their concentration into looking as unconcerned as possible. They regretted closing their eyes. Wished they could see the woman's face, couldn't risk looking and letting her know they cared. Couldn't move, for fear. Rabbit in the open. Pretend it's on purpose, but could you move if you wanted to?

Head hanging. Eyes closed. Playing dead. Being dead. The dead don't feel fear. Remember, the best way to sell a trick is to believe it yourself. Nobody likes a jaded magician. But don't over-sell. Watch my hands. How does it feel to see something impossible? Good, use that. That's what you're selling.

"Ears," the woman finally continued. "I see you tracking me. Neat trick, with your eyes closed. And of course your smart mouth."

Smart mouth, Luce echoed soundlessly. The last of their voice was gone. They opened their eyes.

The woman was twirling her knife. The front of Luce's shirt was wet with blood, cooling and crusting over. Probably the back as well. Their stomach burned. Their limbs throbbed in time with their pulse, too fast. I just want this to be over.

Focus on the pain. Like that hit to your stomach. Hurts, right? That's why you can't go down. Stay up, keep fighting. Doesn't matter how much it hurts. You go down, you're out, kid. Fight's over. In the ring, it don't matter, but in real life, you die. Got that?

"Hands first, I think. Then your tongue, then your ears. We'll see if I can't make you scream before then. I doubt it, given your apparent... defects, but we can try nonetheless."

No, no, no, no. Anything else. Can't perform without my hands, can't fight, can't talk. Be useless. Change her mind. Anything else.

Lower your eyes, Luce, don't look so invested. Watch your breathing. Not too fast, but not too slow, either. Smile. Look confident. Remember, you have something that they want. Confident, not cocky, Luce. They have something you want, too. Make them feel good about giving it to you.

"Knife or club, do you think? Is it worse to have fingers broken beyond repair, or no fingers at all?"

Frozen. Neither. Anything else. No more magic. No more fighting. No more sign language. Trapped, voiceless, again, forever.

Use your words, Luce. Negotiate with me.

...I'm sorry, Mom. I can't.

Then there was shouting and flames, almost pleasantly warm, dancing at the walls, when did it get so cold? Shouting, orange and purple bolts of magic flying past, a familiar dry voice saying "buckle up, bud, this is gonna suck."

Luce exhaled through gritted teeth as someone yanked at the crossbow bolt. Hands on their shoulders, hands on their stomach, a hand holding their own, pressing reassurances into it, words like safe and home and free.

Voices were passing over their head, the words lost in the buzz of adrenaline, a wave of exhaustion crashing over them in the aftermath of fear fear fear. Where was Ari? There. Warm and soft and safe, crooning soft reassurances to Luce's low humming. I was afraid. I wasn't good enough. I waited. You found me. Be careful, she's looking for you, the Storm-Hunter. They tried to stand up but their knees buckled underneath them, a web of hands and arms catching them mid-fall, settling them gently onto the floor.

"The woman, she's a Storm-Hunter, she wants revenge," Luce signed.

"She's been taken care of," said Isaure, in her typical understated fashion. "And you're next."

She sounded like she wanted to say more. Luce raised their eyebrows at her. Isaure shook her head in response. She looked tired.

Bad, then.

"Ari," Luce whispered, and there she was, on their right, Darnell on their left, Tesla twining around the three of them. "Am I okay?" Don't lie.

"You're going to be," she promised.

Luce hummed in agreement. "Got me... just in time," they said. I was so afraid, they didn't say. "'M cold," they said.

Ari turned to look at Isaure. Luce's head swam. Tesla chirped his sound of distress. Why? Maybe because of the water. Yes, the water. It was cold, which was why Luce was cold. It distorted and clouded the shapes around them and muffled the sounds. But it was nice in the water. It didn't hurt so much. Luce slipped under the surface and let the currents tug them away.

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flamencodiva · 4 years

Text

GBTY 1 - Nothing Against You

Book Cover by: @talesmaniac89

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word for Chapter: 5704

Beta: @superfanficnatural

A/N: Special thanks to - @crashdevlin @atc74 @smol-and-grumpy @winchest09 @waywardbeanie @deanwanddamons @malfoysqueen14 @emoryhemsworth @janicho88 @jensengirl83 @whatareyousearchingfordean @katehuntington @anathewierdo and to all my friends who listen to me ramble about my writing. your words of encouragement mean the world to me! Without you I don’t think I could have found the courage to come back and share what I love most to do, WRITE.

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The rumble of the black ‘67 Chevy Impala echoed in the alleyway as it came to a soft stop, the driver turning off the ignition and looking to his brother beside him.

"You said she was coming, right?" the driver said as his brother placed the bookmark in the book he was reading.

"For the millionth time," his voice dripped with annoyance, "yes, Dean, I called Amaya, and she said she would meet us here."

"Sam," Dean ran his hand across his face. "Look, she is a great hunter. You know it, I know it. But, she got injured in her last hunt. So I'm sorry if I'm a little apprehensive about whether she’ll be --"

The loud bang against the Impala's roof made the brothers jump as a soft chuckle filled their ears. They could see Amaya Campos through the window on the driver’s side, laughing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He tried not to get distracted by how beautiful she looked when she smiled. Closing his eyes, Dean flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw.

"You know what, Campos," Dean barked as he threw open the driver's side door and climbed out. "You are a real pain in the ass."

"Yeah, I know," she shrugged and punched his shoulder. "But you know I'm the best."

"If it weren't for that fact, you would have been dead by now," Dean grumbled as he made his way to the trunk.

"How you doin’, Amaya?" Sam asked as he gave her a gentle hug.

"I bounce back, Sasquatch," she gave them a bright smile. "So, a coven of witches is in there," she pointed at the warehouse then crossed her arms.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "but get this. These witches have been gathering ingredients for a big spell." Sam pulled out his notes as he showed them to Amaya, "They killed specific victims and took certain body parts from them."

"Well, that's just wrong… and creepy," Amaya shuddered.

"Something we agree on," Dean cocked his gun as he checked to make sure it was working. "I wish there was an easier way to get rid of these hags all at once."

"You and me both, Short Stack," Amaya breathed. She grabbed a few Witch-killing bullets and loaded the clip into her pistol.

"I'm taller than you, Campos." Dean pulled up close to her, his form towering over hers.

"I'm using Sasquatch as a reference," she gave him a sly smile before letting her fingers dance along his chest. "Wanna make this interesting?"

"What, like the ghoul hunt last month?" he raised an eyebrow at her before letting his eyes roam over her body.

Her Ramones crop top and leather jacket was accentuating her chest, her cleavage leaving Dean imagining dirty things he could do between her breasts. He continued to let his eyes roam over Amaya's figure; her bootleg jeans hugged her hips in the right place. He bit the inside of his cheek, Dean's way to hold back from reaching out and placing his hand on the curve of her hip. His eyes continued to move up to her hair in a neat ponytail. He could always see himself pulling on the elastic to let the tendrils fall, his fingers running through her brown and purple highlighted hair. Shaking out of his thoughts, he looked into her eyes, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.

"Come on, Winchester," she moved her hand around to the back of his neck. Her fingers began to play with the small hairs at the nape of it, "If you can last five minutes without a witch blasting you away," Amaya's fingers ghosted over his cheek while staring into his green eyes, "I can make it worth your while."

"Whatever you're trying to sell me, sweetheart," he licked his lips. It was his way of controlling himself. He could not fall into the trap he knew she was trying to set, "I ain't buying."

"Come on," she cooed, "what's one little harmless bet?"

"Last time we had a--" Dean lifted his hands as he pushed back away from her, making air quotes, "' Harmless bet ' I had to drive the Impala in my underwear while listening to Taylor Swift." He shuddered at the memory of Sam recording the evidence to send to Amaya.

"Admit it," she chuckled, "you enjoyed it."

"You wish," he shot back.

"Guys," Sam sighed. "Can you guys please, just make a bet. Hell, I'll mediate. If Amaya wins, Dean has to--" he paused to think.

"Give up pie for a month," she crossed her arms, smiling.

"You bitch!" Dean growled. "There is no way I'm giving up pie. You win, I'll kiss you for two minutes," he gave an inward groan as the words came out.

"Two minutes of making out with Dean Winchester?"

Dean watched as she popped out her hip and placed her hand on it. He could tell she was thinking about it.

