#starting to tire of shiny hunting and whatever the fuck has been going on with me today has just made it worse

[quitedisastrous]

life was so much easier three days ago when i was detaching myself from reality and spending all of my free time shiny hunting

#im fr gonna be stuck having the worst week so far this year just to have to force myself to play through ultra sun so i can beat it #solely because i need to trade blacephalon for the ultra moon exclusive before the online stuff goes down on the 8th. god #starting to tire of shiny hunting and whatever the fuck has been going on with me today has just made it worse #also tried to draw for the first time in a few weeks (which is a shit load of time for me since i normally do it every couple days at least) #but i just. couldn't. so that was fun #i gotta deal with all this shit from college just to 1) get a job 2) get a job in a workforce that is totally going to cause some sort of #strife in some capacity most likely (going into web development as a woman as far as i need the public to be concerned) #ghm i give up on spelling these all out. i'm a freak who gets freaked the fuck out over situations that i'm not familiar with #can't drive (also scared of that because responsibility for unfamiliar things freaks me out) #never had a job in my life. has never experienced a life outside of academics. queer. genderqueer. i haven't seen my friends since last may #man. i don't know. i could point out a million other things about being queer and probably neurodivergent and scared and sad. #i just want to go on and have a place of my own and a romantic partner and a pet beetle and to bring some of the outdoor colony cats from my #grandmother's house inside with me. and stuff. #i don't know #i just want to be happy with meaningful connections and not scared and not whatever the hell is going on with me today #maybe i'll just go do my final project proposal for the class this freakout is stemming from in the first place and sleep and #see if that does anything. maybe #what is wrong with me

[fuck-customers]

kitchen swingman anon once again here to bitch about J2. J1 thankfully seems to be leaving soon and doesn’t otherwise play into this story so i will simply refer to him as J here.

in the sort of venue hub where i work there’s a couple places outside of the restaurant i work for that have concessions stands, but don’t have their own onsite kitchen. pretty much since i started working here i’ve been handling one of them by preparing hot foods on their time rather than my site’s, which just amounts to two pots of soup and some assorted hand pies and delivery from kitchen to concessions. not difficult to do. i have a system and a set of specific tools i’m supposed to use to keep it consistent. i’ve gotten it down to a science.

i’ve been trying to get my tools re-separated from the general kitchen tools because the line has been using the nice bain-marie pans for the concessions to cook in/hold sauce for dinner service, and what used to be nice and shiny and polished and clean-looking has gotten kind of charred because they put it right on the burner and crank up the flame and let it boil dry or don’t stir it enough. it’s not unfixable but it is annoying. i finally got a couple of them separated out and put aside with the rest of my concessions supplies, and explained to the chef that i’d be doing so, which he approved. so the soup supplies are already put aside and ready to grab for use in the section of the kitchen where i always do this specific prep.

chef sends me on a long break today (nearly two hours) because i’ve done all the other prep i need and i don’t need to do much of anything else until i’m on the other clock for concessions, says he’ll make sure the soups are ready and to just come back to bake off the pies. so i’m like, cool, can do, and go get a nice lunch.

i get back to the kitchen and J has apparently been tending the soups. so i thank him, and i start to arrange the bain-marie pans that i already have set aside, which are clean, and ready to use, and simply need to have the finished soup poured into them. i specify this because this man turns to me and says “bruh, i’ve got some getting washed”

and i start to say my piece and he cuts me off to protest that i “don’t need to do all that” and start arguing with me like i don’t know how to do my fucking job so i just snap at him that “I’m supposed to use these for the concessions, that’s why i set them over here this morning, so i don’t have to hunt for them or wait for them to be washed.” and instead of apologizing because he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about he acts like he wants to drop the topic because i’m the one being unreasonable for wanting to do things correctly, i guess.

on top of that he didn’t even cook the soups right. it’s a frozen concentrate that gets diluted in water. when i went to transfer from the cook pots to the bain-marie pans there was still a solid chunk of soup concentrate in both, meaning that it hadn’t been allowed to cook hot enough for long enough or hadn’t been stirred to allow the heat and liquid to work away at the ice a little more effectively. it was barely even to temp and had already been lowered to a simmer by the time i got back. fantastic!

i didn’t have the time or patience to say anything about it, because i needed to get everything transferred before concessions opened and we started dinner service, so i just ladled out what liquid i was able to and packed up the leftover because they made too fucking much of both. it takes two blocks to fill one bain-marie pot and if J was the one to prep it he almost certainly did that on top of whatever might have been saved to reuse from yesterday.

this is all on top of him blasting his music so loudly over bluetooth speaker that nobody can communicate even through shouting and i’m left with a migraine by the end of the night. i’m so fucking tired of this guy.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[automaticneon]

Hunting Season

Helmut Zemo X Fem!Reader

Summary: Going into hiding isn’t easy, and you and Zemo have to find new ways to entertain yourselves. Your Baron wants to introduce you to something a little different today.

Warnings: Very not safe for tumblr lmao. BratTamer!Zemo comes out in full force, inappropriate use of a riding crop, impact play, Zemo in leather gloves (that deserves its own warning in my opinion), oral (fem receiving) but with ✨added spice✨

When your new partner Zemo had said that you were going to have to lay low for a while, there was evidently an error in communication.

You see in your world flying under the radar meant months travelling between safehouses and run-down apartments, living out of your rucksack and calculating how long you could make your rations last before you had to emerge to restock. 

In Zemo’s world that meant something entirely different.

After his escape in Riga the two of you had rendezvoused and begun the long drive to Austria, hesitant to take the jet out of fear the Dora Milaje would be keeping tabs on it. After two days of driving and an overnight stop in Poland the two of you had finally arrived at the location Helmut had deemed sensible for your hiding place. 

A sprawling country manor somewhere between Vienna and Graz. 

“I inherited it from my mothers side,” he told you when you first entered the light airy entry hallway, as if it was a common occurrence that someone would inherit such a place.

It was times like these that you were reminded that you and Helmut were not cut from the same cloth, he was a literal Baron and you were only an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. 

Had been. You had been an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. You were now technically a fugitive of the law, wanted for aiding and abetting the escape of your criminal boyfriend.

It took a lot of time to adjust to your new life in the manor, but Zemo was ever so patient with you. He never berated you for getting lost in the long hallways, was always patient when you asked about the difference between a Baron and an Earl, and humoured you when you quizzed him about the events frequented by aristocracy. 

Eventually you began to feel at home. You and Helmut fell into a happy routine of exploring the house and grounds and enjoying each others company. 

Of course these activities were all interspersed with a healthy dose of fucking. Frantic, groping sex hiding behind marble statues in the sculpture gallery, giving fashion shows to Zemo in all the new clothes he bought you just so he could tear them off you again, kneeling between his thighs in the parlour whilst he enjoyed his evening whisky. 

The two of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“I should take you to see the stables tomorrow” he muses one night, trailing the tips of his fingers over your exposed back  “I want you to meet the horses before I take you out one”

“You should know then that I can’t ride to save my life” you warn.

An amused smile spreads across Zemo’s tired face.

“I beg to differ” he quips roguishly, breaking out into a smug laugh when you slap his chest in admonishment, 

“Don’t be crude, I’m being serious!”

“And so am I, you broke me tonight my love. You can be a cruel mistress when you want to be” he says, pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“I learnt from the best” you say, and return the kiss with a brief peck against his chest.

“And I’m sure you’ll learn a lot more”

-

The sun over the grounds the next morning was bright and crisp, dispelling the mist from the lake and leaving behind a pleasant climate for your walk.

“You look lovely,” Zemo says as you meet him in the entry hall. He’s fixing the lapels of his long brown overcoat in one of the ornate mirrors and his warm eyes find the reflection of yours as you approach from behind. He picks up his trusty pair of worn leather gloves and slides them on, flexing his fingers to soften the material.

Ever the gentleman he offers you the crook of his arm.

“Shall we?”

-

The two of you make pleasant conversation as Zemo leads you through the grounds of the estate. Today he’s full of promises about the future, it warms you to know he intends to make this last.

“I should take you into Vienna soon, I know a place where they perform Mozart by candlelight”

“Have you been to any races before? We could visit Monaco, or perhaps somewhere in Spain would be less conspicuous”

“I promise we won’t always have to hide like this”

The stable was an old building, as old as the house, but impeccably well maintained. The stalls, of which many were empty, were arranged around a courtyard and as you wondered around the perimeter Zemo pointed to the various amenities.

“Back when we still hosted the hunting season this place would have been filled with horses. My mothers side of the family took great pride in their collection” he said as you stopped to pet the nose of a great black horse.

“You hunt?” 

“Not personally, my parents were fans of the tradition of it all”  he says, his gloves creaking as he flexes his fingers “I joined the army very young. I suppose when you start killing out of necessity, killing for sport becomes somewhat repugnant.” 

You knew very little about Zemo’s time in the army. From what you could gather it had been a particulalry unpleasant time in his life, one born from a sense of duty to his country and a need to establish his place in the world before he took up the mantle of Baron. 

Helmut’s aversion to hunting didn’t seem to impact his care towards the horses, he told you each of their names and ages and you admired how healthy and shiny their coats looked. 

As you walked he kept a hand on the back of your neck, a possessive little gesture that he had taken to recently. The warm leather of his gloves a relaxing presence as he lead you through the tack room, a clean and chalky white room with a high vaulted ceiling. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floors as you admired the expensive riding gear mounted on the wall, stopping at a collection of leather riding crops.

“Oh Baron,” you teased, plucking one from the wall “very kinky” 

Helmut gave you a lazy smile as you reached out and tapped the flat end of the crop against his cheek, huffing out a little laugh before taking it from you. 

“Careful there my love, you could do real damage with that.”

You laugh and move to perch on the sturdy wooden worktable in the centre of the room.

“As if I’d ever want to hurt your pretty face, Helmut” 

“I’m flattered, but it’s hardly a matter of if you’d want to,” he says, fixated on tapping the crop in his open palm “you need good training to use these properly.”

You narrow your eyes. You’re fairly sure that he’s sizing you up right now, trying to figure out if you’re down for whatever it is he has planned. 

You decide to bite the bait.

“Do you think you’re well trained, Baron?” 

For a fraction of a second he doesn’t respond, keeping you trapped in his levelled gaze instead. His nostrils flare and he puffs his chest ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he says in a tone that verges on cold. 

You obey, but the sparkle of a challenge still glints in the deep of your eyes. If Zemo notices he doesn’t make it known, simply clenching his jaw as you come to stand before him.

“Turn around and put your hands on the table,” he instructs, and you can feel his gaze on you as you comply. 

“We’re going to try something new today. You can always say no if you want to,” he says, placing his hand between your shoulder blades and pushing, bending you slightly over the table.

Experimenting wasn’t anything new with you and Zemo, over the last few months the two of you had tried just about everything that took your fancy in the bedroom. You were fairly sure you knew what he had planned, particularly from the way he was using the riding crop to tease the inside of your leg, but you still wanted him to say it out loud.

“What do you have planned?” you ask, and your voice gives out just a little when Helmut uses the crop to make the tiniest slap against your leg.

“Five hits. If you can take five hits I’ll give you something special in return” he says, lifting the hem of your floaty skirt with the crop until it rests on the small of your back and leaves you exposed to him.

You know he’d give you something in return no matter what happened. If you noped-out after one swat? No problem. You had complete faith in this man to make sure you stayed happy and satisfied and so you arch your back a little in anticipation. 

Helmut smooths his gloved hand over the globe of your ass, lulling you into a soothed state before stepping back. You don’t look back at him; the silence and the tantalizing suspense only adding to the excitement growing between your legs.

You register the sound of the hit before you register the pain.

The soft whoosh and harsh crack echoes around the high ceilings and bounces off the white-washed walls. It’s not a strong hit, barely even a swat. Zemo had used more force with regular spanks before yet the harsh bite of the leather crop still startles you.

“Alright?” He asks, and finally you turn your head to face him.

A rogue strand of hair dangles over his forehead and his pupils have blown to swallow up his hazel eyes. Helmut looked as though he was holding onto his sanity by a thread, and that was a thread you wanted to break. 

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain levelled and instead turn to face forward again to await the second hit. 

The next swat was just the same as the first, but with the now tender condition of your skin it hurt slightly more. The third was ever so slightly harder, forcing a yelp out of you and making your nails dig into the wooden table. 

Zemo puts down the crop for a moment, coming to stand behind you and hovering his hand over the welts you’re sure are forming on your ass. You peer over your shoulder at him, watching the way his breath comes in quick pants as he examines his handiwork.

His eyes flit up to briefly meet yours before using his teeth to pull off one of his leather gloves and he tentatively brings his fingers between your legs, careful not to touch the tender flesh of your rear. His fingertips gently run along the clothed seam of your pussy, feeling the way your arousal is soaking your underwear.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he quizzes as you tremble under his touch. His fingers find your clit through the fabric and begin to circle it, letting out a low chuckle the way you moan and slouch at the contact. 

“God your wet,” he berates, and that momentarily sated spark reignites at his tone. 

“I’d be a lot wetter if you actually put your back into it” you quip, and Helmut’s fingers still. You keep pushing.

 “I assumed you were trained well with these. I guess I was wrong” 

Your Baron doesn’t respond, and you can practically hear the last strands of his self restraint snapping. 

Grabbing his discarded glove, Zemo presses himself against you fully, using his weight to pin you down against the table. The expensive material of his trousers rub against the sore skin of your ass, and you can feel his arousal pressed into you as he uses one hand to grasp your jaw.

“You’re going to regret that, мали зека” he warns against your ear, tightening his grip to force your mouth open and stuff it with his leather glove. 

Zemo steps back, pulling his other glove off and pressing it into your palm.

“You drop that glove and this all stops. If you don’t, then I don’t want to hear anything else from that smart mouth” he says, picking up the crop and taking his place again. 

You love it when he gets like this. When you’ve broken down that cool and collected exterior you know that both you and your pussy will be paying for it for days to come. Not that you have a single complaint about that, though.

The next hit catches you entirely off guard. It’s much harder, causing your skin to warm instantly and your body to jolt against the table. Helmut waits, probably to see if you drop the glove.

When you don’t he delivers the final hit, so harsh that the tears pooling in your eyes spill over, trailing down your cheeks and mixing with the drool that has begun to dribble from the corner of your gagged mouth. 

You don’t realise that your face had pressed itself against the table-top until Helmut is pulling you back up. He pulls the glove from your mouth, using one had to smooth your hair away from your face in a soothing gesture. 

“It’s over,” He says, pressing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss “you did so well.”

He shrugs off his coat, placing the material on the table and guiding your head back down, giving you a soft place to rest your head.

“Do you want your reward?” he asks, stepping back behind you again.

“Uh-huh” you nod against the soft coat, all of the fight had been drained from your body, evidently the ability to speak had gone with it too.

You feel as Helmut slowly pulls your underwear over the curve of your ass and down your legs, shushing you softly when you whine over the soreness of your skin. He nudges your feet apart, and you feel him kneeling down behind you. 

His hands find purchase around your waist, and he presses a kiss to the skin of your ass, being careful to find a place that doesn’t have any welts. His breath fans across your skin as he moves to press a kiss directly on your pussy, pulling away to listen to your breathy sigh. After the pain, soft and pure pleasure felt so good. 

Helmut buries himself into the warm wetness, feasting on your pussy whilst you moan into his coat. His signature smell clings to the fabric and fills your nose, fisting your hands into the silky lining you pull the coat closer to you.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he manages to make you cum like this. All he has to do is bring one of his fingers to circle your fluttering, soaked hole and he has you falling apart on his tongue. 

