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historyhermann · 9 months

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My Dad the Bounty Hunter Season 2 Spoiler-Filled Review

My Dad the Bounty Hunter is a coming-of-age animated sci-fi adventure series by Everett Downing Jr. and Patrick Harpin. It is a continuation from the first season, which came out in February. It comes at a time when Black-centered animations are blossoming. This piece was written during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strikes. Without the labor of the writers and actors currently on strike, My Dad the Bounty Hunter, being reviewed here, wouldn't exist.

Reprinted from Pop Culture Maniacs and Wayback Machine. This was the forty-eighth article I wrote for Pop Culture Maniacs. This post was originally published on September 4, 2023.

The second season of My Dad the Bounty Hunter picks up where the last one left off. Sean (voiced by JeCobi Swain) tells a story about his space adventures in class. Lisa (voiced by Priah Ferguson) acts like know-at-all to her science teacher. She declares that their dying planet and slow technology growth will ensure that outer space exploration is impossible. Their mother, Tess (voiced by Yvonne Orji) comes to school, learning that the school administrators see Sean as a genius, but they see Lisa as a problem student. She talks to her husband, Terry (voiced by Laz Alonso), who is working at a shoe store, telling him they shouldn't keep secrets. Everything goes awry when a bounty hunter captures him, which she, Sean, and Lisa see, traumatizing them.

And that is only the first episode. This season throws you right into the action with new characters like Blobby (voiced by Patrick Harpin), a scammer extraterrestrial who was once captured by Terry in his bounty hunter persona of "Sabo." Later, Tess puts herself, and her kids, in danger. She travels in Glorlox's stolen ship to a nearby prison. She hopes that Terry is imprisoned there, while there's an active bounty on her head. There are typical sci-fi elements like space warping and laser battles. Scenes in the space restaurant Bucky Quantos and A.I. like KRS (voiced by Yvette Nicole Brown) enhance this. The quick action and exciting plot make the series even more engaging. It draws you into the animation, by Dwarf Animation Studio, which has a smooth 3-D style.

The Conglomerate, officially known as Endless Horizons Conglomerate, are still the villains. With the death of The Fixer in the first season, Pam (voiced by Chelsea Peretti) is the organization's new CEO. However, there is a twist. The Conglomerate is not holding Terry in their prison. Pam claims to investors that the Conglomerate is trying to become "socially conscious." She boasts about reported rehabilitation of criminals to make them "productive" corporate slaves. She further champions the new food options at the ever-popular Bucky Quantos restaurant. The Conglomerate's changes ensure the restaurant is no longer a "glorious palace of meat and grease and cholesterol," as one character puts it. Instead, Pam declares that Conglomerate will connect people, and the universe, with warp gates. She is assisted by robot enforcers, such as Beta (voiced by Mara Junot), who calls Pam "the Creator."

This series reminds me of Okja. The 2017 film mixes the science-fantasy and action-adventure genres. Directed by Bong Joon-ho, also known for Parasite and Snowpiercer, the Mirando Corporation are the villains. The corporation has a similar goal to the Conglomerate. They plan to raise genetically modified super pigs to sell meat to the masses. However, when they kidnap one pig, Okja, its owner, Mija, a young South Korean girl, tries to get it back. She is helped by an animal liberation group to rescue Okja. The group plans to reveal the corporation's misdeeds to the world. Obviously, My Dad the Bounty Hunter is different from Okja, which focuses on the horrors of the food industry. Both have a strongly anti-corporate message even as they are on the streaming platform of Netflix, a conglomerate of its own.

Coming back to My Dad the Bounty Hunter, the second season shares similarities with space operas in the Star Wars franchise, like the third episode. In that episode, the fissures between the family members come to the surface. For one, Sean and Lisa can't enter the casino because they are kids. Only adults are allowed in. Secondly, Tess admits she grew up in constant danger when she was younger but doesn't want to talk about it, making Lisa suspicious. Thirdly, Sean begins to bond with Blobby, and Blobby with Lisa. She gives him tips on playing galactic poker. The episode hints at what is to come. The Widowmaker (voiced by Ralph Ineson) reveals that the Doloraam High Council kidnapped Terry. This terrifies Tess, confusing Sean and Lisa as to her reaction. She is implied to be non-human.

The third episode was the first time I had laughed during the season. The mother of Philip, a cat-faced creature, embarrasses him. She forces him to apologize for insulting Tess. It is moments like that which make me like the series even better. However, at other points, dramatic elements are more emphasized than the comedic ones.

The fourth episode continues directly from the third. The Afrofuturist themes come to the fore. This season is more Afrofuturist than the first season. The Doloraami royalty are revealed: Emperor Odoman (voiced by Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) and Empress Gurira (voiced by Janet Hubert). Odoman towers above Terry, on the coliseum floor, and conducts the trial against him. Terry gets a sleazy public defender named Ja Boluu. Boluu's voice actor, Godfrey, previously voiced Kofi in Steven Universe. Kofi is a stern, and somewhat authoritarian patriarch, of the Pizza family in Beach City, and owner of the family business. While Boluu is different from Kofi, there are other comparisons between Steven Universe and this series.

In both series, the protagonist is on trial. In Steven Universe, Steven is on trial for his mother's crimes (killing a Diamond). He is accused of being his mother because of the pink diamond in his belly. (Blue) Zircon defends him. She finds a flaw in the Diamonds' case. She accuses them of being complicit. As a result, Yellow Diamond poofs her. The trial in My Dad the Bounty Hunter is quite different. Emperor Odoman charges Terry with spacecraft theft, assaulting a royal guard, and abducting Sa Janeera, princess of Doloraam. Also, his public defender has wronged many people.

As it turns out, Tess is Sa Janeera. Terry acts surprised, but likely knew already. Unlike Steven in Steven Universe, who barely escapes the all-powerful Diamonds, Terry goes through tribulations of fire to annul his guilty sentence. The pompous B'Caala (voiced by Keith David), a Prince-like cat man who desires political power, tries to make a deal. He suggests that Terry narc on Tess. He refuses. Terry loves and cares about her. This refusal shows his loyalty to her.

Viewers who watch this series may see similarities to Black Panther and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever, which have Afrofuturist themes. However, Africanfuturist animations like Kizazi Moto, or futuristic elements in Supa Team 4 are more apt. Black Panther has been criticized for embodying police habits and tendencies. Some have said it sanitizes "cop behavior and brand it as heroism." In contrast, the main characters in My Dad the Bounty Hunter, like Tess and Terry, are on the run from bounty hunters. They are the furthest thing from cops. This series doesn't have copaganda, even though the Kingdom has a retributive justice system.

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One of the major themes in My Dad the Bounty Hunter is the importance and value of family. Those ties are tested in this season. Lisa is annoyed that Tess is keeping secrets from her. She ignores Sean's warning about not knowing the full story. This comes to a head in the fifth episode. Adja (voiced by Thando Thabethe) claims Tess made the "wrong" choice in leaving Doloraam. Although this is hurtful, it is nothing compared to Beta kidnapping Lisa and Sean. Tess loses it. She is paralyzed, unsure of her next steps. The credits further emphasize this by not having a music track. This encourages audience members to sympathize with Tess.

These themes mesh with Sean and Lisa's connections to their Doloraami roots. Tess also unlocks her long-forgotten Doloraami powers, allowing her to defeat Beta. Interlinking to one's ancestral identity is not unique to this series. For instance, the Kizazi Moto episode/films "Mkhuzi: The Spirit Racer" and "Hatima" emphasize similar themes, as does the lackluster episode/film "First Totem Problems." Similarly, Carmen Sandiego, in the series of the same name, investigates her Argentinian roots in an important sub-theme of that series. In addition, Amphibia and The Ghost and Molly McGee incorporate Thai culture into the storylines, with the protagonists examining their parentage and ancestry.

Like other nations in Black speculative fiction, Doloraam has independence to make its own decisions. Pam detests this. It puts her plan to seize the planet's crystals, known as Kalatite, in jeopardy. Like in the Kizazi Moto episode/film "Herderboy," with herding of cattle to gain crystals, to power their society, the Kalatite crystals are the foundation of their society. They are sacred and have been in hands of the Doloraami people for generations. It makes sense that the Conglomerate would work with B'Caala in hopes that the royal council will agree to the Conglomerate's terms. Even though the council is unaware of B'Caala's treachery, they are rightly skeptical of the Conglomerate. They worry whether they will be kings or if the Conglomerate will have control instead.