"I'm not thrilled about it either, but it's all I could come up with, outside of humiliating myself farther," he grumbled.

"I was gonna say you could dance to the Macarena while wearing women's underwear," Sam shrugged.

Dean watched as Amaya's eyes lit up and he gave Sam his best bitch face, "Asshole."

"I like Sam's idea better. Not just the Macarena in women's underwear, but I want a live performance!" She smiled, “You need to sing the song too!”

"We're wasting time," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he looked between Sam and Amaya. "Fine. You got a deal. But if I win--" he licked his lips, "you are going to give me a very nice strip show in the Bunker to the song of my choice."

"Bueno, que quieres? (Well, what do you want?) All nude reviews or bare minimum?" she asked as she gave him a casual shrug.

"All nude with a very nice view of the sweet stuff," he said, smiling. "Quiero ver a to-do tu que-ehr-po," ( I want to see all of your body.) Dean smirked, hoping he got the wording right for his Spanish.

"Spanish is getting better, perv," she muttered. "Fine. But you are only looking, not touching!"

"Fine with me, sweetheart," Dean held out his hand for her to shake.

But she did something unexpected. Grabbing Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket, she pulled him in for a short kiss on his lips.

Pulling back, she smiled, "Sellado con un beso (Sealed with a kiss). No backing out now Winchester. The challenge, you can't go fifteen minutes without getting blasted by a witch spell."

"You're on," he squeaked before clearing his throat and making his way inside.

Sam cocked his gun before looking at his best friend, "You love making him squirm."

"It's only ever going to be fun and games, Sam," she put on her bravest smile. "Nothing can ever come from two hunters in this world being together. Happy ever after doesn't exist."

Sam sighed as he watched his friend and brother head inside. He knew they were ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do except let them be idiots together. As the group filtered through the warehouse, Sam could hear the faint sound of chanting.

An eerie lavender glow came from an open door along a dark corridor. Sam crept towards it, self flush against the wall as he peered inside.

At the same time, in another universe, a group of men dressed in black surrounded the warehouse, each one with a radio and a body cam hooked up to them. They all waited for a signal from their leader to storm inside and take down their targets.

"It's too quiet in there," one of them whispered.

"Yeah, but we have to follow protocol," the second one answered.

"Squad leaders, move in," a gruff voice called over the walkie talkie.

The warehouse had filled with the sounds of feet stomping the pavement. The women found themselves surrounded — weapons aimed at them. One of them strolled forward, her cackle bouncing off the walls and filling the warehouse with its shrill sound.

"The Men of Letters can't stop us," she proclaimed. "The spell is in motion. It has begun!"

"Fire!"

The command came from above as the warehouse filled with the sounds of gunfire, figures dressed in black emptying their clips. The witches all dropped one by one, save for one, who cowered on the ground behind the cauldron. When the firing calmed down, the mysterious soldiers in black all pointed their guns at her, waiting for her to make a move as she bled through her wound. As the silence began to fill the air, the faint sounds of high heels and heavy footsteps echoed around them as the men all moved aside for two figures dressed in suit’s approaching closer to their target.

One of the figures was a woman, about 5’4 with long brown hair that flowed down her back. She wore a navy blue pencil skirt with a button up quarter sleeve white shirt that went well with her four-inch black stilettos. The other figure was a man, 6’1 in height, wearing a navy blue three piece tailored suit, his brown hair perfectly combed back in a short cut. Both figures stood side by side as they surveyed their surroundings.

"Is this her?" the female spoke.

"Yes, ma'am," came the reply as the woman made her way closer.

She stood in front of the Witch and took her chin in her hands.

"Excellente. Bind her and take her to the prison, we'll question her there. Whatever they did, we need to find a way to reverse it." She looked over at the green-eyed man who followed closely behind her, "Que esperen y muévanse!" (What are you waiting for and move!)

"We will," he said, looking over the papers before signing his name to the documents. "I believe Grandpa Henry will be happy with what we've done. We do make a great team, Amaya."

"I wouldn't be marrying you if we didn't, Winchester," she smiled before making her way to him.

"We've been tracking them for a long time," the man sighed as the Witch had a black cover placed on her head. He watched as one of the men dragged her off, "I'm worried about the repercussions to their spell. I mean, according to Sam, they were working on something that could be transdimensional."

"Then all the more reason to get back to headquarters and interrogate her," she said, placing her hand on the man's cheek. "Dean, everything will be fine. Vas a ver. We've been doing this for years, and we have almost eradicated this world of monsters."

"I know but," he said as he leaned into her touch, "what if they bring something over here to throw the balance off?"

"Then we will deal with it," she reassured him. "Together, as we've always done things, mi amor. (My love)"

The Witch smiled under the hood over her head. Everything was working according to the plan. It was all a matter of time for the other world to align and cast their spell.

Meanwhile, in the slick black restored ‘67 Chevy Impala, Dean looked over at his fiancee. He couldn't help shake the pit he felt in his stomach. Following behind the black van, Dean pulled up into the garage of the compound.

Before exiting the car, he turned to Amaya, "Are we sure this witch is going to talk?" he reached over, caressing her cheek.

Leaning into his touch, Amaya took in a slow deep breath, "We can only hope that she does. The only one who can really make her talk is you, Dean. Yo sé que no te gusta, pero, (I know you don't like it, but,) it's your specialty."

"Yeah," Dean rubbed his eyes, "I know. Mientras que me ayuda a proteger a mi Familia y el Mundo, (As long as it helps me protect my family and the world) I'll keep doing it."

"I love it when you speak Spanish, mi amor," she leaned over towards him and pressed her lips gingerly against his. "I will be in the other room, observing if you need back up."

"Amaya," Dean kissed her forehead, "you know I hate it when you watch."

"Don't get performance anxiety on me now, Winchester," she teased. "I mean, you look hot when you get all dom on them."

Dean let out a low growl before pulling her in for a deep kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth as she moaned. Her hands found their way around his neck, fingers playing with the short hairs that she could find. Amaya shifted her position to press her body against his, her legs straddling him as they made out on the bench seat of his hunter car. The Impala was always good for making out after a hunt well done. Dean smirked against her lips as his hands found their way under her blouse; her soft skin sending a shiver down his spine. He loved touching her, kissing her, tasting her. The two lovers were engrossed in their feelings, too lost in their touches, they never noticed the person stalking towards their car. With a devilish smirk, they lifted their hand and slammed it on the roof of the Impala, making the lovers jump.

"That is very unprofessional of you two."

Sam Winchester smiled at the lovers as they both flipped him off. Letting them exit the car, he watched as his brother Dean adjusted his tie and smoothed out his hair.

"Is the witch ready for interrogation?" he helped Amaya out after she fixed up her appearance.

"Yes," Sam said, still smiling, "she's in your favorite room."

"Good," Dean linked his arm with Amaya's, "I say, after I’m done, we head on over to Albert's and celebrate with a nice meal."

Dean led her towards the dungeon where the interrogation would take place.

"Sounds good, baby," Amaya kissed his cheek as she helped him remove his blazer before lifting the sleeves of his dress shirt, "give her hell."

"I always do, sweetheart," he said, giving her a wink before entering the room and closing the door behind him.

Back across the universe, to one where the Men of Letters is all but dead, Sam Winchester watched as his brother and Amaya began to signal to each other. The witches all gathered as, what looked like, the leader started chanting.

"Vocamus, antiqui potestates, audire nostrum dicere, sentire nostra potestate. Per tempus et spatium, sit animarum artem. Sicut anima est, luxatis sit pati in solatium, ut desiderium pro amore et carnem esse eius ruinam." (We call upon the ancient powers, to hear our call, feel our power. Across time and space, let the souls switch. As the soul is displaced, let it suffer in solace as the longing for love and flesh be its downfall.) There was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning. All the while, the witches began throwing the ingredients into the cauldron.

"Sam, Now!" Dean bellowed as all three began shooting at the witches. Both Sam and Amaya found themselves back to back as they aimed at the ones running. Dean decided to make a beeline for the leader and had reached her when she gave him a devilish smile.

"It is done, my followers cast the spell, and there is nothing you can do," she cackled.

"What did you do?" he demanded as he aimed the gun at her as she smiled.

"You'll see," she teased and raised her hand and thrust it forward. She used her power to send Dean back, crashing against some empty crates.