He holds you up as you practically sob into his coat, pressing fleeting kisses against your swollen pussy until your aftershocks stop. Helmut raises to his feet, gently pulling up your underwear and fixing your skirt, trailing kisses up your back until he reaches your head.

“How was that?” he asks, his voice quiet and tender.

“Good,” you push yourself up from the table shakily, letting Helmut keep his hands on your arms to keep you upright “you’re waiting on me hand and foot for the rest of the week though” 

Helmut laughs, picking up his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says, pulling you in for a tender kiss “your wish is my command”

You kiss him back, smiling into the embrace as a few ideas for revenge spring to mind.

#zemo marry me challenge #my writing #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x y/n #zemo x reader #tfatws #marvel #nsft

[watermelonlipstick]

The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

This is a request for anon, who asked: 

i don’t know if your requests are open, but if they are, could you do one where the reader has tattoos that dean doesn’t know about and then he sees them when he has to stitch them up after a hunt? (maybe like season 1 or 2 dean) thank you!!!

And then wrote to me privately that they have a dragon tattoo on one shoulder.

It was a lot of fun to write; tons of opportunities to slip in some good classic rock references! I miss in the super early seasons when Sam and Dean seemed to rag on each other pretty much constantly. I hope this is what you were thinking of!

Title: The Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2589 

Summary: Dean is surprised to discover the reader has tattoos.

Warnings: canon-appropriate violence/mention of blood, swearing, fluff!!

           Sam moves to the middle of the front bench to shuck off his coat as Dean is getting out of the car, and gives it to you with a long arm over the leather. “Can you hand me that blue jacket?”

           You have to over-rotate to use your other hand to grab it, keeping your grip tight on your own shirt in the most bastardized version of a sling. Sam, of course, notices.

           “You think it’s broken or dislocated?”

           A hard chuckle blows out of your nose. “Really hope it’s just dislocated, I’ll tell you that.”

           He gives you a sympathetic smile as he throws on the blue jacket and zips it all the way up to his neck. It looks like he’s covering something up and naturally, he is, thin hoodie and t shirt underneath drenched with enough werewolf blood that it’s clinging to his chest almost pornographically. But his face is untouched and he has use of both his arms which is more than can be said for you or Werewolf Shiner Winchester, making him the only reasonable choice to send for gauze and ACE bandages at the closest pharmacy.

           Dean stops his grimace-covered stretching just outside the car and opens your door with an outstretched hand as Sam slides into the driver’s seat. “You coming?”

           Taking his hand with your good one, you let Dean close the door behind you without any of the normal grumbling about treating you like you’re made of porcelain, in an effort to keep your face neutral around the jolts of pain through your shoulder. Sam pulls out of the motel parking lot ultra-gently like it’s his first day with a learner’s permit the way he does when he knows Dean is watching. It makes you smile to yourself as exhaust dissipates across the cracked blacktop.

           Crossing the asphalt with tired strides Dean opens the motel door for you too, and you walk in before him. “Is that yours?” he asks, dropping his coat on the cheap couch and wincing through the removal of his flannel. In the light of the room you’re better able to see his black eye and realize it’s going to take weeks for that to go away, not relishing another inevitable conversation about makeup to sell a G-man cover story. It makes it so much easier for the families of victims to believe you’re legit when none of you look like you’ve been in a bar fight, but getting Dean to believe cover-up is in the name of the greater good is an uphill battle on the best of days.

           “Is what mine?”

           “The blood you’re covered in like nacho cheese. Dude, if that’s all over the car—”

           He deserves credit for trying not to smile as you try to look over your shoulder like a puppy chasing its tail, but he does guide you over to the mirror on the wall to see. He’s right, blood has seeped all down your coat, sticky and shiny like syrup. It’s far too wet to be from near 30 minutes ago when you got in the car. “Fuck, I really like this jacket.”

           “You have like 5 just like it taking up space in my trunk; you’ll live. Here, take that off, I’ll stitch you up.” Dean starts rifling through his bag for supplies, rolling some kinks out of his neck.

           “It doesn’t even hurt, I just need you to pop my shoulder back in so I can take a shower.”

           “I don’t give a shit what hurts, slugger. You’re going to pass out in the tub if you keep up the stuck pig act.”

           You roll your eyes and reluctantly try to slide your arms out of the jacket, wincing when you jostle the dislocated arm. Dean takes the sopping coat from you and tosses it into the kitchenette sink from where he stands, the concern coloring his face when you look back at him not reassuring you at all. He puts the floss-threaded needle he’d had in his hand between his teeth and starts pulling on your collar.

           “Shoulder first,” you insist, done wiggling and writhing out of clothes before your shoulder is where it belongs.

           Dean’s mouth tightens into a firm line but he backs up to give himself enough room to shove, an exasperated hand beckoning you. “Okay, you ready?” he says around the needle, looking like a farmer field medic with a piece of hay.

           “Yeah just let me—FUCK,” you grunt when he catches you off guard without any preamble, clutching at the shoulder for a moment until you could take a deep breath. You do a test rotation and are happy at the relative lack of pain, trying not to be frustrated that Dean didn’t warn you so you wouldn’t tense up.

           “Shirt off.” Dean’s tone is firm and precise, no room for discussion, as he gets out a lighter and watches intently to heat up the needle.

           “Wow, you sure know how to make someone feel special,” you hum, feeling much looser without the shooting pain from your shoulder. The buttons of the flannel come undone relatively easy, but the fabric makes a sickly wet thwack as you snap it down to rest around your elbows.

           From his spot at your side, you see Dean’s face contort in surprise and watch as he reflexively reaches out a thumb to rub the skin of your shoulder.

           “Ow, what the hell?” you flinch.

           “Has this always been here?” he asks, partly amazed but mostly incredulous as his eyes trace the inky lines of the dragons where they wind around your skin.

           “I wasn’t born with them if that’s what you mean.” You can tell he’s truly shocked because he doesn’t even react to the jab, just hovers a gentle fingertip over the tattoo. “Earth to Dean? I thought you were all scared about me bleeding out.”

           He gulps and clears his throat before covering with a smile that’s a combination of cheeky and shy. “Right, yeah, sorry. Just didn’t realize I was in the presence of The Tattooed Wonder.”

           “Hardly, I only have a few. Now start stitching before I change my mind and wait for Sam; his are way neater than yours anyway.”

           “Few? Where are the other ones? Girls on the back of your leg that hula when you walk?”

           “Nice try.”

           He bites his lip before shifting the strap of your tank top off and sponging the back of your shoulder with a wet towel. When he unceremoniously pours a slug of whiskey over the wound you feel it for the first time and hiss, adrenaline and distraction of the joint pain worn off.

           “Sorry,” he murmurs, already dragging floss tight on a stitch with his teeth and moving on to the next as quickly as he can, half-humming that old Queen song, “gonna get me on the track, got a dragon on my back.”

           You weren’t lying earlier when you’d said that Sam’s stitches were usually cleaner, but Dean is being very careful in a way he usually isn’t—Chicks dig scars, Sammy! Stopped the bleeding, didn’t it?—and you tip your head back to check his work. The extra time he’s taking is to match up the back of one of the dragons, ripped open by a werewolf claw and currently held together by the delicate pinch of Dean’s index and thumb.

           It’s tough, but you manage to grab the reins on a smirk. Dean doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to keep the damage to your tattoo at a minimum. The gesture and the concentration are impossibly sweet, even though you’d long accepted that ink injury was inevitable with your lifestyle.

           When he’s done, callused fingertips tugging the last knot in place, Dean grabs the whiskey again. “Hold still,” he breathes, close enough you can feel it dance across the skin of your neck, and you hope he can’t see the goosebumps trailing down your arms like ivy. “That should do it. You can grab the first shower, but it’s big enough that some gauze on top for a few days wouldn’t hurt.”

           “Thanks,” you answer, startled and annoyed at your own voice when it creaks a touch. The flannel feels gross and heavy with blood, so you pull your arms out entirely and reach to drop it in the wastebasket.

           “I can deal with that if you want,” he offers, ruffling the velvet-short hair at the back of his neck. “The coat too. Not the first time getting blood out of clothes.”

           “Oh, okay. Uh, thanks. That would be really nice.”

           Dean only meets your eyes for the most fleeting moment when he takes it before biting his lip again and nodding to himself. You get to your feet and gingerly slip the displaced straps back over your shoulder, feeling the shift in energy in the room and not knowing what to do with it. Settling for a jocular little punch to Dean’s bicep, you grin at him. “Thanks for putting me back together, doc.”

           Sam comes back a couple minutes after you’ve closed the bathroom door with a translucent plastic bag full of first aid supplies. “In the shower?”

           Dean looks up from where he’s sitting on the couch and hands Sam the beer he’d already gotten out of the fridge in anticipation, his leg bouncing rapidly. “Yeah. They have everything?”

           His younger brother nods and accepts the bottle, taking a sip before laying out his haul on the coffee table and tossing the bag. “You okay?”

           He glances up with a quirked eyebrow. “Just tired, man.”

           Sam waits a silent beat, giving Dean a chance to spill whatever it is.

           “Did you, ah—did you know Y/N’s all inked up like a friggin’ sailor?”

           Sam chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “A sailor? Y/N’s only got a few tattoos, dude.”

           “You knew?”

           “Of course I knew, some people like to learn things about their friends. That’s why you’re acting weird?”

           Dean scowls over the glass lip of his beer before taking a long pull. “Not acting weird, sue me for being surprised we’re working with the goddamn Hunter With The Dragon Tattoo.” His voice is low and surly like a kid on the edge of a tantrum even he knows isn’t worth it.

           “Y/N can do whatever they want, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you like the tattoos, you’re not their dad.” Sam’s barely keeping the giggle out of his voice, enjoying Dean’s frustration the way only a little brother could.

           “No, I don’t—it’s not that I don’t like them,” Dean stammers, the end of the statement fading off as a flush starts rising in his cheeks. He knows he’s said too much and Sam jumps on it.

           “Wait—you do like them, don’t you?” He crashes onto the couch, long limbs just enough in Dean’s space to be irritating. “I bet you loooooove knowing about those tattoos—I bet you’re dying to see them.”

           “Shut the fuck up,” Dean growls, kicking Sam in the thigh with a socked foot. Sam blocks him and starts laughing hard enough it makes him rattle all over like he’s on a rickety rollercoaster. When he finally catches his breath Dean is still pouting to whatever syndicated sitcom he’d thrown on. Over the tinny TV speakers they hear the shower turn off.

           “You know, if you’re feeling shy I could say something for you.” Sam’s grin is ten steps past cheeky, firmly planted in devilish, and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively over top of dimples perfectly sliced into his cheeks.

           Dean’s eyes widen like a cartoon and his voice is a gravelly hiss as he grabs a tight handful of Sam’s t-shirt, now crisp with dried blood. “Sam, I fucking swear to God—” but the threat is ineffectual, sheepish panic clear as anything on his face. The glint in Sam’s eye brightens and he twists out of his brother’s grip before he can react, crossing the room in a few huge steps so he’s nearly face to face with you when you open the bathroom door, Dean leaping off of the couch to chase him and slamming into Sam’s back when he stops short.

           “Whoa, Jesus—you scared the shit out of me,” you breathe, one hand on top of your fresh t-shirt to still your racing heartbeat, fistful of dirty laundry in the other.

           “Just need that second shower, didn’t mean to freak you out!” Sam smiles, warm and light and genuine. “Thanks! Gauze is on the table if you want it.” he says as he slips past you with a friendly and familiar kiss on the cheek, wink that you can’t see to Dean over your shoulder as he closes the bathroom door fast enough that the mirror next to the frame barely even steams.

           “Hey, could you—” you start.

           “Hey, do you—” Dean says at the exact same time. You both chuckle, and you can’t tell if you’re annoyed or not that the little charge in the room didn’t dissolve while the dried blood on you had rinsed down the shower drain. Dean holds up an open palm to indicate that you should go first.

           “Could you cover those stitches for me? The skin is kind of catching on my shirt.”

           “Uh, yeah. Definitely.”

           Shaking your hair loose and hanging the towel it was in on the back of a kitchenette chair, you sit on the edge of the bed to tug the collar of your t-shirt as far onto your shoulder as you can. Dean snatches some medical tape and a couple 4x4s from the table and sits down next to you, the heat coming off of him soothing the chill of the few remaining drops of water cooling on your skin. “I’m gonna need more slack than that,” he says, trying to be matter-of-fact but not quite covering the gooey softness around the edges that are making his voice more sultry than gruff. You try to pull harder on the collar but it’s already digging into your neck. The hand holding the gauze floats down to Dean’s lap while he rubs his jaw with the other. “Do you—could you just take it off?”

           You roll your eyes at him.

           “Or live with it, see if I care.” He holds your gaze, and that stubbornness you recognize.

           Reluctantly, you move your arm inside the shirt and slip it out from under the bottom hem, squirming in a way that covers your chest while exposing your shoulder. When he sweeps the shirt back you reflexively jolt away from him like you’ve been shocked. “Not being fresh, just don’t want to tape it in,” he murmurs.

           “I noticed you put the lines together really straight; thanks for that.”

           “Only took an extra second.” He rips another piece of tape off a roll with his teeth and is being so deliberate that now you’re sure he’s stalling for another few seconds to keep touching you but you don’t care; the feeling of his fingertips on your skin is tender and delicious.

           “If I knew you were going to be that careful, I would’ve been letting you do my stitches this whole time.”

           “Guess I’m just a regular damn seamstress,” he smiles, finally smoothing the last tape and only surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of his eye as you tuck your arm back into its sleeve. “So seriously, what’re the other tattoos?”

           “I’m sure you’ll see them soon enough,” you whisper as you stand up, committing to memory the way it makes Dean’s pupils flare as you ease under the scratchy motel sheets on the opposite bed.

-

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[beskarberry]

Bargaining with Beskar (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?”

Rating : Explicit

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: canon-typical violence (bounty capture) smut: captured bounty sex, rough play (soft choke), fingering, pent up sex.

Summary: You’re an ex bounty hunter just trying to escape the guilds radar long enough to spend a hefty reward, but a another bounty hunter has other plans for you. Can you convince him to let you go with only your charm, or will you find yourself in carbonite?

Authors note: I wrote this in a fury in the middle of the night so it’s messy and very very self indulgent. It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything so if I need to tag something tell me!

Edit: This fic started on another blog of mine but I moved it here to keep it consistent for when I add more chapters.

Next->

You'd had a good run.

It was a hard opportunity to pass up, the high profile bounty you had been charged to bring in had been able to contact their family shortly before you had captured them and the family offered to pay you handsomely for their return, easily triple what the guild was going to pay for this bail jumper. You’d taken the deal, but that meant you would be returning to the guild empty handed. Maybe if you laid low for a while they'd forget.

Of course that was a stupid thought, within weeks you had noticed rookie hunters on your tail.  Word had gotten out that the bounty was walking free and a sloppy bounty hunter was a liability to the guild. After evading all of the green-horns for a time the more experienced hunters began tracking you, and your only choice with them was kill or be killed. They should have known you wouldn't go down quietly.

Months passed before you saw another hunter, hoping against hope that they had given up. It wasn't until you had gotten somewhat comfortable on Tatooine that the last one came.