The Conglomerate doesn't put all their eggs in one basket. Pam develops a plan which aims to achieve the Conglomerate's goals. There is a huge demonstration of the "good" that can come from warp portals. This does not convince the royal council. As a result, Pam later grumbles that she is tired of being nice. This implies that she will soon show her "true" nature. Her expression changes after learning that Sean, Lisa, and Tess are royalty. She believes that returning them to Doloraam will cause the royal council to vote in favor of the Conglomerate. This is a major miscalculation.

Odoman and Gurira are glad to see Tess, and meet Lisa and Sean. Terry is freed, after Tess confronts her parents about his kidnapping. B'Caala is tossed aside like a used dishrag. Pam says that because she brought back Tess, she doesn't need him. To make matters worse, his tribe no longer recognizes his sovereignty, after he beats up Terry in a fight. His removal from the royal bloodline dashes his attempt to seize political power. B'Caala is further crest-fallen by Tess's marriage to Terry.

Pam cares little about B'Caala. She only wants the deal with the royal council so she can exploit the citizenry, like any imperialist. She does not want to get involved in leadership squabbles. The royal council gives Pam a container with gold bars for her trouble. At the same time, they reject the Conglomerate's proposal. Gurira says that they cannot, "in good conscience," accept it. She argues that the Kalatite crystals are part of the Kingdom, as are the people and their family. The Conglomerate's real plan manifests itself at the end of seventh episode. Their full-scale invasion almost resembles tactics of the Galactic Empire in the Star Wars franchise. The latter wants order and stability, while cracking down on any who disobeys.

The season's last two episodes involve the struggle against the Conglomerate. It is revealed that Doloraam is not defenseless. A shield protecting the city is activated, as are cannons to fire at invaders. An arsenal of weapons is also revealed. During this fight, Lisa connects with the Kalatite. She fights alongside Adja in the city, calming Tess's worries. Blobby and Sean work together to shut down the portal which is providing the Conglomerate with additional forces for their assault. In a scene akin to an Imperial cruiser falling toward Ryloth, in the Star Wars Rebels episode "Homecoming," the portal's closure slices a Conglomerate ship in half. The end is near. Despite this, Pam desperately attempts to finish the plan, at any cost.

The final episode of My Dad the Bounty Hunter wraps up everything, almost too nicely. The robots accelerate their extraction of Kalatite crystals. Pam has not learned the lesson that Elena (in Elena of Avalor) and Lunella Lafeyette in Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur made abundantly clear: speeding up the timeline only leads to disaster. Glorlox and his crew gives a helping hand, as does B'Caala. He informs Tess about Pam's location. In a conversation with her, he reveals that he wanted to rule the planet, not see it destroyed. Following this is a great hand-to-hand combat scene between Pam and Tess. She pulls out Pam's neural link, implying that the ship she was piloting the ship remotely, like the robots. Of course, this isn't the end.

Tess fights Pam in a battle in a creepy swamp. The true form of Pam is revealed to be a huge alligator-like monster. Tess barely wins the battle. She is heavily injured, and Terry, Sean, and Lisa save her just in time. The fast-forward that follows is typical of many animations, either films or series. Kipo and the Age of the Wonderbeasts had one in the final episode as did Nimona in the end of that film.

The fruits of their victory are apparent. Tess (wearing boots made from Pam's skin) hangs out with her family, her mother (voiced by Leslie Uggams), her friend Adja, and other compatriots on Earth. Everyone bonds. Lisa agrees to show Adja (who has a crush on Glorlox) around Earth. Blobby works with Sean to turn his story into a movie. There is a good, but untrue, quip from Blobby about how "all the good books" get turned into movies.

The series ends on a slice-of-life note. All of them play football together. However, a cliffhanger post-credits scene, which shows a warp gate activating, and a ship passing through, hints at a possible continuation. However, a lack of continuation for My Dad the Bounty Hunter would not leave fans hankering for more, as they do with High Guardian Spice, which has which raises more questions than answers. While the central conflict in the final episodes ended too quickly, the second season finale is perfect. I'm afraid that having another season would ruin that ending for fans and others alike.

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In my season one review, I noted that the series impressed me. I described the animation and voice actors as top notch, praised the music selection, and noted that many voice actors were well-known. I also compared the series to episodes of Dogs in Space, Cleopatra in Space, Star Wars: The Bad Batch, and contrasted it with more mature themes in Helluva Boss and Invincible. Those insights still ring true. New characters like Blobby bring more humor to the series. Joshua Mosley's score for the series, often including rap or hip-hop music, can make you excited to watch more.

The voice actors of My Dad the Bounty Hunter are a diverse bunch. JeCobi Swain has been in the entertainment industry since at least 2016. He has voiced characters in Eureka! and Firebuds. In contrast, Priah Ferguson, well-known for her role in the 1980s nostalgia trip known as Stranger Things, voiced Bailey in the subpar animated series, Hamster & Gretel. Yvonne Orji has range as evidenced by the fact that she also voices Gigi in Velma.

Laz Alonso has worked in the entertainment industry since early 2000s. His voice role in this series is one of his first voice roles, apart from some characters in Robot Chicken. Patrick Harpin, who is also this show's creator and a storyboard artist, provided his voice to characters in two Hotel Transylvania films. Yvette Nicole Brown has been very prolific in her voice acting. Brown voiced characters in Strange Planet, The Ghost and Molly McGee, Dogs in Space, Fairfax, and many others.

Voice actors Chelsea Peretti, Mara Junot, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, Janet Hubert, Keith David, Thando Thabethe, Leslie Uggams, and Ralph Ineson are just as talented as those previously listed. This series also features Venice May Wong (also called Venice Wong) as Halvey, a friend of Sean and Lisa. Apart from her role in this series, Peretti recently voiced Queenie in Adventure Time: Fiona and Cake. Junot voiced Shoola in Arcane. Akinnuoye-Agbaje is known for providing his voice for Bilal in the film Bilal: A New Breed of Hero. David has voiced characters in Firebuds, The Proud Family: Louder and Prouder, Final Space, DuckTales, and Young Justice. In contrast, this series is one of the first voice roles for Hubert, Thabethe, Uggams, Ineson, and Wong.

The show's cast is stellar, making the characters more relatable. The series is geared toward a Black audience and designed for families. This can draw people in, even those who prefer 2-D animation over 3-D animation. Those who watch it may connect with the messages, social commentary, or other aspects. They may also enjoy the show writing of Harpin, Downing, Justin Gordon-Montgomery, Shakira Pressley, Ryan Harer, or Tomi Adeyemi.

Gordon-Montgomery previously directed episodes of DC Super Hero Girls and storyboarded High Guardian Spice and Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure episodes. Pressley wrote for Craig of the Creek. Harer was a script coordinator for Centaurworld and Middle School Moguls. Adeyemi is a Nigerian-American writer best known for her Legacy of Orïsha trilogy of young adult fantasy novels, which have Afrofuturist themes. All these people comprised the majority-Black writers room for the series.

Overall, the series is fun to watch. It is almost as fun as some Cleopatra of Space episode. In my season one review I said that series was unique and shined. I described it as "not my favorite series ever." In contrast, I enjoyed the second season even more. There are many more series to compare it to now than there was in February. My predictions that the series will explore more about family dynamics and conflicts proved correct, as did the portrayal of a "loving Black family."

However, Lisa did not have a boyfriend or a girlfriend in this season. In fact, neither Lisa nor Sean had romantic connections to anyone else. I think this is purposeful. In fact, Sean cares more about the fate of Beta, and the control she has over her body, than any person, apart from his family and friends. Sadly, the dearth of fan fiction for this series on AO3 or Fanfiction.net makes views of fans on this subject unknown.

As I say with every show that drops on the same day, I would have preferred 1-2 episodes of My Dad the Bounty Hunter air every week. The same "binge" model has been followed for Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, Supa Team 4, Carmen Sandiego, and latest season of Disenchantment. Hopefully, future series will follow the lead of anime and release only one to two episodes per week.