His body crumbled to the ground while Sam and Amaya screamed his name. A shot rang out, and the Witch's body fell with a thud.

With a groan, Dean opened his eyes and sighed, "Did we get her?"

"Yeah," Sam chuckled as he helped his brother up, "but you lost the bet."

"What?" Dean cried and looked at his brother with disbelief. "No, I didn't!"

"Yes, you did! I had my timer on, and you had two minutes left," Amaya boasted with a bright smile. "We'll talk later. You're bleeding, and we need to make sure you don't need stitches."

Dean hissed as Amaya brushed her fingers along the cut on his head; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at her touch. Dean could see the concern in her eyes as she looked for any more wounds; he never wanted to see that look again. He wished he could protect her from all this: protect her from himself. He made a small note to push her away once he was all healed. But then, she did something that made him change his mind. It was subtle, but the way she cared for him, it made him rethink how he should keep his distance from her.

"Okay, Romeo," she murmured after cleaning up his wound. "You'll be flirting with barmaids in no time."

"I guess I'll have to learn the Macarena then, huh?" he sighed.

"I'll give you a few days to recover before I collect," she said as they made their way back outside and towards their vehicles. "I gotta jet," she used her thumb to point to her bike, "need to get some stuff done."

"You know," Dean cleared his throat, "you can-- you can come live with us-- in the Bunker," he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Did the witch curse you with something?" Amaya wondered and raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, we're friends but--"

"Look, we have a friendly competition," Dean grumbled. "Besides, it makes it easier to collect on a debt when you're close by."

Amaya bit her lip as she looked from Dean to Sam. She always found an excuse not to stay with them in the Bunker, ever since Sam first suggested it. It was easy to reject the offer when Dean would argue that he and Sam could no longer call it a bachelor pad if she moved in.

"Come on, Amaya," Sam's voice broke her out of her thoughts. "It would be better than being out on your own, and you always have a bed to sleep in."

"I--" Amaya hesitated as she decided to find the ground fascinating.

"Either you're coming or not," Dean growled. "We don't have time to argue about this when we have to figure out what those witches did."

"Fine," she breathed. "But I swear Winchester," she walked up to him and poked him in his chest. "One wrong move, one smelly sock or underwear in my room. I catch you playing Peeping Tom, and I am out of there so fast after laying your ass out you won't know what hit you."

Dean raised his hands in the air as he used his finger to draw a cross over his heart, "Cross my heart. I will be on my best behavior."

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, "I'll follow you on my bike."

Dean watched as she made her way towards the gleaming black motorcycle and waited for him to start driving. Dean couldn't help but glance now and then at the rearview mirror. He had to make sure the bike was still behind them. He could never shake the feeling that something would happen to Amaya if she stayed near him for long. Even with their friendly banter, Dean had known her since they were kids. And when they started hooking up, much to Sam’s dismay, he couldn’t help but feel he had cursed her in some way. The last thing he needed was for Amaya to end up like every woman in his life, gone, broken, and/or dead.

"You know you could just actually tell her you like her," Sam sighed as he read through his book, using his phone as a flashlight.

Dean let out a scoff, "What? I don't like Amaya like that. She's -- she's just a very good hunter who I consider a friend and is nice to look at."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed as he shook his head, "you keep telling yourself that, Dean."

"I'm not kidding Sam," Dean denied, glancing at his brother. "You know how this story ends. Jo, Lisa… they both ended in tragedy, and one of those was an experienced hunter."

"Dean," Sam shook his head, "what if it's different? I mean, Amaya is not Jo. Jo lived a sheltered life away from actually hunting. Yeah, she knew about it, but she didn't become a hunter until she met us."

"Yeah. And I don't want Amaya to meet the same fate," Dean huffed. "It's better this way, Sam. We don't get happy endings."

"Dean," Sam rubbed his eyes, "I know you guys have gotten together more than once."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he made the turn towards the Bunker.

"You guys are not quiet," Sam pointed out. "You both are being stupid, and keeping each other at arm's length is only going to get messy. You guys think you're going to keep each other safe, but you aren't. And you are only going to hurt each other, or worse."

"What could be worse?" Dean asked as he pulled the Impala into the garage just as Amaya's bike pulled in behind them.

"One of you gets seriously injured protecting the other," Sam breathed. "You know it's true, Dean. You guys are so alike and…" Sam looked back as he watched Amaya grabbing what little she had on her. "The last hunt, where she got hurt… can you imagine if we were with her?"

Dean stayed silent as he tried to imagine the scene. Sam was right, Amaya wouldn't have gotten injured. He was sure that he would have jumped in and taken the hit for her. Or at least taken out the monster without any casualties. But Dean shook the thought out of his head.

"All the more reason for me to keep my distance," Dean argued.

Sam let out a frustrated groan as his brother got out of the car. He looked over at Amaya just as Dean caught up with her and was glad that she decided to stay with them. He only hoped that it would be a good thing and they wouldn't hurt each other in the process.

Amaya watched as Dean paced in front of the Witch. The Witch's body hung in the middle of the room, her arms above her head as she dangled like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. The double-sided mirror was the only thing separating her from him. She walked over to the mirror and pressed the button, indicating that the microphone was on, Amaya needed to hear what was going on. If she listened in, there was a chance that she could help read between the lines. Witches, like demons, always found a way to lie.

"What does the spell do?" Dean asked as he walked by the weapons table.

Amaya watched as his fingers ghosted over the various knives and tongs. She could see his fingers linger over his favorite weapon. It was a double-edged Turkish knife that had a serrated edge on one side and a smooth blade on the other.

"There is still one component left," the witch sneered.

Dean moved his way towards her, letting the blade drag along her exposed skin, the blood dripping down to the floor as the Witch laughed.

"You can torture me all you want son of man," she growled as she took in a deep breath before breaking the chains.

Amaya tried to rush towards the door, only to freeze in place as the room filled with the sound of evil laughter.

"Foolish mortals," the voice boomed.

The Witch was now floating a few feet above Dean. Her eyes were glowing lavender.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she floated towards him and grabbed his chin. "Your counterpart in a different world brought this upon himself. You're collateral damage."

Dean tried to move, but he found himself frozen in place. He took in a sharp breath as the Witch placed a finger on his forehead and whispered an incantation. He watched as a life that wasn't his flash before his eyes. He saw a different life than what he lived, watched as he saw pain and suffering and a life without Amaya.

"No," he growled, "you are not going to do this to me." He tried to break free but found that he couldn't, "Who are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," she boasted with a smile as she let out a shock wave of power. "It is nothing against you, well this version of you, Dean. This version of you is more mature. But, you decided to mess with the daughters of Hecate."

Dean's eyes widened at the name. They were not dealing with ordinary witches any more; they now pissed off the goddess of witches. His gaze shifted to the double-sided mirror, hoping that Amaya was safe before hearing a small laugh.

"Your little slut is fine," she assured him and gave him a pat on his cheek. "But I'm going to give you a few days before I rip you from her. Enjoy your time."

Before Dean could ask what she meant, the dungeon shook, the lights flickered, and everything went black. After a few moments, Dean gasped as he shot up, hissing in pain as he reached up to touch his head, flinching when he felt the familiar sticky feeling of blood. Looking around, Dean coughed, the pain in his chest radiating. He took a closer look at the damage; the double-sided glass had shattered when Hecate escaped. The Bunker filled with red lighting as the alarm was ringing around him and he could make out the faint yells of the other hunters stationed there, all on high alert.

"Amaya," Dean breathed as he made his way to the window.

The room was in bad shape; the roof had caved in. The destruction of the dungeon kicked in Dean's protective mode as he tried to look around for any signs of Amaya. He ignored the searing pain that was pulsing through his body as he filtered through the debris.

"Amaya?" Dean called out as he began to move the rubble. "Sweetheart, Donde estas? Amaya responde por favor!!" he called out.

"Dean?!" Sam's voice called through the door.

"Sam?" Dean croaked. "Sam, I can't find Amaya."

"Just hold on," Sam said.

He could hear orders echoing in the hall as he continued to look for Amaya.

"Dean!" a female voice called out.

Dean froze at the sound of Amaya's voice.

"Amaya? Where are you, sweetheart?" he said as he looked around.