You were far outside of Mos Eisly, the sandy city was barely a smudge on the horizon from where you were laying low doing repair work on a moisture extractor when he arrived. The machines engine was so loud in your ear you never heard him coming up over the dune, though through the scope of the pulse riffle he carried you wouldn't have heard him anyway. You cranked a ratchet against a stubborn bolt,

-crank.... crank.... c-CRZZT-!

Electricity coursed through you,  your first thought was that somehow you had made a connection with a loose wire and shocked yourself, but it was soon obvious that whatever had electrified you was strong enough to paralyze you, causing you to drop down onto the ground. Your fingers were still twitching when you heard bootsteps coming over the sand, but you were unable to stand, instead you worked to shake the electricity running through you.

"Th-thi-think I hit a whi-wh-wire there, I- I- I- I'll get it fi- fixed." you stuttered through clenched teeth, thinking it was the moisture farmer that had hired you coming to see if you were ok. The pulse was wearing off quickly, and you were able to jerk your head enough to make visual contact with the boot of the man approaching you, but these were not the boots of a farmer, they were the boots of a bounty hunter.

"Oh fuck" you tried to scramble to your feet, but you were still jarred from the pulse bolt that had hit you. The man above you wasn't going to wait for you to get your footing, and kicked you over onto your back with one bandoliered boot, then kneeled into your gut with the other, knocking the wind out of you. Still twitching with electricity he snapped a pair of binders on your wrist before hauling you to your feet. You struggled in his grasp, a combination of convulsion and fear made you squirm like a womp rat in a trap, but his grasp was too strong. Suddenly there was cold metal pressed against your side, the barrel of a blaster digging into your ribs.

"Move it." A man of little words but quick and to the point, the blaster barrel forced harder into your side to accentuate his point. He ripped your supply bag off of your shoulders and stuffed a leather clad hand into the belt of your canvas pants to fish out your hidden blaster. Rude. He shoved you toward the barren wasteland of the dune sea, unable to argue with the barrel digging into your ribs you both set off in a brisk pace across sands.

"Whose p- paying you?" You sputtered, still feeling the after effects of the pulse bolt. "I can pay you m- more. I made three ti- times the bounty the guild would pay and I would g- gladly split it with you." Bargaining was your only option at the moment, arms and legs like jelly and unable to put up a good fight. The hunter said nothing, continuing to half march half drag you over the sands. "I bet half is still more than double what they're paying you now, so whad’dya say? Wanna go splitsies?" Still nothing. You huffed, dragging your legs in the sand as best you could to slow him down, but a quick jab with the blaster barrel had you singing a different tune.

The pair of you marched on for a couple hours through the dunes towards a rocky outcropping, you continued making offers of credits and services but never once did he respond, choosing instead to shank you with the blaster or shove a hand into your back to remind you of your current position as his prisoner, without letting you get so much as a peek at your captor. Before long you both had made it to the rocks, and hidden behind them was the saddest looking star ship you had ever seen. It was pre-Imperial you were sure, standing dusty and dented in the fading double sunset. The fact that it had survived atmospheric reentry was a surprise in itself. Like hell you were getting on that thing. The bounty hunter shoved you forward towards the ugly ship, letting go of you just long enough to press a couple buttons on his vambrace to open the entry ramp. It was now or never.

Tired and dehydrated as you were from your trek across the dunes you knew this might be your only chance. You tucked in your bound wrists and made a run for it, kicking up sand in your escape. You were fast but he was faster.

-fwip!- SNAP! Something had caught your leg, yanking your feet out from under you and forcing you to do a faceplant in the rocky sand with a thud. You whipped around to find that he had shot you with some kind of grapple, hauling you back towards him by your ankle you were finally able to see who had caught you.

Is that the Mandalorian? From Karga’s cantina? Of all the hunters you had seen in your travels, Mandalorians were a breed all their own. The stoic hunters had frequented the ramshackle cantina on Navarro that you had visited a handful of times in your earlier days of hunting. You’d started to recognize one in particular that frequented the guild post often. His beskar helmet was shiny unpainted silver, but the last time you had seen him the rest of his armor was a dingy reddish brown. The thought was fleeting as you struggled to escape being dragged by the grapple but once he had you back in his grasp there was no denying it was the same man. He was covered almost head to toe in bullets and beskar, all the way up to the familiar shiny dome of it that covered his entire head. You were able to get an excellent view of its craftsmanship as he pulled you back up to your feet and marched you backwards into the old ship, the black shimmer of his visor never leaving your face. You stumbled over your own feet, fighting with the last bit of your strength for one last chance at escape.

“Mando! Remember me? From Kargas? On Navarro? Yeah yeah heya buddy! Hey hunter to hunter you don’t actually want to bring me in, I just know how much you ~looove~ talking with that old cantina crook and the, uh, paper work! Yeah paper work is suuuch a headache! I’ll just slip on out of here and we can both avoid a bad time, sound good?” Though you knew who he was you’d never spoken to this man in your life, and he of course wasn’t going to entertain your pleas, but it was the best you had. You were pushed backwards through the ship, past supply crates and what looked like the guts of a protocol droid towards what you could only guess was a carbonite chamber. He tossed your supply pack somewhere into the bowels of the ship without ever taking his gaze off you. Panic found a few last drops of adrenaline to pump through your veins as you neared your impending doom. Your silent captor backed you into the chamber, puffs of fog billowing out from behind you as the machine fired up. You had to get out, thrashing in his grasp and kicking against the walls of the chamber with every last bit of strength you had, but just like the armor he wore, he himself was unbreakable.

The bigger hunter was becoming fed up, frustrated with your squirming and never ending bargaining; he needed you to hold still long enough for him to hit the activation sequence so this hunt would be over. He let go of your bound wrists and pushed a leather clad hand up against your throat.

“~Ahh~!”

The noise that escaped your mouth made you both freeze, you just as shocked as he was. Your cheeks flushed with heat, embarrassed that in your current state of capture such a filthy noise had been coaxed from you. You squeezed your eyes shut, just waiting for it to be over and let the carbonite freeze you into oblivion, but its chill never came. You slowly opened one eye to glance at the armored man, but he looked like he was the one that had been frozen.

“What was that?” His voice was like gravel coming through the modulator of his helmet, and you flushed red again at his question, looking between the corners of his visor where you thought his eyes might be.

“Don’t worry about it, tin man.” you croaked, “Just hurry up and let’s get this over with.” You squeezed your eyes shut again, hoping that the darkness behind your eyelids was enough for you to vanish into. But you felt the hand leave your neck, coasting down to your bound wrists and tugging you out of the carbonite freezer. Unable to really argue with him you followed his pull on shaky legs, looking at the unreadable face for a sign of his intentions. Once you were free of the chamber he pushed you up against the nearby wall and held you in front of him, completely motionless.

You were confused, embarrassed, and now suddenly frustrated. Was he really going to drag this out for stupid questions? He stood like a statue, the visor of his helmet felt like its gaze was trying to bore a hole through your skull. You stared at him, then to his hands, and last down to his blaster before looking back up to his visor. You watched as one leather gloved hand slowly made its way back up to your neck, giving it a firm squeeze like he had done before, but you wouldn’t fall for that trick a second time.

“Do it again.” came a rumbling voice from deep inside the beskar, but this time it was lower, more measured and full of something that made your heart do flip-flops in your chest. A sinful thought came to you, maybe you would be able to escape after all.

“You’re going to have to work for it, no more freebies” a sly smile crept over your face, earning a tilt of the helmet that made you feel like you were being inspected by a large bird. Your hands were still locked together, but you brought them both up anyway to wrap your fingers around the armored wrist that still leaned against your throat. Immediately his other hand went for the blaster and its barrel was trained on you in a heartbeat. “Easy...” you whispered  showing both of your raised palms in a sign of peace. He kept the blaster trained on you as you gently grabbed his wrist with both hands, pulling on it to guide it down the front of your shirt. When his hand reached your breast, you pushed his palm into the supple mound, rewarding him with another breathy sigh.

Something like a huff whispered out though his modulator, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it over the whirring of the ships innards, but you knew what you heard. The blaster in his other hand dipped away from you slowly before finding its spot back in its holster. Once it was safely away his free hand came up to grab at your other breast, earning him another encouraging sigh. Without letting go of the front of your shirt he carefully spun you away from the carbonite freezer and walked you backwards towards one of the supply crates that littered the hull until it bumped up against the back of your knees; prompting you to plop down on it. You leaned back, arching your bound arms over your head to give you some kind of leverage while he toyed with your breasts.

“Y’know they’re even more fun without the shirt.” you chided. The mandalorian took the hint and ghosted down to the hem of the tunic you had worn to blend in with the other farmers. It was thin and yielded easily as he pushed it up over your breasts, the flesh of your nipple puckering in the cool air of the ship. The shiny black of his visor never left your chest, only tilting side to side as he took both of them in. His leather gloves were soft and warm on your skin, gently pinching at your nipple and pulling on them just enough to cause your breast to bounce when he let go. He grabbed at the pillowy flesh, groping and rolling your sensitive buds between the knuckles of his pointer and middle fingers. All the while you made good on your word, making soft sighs to edge him on. Though you knew this was supposed to be your escape plan, you couldn’t help the way heated pooled in your belly, making you squeeze your thighs together and rock your hips. The armored man noticed the way you were squirming and let his hands wander down from your breasts to the hem of your canvas pants.

“Well? Don’t leave a girl waiting.” You rocked your hips up at his hands, trying to get him to take the hint. His expert hands that had wielded fierce weaponry so well now seemed to falter at what he was supposed to do next. His fingers were slow undoing the button and zipper as if he'd never taking someone else's clothes off before, before pushing them down until they were around your knees. The sudden hit of cool air made you instantly aware of just how hot you had become under his groping. You used your knees and heels to push your pants all the way off, kicking your muckboots off with them and opening yourself up for him to get a good look at you.

His body was stiff, the visor of his helmet staring down at your heat, he was so still you could swear he was holding his breath. Suddenly his gaze made you feel vulnerable, as if he didn’t like your display. You moved to start closing your legs when a strong hand shot out to grab your knee and hold it in place while he continued to gawk at you. He likes what he sees you realized, heat flushing to your face and your cunt. Again you rolled your hips from side to side, trying to entice him. What’s he waiting for?

“Please...” you gave him your best impression of a needy virgin and saw his shoulders immediately go even stiffer, the black visor snapping up to meet your eyes. “Take your gloves off.”

He cocked his helmet at you, and you were starting to get the hang of reading an unreadable face. “Just trust me, we’ll both enjoy it more.” At that he tugged the glove off of one hand and tossed it somewhere behind him in the ship, exposing bronze skin of a, thankfully, human hand. He reached down between your legs at the hot core of your body, slowly moving his fingers down your slit. You sighed and arched into his touch, begging with your body for something more tangible. His other hand came up to grab your thigh and steady you, but the hand tracing your heat was shy and ghostlike, almost like he wasn’t touching you at all. “Please Mando...” you begged again, hoping he would get the damn hint.

He pushed one finger experimentally into your folds, dragging the wetness that had accumulated there over your opening and making you hum for him. He moved from the bottom up until his calloused hand found the sensitive little nub you had been waiting for him to find. The roughness of his skin caused you to convulse and cry out, making him tear his hand away as if he’d been burned.

“It’s alright! Please touch me there.” Who is this guy? What’s he never seen a pussy before? You thought to yourself, surprised that such a big scary man would be so jumpy. You arched your back and was rewarded with his hands back where they belonged. He pushed his thumb up against your aching clit, drawing lazy circles with it while another finger began pushing its way inside you. This time you let out a ragged and dirty moan to let him know he was doing a good job. He pulled his thumb away from your engorged nub to push a second finger up in you, making you whine. He found a spot in you quickly that was starting to make you shake again, but this time he knew not to foolishly let go. Your legs were quaking, head lolling to the side and making those sinful sighs that you could tell he liked. He was getting you close, your muscles squeezing around his rough fingers as he worked you to your climax. When his thumb found your clit again you came undone, your cunt fluttering around his fingers with your orgasm. He rode it out with you, pushing up against the coiled muscle to milk every ounce of pleasure from you that you could give on his hands alone. You could feel your own cum leaking down your thighs and around his hand, now realizing how pent up you actually were. What a mess you would be.

You were nearly gasping but you knew you were far from spent. He pulled his hand from your dripping cunt and you watched him stare at the slick on his hands, sticking and unsticking his fingers just to watch the glimmering trails. Cute, you mused to yourself, he really might not have seen a pussy before.

“Alright, space cowboy, your turn.” You nodded towards the bulge that had made his baggy canvas pants grow tight, and he followed your gaze with what you guessed was surprise. “Let’s see what you’ve got in there, hmm?” With one last glance at the prize on his fingers, he took a moment to reach them up underneath the edge of his helmet, greedily getting a taste of you, before straightening up and undoing his own buttons. You were not prepared for the monster that flopped out of his pants, his cock full and engorged all the way to its hot red tip. Thick veins wound their way up its length and you swore you could see them pulse even from your vantage point on the crate. A soft drop of precum was already forming at the tip and you licked your lips involuntarily, feeling a fresh rush of heat pooling between your legs. “I’m all yours.”

The hunter grasped his aching cock and used his thumb to glide the precum up and down it’s length before he angled himself between your legs. You arched your hips to give him the best angle but he wanted to take his time. He dragged the head of his cock up and down the length of your slick opening, gathering the cum he had earned for himself. When he bumped up against your clit you moaned a breathy and sinful sound that made him shiver. He slid back down again and you pushed your hip towards him, forcing his tip to notch and he almost doubled over from the sensation, giving you a ragged groan in response.

“Did that feel good?” you asked, biting your lip with a devious sneer. “It’ll feel even better inside.” His gaze was fixed on where the two of you were connected, his hands like steel on your thighs. Another tilt of your hips was enough to turn the cogwheels of the metal man and he pushed his length into you with a shuddering gasp. Your own breath caught in your throat at the size of him breaking you open. He pulled himself back out achingly slow before thrusting into you again and earning himself another round of pleasured cries. It took him only a couple more thrusts to find his rhythm, bottoming out against your cervix with every thrust. Your head was cloudy and a fearsome heat was building in your belly, threatening to burst every time he pounded into you. You could hear him now, the once silent bounty hunter was panting ragged puffs of air and if it had been any cooler in the ship you swore you would have seen steam coming out of the helmets vents.

He slowed his feverish pounding just long enough to release one of your captured thighs and bring a thumb down to your clit, pushing against it in a way that was rougher than what you would have liked but nevertheless sent your head spiraling and forcing a pitiful mewl to escape your throat. It wasn’t long before another round of lightning crackled through your body and sent another orgasm crashing through you. The force of it made him choke and stuttered his perfect rhythm hard enough that he fell forward onto you. Your hands were still locked together but you wrapped them around his broad armored back as best you could, pulling him close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath coming out of the bottom of the helmet. He groaned and pushed his head into the crook of your neck before finding his filthy cadence again. He was close enough now that you could catch the scent of him, a mix of sweat and metal and gunpowder and something so primal it made your eyes flutter.

“Let me feel that again.” His ragged voice in your ear sent you spinning, and you could only answer with choked cries. The hand he had used to work you into a frenzy before now snaked it’s way up to your throat, giving it the exact gentle squeeze he had earlier that started this whole twisted tango. This time you gave him precisely what he was asking for, your tongue peeking ever so slightly past wet lips in between soft choked gasps. His pace quickened by your edging and his grasp tightened on your neck, drawing an ugly -urk- noise that had you patting his back in protest. To your relief he respected your gesture and let go of your neck entirely. Interesting...what a sweet, thoughtful murder machine he is. He grabbed ahold of the abused crate that held you both up and ground his hips into you, fucking you so hard you swore it would break. It wasn’t long before your overstimulated cunt gave him exactly what he asked for, crying out into the silence of the hull and clamping down around his cock.