I liked the emphasis on storytelling, as shown through Sean wanting to tell his own tall tales, and trying to be true to himself. The latter has a parallel in Blobby reuniting with his other half in the sixth episode. It echoes how Steven Universe reunited with Pink Steven in the Steven Universe series finale, "Change Your Mind". Watching this season was worth it. I was glad I did so because this season is more Afrofuturist than the first season, as it addresses concerns and themes of the African diaspora through its speculative fiction and technoculture.

I'm glad I remembered that My Dad the Bounty Hunter even had a second season because I only was reminded when reading social media posts from fans about it. Unfortunately, mainstream reviewers seem to have ignored the second season's release. Despite the fact there are reviews out there, an online search indicated that major sites like The A.V. Club, IGN, Los Angeles Times, CBR, and The Hollywood Reporter have not penned reviews for the show's second season. I'm not sure the exact reason, apart from unconscious racism, but it does this show a disservice in many ways.

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At present, the series is on hiatus. Its fate has not been determined. Fans on social media have praised the series as awesome, fun, sweet, beautiful, incredible, and enjoyed the attention to detail. Netflix also deserves criticism for not marketing the series, leaving that job to the fans and creators (and crew). It is a clear insult. On the other hand, the release of this series shows that original stories matter.

My Dad the Bounty Hunter comes out at a time that negotiations to end the strikes of writers and actors are ongoing, with no agreement in sight. Wildbrain's workers have said they are moving to form a union and the animation industry is under strain, with work drying up and studios cutting back on employment. Dwarf Animation Studios is not mentioned on a recently-circulated spreadsheet noting conditions within animation studios. Some reviews on Glassdoor were positive, describing it as having a good company culture. Others noted it can be disorganized or were more critical.

It is not known if Netflix will renew the series for another season. This series comes at an apt time, since many other Black animations are being released nowadays. It is worth checking out, despite Netflix's lack of promotion and mainstream reviewers completely ignoring the second season's release.

My Dad the Bounty Hunter can be streamed on Netflix.

#my dad the bounty hunter #afrofuturism #black animation #black people #sci fi #animation #reviews #high guardian spice #moon girl and devil dinosaur #elena of avalor #reviewers #kizazi moto: generation fire #supa team 4 #africanfuturism #star wars #anti corporations #anti capitalism #Youtube

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eightam · 2 years

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Django Unchained Vol. 1 #7

Art by Alex Ross

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anya-eldermourne-apologist · 4 months

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seraphina has killed a lot of people yes but almost all of them have been criminals with bounties on their head (because she’s literally a bounty hunter) AND she isn’t even the only character on the show who has. are you calling out characters like clarissa for doing the same thing? just say you can’t handle complex characters

okay but who actually cares about Clarissa lol

#I’ve yet to see a pro Clarissa blog #so there’s no point in anti posting because everyone already knows she sucks #but somehow when it’s a different vampire bounty hunter with an even higher body count #I’M the problem…#‘you can’t handle complex characters’ I’m literally a pro Anya and Morgan blog lol #also we don’t know that they were all guilty #or even all bounties #it’s all hearsay and Seraphina’s word #I don’t trust that whole ‘I don’t lie’ thing

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i-am-mystic · 1 year

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Quirk acquired: Cove Phobe

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grimlocksword · 10 months

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Woke Gen Con Likes Segregation

#youtube #gen con #woke is evil #woke #wokeness #anti woke #toy bounty hunters

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eupheme · 1 month

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— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope.

You hadn’t.

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure.

It doesn't fucking matter.

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you.

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy.

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic.

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat.

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals.

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in.

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you.

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together.

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound.

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you.

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough.

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead.

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber.

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones.

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into.

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them.

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm.

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs.

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free.

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest.

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again.

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way.

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye.

You both know how this will go, when you get back home.

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart.

Maybe he’d show.

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after.

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart.

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge.

No one was coming for you.

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin.

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him.

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls.

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below.

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience.

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret.

Comin' after a girl then, too.

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind.

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago.

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back.

But he's never much liked being underground.

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through.

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that.

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you.

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons.

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow.

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet.

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth.

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently.

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all.

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away.

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation.

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes.

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after.

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck.

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down.

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.

His whistle echoes in the chamber.

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him.

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery.

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death.

It rankles him, teeth set on edge.

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice.

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember.

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that.

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck.

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice.

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers.

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back.

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been.

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you.

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him.

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor.

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash.

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires.

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second.

Always too goddamn slow.

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado.

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired.

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door.

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him.

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back.

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast.

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought.

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long.

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices.

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat.

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched.

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments.

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal.

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting.

He had blown through them like it was nothing.

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower.

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement.

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head.

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs.

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did.

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you.

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years.

You’re not able to resist.

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw.

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering.

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer.

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands.

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

#please mind the tags!#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout smut #fallout tv series #fallout #cooper howard

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sirdindjarin · 1 year

Text

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids."

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat."

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.”

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.”

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face.

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze.

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options.

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart.

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours.

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod.

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave.

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you.

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you.

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.”

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.”

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter.

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch.

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled.

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch.

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.”

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.”

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined.

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself.

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go.

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you.

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell.

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster.

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy.

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.”

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning.

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures.

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid.

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.”

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away.

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much.

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you.

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him.

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing.

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!"

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand.

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do."

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather."

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?"

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded.

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur.

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire.

You frown, "No one does."

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically.

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand.

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief.

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family."

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people."

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.”

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about.

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.”

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest.

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu.

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man.

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches.

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning.

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.”

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?”

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father.

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.”

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?”

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure.

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull.

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?”

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.”

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you.

“I will teach you what I can.”

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same.

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks.

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement.

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.”

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you.

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod.

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy.

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder.

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts.

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin.

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling.

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best.

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front.

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor.

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.”

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air.

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.”

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth.

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face.

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke.

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -”

“What you thought was wrong.”

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.”

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted.

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation.

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach.

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time.

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end.

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches.

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time.

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria.

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.”

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble.

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated.

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp.

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability.

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting.

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this.

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.”

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?”

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.”

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love.

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly.

___________________________________

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#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #my writing #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #my fics #personal #grogu

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periprose · 20 days

Text

Bedside Manner - Chapter One

The Ghoul x Reader

When it comes to job prospects in the Wasteland, being a nurse isn't all that lucrative. So you're Dom Pedro's assistant, where your nurse skills of administering drugs come in handy with sedating the Ghoul. (Not really following canon, just taking my own spin on stuff)

Genre: fluff, fallout angst (more in future chaps anyways), strangers to accomplices to ambivalent friends to lovers, heated moments of tension, probably eventual smut

Word count: 2.2k

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Holy fuck, does shoveling do a number on your back.

You groan as you roll back your shoulder, and throw the shovel behind you.

Dom Pedro has been on your ass about this shift. You have to take the Ghoul to Dom’s workshop, where he’ll carve him up, when the sedatives have worn off and the pain will be ever-present and lingering. You figure Dom’s angry about something else– and what better outlet is there than torturing a ghoul?

It’s not something you like to do, carrying this extremely heavy, tall undead-man through Dom Pedro’s house by using a rope system and tugging, and then after Dom Pedro’s had his fun. re-administering drugs that will prevent the feral nature from taking him over, but it’s necessary and it pays well.

Pedro’s a little too elite to do this himself anyways. That’s why he hired you, a former nurse who used to work at a charitable hospital– one that was eventually claimed by the Brotherhood.

You try not to think too much about your former, much more fulfilling career.

The mildly disturbing scent of a living corpse hits you as you open up the casket. The Ghoul isn’t the worst ghoul you’ve ever had to look at, but he’s still a little creepy, and you stare at him as he lies there.

Is he awake? Pretending to be asleep so you’ll be caught off guard, and his gun will fire rapidly, making a bloody mess out of you?

You’re well aware of the risks. You just have to hope that today’s chemical cocktail IVs are correct, and enough is administered inside him so that he’s truly, really, fast asleep.