"Over here," Her voice was firm. "Maldita madre de la gran puta. Cuando encuentre esa bruja la voy a matar!" (Damn mother of the big whore. When I find that Witch, I will kill her!)

He smiled at her outburst and sighed when he could see movement coming from one of the corners of the room. Dean rushed over, forgetting the pain that radiated from his wounds. He moved the debris, thankful that it seemed to only cover her without crushing her, helping her up and carrying her over to where Sam and his men had cleared out a path.

"What the fuck happened?" Sam asked as he looked at the damage then his brother's wound.

"Hecate," Dean said and winced when he felt Amaya's fingers assessing the damage, “she made an appearance.”

"How did we miss that?" Sam wondered as he looked at the damage in the dungeon room before turning to his brother.

"She was inside one of the witches," Dean sighed. "I guess they invoked her before we got there."

"How do we explain this?" Sam asked.

"As with any other hunt that can and will go wrong," a voice came from down the hall.

Walking towards them was Henry Winchester. His salt and pepper hair short and neat, his face clean of any facial hair. His green eyes surveyed the scene before landing on his grandsons.

"Grandpa Henry," Sam acknowledged as he stood at attention.

Dean took that moment to show respect to their grandfather. He mimicked his brother's stance; back straight, shoulders squared, hands at his sides. Both brothers observed as the Patriarch of the Winchester family assessed the damage.

“Boys,” he said and offered them a small smirk, “it seems the witches have decided to stir up trouble.”

Amaya looked around the Bunker. She had only heard the stories from the boys themselves a few times. Looking around the garage, she took in all the classic cars. Amaya held in her excitement; she couldn't wait to get her hands greasy from looking through the engines. As Amaya took in more of the garage, she made a note to look at the bikes and make sure they were in top condition. Parking her bike in an empty spot, she grabbed her things from the saddlebag and waited for the boys to approach her.

"So this is your man cave?" she asked and looked over at Dean.

Dean scoffed, "This is just the garage, sweetheart." He took her hand in his, ignoring the jolt of electricity that coursed through his veins, "The man cave needs a… private tour," he gave her a wink.

Amaya gave a small smirk before pressing her body up against Dean, "Does that include a private show of your Macarena performance, Gringo?" her breath was right on his ear.

"Okay," Dean groaned as he placed his hand on her shoulders and pushed her away from him, "one, I still need to recover," he gave her a devilish smirk before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body flush with his, "B, if you want a private show," he caressed her cheek, "I'm in room eleven."

Amaya tilted her head at him, "Oh? Me vas enseñar algo privado?" she let her fingers dance on his chest. Two could play the flirting game. "It's okay," she pulled away from him, "I'm sure I've seen guys who are… bigger." (You going to show me something in private?)

"If you want to see bigger, sweetheart," Dean reached for her again. "I'm not shy."

"I know you're not," Amaya shook her head while pushing at his face playfully. "But, slow your roll cowboy. I'm here as a roommate. I know in the past we've…"

"Danced the mattress mambo," Dean interjected.

"Yeah, among other things," Amaya smiled. "But, let's keep our hands to ourselves."

Dean let her go as she pulled herself back and grabbed her duffle from the floor, watching as she made her way out of the garage and walked down the hallway leading to the main entryway. He couldn’t help but stare at the way her hips swayed when she walked away from him. Shaking out of his thoughts, he decided to follow after her. Grabbing his bag, he traveled down the same path she did before seeing her in the middle of the hallway.

"Come on," he called to her, "this way."

Amaya followed Dean as he made his way to the kitchen. Upon entering, they both found Sam eating dinner.

"What took you two so long?" Sam asked as he took a bite of his salad. "It's been a good thirty minutes since we got here. Everything okay?"

"We're good, Sam," Amaya chuckled. "We were discussing where Dean was going to dance the Macarena."

Dean rolled his eyes as he put his bag down and grabbed a beer from the fridge. His mind wandered to what he and Amaya did in the garage before turning back to his brother and friend.

"Why don't we show Amaya a room and let her get settled?" Dean grumbled and grabbed his bag before motioning for Amaya to follow.

"So my room is here," he announced and pointed to room eleven, "and Sam's room is right there," he pointed to room twenty-one. "So, you can have a pick of any of the other rooms that are empty."

"Looks like Twenty is empty, so I'll take that one," she said with a smile.

Dean nodded as he looked at the room down the hall closer to Sam's. He had hoped that she had picked a room closer to him, but this was for the best. He wouldn't be as tempted to make his way to her room. He watched as Sam led her down the hall, and they disappeared around the corner.

Amaya looked around the room she had picked and smiled, she liked the feeling of finally having her own room. Amaya could decorate it how she wanted and listen to her music. All the while, she never noticed Dean. Never saw how he watched in silence as she settled in. Deep in his thoughts, he had to make sure he could stay away from her. But if they fell into bed again… well, he would figure it out and do what he always did.

Later that night, when the Bunker filled with soft snores, Dean found himself in front of Amaya's door. Opening the door to her room, Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Amaya laid sleeping on her bed, blanket almost falling to the floor, her brown hair with purple streaks sprawled on the pillow, some of the strands on her face.

Dean walked in and sighed. She looked beautiful and he had to make sure he could protect her. Taking the fallen comforter, he placed it over Amaya, tucking her in. His fingers grazed her skin as he put the stray hairs that were on her face behind her ear, smirking when she leaned into his touch. Dean could feel a pull in his heart. It took all his strength not to lean in and kiss her soft skin. With a sigh, he pulled back and walked out of the room, giving one final look before closing the door, making sure it didn't make a sound. He had to keep his distance, but he knew he had to get her out of his system one more time.

Chapter 2

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 4 years

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tuesday again 1/19/2021

kind of a slow week bc work’s fucked

listening weight of the world, battle tapes. i described this the other day as “a simmering kind of frantic barely one-step-ahead? electronic-y rock? veering into industrial synth if that’s a thing?” and i stand by it. really insistent bassline, i don’t love the drop but it’s acceptable. mostly the lyrics remind me of one of the cowboys so it goes on the gigantic messy four-hour playlist that will never see the light of day

youtube

reading absolutely nothing!

watching ZEIRAM (1991, dir Amemiya) concept: a cool lady bounty hunter and her stalwart AI companion land on a backwater little technologically-poor planet to hunt down someone she’s got a grudge with.

yes this is basically a western but in a grungy scifi setting.

yes okay you put a lady in a jumpsuit and give her a cool layered cape thing and i fall in love. and ALSO it’s nice to see a lady with the proper body armor to get thrown around like she does. good job protecting your female stuntmembers

it’s got some fun creature design and a lot of impressively gross practical effects. it’s also got some fun weapon design, including what i want to call a shoulder mounted rocket launcher but it shoots one big laser bolt.

a delightful Computer Graphics! sequence which should start at the right spot if i did it right or at ~14:12 if i didn’t (the english dub is free here on youtube innnn uhhh 360p, not sure you can legally stream this anywhere)

youtube

an INCREDIBLE late title card look at this shit. ugh. gorgeous. nobody does flats anymore and it’s a shame

it’s a stupid fun little b movie that’s not well dubbed and runs longer than it should but i find myself charmed enough by the concept that i will move on to the six-ep OVA. minimum gross sexist bullshit but does not pass the bechdel test bc there is no other woman with significant screentime, a lot of two hapless dudes yelling for this lady to come save them and then (spoilers) going WOW YOU’RE SO FUCKING COOL at the end. it’s not a feminist masterpiece or anything i just think it’s neat! refreshing!

playing still waiting for a new power source to make its way to me in the mail. lotta genshin impact bc it runs on my work laptop. i got the character i wanted from the current event on the second pull and it’s like okay??? guess i’m done here??? thanks??? bye now i guess i will not be grinding any more??? bad case of boob socks but i think she’s adorable

anyway as usual with this sort of game when there’s no big story update it mostly just feels like doing a list of chores. there was a satisfyingly long character story quest that took me about two hours to get through last week, but my main team is almost maxed out re: power and i COULD grind resources to get a secondary team going but i can’t be fucking bothered.

i have a post in my brain about gambling and gacha games but i don’t really know how to do that without doxxing myself. stay tuned

making the most exciting thing that happened to me this week was that a timer for the outlet that runs the plant lights came in the mail AS WELL AS an extension cord with a switch!!! so i can now turn off all the ambient lights at once instead of plugging and unplugging everything and i don’t even think about the plant lights any more. some really thrilling stuff going on over here, truly all i want to do is make my apartment nicer by buying ever more niche pieces of plastic

#tuesday again no problem #tuesday again #listen you're awake i'm awake i have a lot of bullshit happening today might as well poste

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ikeromantic · 4 years

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Horns

Day 24 of Ikemektober!