That was the last thing he needed to push him over the edge. A few more messy thrusts and a modulated roar accompanied his climax while he pumped you full of cum. He pushed himself as deep as he could go and you felt his cum start to pour out of you, mixing with your own as it trailed down from the intersection of your bodies and onto the cold metal of the ships floor. You were both panting, his weight on you making it almost hard to breathe. With great difficulty you pulled your bound arms over top of him and dropped them back behind your head so he could get up, but he just laid on top of you while his cock slowly softened and released itself from you, sending a fresh wave of cum flooding down your legs.

Carefully he pushed himself up, grunting and groaning the whole way. He stumbled to his feet, resting an arm on one of the crates next to you to steady himself and the other on your quaking knee. You glanced down at him and was bemused to see his glossy black visor staring down at your dripping cunt. His hands made their way back to you, gently pushing at your folds to watch the delicious mess he had made trickle from you. You couldn’t hear much over the blood pounding in your ears, but you could have sworn he said something with fondness in a language you didn’t know.

Releasing you from his grasp he walked up your side, dragging his ungloved hand over your disheveled body, devouring your naked form with his visor like a starving man watches a feast. It was now that you remembered why you had let him fuck you in the first place, but your body was limp and your legs shaky. He ran his hands up your chest and over your exposed breasts, then up your arms, grabbing the magnetic cuffs he had put there. Great. Back to the carbonite chamber for me.

But instead your ears were graced with the metallic click of the unlocking mechanism and the restrictive cuffs clattered to the floor. You sat up immediately, rubbing at the bruises on your wrists and staring at your captor with mix of bliss and confusion.

“You’re letting me go?”

Mando was working to put his clothes back in order, the sound of belts and snaps shuffling into place echoed in the ships hull. “Last I heard you had fallen into a sarlacc pit on Tatooine. Can’t collect a bounty on the dead. Pity too, I’d heard you were such a great hunter.” The man who had been your captor was now leaning against the hull wall, his visor still locked on your mostly naked form. “You can go back to doing repairs on moisture farm equipment, or...” he tilted his helmet towards the back of the ship “You’re welcome to use the fresher.”

You blinked at his uncharacteristic generosity, though you supposed you didn’t actually know anything about him. Shifting off of the crate sent another gooey wave of cum dribbling down your legs and flushed your cheeks red. Maybe the fresher wasn’t a bad idea. The metallic man turned on his heel towards what you could only guess was the cockpit.

“Alright, but no peeking.” Like I could stop him. The thought made you laugh, it was his ship after all. You tossed what was left of your clothing onto the floor and made for the tiny alcove that passed as a bathroom and the even tinier shower; but the water was hot and that was enough. It had been so long since you had felt running water on your skin that you didn’t even hear the engines firing up and the rickety ship begin to take off. There was a bar of military grade soap on the ledge that you decided to help yourself to, it smelled surprisingly nice for something so plain. It smells like he does. You shook your head at the intrusive thought. It was just soap.

When you had finished your wash you stood in the fresher trying to squeegie water from your hair, now noticing the rumbling of the ship under your feet. Well, goodbye Tatooine I guess. The ugly dust ball had done you no favors, but this wasn’t exactly the way you had guessed you were getting off of it. He had set out to capture me, and he succeeded. He’ll probably grow tired of me and throw me in the carbonite anyway, so one way or another I would have ended up on this ship. You opened the shower door and saw something on the counter that hadn’t been there when you got in.

Two gray-brown towels were folded neatly on the fresher sink, as well as your clothing and something that looked like a black knit sweater. You hadn’t even heard the door to the fresher open, let alone him coming in to drop the items off.

“Sneaky Mando!” You hollered out into the darkness of the ship, though you guessed he probably couldn’t hear you from where he was at. The idea of him creeping in the bathroom to bring you a towel made you chuckle. “I told you not to peek!”

“I didn’t.” A modulated voice right in your ear made you jump backwards into the safety of the fresher.

“Fucksake man! Scare a girl to death why don’tcha?” You wrapped your towel tighter in indignation, surprised that your nudity would make you embarrassed after what had just happened between the two of you.

He sighed a long, exhausted sigh. “After you went rouge you took out three top tier bounty hunters and not once did you try to beg the guild to stop hunting you. There’s a pretty hefty price on your head, but I think your skills could be put to better use.” The Mandalorian cocked his head at you, “Think you can do that again?”

The audacity... You huffed and put your hands on your hips in a stance of mock fury. “So you kidnap me and now you’re going to put me to work? Great. Thanks pal. Really know how to take a girl out on a date, huh?”

He shrugged. “Do you want to go back to the carbonite freezer? I’m sure Karga would love to part with all those credits for your capture.”

No... No you did not want to go back to the freezer. You glared down at the floor with raised eyebrows, pretending like you were mulling over the idea like it was a job offer and not literally your only option.

“Alright... fine fine you talked me into it. Let’s go hunting, captain.” You snapped a damp hand out for him to shake, but he just shook his shiny metal dome in what you might have guessed was a laugh. He pushed himself away from the wall and climbed back up the ladder to the cockpit without a single word.

You watched as his boots disappeared into the ceiling and shook your head, wondering now if when you woke up this morning you had any idea that the day would take you on some wild bantha hunt though space with a well-hung mystery man. You tightened your towel and tucked back into the still steamy fresher to put on the clothes he had left you. The farming tunic was in a sad state, but the knit sweater looked snug and inviting. Pulling it over your damp hair your nose was flooded with that same delectable scent that you had gotten to indulge in earlier. When he was pressed into you.

“Hoo boy...” You finished getting dressed, rubbing your hair with one of the towels Mr. Mystery had left for you. I hope he’s got travel scrabble somewhere in this rust bucket, or you’re going to have to find some more... physical... activities to pass the time. Your lips turned up in a mischievous grin at the idea.

What a strange trip this will be.

Next ->

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #self insert #smut

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet ugly prompts, 02 indruck?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one and interpreted the prompt kind of broadly. It's set in the same world as this Sternclay prompt

Fun fact: there is a fire lookout in the Monogahela, but the structure I describe is based on more elaborate ones elsewhere

02. I bought a house three months ago but I’m finally moving in and discover you’ve been squatting because you’re homeless

Only in Duck’s life would “dream job” and “months alone in the woods” be equivalent.

The Bickle Nob Fire Lookout is a coveted position, and Duck is pretty fucking flattered they chose him as the ranger for July and August. He took the high clearance off-roader to get here, he’s got his bags full of everything he needs not to die of boredom (or anything else) and his schedule of supply drops. He’s as ready as can be and so fucking excited when he opens the door of the wide-windowed cabin.

Then he jumps back, startled to find a skinny, silver-haired man asleep on the floor.

“Uh, sir? This site is off-limits to visitors.”

The man wakes up in a series of catastrophic movements; he bangs into the wall, tangles in his blanket, and nearly stumbles out the window when he manages to stand.

“I, I’m sorry, I didn’t foresee anyone coming here.”

“Department spent all of June arguin’ about whether it was worth allocatin funds for this, so that’s why the place was empty. Fire up North two weeks ago scared ‘em enough to send me up here.” Duck explains with a casual smile; after all, even if he’s way off the trail, there’s no reason to assume this guy is out to cause trouble, “if you got lost hikin, I’m happy to radio down and ask for someone to come get you and take you back to your camp.”

“Nono, I, ah, I’m not lost. One needs to have a destination to be lost.”

“O-kay. Uh, well, whatever you’re lookin for, I’m afraid this ain’t it. This buildin is for the fire lookout only.”

“I promise I’ll be very unobtrusive. I even have my own supplies, you won’t have to worry about me in the slightest.” The man smiles,opening one of his two bags to show it crammed with shiny packets of food.

Duck shakes his head, “Can’t do it, sorry. I’m serious though, if you need a ride into town I can get a hold of someone who can help. Maybe, uh, you could find whatever you’re lookin for there?”

“No” the man sags, but begins zipping up his bags, “I do not think I will find it there. I am sorry for intruding.” He steps out the door, turning towards the deeper woods on the western slope.

“You need a map?” Duck calls. The man doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder.

Duck unpacks as much as he can, checks the weather station and notes the readings suggest those thunderheads on the far horizon are coming his way. By dinnertime, they’re right on top of him, rain pattering on the roof and thunder rattling the windows. He’s scanning the trees when he spots a metallic flash, not of lightning but of silver hair. His mystery visitor is huddled under a tree, wind forcing the hood of his raincoat back over and over again.

The rules and regulations in the forest are there to keep the environment and visitors safe. If something doesn’t violate those basic requirements, Duck sees no reason not to bend them.

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

“I really cannot stress how grateful I am that you allowed me back in.” The visitor, who introduced himself as Indrid, finishes packing their scant trash into the can, “I promise that as soon as the storm passes I’ll leave you be.”

“Yeah, about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “you really don’t got anywhere to call home, do you?”

Indrid opens his mouth. Duck stares, pointedly, at the holes in his white shirt and the worn shoes sticking out from frayed jeans.

“....No, I do not.”

“In that case, you stay here the next two months, on two conditions: one, you don’t get in the way of me doin what I’m here to do. Two, you don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Deal?”

“Yes, yes absolutely” Indrid shakes his hand, bouncing up and down a bit, “thank you so much. You will barely know I’m here.”

This turns out to be completely true and utterly false.

Indrid does keep to himself most of the day; he draws, reads, lays in the sun outside the cabin and generally stays out of Ducks way while he’s working. But he’s also the person who sits and jokes with him during meals, who eagerly follows Duck’s hand when he points out interesting birds or plants, and watches intently when Duck reads his instruments.

He never thought he could live in a fifteen by fifteen foot space with another person and not have a full head of grey by the end of it. Indrid Cold is the exception that proves the rule, Duck certain he’ll never be able to be cooped up with anyone but Indrid ever again.

It helps that he still gets his quiet time; Indrid will got out for walks, even watches for smoke so Duck can do the same. They use the wild foraging guide and Duck’s knowledge of local plants to bring back extra food. Indrid was particularly pleased when he located some wild blackberries. When Duck reminded him to watch out for bears near the berry patch, Indrid simply smirked and said there was only one bear on the mountain who could get him.

Duck’s daydreaming of what Indrid might do if caught on his way back from a dusk walk. And, more urgently, how he can convince Indrid that he wants to sleep outside tomorrow night. So it takes two tries of the front door before he notices it’s locked.

“Indrid?” he knocks, “you in there?” Stepping back, he finds the windows hastily covered by his bedsheets and blankets. He knocks harder, “that’s real fuckin dangerous, if there’s a fire we won’t see it. ‘Drid! Open the damn door!”

He continues banging, unanswered, as the moon--two days from full--rises above.

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

Indrid covers his ears to block out Duck’s increasingly worried shouts from outside. This is the right choice, the best of a bad bunch; it will keep Duck and anyone else nearby safe. The ranger will probably turn him away come morning, rightly furious at his irrationality. Indrid resolves not to argue with him; he’ll slink back into the trees, just like he did the last time someone threw him out for his transgressions.

It starts in his chest, his heartbeat climbing to marathon speeds in spite of him holding still. Then his skin prickles, silver hair sprouting from every follicle, followed by his back bowing in pain and his jaw elongating with a crack. From there the adrenaline kicks in, flooding his body so the transformation doesn’t render him unconscious (and therefore helpless) with pain. When next he raises his head, a werewolf with glowing, red eyes looks back at him from the darkened windows.

Beyond the covered windows, someone howls. Then he scents it, another of his kind coming dangerously close. He has to go out, he can’t leave Duck out there with something that will rip him apart, surely he likes the human enough for his mind to see him as a friend, not prey-

CRACK

The door splinters off its hinges; he growls, ready to defend his home. A deeper growl answers him as a larger wolf, black-furred and yellow eyed, stalks across the threshold.

“What. the. Fuck?” the newcomer snaps, “I told you, you can only stay if you don’t fuck up my work and locking me out comes real fuckin close to that!”

He cocks his head “Duck?”

“No, I’m the fuckin president of the united states.”

“I, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to all fours, then flattens to his belly just to be safe, “I didn’t know, I just wanted to be sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Duck points to the broken door, “you coulda just done that from the opposite side and I woulda been dinner.”

“No I, I know that if I confine myself I tend to be...calmer. I don’t get overstimulated and then agitated.”

“You coulda just told me. Lockin me out is real rude.”

Indrid whines, crawls close enough to nose at him.

“You don’t gotta do that; I ain't assertin dominance or some shit, I’m just a little annoyed.”

He whines again, “please don’t make me leave.”

“I won’t.” Duck’s voice turns softer.

“And you will not get angry at me for not being appropriately grateful for your leniency?”

Duck frowns, “Aw jesus, did you come from one of those old-school packs?

“Yes” Indrid grumbles, hating himself for how easily he fell into manners he loathes, how deep the teachings of his home run.

Duck eases him up so they’re both sitting, then noses the side of his face, “We don't do that around here. Least, I don't. I don’t spend a ton of time with most of the other Weres when they’re wolfed-out, but they ain’t big on tradition and hierarchy the rest of the time.”

“Ah. That’s, that’s good.”

The other Were stretches, stands and pads about the room, removing the make-shift curtains, “You gotta teach me how you’re so fuckin accurate on when the moon is full enough to make us shift whether or not we want to; I thought I had a day left. I, uh, I was gonna ask you to sleep in here while I ‘slept under the stars’ so you wouldn’t know.”

“You’re not afraid of hurting someone?”

“Nah, especially not this far out. Sometimes I hunt deer, but whatever strain of this I got doesn’t go feral unless some shit goes majorly wrong.” He drops the blankets on the floor, “don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like huntin tonight. Or stargazin. I’m beat from work.”

“Agreed. Transforming against my will always makes me tired.”

Duck lays down on the floor,yawns, “In that case: sleep tight ‘Drid.”

Indrid tries to do just that. But every time he catches Duck’s scent he wishes he could move closer to him, then remembers that would be rude, and continues in that back and forth until he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that his Were form runs cold; he’s shivering in spite of it still being close to eighty degrees.

His ears flick at Duck’s footfalls. Then a warm, bulky frame curls around his freezing, lanky one.

“This okay?” Duck carefully drapes an arm over him.

Indrid sighs, feeling safer than he has in a year, “better than.”

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

“I’m a seer.”

Duck looks up from his breakfast, mouth full but question clear.

“Last night, you asked me how I knew we’d transform. Seeing the future makes it rather easy.”

“Damn, that does sound handy.”

“In many ways it is. Though it carries some, ah, some downsides.” Indrid steers his thoughts towards safer paths, “If you’d like, I could use it to help you with the fire lookout.”

The ranger grins, the expression twice as warm as his fur the night before, “That’d be fuckin great.”

Indrid smiles back, keeps his eyes on the windows so as not to look longingly back at the rumpled sheets. They awoke this morning in a heap, Duck’s modesty preserved only by a blanket and Indrid’s hair stuck in all directions. He’d been ready to apologize for not moving away before dawn, but Duck simply reached out, stroked his hair down, and asked if he wanted coffee.

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

“You’re right, you can see more animals this way.” They’re perched, fully transformed, on the rocks outside the cabin. Indrid knows how to use his night vision for hunting, but Duck is teaching him how to use it for more peaceful matters.

