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#anyway I was watching Three Days of the Hunter a little bit ago
deanswhiskey · 3 months
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𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫
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summary; while stuck at home, you find some christmas decorations in a storage closet
wc; 1935
warnings; kissing, tooth-rotting christmas themed fluff, that’s really it
authors note; merry christmas and happy holidays!!
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christmas had always been your favorite holiday growing up. you hadn’t spent much time celebrating since you started hunting. your parents were hunters but they sent you to your uncle bobby’s whenever they’d hunt. you didn’t know what was happening, just excited to see your uncle.
when you started hunting, looking for whoever, or whatever, killed your parents, you didn’t get to celebrate much anymore. the days mushed together half the time.
after you met sam and dean, and eventually joined them, you tried to bring as much of the holidays as you could, seeing as they didn’t get to much.
you find little plastic decorations at the shitty gas stations you’d stop at in different cities and states. hanging christmas scented air fresheners from the mirror in deans car, even when he’d get annoyed, he couldn't say anything because he knew how much you loved it. you’d always buy funny little headbands for sam and dean to wear too, just so you could snap pictures of them on your camera.
it was midday in december when the boys were leaning up against baby while you were inside the gas station. “geez, what’s takin’ her so friggin long?” dean asked while checking his watch. he’d finished pumping gasoline what felt like a half hour ago.
you walked out of the gas station with a slightly full grocery bag and a huge smile on your face. they knew that smile. that ‘i-just-got-something-you-won’t-like-smile’.
you walked up to the boys and before you could even say anything, dean interrupted, “what did you get this time?”
you fake acted offended, “how dare you, dean!” you then giggled and pulled out two silly christmas headbands. one was reindeer antlers one had to little santa hats on springs that moved around.
they both gave you a look. they didn’t want to wear them but they were anyways. you ripped the little bit of packaging tbh eh had and held them out, silently telling them to pick one.
sam grabbed the one with the reindeer antlers and set them on his head. you continued to hold out the santa hat one. dean rolled his eyes and put them on. “don’t give me that, dean, you love it.” you chuckled at the dancing santa hats on his head.
you reached down into the backseat through the window to grab your camera out of your bag. “smile!” you said turning on your camera. and they did, they smiled for you. you snapped the picture of your two boys looking adorable in their christmas headbands.
when the three of you found the bunker, there were rooms upon rooms upon rooms to discover.
during a hunt, you got badly injured. one of the vamps had harshly shoved you and you fell down some old stairs, leading you to breaking your foot.
now the boys stopped hunting for a little less than a month so they could tend to you, even against your wishes not to.
sam spent most of the time right next to you; he didn’t want you out of his sight. he acted as if you were sick and could hardly stand.
“i’m not terminally ill, sam,” you said with a giggle as he picked you up to move you from the kitchen to the couch in the living room.
“i know, my love, i’m just being cautious,” he said stopping and giving your forehead a kiss.
once the doctor released you of your crutches, leaving you with just a boot, the boys finally went back to hunting. sam, reluctantly, agreed, with the exception that he’d call you multiple times to make sure you’re okay.
one of the days the boys were away, you decided to go through some of the storage closets you three had yet to go through.
you limped down the halls making your way to one of many. the room was lined with various boxes and cabinets that had a thin coat of dust.
you opened the first box which had nothing but spare bedding. thankful it was the first box you opened; definitely setting that aside to take out and put them in a closer storage closet.
the next box had old clothes, along with the next few boxes.
the next box you picked up and dusted off made a noise; a jingle sort of noise. you took your box cutter and quickly opened the box.
to your surprise, it was christmas decorations. the men of letters must’ve loved christmas. you couldn't find a tree in sight, nor any ornaments. that was okay, there were plenty of other decorations to do the trick.
you looked over at the pile the box was in to see if there were any more. you only found one more box which was full of string lights. you carried the boxes, one at a time, to the living room to start setting up what decorations you had.
your phone was set out on a table with a speaker connected to it and you had christmas music blaring through the bunker. you wanted to start with the lights. so that’s what you did. you grabbed the step ladder from a closet, the bag of push pins, and many extension cords and went to work. you wrapped the main staircase railing and many door frames and miscellaneous pieces of furniture with the yellow christmas lights.
next up was this little christmas village you found. there was a perfect table in the library for this. you grabbed the empty light box and put all the different pieces into it and carried that to the library. you meticulously placed each little building and extra pieces just the way you wanted.
the last of the decorations went up and there was only one left. the mistletoe. where could i put it, you thought to yourself.
it had to be somewhere where everyone could see but not in a doorway where everyone stands often. you decided to put it on the doorway to the living room. it was a simple and easy place to put it.
you grabbed a thumb tack and hung it up there, careful not to fall off the ladder with your boot. if sam knew that you were climbing on a ladder with a boot on your foot, he’d throw a fit, demand you sit on the couch and he do all the work.
not long after you hung the mistletoe, you made yourself some hot chocolate and cozied on up on the couch with the book you were currently reading. the christmas music was still playing but it was soft now.
sam had texted you he’d be home soon about 15 minutes ago and now you were just anticipating their arrival. you were so excited to show the boys the new and improved, and festive, bunker.
your ears perked up as you heard the best bunker door begin to open. you all but threw your blanket off of you and placed your book open face down and rushed to the door.
“holy shit,” you heard dean say in the distance. you fretted the boys as they were walking down the stairs. their eyes lit up and they scanned the room and beyond of the decorations.
“what’s all this, sweetheart?” sam said leaning to give you a kiss, half still distracted at all the decor.
“i was going through some closets and found a whole bunch of christmas decorations!” you beamed.
dean set his duffel bag on the table in the war room and went to go look around in the library and further.
sam set his duffel done too but stayed with you. you were admiring the joy on his face; you could tell he needed some holiday joy, especially since he never really got to have this.
“this is,” sam paused, speechless. he didn’t know how to describe this. “amazing. i can't believe you did all of this.” he smile wide as he looked at you.
you smiled back, impossibly harder since your smile was already big. sam interrupted you before you could get a word out. “wait,” you brows furrowed slightly. “did you climb up on a ladder to hang this stuff?” he questioned.
you simply nodded. you knew he was gonna be upset, he won’t be too upset with you, just concerned. “y/n, you could’ve hurt yourself further.”
“sam, baby, i’m okay. i promise i was extra extra careful. just for you.” you grabbed his hands, rubbing the back of them with your thumb to reassure him.
he just looked at you with worry in his eyes. “i’m okay, baby. why don’t you go take a shower,” you lean up closer to his face. “then meet me under the mistletoe.” you gave him a sweet kiss before patting his butt, the two of you giggling.
a little while later, you sat in the living room waiting for the love of your life. christmas music still softly filled the living room while you sipped on the last of your hot chocolate.
sam walked in, his sweatpants hanging low and his navy blue v-neck hugged him perfectly. his hair still wet but not dripping. he looked beautiful. he stood under the mistletoe and leaned against the door frame.
you looked up at him and smiled with adoration. you made your way over to your beautiful boyfriend.
standing in front of his tall frame you look up at him, “can we dance?” you ask.
“of course, my love.” he says contently taking your right hand in his left. his right went around your waist. your left rested on his chest.
the two of you just gazed into each others eyes while you rocked back and forth. elvis’ ‘blue christmas’ played softly in the background. it was one of your and sams favorite christmas songs.
occasionally, sam would spin you just to hear those melodic, beautiful giggles.
your head now resting on his chest; hearing his heartbeat was so relaxing to you.
“hey,” you look up at him. “we’re still under the mistletoe, you know.” sam smiled.
you look up and the mistletoe you hung up earlier, “huh, i guess so.”
the two of you kept your gaze before sam slowly dipped his head down. the two of you fit perfectly like a puzzle piece.
his lips soft against your as they moved in sync with yours. sams hands found theirs way to your thighs, lifting you up while your hands made their way around his neck, tangling in his hair; his lips never left yours.
sam blindly made his way to the couch, sitting down with you straddling him. the kiss didn’t last much longer. you pulled away and laid back against his chest, cuddling into him.
sam was the first to speak up, “this place looks amazing, baby, i’m proud of you.”
“thank you, sam.” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, laying back down against him.
the cinnamon candle you lit earlier was still burning and the christmas music still played as the two of you fell asleep on the couch.
the next morning, dean made his way to the kitchen and brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee. the coffee finished breeding and he added whatever he did necessary for the perfect cup. he took that cup and walked to the living room, unsuspecting of the two of you sleeping there.
he approached the living room and saw the two of you, you were in almost the exact same position as when you fell asleep. dean chuckled to himself, “those kids.” he said before sipping his coffee and walking back to the kitchen.
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groguspicklejar · 2 years
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The Lies We Tell [Chapter Three]
Summary: Sometimes the past refuses to stay where it should be and when that happens, the Mandalorian is painfully reminded that the kindest souls are the ones who suffer the most.
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader
Warnings: Din Djarin pining over reader, Murderous Thoughts, Cara Dune, Violence, Anxiety, Cara Dune being a flirtatious lil shit, Baby Yoda being a chaotic lil shit, mentions of arranged marriage.
Word count: 6.4K
A/N: This chapter was partially written when I was in shock after some shit went down at home, so please do forgive my mistakes. Also, this one's for @ayothatsano. And sorry for posting so late this week, guys. I've just started driving lessons and I had to go for psychotherapy because of a minor neck injury I sustained not too long ago and I hadn't had the time to write until now. Hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll try to post next week❤️
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Four
Beloved Masterlist
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Din's helmet tilted as he watched you laugh.
The kid didn't realize how hilarious he was at times. Or how adorable. You couldn't help the laughter bubbling in your throat as you saw how he hopped around like the frog he was chasing. And in doing so, some of the other kids had joined in on the action.
The first time he met you on Nevarro, he thought you were lost. A curious wanderer at best and a lost soul at worst. Turns out it was a little bit of both. Another thing he noted was how much you reminded him of flowers. You always carried the scent of some wild flower he didn't know the name of but had seen on one of his bounty runs.
You were blossoming exceptionally well on Sorgan. More so than you ever would have on Nevarro. You smiled more. And genuinely. Not the fake smiles you'd put up for Nevarro. No, Sorgan unveiled pieces of you that you purposefully hid away as you closed in the petals of your mind, body and soul.
Din was glad that he worked up the nerve to ask you to leave with him that night.
If I were—
He should've finished that sentence. He should've let you know right then and there how much you meant to him. He should've convinced you to leave that despicable man.
—yours...
The word made his heart stutter and he hadn't even dared to say it out loud. It remained trapped in his mouth and he constantly struggled to shove it back down his throat. Each day was a struggle. It was like fighting a bird thrashing against its cage, demanding to be set free. Demanding to speak the truth.
If I were yours, I'd make sure you never doubt your worth. I'd make sure your heart remains safe, far away from the daggers of hopelessness and despair.
As Din trudged in front of Cara while scanning the tracks deep into the forest, he heard her ask, "So how'd a nice girl like her end up on the run with the Guild's most wanted bounty hunter anyway?"
Now that is a very good question.
He asked you to leave Nevarro with him, yes. And he didn't think you'd actually take up the offer. Yet you did. Yet, you were here with him on this backwater planet. Taking care of his child and his ship.
He pressed a few buttons on his glove to switch the scans in his helmet. There was something about these raids that just didn't add up.
"She needed to get away from someone who hurt her."
"Husband?"
He paused. The thought of you being further tied down to that scumbag made something in him itch. "Something like that."
He also knows that you were running from someone. Not just the shitbag you left on Nevarro. Long before that, he always caught you looking over your shoulder with a frightened gaze.
He'd always expected to wake up one day and you weren't there anymore. Fearing the day that someone would snatch you away, he kept a lookout for you. Never straying far to make sure you got home safe and make sure no one messed with you. And he dreaded the days when he was running low on credits, which forced him to seek out tracking fobs from Karga.
That's why he took so many at once, so he can earn more credits in a short span of time and get back to Nevarro and find you. Karga had always been surprised with the occasional "That was quick." without actually knowing the real reason for it.
Desperation made that despicable man rich and he was none the wiser.
Karga always thought it was just the ruthlessness that came with being a Mandalorian. Din let him believe that shred of truth, if only for your sake.
"I didn't see a ring on her finger." Cara said as she trailed next to him now.
He chose not to dwell on that statement much. Though it was hard not to focus with that fact hanging in the air. The forest was a welcome diversion. There was something indeed with their tracks and more. The snapped branches indicated much more than what the villagers had told them.
"You might wanna change that before I do."
He whirled around so fast, the images in his helmet blurred for a split second. Any concentration he had vanished.
"What did you just say?"
Cara's hearty laugh mocked him as she confidently strides forward. Rage simmered under his skin. He was starting to think bringing her along might be a bad idea.
However, something else later that day proved that bringing you along was much worse.
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Din didn't like this.
The idea of putting you and the kid in harm's way. Sorgan wasn't safe anymore, he knew that. The AT-ST tracks in the forest had proved that much.
But the way you looked at him had his heart set, even though it was a bad idea. When he and Cara explained the situation to the villagers, he was torn between taking you and the child far away and staying to protect this land. He empathised with these people. He knew all too well about having his home invaded and pillaged by outsiders and he didn't want them to have to experience that for a day longer.
Regardless of that, you and the child were his number one priority. He didn't want to put you at risk by staying here to fight.
You had been thinking the exact opposite. Though you didn't say anything about siding with Omera and the villagers, the way your eyes silently pleaded with him to step in and do something, that was when Din knew you were gonna be the death of him.
And he was glad you weren't aware of the power you held over him. He was glad that you were oblivious of how the mere sight of your smile, no matter how brief, muddled the words in his mouth.
As the day bled into night, Din found himself wondering if he'd done the right thing by letting his resolve wilt under your gaze. He and Cara spent the day figuring out a plan to stop the raiders while dealing with the AT-ST.
It was only after midnight that he returned to the barn. The baby was asleep in his pod and you were on your own bed that was directly opposite his. As he slowly took off his armour, he gently put it down so not to make a sound that could wake you up. The only things he kept on were his flight suit, gloves and helmet.
As he was about to lay down, he noticed that you didn't look peaceful in your slumber. Were you plagued by another nightmare? He was reminded of how terrified you looked when you woke up on his ship. Unlike last time, you weren't startled into consciousness. Blinking under the low light of the candle, you slowly sat up while rubbing your eyes.
"Mando?" your voice was tight. "M'sorry. Did I wake you?"
"No." he answered.
"Oh..." your expression didn't ease, as you shifted on your bed, placing your hands on your knees. "Was I making too much noise?"
You looked scared. Was it the nightmares or was it him? He's been told that he looks intimidating and that has always worked to his advantage. Truthfully speaking, Din never had to think really hard about how he walked or talked, until he met you on Nevarro.
When you first met him, he made a conscious effort to lower his shoulders and speak gently. Every day, he did everything to seem less menacing than he normally would to everybody else. Especially, when you were alone with him in the Razer Crest, he kept his distance. Opting to give you as much space as you needed so not to overwhelm you since you had just made such a big decision of leaving your home.
But looking at you now, scared and gaze lowered, a blistering heat started to boil his calmness. He wants to wring the necks of all the people who have ever made you feel like you were nothing more than a nuisance.
"No." he said. A solemn hush fell between the both of you.
There was a storm brewing in your eyes. So much you wanted to say, but you didn't want to let yourself open up to let all those demons out. Or you did and you just didn't know how to.
"Wanna talk about it?" he gently prompted.
A brief silence followed as he waited for your answer. Your eyes trailed into a despondent gaze at the baby's crib until you finally replied, "I don't know."
Din understood. "That's okay."
If you didn't want to talk about it now, that was fine. He wanted you to know that he won't force the truth out of you as long as you're not actively hurting yourself or the child.
"Can I—" your voice piped up for a split second before you ultimately decided to purse your lips into a thin line, shoulders dropping.
"What?" he gently prompted. "Don't be scared to ask me for anything..."
Because he'd grant every last one of your wishes if it meant you never have to look at him like that again.
The tension in your shoulders didn't ease, yet you still tried your best to speak up in the softest voice you could muster. "C—Can I... Can I sit next to you?"
Now he was stunned. The surprise must've shown and you might have interpreted it the wrong way because your eyes widened and you instantly shrunk away, frantically responding to his silence, "Y—you don't have to answer that! I just— Forget what I said."
"Sure." he nodded. "You can sit next to me for as long as you need."
At first, you didn't move. Din figured you were contemplating whether or not you should take the offer for one reason or the next. Which you didn't have to.
He watched as you slowly stood up and cautiously crossed the small space between the two beds while fidgeting with shaky fingers at your front. He'd picked up on that nervous tick. The way your thumb and index finger would rub your pinkie. You did that every time you were about to ask something you thought might be inappropriate. Or was it because you thought he'd be angry, even if it wasn't?
Was that how you lived on Nevarro with that good for nothing son of a bantha? In constant fear of what he'd say or do if you acted out of turn?
You sat down next to him with your hands gripping the edge of the bed. You kept your eyes low as you took deep breaths. Din desperately wanted to hold you and ask that you tell him everything. Those demons that plague you, he'd chase them down and put an end to them once and for all.
"Saw the kid swallow a frog today." you suddenly announced, peering at him. "By the time I got to him and tried to tell him to spit it out, it was far too late. Is that normal?"
Din chuckled softly. "Yeah, he can't resist getting his hands on the first frog he sees."