You carefully tie around his wrists and legs– you feel, somehow, the slightest bit of warmth, something that could suggest a pulse from the veins of his wrists– but you know that’s ridiculous and continue on.

Dragging him to the workshop makes you feel a little guilty. His face sometimes smacks onto the wooden floors of this cabin if you’re not careful, and you always whisper a hushed “Sorry!” Even though he’s not human.

You don’t want to be on his bad side, even if he can’t hear you.

“Why the fuck isn’t there a more moral way to make caps?” You exhale, a common complaint you always have.

You tie him to the torture-chair, wrapping rope around his torso and arms and legs, so he can’t break free, adjusting his hat so it stays on, and because– despite the Ghoul’s reputation as a bounty hunter, you feel like he deserves a little respect with his belongings– and now you’re waiting for Dom Pedro to come and cut him up.

You don’t know why Dom Pedro does this. Is there some sort of use for ghoul skin and blood that you don’t know about? Or is it just purely torture, since Dom Pedro’s kept the Ghoul alive for so long, even giving him the false kindness of anti-feral ghoul drugs so he’ll be entirely aware of every inch Dom Pedro’s knife cuts into him?

You don’t know. And it’s not exactly like you’re important enough to know that information, anyways.

The Ghoul stirs awake. He blinks– he’s back in the workshop, yet again.

He’s only half aware of how he gets here. He knows there’s definitely a woman involved– someone soft, with pliant fingers and hesitant motions that suggest she doesn’t want him to get hurt as she drags him from sleep to being butchered– he only vaguely remembers seeing her back, just once, maybe a few months ago.

He turns to the side, ready for Dom Pedro to be seething in the corner over whatever their beef was and brandishing that scary, rusted axe.

He’s not there.

Oh. The Ghoul blinks again, his eyes clearing up as he does.

It’s you. You’re the woman, the nurse that Dom Pedro uses to administer all these drugs into him.

It’s almost a little shocking, a little tantalizing to him to actually see you. Two-hundred years of memories doesn’t exactly give him the most clear of minds, but he knows you’re the one who’s always just hazy, on the edge of his peripheral vision after being tortured, in his dreams after you sedate him.

“Hey, nurse…” He can hardly talk, but you jolt in your spot, and turn to him.

“Uh–” You stare at him, entirely flabbergasted. “You’re not supposed to be awake!”

“Well, I am. What’re you gonna do about it?” He yawns, still ever so slightly woozy from the drugs.

The Ghoul notices a knife on the table. He tips his head toward it.

“Cut me free.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!” You shake your head immediately. “Dom Pedro will kill me.”

“Dom Pedro’s a bitch if he’s killing someone willing to do the hard work for what, a couple hundred caps?” The Ghoul raises his non-existent eyebrows, and you swallow. “You don’t know how rare that is nowadays.”

“And I’m supposed to just trust you? The Ghoul, the most terrifying, ruthless, brutal killer I’ve ever known?” You narrow your eyes at him, with every adjective tossed out of your hissing mouth, coming closer and closer to him.

“I like how you describe me, keep going.” He jokes, looking up at you, but he snarls suddenly and you flinch.

The Ghoul grins in satisfaction, white pearly teeth, very square and rigid in their appearance, something that should look handsome on the right person and instead, is a little unnerving right now.

Still attractive, though, and you question yourself.

“Let me go, sweetheart, and I promise your death won’t be as half as painful as he could make it.” He drawls, and you swallow but shake your head.

“I’m not interested in being a mercy kill.” You state, and he sucks on his teeth.

“That’s a mistake.” He leans closer to you, somehow straining against your carefully tied knots to do so. “I’d be doing you a favour.”

“Well, I’m a coward. I’m not all rough and tough and shooting every single person I see, unlike you and Dom Pedro. I’m not gonna die in glorious battle, and I don’t want to die anyways.” You’re glum. “I only took this job because being associated with him protects me.”

The Ghoul is silent for a moment.

“And what if you were associated with me?” He asks, not actually intending anything serious, but he feels an urge to tease you ever so slightly. “That’s protection, isn’t it?”

“What?” You glance back at him. “Why would you do that?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe because I’m trying to bargain my way out of here, maybe because you’re the one who’s been kind enough to make sure I’m not chafing with how you tie these fucking ropes– and I’m assuming you drug me, right, sweetheart? You dull the sick pains he gives me.”

“Uh… yeah, I do.” You pause. “Stop trying to sweet talk me, Ghoul.”

“Nah, nurse. It’s funny and I wonder what Dom Pedro will do when he sees you talking to me.” The Ghoul says, another shit-eating grin upon his face.

Oh.

That’s actually quite bad, you think. The Ghoul hasn’t just been trying to coax you with compliments so you’d help him escape– the longer he’s kept you in this conversation, the closer you’ve gotten to his Plan B: Dom Pedro’s wrath.

“I’m guessing a smart lady like you would be more afraid of him.” The Ghoul keeps prodding, and you glare at him. “Rather than me.”

You know he’s right. Your eyes give away what you’re thinking as you ever so slightly glance to the table.

There’s a syringe of chems there, meant to send him to sleep after Dom Pedro has done his worst. Usually Dom Pedro takes the initiative to do that himself, because as he tells you, he likes being the only one who can send the Ghoul to sleep, the closest Dom Pedro will let him ever get to death. And then you’re stuck with dragging his comatose body back to the grave that awaits him.

Maybe you can just put a stop to the Ghoul’s philandering right now, and get yourself out of here before things get bad. Dom Pedro wouldn’t even notice– the Ghoul would seem as out of it as he was supposed to be at this time.

It’s only a second of you looking over there, but the Ghoul is quick– too quick, immediately understanding what you intend to do– and he somehow pushes his chair forward, at you, aiming his foot to kick at you with what limited motion he has in his restraints.

You get shoved back with a grunt, and you see him edge towards the knife on the table– but you knock him backwards with a shove, and the chair tips back, only stopping on it’s back legs due to the ropes extending from them, tethered to the back wall and through the gear and pulley systems that are ever present in this workshop.

The Ghoul’s kept his grip around your wrist, though, from where his hands are tied on the armchairs, and you fall back with him, balancing on your tippie toes and your hands on the top of the chair. Your hair brushes against his face as you lean forward, and you attempt to move away, but he won’t let go of you, instead sighing with gratification as he looks up at you from here.

“Huh. This is a compromising position, isn’t it?” The Ghoul licks his teeth as he keeps pulling you towards him, and you hear the wooden floor creak under you as the chair wavers in the air.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, c’mon, cut the bullshit.” He scoffs, still trying to get you to budge into helping him. “You really think Ol’ Dom Pedro won’t think you’re conspiring with me now, after it looks like you’ve taken a lover–”

There’s a sudden sound at the porch of the cabin. You and the Ghoul both turn to look out the window– and it’s definitely one very drunk Dom Pedro struggling to open the door.

You duck, out of fear that he’ll see you through the window, in the delicate moonlight, and the Ghoul tuts as your face comes near his jaw.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” He looks at your trembling face nonchalantly, as you try to make a decision. “Free me, and we’ll escape together. Use the drugs, and you’ll be stuck under Dom Pedro’s grubby fingers making exceedingly meagre wages.”

“How do I know you won’t just abandon me as soon as you want to kill a bounty?” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“You don’t. But I always repay my debts.” He says, and you don’t really believe him at all, but the more time passes by, the more you know that he won’t even seem appropriately sedated for Dom Pedro’s wishes– so you wordlessly nod.

The Ghoul won’t let go of you, so you’re left careening to the side as his arms hold you to him. He’s keeping such a tight grip to ensure that you scrabble for the knife– and you do.

“No sneaky bullshit.” He spits out, and you, despite being of the Wasteland, had no mind to kill him. No, that would’ve certainly looked bad as well.

Dom Pedro’s favourite lap dog, dead? His bounty killer, who does it for the love of the game? His favourite ghoul to torture? The one who did something so bad it’s basically unspeakable, and Dom Pedro would be livid if he wasn’t ultimately the one to kill him in the end?

You could say goodbye to your head if you killed the Ghoul. You know your place– even if you get paid to administer drugs to him, you’re no better than a dealer, a sweet face providing a nice bedside manner.