I chose Shakespeare - I’ve no idea what happens in his route. This is entirely my brain (caffeinated), the prompt, and deciding The Bard had to get his own story. It’s spicy fluff. Approx 1800 words.

Will picked up the costumes for his next production - a new play, inspired by his patron. They were fanciful pieces, with bat wings and goat horns and hooves. There was even a serpent-skin coat in the lot. Perfect for the story of a devilish king and his court of impish jesters.

The play was equal parts suffering and passion. He hoped Comte would come to see it, or that rumors of it would reach his ears at least. Taunting the old vampire was a dangerous sport, but for William, that only made it a more alluring pursuit.

If he had eternity, or close to it, to make his plays, there was no subject that was taboo. He would push his art to its limit - and his life with it, as his plays were so enmeshed with experience that sometimes he had trouble separating one from the other.

“Will? Will, is that you?” The voice caught him mid-thought. His arms were so full of costumerie that he couldn’t see who was speaking, but he knew anyhow.

“What fair maid calls mine name so sweetly? Could it be my newest friend?”

She laughed in reply, a bright sound. Unburdened. “I don’t know why you always speak in poetry, Will.”

He felt her hand touch his arm, the lightest brush of her fingertips like a touch of fire. “Do you need help carrying those in?”

“Fear not, I’ve strength enough to finish - but if you could - the door?” Shakespeare heard her open the door to his home. He walked in and set the costumes on the nearest table.

The girl followed him in, her eyes darting about in curious fashion - as if she wanted to see everything before he stopped her looking.

Will smiled. It was strange to see her here, alone. He wondered if the Comte’s imps knew she’d come. He somehow doubted it. “To what do I owe this unforeseen pleasure? I hope tis nothing untoward.”

“Oh, no. I was just going to market to pick up a few things and I saw you getting out of the carriage.” She shrugged, the gesture gentle and indefinable feminine. “I thought maybe you’d like to have a coffee with me - or a tea. We didn’t get to talk much last time I saw you.”

“No, indeed we did not. You are always most welcome here, whither you’ve only passed by or come to visit with intent.” He motioned to his parlor. “Please, go in and sit down. I’ll put on some tea.”

Her bright smile returned. “Good! I was hoping you weren’t busy right now, but when I saw you with all those - clothes?” She glanced at the pile with wide eyes, “I thought maybe you were in the middle of something.”

“I am never to busy to see you, fair one.” He found his own mouth curling upward with genteel pleasure. The sensation made him vaguely uneasy, as if this was dangerous ground he tread. She always did this - setting him on edge with her cheery disposition. He wondered if something dark lay beneath it, something that, with prying, he could uncover. If so, it lay deep.

Will left to put on a pot of tea. When he came back, she was still in the entry hall, picking at the pile of costumes.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “I - sorry! They just looked so interesting. I wanted to see if I could figure out the play from the clothing.” Her hands grasped her skirt, a nervous gesture.

Shakespeare closed the distance between them in a few quick steps. He knew how unnerving his heterochromatic gaze was, especially on silly little girls. “And? Did you find me out?”

“M-midsummer Night’s Dream?” She guessed, voice full of hope.

“No.” Will leaned down until his nose almost touched hers. “I am afraid you’ve now been rude on two accounts. Searching through what belongs to another, and assuming a dramatist is bound by their older work.” The irritation he felt around her lent heat to his words, a sharpness despite his soft voice.

She looked down. “I’m so sorry, Will. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She sounded almost at the edge of tears, far more upset at his reprimand than he expected.

Will drew a line with his finger at the edge of her jaw and tipped her face up to his. “I shall forgive you this once, if you consent to a single favor. What say you, fair maid?”

“A favor?” She was trembling, her pulse racing. Excitement or fear? Will wasn’t certain.

“Indeed. I’ve need to check each costume you’ve handily sorted through in that pile. I can try on the gents’ clothing but the ladies’ outfits I must use a mannequin for. Today, you will be my mannequin.”

Her face brightened, though he could still feel her galloping heartbeat. “I could - could do that. It sounds exciting!” She bit her bottom lip, suddenly thoughtful. “Would you tell me what the play is about?”

“Perchance, if I am pleased.” Shakespeare stepped away from her, relieved and disappointed by the distance between them.

She immediately headed back to the pile of costumes, picking at them until she’d found a woman’s costume. “What is this one supposed to be?” She held up the oddly cut dress. It was all long, straight lines and harsh edges. Dark colors.

“It is clothing from the future.” He couldn’t help the wicked smile that lit up his thin face.

“Oh! Neat!” Her innocent enthusiasm missed the point entirely. She took a step toward the parlor, uncertain where she should go to change.

“Yes, you may undress in safety there. I shall refrain from opening the door.”

The tea kettle summoned him with its high pitched whistle. He went to pour the tea, and brought back a tray to set out for them both once the costume-modeling was done.

For himself, he chose the horned outfit. It was Faustian, at a glance. The jacket was black-furred, and the boot cover was made of hoof. The horns themselves were from a goat, but polished to obsidian black. The knobby twists seemed to capture the afternoon sun, reflecting nothing back.

Shakespeare stepped into this study to change. It felt odd to slide on the heavy jacket. The pants were a little big on him, but solidly made and adjustable with the addition of a belt or suspenders. He slid the headpiece on last, savoring the weight of the horns.

The mirror showed him what a monster he’d become with just the change in wardrobe. He looked wild now, like a faun or a devil, out to hunt virgins in sacred groves. Will shook his hair loose to further the effect. In this, he was the divine hunter. The gentleman demon. It was funny how a costume could often bring out secrets closely held.

He stepped back into the entry hall. The girl was still shuffling around in the parlor. He could hear her.

“Are you in need of assistance, fair one?”

“I- uh - the buttons are, they’re kind of hard to reach.”

“Then rescue you, I shall. For what troubles lie under the sun that cannot be bested by two hearts in concert?” He pushed open the door.

Sunlight came through the curtains, painting the room in sunset hue. The girl was standing straight, trying in vain to hold the gown up with one hand, the other reaching for buttons ill-placed. Her cheeks were stained pink, eyes wide.

“Tis no matter, fair maid. I’ve seen many a pretty half in, and half-out of costume. You’ve no need to fear my eye, nor my helping hands.” Will tried to reassure her, though he found her discomfort amusing. He had, in fact, seen many beautiful actresses in all stages of undress, but none quite like her.

Her face didn’t have the diamond hardness of the determined beauty. She lacked the edge of feminine weaponry, as if ignorant of her body’s charms. It only made him more away of her bare shoulders, the curve of her breast at the side. The naked line of her back as she turned to present him with the impossible buttons.

“You look amazing,” she babbled. “Like a faun! It’s called a faun, right? But . . . more cultured?” She inhaled sharply as Will brushed a finger down her spine.

“More of a devil, I’m afraid.” Her shiver provoked in him a need to touch her. He resisted it. He was the writer of passions - a witness. Not a participant. The director did not star in his dramas. He buttoned the dress and stepped away from her.

The girl turned to face him, brushing a hand down the front of the dress to smooth it. The dark blue was perfect for her. And the way it clung to her curves - indecent. Will did not think he’d see a clearer map of her body even if she stood nude before him. Best was the slit up the side of the skirt, as if made for a dancer. Her skin tantalized in glimpses, drawing the eye.

“You’re staring. Is it - is it bad?”

“No.” Shakespeare shook himself. “It is a perfect costume for the victim of a demon.” He gave a wicked sharp smile. “Do you feel like a victim, fair one?”

She started to laugh, but stopped at his forbidding expression. “You kind of scare me sometimes, Will.”

“And fear me you should. For I am a wicked creature.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled sweet, like perfume.

“Will,” she gasped, trying to pull away.

“It is too late for you, fair maid. To my lair you came, and now you shall never leave.” He lowered his head to her neck, letting her feel the slightest prick of his fangs.

“Th-this isn’t funny. Let me go,” she whimpered.