He remembers the first time he saw that image on Alarva-7. Khuill was just as shocked as he was, though he didn't say much about it.
"He acts like one too. Had to stop him from eating a beetle that was almost as big as one of his eyes." you added with a fond smile.
The kid's appetite knows no bounds. Din doesn't think the kid even knows when to stop eating. He liked the twinkle in your eye as you reached out to stroke one of the slumbering baby's petal ears.
You were so gentle with him. The affection in your heart never ceased when it came to the child and you took care of him without expecting much in return. Which is more than what he can say for anyone else.
Din tried as best as he could to ignore your widening eyes as he took off his glove and held out his hand. "May I...?"
The shock riddling your soft features made him uncertain. It only lasted for a moment until your hand drifted over to slide against his. The heat of your palm instantly calmed his worry and he wanted that same relief to fill your mind as well.
"I'm here for you. You know that you can tell me anything, right?" he said as his fingers laced through yours, and kept your hand secure.
He wanted you to feel that kind of safety. For you to think of him as a place where danger cannot reach. Never fearing his presence, his words, his armour. Never running or hiding from him. He wanted to be the reason you are at peace.
"I know..."
You kept your gaze downcast and he hooked his fingers under your chin to make you look at him. "And you know I'd never hurt you, right?"
Doubt glazed your eyes. He wanted to melt it away and bury it deep in the uncharted parts of the galaxy where it'll never reach you again.
"Even if I tried to leave?" your voice was soft, frightened.
Din felt his heart stutter at a single, most horrifying thought—
"Do you want to leave?"
The silence did nothing to help tame the echo of those words. You blinked, your mouth parting as unspoken thoughts rushed in your mind. He would do anything to know what you were thinking. If you wanted to leave or stay with him—
Maker, he hoped you wanted to stay.
He'd get on his knees right now, pride be damned, he get on his knees and beg you to never leave him.
"No." you shook your head, and he heaved out a heavy breath of air. "But would you—"
"No. Never." he gently squeezed your delicate hand. "If you do want to leave, I wouldn't hold it against you. This life that I live... It's not for anyone."
Your gaze softened. "Especially a child."
No. Especially not one with abilities that cannot be explained. Honestly, the kid fits in perfectly with the people of Sorgan. He was happy here. He could grow up here with happy memories.
There was so much Din wanted to say regarding the child and what his fate should be, but he didn't want to bring your emotions down even further. You two had bonded in the short time you'd known each other. He doubted you wanted to let the child go.
"Where are you from?" he asked instead.
You perked up, shoulders rising. "I grew up on Naboo."
"Huh." he tilted his head, smiling although you couldn't see it. "All the adventures I've been on and not one of them landed me on Naboo."
You giggled lightly and Din swore his heart soared a little.
But it made sense. He heard about Naboo. Mostly covered by one huge body of ocean with warm weather and kind people. Even after a civil war broke out years ago, it was quickly settled and the planet became one of the safest in the whole galaxy. Probably is the safest.
It made sense seeing the person you are now. Kind. Compassionate. Lovely—
"The kid would love it there. It's a lot like Sorgan." you pointed out, snapping Din out of his haze. "Warm and peaceful... Most of the time anyway."
"You don't say." He wanted to learn more about you. Everything, if you'll allow it. "Where'd you learn how to fix things?"
"My mom." you revealed, smiling. "She's a mechanic."
That explained why you knew so much about his ship without even having to run a full diagnostic. You grew up surrounded by metal all your life.
"Maybe one day, I'll pay her a visit and ask if she can help me build you a new ship."
"There's nothing wrong with the Razer Crest." He knows you're only pulling his leg.
"I've swam through that bucket of bolts and wires. I can find plenty of flaws in it."
Now this he liked. The easy flowing quips and light barbs of sarcasm. Your smile made his cheeks grow red and he was glad to have kept that hidden from your view. Your eyes glowed under the candlelight, but it was your soul that illuminated the entire room. Your happiness radiated through his skin. Scorched him, filled him with a fire that he never wanted to extinguish even if it left him charred to the bone.
Though he wanted to know. There had to have been something that drew you away from that paradise. If Naboo was such a good place for you and your mom, why—
"Why did you leave your home?"
Just like that, the light in your eyes dimmed. He felt like he just punched himself in the gut when he watched the smile slowly drop from your lips as you looked down.
Fuck, he shouldn't have pried—
"My father wanted me to be some rich man's wife."
The story of your life flowed freely. You explained everything from the start. Your father was a nobleman who'd been travelling between planets in the Inner Rim. He got stranded on Naboo during the war and that's how he'd met your mother. Though what they had didn't last long, he often came by to visit you at least.
You spoke slowly. With each word, you unravelled parts of yourself that hadn't seen the light of day in a long time. Din hung on to your voice, especially when it grew softer and heavier with sorrow as your head leaned on his shoulder.
"He said he wanted to secure my future and make a better life than my mother had." you had sighed, adding, "Which was another way of saying he wanted to sell me to the highest bidder."
He didn't mean to, but he visibly bristled. And you had felt it.
"Yeah, my mom didn't take too kindly to that either." you said. "She sold both of her speeders so she could get me as far away as possible from him and whoever was to be my future husband."
He thought of the child. The power he held. The lengths those Imps took to capture him and use him for their gain. You weren't much different from him. Your power came from your father. The influence that man carries and he wants to expand it through you, whether you agreed to it or not. Much like the child, you had someone to protect you.
And much like Din, you carried the pain of having been separated from your mother against your will. You knew that your father didn't send any bounty hunters to come after you, though you weren't exactly sure why. And truth be told, Din wasn't quite sure either.
"That's how I landed on Nevarro." you concurred in a thin voice. "I actually didn't plan on staying long, but..."
Brexlee...
Din spent a long time watching you on Nevarro. If he wasn't going back and forth between his ship and doing what was necessary for the survival of the covert, he was quietly seeking you out. In that time, he had to lie to himself, telling his heart to calm down whenever he saw you. And although he did his best to stay away from you, convincing himself that it was for the better, it pained him to see you in the arms of another.
Although he could've gotten you away from that despicable parasite, he thought it would've been better to keep you away from the danger that came with being a Mandalorian. And things were going to stay that way until a few days ago.
Two things happened a few days ago.
One: Something about you changed. He saw it when he entered Karga's cantina after delivering the kid to those Imps. Something had changed in you in a very short span of time. His heart broke for you because you thought that you had to go through it alone. And Din wanted to know. He wanted to ask if Brexlee had hurt you but you shot your way out of that conversation before it could settle. If Din was being honest, he wanted a valid excuse to go straight back to Nevarro just for the sole purpose of shooting him in the head where he stood.
And two: After deciding to rescue the kid, he came to the horrible realization that he might never see you again. Somehow, that was worse than having to see you cuddle up to someone who clearly doesn't deserve you at all.
"Did he hurt you?"
He saw it. The colour draining from your face so fast, he thought you'd faint.
But just as quickly, you covered it up with a tight smile vigorously shaking your head. "N—no."
Din wasn't sure if he believed you. The alarm in your bleary eyes didn't sit well with him. Were you lying to protect that scum? Why would you lie?
"I'm okay, really."
He wanted to press on that subject. Truly, he did. But the way you gently squeezed his hand with both of yours with your thumbs rubbing circles on his already overheated skin melted away the rage he had stacked up and ready to launch at the monster who kept you prisoner.
"I—I just don't want to ever see him again." your shaky voice sealed it shut and pushed it down to the bottom of his mind.
"You're here now. Away from the people who hurt you." he said. "That's all that matters."
That was all he could say for now as he silently vowed to keep it that way. To keep you happy. And safe.
And his.
Even if he didn't tell you that.
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Within a matter of days, the entire village had turned into a training camp. Between learning how to shoot a blaster and learning hand to hand combat, you did your best not to let the physical strain deter you from looking after the baby.
Hand to hand combat came easily to you. Especially when you asked Cara to show you how to properly use a dagger in a fight. That was probably the highlight of the day.
Shooting a blaster? Not so much.
You tried not to let Omera's skill cloud your focus. And you tried to ignore how the Mandalorian admired her for it. For as long as you could, you fought to ignore the burning in your chest when he praised her for hitting all the targets without so much difficulty.
Your knife grew to flow effortlessly in your nimble fingers when you practice, though you weren't nearly as good as Cara or the Mandalorian. It was easy to let it become an extension of you. To let it defend you when need be. One sharp pointy end, all that was required was for you to be swift and precise with your movements.
A blaster was not as simple. It wanted more out of you than you were sure you lacked. Be it the strength to actually hold it steady so the recoil doesn't knock you off your feet or the startling sound once the shot goes off, it all makes you nervous and very reluctant to actually use it in a fight or flight situation.
It also makes you wonder how anyone, let alone an entire group of people dedicate themselves to weapons such as this.
After sparring with Cara and being flattened to the ground a bunch of times right after she winked at you, you were standing by the makeshift firing range alone. The blaster in your hands didn't feel right. None of them did. You missed holding your dagger, but you wanted to at least try getting at least one shot right otherwise you'll never have the confidence to actually shoot somebody one day when you really need to.
The Mandalorian had found you standing by yourself after an hour of trying and failing to shoot even one target. You wanted to scream in frustration and it showed on your face.
"What's wrong?" He had stepped to the side when he saw you putting the blaster back in the large metal case he had packed up for the journey.
"I can't shoot as well as she does." you confessed lowly, looking to your feet for some form of comfort.
"That's what practice is for." he told you, taking the blaster and offering it back to you. "C'mon. Let's try one more time."
You shook your head. "It's okay. As long as I have a knife, I'll be fine."
"Still." he said, and you wondered if your reluctance grated his patience. "It doesn't hurt to know how to use a blaster."
It doesn't. In fact, it was more practical to equip yourself with that knowledge. Missing the target every time is what you didn't want to do anymore. Especially in front of him. You thought of Omera and the urge to scream at yourself returned.
Slowly, you sighed and reached for the weapon from his hand. "Come on. Show me your form."
Again, it didn't feel comfortable. Your own mind betrayed you and whispered all the things you're about to do wrong. Despite that, you took the stance he had shown you days ago.
"Good." he nodded. "Now what you need to do is be firm. Hold your weapon like you're sure, otherwise it won't trust you and it won't let you aim where you need it to."
"You say that like it breathes." you deadpanned, although surprised that he'd use that analogy.
Your eyes glanced over to him just as you caught the tilt of his helmet. "In a way."
There was little doubt in your mind that he was smiling, which in turn made the corner of your lip curve up. Your eyes shifted back to the target, a rather large frying pan that had been strung up by its handle.
You pulled the trigger and missed by an inch. That might have been the closest you've gotten, but it irked you nonetheless. You groaned, lowering the blaster. "Mando, I can't aim for shit."
That's how annoying this was. When you are annoyed, you start to curse. It wasn't that you were against cursing, but you just weren't used to using curse words growing up. For that, you didn't do it often unless someone was out to ruin your day or you feared for your life. Your mother never did, despite being given every reason to with difficult customers and a bitter ex lover. And the said ex lover is a prim and proper rich man who is apparently above profanity.
You wondered if the Mandalorian cursed like a pirate or was he moderate. You wondered if he constantly had to hold his tongue when people tested his patience. He had to, you reckoned. With the shit he endures on a regular basis, you know he must be constantly seething underneath that helmet.
"That's because you don't trust yourself." he stated flatly. "You're unsure of yourself."
You're not unaware of that fact. Everything has been off balance since leaving Nevarro on his ship.
"Keep your hands steady." He went to stand behind you, raising the weapon up till it pointed straight while still in your shaky hands. "Like this."
Your breath hitches tightly when your brain registers his grip on your hands, as if he was pouring his own strength into your body. The length of his arms pressed against yours and you were startled by the raw power in those hands, barely contained by a pair of leather gloves. You were silenced by the raw power that was barely contained by the Beskar he wears.
You remember the first time you saw his skin. His actual flesh, bronzed and utterly beautiful. Which was ridiculous, it was just one hand. It shouldn't make your heart race when you think about it, yet it does because you don't know when you will be able to see it again. If you'll be able to see it again. If you'd touch him again.
Under that armour was a man with blood as hot and steadfast as any. It was hard to remember that when he marches forward like something out of a dark fairytale. He was a man with thoughts and feelings, with desires, like any. How often he acts on them, you don't know. And you're almost scared to find out.
"Good." As the chill of his helmet quietly seeped into your ear, his modulated voice calmed something in you that had been restless for days on end. "Now breathe."
You caught Cara's smirk and resisted the urge to shoo her off. The Mandalorian slowly let you go, withdrawing his strength and his warmth and you wanted to tell him to come back and keep holding you in his arms. Because there, where his body moulded against yours, is where you felt safest. Because that is where you can't lie to yourself and admit that you never want to leave his side.
"Again."
You took a deep breath as you focused. Every last inch of you screamed to just drop the weapon and leave. That you were going to fail no matter what you do. That you will never receive any praise from him. That Omera was going to be the one he admires and the one he thinks of when he's holding his pulse rifle—
The thought made you grit your teeth as you pulled the trigger. The shot bounced against the target with a loud clank. You blinked, not sure if you saw that right.
"I—I... I did it..." the stuttered words came out quietly, as if they were struggling to take hold into existence.
The large pan swung around as proof, a spot of charred black marking your victory. Disbelief filled your lungs, but it was right there.
You looked at the Mandalorian, grinning widely. "I did it!"
"Good job." was all he said but it was enough.
It was all you needed to hear. You were brimming with joy for the rest of the day and had to consciously resist the urge to smile every time you saw him. The sound of his praise was forever burned into your memory.
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"It's almost time."
It was almost sundown. You stood outside the barn after putting the baby to sleep. The Mandalorian stood in front of you with a blaster in hand (the same one you had been practising with the day before), tense and steady as a mountain. But the rasp in his voice told you that he was almost as anxious as you were. As everyone was.
The day of reckoning had finally arrived. You have been jumpy since waking up. Fear laced your every word and action. The baby's wild energy hadn't helped to calm you down this time, but you supposed that was partly your fault. He tended to reflect the emotions of those around him, as any child would.
You nodded to the Mandalorian and handed him the dark material in your hands. "I fixed your cloak."
It took you longer to sew than you liked to admit. Your hands were shaky as you threaded the needle through and you pricked yourself a bunch of times, but you had finally gotten the job done for this specific day.
He reached out to take it and took a moment to analyse it. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
You grinned, despite the anxiety threatening to overwhelm your nerves. You wanted to throw your arms around him so badly, but you weren't sure if he'd like that. Even if the idea of this mission going sideways weighed heavily on you, you restrained yourself from embracing him and you feared that you might live to regret it.
Then that smile was quickly wiped away.
There, far beyond the humble farmers with their colours of blue and woven baskets, into the treeline of the ominous forest, stood a familiar face.
A Twi'lek. The boy from Nevarro. Saros.
"What's wrong?"
You glanced back and he was gone. Instinctively, your mind tried to convince you that it was a trick. A mere hallucination birthed by anxiety and the tide that threatens to swallow you whole when you want to sleep.
But you know what you saw. As much as you wanted to, you couldn't ignore it. Nor could you burden the Mandalorian when he already has the enormous task of taking down an AT-ST. His focus should only be on that weapon if you're all to survive this war.
"N—nothing." you smiled tightly, placing your hands on his elbows to whisper. "Be careful out there."
You had meant it. You want, with all your heart, for him to get out of this alive.
"Stay safe." he said. "Keep your knife close and your blaster closer."
He held the weapon out to you and you looked at it with slight dread. Sure, you had gotten a few shots in, but that didn't make you any less fearful of using it.
"Pretty sure the knife would be of more help to me." you confessed lowly, even though you took the blaster. "I'll give it back once this is over."
"No." he countered. "Keep it."
Wait, what?
Stunned by his words, you stood there with your mouth parted. He was giving you something of his. Something he considered to be important to his religion, his creed. Because he cared about your wellbeing and wanted to increase your chances of survival should he not be there to protect you and the child.
"I..." you paused, swallowing thickly as you felt the tears prick your eyes. "Thank you."
Moments later, he left with Cara, taking part of your soul with him. Truthfully, you believed that by some miracle, this battle will end the way it should, but you are still worried for them. For the whole village. These were good people and they deserved peace.
You and one other woman stayed inside a single hut to guard all the children. You hugged Omera tightly after Winta did before she ran inside the hut to join the other kids.
"Be careful out there, okay?" you told her.
"I will." she whispered back. "Look after the little ones."
"I'll guard them with my life." you said and you had meant it.
Once she left, you sat down with the children and checked on your green baby. Still asleep, he snored softly, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was about to ensue outside.
Only minutes later, the shit storm hit.
You all heard the pandemonium outside and huddled closely to each other. Yasmine, the woman you were with, and yourself placed yourselves in a way that you two were the only barrier between whoever would come through the door and the children. She had a knife of her own, which really didn't put you at ease. All the blasters were with everyone who fought outside.
The war waged on. It wasn't far from where you and the children were, but it was far enough that the Mandalorian, Cara and people held their own to keep the raiders from going deeper into the village.
That was what you had thought until you heard shuffling outside.
Winta pressed her face into your side and you hugged her closely with one arm, frightened as she was. You glanced at Yasmine when you heard her ask, "What was that?"
"Not sure." you replied quietly, your other hand checking for your dagger that you had hidden in the length of your skirts.