You make quick work of the ropes restraining him, and the Ghoul stands up before ducking behind a table, putting his finger against his lips, shushing you.

You’re very careful now. Dom Pedro is coming down the hallway, and any second now, he’s going to check to see if you brought the Ghoul here.. Luckily, Dom Pedro’s so drunk, he’s taking his time, stumbling and groaning.

After mulling over it in your mind, you decide to take the full syringe on the table. Less evidence, and you figure maybe Dom Pedro will be so drunk he’ll forget you were supposed to be here anyways.

And after second-guessing it– you think fuck it, and take the entire briefcase of drugs with you.

The Ghoul whistles very slightly at the sight of that. “You’re committing.”

You resist the urge to ask him what other choice you have, since running out on Dom Pedro is a great way to have a bunch of bounty hunters after you– you’re relying on selling some drugs, and bribing the Ghoul with some so he’d have to continue protecting you after he inevitably says he’s completed his debt by helping you escape.

“Let’s go.” You mouth, and he nods.

He’s not one to care about personal space at all, though– and he lifts you up over the ledge of the other window, pushing up on your thighs, away from the hallway where Dom Pedro is finally coming in– and you feel your face turn hot at the close contact, halfway over the ledge into the outside, with his hands on your waist as he hoists you away.

You don’t even have time to think about it as you land lightly on the ground together, because he’s right behind you, hands still on your waist for a moment, and then he lets go, and together you move quickly.

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ectokelpeigh · 1 year

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Do you guys remember that episode where Vlad puts a million dollar bounty on Danny and a bunch of ghost hunters come to town

Danny gets sweet revenge by luring vampire hunters into town with Plasmius as the target.

Now, Vlad’s not in any danger. Most anti-vampire measures aren’t effective against him. Even getting staked and/or beheaded is unpleasant, but not catastrophic.

What's really annoying is when a couple of vampire hunters start to suspect Vlad Masters is also a vampire. Then there's no escape from the scrutiny. And if it comes down to it, it's a lot harder to explain how a stake to the heart doesn't kill him as a supposed Regular Human Man.

#I'm on a vampire Vlad kick I guess #danny phantom #vlad masters #ghostferatu #vlad #klo #before rumors about Vlad Masters being a vampire come about a few people are convinced Masters is Plasmius's familiar #decapitation cw #beheading cw #but like. for laughs #he's fine. it's inconvenient

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trickphotography2 · 6 months

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D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 16

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 3.8k

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 15 | Series Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 16

The thud of your steel-toed boots was loud in the near-empty Bounty Hunter’s hanger as you returned from the flight line to your office on Friday. Since the squadron was deployed, only a skeleton crew and the civilian DOD employees were in residence.

Plus, there was the odd Dagger who dropped in to chat.

Since you’d been back at work, someone had visited every day. Nat brought coffee. Bob poked his head in to chat for a few minutes. Reuben would swing by with snacks. And Javy? Javy showed up at the house with dinner.

As much as you appreciated them checking on you, it was overwhelming. And exhausting. They wanted to ensure you were okay, so you tried showing that. You didn’t want them to worry, and for that to get back to Jake. So, if that meant putting on a brave face and joking with your friends, so be it.

In the week and a half since deploying, Jake had texted you a handful of times. Though the carrier had wifi, it was still difficult to coordinate a time to talk between his long shifts, your work schedule, and the time difference. The ship was still traveling, but you were already steadily moving toward the 17-hour time difference. After waking up the first morning to a missed text, you turned your phone off silent mode and slept with it on your pillow. On Tuesday, you’d been able to trade five messages with Jake before he went to bed and while you waited for the nausea meds to kick in to start your day.

You were hoping to schedule a call with him over the weekend. No matter what time, you would make sure to be awake.

Nudging your office door open, you pressed a hand to your rumbling stomach. You’d been running late to work this morning and hadn’t had a chance to eat anything. The quality assurance guys had asked for you to be on-site with them as they walked some government contractors - including your old coworker Glen - through an inspection to ensure that contract stipulations were being met. The baby was making their dissatisfaction with your empty stomach known, and another anti-nausea pill was in your immediate future. “I know,” you sighed, walking to your desk and kicking off the heavy boots you had to wear while on the flight line. “We’re getting something soon.”

After swapping the boots for flats, you grabbed your purse and cell phone. Phones weren’t authorized on the flight line, and you’d reluctantly left it behind. Which was why seeing a missed call from Jake knocked the breath from your lungs. Tears sprang to your eyes as you clicked on the voicemail.

“Hey, darlin’. I know you’re at work, but I had a couple minutes and thought I’d try to catch you. I…uh… I hate to say this, but we’re going radio silent. I’ll call you as soon as I can. I’m sorry, darlin’. I love you.”

Quickly, you tried to call him back. It went straight to voicemail. On the off chance he could listen to the message, you cleared your throat and forced your tone to be bright. “Hey, babe. Sorry I missed you - I was out on the flight line. You know how the QA guys are about phones, and I didn’t want to get written up for a safety breach. Apple and I miss you, but we’re okay. Tell Rooster and Mav I say hi. Be safe. We love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

Jake smiled at you from your home screen after you ended the call, a quick picture you’d snapped of him as he woke up, hair mussed with sleep and pillow lines creasing his face. He disliked that picture but could never convince you to change it. Taking a deep breath, you forced away your tears and grabbed your purse.

Jake turned off his phone and hung his head. He’d known it was a long shot to catch you during the middle of the day, but he’d wanted to hear your voice. It was a harder transition than he’d expected, from talking to you daily to subsisting on a few texts. He missed hearing your music as you got ready in the morning, how you’d mumble in your sleep occasionally, and your commentary on his driving. He even missed finding strands of your hair all over his stuff.

He didn’t want to constantly compare his first and second marriages. Still, this deployment was definitely more brutal than any before. And it wasn’t only because of the baby.

For the first time in a long time, Jake had someone he wanted to be with at home. And who wanted to be with him. He’d never really had an issue with the lack of communication while underway before - an email or two to his sister, a couple-minute call to his mom, and stilted conversations with his first wife had been the norm - and had happily traded away his scheduled call times. But now, going radio silent was killing him. He couldn’t send you a good morning text or check on how you were feeling. There were no updates about how big the baby was getting or the doctor’s appointment he knew was coming up.

Hopefully, it was only for a few days, he thought, pushing to his feet and slowly returning from the Officer’s Lounge to the stateroom he shared with Rooster and Fritz. Mav was billeted with the other captains. Though stationed at the same base, Jake hadn’t interacted with Fritz much after returning to Lemoore, other than nodding at him when passing in the hallway of the Bounty Hunters’ hanger on his way to visit you. He, Rooster, and Mav were the odd men out on the mission. The air wings were tight-knit after training and previous deployments together, so he’d take whatever comradery he could find.

When Jake pushed the door open, Rooster was lying in his bunk, scrolling on his phone. Clocking his stormy expression, the aviator decided against teasing him about how his call went as Jake returned his phone to his assigned safe. “I’m gonna grab a coffee before heading to the ready room. Want to join?” he asked.

“I guess,“ Jake replied. They were due to a briefing on the multinational war games they were to participate in. It was good experience for them to practice flying sorties against potential combatants, especially with the additional steps the US military took to make the engagements harder for their pilots. The US military basically tied one hand behind its back during the games, pushing its aviators and sailors to think creatively when faced with potential barriers.

There is more to gain from losing than winning. The brass could use the information to devise new strategies and tactics, which was the ultimate goal of these international scrimmages. But that didn’t mean that they liked losing. While sailing to the designated site, they would devise a plan to help defeat the enemy. And Jake had been drafted to help teach those tactics.

“Fuck,” you growled, slamming your hand against the cool shower tile. Blindly, you turned the water heat down as the room spun. Over the last few days, you’d started feeling lightheaded again, something you hoped was behind you. But apparently, dizziness was expected in the second trimester of pregnancy as your blood volume increased. Hopefully, you thought, this wouldn’t land you back in the emergency department. You could only imagine how Jake would feel if that happened while he was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

With that in mind, you slowly lowered yourself to sit in the bathtub and attempted to rest your forehead on your knees. Between your stomach and how the position made your back twinge and breasts ache, you huffed and leaned back against the tub. A stab of pain shot down your right side, and you whimpered, hands going to your belly as you stiffened. Thankfully, it faded quickly. Dr. Shearer confirmed that the pain was normal during your check-up on Thursday.