Shakespeare realized his own heart was beating as wildly as hers, his breath as ragged. He pushed her away. “I am - am only acting my part. The horned devil.”

“Then you’re a pretty good actor.” She stared at him, wary. “I think I should probably go.”

Will reached up, touching the cold, sharp tip of one of the horns. “Yes, perhaps you should. Send the dress - no, better, keep the dress. It fits not the character of my new script, but I think it sits perfectly upon you.”

She blushed. “Ah, alright. If you’re sure.” Though she took a few steps toward the exit, it seemed she would hesitate, now uncertain if he posed a danger to her.

Shakespeare stepped closer to her, widening his thin, sharp smile. “Unless, fair maid, you’d like to stay and allow me to remove the garment from your skin . . . with my teeth.”

“Nope! No thank you!” She practically ran away, comical in her haste.

Will stood there in the sun-drenched parlor, still smelling her light perfume. It felt so much emptier with her gone. And though he’d hoped for peace in her absence, he felt only turmoil.

“Perhaps I truly am bedeviled,” he mused. The blackened horns atop his head bobbed in silent agreement.

#ikemektober #ikemen vampire #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp william #ikemen shakespeare #ikemen william #otome #otome guys #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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squidproquoclarice · 4 years

Note

Hey Squid 👋🏻 Regarding your Sunrise AMA, what is one of your favourite moments from the story, or favourite thing about Sunrise in general? Was their a line or paragraph that stands out to you as one were you were like yes, this is good and just flowed easiest? Did you have any things that you knew straight away that you needed or wanted to write about? Also I was wondering what inspired you to have them join the Circus? And what do you think their kids jobs would be when they grow up? (I probably have a dozen more but I will just leave it at that for now 😊 ty!)

Heya! Let’s see. Since we’ve got multiple questions, I think I’ll leave the favorite moment(s) question for someone else to ask. Favorite thing about Sunrise: I started it a few days after finishing the game. From the savefiles and my chapter 1 posting date, it was only four days. Obviously Arthur touched something emotional within me, like he did for a lot of people, and seeing Sadie so cold, alone, and fatalistic in the Epilogue hurt too. I wanted to see if I tried to write what could have happened after that fight on the ridge where it might lead. So I guess my favorite thing about Sunrise is that it debunked the assumption that Arthur had to die for the story to work or matter. I wrote a journey for him and for Sadie that a lot of people connected to and told me that meant a lot to them to see them thrive and heal. Characters don’t need a tragic ending to be deeply meaningful. Characters don’t have to die for redemption. It’s not somehow more artistically pure or daring to kill someone off. I didn’t break RDR1 by writing Sunrise, and I made the plot beats of the RDR2 Epilogue work. So Arthur’s death also frankly wasn’t necessary for plot integrity towards the events of 1907 and 1911. A line or paragraph that I really enjoyed writing: I’ll go with one early on, from chapter 6, “Death Is A Woman”, that actually gave the chapter its title. He managed a low, dark chuckle at that, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. His lungs gave a bit of a grouchy hitch at it. “Newsmen are a different breed of confidence men and liars, that’s all. Anyway, I’m sure Death’s got to be a woman, Sister, cause it seems even she won’t have me.” That one made me feel like I really finally nailed Arthur and his character and state of mind in the weeks right after he’s had his entire life and identity knocked out from under him. But of course he has to couch it in a self-deprecating quip. Also kind of a funny line in retrospect because I hadn’t planned anything with Death/The Strange Man cropping up in the story at this point, but apparently Arthur’s wrong and Death is not a woman in RDRverse. ;) Things I immediately needed or wanted to write about: Giving Sadie a voice and POV to show what was going on in her head. Beyond that, giving both of them the respect of acknowledging their PTSD, but doing my best to let show what trauma recovery really looks like, and showing that it’s possible. I didn’t want to either shrug it off as inconvenient to a happy ending, or else treat them like permanently broken things. I wanted it to be a journey. When it came to Arthur’s TB, I also wanted to write something realistic and accurate to the period in terms of his recovery rather than just sort of handwaving it. Historical medicine’s an interest of mine, so this was a good chance to explore some of that. Joining the circus: This is one of the rarer instances where the tail sort of wagged the dog and I had to make something fit to an immovable future plan. I had them in 1904 having claimed a homestead up in Canada that needed to be settled and improved within three years. And I knew for 1907 Team Griffith needed to be in the five-state area of the RDR2 map in order to be involved in the Epilogue. I could have had them go back to Chuparosa and continue eking out a living, and debated pushing them back on the bounty hunter path to put them being sometimes in those American states that would let them cross paths with the Marstons somehow. Didn’t really like it. Given how averse they were to bounty hunting together with two very young children at home, how Sadie absolutely wasn’t going to be the little wife sitting at home and letting Arthur go alone into danger as an alternative, and how much they both liked the idea that they no longer needed to live that sort of life, it felt like I needed something else. And it needed to be something that they could walk away with no offense taken from in three years. In retrospect, I could have had them hire on at MacFarlane’s full time rather than seasonal and developed that bond even more, but I ended up coming up with a circus that folds in 1907 as a good alternative. Given they’re ace riders and crack shots and pretty fair actors, that Arthur was very used to a nomadic lifestyle, that circus folk are great actors and can deal some mild well-meaning trickery as part of the delight, that they were fairly egalitarian for the time, and that traveling circus folk sort of existed as a quasi-disreputable and tightly knit “outsider” group, it felt like a neat chance to mirror the gang, but in a positive way. So with the circus, I got to write Sadie and Arthur getting to live the best version of that kind of life, and sort of coming to peace with more of the past by it. Proving the things they missed about the gang weren’t the robberies or Dutch’s antisocial philosophy, but the people they loved and the freewheeling lifestyle. Also proving that while they enjoy that life, they do both really want to have something more settled and put down solid roots. Sadie misses that, and Arthur yearns for it as something he’s never had. Also noting I hadn’t planned at all on Arkady Rudenko when I wrote Sadie and Arthur performing as the “Cossack Karolovs”, and I only realized that connection after I’d written the final chapter. Guess my unconscious brain knew more than I thought even back then, though I’d only earmarked a few months before that final chapter trying to possibly work in the interesting fact of Ukrainians being a very prevalent immigrant group to the Canadian prairie provinces at the time. But yeah, as an actual Cossack kid, Archie’s probably going to laugh his ass off. Kid’s jobs: So I actually have a short scrapped bit that I didn’t include as an extra document at the end of chapter 88, though I debated it. I like the piece, but I wanted to leave it with Sadie and Arthur’s journal entries and the circle of things being sort of complete. It’s a preface to a book called “Red Dead Redemption” written by Jack--who’s become a writer of a fairly famous radio play turned TV serial--in the ‘60′s once all the OGs are finally gone and he feels safe to tell that story. It mentions that the illustrations were done by his wife, Bea. So yeah, Bea got Arthur’s artistic talent, and by submitting her work as “B.M. Griffith”, she managed to get some illustration jobs that would have been denied to her as “Beatrice”. Mattie (Matt as he grows older), becomes a doctor. He’s already got the caring heart and desire to heal and help people. He’ll likely end up helping Felipe out as a teenager and learning some of the ropes there before going to college. Susie ended up becoming a teacher. There were definitely still strictures at the time against married women working as teachers, so if/when she got married (and I think if so, she did it later in life) she’d have been expected to retire and effectively become a housewife. But she’d still keep teaching as a tutor. Andy, with his energy and love of horses and the outdoors, actually shows a passion for farming and ranching. So he’s the one who ends up running the day-to-day of Paradise Run as the next generation. Feel free to keep up with the AMA with those further questions! Might be better to send them in individually, though, as this one got pretty long. ;)

#rdr2 #may the sunrise #sunrise ama #writing #fic from the parking lot #foundynnel

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slade-neko · 3 years

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Monster Hunter Rise ~ My Thoughts

Oh, man, Monster Hunter Rise, where to begin?! I guess I’ll start with the game itself in a nutshell is a BLAST! It’s not without a few issues I have with it personally, but I’ve been having a lot of fun playing it nonetheless. I want to take the time to mention I am a second generation hunter myself. Started playing Monster Hunter in 2008 with Freedom 2 on PSP at the tender age of 13. So its safe to say I’ve got a lot to say about this game! If you want to read the full thing then here it is.