“Yeah, long as you stay put most animals get up the nerve to nose around some.”

They’d transformed side by side, Duck banging his head in the process. Indrid licked near the bruise and made soothing, sympathetic sounds when Duck whined and cursed his luck. Back home, being demonstrative was frowned upon; here, Duck seems to always be casually bumping their bodies together.

When they go to bed several hours after moonrise, they curl up side by side without hesitation. It’s so very easy to tune out his visions when Duck is near and Indrid falls asleep while the ranger is still whispering about the birds they can hear.

He wakes up an hour later in a panic, disasters of visions past tearing through his mind.

“‘Drid? What’s wrong?” Duck noses the base of his neck.

“Nothing. Just a bad dream.” He closes his eyes, tries to focus on Duck’s scent, his breath, the wind in the trees, but still the ghosts of his memories lurk in the corners of his vision.

“Can I try somethin?” Duck murmurs. Indrid thought he’d gone back to sleep.

“Of course.”

Teeth tenderly and ever so carefully clamp the fur and skin of his neck. He goes limp in one breath. He was high status enough that no one ever did this to him, but goodness does he wish they had

The ranger let’s go, “Do I need to do it again?”

“Please.”

Duck obliges and Indrid whimpers, melting shamelessly in his arms.

“Thank you. I think I can sleep now.”

“Any time, ‘Drid. Uh, before you, uh, go to sleep there’s somethin I wanna ask you. Since you need a place to stay, do you, uh, wanna stay with me? In Kepler.”

“You’d really like that? You, if this is out of pity-”

“It ain’t.”

There were no futures where it was. Indrid wanted to hear the words all the same.

“Besides” Duck nuzzles him, “we already know we make damn good roommates.”

Indrid can’t help it; he howls, brief and joyful, safe in the knowledge that Duck will be ready with a laugh and a kiss in reply.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #werewolf au

[sammys-carhartt-jacket]

Preword: OK???? So i think I did a thing. This started off as me doing a little rant post but somehow now it’s a fanfictio? oops. anyways this is going to be a multichapter fic (I’ve never been able to follow through on this before, so we’ll see how this goes.

also should I make an ao3 account and post there?

——————— So anyways, just thinking once again about how much Sam must have stuck out at like literally any school he went to.

I mean, maybe not so blatantly, but the few that he gets assigned to sit next to in class or some kids that feel like making a friend in him, they get to know him beyond the reserved, smart, friendly but guarded kid they see at school.

In high school, the differences become more prominent.

Sam is invited to an end of school rager his freshman year. He’s new to this type of shit, but when it comes time for the drinking games, he decides to join in.

Sam downs 9 shots straight in a row standing one foot on the barstool the host brought out.

The previous record was 5.

When he’s hopped off and done, impaired only by a slight stumble, the classmates sober enough to process it are looking on in disbelief, a bit of awe mixed in- but as always, he can see if in their eyes.

god, this kid is some kind of freak.

of course, they don’t realize that he’s been drinking on a regular basis since he was eleven.

———————

Four months later in a different town, this time the trio tracking down a potential witch coven, Sam goes to get a drink during lunch period, a group of other sophomores loitering by the water fountains and in a world of their own. Sam had approached their spot to refill his water bottle, and glanced down into the lap of one of the guys’ lap (Cameron, he later found out). He was reading a book on montana history, and happened to be flipped to a page on the beartooth highway. Sam had been there once when he was about eight or so, when dad had taken him and dean scoping out the area for remains of a woman who had slipped off of the edge after a truck had edged her off, and remained to kill similar drivers.

“Hey,” Sam spoke to the guy, and he looked up expectantly at him.

“Uh,” Sam crouched down next to him, hoping this wouldn’t be awkward. “Y’know, what they don’t tell you is that there’s a small grouping of forts in the forest around mile 36.”

Sam should know. He built them.

“It’s pretty cool,” he said, giving an awkward grin. And it was cool. Sam had had a lot of downtime on that hunt, and hey, a kid had to occupy himself somehow.

He’d built them out of spare sticks he found, bark, some old rusted sheets of metal from the past crashes (even though John had told him not to go fucking around back there, lest Sophie-the-spirit decided to make a reappearance), and whatever spare tarp he could grab from bubmbling passerby campers.

They were wobbly and barren, teetering on its weak stick side supports, but for a week, it was Sam’s escape, where he could pretend that he was a normal kid in a normal neighborhood, in a clubhouse that his dad had made for him and his brother to spend time on while their dad was away at his normal, 9 to 5 job. Not a shitty stack of crap he used to escape his dad who was constantly in a foul mood, in the middle of god-knows-fucking-where, Montana.

Meanwhile the guy just looked up, a blink of intrigue in his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Sam gave another half-smile.

He stood up from the ground, his other girl friend with the dark brown bob and sideswept bangs giving a small wave from the grimy tiled floor.

“I’m Joline,” she greeted, extending a hand.

Sam shook it.

She nudged the girl next to her, who wore athletic shorts, a hoodie, and her thick black hair in a messy bun.

“This is Maria,” bun girl gave a small nod, which said hey, I don’t know you just yet, but I think we’ve got something to work with here.

“I’m Cameron,” floor guy supplied before Joline could beat him to it.

“You new around here? I don’t recall seeing you before.” Cameron asked, brows furrowed and eyes squinted a bit as if that would unlock any memory of meeting Sam before in his brain.

“Yeah,” Sam shrugged. “My dad moves us around a lot. We just got here Saturday.”

“Oh, I guess you’ve seen a lot of different places then.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam said, voice guarded.

Joline ignored the first half of what he said.

“Saturday? Oh jeez, I bet you barley know anything about Burkesville-,”

She was wrong. Researching witches meant a lot of traveling around and interviewing, and gossip, grits, and dirty laundry was often included in that deal.

“-we totally have to take you out and show you around then. Tuesday night work?”

Maria nudged Joline. “I’ve got volleyball practice tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh,” Joline scrunched up her nose. “Damn volleyball. Wednesday then?”

Sam went for the awkward nod and afterthought smile combo. “Sure. Uh, see you guys, I’ve got to get to class.”

Cameron gave a short nod. “See you dude.”

With that, Sam walked to Chemistry.

Two periods later he has Spanish with Maria and she slips him a note telling him to meet at the 7/11 on Marsh street at 6:00.

He pockets the note for later.

————————

Joline scratches her wrist impatiently, shiny green watch band doing nothing helpful except to itch the hell out of her. She needs a new one.

She’s standing underneath the neon 7/11 sign, Cameron beside her, watching the cars go by.

It’s about seven more minutes before Maria finally makes it to the parking lot to sit and wait for the last member of their small little party.

Maria is standing, arms crossed, looking particularly concerned. It was then 6:12, and Sam was still a no-show.

“Listen.” Maria bites her lip and faces towards the two. “My mama is cooking tamales tonight, so if he doesn’t show soon, I think I’ll just go home and eat there. I’m getting tired of waiting and hungry.”

Joline frowns, but nods her head in understanding nonetheless. Prospects aren’t looking great right now. Not even a minute later though, there’s the obnoxious growl of a gas-guzzler car, and Cameron perks his head up to try and catch a glimpse down the road. He lets out an appreciative whistle as he makes out that it’s a Chevy impala, then a soft ‘holy shit’ as the car turns into their parking lot.

“Dude!” He exclaims at Sam as he pops the passenger side door and stands up. “You have a fucking 1967 Chevy Impala and you didn’t tell me?”

Fucking car nerd.

Inside the sleek black vintage, a man, the driver, holds his hand out for a fist bump that

“Not Sammy,” he says, letting out a playboy smirk. “Yours truly, Dean Winchester.”

He’s cocky enough to even wink.

Sam just rolls his eyes in exasperation as he walks around the car and towards Maria and Joline. He mumbles a hey, and apologizes for his tardiness.

“He’s 20 now, but me, my dad, and him are still living out of each other’s pockets. It’s impossible for him to be on time”

Joline smiled politely, but something about what Sam had said made her take a moment and process. The lack of a mother, the nomad lifestyle- it was just a life so far from what she led, she had a hard time wrapping her head about what that would be like.

———————

thanks for sticking around I geuss! This is actually the second spn fanfic I’ve wrote (I guess I can post the other here as well!)

chapter two sometime next week maybe

#My fics #supernatural #spn #early seasons sam #sam Winchester #dean winchester #pre series #pre series spn #Outsider pov #fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural fic #sam winchester is a bamf #Sam Winchester is weird

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Pirate AU Masterpost

Different ships captained and crewed by different hermits, maybe some could be normal sailors too? Or maybe even some could be sirens? There could be a pirate ship, a pirate hunting ship/law-keeping ship, some random shipping vessels, some sirens or sea monsters, or whatever else! I envision Doc as a pirate captain and Xisuma as the law enforcement captain, but it's open to whatever changes! (@-shadeswiftdraws.)

Headcanons to start us off:

-Bdubs is a fruity sailor.

-Cub and Scar sell things to both pirates and the law enforcement. They only take the aide of profit.

-DocM threatened Bdubs into joining him. Whether it worked is up to the 'what gets popular' Gods. If not, he probably just holds Bdubs hostage or something.

-Hypnotizd's bandana has a skull and crossbones on it, as does Etho's headband.

-False is feared by Doc.

-Grian has a parrot that always sits on his shoulder. Doc keeps telling him to get rid of it but Grian refuses.

-Iskall wears an eyepatch.

-Hypnotizd has scurvy.

-iJevin makes maps and sells em to pirates to keep them off his back. Did he bury the treasure? I dunno.

-All of ZIT collectively own a boat. They like to pretend its a yacht and have fun. Sometimes they just use it to relax, sometimes they just go fishing. Sometimes they scare each other with stories of pirates and massive storms.

-Joe Hills is scared of the water because he nearly drowned as a child. But when he ends up accidentally stowing away on the ZIT boat, his worst fears happen.

-Keralis is Xisuma's second in command.

-TFC is a retired sailor that knows too much.

-VintageBeef and basically all of the NHO are with Doc.

-XbCrafted grew up by the beach and likes to collect shells. One time he found a fossil of a dinosaur. What will he do? I don't know. His childhood friend, Hypnotizd, left to be a pirate. Xb hasn't heard from him since (he promised he'd write letters,) and fears the worst.

-ZombieCleo is a dead zombie captain. Her and her crew (the gals, and maybe some co,) are out to get their revenge on Doc. Her second in command is Stress but her main muscle in False.

-Mumbo is usually the one who works maintenance on the ship. (He's with Xisuma.)

-Rendog got stuck on an island he's called 'Loser Island' and has been there for at least a year. He's found by Doc.

-Stressmonster makes people fear her through her name, but they usually laugh when they see her because she's really unintimidating.

-Welsknight hoardes cool swords.

-Everyone underestimates Stress when they see her but those who have faced her in battle have realized their mistake. She is slowly but surely gaining the reputation as one of the most feared pirates of the seven seas. She’s still very sweet if you get to know her tho - 🌙

-At some point while attempting to leave the ZIT crew's yacht, Joe somehow ends up with Cleo and the gals in the middle of the ocean, who take pity on him. Because they help him with his fear and take care of him on the way back to land, he decides to stick with them for good. The Navy and a lot of other pirates don't believe that Cleo can be the captain of such a feared vessel or that False can be that deadly and decide that Joe must be doing it all. He takes joy in deferring to Cleo whenever he can, and the whole crew gets a laugh out of his combat attempts. He mainly handles navigation and stuff, though he does record their adventures and anonymously submit them to newspapers and/or publish his accounts. (Don't want to skip the Joe+ZIT stuff, just love him and Cleo and need that dynamic :-) )

-Half siren/merman grian? - Frost Anon

-Different anon adding to the Merman Wels idea, he's a siren but instead of stealing your life he steals your swords and shinies. Some pirates may be on good terms with him and gives him swords occasionally and ask for directions or just hang out with him and be nice (I'd think Ren would sing with him and Jevin would hang out and steal shinies with him landing both their crews on good terms with him. He may even follow them around as it can be lonely in the ocean)

-Mumbo never meant to be a pirate. There was just a mutiny of the last captain he was under and everyone liked him enough to keep him around.

-Some loser thinks that joe is the muscle of the group and asks for a duel. cleo decides fuck it and just pushes joe into a fight with them because thats how she be sometimes. (False is on standby so joe doesn't get creamed)

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619926302710956032/another-take-on-the-pirate-au-concept

- At some point, Cleo's ship begins picking up stray orphaned children. They are kept safe below deck during battle and are taught by the crew how to run a ship and fight, but Cleo also teaches them stuff like how to read and do math. The crew is very protective of the young'uns and the ship eventually becomes known for the fact that they take care of kids. Most other ships, upon learning this, respect that and don't attack them. If a ship does, they will find that the Rotten Corpse is viscous, and has many powerful friends who will back them up. If Doc or X come across Cleo's ship, they will give the kids gifts and stay close for a bit to provide protection. As the kids grow up some go back to shore and build legitimate/legal lives (including opening an orphanage) but a group of them go off and become their own pirate crew! Their ship's name? I don't know, I'm not clever.

-In a tavern someone's just like "im gonna sail to this island." Tfc, sitting nearby "you wont find anything" a little while later that ship goes missing. No one actually knows what tfc found in his sailing days. But my god does he know where to avoid

(All above in red are from our community's lovely Anons!)

-The ZIT boat is a bit of a disaster because each person always thinks it's the other people's turn to maintain it. Joe probably saw it on an evening beach walk and thought it was abandoned, decided to explore it, and accidentally fell asleep in the hold. He wakes up to the ZIT boys arguing about what to do with him.

-Xisuma has a reputation for being strict and disciplined and running a very tight ship, but if you're actually on his crew you'll know that's a front for intimidation purposes. In reality he is organised but extremely forgiving, and he will often sit down with crew who are new or going through something stressful and talk it out with them.

-Iskall is with Cleo's crew, he appears just as driven as the rest of them but he's mostly just there to make sure Cleo and co don't go too overboard with the revenge thing. He just doesn't want them to do something they'll regret....

-Wels can be a merman! He hoards cool swords as souvenirs of the surface world and dreams of two-legged adventurers and explorers.

-The "incident" that put Cleo on the path of undead revenge was partially accidental. Doc's goal was to raid the ship and get away with no casualties, but things escalated way too quickly. He is haunted by what happened, but Cleo doesn't know that and is determined to hunt him and his crew down.

-Pirate singalong nights! Doc's ship definitely has a singalong under the stars every night, where everyone can gather together and relax and let loose. It's fun to think about who would be good at it, and who would be bad at it but sing anyway ☺️

-Grian starts off on Doc's ship (with his parrot), but he gets washed overboard in a storm. Siren!Wels rescues him and gives him siren magic.

-I got tired of referring to "Xisuma's ship" and "Doc's ship", so: X's ship is called the Voidrunner, and Doc's vessel is the Black Goat. (Cleo's is The Rotting Corpse -Anon.)

-(I did a submission mentioning ConPost earlier, so look at that for context) The ConPost boys don't sail, but they're very knowledgable about sailing supplies and even ship repair. Cub does bookkeeping and negotiates big deals. Scar likes to wander the docks checking stock levels, with Jellie napping in piles of rope or following close behind.

-https://hermitcraftheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/619819577428279296/for-the-pirate-au-cub-and-scar-own-a-supply

-Xisuma is feared and respected by pirates because his ship is one of the first/only steam powered vessels at the time. Mumbo is his engineer; he maintains the mechanics and is constantly testing ways to make the ship faster and more efficient.