Then someone banged on the door. Everyone flinched and you heard a few children scream. Yasmine shushed them as best as she could. It didn't open. You stood up, pointing your blaster at the door as it banged and banged and banged, your heart leaping into your throat each time. The children were crying at this point and you were sure that if this madness didn't end soon, you just might burst into tears too. Finally, and unfortunately, the door was kicked open.
The baster in your hand started to tremble. Saros entered the hut with three other companions. One human and the other two were the raiders Omera had described to you some time ago.
Saros grinned, his fangs gleaming under the candlelight as he spoke, "Good to see you again, sweet cheeks."
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"Winta!" Omera held her daughter's face in her hands. "You're bleeding."
Din, Cara and Omera had returned to the hut to find Yasmine and the children. He had stopped in his tracks when you and the baby were nowhere in sight. Yasmine was hurt badly, she'd been stabbed on her side and needed extensive medical care because of the large amount of blood she lost. A few children, including Winta, got a few scrapes during the scuffle, which wasn't too bad. But you and the kid were nowhere to be found. That alone was enough to make him want to burn everything in his path in search of you.
"The raiders found us in our tent." Winta explained everything in tears, scared out of her mind.
Those bastards attacked the children. There were four of them. You had shot one of them in the head and stabbed another in the leg, the one who was captured. Yasmine killed another one, which left two. Then she got stabbed and one of them took the baby. That's when you ran after him and the other raider followed.
That's why you and the kid were nowhere to be found. Din tried as best as he could not to assume the worst, but your absence burned a hole in his chest that left him grasping at straws. He clenched his fists when they started to tremble because of the rage he felt. Wherever those bastards were, he was going to find them. And he was going to make them pay for every atrocious act toward you and the child.
"Where is she?" Omera asked Winta, rubbing her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to calm her down.
"The bad man took her and beetle." she sniffed as her mother wiped her tears from her cheeks, as well as the blood on her forehead with the long sleeve of her dress.
"Beetle?" Cara raised an eyebrow, glancing at him.
—had to stop him from eating a beetle that was almost as big as one of his eyes.
"She means the kid." Din said.
"He didn't look like the other raiders. He was a Twi'lek." She promptly explained and pointed East. "He went that way."
He didn't wait to hear anything more. Time was of the essence. You couldn't have gotten far, which was the first and by far the best advantage he's got so far. The second being that there were many more clues leading to your location.
He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified when traced your steps back to the Razer Crest.
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flower dividers by @saradika reblog banner by @cafekitsune
Masterlist
Chapter Two, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
Taglist:
@groguspawbeans
@graciexmarvel
@thirddeadlysin
@15letthegamesbegin15
@deceiverofgodss
@ayothatsano
@rennalouise
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aylacavebear · 2 months
Text
Stockroom Antics - Chapter 2
Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.
Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!
Word Count: 2163
Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC
Warnings: None that I noticed
A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic.
----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 2
“Dude, I think I found something,” Sam said, staring at his laptop at one of the library tables.
Dean came over and sat across from him, “What’d you find?” he asked, watching his younger brother.
Sam is silent for a moment, reading over something, “Weird weather patterns in Southern Arizona,” he replied, still reading.
Dean thinks for a moment, then leans back in his chair, “Weren’t we in that area about six months ago?” he asks, thinking back.
This time Sam looked up at him, “Yeah but it was more like four months ago,” he replied, a bit of teasing at his brother's memory.
Dean rolled his eyes, “Whatever. Don’t they have weird weather anyway?” he asked.
“Not like this. Tempts went down into the twenties this week. That’s normal for the higher elevations, but not near Tucson. Don’t you remember the snow they got last year, three different times,” Sam explained.
“What is going on down there and why is it like it’s a demon hotspot over the last five years?” Dean questions.
“Not sure. Maybe we missed something,” Sam suggests, “It wouldn’t hurt to check it out before it gets that bad again.”
They’d been to Tucson, more the small town just north of it, Marana, almost fifteen times in the last five years due to demonic activity. Sometimes it was just one, at others, there were up to five. The brothers still hadn’t figured out why the demons were so interested in that particular area though. They had questioned witnesses, and local authorities, and even tortured the few demons they had managed to capture. The demons didn’t give up anything though. They all chose death over what would have happened had they squealed.
Dean rubbed his face with his hand before he stood up, “Looks like a road trip. We leave in twenty,” he told his brother. Sam nodded and then closed his laptop.
The Winchester brothers lived in a bunker, built by the Men of Letters in the fifties. It was their home, their sanctuary, and it held more information than either of them could read in one lifetime. Most hunters never worked the same town twice. It was one of the unwritten rules of hunting. However, this case was one they had gotten invested in.
It had started five years ago. There was a monsoon but it ended up being a massive storm. Marana had even gotten an F0 tornado, yeah, that’s a thing. It didn’t do much damage but the storm had also affected areas of Tucson. It made the boys finding any sort of epicenter almost impossible. They spent most of their time driving around and looking at the damage, which was widespread. There was a single demon in the area, out in Avra Valley. It wasn’t the actual name of the area, but it was what the locals called it. The small gas station, a place called Speedway, was where they had found it. The demon had been around the back of the store when the brothers grabbed him, taking him somewhere to question him. Well, more like torturing the information out of him, but the demon didn’t give them anything.
These things went through both the brother’s minds as they drove from Lebanon Kansas to Marana Arizona. There were several hotels in a cluster off a road called Cortaro, which was where they had stayed before. It would take them about a day to get there and would end up sharing the drive time so the other could sleep. There were also numerous other businesses off that same road, places they’d been before and questioned people.
“Agents Frehley and Criss. Nice to see you two again,” the male clerk behind the hotel desk told them, “How long will you be staying?”
“We’ll pay for two weeks, at least. We’ve got a lot of digging to do,” Agent Frehley, Sam, told him.
Both of them were in their suits, to sell it again. They weren’t surprised that the man had recognized them. Once they got settled into their room, which had easy access to the parking lot, they decided to head out and start asking questions. There were too many places to take on in one day so the two split up, covering more ground. Sam took the businesses on the side with the hotels while Dean headed across the street to the larger businesses.
The place hadn’t changed since they had been there four months prior. Dean started with the largest business, a Wal-Mart Supercenter. Questioning the employees took the better part of the day, especially when shifts ended and others began, giving him a whole new set of employees to question. By the time he was done, it was almost five in the evening. Since there wasn’t a bar nearby, he bought a couple of bottles of whiskey and a twenty-four-pack of beer before he began the short walk back to the hotel.
As he stopped at the light, he noticed a truck. It looked somewhat familiar but at the moment, he couldn’t place where he’d seen it. The woman driving didn’t look familiar at all either but he found her kinda hot. She was smiling, comfortably sitting behind the wheel of that large truck. When the light turned green, he began through the crosswalk as the woman drove through and across the street, disappearing down the road behind the businesses. 
“Find anything?” Dean asked his brother as he set the alcohol down on the counter in their room.
Sam sighed, exhausted, “Nothing. Everyone said this happens every so many years, the cold snap.”
Dean chuckled, “If only they knew why.” He then handed his brother a beer while he poured himself a whiskey.
The brothers had brought the case files from the last fifteen or twenty times they’d been to the area. Tonight though, they just wanted a decent night's sleep after the drive and the dead-end interviews they’d had that day. The two took turns showering before having a few more drinks and turning in for the night, deciding to get an early start the following morning.
When morning did come, it was cold again, the thermostat for outside reading twenty-six at seven in the morning. Dean groaned as he saw that. Neither of them was looking forward to being out in this chill. It wasn’t like where it snowed. That cold was tolerable. The cold here though, was bone-chilling, sinking right through your skin, into your muscles, and it felt as though it was trying to freeze your bones. They both knew their suits weren’t going to keep them warm enough but had to keep up appearances, at least for now.
Sam continued on his side of the road while Dean went back across the street. He hit the store next to Wal-Mart and sighed at another dead-end. Then he hit the smaller businesses in the plaza. He grabbed himself another cup of hot coffee before he headed across the street around one. Dean decided to hit the biggest store there first, a Ross. He put on his professional smile as he headed inside, then up to the cashier.
“Agent Criss, FBI. May I speak with your manager please?” he asked the woman, who wasn’t bad looking, so smiling came easy for Dean.
The cashier spoke into the headset she was wearing asking Tay to come to the front of the store while Dean stood there and surveyed the place. There weren’t many customers, probably less than fifteen at the moment. Some with kids, some without. He remembered being here, questioning the employees four months ago, finding nothing then. He was pulled out of his thoughts when a woman approached him.
“Agent Criss. Nice to see you again, I think,” Tay told him, smiling.
He smirked down at her. She was attractive, nicely built, well proportioned with black wavey hair just past her shoulders, dark skin, and very kissable lips, “Didn’t think you’d remember me,” he replies.
She chuckled, “It’s not like we get a lot of FBI in here, especially one as good-looking as you,” she teased him. She was married but still complimented him, “What can I help you with?”
Dean’s smirk only grew but he decided to keep it professional, at least for now, “I just need to talk to your employees.”
“Alright. Do you want to use the office again? Or… can you do that while they’re on the floor?” Tay asked him, wondering if she’d have to supervise moving people around.
“Na. I think they can keep working. They’re just routine questions,” he replies.
“Well, if you need anything, just have one of the cashiers call for me. I have to help with unloading the truck we just got,” she tells him before heading to the back stockroom.
The employee roaster consisted of mostly women, which Dean found interesting. He started with the cashier since she didn’t have any customers, asking if she felt cold patches in the store, saw flickering lights, or smelled sulfur. She answered no to all of those so he headed further into the store.
When he got past the clothing racks he stopped though, watching something rather interesting happening with what looked like four employees. All he could do was attempt to keep from laughing at the antics taking place. One woman was holding a phone, seeming to be filming the other three. Another woman, tiny in frame was laying on a small sitting sofa, posing like a royal woman or something completely opposite that. Then there was the woman and the young man at either end of the small sofa, carrying it as if they were her servants.
“And here we have the amazing Sarah, modeling just how comfortable this beauty is as her servants obediently carry her through the store. Not only is it lightweight, but will give you the feeling of royalty, even if you don’t have servants to carry you around on it,” the woman holding the phone said in an almost infomercial tone.
The two carrying it were doing their best to keep straight faces, as was the woman lying on the thing. Dean couldn’t contain the small bit of laughter as he watched them. They had almost made it to where the other larger store items belonged on the floor before the four erupted in laughter.
“That will do servants,” Sarah said as royally as she could, before the two set her down, now laughing so hard they could barely stand. Now all four of them were laughing. 
He cleared his throat as he approached them, watching as they attempted to look professional. The one holding the camera quickly saved the video and passed it to Sarah, who turned it off and pocketed it. 
“Excuse me. I just have a few questions, if you’re not too busy,” Dean told them, barely able to keep from chuckling at them. They looked like kids who’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
“We’re not gonna get fired for that, are we?” The male asked him.
Dean laughed a little, “I’m not here about your antics, if that’s what you're asking,” he replied. The four of them let out a sigh of relief at that, relaxing a little. “Have any of you felt any cold spots, seen lights flickering, or smelled any sulfur?” he asked them.
The girl, whom Dean learned by her nametag, that was holding the phone was Kendel, the one on the sofa was Sarah, the other Maria, and the male was Angel. All of them said no to his questions. It was the way Maria had said no, as well as her demeanor change, even if it was slight, that caught his attention. Not a single person out of all the times they’d been to the area had even flinched oddly at their questions. 
He fixed his gaze on her, a knowing in his eyes, “You sure?” he asked again, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled a bit, more like smirked, “Yup,” she popped the ‘p’, “Things are pretty plain around here, unless its monsoon season. That’s about the only time we get flickering lights, but that’s just a power thing, due to the electricity in the air.”
“Uh-huh,” was all he said, deciding he wanted to keep more of an eye on her, perhaps even follow her. He’d been reading people his whole life, and he knew she was hiding something, he just wasn’t sure what. It was a gut feeling he couldn’t ignore, as they hadn’t steered him wrong in the past.
The four of them headed back to the stockroom, and Dean questioned the other employees, no luck with any of them. Then he called his brother, “You busy?” he asked as he headed out of the store.
“Just finished here, why?” Sam replied.
“Meet me back at the hotel. I think I have a lead. It’s weak, but it’s something,” Dean explained, walking quickly.
----------------------------------------- Chapter 3
Link to the series Master List
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okami-zero · 10 days
Text
OC Name Meanings
I appreciate the tag, @kittynomsdeplume! xD
Rules: Google and post the meaning of your OC’s name (if you made their name up or they go by a nickname, post an explanation of how it came to you)! bonus if you can find something for their last name too.
I believe I shall tag... @elveny, @vasheden, @greyias, @traveleorzea, @autumnslance, @kunstpause, @sasslett, @clockworkdragonffxiv, @karoiseka, @yzeltia and anyone else who see this and wants to join in!
Okay, so one thing to note about most of my OCs, is their names generally just pop out of the random mess of alphabet soup constantly simmering in some corner of my brain. Not ALL of them (for example, Akagi's family name), but most. Or are inspired/pulled from other places. I will go with my big three main MMO fellas, and my two 100% original OCs. Also, have a cut cause I, uh, got carried away. ^_^; (And I am sorry this took so long. >.<)
Zedd Overkill/Zed'rika Ov'redis- Okay, this guy. My half-echani smuggler in SWTOR, who is based on the original I made ages ago (and who is the descendant of the SWTOR one, after some revisions/additions/etc.) The OG is Zedd Overkill, inspired by my favorite Power Rangers villain (Lord Zedd), the head agent from MiB (Zed, as in the letter) and with inspiration from Hackers (Crash Override), a dash (heh, pun) of Dash Rendar from Shadows of the Empire and a maybe just a hint of Han solo. The name popped into my head after watching Hackers and was trying to think up a cool email during computer class (back when Hotmail was still Hotmail xD). The name was repurposed with a smuggler character I made with a friend when we were just making up neat Star Wars OCs for a maybe story we were writing. Story never got finished, but Zedd stuck around. "Overkill" is more a nickname now, as his preferred method of rapid problem-solving involves liberal applications of thermal detonators. x3 Rav Masahiro & Marshall O'Donnell - These two are my second oldest persistent OCs after good ol' Zedd. There is technically one that is older (in fact, old enough that he used Zedd's moniker for a while, back when folding an OC to fit any AU was my MO), but he's kind of only half-baked, for the most part. Rav and Marshall are next in line, and are, by and large much more polished. The story they were to be set in was very grand in scale and scope, considering it was kind of a series of AUs where things in various realities were being fucked with, and they are two of a team of six who are sent out to deal with such things. If this sounds like a certain popular video game franchise from a prominent Japanese publisher, you'd be right in there being some similarities, I guess, but they predate it by about a year. Well, technically Rav predates it, Marshall didn't crystallize until about a year or so later. Powersets are very shounen-ish, I guess? Little bit of henshin and other stuff thrown in for flavor (and things have been tweaked and appended over time). Anyway, Rav's name comes from a reworking of my own name, as he is kind of my self-insert-ish guy. His last name comes from my at-the-time rampant obsession with Japanese culture (yes, yes, I'll say it, I was a weeb. The interest remains, though tempered by time, experience and education). I thought his last name meant something else, as Googling in those early days was... a crap shoot. And the fact that Masahiro is a given name in Japanese hasn't deterred me, as embarrassing as it might be, it just... is a thing now. xD (The other half-baked OC I mentioned has a similar nomenclature goof). Marshall's name kind of just, popped out of the ether, but it flows well and it fits. She does let people close to her shorten it to "Shall" (sounds like shawl). Do NOT call her "Marsh", "Marshie" or "Marsha" or she'll deck you. Like, lay you out flat with one punch. Moving on!
Xanotos Delkai - My Warrior tank in WoW. Another lad who went through some changes. xD So my first character in WoW was a human hunter back in the...alpha or beta, whenever it was they were originally playable before getting nixed. His name was Thanatos, inspired by the character of the same name from a Sega CD fighting game Eternal Champions: Challenge from the Dark Side. He was a typical Grim Reaper-y Death (as Thanatos was the personification of death in Greek mythology, and a psychopomp, I believe). I liked the name. However, the character was nuked after the alpha or beta or whatnot. So, when I remade the character for the full version, I rolled up a Warrior and named him Xanatos/Xanotos (depending on the server), or Xano. Now, I have remade and moved this character many times over the years. Delkai became his surname at some point, and when worgen came out, he was race-changed to worgen, and his backstory was shifted and fleshed out further. Fun fact: the Gargoyles TV series was the farthest thing from my mind when I made this toon, and was for many years. It wasn't until... just before or around Legion, I think? that I realized I had named him the same (if spelled differently) as Evil 90s Will Riker. xD
Akagi Obinata - And now we get to my most recent and most prevalent MMO OC, Akagi. Paladin, Tankfriend, tol dragon/lizard man. So, sadly, this boy is the third I have given a Japanese-style name to, and borked the order of, because Akagi is a freaking surname. >.< Now, I am aware that Hingashi (he was born and raised in/around Kugane) is only kind of Etheirys-Japan, but... I am just...moving on! The inspiration for his given name is one Akagi Shunsuke (or Shunsuke Akagi, in Western fashion) from the anime Dai-Guard. It is an absolutely insane super robot show and I love it, and I see a lot of myself in one of the protagonists (the aforementioned Akagi Shunsuke). So, in honor of a favorite character, I chose that. Forgetting, or blindly ignoring the fact that just because everyone in the show (save for his one relative we see) refers to him as Akagi because it is a cultural thing, and not because it is his given name. >.< What's done is done, however. His surname, thankfully, is one from a list of suggested surnames from the raen au ra lore I could find. It means "blades on waist", and I figured that there were samurai in his family line far enough back that that was the name they took. Akagi, by the way, is if I am not mistaken, "red castle", and well, he IS red. And the Paladin LB3 is a freaking castle WALL, so... it fits in a retroactive kind of way. xD (I was not thinking of his coloring, nor was I aware of what the LB3 looked like when I made him. ^_^; )
And that is it! Do I have more OCs? Yes! But they are all kind of self-contained to different things, and their names are more of a kind of mental slot machine than these goobers (plus the one xD). Hopefully I didn't ramble TOO too much, but I get excited about my homemade blorbos, y'know how it is. Thanks for reading!