This review is MOSTLY spoiler-free! There isn’t a lot you can spoil in this game... I mention some endgame stuff and there is a screenshot that contains the final boss’s armor but not focused on it. Just a friendly warning if you are a die-hard spoiler avoider.

The Weapon Types

I’ll start with the fact that the weapon types in MH Rise are all really fun to play and have very well polished movesets. I haven’t extensively played with all the weapon types, but I’d like to say a few things about the ones I have been using. Long Sword feels the best it has ever been in the entire series in my opinion, ironically this game starts you off with a Long Sword equipped too.

I went ham with Long Sword throughout the main story, but now have swapped over to maining Light Bowgun. I was a big Heavy Bowgun main in MH World, but shield spreadshot builds don't feel the same for me as they did in World, but the Light Bowgun in this game shreds. Narga Piercing LBG for distance shooting and then Magnamalo Spread LBG for getting up close and personal. Evade Extender 3 makes zipping around the battlefield a breeze and next to impossible to get hit making it a very fun and rewarding playstyle.

My brother on the other hand has been hitting hard with Long Sword and the new Hunting Horn. He misses the original note playing at times, but the damage on HH is insane and healing constantly with the Rampage Horn is a big plus too for a game with no health regen factors. He’s been building sets for nearly every weapon type, but LS and HH are his two mains. Both weapon types were introduced in 2nd Gen, where we started, so maining those two for him is a bit symbolic. Also the fact that LS has been heralded as the most used weapon-type and HH the least used as of recent games is a neat contrast to use both.

The Characters, Setting, and Story

I know Monster Hunter isn’t exactly known for it’s characters or story, heck most games hardly had a story until World came out. Typically Monster Hunter games follow the simple formula of big bad flagship monster causing problems with local village and ecosystem, hunt it, happy ending?, turns out bigger badder scarier secret boss monster was actually causing the problems, hunt it, true happy ending. Nothing wrong with that, I can roll with whatever story they make, majority of players are here for the gameplay. That said, I still enjoy and appreciate what story the devs put together no matter how it turns out. I liked what Rise offered, nothing too grand like World, more of a simple story following the old games formula.

Surprisingly I haven’t seen many people talk about the characters in this game and the little fact that this is the first time in the ENTIRE SERIES (outside of MH Stories) characters have REAL names! Hinoa, Minoto, Fugen, Yomogi, Iori, Hamon, Rondine, Hojo, Utsushi, like honest to goodness actual NAMES, not “Blacksmith,” “Village Elder,” or “Fish Mongress.” The characters are fun though, nice and memorable, not really annoying. Also following World’s fully voice-acted characters is a nice touch. I sometimes miss the days of old when characters had simple grunts and you read everything, but I doubt that will ever come back now, just something lost to the classic MH games.

Then there’s the super Asian-inspired ninja-like theme to the entire game. You’ll either love it, hate it, or maybe you don’t care about how the village is at all. I like the whole ninja aesthetic while it does work for this game in particular, but I will admit its a little bit weird in the entirety of Monster Hunter as a series.

The Hunts, Gameplay, and Everything Else

Ah yes, the gameplay, the heart of the Monster Hunter games... while yes I do think this game is a lot of fun overall, I do have a few complaints with it... I’m going to break this down into mini-sections because there is a lot to cover here.

Quest Preparations Maybe I’m just old school, but I feel like they took away a lot of the prep work for going on hunts. No cold/ hot drinks, access full inventory on quests, refill items, no longer eat for attack/ def buffs, monsters always visible on maps, no random spawning on High Rank quests, little things like that. In the old games you had to prepare for each hunt, it was part of the game. You go after a big monster, you make sure you got everything you need to win BEFORE you depart on the quest. It feels like they are double-downing more so on just the fighting itself.

Tracking Monsters Monsters aren’t even tracked anymore, they’re always visible on your map. No having to run around and look for them like classic MH games... Though to be fair maybe that’s better off in the old games with the paintball tracking system and individual loaded areas than in a game with a fully open-world setting because I got headaches tracking monsters in MH World’s open-world especially the Ancient Forest.

The Monsters The new monsters in this game a welcome addition. I don’t really have any problems with their designs or fights. Have to say Goss Horag has a very fun fight, but my favorite new monster is probably Rakna-Kadaki. A pelican spider is a dang neat idea for a monster and there aren’t a lot of Temnocerans. Would love to see the return of the Carapaceons though! This is literally the perfect game for Shen-Gaoren to come back with the new rampage system! Bring back my giant enemy crab, Capcom please!

Monster Behavior/ Minion Monsters/ Herbivores Added this subsection to talk specifically about the monsters’ behaviors in this game along with the minion monsters cause while not very important overall there are still some things to be said.

Same thing in MH World, but the monsters act more like animals now. While yes, that is more realistic and is mostly a good thing, but it honestly gives me second thoughts about hunting them. In World most boss monsters wouldn’t attack you unless you attacked them first. That made me feel terrible walking up to a calm Teostra just chilling in the dunes and then I start smacking the heck outta it with a weapon... Old games the monsters saw you, the “something’s gonna getcha music starts playing” and then it charges you and your in the fight! Now its like you’re the monster killing a bunch of animals (exaggerating a bit, but still!)

What’s not exaggerated is the minions in this game. The old games had minions that were incredibly annoying and I wanted to kill them. This game however has the sweet little bullfangos, jagras, and other minions just lazing around sleeping. My brother and I were in need of Rhenoplos scalps for some gear, set out on a quest to slay some, find them peacefully sleeping by some rocks and I ask my brother, “Okay, so you gonna bash its skull in with your hammer and pop its eyes out or am I gonna fill it full of lead with my bowgun?” Needlessly violent example, I know, but it still makes the point that it feels more like animal cruelty when they aren’t bothering anyone. I’d rather the minions just start charging me and piss me off as a player, so I wouldn’t feel bad defending myself to take them out.

Lastly, there’s the herbivores. Not a lot to say on the matter, but I feel like they could’ve given a few more herbivore types. Like no Aptonoth in this game? I thought they were kinda a staple of the series for herbivores. I also feel like the maps could feel a bit more lively with more herbivores placed around. Maybe Mosswines in the Shrine Ruins, especially when scaling the central mountain shrine with the mushroom colonies everywhere. Great spots for mushroom piggies!

The Maps/ Locales I love them! Well for the most part. They are good and I don’t dislike any in particular. My only problems is that they sometimes feel too big, too open, and too empty. I know they have a lot of stuff in them, gathering points, spiribirds, relics, and many other things, but there is an odd sense of emptiness there. Like I mentioned earlier, I think perhaps adding in more scattered monsters might’ve helped that a bit. Only other thing to mention is that the new locales rely too heavily on the Palamutes to get around effectively. I personally like bringing my kitties with me on multiplayer quests, so I am at the mercy of wirebug zipping to get around and often left behind.

Oh, last thing I will mention on maps is while its not in the base game, I pray they add back the Tower as a map. Preferably the 2nd Gen version where you start at base camp and scale the tower. A game that’s all about rising and verticality, the Tower is literally the PERFECT map to have in this game!

Spiribirds Love em or hate them, there’s the Spiribirds. Cool concept, but I don’t think it works very well in my opinion. I don’t care about roaming the map to collect my bird buffs, I just want to eat for Attack Up large like old games and be done. I definitely try to grab them when I can, but I can’t be bothered to chase down all the birds each and every hunt just to get my full Attack up buff.

Wirebugs On with the title of the game being Rise giving meaning to the new wirebugs feature. Wirebugs are fun to use, zip around the map, super attacks, and what-not, but I can’t help but feel its a little out of place in a Monster Hunter game. Feels like I’m Spider-Man or something. I know I praised this when I played the demo and I’m not dissing it now, I still enjoy using them, but I am also admitting that they do feel very outlandish for a Monster Hunter game. Still better than the slinger/ clutch claw though! Let’s never talk about those accursed items again.

Silkbinds The Silkbind attacks though are fully great! I love having access to super attacks like Hunting Arts and things like that for my weapons, so I sincerely hope they keep some kind of super attack format in future games.

Mounting The mounting system in this game is weird, but pretty cool! Its a great way to let you control a monster for a change and beat the snot out of other monsters as a monster. I saw someone describe it is as “going full on Ratatouille with the monsters” and honestly there isn’t a better way to explain it than that.