An unwelcome sob rose in your throat, and you clapped a hand to your mouth to trap it. There was nothing to cry about, you scolded yourself. The shooting pain was an unfortunate side effect of your body changing to accommodate the baby. Yes, it sucked that Jake wasn’t there to dig his thumbs into your lower back and kneed away that tension or hold you when your head spun, but tough shit. It was something you needed to get used to. As much as you wanted your husband there to hold your hand and make you feel better, billions of women got through pregnancy alone. Seventeen weeks down, twenty-three to go. Sunday - tomorrow - would mark the beginning of week 18.

And you were luckier than most. Your husband and parents were supportive, and you had a great group of friends around. Like Nat, who would be there shortly to help you go shopping now that you were officially getting to the very limits of your wardrobe. For all that she was stuck wearing a uniform at work, the aviator enjoyed clothes shopping and had promised to make it a fun day even though you were dreading it. And your coworkers were being phenomenally supportive. Even Jake’s squadron had taken to popping over to check on you. Admiral Tritz’s wife had offered support and connected you to some of the other officers’ wives.

It didn’t matter that it had been a week since hearing anything from Jake. He was busy, and so were you. This was just part of life, loving someone in the military. Hell, growing up, you’d done this. In kindergarten, your dad had been gone so much that you vividly remembered picking him up from the airport, confident that you were dreaming because Dad was home. There were so many weekend mornings that you’d woken up to your mom in front of the computer on a video call, trying to catch a few minutes with one another before he went to bed when assigned to temporary duty in another country. Your sophomore year of high school, Dad had gone on a solo remote tour to Korea for a year in exchange for orders to Florida because that’s where you wanted to go to college.

Mom had encouraged you to stay busy. That would help the time fly by. And it had, to some extent. Work was a good distraction, and you tried to keep in touch with your friends back home. But the loneliness crept in at night. You missed the casual intimacy of getting ready together in the morning, driving into work and commenting on the talk radio conversations, standing beside one another in the bathroom while brushing your teeth, and how he would make sure you were settled before turning off the light and crawling into bed beside you.

Three weeks alone in the house, and you were slowly building a new routine. You were back to cooking dinner on Sunday and making enough leftovers for the week. After forgetting to set the coffee pot the first day - that was Jake’s chore - you did it while getting a glass of water before bed. His truck became your weekend car to make sure the battery didn’t die.

Hot tears trailed down your face, and you slid under the shower spray to rinse the conditioner from your hair. You needed to get ready because Nat would be there soon. Wallowing would get you nowhere.

It took a moment to realize that your music had become a ringtone. You pulled back the curtain to see who was calling, and your heart stopped.

The last picture Jake had sent you - him in his jet, smiling behind his oxygen mask - appeared on the screen.

Quickly, you wiped your hand on the bath mat and reached for the phone, swiping to answer. “Hold on!” you said, letting the curtain fall back and turning off the water. Reluctant to stand too quickly, you ripped back the curtains and sat on the tub's rim, yanking the towel from the rack and drying your hands. Goosebumps erupted on your skin. “Just a second!”

Jake’s laugh echoed through the bathroom as you quickly tapped the speakerphone. “Take your time, darlin’.”

“I’m getting out of the shower.”

“Don’t move too fast, then. Don’t want you to slip.”

“I’m being careful,” you answered, grinning through your tears while swinging your legs out of the tub. Sniffling, you grabbed the phone and held it tightly, wanting to have him closer. “I’m here.”

“Good.” The phone beeped, signaling an incoming video call. Reluctantly, you accepted it, ensuring the camera was pointed at the ceiling. The angle allowed you to see him, hair flattened to his head and dark circles under his eyes but kept you out of frame.

“Hang on, let me put some clothes on.”

“Lemme see you first.” Mistaking the reason for your reluctance, Jake quickly added. “I’m not around anyone now. Everyone else’s already gone to bed.”

“What time is it?” you asked, trying to distract him. It had to be early, given the time difference and the way his accent was stronger with exhaustion.

“Almost 3:00AM. I wanted to call you as soon as we got the okay, but I fell asleep after my shift.” It was on the tip of your tongue to tell him to go to sleep and that you would talk to him later, but you selfishly wanted him to stay on the phone. He yawned, scrubbing a hand through his hair and blinking tiredly into the camera. “C’mon, Mama - lemme see my girls.”

Sighing, you chewed your lower lip while lifting the phone so you were in the frame. Jake’s smile dimmed as he frowned. “Hey, babe.”

“Were you crying?”

“‘M fine,” you said quickly. “How are you? How have you been?”

“Why were you cryin’, darlin’? What’s wrong?”

“‘M fine,” you repeated, blinking away the tears. “I just… I miss you.”

Jake sighed your name, brows furrowing. “I miss you too. How’ve you been? Taking care of yourself?” Nodding, you dried off your legs and slowly stood. “Sloane behaving?”

“Oliver’s been okay. Making me lightheaded and a bit achy, but other than that, we’re good.”

“Lightheaded? Did you fainted ag - ”

“I’ve been fine, Jake. Just taking it slower and making sure that I sit down when I need to. I promise,” you added, wishing he was close enough to smooth the worry lines on his forehead. “Did you get the newest sonogram picture?”

“As soon as I turned on my phone. She’s getting big.”

“As big as a bell pepper tomorrow. And apparently, they’ll start developing their hearing this week.” He smiled tiredly.

“Gonna have to make sure I spend some time talkin’ to her then. Make sure she knows her daddy’s voice.”

“Say the word and I’ll hold my phone to my stomach. He’ll probably have some good acoustics.” Chuckling, he shook his head.

“Maybe next time. Wanna talk to Mama today. And see what you look like - you didn’t send me a picture of you.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked to the vanity. “No one’s around you?”

“Officer’s lounge is empty,” he confirmed. Sighing, you covered the camera with your thumb, ignoring his grumble of discontent, and propped the phone against the mirror. With a deep breath, you dropped your hand and stepped back. Jake let out an appreciative whistle that made you blush. Scoffing, you quickly grabbed your underwear and put them on. “Slow down, gorgeous. I wanna get a look at you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re sexy as hell.” Moaning, he shifted in his chair, hand disappearing to where you could picture him adjusting himself. “Damn, Mama. We’re gonna have to have another kid so I can enjoy you lookin’ like that in person.”

At that, you laughed and snatched up your leggings, yanking them on. “Again - ridiculous. Let’s survive our first pregnancy before talking about another one.” The stretchy material clung to your stomach, emphasizing the curve.

“Hang on, turn to the side,” Jake said, bringing the phone closer to his face. When you did, placing a hand on top of your stomach, he breathed, “Fuck.” You watched as he tapped the screen, taking a picture. “I’m the unluckiest son of a bitch. Look at you, gettin’ bigger with my baby, an’ I’m not there to take care of you.” The exhaustion on his face was mixed with a different type of hunger, making you think of the nights you woke him up with teasing touches and soft kisses. Nights where words weren’t needed, conscious enough to be lost in the dreamlike pleasure of one another.

The thought made you shift, a familiar ache appearing between your thighs. While it wasn’t the main reason you wanted your husband home, you missed him in your bed. You'd gotten used to his touch in the year you’d been together. At the slightest hint of being turned on, Jake was happy to take charge and make you cum. Your body craved the feel of his calloused fingers, his soft lips on your skin, and his weight holding you down.

And it felt like you were turned on most of the time now.

A devilish smirk crossed Jake’s mouth as he watched your nipples harden. “Cold, darlin’?”

“Not exactly.” Slowly, you dragged your fingers up your chest, lightly running your nail across your bare breast. “Miss you.” He groaned, reaching to adjust his earbud.

“From sad to horny, huh?”

“More like sad and horny,” you corrected.

“Same, darlin’. Wish I was there to take care of you the way you like.”

“Me too. It’s not the same without you. Doesn’t feel as good.” At that, his head dropped back onto the chair, and you saw his Adam’s apple bob as he let out a heavy breath.