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o-wyrmlight · 9 months
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9 People I'd Like To Know Better
Or something to that extent
Tagged by: @thefloatingstone like. Last week. Sorry
Last Song: Not really a 'last song' because Reasons, but here's a list of songs I distinctly remember listening to like... yesterday or the day before or so:
Up the Wolves by The Mountain Goats
The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace
Everything I Ever Thought I Knew from the Tangled animated series
This one cover of Viva la Vida
I have very specific reasons for all of these. The first one is sort of a comfort song, and the last three are character-related.
Currently watching: Nothing at the moment. Some kind of mixture of somebody on YouTube doing a small documentary of OceanGate's former founder's history, the history of Super Paper Mario Speedrunning, people shitting on Ben Shapiro's book about sex, and a group of friends goofing around playing Terraria. The most recent show I've watched was Madoka Magica, which was!!! A really interesting show. I can't believe God and the Devil are two 14-year-old lesbians holding hands.
Currently Reading: Like one chapter of a book I bought two weeks ago. This one. Girls Like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko. Not for lack of me WANTING to read it, but executive dysfunction is delightful. It seems like a super cute book so far, it's just hard for me to sit down and read.
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If you count audio books, I've been re-introducing myself to the Warriors series by the group of writers colloquially known as Erin Hunter. I have the first arc of books somewhere but I don't know where they are. Anyway, someone informed me that there's a YouTube channel that reads the entire series for free. Here's the very first book.
Current Obsession: Define 'obsession'. I'm not sure if I'm particularly 'obsessed' with anything, at the moment. I was very into yarn work but my wrists started hurting so I stopped, and then I got into spinning yarn but ended up stopping, too. I got into the idea of getting a spinning wheel. The idea still appeals to me, but the urge isn't as strong as it was.
I've recently gotten into Pikmin, though! I've always been a little bit fascinated by Pikmin, in a vague, 'I have no idea what it's about other than the very basic premise of it, but it seems neat' sort of way.
I guess you could also say that I'm still into Cookie Run, and specifically Dark Cacao Cookie, but that's sort of calmed down, too.
I've seen some clips and fanart of Sonic Prime on Twitter, though, and it. Hmm! It makes me want to watch Sonic Prime. It's really inspired my past vague interest in Sonadow. I really like the characterization of them from what I've seen, and I love that Shadow isn't depicted as a villain! He's one of my favorite Sonic characters. Someday I hope to be able to stream my favorite GameCube games, and among those would be Shadow the Hedgehog. :)
Tagging: @saturno-sol @stainedglassthreads @nik-knight and whoever else wants to do it! My brain is empty of people at the moment. No pressure to do it or not do it! Do what you feel most cozy with! ♥️
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honeeybuunny · 2 months
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A Stranger
Dean’s just turned 24 and kinda got lost on the way. But one should never underestimate the power of an accident.
Dean was lying in his bed since morning. It felt like the day would suck anyway, why don’t feel sorry for yourself for a little bit.
It was his 24th birthday. No college degree, no work experience rather than a short mechanic internship he had before John had them leave the town to get on the road.
Alone in a stinky motel room. Freezing cold, with no idea what to do with his life. The heater broke a few days ago.
He hypnotised the ceiling with how hard he stared at it hoping he gets some answers from the blank space above him, but nada. Some girls he met at a bar months ago and became somewhat of friends with, kept saying he needed someone to care about. Well, they did became friends after he had come out as bi, so they did talk about guys most of the time.
But it was so naive to assume someone would come and rescue you.
And in 7 billion people? Man, it would be a real hard job to find the one, so might as well never start looking.
In three weeks, he went on a drive. To clear his mind, to find something exciting about life. So he stopped at some places he enjoyed, like a gun shop, and a small lake with fishermen, and cafeteria near the road to a pier. He ordered some pie and left a good tip for a lovely old lady who worked there and called him “son”. Going back to his car, he turned around to look at the water and ferry boats. It was calm there. He went up the stairs and saw a man looking somewhere in front of him where the sun had started setting. Dean coughed, not to scary the man and cut the distance. The man slowly turned his head to see the visitor while the sun shined on his face.
“It’s windy out there” Dean stood next to the man.
“Not as much as it usually is”
“You being here often?”
“Um, from time to time, I don’t actually live here”
“Me neither”
“Hmm”
They stood at the edge of the platform, looking at a ferry boat that was taking people to the other side of the river.
“You sure you’re not cold?” the guy’s hands were red and shaking from the freezing wind. “C’mere” Dean took his hands in his.
“Do you do this for all the strangers you meet?”
“I dunno. Just feels like the right thing to do,” Dean kept staring at guy’s eyes. God, they were something you could never forget.
“See something you like?”
“Very much”
“Can I guess your name?”
“What?”
“I bet I can guess your name”
“Uh, fine, whatever”
“Is it Phillip?”
“Yeah, you actually right”
“No, it’s not, isn’t it?”
“Nope”
“Damn, I really wanted to impress you”
“Did you, huh?” Dean smiled blushing and giggling a little when the guy’s cold hands started tickling his palms.
“Wanna stay till the stars show up?”
“Man, it’s freaking cold out here,” he thought for a moment. This was strange, he didn’t know the guy, but he made him feel something, peace and excitement at the same time, “but I do have a car parked nearby, if you won’t think I’m some kind of a perv.”
“Can we watch the stars from your car then?”
“Sure”
_________
Dean was looking at the pictures of him and mom, him and Sam, Mary and John. The family he quit never had. He saw the picture of him at Bobby’s garage. He missed the old man. He was the first he ever came out to. Showed him support and respected his choice to leave the hunter life.
“Dean, how’s that boy you met some time ago?”
“You wanna discuss my love life now?” he really came to visit because he missed Bobby, not to get some therapy hours.
“Well, you know, you’ve never been chatty about your dates, but this one you did tell me all about on the phone. So I guess it’s…” Bobby was really accurate not to overstep, but it showed that he did worry about Dean.
“It’s nothing. We didn’t talk since that day. And… Uh, whatever, I don’t even know his name, so”
“Okay. Pass me the pliers?”
_________
Getting a dog was a good idea. Well, messy, a bit overwhelming, but a good one. Dean could now go for a walk every day, feel the fresh morning air, have company at dinner. Life was pretty good actually, he worked a Bobby’s, spent a lot of time in nature instead of the bar, even started eating (relatively) clean. The thing was he couldn’t forget a stranger he met a month ago. That was…not a big deal, necessarily. But lying in bed at night, imagining those eyes — well, it made things to Dean, things he did not realised had changed him.
So he went to a bar. One night out was a healthy thing to do, it was balance. He needed to blow off some steam and meet people, so when he came to the bar he could not believe that instead of chatting with pretty girls (or boys for that matter), he found himself sitting on the sofa in the furthest corner of the room with some old couple.
“Why are you here again?”
“Well, Grace here loves to plan us little dates, and it’s been 40 years since we married, can you imagine any place in this town we’ve never been to?”
“I think it’s a good way to spend time together, and also it reminds me of the day we met..”
“Come on, lovely lady, you think a boy here wants to listen to the sappy story of how I met the mother of my children?”
“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” Dean really enjoyed the peace and quiet some people could give him, and this couple was amazing at this in the epicentre of the chaos that this bar was.
“The day we met, Robert was the only one waiting in line at the post office. I needed to send a letter to my friend in Ohio, and he waited there to send a box to his brother in New Jersey. I was wind up that morning, my landlord was a madman, and the bills were piling up—I was thinking I’m going to go mad, too. But at that post office? It was the calmest place on Earth for me,” she smiled looking at her husband, “He had a watch on his hand, and I asked if it’s old, because my father used to wear a similar one. Denis raised his watch so that I could see, and there was something engraved on it…”
_________
“If that would for some reason be my last night on Earth, I wouldn’t change a thing,” they were sitting in the car, watching the moonlight shine over water surface. The stars had started to show up in the dark blue sky.
“I wouldn’t, too,” Dean agreed without any hesitation.
There was a moment of comfortable silence between them.
“There’s a saying that someone you haven’t met yet, could change your life forever,” the guy almost whispered turning to face Dean, “I think I’m loosing contr—something”.
What the heck? What is he talking about?
“What do you mean?”
“I’m afraid I cannot change just yet, I’m sorry, I—“ and the guy just vanished from the car, never giving Dean a chance to do anything about it.
_________
Dean leaned in closer to hear the lady:
“There was an engraved phrase: “To a stranger I’ll love forever”. And then he told me that his mom gave this watch to his father whom she had met on the train when she accidentally bought the wrong ticket. And his father gave it to him.”
“That is a really sweet story.”
“Do you have a better half, son?” the man was really kind to him spending time in their company.
“Uh, no, I don’t”
“Oh, no worries here! Look at you!” the lady wanted to cheer him up a little bit, “What a handsome, kind young man. Your lover is somewhere out there, and someday he will change your life forever, I’m telling you,” she leaned to put her head on her husband’s shoulder.
“Yeah, I hope so,” Dean started to feel awkward taking up space, “I will leave you to your date, it was really nice meeting you.”
“It was nice meeting you, too,” the man reached out to shake Dean’s hand, “Wait, are you heading out of here? Our son’s supposed to pick us up, we can take a smoke outside while we wait, what do you think?”
“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.”
Dean liked the view at the sky from here. The town didn’t have quite many lights to hide the stars.
“Promise me you text me on that number I gave you when you meet someone. You’re such I great guy, make an old lady happy one day from a text saying you’re happy, okay?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” it started to get really cold when the night came, so he put his hands in his pockets but he didn’t want to leave just yet.
“Honey, give me your hands, you’re cold,” the old man took his wife’s hands and was warming them up with his breath.
“He always does that when it’s cold,” the lady laughed and Dean smiled and blushed a little, but maybe it was just from the wind.
A car turned to a parking lot. It was beige, some old brand Dean didn’t think he’d seen before.
“It’s our son, would you like to meet him?” the lady was smiling genuinely.
“Sure.”
A man came out of the car. A silhouette in the dark that cannot be quite seen. When they came closer, the couple hugged their son and said something about being a very risky deriver.
Dean thought he would better disappeared through the floor right here and now.
The man turned his head while his mom was telling him about the boy they’d met.
He stared at Dean with those eyes of his.
Dean could not move. Then when the guy made a step forward, he could not help but turn around and start to walk away.
Unbelievable.
It’d be better if he stayed with Oscar the Dog that night.
What a stupid joke all of this was.
“Hey,” the guy put his hand on Dean shoulder.
“Hi, nice meeting you again, stranger, how’s it going.”
“Please, stop,” the guy was persistent, he stood in front of Dean, “Stop.”
“What?”
“Look, I’m sorry. For— for bailing out.”
“Oh, do not mind me, I’m totally cool, uh, can I go now? Thanks,” he tried to step out.
“Please, give me a chance to speak to you.”
Dean stopped. All of it was surreal.
_________
“Bobby, I cannot tell you what happened because nothing had happened! Just life is freaking miserable! The only person I’ve liked for the past, what, two years? Run out on me! Just jumped out of the car.”
“Dean, it happens, but you’re allowed to get mad, you hear me? Better than bottling it up.”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“I thought I would never care for anybody as much than I care about you and Sam. But God knows that day I felt like I would give up the world for this man. I dunno what’s wrong with me, maybe everything is freaking wrong with me, but I’ll recognise him among the thousands of people, I don’t know what this is…” he couldn’t stop the tears, blushing at how stupid it was. Bobby sat down next to him:
“Son, it’s called love. It might hurt, but it may fade away with time. Give yourself some time. That ain’t easy, but it’s healing. C’mon,” he embraced his shoulders to calm him down.
_________
“Have you ever been really scared in life?” Dean turned his head to the sky.
“Yeah,” the guy froze looking at Dean.
“I’ve been, too. Not that hard when my dad first pointed a gun at me, I did expect that at some point, not when I slept alone in the backseat of my car when I was 16. For some reason, it was when you got into my freaking car. I started to feel so scared that you will never ever sit on that passenger seat again,” Dean smirked, it did hurt him to admit that.
“I’m so sorry, let me just,”
“And then,” Dean could not help but laugh at the sudden will to cry in front of a stranger, “You did just that. What a bitch is fate, don’t you think?”
“I’m asking you, please, just—”
“No, you know what, screw you,” Dean turned away.
“I got scared.”
“Of me?” he looked at the guy.
“No, of course, not. Of me. I knew I was gonna kiss you in your car, but you…You are just such a nice guy, I would’ve ruined everything, and changed everything with no going back,” he covered his eyes with his hand, “I’m such a jerk. You don’t wanna see me now, and all I could think about all this time was you, and what were the chances to ever meet you again, but here we are…”
“Except you’ve already changed everything, stranger. Could’ve done it earlier,” Dean couldn’t stop himself from smiling seeing the cute little faces the guy was making while telling his side of story.
“Could’ve done what? This?” the guy stepped impossibly closer and kissed Dean cupping his cheeks. Dean felt weak at his knees, shocked and as whole as he had never felt in his life. He returned the kiss and swallowed the beautiful little moan that escaped from the guy’s throat. They stopped to get some air and then pressed their foreheads together. It was so good. So right.
The car behind them honked.
They laughed.
“I guess I need to text your mom now, she really insisted I do that when I found someone”
“Well, that’s funny ‘cause she said me the exact same thing earlier today”.
“Is your mom a witch?”
“Probably”
They laughed again. Dean kissed him one more time holding him by his chin.
“My name’s Castiel, by the way”
“Nice to meet ya, stranger. Dean”
P.S.
“Dean, are you alright?”
“Yeah, Bobby, I’m fine. Listen, you ever dreamt of a name while you were sleeping?”
“Like you hear something?”
“I think. It’s “Castiel”
“It’s a really strange name, Dean”
“Yeah, I know. Listen, I head out to a bar, you need help with anything?
“Nah, I’m good”
P.P.S.
“Ouch, Dean! Why couldn’t we fuck in a bed and not in the backseat, tell me again?”
“It’s for that first time you bailed on me. And I like having you in my car,” he started to tickle Cas to have him laugh and then whine again as he hit his elbow from the little space they had in there.
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blue-eyedbeta · 8 months
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Buckle up, kids. This one is gonna be long.
Last week Aegon and I were walking through our apartment complex, which is set up as little row houses along two intersecting streets. Our row happens to be on the end of the main roadway through, which terminates in a cul-de-sac. One side has an additional row that goes perpendicular to us, the other side has three rows around a little common lawn.
Well, one of our neighbors on that side thinks that the world revolves around her. You know the kind. The people who complain about literally everything, that the rules don't apply to them, and that can never find one thing to be happy about. Ever. She has a dog that... Honestly, makes us sad. This dog is morbidly obese, has a giant tumor, can't walk on leash, and is reactive as hell. To the point where at one point, when it was outside OFF LEASH, which is against our HA regulations and in our pet contracts in plain English (and this person is a native English speaker, even then, our HA gives us translated documents if we need them, so even if she weren't that wouldn't be an excuse : I want to make it perfectly clear that I have no problem with people who speak any language) ran up to Aegon and stopped within ten feet. TEN FEET. And had no recall or training AT ALL.
But that's all background for this next bit. Make no mistake I was ready to punt that poor thing to protect my partner, but I reported it as soon as we got back to our place.
Anyway, through our development we have signs that say 'Speed Limit 10mph'. It's more or less a closed community. A community of retirees and disabled individuals. There are a lot of crosswalks. It makes sense.
This person, does NOT do the speed limit.
Ever.
In fact I heard her telling someone once that she would happily hit a bicyclist, who in MA are protected by state law and allowed to share the road, for "going so slow".
That should tell you something.
Anyway. This person goes by heading toward her assigned parking space, which is pretty much in front of my apartment. We were walking the other way.
Aegon took exception to this, crossed over in front of me, barking and chasing the car as much as he could on his 6ft leash with me planting my feet and only turning as he did this. He stopped when I asked him to.
He was off duty. He is allowed to act like a normal dog. This is a perfectly reasonable reaction that did not injure him, myself or anyone else. He regained control of himself as soon as I acted, and came over and sat beside me immediately after when I cued him to.
Now. He has picked this up on his own because he does not like cars speeding past us. This has come up because where we lived, people would do so regularly with no regard to anyone else. We'd be walking on the shoulder and cars would come within a hairs breadth of hitting us.
Akita are a protective breed. It is in their DNA to be watchful. They were property guardians as well as hunters in Japan, especially once their prey, the Yuzu Bear, became extinct in the archipelago.