-If you ask Iskall why he wears an eye patch, you will get a wild tale of adventure and heroic battle that may take an hour to relate. However, the story is different every time. He actually lost his eye in a completely non-pirate related accident as a child. It just sounds cooler the way he tells it 😂

- About Joe moving from the ZIT crew to Cleo's ship: Joe really wants to be taken back to shore, and the ZIT lads understand his fear of water and try to take him back as soon as possible. However, they get caught in a storm, and the boat isn't in great shape to weather it. The boat is not quite wrecked, but badly damaged, and Joe is washed overboard. Cleo's crew finds him and pulls him aboard to save him (maybe siren!Wels helped bring him to her!)

-As a pirate Etho is known for his skill in boarding enemy ships. It doesn't matter how many ropes you cut, how many pirate grappling hooks you throw into the sea in an effort to keep them from your decks. Even if there's no possible way across, Etho will just sort of.. . End Up on your ship, and you will end up in Davy Jones' locker. (Based on the creepy teleport thing with Grian, and just Etho's general cryptid-ness)

-The sea spray and the general ocean humidity is horrible for Doc's arm. Ren helps him keep it as clean and rust-proof as possible, but it still probably squeaks a lot and stiffens up sometimes.

(-@shadeswiftdraws.)

-ZombieCleo's gal (& co.) crew includes Iskall. [More info pending for when I finally get around to watching s6 and see the infamous Iskall & Stress duo in action] (-@basaltdragon.)

-Inspired by shade: Cub is an ex-sailor, and Scar grew up in a family of fishers. Cub was really good at ship maintainence (he just got sick of the politics), and Scar loved keeping stock of the fishing nets and what sort of fish were caught, how much they might sell for, though he's not as good at repairs.

-For the Pirate AU, Mumbo telling Siren/MerGrian stories of the surface world and (secretly?) making a way for Grian to see it for himself. (-@shiniestumbreon.)

-Pirate au: one day there is a really bad storm that destroys all of the hermits boats except for one of them. So now all the hermits are all on one boat that’s really far away from land. (Angst part) some of them went over board (I’m thinking the captains maybe) so the remaining hermits are either grieving them or looking desperately hoping that their crew mates are still alive and clinging to wreckage. Who they find, if they do find any of them is up to the reader for now. (-@lookitsspacekween.)

- Mumbo, being the spoon he is always forgets where he buries his treasure. (-@xxpzmistxx.)

-Mumbo, as the Voidrunner's engineer, has so much to work on that Xisuma will sometimes take over the maintenance so poor Mumbo can get some sleep. This leads to the hunt for a secondary engineer and maybe that's how Mumbo and Iskal end up meeting. (-@my-cat-is-a-bastard.)

-A cat scratched out Iskall's eye as a kid, and he's too embarrassed to tell anyone. He's still a bit afraid of cats, so you'll always see him keeping a close eye on Jellie when he's at the dock. (-@12u3ie.)

- i dont really know much about pirates but ima try!! ok so, cleo is human, but she gets the nickname "zombie cleo" because she faked her own death. people thought she drowned, and her old crew along with her. most of them went to live normal lives under different names, but cleo missed the sea and eventually returned to being a pirate, eventually becoming the capitain of a new ship. (i hope this makes sense lol) (-@bakubakunyanyaa.)

-Pirate headcanons! As someone said before Ren and Wels are friends and like to sign together. I can imagine Wels telling the Black Goat that there is a treasure burried in Loser Island to get Ren rescued. Also! People think Ren is halve siren/has siren magic as he is really good at singing and the melodies he hums are similar to the ones sirens are said to sing, turns out just a bit of siren magic and Wels singing style rubbed on Ren during all the time they spent together singing.

-More pirate hc cause i have no self control and they are not a lot of them: Doc gives shiny stuff to Wels in exchange of him warning them when X’s crew is on a port. Iskall is also a great engineer and is working to make the Rotten Corpse Steam powered too. He insist Cleo to let him take a peek on the Voidrunner to see if he can copy Mumbo’s work, the gals agree this is the most dangerous idea Iskall has.

(-@ivi-prism.)

-Ship AU! Hypno originally joined the ship's crew with his friend, Jessassin. They became a swashbuckling duo, and still sometimes work together, despite Jessassin's inactivity from pirate duties. (-@calmshejaguar.)

#hcraft #hermitcraftheadcanons #pirateau #auheadcanon #posted 31.05.20 #bdouble0100 #cubfan135 #docm77 #ethoslab #falsesymmetry #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hypnotizd #impulsesv #ijevin #iskall85 #joehills #keralis #mumbojumbo #rendog #stressmonster #tinfoilchef #tangotek #vintagebeef #welsknight #xbcrafted #xisumavoid #zedaphplays #zombiecleo #nho

[spnwriter]

Yes, you idiot

Summary: What happens when Sam accidentally catches you getting off. 

Warning: Language, Smut.

The brothers were going on a hunt together. I had just gotten back from my own. I decided that I was going to stay behind. I have never been so happy to have the bunker to myself. I love Sam and Dean. It's just sometimes they're a bit much to be around all the time. Alone time is rare. When you hunt with someone you live in their pockets. The concept of space is nonexistent. Sam and Dean try to give me as much privacy as they can. Ever the gentlemen, they get me a separate room when they can. All though they try to give me space when I am in the bathroom, it doesn't always work out that way. There have been many times we've all accidentally walked in on each other

I can confidently say that both Winchesters are packing. It's interesting how little shame the pair has when it comes to nudity. I guess they're used to it only being the two of them. I do catch Sam blushing when he remembers that I can see his entire naked ass. Both Winchester's are a work of art. They are so pretty. I don't think they realize how beautiful they are. The real reason I'm so grateful to be alone is to have space away from Sam. He's shown more skin in the past couple of months than he has since I've known him. It's starting to affect the way I see the taller Winchester. I tried my hardest to never see the brothers in a sexual light. I knew that if I ever started having feelings for either of them, it would get complicated. I am hoping that this whatever it is with Sam is the result of sexual frustration. It's been a while since I've had time to get myself off. Let alone have sex. Yeah, that's it. I just need some time with my vibrator. Now that the bunker was empty that's precisely what I plan on doing. I have the luxury of being able to take my time.

I strip down before laying out on my bed. God it's been so long. I take the time to tease kneed my boobs. I pinch my pierced nipples. I run my hands down my stomach to my thighs. I tease myself by running my hands up and down my thighs. I want to draw this out. It's been so long since I've had the time to tease myself. I run a finger through my lips. Nice and wet. I tease my clit with my fingers before I turn on the vibrator. I start on the lowest setting. I open my eyes briefly and think I see Sam standing by the door. I brush it off, closing my eyes. I turn up the speed. I hear the sound of my door hitting the wall. I jump as I pull the blankets over myself. I did see Sam standing in the doorway. My eyes widen. Sam bumps into the door as he runs away. Needless to say, the mood was ruined.

Neither of us said anything about it when he got back. He hardcore avoided me for days. I don't blame him. I'd do the same. How do you talk about that? Oh, Sorry I watched you playing with yourself. I'd never seen the younger Winchester so flustered before. When he finally stopped avoiding me. I thought things would go back to normal. I was wrong. I didn't think I'd ever heard Sam Winchester stutter before. He couldn't get out a full word without a stammer in his speech. Dean thought it was amusing seeing Sam so flustered. I was honestly tired of it. I missed my friend. I didn't have anyone to go running with me anymore. I asked Dean one morning. He said no among other things. Whatever is up with Sam had been going on for three weeks at this point. I am getting fed up with his constant uneasiness. As awkward as this conversation is going to be, we have to have it. The last time I had seen him, he was hiding in his room. I hesitate to knock on the door. I can't chicken out. Sam and I need to clear the air. I knock lightly. I don't hear an answer. He's going back to avoiding me I guess.

I let out a frustrated sigh as I open his door. "Look-" I start to speak. I stop when I notice that Sam is fully naked. He's got his hand wrapped around his impressive erection. He covers himself quickly. His face flushed and slightly sweaty. I can't tell if he's blushing or not. "I guess we're even now." Sam attempts to joke. "You watched for longer," I say.  Why did I say that? I'm supposed to be making things less awkward between us. "I did." He admits. He looks me up and down. He takes his bottom lip in between his teeth. "To be truly even, you'd have to watch me." Is he serious? I can see the lust swimming around in his eyes. He's giving me the option to walk away. I knew that if I did, he wouldn't bring it up. We'd just forget this whole thing happened. I don't know if I can walk away from him. I can't stop thinking about how he looked at me. "I haven't stopped thinking about you since that day," Sam admits. "All spread out, dripping wet. So fucking beautiful." And just like that, I've made up my mind. "Well, what are you waiting for?" I ask. I take a seat in the chair at his desk. He smirks at me. He pulls the sheets off of his body. His length bobs as he adjusts. I knew he was packing but, damn when he's hard. He wraps his hand around himself. He strokes himself slowly while eyeing me. "Need some inspiration, Sammy?" I ask. He nods as he speeds up his strokes. I stand up. I pull my shirt over my head. I tease both of us as I run my hands down my sides. I cup my boobs still in my bra. His eyes glaze over with lust as I squeeze myself. I turn around. I unclip my bra. I let it slide off my shoulders. He moans at the action. I decided to stop teasing him. I turn to face him showing him my chest. His eyes find the shiny metal on my nipples. I play with the piercings briefly. He uses his thumb to swipe across the tip. "Get over here." Sam moans. I finish stripping quickly. I straddle him. His hands move to my hips. He leans up to kiss me. It's all teeth and tongue. One of his hands moves to run along my pussy. "Already so wet." Sam moans. "Does seeing me jack off turn you on baby girl?" I whine at the name. He hums as he inserts his middle finger into me. "Sam" "So tight too." He adds another finger. He rubs against that special spot that no man has ever found. "Sam, please," I whine. I grind against his hand. "Please what?" "Please fuck me." He doesn't respond but, he pulls his fingers out. He takes them into his mouth moaning at the taste of me. God, that's so hot. "I have to taste you later. I've got to be inside you now." He reaches for his cock. He runs it along my center. He bumps it against my clit. "Sam," I whine. I lift myself to press down on to him. The burn of him stretching me feels amazing. It seems like he's never going to bottom out. He lets out a groan as he finally bottoms out.

"Feels so good." Sam groans. He grips my hips to help me bounce. The drag of his cock on my walls feels fantastic. He catches my lips as I ride him. He suddenly wraps his arms around my body. He moves me to my back. His face is pressed against my neck. He pulls almost all the way out before he slams back into me. "Fuck." I moan as he grips his headboard. He's ramming into me. He brings one of his hands to my clit. His thumb makes tight circles on it. "Gonna cum for me? Cum all over my cock." Sam groans. He grinds into as he thrust back in. "Fuck, so tight." "Holy shit, I'm gonna cum." I warn as His thrust quicken. I can tell he's close. He starts to lose his rhythm. The band in my stomach snaps. I moan out a series of his name.

"Fuck, Y/N." Sam grunts as he cums. His warm seed releases inside me. He thrust a few more times before collapsing on top of me. He keeps most of his weight off of me. He takes his head out of my neck. He places a soft kiss on my lips. A stark contrast to the other kisses we've shared. He pulls out. I feel his cum run down to the sheets. He wraps his arms around me and, pulls me into his chest. I rest my head on his solid chest. I don't question what happened or why. I just enjoy the feeling of having him close. He presses a kiss to the side of my head. "I uh... I know it's usually done the other way around but, I like you, Like a lot. It's okay if you don't feel the same. If this was a one time kind of thing for you. That's cool. We can pretend it never happened. I just, I don't want it to be a one time kind of thing." Sam whispers. "I like you too," I admit. I've known all along that I had feelings for the giant. I just didn't want to admit it. I was afraid of losing him. "You do?" He asks hope filling his voice.

"Yes, you idiot."

#Supernatural smut #sam winchester smut #spnsmut

[yiling]

pass the time (Xue Yang & A-Qing kink meme fill)

squeaking this one in under the wire for the @mdzsnet Xue Yang birthday event. also kind of double-dipping because this is also a fill for an anon who wanted xy+aq friendship. 

read on the ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458970

-

A-Qing hates when Xiao-daozhang and the stranger go out on night hunts. They always come back covered in blood and slime and who knows what else, the stranger is always smug and annoying, and daozhang is always very tired. Sometimes, like today, he’s so tired that he sleeps all the way through the next morning, and that’s worst of all.

Xiao Xingchen had explained to her once that a cultivator’s golden core is like a muscle, and that if you use it too much it can get overworked. Then the cultivator needs to rest for a long time to build their strength back, so their qi doesn’t get all tangled. A-Qing understands this, she does, and she thinks the daozhang should get as much sleep as she needs, but she can’t help but hate it when he gets like this.

If daozhang is asleep, that means she has to be alone with the stranger.

They’re sitting together in the dusty dimness of the coffin home, waiting on Xiao-daozhang to wake up. The stranger is sitting at the table, cleaning his nails with one of his many knives, and A-Qing is sitting on top of a coffin near the one the daozhang sleeps in. She is mostly occupied with watching the two cultivators, while making sure the awake one doesn’t know she’s watching at all: when he looks at daozhang, she keeps her eyes on him, and when he looks away, she watches Xiao Xingchen’s gently rising and falling chest. While engaged in this, she keeps up a steady commentary with her bamboo stick – tap, tap-tap-tap. She thinks of it as a warning to the stranger, like the scolding of a blackbird – I’m still here! Don’t try anything!

The stranger complains about anything and everything she does, so she’s mildly surprised at how long she’s able to keep this up before he groans. “Fucking cut that out. It’s obnoxious, and you’re going to wake the daozhang up.”

“If I wake him up, it’s your fault for wearing him out fighting fierce corpses and whatever,” A-Qing retorts. “He never sleeps this late except after night hunts, it’s mid-morning already!”

“How do you know what time it is, Little Blind? You can’t see the sun,” the stranger says, laughing.

“Because I wake up the same time every day!” she replies indignantly. (This is a bald-faced lie, she can and will sleep til noon if she’s able, and she relishes it.) “Keep your creepy giggling down, you’re so noisy.”

“Ah, the shoe is on the other foot now,” he cackles. “You can complain about my laughing, but I can’t complain about you bobbing around your stupid little stick like a crazy old granny? That’s not very fair, what would daozhang say?”

“He should tell you to go throw yourself in the river,” A-Qing growls, clutching her staff protectively to her chest, “but he’s too nice, so I have to do it.”

“Pick better threats, if you’re gonna threaten,” the stranger says dismissively, flipping his knife over in his hand.  “And keep your damn voice down.”

“Why do you care if he sleeps, anyway?” A-Qing snaps. “You’re a bastard and you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“Because he’s supposed to do the laundry today and if he wakes up now he’ll be too tired later,” the stranger says glibly. “And I’m certainly not gonna do it for him, since I’m a bastard and all.”

“Well, I just think he should get to rest, is all,” A-Qing sniffs.

The stranger rolls his eyes, which is kind of funny since he thinks she can’t even see it. “It’s almost like we want the exact same thing.”

“Maybe,” A-Qing huffs.

There’s a moment of quiet.

“We could just go outside,” she suggests.

“Yeah, whatever.”

The stranger picks himself up, and A-Qing slides down off the coffin. He offers his arm to her with exaggerated graciousness, but she ignores him and picks her way outside on her own. She doesn’t step on his foot, since from the way he’s standing it would be too hard to make it look accidental, but she thinks about it very hard.