“You’re killin’ me, Mama.” At your sharp inhale, his gaze snapped to the camera in time to see you pinching your nipple. “Fuck. Do it again.” With your lower lip between your teeth, you did as he said, whimpering at the rough feeling. Jake shifted, a pretty red flush appearing on his skin. “Tryin’ ta get me in trouble, darlin’?” he rasped.

“Never.”

“Liar.” He watched as your fingers slid into the top of your legging and underwear, tugging them down.

“Tell me to stop,” you challenged. At his silence, you pushed the material down your hips and legs, letting it pool at your feet. Stepping out of it, you picked up the phone and made your way to the bed, settling on his side. “Cat got your tongue, Hangman?”

“Just admiring the view, Mrs. Seresin,” Jake said, tongue darting out to wet his lips as you flipped the camera to show your fingers trailing down your naked body. While your breasts were easily viewable, your stomach hid your lower half. “Gonna give me a show?”

“Tell me what you want to see.”

“Wanna see my pretty - ” Jake’s eyes darted to the side, and he quickly sat up. The seductive, teasing tone was gone when he said, “Girl’s ultrasound.” His gaze tracked someone, and he nodded before looking at the camera. Quickly, you flipped the view so he could see your face.

“Someone’s there?”

“Yup. Would you send me one of the pictures?” Scrubbing a hand down your face, you moaned. Arousal hummed under your skin, and a small part of you was tempted to take care of yourself while on the call, but that would be cruel to your husband. Especially if there was another person around. As much as you loved teasing him, that was a bridge too far.

Huffing, you flipped back the covers and propped the phone on his pillow. You could smell the faintest hint of his shampoo clinging to the fabric. “Are you asking for an actual ultrasound picture or dirty pictures?” you smirked, tugging the blanket up to your chest.

“Both.”

“Anything else you’d like, Lieutenant Seresin?” His eyes darted to the side again.

“So many things, darlin’. But I’d settle for some snacks.”

“Sure. I’m running low on my snacks, too, so it’s good timing.”

“The normal ones, or are you having pregnancy cravings?” he asked, cocking his head. Jake hated that he had to ask, adding it to the running list of things he was missing.

“Well, I don’t usually crave beef jerky or yogurt-covered pretzels, so I’d say pregnancy cravings.”

“Anything else?”

“I mean, there’s been a few nights I’ve gone out for a milkshake and fries.”

“Wish I was there to make the run for you. You go to our anniversary spot?” Laughing, you nodded while sliding a hand under the covers to cradle your stomach.

“I did go to our anniversary spot. Their fries are so salty, and the ice cream machine was actually working. So this one will probably be more than happy to go twice a year for our anniversaries.”

“Once, Mama. We agreed to go to McDonald’s for our dating anniversary, not our wedding one. Wanna at least have one night where I can spoil you.”

“I believe you said you’d think about it. And you can still spoil me, but we can end the night with chicken nuggets and fries.” Jake rolled his eyes before yawning. “Babe, you should go to bed.”

“‘M fine. Wanna talk to you.”

“I need to get ready. Nat’s on her way, and we’re going shopping since I can no longer fit any of my work clothes.” His gaze softened as he frowned, thinking about how upset you’d been about that before he left.

“You okay?”

“Our credit card might not be.”

“Darlin’.” You sighed, looking away to gather your thoughts.

“I’m okay. It’s easier now since I look pregnant, and people know.”

“Good. ‘Cause you’re beautiful, Mama.” Tears pricked at your eyes, and you turned to hide your face in his pillow. Jake groaned, and you peeked to see his thumb brushing the screen as though he could touch you.

“I’m fine,” you sniffled. “I’m fine, babe.”

“Fine, beautiful, and gorgeous,” he agreed, causing you to blush. “Love you, darlin’.”

“I love you too.” You watched as he clenched his jaw to keep from yawning again and sighed. “Go back to bed, honey. Call me when you wake up.”

“Alright. Have fun with Phoenix, and buy whatever you want. Send me pictures.”

“You’re ridiculous. Goodnight.”

“Night, Mama. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

When the call disconnected, you let the phone fall. Lightly stroking your stomach, you heaved a sigh, feeling better that you’d at least spoken to your husband. “I miss Daddy,” you whispered to the baby.

And, though you knew it was your mind playing tricks on you because it was too early to feel movement, you thought you felt the slightest of flutters against your palm.

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Author's Note: This chapter fought me because, though I knew the story was going to be angsty given the premise, it still hurt to write. Definitely brought up a lot of memories of my dad deploying, and what a toll that took on the family. Snuck some personal experience into the chapter, when Darlin' was reflecting on what it's like to love someone in the military. I definitely remember being 5 years old and thinking I was dreaming coming back from the airport with Dad in the car, because he deployed to Saudi A LOT that year. And he and Mom agreed for him to take remote - when the service member gets orders but the family doesn't - to Korea when we were ready to come stateside to make sure we got to Florida. (My older sister was already in college, and Mom put her foot down about living overseas while one of her kids was in the states alone.)

Thanks for your patience with me getting this out. I'm excited for the next chapter! Hopefully I'll be able to get that one out quicker, as I'm also working on a holiday story about Jake.

Read Chapter 17

Tag list: @mamachasesmayhem; @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93; @memoriesat30; @queerqueenlynn

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin

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neverniko101 · 1 month

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Trying to convince my brain that I cannot make another ask blog (it is not working help)

Anyway, a swapverse! Phastasmverse? Is that too hard to spell?

Yeah, I might be making another ask blog, probably on an actually different blog this time

I’ll probably alternate between working on this and Horror Dreamtale between STP

Rambling about precious children ⬇️

Amber (Dream by Joku):

- Tall bee man

- Smug asshole

- Got rich off selling his brother’s inventions

- Runs a fancy multiverse-wide Casino/Bar/Restaurant

Pollen (Dust by Ask Dusttale):

- Sweet little guy

- I say “little”, but he’s actually pretty tall

- Botanist obsessed with flowers

- has never killed anyone

- ever

- especially not by poisoning them with flowers

- Terrified of bears, even teddy bears

Cyan (Nightmare by Joku):

- Acts scary but is really a goofy little guy

- Mad scientist/engineer

- Uses inventions to run mazes, haunted house etc. to get negative emotions

- Lives in a giant (very, very heavily trapped and guarded) castle by himself

- Mechanical tentacles/arms, Doc Ock style

Epoxy (Ink by Comyet):

- Acts like a goofy little guy but is really scary

- >:3

- Likes to climb Amber and sit on his shoulder

- definitely not some kind of horror that traps people in resin cocoons and drains their life force

Razor (Cross by Jakei):

- After his AU was destroyed, he ripped a hole into the anti void, corrupting him and destroying the remains of Xtale

- Hunts ‘bugs’ in AUs, sometimes destroying entire universes to ensure the bug doesn’t spread

- Memory issues, doesn’t remember most of Xtale

- lonely someone befriend this man

Stitch (Error by Loverofpiggies):

- Runs around AUs taking parts of them to sew into the broken parts of his own AU, Cross-style

- Often accidentally causes bugs in AUs he visits, corrupting/destroying them himself or causing Razor to destroy them

- On the run from Razor

- Can animate his puppets to do little chores

- Fights with a giant sewing needle as a weapon

- Also needs friends

Mist (Fell by Vic):

- Probably the chillest guy here

- It’s his job to make sure that everyone gets enough sleep

- Will be disappointed in you if you don’t go to bed on time

- Has several pet bunnies

Comet (Outer by 2mi127):

- Angry little guy

- One of two employees at the Multiversal Transportation and Postal services

- Runs exclusively on coffee and baked goods provided by Cookie (the only person he can tolerate)

- Can take you basically anywhere, but you’d have to convince him to do so, which is difficult even for Cookie

- Catches on fire when too angry

Azoic (Fresh by Loverofpiggies):

- Mercenary

- Unnaturally good at making improvised weapons

- Is a cowboy? Don’t know where that came from

- Has a horse named Penelope

- Trying to earn money

Toxin (Killer by Rafbawas):

- He seems fun

- Perfectly mentally stable

- Eats the fabric of the multiverse

- Turns people into mindless rainbow zombies

Marrow (Horror by Sourapplestudios):

- Bounty Hunter

- Able to switch out his body parts with other monsters and humans

- Pretty chill all things considered

Crypt (Reaper by Renrink):

- Uh

- what

- what is that

- just some guy that Palid decided to adopt?