Palicoes/ Palamutes The Buddy System in this game is great! Palicoes still feel about the same as they did in World, maybe a little less powerful now since you can have two of them at once, still love them though and prefer to bring a Palico with me on my quests.

Then there is the new doggies, the Palamutes! Super cute and cuddly, but also quite powerful! I love the doggos, but I wish the maps weren’t designed around them. I like to bring my cat with me on multiplayer quests, so I don’t get a dog to ride and the maps are HUGE, very wide-opened, lots of running... Wirebugs help, but still not quite as fast as the puppies.

Oh and two little pet peeve of mine is you can’t see other players buddy names and you can’t change buddy comments! I want people to be able to see my buddies’ names and I need my Garfield cat’s comment to say “I hate Mondays.” and my Sonic dog to say “Gotta go fast!” and my Courage the Cowardly Dog dog to have “The things I do for love.” Unless there is a hidden menu somewhere where you can edit these, but alas I have yet to find it...

Voiced Hunters Hunters have always been the silent protagonists of the games with attack grunts, hurt sounds, and little to nothing more. Now they are full voiced for gestures and full hunting dialogue. I really like this, its funny to hear them shout things and stuff and having some familiar voice actors in the game is really cool to have them voice my characters. My brother rocking the Xander Mobus voice-type on his hunter is freakin’ cool and hilarious at the same time. I am tempted to make a Zentisu hunter, name him Zenitsu, give him the Zentisu voice-type, and go full Thunderclap maining a Thunder-type Long Sword just for the heck of it. Oh and also there’s the fact that CRISTINA VEE IS OFFICIALLY IN A MONSTER HUNTER GAME NOW AS A FEMALE VOICE OPTION! Still feels weird comparing it to previous games, but I’m okay with it because the fun factor in it outweighs the weird for me personally. Besides if you for some reason decided you hate fun you can just mute them in the options.

Layered Armor (or lack-of) I love Layered Armor... and there is only two sets in this game. The Deluxe Edition’s “Kamurai” samurai looking layered armor and the Magnamalo amiibo “Sinister” layered set with a few head only layered pieces as DLC in the eShop. I was honestly expecting all armor to be layered and unlockable in the base game after the huge demand for layered armor in MH World and Transmog being a thing in the side team’s last game, MHXX/ MHGU.

I think a mixed system of both Transmog and Layered Armor would be ideal. Transmog system for in-game armors and then additional bonus themed armor sets made as Layered Armors like the Kamurai set. That way players can be rewarded for crafting all the armors with use of a Transmog system even giving an incentive to make multiple sets twice to Transmog differently. While the devs could still make money off cool unique Layered sets as DLC in the eShop. Literally fixes both issues right there. Feel free to use that idea, Capcom, and you’re welcome.

Multiplayer/ Lobbies/ Scaling Four people lobbies are back! Not necessarily a good thing. I mean hey its not bad either, but I honestly preferred the larger lobbies like World had. Having more people doesn’t make it less social. All they need is to force people to do multiplayer quests in the Gathering Hub. I prefer large lobbies and have people do whatever they want and meet up in the Hub for socials. Mainly what I dislike about 4 player lobbies is everyone will be expected to help each other on their quests within the lobby. I just want to chill and do my own thing, but see and interact with other players in the village between quests. Oh, but the ability to join quests late is seriously great! Dropping into a lobby and seeing people already on a quest and being able to jump in with them is a godsend!

Difficulty scaling is a very weird thing. It’s basically a double-edged sword. Its good to have because you can beat everything on your own, but that also defeats the purpose of multiplayer. In the past games, Hub quests were scaled higher for multiplayer, so getting more people to help only made it easier. Now, why bother with players when you could just do it yourself scaled to an easier single-player difficulty? I can usually get faster times when I solo things now. Multiplayer is there just for the social aspect to goof around with friends or if you just wanna do chill hunting with people. It’s no longer a requirement or an aid for beating the game. Like I said, its a weird thing, not bad, but not good either? I dunno, I just compare a lot of things to the classic MH games. In the past getting a second player to help makes it twice as easy compared to beating a Hub quest by yourself, while getting four players makes it where you’re effectively doing 4x more damage. Now its like you get 4-players and the monster gets 4x the health too. That might not be the exact scaling, but you get my point.

One last thing I want to touch on which a lot of people have already mentioned is the fact multiplayer can get pretty chaotic. Especially when you have 4 players with 4 palamutes all smacking away at a monster. Hit effects are EVERYWHERE! Creates quite the mess and can be hard to tell what’s happening.

Quest Difficulty/ Harder Monsters I don’t care too much about how hard the game is and I know this is a touchy subject, but I do like challenging monsters, without relying on gimmicky crap to fight them. MH World was filled with gimmicky fights like Behemoth, Leshen, even Alatreon and Fatalis to some degree. I still have Extreme Behemoth PTSD. I just want good clean fights, no damage checks, unavoidable one-hit kill moves, crap like that is not cool. I want to cart because I screwed up and made a wrong move and got punished by some wicked strong attack from a big bad boss monster. Not a stupid damage check telling me, “Oh, you not do enough damage, you die now.” To be fair, old Monster Hunter games had some gimmicky fights too though. MH4U with Apex Monsters and Wystones, MHGU with HP tank Hyper Monsters, heck even Freedom 2 was unintentionally gimmicky with outrageous hitboxes haha. Oh, that game was brutal! Deviants in MHGU were amazing though! Some really tough fights there, but incredibly rewarding to beat, that’s what I love!

The Endgame/ Secret Bosses (or lack-of) There is no Endgame, we are stuck in the Infinity War for now (or Affinity War as my brother calls it since the meta is all about those crits!) Okay, so that’s a bit harsh, all jokes aside there is an endgame, but its not exactly what I was expecting and leaves me wanting more. One of my favorite aspects of Monster Hunter games is the endgames and the secrets they hold, which this game had very few! They revealed nearly EVERY monster before this game launched. I get it, they want to sell their game, but leave some secrets please. Only monster that was secret was just the final boss. I love getting to the end of the game and unlocking new quests to fight the big scary endgame bosses. I guess World kinda suffered from that too a little bit. Mostly hanging on to old games like Freedom Unite unlocking Fatalis, MH3U getting Abyssal Lagiacrus, and Molten Tigrex in MH4U was very cool! Could just be the state of games these days like Smash Ultimate where they reveal everything before the game is out since data miners will just leak them anyways... kinda makes me sad.

Updates and Future Content

I know this game has planned updates that will add a lot of content, but I can’t help but feel those “updates” were part of the game that’s been withheld to make the updates feel like so much more. Its like they ripped out the ending of the game and are passing it of as a big huge update to be released after launch.

The real kick to this is the fact there is no Hunter Rank in the current game... I’ve done approximately 300 quests so far in my game, its going to hurt me very badly when I see the HR update come out and I don’t get any HR for the hunts I’ve done so far. I know some people could care less about HR and just see it as a number, but for me that number is a nice thing to see. I love seeing it go up as I do more quests and play more of the game. Going hard at launch has been a lot of fun, but less rewarding knowing I am quite possibly not getting any HR points for all my gameplay.

Only reason I can see they would not want to allow a buildup of HR before this update is because this update will add a bunch of new endgame monsters most likely unlocked through getting high Hunter Rank. I pray for my boy Akantor to finally shine again, I know the side team loves him, so let’s please get him into Rise! AND Please don’t show them off in videos, Capcom! Just stealth drop a bunch of Elder Dragons and Endgame bosses into the game!

Final Thoughts

I’m probably just stuck in the old days some, I guess this is just how the games will be going forward, but a bit of that makes me sad. Feels like the game series I loved so much is losing some character and personality of what made is special and unique. This review might’ve got a bit ranty, but I like to critique a game series I am very passionate about. World was very similar to this. From everything I’ve said, by no means do I hate this game. I still love MH Rise and the entire series and I’ll keep playing it having a lot of fun along the way. Best way I can describe Monster Hunter Rise is it’s the Side Team’s Monster Hunter World. Its fresh, new, and very experimental!

All in all this game is still great and I stand by what I said at the beginning of this entire post, its a blast to play! I hope everyone can enjoy it and remember, Happy Hunting!

#Monster Hunter Rise #Monster Hunter #MHRise

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