There’s a little open place with a fire pit out in front of their coffin home, where they sit in the evening and cook and tell stories. Neither daozhang nor the stranger are any good at stories, which puts a damper on things, but A-Qing considers it an acceptable price for a hot meal and some company. She’s paid worse.

The stranger hops up on one of the coffins they’ve dragged in to protect the fire pit from the wind, stretching out on his back like a sunning cat. She wishes she was strong enough to knock it and him over. Instead, she sits down with her back up against the coffin’s side, kicking her legs out.

The sunlight always seems weak and misty, here in Yi City, but a beam struggles through the fog to warm her face, and A-Qing is content enough with that. She reaches into a pocket she’s made with her sash, where she keeps important things like money and shiny rocks. Right now, there’s a hard candy in there, in its little twist of brown paper. Daozhang likes to give them candy in the morning, but he’d pressed this one into her hand last night, since he knew he’d sleep late. He’d smiled all soft like he was embarrassed, and she’d thrown her arms around his neck like that smile was something she could hold onto forever.

Now, she fishes out the candy and pops it into her mouth to savor. Sweet things taste better in the sunshine. The stranger must hear her sucking on it, because he bangs his foot on the top of the coffin like he’s annoyed; she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of jumping at it.

“Hey, you have candy down there, and you’re not even gonna share? Heartless little bitch.”

A-Qing would bet daozhang’s whole coin purse that he’s got candy too, and sure enough, when she listens she can hear him crunching on it. She raps her cane against the coffin in retaliation.

“I can hear you chewing on yours, asshole! You think I’m stupid or something?”

“I have a name now, you know,” the stranger says, voice all affected hurt. “You don’t have to call me by epithets.”

She knows he wants her to ask what an epithet is, so she doesn’t. Instead she sniffs. “Chengmei, you said. That’s too nice for someone like you, ‘asshole’ makes more sense.”

A couple nights ago, the stranger had apparently gotten tired of the daozhang calling him variants on “our guest”, and A-Qing calling him variants on “hey you”, and volunteered a name for himself.

(“Is it your actual name?” A-Qing had demanded.

The stranger had only smirked. “I dunno, Little Blind, what do you think?”)

A-Qing immediately disliked it. Daozhang didn’t seem to think it suited either, but in a way that made him laugh. Then he hadn’t been able to explain why because he was giggling so much – something about a proverb. Chengmei sounds flowery to A-Qing, two whole characters like the courtesy names rich people have. Xiao-daozhang’s first name is like that, but she likes it for him. Xingchen is pretty and noble-sounding, and while the daozhang is certainly not rich (his pocket was almost empty when she picked it) he’s good and kind like a hero in a story. He deserves a nice name. Chengmei-the-stranger is not good or kind or noble. He’s like A-Qing, and people like them don’t get courtesy names.

She glances cautiously up at him, careful to not meet his eyes. Apparently unimpressed by her insults, he’s loudly ignoring her and rebraiding a section of his hair. A-Qing is pretty sure the stranger is poor, or at least he had been. When they found him in a ditch, he was wearing fine, many-layered cultivator’s robes, and he had a big silver guan he’s since refused to sell. But he doesn’t act like the wealthy, thoughtless people that A-Qing has fleeced on city streets, and he doesn’t act like the daozhang either. He knows how to swear and he knows how to steal.

A-Qing keeps a wary eye on him. “Why Chengmei, anyway?”

He glances at her sidelong; she turns her head a little so it doesn’t look like she was looking at him. “Why Qing?”

“That’s just what I’ve been called, as long as I remember.” She gestures with her staff. “Maybe because of this.” It’s a qing that means bamboo, or so she was told once. A-Qing can’t read.

“An old friend of mine picked Chengmei out for me,” the stranger says. A-Qing’s brain trips a little over the idea of him having friends, but he continues. “So that I could sound respectable, you know.”

“I knew it!” A-Qing yells, jumping to her feet. “I knew it was too fancy to be your real name!”

The stranger actually laughs at that. “Yeah, I don’t really like it either. I don’t like flowery cultivator names much. The big sects get all jumped up on politeness and formality, like they think they’re so much better just cause they happen to have golden cores and money. Don’t even get me started on titles.” He turns his head and spits in the dirt.

A-Qing folds her arms and looks at him, bamboo tucked in the crook of her elbow. The daozhang hasn’t been especially positive about the sects either, when she’s asked him for stories, but the stranger – Chengmei – almost sounds insulted by them. Like it makes him angry that they have so much he doesn’t. A-Qing has felt that. She felt it on the day she met Xiao-daozhang, sneaking around people in fine clothes with fat purses.

She re-crosses her arms, irritated at this similarity. “What’s this about titles?”

Chengmei has folded his hands behind his head and shut his eyes, but he slits one back open to look at her. “Cultivators like to call each other stupid things so they can sound more impressive, like Red Blade Master or what the fuck ever. Didn’t you know? They used to call our daozhang ‘the bright moon and gentle breeze.’” He snorts. “Gentle, sure, like the idiot he is, but anyone who calls him ‘bright’ has never seen him try to haggle.”

A-Qing taps her stick anxiously on the ground. She really wants to disagree with him and defend the daozhang, but the problem is that Chengmei is not…wrong. Xiao-daozhang sometimes doesn’t seem to know how the world works. He gave her his purse when she stole from him, reasoning that she needed it more than he did. He’s unfailingly polite and kind, and when people take advantage of him for it, he doesn’t seem stop doing it. Sometimes he makes no sense to her; sometimes he makes her angry. How is it fair, that he can do these things without being afraid of the consequences? How is it fair, that he can be ignorant enough to be good?

“Well, neither of us call him that, so it doesn’t matter,” she decides, and walks around the other side of the coffin, hitching herself up on it to sit. “How come you don’t have a fancy title, then? You’re a cultivator too.”

“None of them like me,” Chengmei says, and sounds delighted by it. He stretches out his wiry limbs, nudging her with his shin. “They don’t like my attitude, they don’t like that I can outsmart them, and they especially don’t like that I got so far without a clan name or a famous teacher like our daozhang.”

He suddenly sits up to look at her, eyes dark and keen. “People don’t like it when you come up from the bottom, Qingqing. When you’ve had nothing all your life and then get strong enough to take what you want? People hate that.”

The seriousness in his voice makes A-Qing shiver. It’s not a threat, it’s almost earnest. For once he’s not trying to scare her. But she’s scared anyway, because she understands.  

She’s known for a long time that she and the stranger are the same kind of person. He never talks about his past with any clarity, aside from the story of the boy who wanted sweets. But since then, he’s spoken offhand about beatings and hunger and cold and wandering, all things A-Qing knows in her bones. Daozhang always seems sad about it, like he would fix it all himself if he could, but A-Qing just feels angry. Sometimes no one is there to help. Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to fight for it.

She ignores the itch under her skin, the part that sees herself in him. Instead, she drums her heels on the coffin and stretches. “To take what you want? What’s that even mean? All you care about is candy.”

Chengmei has gone back to sprawling  lazily on the coffin lid. He laughs. “I care about plenty of things, I just care about candy the most. And daozhang brings me sweets whenever I want now, so I don’t worry about taking them.”

“You’re spoiled!” A-Qing says. “You just want to mooch off daozhang and eat candy and be annoying, like a spoiled little sister. We should call you Meimei instead of Chengmei!”

A-Qing regrets it as soon as it leaves her mouth. She immediately starts wondering which knife the stranger is going to kill her with and how long it’ll take daozhang to find the body, so when Chengmei laughs, she startles so badly she almost slides off the coffin.

“Gotta admit, spoiled is a new one. Whatever, you’re even younger and more annoying, so you should be Meimei.”

A-Qing stares at him with open shock, entirely forgetting her rule of not looking at him directly. He blinks back.

“What’s your problem?”

“I thought you’d get mad at me for calling you a girl,” A-Qing mumbles, dropping her eyes.

“Why would I do that?” He seems genuinely confused.

“Men get mad about it sometimes, I don’t know!” She gestures vaguely with her stick, frustrated. “People always act like a girl is a bad thing to be, like you’re stupider or weaker. They treat you worse.”

“Well whenever people say that shit it’s cause they’re morons,” Chengmei says. “Women are just as vicious as men when it comes down to it.”

A-Qing tilts her head at him. This is a novel perspective. “Really?”

“Hell yeah. Listen, if some pig ever treats you bad for being a girl, chop his cock off and stuff it down his throat. Let’s hear him make fun of you then.”

A-Qing would like to believe she’s worldly enough that nothing shocks her, but her reply still comes out in an incredulous squeak. “I can’t do that!”

“Nah, I guess you can’t. You’re too soft, daozhang’s been a bad influence on you” He looks at her thoughtfully. “Tell you what. If you’re good and don’t annoy me too much, I’ll tell you stories about female cultivators I knew. Some of those bitches could fight.”

A-Qing finds herself smiling at him, which is incredibly strange. Fortunately, before things can get any weirder, a warm, familiar voice cuts through the mist.

“A-Qing! Chengmei!”

“DAOZHANG!” A-Qing launches herself off the coffin, whips around, and runs out to launch herself into Xiao Xingchen’s arms. “You slept forever.”

Xiao-daozhang lets out an “oof” like she staggered him, but he’s as steady as ever. “Sorry, A-Qing, I know I left you two alone.” He scruffs a gentle hand over her hair “Were you and Chengmei getting along?”

A-Qing turns around to keep his sleeve from getting in her face and sticks her tongue out in Chengmei’s general direction. He snickers. “Something like that.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the daozhang answers in the sweet, sincere way he has. He reaches out to put a hand on Chengmei’s shoulder, and for once A-Qing tolerates the sight of it. Surely, daozhang has so much kindness he can afford to spend it on them both.

A-Qing grins, hiding it in Xiao Xingchen’s chest. This, the three of them, is what she wants. She’s going to hold onto this forever.

#xue yang #a qing #xiao xingchen #mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #yi city #yi city gang #fic #mine #it's aq POV and not xy i hope that's okay for the event #it's still About him more or less #she was a lot of fun to write for too #read this fic if you like Obnoxious Bantz

[jacks-wylan]

Part 1 | Part 2.

The bed dips under the weight of Jaskier's body, as he lays down under the covers next to him. Geralt doesn't look at him, he has his eyes closed and the back turned to him, but he clearly hears him sighing dramatically – and maybe a bit bitterly, as is his scent that now reaches his nose. He doesn't smell aroused anymore, the sweet, mouth watering feminine scent doesn't permeate Jaskier's skin anymore. Geralt would think that he's happy about that, but... he's not.

“Are you mad at me, Geralt?”

Geralt doesn't respond, keeping the back at him obstinately. Jaskier's voice is soft, barely a whisper. It's slightly different from the voice he had when he was a boy, but not too much: it lacks of the lightly ruff background, especially – as now – when he tried to talk with a low tone.

Jaskier hums at the stretched silence. Not that's new, it happens a lot with Geralt after all. “I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to do anything. Really. I was just...” he trails off, and for the first time, Geralt hears Jaskier at loss of words.

“Messing with me?” he prompts him, with no particular inclination in his voice. He's really not so mad, not at Jaskier at least. He's annoyed at himself, and at his weakness.

Well, considering that Jaskier is his weakness, maybe he is a bit mad at him.

“No, no.” he hears Jaskier shuffling under the covers of the bed, but he doesn't get closer. Geralt can feel the warmth of his body, but it almost feels ephemeral. He feels no contacts in his skin, and he almost feels cold. “No, I just... I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop a totally normal reaction of my body. I hoped that... well, nevermind. It's unimportant.”

Geralt frowns. He's pretty sure that Jaskier wanted to say something else to him, something important. It's just a feeling, of course, but even that evening, when they ate in the common room of the tavern, Jaskier hidden under his coat and Geralt with a scowl twisting his lips, he had the same sensation. Jaskier's silence was surely a hint, but also, under the hood, Geralt could clearly see his face blank, deep in contemplation of whatever he was looking into the porridge he was eating. Once or twice, Jaskier opened his mouth to say something, but then he closed it with a click, looked around at the oblivious patrons around them, and kept eating in silence.

And Geralt doesn't want that Jaskier refrains from talking to him, just because Geralt is too weak. So, he turns with his back against the uncomfortable mattress, and cocks his head so he can look at him right in his blue, shiny eyes, brightening by the embers from the fireplace. “What?” he asks, hoping that Jaskier would just open up to him.

Not that he deserves that, but...

“It's really nothing.” Jaskier's lips are pressed against each others in a light pout, his long lids fanning around the cut of his eyes. Fuck, he wants so much to kiss him, right here, right now. He doesn't even have to look beyond his chin, he doesn't fucking care of the slender line of his neck, of the soft tightness of his chemise around his chest. All he needs it's there, in front of his eyes, with Jaskier looking at him with his usual pleading – pleading of what – stare and pouting lips. But still, he does nothing. “I just thought that, maybe, perhaps, things would have been different, now. With this body, with my more... feminine curves. I guessed I could have been more of your... preference, let's say that. But clearly, I was wrong: the problem, all along, wasn't my body. Was... the problem is just me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he grunts, not understanding.

Jaskier looks at him right in his eyes, then his lids flutter and, finally, he lowers his gaze. He inhales, deeply, and raises a hand to start caressing his cheek, resting it slightly above his cheekbone. His thumb, ever so soft, draws circles under his eyes. “Forget it. I was just blabbing, as always. Aren't you tired? You definitely must be tired, I didn't give you a break these couple of days. You have to go on a contract tomorrow, have you? You should sleep. I don't want you to have any other kind of distraction that isn't me.”

“You distract me a lot.”

Jaskier smiles, his eyes twinkle of his typical mischief. But still, he seems a bit off. “I'm the bane of your existence, Geralt.”

Geralt tries, he really does, to reciprocate his smile. There's still something churning his stomach, still something he might take into consideration but he's not. Something important, something that Jaskier – with his frivolous words and ambiguous sentences – was trying to say to him. “You are.” he just murmurs, and Jaskier chuckles softly, his hand falling off his cheek. Geralt immediately misses the warmth of his touch, but he still doesn't say anything.

“I'll come with you tomorrow.” Jaskier says, blinking. He's starting to feel sleepy, by now Geralt can put a meaning in every grimace of his face. Or maybe, most of them; particularly of his needs. Not so much his emotions: if he cannot understand them by his scent, he mostly feels lost at sea. As he feels right now, after all.

“You shouldn't. It's safer here.”

“Is it? Well, I guess it is. Here there is no monsters trying to rip my ribcage open, that's for sure. I can take care of myself in your absence, at least for half a day. Maybe I can perform! I can still wear your coat on and hid my face, or part of it at least, and present myself as a new bard. I kind of miss performing in front of a willingly crowd.”

“No.”

Jaskier blinks, “What?”

“No, you'll stay here, hidden away.”

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, opening his mouth wide in a dramatic disbelief. “Not even my mother could kept me caged in my own room for more than half an hour, Geralt, and even though I love you, you dumbass, you make no difference.”

Geralt tries to not react at his casual confession. It's not the first time, nor probably the last, and Geralt already knows that Jaskier loves him, as Jaskier obviously knows that Geralt feels the same – even though he never said it out loud like him, it should be so obvious that is almost written on his face. Right? – but Geralt... feels so unworthy. He isn't worth of a thing as pure and as beautiful as Jaskier's love. So, things will always be platonic, no matter how much Geralt wants to kiss his pout away.