Palid (Geno by Loverofpiggies):

- His name is a mix of Pallid (being pale or dull, like a dead person or ghost) and Paladin (a hero)

- Kind of adopted Papyrus’ personality after his death

- Precious little guy

- Finds Crypt in an ally and is like “yup I’m keeping him”

- Fights with a morning star

Ghost (Blue by Popcorn prince):

- Sad boy

- Able to manipulate water, especially his tears

- Has started following Razor around for no apparent reason

Cookie (Lust by NSFWShamecave):

- Again, just a genuinely nice person

- Runs a bakery!

- Obsesses over people easily

- Can and will give you a hug

Sweettooth/Ttoo (Ccino by Black-Nyanko):

- So high energy (as a result of experiments, probably) that they need to almost constantly be eating high-energy food, typically sugar

- Trying to find a cure along with their best friend, Cookie

- When low on energy, will start to melt and attack any nearby source of energy, including souls

help

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mamuzzy · 3 days

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What is considered child mistreatment in Mandalorian culture (legends)?

I was inspired by this post but I didn't want to ruin a mood with my AcKcHuYaLlY vibes so I made a separate post about it.

While I agree with a sentiment of Cuy'val Dar should have rioted seeing children being mistreated, given they are a very heavily family and child centered culture, I've just recently read a few quotes from Republic Commando which made me wonder...

what is considered child mistreatment in their culture?

Because training children to be soldiers are not one. It is a perfectly normal thing to do for them.

What you will read here about: -- Potential reasons why the Cuy'val Dar didn't refuse the job -- Relationship of a Mando parent and their child: How Munin Skirata adopted Kal and with it giving him a predetermined path of life -- Little detour to the topic of how modernday parents don't include children in the household chores -- Pav-Ti and Ahsoka -- Walon Vau and Dred Priest's approach -- Kal Skirata's approach of training -- Little about Mandos and Jedi -- Sorry (not really), people. I still love Kal. -- I won't tag this as anti/pro/critical fandom fuckery. Only a Sith deaIs in absolutes.

Rest is under the cut.

Why would Cuy'val Dar accept such assignment in the first place?

So why didn't they say no? 1. Loyalty and Respect for Jango Fett 2. In need of money 3. Needed a place to hide 4. It could be HONOUR: If a mando bounty hunter accepts a job, they won't back down from it. That's why they are the best. A mandalorian either completes the job or they die in the process (see: Hard Contact). 5. Child soldiers are nothing out of place.

But the latter is debatable, depending on which bounty hunter you ask. Kal was horrified when he was presented with the facts. Scene from Triple Zero, where Kal realizes what Jango is expecting of him:

Jango Fett indeed didn't tell them the whole truth. I'm pretty sure there would have been people who would have accept it anyway. But I'm also sure most of them were conned this way.

We even know Kal's reason of accepting the job.

He didn't have any outside ties anymore that required his physical presence, so at this point he could just accept a decade long assignment.

And when he met the Nulls, he gave himself a purpose out of this nightmare. Raising these children as Mandalorians.

But where this is come from? From Kal's own buir.

Another quote about how Munin adopted Kal.

Awfully practical people. But also, compassionate. Kal is guided by the same compassion as his buir.

Overprotected children of our modern age

Family centric and child centric views are really distorted today which is about overprotecting kids from literally everything. Even from basic household chores: a parent who is too tired and impatient for their child constantly making mistakes during learning a task, so they simply take it out from the child's hand and doing it instead, because teaching them comes with much more mess to clean up, therefor more work for the parent. Children won't learn that helping out around the house can be a quality time with the parent, because most parents don't consider being together with their children a quality time. This later leads to those awful fights between a teenager who never helps around the house on their own only when asked/ordered. Children are glorified exotic pets, one task from a bucket list or worst, investments. But part of the family? Less likely. Not unconditionally.

PAV-TI AND AHSOKA

If you think about Ahsoka's backstory in the Tales of the Jedi, her mother also brought her on the hunt and made her look when she skinned the animal. Teaching her that death is a part of life and even when they take resources from the nature, they should do it with respect. Pav-Ti was already teaching her to be a part of their small community.

I think Mando culture is the same: they involve their children in their profession from early age. Probably teaching your children how to kill for money is not exactly ethical by our earthling standards. Regardless, they do it together. Little mando'ade won't go to school, they spend their time with the family and learning skills they will need if they choose the same profession and lifestyle as their parents.

PRACTICES OF VARIOUS MEMBERS OF THE CUY'VAL DAR

So that's why I think that even if the members of the Cuy'Val Dar had seconds thoughts, training child soldiers are nothing out of ordinary. I can't speak for the remaining non-mando trainers what was in their mind.

But when Dred Priest and Isabeth Beau started their own little figthing rings in the guise of "preserving the old ways", it was really considered fucky even among the other mando trainers Death Watch couple-goals: torture children together <3. Dred Priest despised the clone cadets and they actually died under his care and this is one of the reason why Mij Gilamar killed Priest later in the books.

Walon Vau wasn't introduced to mando values until he ran away from home as an adult, but his abusive upbringing shaped his worldview on how he trained the cadets. Strict codes and harsh punishments. He had his regrets of it later.

From O66, Walon Vau to Kal Skirata

Love has many shapes. Vau wanted them to survive because he loved them. But loving them and treating them good/bad is not the same.

We know about Kal that he taught by experience. He never gave an assignment to his cadets before he first showed them how to do it.

And then we have these notorious parts of him regarding the clones which can be interpreted so many ways but often used as the evidence as child abuse:

And this one also:

(sometimes I throw my brain outtaaa windoooOOooOooOow what people call abusive these days...)

What is my stance about this particular passage? I think he didn't abuse the clones. He wanted them to survive too. He wanted to make it easier for them which was really hard considering the circumstances. He wanted to be a father to the clones like Munin was to him.

We saw the differences between Omega Squad and Delta Squad. The Delta first left Walon Vau behind because they were ordered to do so. Delta left Sev behind because they were ordered to do so. As far as we know, no one deserted from the Empire from Vau's commandos. They remained loyal to the Republic/Empire. Darman could have been with his son and with Clan Skirata but he choose to remain with Niner in the Empire. He remained loyal not the empire, not even Kal Skirata but his brother. Just like Kal thaught them.

What makes them different from the jedi and at the same time so similiar?

The Jedi seek out force sensitive children to teach them how to control this power within them and make sure, they won't use it for personal gain. And later, when they grow up, they will do the same.

Mandos take pity over war orphans (usually that's the case), take them into their clan of soldiers and they teach them a profession and one day, they can do the same.

Both faction are doing it, guided by the same principle: COMPASSION.

Jedi are practicing compassion toward every living, while Mando compassion is just much more personal on the individual level.

Dialogue from Imperial Commando between Arligan Zey and Kal Skirata. I think this baby stealing prejudice comes from that force sensitive children are separated from their parents and all this goes against the family centric view of the mandalorians where family is above all and the children are only safe with their families.

In conclusion...

My personal take after this little research that Mando trainers didn't abuse children, not in their own mandalorian standards. I say this because of Dred Priest who was condemned for actually hurting his cadets, forcing them to fight against each other, and lots of them actually died.

After the failed experiences with the Nulls, the kaminoans and trainers didn't expose the clones to live rounds and bombs until so much later, that's why the commandos and Alpha-class ARCs feel much more balanced in their phyche.

I think Walon Vau abused his cadets but he justified it with love.

Kal made them to do horrible exercises and said a lot of shitty things to the clones (though I think it's kind of like when you call your cat a whore out of affection) but overall he tried to make their suffering bearable.

#mandalorians #mandalorian culture #jedi order #star wars legends #republic commando #repcomm #kal skirata #munin skirata #walon vau #dred priest #mij gilamar #delta squad #omega squad #niner skirata #darman skirata #rc sev #pav-ti tano #ahsoka tano

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