Fast forward to a couple days ago. We are walking in the same spot, and a different neighbor, who is getting ready to cross the main street from her parking spot in a little lot at the end of the cross street, says hi to us and asks us about this incident.
Keep in mind, I didn't fall. Aegon's leash was firmly grasped. He did not get hit or run off.
Now, I don't want to be that guy and tell this woman that Aegon was barking at that car because he knows who drives it and doesn't like her. Let's be clear, hardly anyone in the complex likes her. I just say that he's not really a fan of speeding cars (true) and thinks he is the fun police.
This is the next sentence out of her mouth :
"Was he ever abused by someone-"
I stopped her right there. I am the ONLY OWNER Aegon has ever had. He lived in foster for a few months between being at his breeder, who was resigned to keep him when no one wanted him, and when I could afford to have him brought up. I know the person who had him, I know he wasn't abused because I know the kind of person they are and how they have been with every animal in their care. The ONE thing that happened to him was his own fault; he discovered a nest of carpenter ants and had some bites from that on the tip of his tail and ears, but they were cleaned, treated, and mostly healed. They took care of him because they knew I trusted them to do so. I was informed on everything he did.
While we were talking, a car pulled out of the lot behind us and Aegon wrapped himself around me to watch this car, placing himself between it and me.
And she immediately saw this, saw his body language and changed her mind. "Oh, he's protective of you, look at that!"
So HERE is the point I am trying to make.
Animals are individuals.
They inherit certain base characteristics, called temperament, and breed behaviors from the generations that came before them.
Dogs have behaviors imprinted on them from their GENETICS. For retrievers this is going after game and chasing birds, for herding dogs it's nipping, corralling, staring, for northern breeds it's hunting, running and pulling, for dogs used against other animals it is aggression toward other animals UNTIL WE decided to breed away from that as in the case of the Bulldog, boxer, and certain "bully" breeds (some of them do still have a LOT of natural hunting and fighting tendencies because they only stopped being used in these ways culturally very recently and in some areas still are).
These breed specific and group specific temperament traits can be found in any breed's written standard in any Kennel Club, including the AKC, UKC, CKC (Canadian), Kennel Club (Britain) and the FCI (international association).
However EACH INDIVIDUAL DOG OF ANY BREED IS JUST THAT, AN INDIVIDUAL.
Just like their owners, they can have certain likes and dislikes. They can have friends, they can have enemies. Some dogs hate thunder, not for any reason or because they have anxiety, but because they JUST DON'T LIKE IT.
Aegon is a perfect example of this. In the breed standard, Akita are described as aloof or stand offish with individuals not considered part of their family unit. While Aegon is becoming a bit more selective as he ages about the people that he really likes, he can still sense dog people and they are like a magnet to him. Akita are AS A BREED GROUP considered to be very same sex aggressive and have a lot of predatory drift. Aegon enjoys the company of cats, has been known to modulate play behavior based on the size of the other dog, and has only ever been reactive to ONE male dog, and that was because he saw this dog go after one of his friends. In fact, Nodens, King of Sass , a MALE German Shepherd who is larger than he is, is his best friend. They have gotten along like brothers from the jump.
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And here is a big secret - Aegon doesn't mind walking in the rain, but he does not really like water all that much and in fact has been scared of fountains before. Just this year I have gotten him to LOVE going to the big fountain in Park Square to hop up and get a drink. He will literally pull me through the park to get to this fountain
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Just because a dog reacts negatively to something DOES NOT MEAN IT WAS ABUSED.
PLEASE end that stigma.
Individual dogs are allowed to like and dislike whatever the hell they want, just like you are.
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dragonnan · 1 year
Text
First Sentence Game
Saw this shared by @helloliriels and it looked incredibly fun so here's mine!
Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.
1. The Home Visit (Doctor Strange) It smelled cold.
Not like winter – which tasted metallic and fresh at the same time, no. No, this cold had the aroma that was patently October. Black cats and scudding cloud and ripened pumpkins. It was the earthy snap of fallen leaves and the far off sound of hunter's rifles and the call of geese and ducks headed for warmer lands. For many people, Autumn was their favorite time of year. Maybe... once, when he was younger, Stephen could have said the same.
2. We Are Men of Action - Lies Do Not Become Us (Psych - a cross-post of an older fic) Cool, that morning; just on the right side of chilly, actually. Early, even for the early risers. Far too early for a guy who hadn't slept in two days. Far, far too early for that guy's father to demand they share coffee while watching the sun rise over the waves.
3. Sed Diabolus (Avengers WIP) It was a pretty great view. He'd been meaning to check it out; sometime. Those weeks spent in his (new) room; dishes of food going cold at his elbow while he'd sat at his computer and clicked through five years of history that he hadn't lived. Most of the news stories had been about the failing economy; the declaration of martial law around the country, the breakdown of infrastructure. His current roosting spot was exactly the same as it had been the day he'd… dusted. Skyline Tower had been scheduled for completion in 2020. Three years later and, like so many other construction projects, it was an abandoned property with naked I-beams stabbing towards the clouds. It would probably never be finished. Not the way things were, now.
4. The Wizard Was the Wicked Witch and the Scarecrow Lost His Courage (Psych - another cross-post of an older story) It was hot there out on the sidewalk. Getting off the plane – walking through the tunnel back to the airport he'd felt the wave of temperature thud against him, both familiar and a little bit of a let-down. Odd that his destination, so unwelcome after the past week, was a tropical getaway to most everyone else he'd traveled with. He wished he could have stayed longer. But then, he always wished it could be longer.
5. The Holiday is Over (Sherlock) He could no longer track how many days had passed, since he'd been captured and brought to this… hell hole, though he suspected it was close to a month. He'd knelt in the snow, once he'd realized there had been nowhere left to run; collapsed, really. He'd been on Moran's trail for weeks and had scarcely stopped for rest or food. It had caught up to him at the worst possible time.
6. Like Some Sort of Parable (Sherlock) The cab, carrying his best friend, along with his new fiance’, had long since been swallowed by the night. Sniffing, wincing at the pain in his nose, Sherlock tossed the bloody serviette before walking to the kerb to hail his own ride. He winced again upon raising his hand and felt the tug of the motion through his back.
7. The Fire in Which We Burn (Sherlock WIP) “I just wanted to let you know that... well, Dennis is scheduled to be released this afternoon. I didn't find out myself until twenty minutes ago. I know he was meant to be in longer but... well we both know the justice system is a joke. Listen... call me, alright? Let me know... I'm here if you need me, yeah? Christ. Just, look after yourself, Molly. I'll talk to you soon.”
8. If You Want this Choice Position Have a Cheery Disposition (Sherlock) Barred from any investigations requiring footwork, forced to once more suffer the restrictions of a sling for another three weeks, Sherlock could feel the restlessness like ants in his skin.
9. A Faun at Baker Street (Sherlock) It had all started in Dartmoor.
It had been nearly been 2am by the time they'd finished up at the field and had staggered back to the hotel. Sherlock had left hours earlier so John had offered to remain behind with Greg while they had filled in the local constabulary; a greying man a year out from retirement along with his replacement-in-training.
10. Your Loss Would Break My Heart (Sherlock) He could have taken the helicopter but, quite frankly, he had needed the drive in order to structure what he would say to them. Though, even as he pulled the sleek vehicle into the drive; gravel snapping and popping beneath the narrow tyres, he was no more prepared than he'd been when he'd left London. After turning off the engine he hung back for a beat – hands gripped around the wheel.
Tagging (no pressure): @ariaadagio @aelaer @ceruleanmindpalace @kitcat992 @hanuko @sgam76 @disappearinginq @itsjustdg as well as anyone else who'd like to participate :)
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eyrieofsynapses · 3 years
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so Parker has this habit of being physically affectionate with Eliot, right? where she'll casually bump into him, or sit close to him for no apparent reason (and there's multiple open spots), or, you know, poke him over and over until he tells her to stop. and this is just how they are.
but it's a little strange in a way. Parker isn't a very physically affectionate person. she seems to hate being touched by other people without her consent, and understandably so! she's spent a lot of her life where non-consensual touch is dangerous! but she is willing to initiate, if infrequently. and that's true with the whole crew (though it is rarer with Sophie and Nate). it isn't that she doesn't like physical contact. she just likes it on her own terms.
and then there's Eliot--who is not touchy-feely, who largely ignores causal contact, and yet still seems to enjoy it by degrees. and of course we cannot forget the all-important moment in Queen's Gambit, when it would appear a drugged Eliot is a cuddly Eliot, and isn't that interesting? isn't it interesting, how he's willing to occasionally initiate hugs that aren't asked for, even when not drugged? how he seems to enjoy giving things like handshakes and little pats on the back and nudges? Eliot perhaps likes contact more than he lets on.
but he, like Parker, has lived in a world where "touch" means something different. he has seen what his touch does to people. he is too dangerous, meant to be too dangerous, to be casually tactile. it isn't even a conscious thing, per se. it is merely the unconscious awareness that he is not someone to be physically affectionate with.
(and it is probably a cultural thing too, of course, because a man, especially of his origin, is not supposed to be someone dependent on others, is not one to show the weakness of anything more than manly pats on the back and handshakes and the rare formal hug.)
but Parker?
Parker has trusted him from the beginning, trusted him so much that three jobs in she threw herself out a window and relied on him to catch her without hesitation. she knows he is the firm foundation. she finds it hard to believe he can even be hurt. she spares not a second thought to bump into him, to easily throw an arm over his shoulder or perch herself on the back of his chair. she doesn't do this with the others, not even Hardison, not at first.
and it is hard to tell what precisely her intent is. Parker is a multifaceted person with so much going on beneath her surface that her many-sided motives are difficult to parse at the best of times. perhaps she's just enjoying seeing how far she can push his boundaries. after all, she's never been afraid of poking bears. her curiosity begs to see: how much will he take before he snaps at her?
(and what would he actually do?)
or maybe it's instinct, an instinct borne of too many dangerous homes and too many poisonous families, the instinct to find the edges of the box and make sure she only strays when she knows the consequences. maybe he surprises her when he never pushes back so hard that she has to stop altogether. maybe she enjoys having someone whose affection and protection will never be lessened by her teasing.
or maybe--just maybe--she sees that he likes the trust, likes being regarded as so safe that she can do whatever she likes, even if he can't admit it even to himself. how long has it been, after all, that someone has known him for all he is and still has such careless ease around him? how long has it been since someone has seen all his sharp edges and doesn't care? how long since someone trusted him not to cut them?
(or perhaps it’s all of the above, for people are locks, and locks have more than one tumbler.) 
Parker's trust is a gift with a worth beyond measure. Eliot knows this well. her sense of security around him is something to be marked and treasured. and it is a reminder that despite all he's done, despite the fact that people are knives and he is an obsidian blade, among the sharpest of them all, he is not meant only for hurting. he can be trusted. he can be trusted by a wary thief who has seen far too much pain at the hands of men like the one he once was, and does that not make him worthy of love?
and then there is Parker. Parker, who has a friend (something more, if we're honest, so much more than a mere friend, and as the years pass that becomes ever more apparent) whom she has seen take down a group of thugs within the space of seconds, who is capable of more violence than she (in her violence-filled life) has ever seen, whose hands have wrought so much hurt--a friend that she is perfectly confident would never lay an unwanted finger on her. Parker, who has spent her whole life dancing on the knife's edges of other people. Parker, who has fallen on those blades more times than she knows. Parker, who has looked for a home for years and never quite found it.
and now? now Parker has Eliot, whom she feels safe to be physically affectionate with. because she knows he'll always come for her. she knows he'll never hurt her. she knows that no matter what, she can nudge him and bump him and sit close to him and invade his personal space, and the most he'll do to divert her--if he does anything at all--is raise his voice and gently push her off, and he'll never, ever, ever hold it against her.
she has security. she has affection whenever she wants it. she has a home. she has something that she has always wanted--finally, she has this, Parker has her family.
and what more, really, could you ask for? 
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classicrockcafe · 2 years
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Bones
Temple of the Dog x Reader
tags: @slashscowboyboots @baby-dall @teller258316 @lost-in-the-80s @shelickedthebeater
warnings: profanity, creepy/perverted neighbor, unwanted touching from said creepy neighbor....
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Bones is a “ghost hunter” who lives in an apartment about five doors down from my roommates and me. He’s always been a nice enough guy I guess, but whenever I see him I get that knot in my stomach telling me that something about him isn’t quite right… I do my best to keep conversations on the kinder side but try even harder to keep them short, telling him I had to get to work/class or I had a lot of studying to get done for my exam in the morning. Truth is, I dropped my classes a month or so ago (Bones being the main reason and I’m waiting for the right time to get the hell out of here) and usually I am going to work or just wanting to get into the apartment so I could call my boyfriend, Eddie, and decompress from the day. 
Since Bones was supposedly a “ghost hunter” he “worked” really weird hours. Coming home late at night usually around the time when my roommates and I would be stumbling into our apartment, when we were drunk he set off more red flags than he usually did. Saying the creepiest shit you could ever imagine, and while Mark, Dewi, and Glenda brushed him off as that, “funny uncle figure who just wanted to make sure we got home safe,” my gut was screaming, “creepy pervert who’s just waiting for the night the door is left unlocked”. 
That being said, I was a bit more paranoid than everyone else in the apartment. Locking the doors and checking them three or four times before going to bed as well as the windows (which honestly is a little overkill considering we lived four floors up), sometimes going as far to prop a chair against the door on the few occasions I was left in the apartment alone for a week. 
Now, while Bones never failed to leave the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, I never told my family, let alone my “adopted” brother, about him. I say adopted with quotes because Chris isn’t my brother by any means, but he took me in like one after I made the move to Washington. And besides, the last thing I needed was for Chris to drive down from Seattle and confront the 45-year-old man who lived in apartment number 307.
 So, I told my boyfriend Eddie about it knowing he wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t want him to. Time and time again, he offered to come out and see if he can get Bones to back off, but if Eddie drove out here, so would Chris (and at that point, you could expect the rest of the guys to tag along). So, I continued to go to work and watch my back whenever Bones was around. I tried talking to Glenda about the strange things he says after a Saturday night when we’ve all drank our fill and she just laughs it off. “He’s a jokester, Y/N. What do you expect?” 
I don’t know? Not to give off major creep vibes? 
Anyway, I found myself dreading going into work as time slowly went on. Working for a gas station during the late hours of the night was not only a shit show in itself; it also allowed Bones to memorize my schedule. Since I was almost always working from the late evening to early morning, Bones was damn near promised to be waiting at the bottom of the stairs whenever I got home during the butt crack of dawn, exhausted and mentally drained. He always said some shit along the lines of, “I’ll walk up with you, don’t know what kind of creeps are out here this time of night.” 
And his eyes… they were the most perverted kind of hungry I’ve ever seen in my entire life, it always made me hold my pepper spray a bit tighter. 
The breaking point was when our kitchen sink started to leak, Mark and Dewi were working, and Glenda just had to bring up calling Bones because he mentioned priorly being a plumber before becoming a ghost hunter. I insisted on calling a professional, yet no matter how much I said I’d just bite the bullet and pay the bill, she called Bones...Then left me to wait for Bones to show up while she left to go to the gym. “soMeOnE hAs tO Be HeRE tO LeT HiM iN!” And as much as I’d rather shove my foot into a running blender than let that creepy motherfucker into my apartment... I did it anyway, like a dumbass. I know. 
“So, I heard you wanted to call a plumbing service.” Bones smirked as I opened the door for him to come in, his hair stuck together with grease (it looked almost as if he layered as much hair gel in it as he could) and he smelled as if he sprayed an entire factory of AXE bodyspray on himself. 
“Yeah, well, I figured you had a busy schedule… Ghost hunting and all.” I laughed awkwardly as he approached the kitchen sink. 
“I’m never too busy for you, babydoll.” He sent me a smirk as he placed his tool bag on the kitchen counter, “If you have any needs other that need fixing, just give me a call. I’ve got just the right tools to satisfy them.” I know he didn’t fucking say that I KNOW that fucking perve didn’t just say that— “So, you’ve got a leaky faucet?” 
“Yup.” I nodded as I tried to swallow down my nerves. 
“You want to know what else has a leaky faucet?” 
“It’s about to be your blood vessels if you don’t stop being a fucking pervert.” I thought but bit my tongue. “I really don’t.” 
“That’s too bad, I’m sure it’s one leaky faucet you’d be interested in.” With that, he turned his attention back to the kitchen sink. I should’ve known better than to think the conversation ended there. I really, really, should’ve… “So, what’s a stunning little thing like you doing single? I really figured you’d have a boyfriend or something.” His voice was full of that classic creeper suggestion they all seem to use. 
For a mere second the thought of admitting I wasn’t crossed my mind, but then the thought of Bones knowing that I had a boyfriend without having any clue how he’d react, I didn’t. I just laughed stupidly and shrugged, mumbling a soft, “I don’t know.” 
“Do you want one?” He asked, looking over to face me. My eyes widened and I could feel the color drain from my face. My heart stopped and just for a moment, I swore my stomach dropped out of my ass. 
“U-um, I-I-I—” he could clearly see the horror written on my face and let out a laugh. 
“Relax babydoll, we can take it slow.” 
Oh no the fuck we won’t you psycho— 
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? I could even take you to a haunted location sometime.” 
“Actually, I’m not interested in dating right now.” 
“Come on babydoll, don’t be like that… You could even move in with me and you wouldn’t have to help pay the rent like you do here. I could take care of you in all the ways you may need.” 
My skin crawled, his eyes and voice held a predatory tone that had my gut tying itself into a giant knot. A giant red flag was waving like the checkered flag at the Daytona 500 and alarm bells were ringing louder than they ever have.
“First of all; I am not, have not, and never will be your ‘babydoll’ so stop calling me that. Second of all; I told you I wasn’t interested in dating, and it will never happen so let it go. Third of all; I don’t need you, let alone ANY man to take care of me. I’m a grown, independent woman that doesn’t need the help of a man. Especially one of the likes of you, I can manage to pay for my share of the rent just fine.” 
This was the first time I had ever grown the cojones to use this tone with Bones, and as much as I was shocked that I found the courage to speak up for once, I wasn’t about to let myself back down now. Funny how adrenaline can give you a boost of bravery you normally wouldn’t have.
It was the strangest brief moment of eye contact I’ve held with anyone, the gears were turning in his mind but it didn’t seem like he was expecting the rejection that he should’ve received months ago. His stunned expression faded quickly however and he lunged at me the way a rattlesnake would strike. His hand flew to my throat and I was lifted off of the ground swiftly. 
“I knew it you fucking bitch, you’ve been stringing me along all this fucking time.” He growled through clenched, tightening his grip on my throat, “All this time you’ve been putting on a fucking show and for nothing? You stupid cunt!” There wasn’t much I could do but let out a struggled breath, as he continued to squeeze my throat and cuss me out while I slowly ran out of air. Something caused me to come to my senses though, and I kicked him in the gonads as hard as I could. (Little piece of advice, when in doubt, aim for the family jewels). His hand loosened from my throat and I took that as my chance to nope the fuck out of there, making sure to grab my car keys off the coffee table as I ran out of the apartment. 
To my dismay, Bones wasn’t far behind me as I made a break for my car and by the time I had the driver's door open, he caught me by the wrist and pulled me back with a firm yank. “You ain’t fucking going anywhere!” Swinging my fist, it collided with his nose and it let out a gut-twisting crack on impact. The blood started to gush and once again he lost his grip on me, both hands flying to his nose. “Bitch!” He cursed as the crimson liquid dripped onto his clothing. I took his distraction as the opportunity to jump into my car and pull away. I didn’t even bother stopping at the sign at the end of the complex before turning onto the street, foot pressing down on the gas. 
It was around midnight when I pulled into Eddie and Chris’s apartment complex, eyelids tired and mentally fatigued. If everything about tonight happened differently, I would’ve called them ahead of time to let them know I was coming over, but it didn’t. I knew they’d have questions, so I grabbed the hoodie that was on the backseat and threw it on to help hide the hand-shaped bruise that was on my neck. 
“Kiddo, what are you doing here? It’s late?” Chris asked, holding his door open so I could come in.
“Just had to get away from campus for a while. Glenda and Mark got into a fight over which way the toilet paper roll goes and I couldn’t take any more of it.” I shrugged. Lame excuse, I know, but all I wanted was to take a hot shower and crash; make everything tomorrow's issue because that’s easier for some reason?
“Alright, well, Eddie is still at Stone’s but should be home soon, make yourself comfortable.” 
The next morning I got up early to go to the bathroom but as I made my way down the hall I heard the familiar voices of Stone and Matt speaking softer than they needed to. As I walked into the living room Stone, Matt, Jeff, and Mike all sent me a death glare from hell.
“Chris is going to kill you!” Stone whisper-yelled from his spot behind the door, glaring at me.
“W-what?”
“Listen, we don't care if you have a boyfriend, but you could've told us,” Jeff said before looking back out the peephole.
“What?”
“And we’re going to kill you!” Mike said, “You should’ve just asked us, I mean, we would’ve probably said no, but you didn’t bother to ask?”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“You're dating a guy in his mid to late forties? And you invited him here? What the hell? You know Eddie and Chris live here!” Matt chimed in
“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about!”
“Y/N, we're adults, you can tell us the truth.” Jeff sighed.
“Yeah, he said you got into a fight or something?” Stone nodded his head. 
Confused, I walked over to Matt and Stone and looked out the peephole and felt my stomach roll. Bones was standing outside the door, clearly, he cleaned up and changed but it was him standing right there. Backing away from the door I covered my mouth with my hand. 
“He followed me here,” I whispered softly, my heart was pounding inside my chest and my stomach began to tie itself into that familiar tight knot. 
“So you didn’t invite him here?” Mike asked, “What did you fight about that would cause him to follow you all the way out here?”
“Did you dump him or something?” Jeff asked, glancing back out the peephole. 
“N-no you guys don’t understand.” I shook my head, letting out a shaky breath as cold tears slid down my cheeks. “I-I’m not dating him, I-I... I’m dating Eddie.” 
As if on cue, Chris and Eddie walked into the room right as I finished saying the words. 
“Wait, you’re dating Eddie?” Stone’s eyebrows scrunched together.
“No, wait, you’re cheating on Eddie with a forty-five-year-old guy?” Mike asked. 
“What?!” Chris looked as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head, “You’re dating Eddie and you’re cheating on him?!”
“The guy is right outside,” Matt said. 
“Oh, is he? Well, open the door.” The look Chris shot me was deadly, I’ve never seen him that pissed. 
“You guys are getting this all wrong—” I tried to speak up but between Chris, Matt, Stone, Jeff, and Mike, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise and Eddie looked more shocked than anything. “Eddie, it’s Bones out there, you have to believe me. He attacked me in the apartment last night and he must’ve followed me here.” He stayed silent looking between the door and me. I couldn’t read his eyes and that worried me because I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. “Eddie, look at me.” I sighed before pulling my hoodie over my head to show the bruise Bones had left on my neck. “Eddie please,” I whispered softly as tears began to slip down my cheeks.
“Wait,” Eddie spoke up before placing a hand on Chris’s shoulder, “Don’t open the door. Y/N and I have been dating for a while, yes, but that guy out there has been harassing Y/N for the past couple of months now. She didn’t say anything because her roommates didn’t believe her and she didn’t want you freaking out.” 
The guys all shared a look before Stone opened the door a crack, “Look man, we just checked and she left early this morning.” 
“Yeah man, it’s better that you get going too.” Jeff nodded. 
“You guys are lying.” Bones growled, “I can hear her in there. Just tell her I’m sorry and we can work this out.”
“She’s got nothing to work out with you,” Mike stated. 
“Come on,” His frustration grew larger, “Just tell her I’m sorry and then I’ll take her back home. She won’t be a bother to you guys then. Tell her I’m sorry so I can take her back dammit!” 
Chris tensed up the more Eddie filled him in on everything Bones had done and by the time Bones shouted he looked as if he was about to kick some serious ass. Before any of us could stop him he was stepping out the door to face Bones, who he towered over by a good six or seven inches. “Listen, buddy,” Chris said as he stepped out with Eddie and Stone following close behind. “If you ever so much as turn your head in Y/N’s direction again, I will make sure that not even the cadaver dogs will be able to track your body down, you understand me? As far as any of your loved ones or friends will ever know, you went missing without a single trace.”
Bones looked as if he crapped his pants, his back was pressed firmly to the wall and Chris was right in his face refusing to show any signs of mercy. “Get the hell out of here before I decide to kill you right now.”
As Bones ran off I pulled Chris into the tightest hug I could manage. “Thank you, big bro.” 
Chris, Stone, and Eddie went with me to gather my things from my apartment a few days later, ultimately deciding I’d move back to Seattle and stay with Eddie and Chris. I never did hear whatever really happened to Bones since that day but the word around the grapevine is he ended up losing his shit on his “ghost hunting” crew and was admitted into a sanatorium… 
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rivalsforlife · 2 years
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Not Actually AA7 Speculation It's AA4 This Time
Hi. Long time no see. I have a list of posts tagged aa7 speculation and though this post will not be about aa7 (though I will briefly bring it up) I just want to keep all my incorrect theorizing in the same place. BUT there's been some intriguing news today I wanted to bring up and talk through the possibilities of.
A couple days ago, March 14 2022, Final Weapon reported that Capcom recently put in a trademark for Apollo Justice and theorized this could mean that Capcom is planning a 456 collection. I wanted to do a bit of investigating myself, and walk through and break down what this could possibly mean.
For the sake of sparing people from scrolling past this whole thing the rest will be under the cut.
Significance Of The Trademark?
You like me may have at first asked "okay, but what does this mean?" Is it a trademark for Apollo Justice The Character? Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney The Video Game? Why wasn't this copyrighted before, given that AA4 was released in 2007?
The Japanese trademark watch cited in the original article can be seen here, and it is indeed just... "Apollo Justice". I thought that was interesting given it is Japanese, and not "Odoroki Housuke" (his Japanese name) or "Gyakuten Saiban 4" (the title of the game). The full page for Capcom doesn't give much more information on anything... it only has ten trademarks going back about a year. Nothing more definitive. On that list are things like "Monster Hunter Rise: Sunbreak" which was announced September 2021, though the site lists it as being trademarked January 2022.
What about in English? This site has a bunch of information on more of Capcom's trademarks, but goes back further. Here's the one for the new Apollo Justice trademark, which, if you scroll down far enough, *does* show the original trademark from 2007, which is here. And... okay, I don't know anything about copyright law at all, especially not Japanese copyright law. So take this next bit with a grain of salt and please please please do correct me if you know better than I do.
According to this website, trademarks need to be renewed in Japan ten years after registration. Looking back at the 2007 AJ trademark, the trademark was officially registered April 14 2009 with a renewal date of April 14 2019. ... eerily close to the day Phoenix got disbarred actually. I think that's neat. Anyways, scrolling down a little further, we can see a list of a whole bunch of actions happening with this trademark (<- totally has no idea what's going on here) but there IS a part listed as "REGISTERED AND RENEWED (FIRST RENEWAL - 10 YRS)" on December 13 2018. So it's not that like Capcom let the trademark die and had to make a new one because they forgot to renew for three years, which is what I'd been fearing was the case. But there might be something interesting here!
To truly follow along through this next part, you can open up the trademarks for the two (the 2007 and 2022 ones) and read them side-by-side. Go to the "Goods, Services, and Codes" section.
The 2007 one has a list of things associated with this trademark, mostly related to the manufacturing and selling of games. That's typical. The 2022 list, though, has WAY more things on the list. Also, generally related to the manufacturing and selling of games, but updated for the world we live in now -- online games are mentioned here but I suspect that's just what capcom generally applies for, I doubt we're getting online multiplayer apollo justice -- but also a lot more related to various merchandising. Plays? Musicals? Radio and television programs?
... I think it's interesting. This seems to be a new trademark that is now covering a lot more stuff.
What Do Other Games Have?
Interesting you should ask.
Phoenix Wright was filed for in 2005. Ace Attorney in general was filed for in 2006. Ace Attorney Investigations was in 2009. These are all under the same "international code 9" that Apollo Justice is.
Phoenix Wright, however, was similarly "redone" to add "international code 41" (like Apollo Justice 2022) in 2020. "WHAT DOES THIS MEAN", you ask, shaking me, "I DON'T KNOW", I yell, being shaken. 2020 is after the release of all games, it is after the Takarazuka Musical productions, it is after all of the stage plays, it is after both seasons of the anime, AND it is after all trilogy rereleases including the most recent 2019 release on most modern gaming platforms. I don't know what this could possibly mean. And I think at this point it's getting too deep into legalese for me to reasonably speculate. Again, any more informed opinions are suuuuper appreciated. And if anyone wants to dig into Japanese copyright stuff more, that's also super appreciated.
You may notice I'm leaving out one trademark here. The Great Ace Attorney was filed under international codes 9 and 41 the day after it was announced it was going to be ported. Again, I'm not confident enough to go digging around for it on Japanese trademark websites, so we're going to work with what we've got here. I wouldn't be surprised if they filed it under both to cover their bases from the outset, and we haven't had any news of TGAA anime/stage plays/movies/musicals yet.
What's interesting is why they had to change Apollo Justice, and now. Though with the evidence I've collected I can't say I have anything definitive or even a concrete trend, given the confusing timing of the Phoenix Wright application above.
What About The Leaks?
Yes, what about the November 2020 leaks? I've covered them briefly in this outdated post. In summary, the leaks (or more specifically, the calendar) had three major pieces of information related to ace attorney:
1) The Great Ace Attorney will be officially translated into English, for sale April-June 2021.
2) AA7 is in development, and will be released around the time of the 20th anniversary, October-December 2021.
3) Through this time, reconsider porting AA456.
Well, it is March 2022 and we haven't heard a single thing about AA7; it's safe to assume it has been significantly postponed, possibly in part because of the pandemic, possibly in part because this just happens with game development sometimes. TGAA, however, was announced and released just a little late in July 2021. This latest news, however, is the first hint we might have towards porting 456. From the wording there, it sounds like Capcom intends to release it as a collection (though... given the drastically different styles from AA4 to 5 and 6, this is an interesting choice) and if so, I wouldn't be surprised if they would refer to it as the "Apollo Justice Collection". (Which... I have my issues with this name, but whatever, let's try to remain unbiased.)
Presumably, AA7 is significantly delayed. Like, it's looking like it might be another year, maybe more. In this post though, I've briefly discussed how I think TGAA is actually doing super well financially. Presumably, previously, the decision to port or not to port 456 would be dependent both on how well TGAA does and how well AA7 would do. With no AA7, they might be making this decision solely based on TGAA. And they... might actually decide it's worth the port?
So What Could This Mean?
I have three theories.
1. We're Getting 456 Ports As An "Apollo Justice Collection".
Or possibly, just AA4 on its own. It's hard to tell -- the trilogy has been ported as a trilogy for a long time, but with 5 and 6 being much more recent and only having mobile ports, it's hard to say if they'd go together or not. The 2D vs 3D would definitely be strange for it to be packaged together, plus, the characters and plots aren't cohesive throughout the three games like 123 were, and it's not different parts of the same story like TGAA was. But regardless, putting out a 3-in-1 collection would be more likely to get some money from a business perspective, especially since these are less popular than the trilogy.
2. We're Getting An Apollo Justice Anime, Movie, Stage Play, Musical, Something, Who Knows.
This is mostly because of the updated section 41 that includes all sorts of fun adaptations. I would love most of these and it would tide us over until another game comes out. We still have another stage play in the works that's been delayed, so it might be a little while before an AJ stage play would be able to happen. As for musicals, there hasn't been a Takarazuka musical of ace attorney since 2013, but who knows if they'd want to revisit it now? I think out of these an anime or a future stage play is the most likely.
3. Capcom Is Messing With Me, Personally
"Fuck you," says Capcom, "Don't you have better things to do? Don't you have a thesis? Aren't you supposed to be working on that right now instead of speculating and reading up on Japanese copyright law? Why don't you find something better to do with your life, you loser, instead of getting excited over a trademark application that means absolutely nothing. Get off of tumblr and get to work. You're never getting anything from us ever again. There is no AA7, there is no 456 port, and THERE IS NO OFFICIAL ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF ACE ATTORNEY INVESTIGATIONS 2!!"
...
We'll have to wait and see how things shake out.
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rainydaydream-gal18 · 3 years
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(The Bad Batch) Crosshair x Reader: Comfort Zone
   (Author’s Note:  It was requested I do a hurt/comfort fic with Crosshair, and I happened to have a shelved project very similar, so this request was my motivation to get it done!  Thank you, @leia-saveourskins!
Enjoy!)
   Crosshair wasn’t quite sure what to do when he heard your cries on the other side of the door.  He had only been walking past to head to his quarters when the unfamiliar sound caught his attention, realizing only after a short pause what it was.  His first instinct was to avoid, to pretend he hadn’t heard it in the first place.  Crosshair didn’t consider himself an expert on dealing with that sort of thing anyway.  He didn’t know how to comfort someone other than with a subtle nod or resting his hand on their shoulder.  That’s how he managed to get by when it came to the rest of the squad.  With you, it wasn’t the same.
   Hunter was better with that sort of thing, Crosshair thought.  Or Wrecker.  Even Tech would be a more recommended person to comfort you.  The only issue was the three of them had left the ship a while ago for supplies in a nearby village.  There was a chance that they wouldn’t be back yet for some time.  Plus, part of him didn’t want it to be any of them in the end.  He wanted to be the one even if he had no idea how.
    Crosshair groaned, rolling his eyes to no one in particular.  Before he knew it, he was knocking swiftly on your door.  The crying ceased on the other side.  Silence fell over the space until he cleared his throat.
   “_________?” he grunted through the door, pausing to listen.  “Are you in there?”
   Of course he knew you were in there.  He figured he’d give you the opportunity to stay quiet if you chose and endure whatever it was on your own.  For a moment, he thought you were going to take advantage of the opportunity, and he’d be on his way.  However, that changed when your voice croaked on the other side.
   “Cross?  Do you need something?”
   His shoulders sank as he exhaled.  Part of him melted a little at the thought of you offering your help even though you clearly weren’t okay.  That was just the sort of person you were.  Not to mention you used his nickname.  
   “No,” he replied.  Several seconds passed in silence as he waited for you to say something else, but it occurred to him that there was no reason for you to.  After all, he had been the one to knock on your door.  Before he could find the words, the door slid open.  You stood there and looked at him with signs of your hurt written on your face.  Your lips were turned up in a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, which were glistening with tears that you kept at bay.  A shiny wet streak stretched across your cheek where you had wiped a few that had fallen already.
   “Don’t mind me,” you told him quickly, swiping the back of your hand across your face again.  “I’m just having a bad day.”  You didn’t attempt to hide your state.  In your mind, there was no need to around Crosshair.  You knew he wouldn’t pay it any mind.  You merely wanted to help him with whatever it was that had him knocking at your door- especially since it didn’t happen very often.  “Are you sure there isn’t something you need?”
   “Are you...okay?”  The question was spoken slowly, as if he were speaking a foreign language.  You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it.  His stare hadn’t relented.  “You were crying.”
   It took you a minute or so before you knew how to respond.  His concern, if that’s what it was, was unforeseen.  You considered playing the situation down and just giving him an “I’m fine” so he could be on his way.  But if there was anything you learned about working with the Bad Batch, it was a family of perceptive individuals.  Sometimes you’d put on a smile for the others, and they’d play along, even though you knew that they knew.  But in that moment, with Crosshair standing in front of you with those sharp eyes of his, it didn’t feel like the time to do that.
   “Well if I’m being honest,” you said finally, flashing another half-hearted smile.  “I’m not okay.”
   Crosshair exhaled quietly.  He knew you were in distress, and there you were standing in front of him admitting it, but that was only half the battle.  How could he make you feel better?  What in the universe could he do that would make the tears stop falling?  Or even put a smile on your face?  Again, it seemed like Wrecker territory.  Crosshair thought back to the last time your expression had fallen in front of the others.  Wrecker had wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off the ground in a big embrace, causing laughter to spill from your lips.  He remembered the pang in his chest even though he got to see you smile.  He wished it had been him to make it happen.  Maybe it was time to take a page from his brother’s book.
   You had begun to feel uneasy about admitting your hurt to the most stoic of the Bad Batch when, out of nowhere, he opened his arms toward you, and for a split second, you stared at them in confusion.  Your eyes travelled back up to meet his expectant look.
   “What…?”  Before you could finish your question, he took a few steps forward and began to close his arms around your form.  Eyes wide with surprise, your cheek was pressed into his shoulder as he tightened the embrace in a firm, but comforting way.  You finally responded, wrapping your arms around his lean torso.  
   He was so warm.  It was the kind of warmth that affected you inside and out.  Crosshair could be a difficult man to read on the surface.  He was more comfortable with showing irritation or anger.  Displays of the more tender emotions he held for his squad were subtle, so subtle that you might not notice them at first.  For him to step out of his comfort zone in that moment spoke volumes to you.
   “It’s...going to be alright,” he drawled.  “I’m here.”  The tears had started again at his gesture.  You found yourself just sinking into the hug and taking deep breaths.  Crosshair kept holding you with patience as the hurt passed.
   “Thank you,” you spoke into the shoulder of his blacks.  “I needed this.”
    He pulled away only slightly to look at you.  Your head was swimming with many feelings as both of you locked eyes.  Suddenly, you felt his arms hold you tighter as you were lifted off the ground.  Your laughter filled the hall as he held you suspended for a moment before bringing you back down.  Crosshair’s lips were turned up in a smile, but he hadn’t released you.
   He watched your reaction, your eyes bright and mouth forming a wide smile.  That was what he wanted.  That was what he was hoping for.  Your smile was like cool water on a desert planet to him.  Crosshair held your gaze for a few more moments until you broke eye contact to lean into his shoulder once more, a breathy chuckle escaping your lips.
   “Really, thank you.”
   He ran a hand from between your shoulder blades to the middle of your back in another soothing gesture.  “I know I’m not the best at this.  Wrecker probably has me beat.”
   “He’s great,” you said.  “But in my opinion, this is the best.”
   His chest swelled a bit after hearing that.  Both of you pulled away from the embrace, fighting the desire to linger.  Crosshair’s expression remained soft, his features smoothed by the tender exchange.
   “Want some caf?” you asked, breaking the silence that had settled between you two.  “I think Tech said there was some left, even if it isn’t a whole lot.  It’ll be restocked when the others get back.”
   He hummed in agreement.  “Sure.”
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Text
A Period Drama
Summary: When that time of the month hits, Y/n wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and forget about the world. Lucky for her, Dean has other plans. 
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 2.1K+
Warnings: Language, discussion of menstrual cycle 
Author’s Note: I guess I'm emotional this cycle, who knew? Anyway, I wrote this because I wanted to die the other day, and imagining Dean's cuddles was the only way for me to get through it. This is a work of self-indulgence and therefore the Reader is a little less non-descript than I usually try to write, but that's what these things are for! Hope this helps my fellow menstruating people lie it did me xoxo Alex
Check out Alexandra’s Library for more works by yours truly!
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A nagging sensation tugged on her strings of consciousness, bringing the sleeping huntress back to the world of the living. Her mind fought against waking, knowing not nearly enough time had passed since she had retreated to her room the previous evening. As the ache deep in her abdomen became more obvious, she stopped fighting and opened her eyes to the darkness of her room. 
“Fuck,” she groaned as she tossed the covers from her body, instantly missing the heat they provided in the recess of the bunker. Y/n rolled from the bed and stood, the action occurring too quickly and the huntress felt the familiar rush between her legs. She cursed herself as she bounded off to the bathroom on the opposite end of the hallway. The socks on her feet muffled her hurried steps as she passed the boys’ rooms. 
Once inside, she went straight for the showers and turned the hot water all the way up. Steam enveloped the space as she stripped her soiled panties and old t-shirt from her body. She let the bathroom turn into a makeshift sauna as she rinsed the blood from her undergarments before finally stepping into the boiling shower. 
It was unclear how long she stood under the water, searing her flesh and scrubbing away the metaphorical grime, all she knew was the relentless heat was managing to ease the ache from her angry uterus. The tentative knock on the bathroom door snapped her back from the silent reverie she had been indulging in, and Y/n noted how the water had gone almost cold. It was likely she had been in there long enough for Sam to have taken his morning run and if her own body wasn’t attacking itself, she might have felt guilty about using up all the bunker’s hot water. 
When she walked out in just a towel, her dirty pajamas rolled into a ball in her arms, she was met with a confused younger Winchester. All she could mutter was a weak ‘sorry’ before she breezed past him and back to her room. The huntress wrapped herself into a pair of sweats and a clean tee, braided her hair out of her face, swallowed a few pain killers, and crawled back under her covers. She thanked whatever higher power had made sure they were hunt-free for the foreseeable future so she could spend the day curled up in a ball. The pills kicked in quick enough to allow her to easily slip back into a blissful sleep.
****
It was nearing one in the afternoon when Dean made his way back inside the bunker, his hands covered in grease and oil from his work tuning up the Impala. He was wiping his hands on an equally dirty towel as he walked into the kitchen to find his little brother making himself a lunch. 
“Please tell me that is not your veggie bacon?” Dean wrinkled his nose as he watched Sam putting together a BLT, the various ingredients strewn about the island. 
“Fine, then I won’t tell you,” Sam didn’t bother to look up from his task to answer his brother. The look of disgust only depended on Dean’s face as he moved around his sibling to wash his hands in the sink. 
The older hunter glanced over his shoulder as the sound of shuffling footsteps grew louder, his gaze landing on a disheveled Y/n. The sweats that hung from her body were wrinkled and she had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. There were lines across the left side of her face, indicating she had been sleeping recently. Worry instantly flooded his system as it was unlike their hunting partner to sleep this late unless she was ill. 
“Sam, what did you do with my heating pad?” her voice was coarse as she didn’t even bother with pleasantries. No ‘hello’, no ‘ how are you’, just straight to whatever business she had in with the younger Winchester. 
“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s in the linen closet in the bathroom?” Sam answered, completely unperturbed by her callousness.
“So you put my heating pad in the bathroom,” Y/n rolled her eyes and Sam could only offer her a bewildered nod. “What is with you guys and not being able to put shit back where you found it?” The huntress turned on her heel, not waiting for a response before heading to retrieve the item she was seeking. 
Sam looked over his shoulder at his older brother, his brows knit together in the middle of his forehead. “What the hell was that?” 
“What’s the one thing Y/n uses her heating pad for?” Dean’s lips cured up on one side as he watched the look of realization flash across his brother’s features. The oldest Winchester dried his hands before peeking in the fridge and a few cupboards. “Looks like she could use a supply run. You need anything?” 
“Nah, I’m just going to retreat to my room and pretend like I don’t exist for the rest of the day,” Sam picked up the plate that held his lunch and scurried off, leaving a chuckling Dean behind. 
****
The only light filling her room came from the laptop that was perched in her lap, playing some television show she had stopped paying attention to a while ago, and the filtered light from the hall through the slats in her door. The huntress was still curled into a ball under her covers, attempting to use what little bit of heat from her computer she could muster as she had been unsuccessful in located her heating pad. She felt bad for ripping into Sam about it, but the truth was he had misplaced her belongings, something that she found happened often around the Winchesters, and she was over it today. Pain tended to make her grumpy, as it did most people, and she wasn’t going to apologize for being pissed at their carelessness. 
A soft rapping against her door had her pausing the show as she shoved the device aside. The guest didn’t wait for a response before they pushed the door open, bringing with them a flood of light. Y/n cringed at the sudden change, hiding her face behind her hand. 
“Sorry, sweetheart,” Dean’s familiar chuckle sounded before the click of the latch indicated he had closed the door behind him. “I come bearing gifts.” 
“What?” she was confused by his words as she dropped her hand and allowed her eyes to adjust back to the relative darkness. 
“Your water bottle, half ice, half water,” he set the green canteen on her bedside table. “The heating pad Sammy somehow managed to lose behind the washing machine,” Dean handed her the light green pad folded neatly with the cord sitting on top. Y/n sighed a breath of relief as the eldest Winchester continued. “And a sharable size bag of dark chocolate peanut M&M’s.”
“Dean,” Y/n caught the purple bag as he tossed it her way, biting back a gleeful moan. “I fucking love you.” She unceremoniously tore into the bag and popped a couple of the chocolate candies into her mouth, missing the rush of blood on the Winchester’s cheeks. 
“And finally,” he mimicked a drum roll with his mouth and procured a box from his arms, placing it on her bedside table. The woman frowned, unable to make out the object at first in the darkness. 
“You bought me tampons? How,” she trailed off, not only awestruck by the hunter’s gesture but amazed at his attention to detail as she read the label. 
“There is only one thing you need your heating pad for,” he remarked as he took the referenced object back to plug it into an outlet for her. “Also, you never snap at Sammy.”
“But how did you know what kind to buy?” 
“Kind of hard not to when you have a box of them stashed away in Baby’s trunk,” Dean countered as he perched himself on the edge of her bed. 
“Hey, those are for emergencies. Besides, I’m sure Baby understands.”
“I’m sure she does.” 
Y/n chewed on the inside of her cheek as she fiddled with the bag of candy in her lap, the kindness shown by Dean throwing her off. She offered the open bag to her hunting partner, who snatched a handful for himself with a grin. 
“Thank you, Dean, seriously. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” her voice was low as the admittance slipped past her lips. “Want to watch some Scooby-Doo with me? You know, if you aren’t busy or anything?”
“I’d love to, sweetheart,” Dean winked at her, that shit-eating grin never leaving his face even as he stood and shucked off his jacket and boots so he could climb into the bed next to her. “Who could pass up Daphne?”
The huntress sat back against the headboard with a roll of her eyes and switched the streaming show on her laptop before unfolding her already warmed heating pad and laid it across her lower abdomen. She moved the laptop at the end of the bed so they could both see it and set the bag of M&M’s between her and Dean to share. 
The two settled into the cartoon, laughing in unison at the ridiculous parts and commenting on how the Scooby gang couldn’t have handled that monster had it been real. Three episodes passed by before a shredding cramp ripped through her stomach, the shock of it enough that she was unable to hide the groan as she had been so far. 
“You okay?” Dean shifted in his spot next to her, his head turning from the kids’ show to his friend beside him.
“No, I’m not okay. It feels like my internal organs are attempting to exit my body,” she snapped, instantly regretting it when Dean subtly recoiled. “Shit, I’m sorry. I--I didn’t mean…” Y/n was cut off as the pain returned just as intense as it had been moments ago, causing her to roll onto her side and into a ball, clutching the heat of the pad against her body like a lifeline. 
“Alright,” Dean huffed before moving the candy and laptop from the bed. Y/n could hear the hunter shift behind her, but her eyes were clamped shut as she tried to breathe through the pain like she was experiencing the contractions of labor of something. She felt the hard lines of his body lock around the curves of her own and his arm snake around her abdomen. His hand rested over hers as he pulled her tight against him, putting more pressure than she had been able to muster against her lower belly. “I’ve got you.”
The heat of his body on one side and the pad against her stomach, combined with the force he was exerting on her uterus, finally allowed her to relax fully for the first time since she had awoken that morning. She never wanted to leave this moment, utterly content in the peace that his presence in her bed brought her. The idea scared her a little, but she figured that was a problem for another day. Now she chose to just live in this moment for as long as he would let her. 
“Why?” she muttered into the dark space after she was sure he had fallen asleep as his grip had relented a touch and his breathing evened out, hoping he wouldn’t answer but knowing she had to ask. 
“Cause I wanted to,” his voice was gruff, indicating he had probably been on the cusp of falling asleep when she spoke up. “I hate seeing you like this. Figured it was the least I could do.”
“Dean Winchester, are you going soft on me?” she quirked up one corner of her lips, unable to fight the giddiness his words instilled in her chest. 
“Sweetheart, there is nothing soft about me when I’m around you,” he chuckled, earning himself an elbow to the gut. He grunted and the two of them fell into a fit of laughter. 
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” The hunter was ready for her arm this time, his hand moving to wrap around her forearm and pull it into him so as to trap her even tighter than before in his embrace. Y/n struggled against his hold, giggling like an idiot as the two wrestled in the bed a moment before she relented that he was much stronger than she. 
“Honestly,” Dean placed a gentle kiss to her shoulder once she had settled, only encouraging her to melt further into his arms. “I’d do anything to make you smile, Y/n.”
“Well, then mission accomplished, Winchester,” she turned her head to flash him a genuine smile to which he reciprocated before planting his pillow-soft lips against hers.
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P.S. I didn't even try on this title because this is just a little therapy piece and therefore no one should judge me. 
Forevers: @22sarah08​ @440mxs-wife​ @akshi8278​ @anathewierdo​ @asgoodasdancingqueen @atc74​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @briagallen​ @callmekda​ @dawnie1988​ @deandreamernp​ @deangirl93​ @deanwanddamons​ @ellewritesfix05​ @emoryhemsworth​ @foxyjwls007​ @hobby27​ @janicho88​ @jbsgirl4ever11​ @jensengirl83​ @lunarmoon8​ @lyarr24​ @mishacollins4evah @miss-nerd95​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @polina-93​​ @sleepylunarwolf​ @squirrelnotsam​ @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan​ @suckmyapplejacks​ @supraveng​ @tatted-trina6​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @traceyaudette​ @tranquility-or-chaos​​ @waywardbeanie​ @winchest09​ 
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that-yandere-life · 2 years
Note
You can write something similar to Bruce making a some a serum to insert into the reader as a way to control them easier (like something like a mind controlling or that can cause pain to the reader if they disobey). This is a idea that went to my head right away so it makes sense if you dont like the prompt and I dont know (at the momemt) if it even is good enough. But I hope this triggered some sort of inspiration
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[Warnings: Yandere Themes *Obviously*, Kidnapping, Drugging, violence, pain.]
Bruce had been watching you from afar for a long time, getting what he thought was a pretty accurate read on your personality.
Never imagining how much you would fight back against him once he took you away from the cruel world, into his safe arms.
Sure he expected some resistance at first, that was only a natural reaction to a severe change in surroundings.
It just wasn’t getting better, you would throw things at him, scream, cuss, cry, spit, hit him, whatever you could do to get your displeasure across.
For a while now he pretty much left you alone, besides coming home at night sleeping beside you, and ensuring you got three balanced meals a day.
What he had been doing with that extra free time was a little secret research into mind control projects.
Wondering what had seemed effective in the past, and what might be effective in making you a bit more compliant to his orders.
Finding mentions of a serum that had been tested but discontinued by HYDRA a long time ago, using fairly common chemicals.
With the amount of intelligence he possessed he figured it wouldn’t be too hard for him to figure out how to modify it to work even better.
Jotting down notes at every little step, pieces of paper and sticky notes littered his area of the lab.
The mess truly reflects his inner state of mind, having to resist the other guy more and more to keep him from making an appearance.
Tempers flaring as his testing with lab rats was going poorly, the serum not having the desired effect yet.
Fine tuning it, trying every last thing he could think of to enhance it to be usable as a stronger punishment for disobeying him.
Finally on his last attempt before he was about to switch up to another method, he completed his objective.
Telling the rather intelligent rodent what to do, neurons firing tremendous pain responses in their body if they did not listen.
Screeching out in agony, unable to fully comprehend what was happening until they followed direction.
Bruce was beyond giddy that he figured out something that no one else had been able to accomplish before.
Not even pondering on the irony of modifying a HYDRA formula to use on his darling, just proceeding to do it anyway.
There was just one last thing that he needed to do, which was test it on a human subject to see the proper dosage and how long it would last for.
Allowing himself to let off a little steam and run around in a wooded area as the Hulk, wanting to make sure that he had a clear mind.
Having the monstrous figure pick up a hunter out there camping, dragging them back to the lab, rather bloodied up by the time Bruce was ready to further inflict abuse on the poor man.
Injecting what he calculated as his best guess for dosage upon comparing it to the difference in mass between the man and the rat.
Giving the man clear instructions he tested the waters, asking him to do something he knew he would not do.
Resisting, crying out in pain as they held out as long as they possibly could before the torment was just too great giving in.
Seeing how long it lasted until they could disobey without any symptoms, adding the information to his notes before dumping them back off at their campsite.
Who would ever believe him anyway? Sure, the Hulk came out of the woods, kidnapped you, tortured you, then brought you back safely?
Now he was fully ready to use it on you, feeling slightly bad to be using something that will cause you pain, but he also felt like he didn’t have another choice in the matter.
Waiting until you are dead asleep before pricking the needle into your neck, shocking you awake at the sudden irritating sensation.
It was now or never so he told you to do something, and you started to tell him off but instead you were cut off by a sudden rush of burning heat coursing through your veins.
Unbearably hot, your entire flesh lit on fire from head to toe, barely able to hear him tell you to comply and it will stop.
Of course he was right, the moment you did as told it stopped as quickly as it had started, allowing you to take deep breaths of relief.
Telling you exactly what he had done to you, hell he was damn proud of it honestly, one of the greatest pieces of work he had ever completed.
Fear sinking into your features as you were made very aware of the fact that you were now and forever at his mercy.
[I thought this idea was just perfectly dark in all the right ways! I hope that you enjoy it, and that it was what you were going for! Thank you so much! <3]
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mandoinevarro · 3 years
Text
WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE
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Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1
Words: 8.4k 
Rating: E
Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?
a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 
……………
Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.
Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”
“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”
“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”
“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”
“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.
“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.
“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”
Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”
“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.
“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.
“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”
“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.
“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  
Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.
It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.
“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.
“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.
Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.
“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”
“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.
You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.
You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.
Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  
Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”
“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”
“The cards,” Greef urges.
“You’ll be rich.”
You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  
“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”
Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”
“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”
The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”
Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…
Maker’s fucking mercy.
You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.
You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.
The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.
And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.
You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.
You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”
“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”
Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.
She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”
You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.
Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”
“On the ship. I need to get back.”
“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”
“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”
Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”
“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”
The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  
“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”
Silence.
You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…
“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.
The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  
“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”
He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.
“Business.”  
You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?
“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  
“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”
“He told I did that?”
“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”
“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”
“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.
You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”
“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”
That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.
“I was, actually.”
He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”
“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”
You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.
“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”
Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”
“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”
“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.
Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.
“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”
“Then why?”
You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”
He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”
You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”
And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.
“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…
“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.
With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.
But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.
Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”
You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.
“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.
“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.
A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.
“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  
Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.
The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.
“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”
Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.
“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.
“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  
He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.
“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—
The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.
Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”
Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.
“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  
“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.
“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.
You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.
“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”
Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.
Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.
The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  
The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.
“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.
Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.
Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.
The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—
A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.
“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”
“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”
No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.
Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.
“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  
He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—
The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.
Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.
But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.
You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”
The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”
“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.
He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.
“Mmmando,” you sob.
Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.
“Mando, I…”
“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.
Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.
“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”
“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”
There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.
You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—
Zium!
It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.
…………
Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo
Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch
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chocolatecakecas · 3 years
Text
Expect the Unexpected: dadstiel father's day ficlet
based off this anon's genius ask
They were late. Not that they actually had a strict schedule to stick to, but when it came to hunts, Claire didn't like to mess around. She did take this very seriously after all.
But the drive took longer than expected and they didn't get to the motel until around three am, and it took them longer to get out of bed this morning, which was admittedly Claire's fault. And they forgot to steam out their suits with the bathroom shower, so now they're late, in slightly wrinkled suits, speed walking through the parking lot at almost ten thirty am. And yeah maybe Claire's freaking out a bit, but what if the messy suits give them away, or what if another hunter got here already? Maybe they should run? The parking lot is empty so it's not lik-
"Hey, slow down, I don't think they bodies are going anywhere" Kaia laughed, gently grabbing Claire's hand to pull her back.
"I know, but we said we'd get there by nine thirty an-"
"Claire. The case isn't gonna disappear if we're forty five minutes later than we wanted to be. Okay?" Kaia assured, as she forced Claire to stop walking for a moment.
God why did she always have to be right?
"I know I know it's jus-okay fine" Claire sighed in defeat, but Kaia rewarded her with a quick peck on the lips, and pulled her inside.
They both flashed their badges with practiced confidence, and were easily lead to the correct room. The secretary didn't even bat an eye at their slightly wrinkled suits.
Yeah so maybe Claire was freaking out for noth-
"Agent Joel, and this is my partner Agent Cyrus"
Fuck. There's no way
(read rest under the cut)
"Clai-"
"Agents. I didn't know you were also assigned this case"
Because standing over the dead body on the examining table, was Castiel and Jack, in that ratty trench coat and a too big suit respectively.
Well, apparently another hunter did beat them to the case.
"Uh could you give us a moment to confer?" Cas asked attempting to hide his surprise, and the coroner nodded and left without a word.
"Claire! Kaia! I didn't know you guys were working the case too!" Jack started surprised, running over to give each of them a quick hug. They had met a ton of times over the past year, sometimes he even came and hung out at Jody's. And after the initial shock of Cas having a three year old who looked like he was twenty, Claire honestly liked the kid.
"Hey Jack, Cas. We didn't know you guys would be here either? I guess wires got crossed or something?" Kaia shrugged as she gave a little wave to Cas. But before Claire could say anything, Jack was tugging Kaia off to the side, talking a mile a minute about god knows what. And Cas was making his way, over to Claire.
"Hello Claire. I'm sorry I had no idea you two would be working this case. Jacks just been begging to go on another hunt, and this was the closest one to the Bunker. But we can try to find a diff-"
"Nono it's not a big deal. We can just find a different case. It wouldn't be fair, since the kid seems pretty excited about it" Claire said trying to shrug it off.
It's not like she was emotionally attached to this particular case, but it's been a while since her and Kaia had been on a hunt alone. So yeah maybe she was looking forward to it, bu-
"Well, maybe we could all work the case together? That is, if you'd want to?" Cas offered with a slightly nervous smile.
Okay so, it's not that Claire doesn't like Cas, she's seen him a lot over the years, they text and talk all the time, and he's been there for her a lot lately. Claire actually really likes the guy, but it's not like she's gonna tell him that, but it's just-Cas always treats her like she's the same naive teenager she was when they met again six years ago. And she's grown and learned a lot, she's a professional hunter now. At least Dean, and hell even Jody, gets that, they see the changes, but Cas.....
Claire glances over his shoulder to see Jack and Kaia laughing as to themselves, and she feels something pull in her chest as she quickly looks back to Cas.
Damnit.
"Uh sure, could be fun I guess? Besides we haven't seen you or the kid in the a while, but you have to explain why there's four FBI agents working this single murder case" Claire asserts, but Cas smiles brightly anyway.
"Deal" Cas agrees with a little tip of his head. God what a fucking dork, Claire thinks with a fond eyeroll.
“Also, Joel and Cyrus, really?” Claire teased as she walked over to join Kaia and Jack.
“I let Jack pick them out, and he insisted on picking our favorite singers” Cas sighed fondly, causing Claire to tip her head back in laughter.
And just like that the Coroner came back in, and they each took turns asking the routine questions, Jack with maybe too bright of a smile on his face. The guy was twenty-five, and his friends dared him to spend a night alone in this local old house that was apparently, haunted for real. And when his friends went to pick him up in the morning, they found him bleeding out in the foyer, with giant gashes all over.
So they decided to check out the house first, where Kaia and Jack both got tossed across the room by some creepy looking guy with a giant meat cleaver. Which basically confirmed Claire's theory of it being vengeful spirit, and they went back to Cas and Jack's room to research who the guy might be. So simple salt and burn.
And overall, things were actually going really great, Claire got to spend time with Kaia, plus she got to see Jack and Cas and share some laughs doing what she loves. She also got to help Cas show Jack some of the ropes, give him some hunting tips, which was awesome, since she's never gotten to be the teacher in this situation.
"Alright so tonight, why don't Kaia and I check out the house to make sure it's really gone, while Jack and Cas go find the guys grave?" Claire suggested as she stole a french fry off of Kaia's plate, who hummed in agreement
"Oh we get to burn the bones? I've only gotten to do that once before!" Jack began loudly, but quickly changed to a whisper after a warning look from Cas, they were in a crowded diner after all.
But the only one who hadn't spoken was Cas, who's face was scrunched up in thought.
"Claire I'm not sure splitting up is the best idea" Cas supplied carefully, which made Claire roll her eyes in annoyance.
God there he goes again, acting like Claire's some dumb kid. As if she hasn't handled herself just fine for years.
"C'mon Cas, me and Kaia hunt alone all the time, hell I've even done a ton of solo hunts. It'll be more effective this way, you burn the bones, and if it doesn't work we'll know immediately and figure out another way to waste the guy" Claire continued and watched as Cas looked from Jack to Kaia and back to Claire, sighing in defeat.
"Okay, but we'll all stay on the phone in case burning the bones doesn't work" Cas bargained, which Claire assumed was fair, and they all went back to eating happily.
So they split up, Claire and Kaia set up a salt line in the foyer, rock salt guns loaded and ready to go, with Cas and Jack on speaker at the cemetery. But of course, torching the bones didn't work. So now they had a pissed off, homicidal spirit chasing them with a giant meat cleaver, as Claire and Kaia raced around the house looking for the object it might be attached too while Jack and Cas yelled through the phone.
So yeah things were going pretty great actually.
Until they weren't.
"Cas I had it handled, I didn't need-"
"Claire I know, but it already sliced your arm and it was lunging right at yo-"
"But I was fine. I can take care of mys-"
"Claire, I know that-and please stop throwing your arm around you're going to reopen the wound-Claire, I was only trying to pro-"
"Well I didn't ask you to, I didn't ask you for any of this. I'm not some dumb little kid. I've been doing this for years, and I'm good at what I do, I can handle some stupid spirit. And I certainly don't need you to protect me from anything, since you did a pretty shit job of that already" Claire shouted, turning to look at him.
And when she caught sight of his wide, ashamed eyes, she felt something drop deep in her stomach, all of the fight draining out of her.
"Cas no I didn-I just-" Claire groaned running her hands through her hair, daring a glance over at Jack and Kaia who were frozen on the bed, looking at her with a hint of sympathy in their eyes. Her eyes darted back to Cas who's looked the same, except they were mostly filled with guilt.
Great. Just fucking great.
"Ya know what, I'm gonna run to the drug store-get some more bandaids. I'll be back" Claire huffed slamming the door behind her, and trudging across the motel parking lot to her car.
As she walked into the drug store, her mind was racing, rage still burning away in her stomach, and she mindlessly examined each box of bandaids.
This was stupid. The hunt was over, the guy was dead, turns out his murder weapon was the obejct they had to destroy. So it doesn't even matter anymore, but Claire's just so-
She tossed a box of bandaids back on the shelf. Maybe she should have just let Cas heal-no. Just another thing Claire thinks he needs to do for her.
And where does Cas get off trying to assume what's best for her? She can handle herself just fine, she's almost twenty four for gods sake. She's been hunting on her own for years now, and she's damn good at it, even Jody says so. She's grown and learned a lot so why can't Cas fucking just back off? And who the hell does Cas think he is, anyway? She doesn't need him to protect her, she doesn't need someone to save her, definitely not Cas of all peop-
With a huff Claire shoves another box back on the shelf, maybe a bit too aggressive and digs her palms into her eyes to ground herself.
What is she doing?
She forgave- or as close to forgiveness as you can get with this kinda thing- Cas a long time ago. She didn't wanna live with that rage and pain anymore, it was weighing her down and it fucking sucked. So she's made "peace" with it. And if she's really being honest, she really does like Cas a lot, he's like some doofy, powerful guy, who says some of the weirdest and funniest things she's ever heard. Plus, he sure as hell cares a lot, and he's tried to make it as "right", as possible and respected what Claire wanted. 
But just because Claire's made peace with it and thinks he's a good guy, doesn't mean she's not allowed to be pissed.
Claire quickly swipes a brand of bandaids and gauzes she's used before, and weaves her way through the aisles. But she catches something out of the corner of her eye that has her stopping in her tracks.
A Father's Day display.
Something drops deep in the pit of her stomach, as her heart leaps into her throat.
And she's instantly transported back to age five, with memories of homemade cards, barbeques in the backyard, and her dad with a bright smile as he carefully opened her gift. A new tie.
She feels her phone buzz in her pocket, effectively breaking her out of the trance. She quickly swipes at her eyes before reading it. 
It’s an apology from Cas.
Claire feels herself rubbing at her eyes again, the grief and pain of loss mixing with guilt and affection and confusion and anger all at once, struggling to gain dominance.
But before she can even process it all, another text come through, asking if she can grab some of Jack's favorite snacks, with way too many emojis.
And before she realizes it, a wet laugh escapes, as she squeezes the phone in her hand. She quickly glances back up at the display, a small, somber smile pulling at her lips.
And she makes a choice.
The next morning they’re all lingering in the parking lot before saying their goodbyes. Claire offered to check them all out, dragging Jack along before leaving Kaia and Cas alone.
"Here, you should be the one to give it to him" Claire says quickly stuffing a bag in Jack's hands.
"But it's from all of us?" Jack questioned, familiarly tilting his head, and Claire couldn't help but smile.
Last night Claire went back to the drugstore, now with Kaia and Jack in tow under the guise of picking up dinner. They each signed the card, even convincing Kaia to write something too. Jack even insisted on getting him one of those cheesy #1 Dad mugs, because apparently even though Cas didn't need it, he liked to drink coffee.
"Yeah I know, but you picked out the mug. So you can give it to him later" Claire assured, and quickly stalked across the parking lot with Jack in tow.
Jack can just hide it in his backpack and give it to Cas when they get home, so he can read their messages in a place where Claire is preferably, not present.
But to Claire's horror, annoyance at her own self because she should have seen this coming, Jack immediately handed Cas the gift.
"Happy Father's Day! It's from all of us, I know it's early but I thought you should open it while we're all together!" Jack declared with a bright smile, while Kaia gently found and squeezed Claire's hand. Cas just looked over at Claire and Kaia, confusion swimming in his eyes
"We all picked it up from the drugstore when we went to grab dinner last night. Thought it might be nice" Kaia answered evenly, but Claire could tell she was nervous. She knew she was worried about how Kaia fit into this fam...well whatever it was.
Cas simply nodded as he worked to recover from his initial shock, he slowly pulled out the mug first, smiling as he read it.
"I picked out the mug! But Claire put the quotes around the Dad, she said you'd think it was funny" Jack informed him, which only caused Cas to chuckle warmly as he pulled out the card.
Claire thought her heart might hammer out of her chest as she leaned into Kaia's touch. Damnit, why couldn't the kid have just waited until he was home.
"Thank you. All of you, thi-this means so much" Cas choked out, voice thick as he finished reading with a disbelieving smile. He hugged Jack first, pressing a kiss to his head.
"See, he loved it? You should talk to him" Kaia suggested in a no nonsense tone, pressing a kiss to Claire's lips before walking towards their car. Cas stopped her of course, wrapping her in a tight hug, and Kaia whispered something Claire couldn't make out, before she pulled Jack over to the other side of the lot. Claire looked at Cas, noticing his eyes were shining, and quickly looked at a rock on the ground as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"That was very kind of you. You didn't have to do all that for me" Cas said softly as he cautiously approached Claire, leaving some space between them.
"Yeah well, I don't know. I saw the cards at the store and I thought it might be nice..." Claire trailed off, braving another glance at Cas who's eyes were a little misty. Her eyes flitted to the side to see Kaia giving her an encouraging and a nod towards Cas, before turning back to Jack.
Well, it's now or never.
"Look Cas. I'm sorry I blew up yesterday, and I appreciate your-your apology. But I don't need you to protect me, you gotta know I'm not some dumb-"
"Claire, I know. You've become an incredible hunter, I'm not worried about your hunting skills or think that you need protecting. I just worry and want to protect you because I care about you" Cas stated sincerely.
Oh.
And yeah she knows Cas cared and she knows he was only trying to help, and maybe logically she knows that Cas was't acting like that because he thought she was a some inexperienced crap hunter. But hearing it is just-
Something warm swims in her stomach, as her heart thumps against her chest, as she swallows thickly.
"Listen, about the card, I- I know you aren't him, and you'll never be him okay? So you aren't my dad and I’m not looking to replace but-but you're kinda-you've kinda been like a Da-a figure lately and I know you said you care and I appreciate-and I car-I feel lik-"Claire attempted to choke out, but the next thing she knew, she's stopping and flinging her arms around his neck, hoping it'll convey everything she wants to say.
And it must, because Cas' arms wrap tightly around her, and she finds herself grabbing the back of that ratty trench coat, smiling to herself for a moment.
When they pulled away Cas gives her a soft smile, as she quickly wipes at her eyes.
"You and Kaia should come for dinner next Friday at the bunker. Deans texted me about it six times, and I'm sure Jack would love to show you his room....if you wanted that is-of course you don't hav-"
"Yeah Cas, that actually sounds kinda nice. Haven't had a chance to bother Dean in a while, anyway" Claire shrugged with a smile, which he easily returned.
And later as Claire drove back to Jody's, one hand on the wheel, the other loosely grasping Kaia's, she found herself really looking forward to next Friday.
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