“I can stop whatever people might do to you. What if they recognize you and put you at a stake? What if they don't recognize you, but they see you like... like this, see you so... so...” beautiful, he wants to say, but he was beautiful even as a boy, and Geralt didn't have the same worry as he's feeling now. It's just that now, now the world is darker for him, men themselves are worse than monsters – and Geralt can't let that darkness stain the perfect, sunny light around him. “Hm. I, I can't do anything to take you out of trouble, if I'm not there.”

Jaskier cradles his face between the palms of his hands, and with the most serious expression he can muster with the soft lines of his face, he exclaims: “You are as sweet as a cinnamon roll.” Geralt rolls his eyes, and Jaskier chuckles, without stopping touching him. “But I can take care of myself. It must not be so obvious, but I'm very strong! The hard life on the road helped me to gain some muscles, especially my legs'.” Yes. Geralt knows that. He saw his legs, briefly, during his bath, and they are thick, muscled. Not as a witcher, but definitely strong enough. They are perfect. “I can kick whoever would dare saying that my songs are shits, right in their balls. I had balls, I know the pain they would feel in beyond comprehension.”

“Hm.” Geralt smiles, and tries not to think about Jaskier being kicked in his balls when he was a boy. “Still. Kicks could not being enough.”

Jaskier closes his eyes, briefly, and inhales dramatically. “Alas, the things I do for you. Alright, alright, I won't perform, I won't dance, I won't sing, I won't catch their attentions. I take this as a favour you owe me, I hope you are aware.”

As long as Jaskier is safe, it's fine. “Hm, yes.”

“Good. So, I will stay all alone here, in this room that doesn't even have a lock, waiting for my witcher to come back from his hunts. Maybe... oh, did you see the waiter this evening, during dinner? Do you think that he would accept to come up here, to... help me pass the time, tomorrow? I don't like to be alone, and he is cute. Maybe a bit young, he seems to be in his mid–twenty, but I'm not gonna be too picky.”

“What.” Geralt feels his blood boil, “We... we just said that you don't have to catch unwanted attention!” he growls. His nostrils flare, and he's probably baring his teeth. Jaskier doesn't seem perturbed by the scene, on the contrary: Geralt feels like he's fallen right into a trap.

“Well, it's not unwanted. I can handle very well a single boy's attention, Geralt.” Jaskier smiles, innocently. This little shit, he'll be the death of him. “And there's that little, tiny problem of my virginity, remember? Before we find a mage, I have to take care of it!”

Geralt tightens his lips, and looks at Jaskier – who looks back so candidly that Geralt almost feels bad at being so fucking irate at him. Almost – and... and...

And surrenders.

“Fine, fine, you little shit!” he growls, while Jaskier's eyes twinkle victoriously, “You'll come with me tomorrow!”

Geralt falls asleep with Jaskier's hoorays in his ears, and a voice that resembles so much like Vesemir's that keeps telling him that he's so, so, so fucked.

#i give up #this doesn't show in the tags and i don't care anymore #i just post it here and leave it be #fuck this #non binary!jaskier #fem!jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #mine:fyccina #writings

[ridleycraft]

ok, look. ive tried to put this into words for the longest time, but i havent found a way to do so until now. i was originally going to make this a twitter thread, but then i realized just how long it would take me to explain everything, so im making it a tumblr post instead.

i present to you: the most bizarre dream i have ever had

ok, so, for context, id just gotten back from a convenience store in my town. i think i was having a manic episode at this time, so i was pretty reckless with the stuff i purchased. i was also pretty reckless with what i ate, because i ended up buying three things of lemonade, donuts with fucking gluten in them (i have celiac, so thats why thats so bad), and then proceeded to eat and drink them all in one sitting. during this i was also watching glitch techs for the first time. this becomes majorly important later.

after eating all of that, i got really sick, as youd expect. i decided to take a nap, even though i wasn’t that tired. that’s when the dream happened.

the dream was based around an episode from glitch techs that didn’t exist. it was also from a season that didnt exist. whereas more seasons are called season blank or whatever, this season was called, i shit you not, “#?” yep. that was it. that was just what the season was called. the episode name has faded from my memory, but that’s completely fine, because from my knowledge, the episode name was just a bunch of random letters thrown together that didn’t even resemble real words.

the episode started out as youd expect. the gang hunts down the glitch of the week and captures it, had all that lighthearted goodness, and had some gamer puns here and there. yknow, fun stuff youd expect from a kids show.

and then someone died.

no, they didn’t just die. they didn’t even get murdered. they killed themself. it was nix, i believe. and everyone had their own reactions to it.

for starters, haneesh and bergy just left. i dont remember haneesh’s reason for leaving, but bergy left because his anxiety had basically been cranked up to 100% by nix’s suicide. he was scared shitless of everything. so much so, in fact, that he was too scared to even enter the hinobi store anymore. zahra swore revenge on whoever drove him to suicide, since hed been perfectly fine beforehand, and donned classic emo clothing for the rest of the dream.

five just straight up became neurotic. like, stereotypically insane. he kept talking about killing people and his eyes were all bloodshot and stuff. mitch fell into a deep depression, and there were dark rings around his eyes like he was an old twisted-doctor character. miko’s reaction i’ve been saving for last, however, because it’s literally one of the weirdest parts of the dream.

miko practically just decided to break the laws of physics. in the blink of an eye, she changed completely. her hair turned this weird highlighter yellow-green color, and her eyes became pitch black and very shiny. she also had a tail for some reason. it sort of resembled a lion’s tail. it was black and had this green gem at the end of it. she also had horns, which is probably even weirder than the tail. they were orange and had yellow tips, like she snatched them from a homestuck troll. she just kinda floated around for the rest of the dream, for some reason.

the rest of the episode revolved around the group getting into conflicts with each other, which eventually tore them all apart. with the whole group split up now, miko was left in her lonesome, and soon enough she found out (i forgot how) that shed turned into the thing i just described. and with that realization was this really trippy sequence that came next.

basically, there were two dark figures talking to her in a text to speech voice. their faces were just real life mouths (note that they didnt have lips) plastered on top of them, and they mostly spoke nonsense from what i can remember (or maybe that was just an effect of them constantly talking over each other). the only thing i remember them saying that made a slight amount of sense was that miko was the god of existence now. the background just kept flashing black, white, and red, no matter what happened.

suddenly, phil interrupted the sequence, and brought the group back together. he then dropped the news that nix had faked his own suicide. this caused everyone to despise nix, and they then proceeded to hunt him down and circle him as nix just looked...really fucking scared. he didnt say anything. he didnt even call out for help. the group went on to disembowel him with their bare hands.

the dream ended with them all just standing there, watching nix’s corpse bleed out. they stared off into space, with some hints of regret in their eyes, as the background turned black. as they continued to stand there, this low, deep, gravelly voice, almost like that of a machine, said some unintelligible shit really slowly, and then the characters slowly looked right at the camera.

when i woke up, i felt this strange, lingering sense of dread, almost as if that was a real episode and i had actually watched it. and it had me thinking...what if that was a real episode? what if #? was a real glitch techs season that netflix and nickelodeon had greenlit? how would children and parents react to something like that? how would i react?

oh, and then i took the fattest shit ive ever shat in my life. theres something funny that happened.

#🕹️.txt #glitch techs #fever dream #trigger tags: #suicide #murder #gore #unsanitary #ask to tag

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 9: Accidents Happen but This Wasn't and Accident

Ugh, this is later than I thought it'd be. I kept getting distracted with stuff, work's been hard, and mine and my sister's birthday is tomorrow so I've been trying to prepare for that. Still, I managed to get it up on the right day, so that's gotta count for something, right?

Anyways, this a real important chapter, and it has a moral: Always go to the hospital if you've got weird surgery scars from insane voodoo puppets. Or they could get infected, you could get sepsis, or maybe she's taken your entire digestive tract.

She never put that back, by the way.

Scout sat through the whole rest of the movie, and then two more with the same characters. By the time she'd finished the last one, the rain and wind had stopped, but it was still dark. A look outside showed the streetlamps on, and nobody around. The road was really shiny though, and Scout watched for a while before turning back to the dark apartment.

"Okay." She thumped the side of her head, blinking as her flashlight turned on. "It's late, so let's go to bed now." She hopped down from the couch, then Jumped her way to the bedroom. From the doorway, she could see the blanket covered lump that was her Host. She made her way to the bed, then Jumped up on to it. With in moments she had wormed her way under the covers and pressed up against Stacy, ready to sleep herself.

Five minutes later she was crawling out, feeling far too hot. "Geez..." It was burning under the sheets, and also a little bit damp. It was almost worrying, and made Scout remember some of the more... unpleasant aspects of Hosts.

"Hey. Hey, Stacy. I think something happened." She pushed against the woman's cheek, but drew back at the wetness she felt. She also felt far too warm, and her breath was coming out in short gasps.

"Stacy, this isn't funny. It's time to wake up now." Ignoring the grossness, she pushed harder. "Something's wrong! Stacy? Stacy!" She pushed harder, but the Host didn't react. It wasn't even like when she'd pretended to sleep last night, there was nothing. She was completely nonreactive. It was just like when the Hosts back in the studio were used up.

"Oh no..." She fell back as the realization struck. "No no no NO! No! I'm not even doing anything! You shouldn't be like this! Wake up! Stacy!" She tried harder, beating her fabric fists against Stacy's face, but nothing worked. "Wake up! Please!"

Her eyes burned, and she looked around the room. "What do I do?!" What do I..." Her gaze fell on Stacy's phone, sitting on the side table. She lunged for it and swiped, only to be met with a request for a security code. "No!" She threw it onto the floor and, with one last glance at Stacy, Jumped her way to the living-room, where she'd left the phone she'd been given. Stacy had told her there was one other number on there, she just hoped it worked.

()()()

Will was supposed to be sleeping, but instead was staring down at the mess of circuitry in front of him. Off to the side was fully mangled and blackened body of an almost cat-like toy, it's head sitting upside down in his lap. It had attempted to move once, and he'd tazed it until had caught fire. He was currently poking around in the skull cavity, when his phone rang. Without looking at it he braced it between his shoulder and cheek.

"You've reached the phone of Will Carson. Unless you're the government or a scammer in which case you're having a bad trip and none of this is real." He spoke in a monotone, not even looking away from his work.

"Will!" The voice of that weird Puppet crackled through the line, and Will hung up immediately.

"Ew." He muttered, though he couldn't even put the phone down before it started ringing again. He answered quickly. "Whatever you want, I'm sure Stacy's more equipped to get it to you."

"Something's wrong with Stacy!" She spoke quickly, likely scared he'd hang up on her again. "Sh-she won't wake up, and she's hot and-and wet and she can''t breathe and she won't wake up-!"

Will felt his heart stop as she rambled on, unable to follow her words anymore.

"Will run! I found out what happened to Jerome! She's in here with me! Mom's-"

Will hung up the phone, dumping the head in his lap on the floor and grabbing his shoes as he dialed 911. He was just getting into his car as they picked up.

"Hello, 911. What is your emergency?" The female voice on the other end sounded so calm it was a stark contrast against his panic. He swallowed dryly, trying to quickly organize his thoughts.

"It's my girlfriend, Stacy. There's something wrong. She's in pain, and I think she's running a high fever." He struggled to keep calm as he drove the short distance to her apartment. "She just called me, talking about it, but I think she fainted. I tried calling her back but she wouldn't answer."

"Okay sir. Can you tell us where she your girlfriend lives?" He could hear her typing away at a keyboard as he rattled off the address. He parked the car as she finished. "Okay sir, an ambulance will be there very soon."

"Thank you so much!" He said as he got out of the car and started towards the door. "Tell them I'll meet them here, since I just got here myself."

"Will do sir." She told him, and he disconnected the call before running up the stairs. He fit his key into the lock and opened up the door, shutting it behind him but leaving it unlocked for the paramedics. When he didn't spot Stacy in the living room, he rushed into the bedroom. She was laying there, still covered up in bed, and he was quick to uncover her. He pressed a hand to her forehead, hissing in sympathy at the heat coming off her.

"What the fuck did you do Stace?" He whispered, subtly glancing around for the Puppet. He couldn't see her, but that didn't mean much. She was small enough she could be under the bed, or even in the bed with Stacy and he'd never know it. Still, he didn't like not knowing, but before he could search for her, he heard knocking and rushed to let the paramedics into the apartment.

As he waited in the living room while they loaded his girlfriend onto the stretcher, he caught sight of movement in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head around in time to see Scout duck underneath the couch, and almost sighed in relief. He'd thought (half-hoped, if he would be honest) that he wouldn't be able to find her. But, as he followed the paramedics out of the apartment, he made a split second decision to lock the door behind him. It might not be soon, but he would be back eventually, and he wanted that Puppet there when he did.

()()()

Hours later, so many Will wasn't sure how long he'd been surrounded by the clean halls of the hospital, and Stacy was finally in a stable condition. She was still unconscious, but now it was more from the anesthetic than from almost dying due to infected surgery scars.

Because she had those.

A lot of them.

All over her body.

It had taken a long time for them to go into each one, clean out the infection, and then stitch her back up. Thankfully, there wasn't any damage beyond the infection, but the surgeon said it looked like someone had performed exploratory surgery on her. Badly, by the looks of things. Or at least, the doctor hadn't cared if she'd lived or died afterwards.

Will was going to murder that Puppet.

But for now he was in his own house, changing his clothes and getting ready to go hunt down said Puppet. One of those grabby things to get items off of high shelves, a large animal carrier, the long range tazer, and thick gloves. All of those went in to the back of his small car before he made his way back to Stacy's apartment.

As he reentered the apartment, he took note of how silent it was. The lights were still on from when the paramedics had been there, and nothing had moved from where it had been earlier. The only reason he had for knowing that thing was still in the building was the fact she was too short to open the door. And the one window in the room was still closed, that was a pretty big sign, too.

He searched the main room first, checking in the cupboards and under the couch. He found nothing except a couple of Stacy's smaller stuffed animals under the couch, which he found weird as usually his girlfriend was more careful with her stuff. He dug them out and put them back on the shelf, where they belonged.

Unable to find the Puppet there, he went into the bedroom, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. It was almost as quiet as the main room, with a quiet, muffled sound coming from somewhere nearby.

'Gotcha!' He peered around the room, making sure she wasn't somewhere obvious and in sight. Unable to see her, it left only under the bed, so he crouched down to look.

To his luck, she hadn't noticed him yet. Her face was buried in her arms, with her small body shaking. The sounds, he realized, were sobs. He sat back up, massaging his forehead.

'Dear God, don't let me feel pity for this thing. This is all her fault...' He sat there for a moment, listening to the quiet sobbing. He sighed. 'Fine...'

He crawled partway under the bed, keeping his distance. When she didn't react, he cleared his throat, making all sounds from her cease. Slowly, she looked up at him, and he caught the sight of her eye lids tilted the opposite way before she glared at him.

"What do you want?" She spat out, though her voice lacked the bite she wanted. Instead it sounded tired and strained, and Will figured she'd probably been crying for a long time.

"I came to check up on you." He lied smoothly. "And to, uh, give you an update on how Stacy's doing." The Puppet looked away, glaring at the wall the bed was against. "She's still alive, but has to stay in the hospital for a while." Nothing. Will licked his lips, throat feeling dry. "Did you know about all those extra scars?"

She cringed away, curling up tighter than she had been before. For a moment he thought she wouldn't answer, but her glare softened, even if she wouldn't look at him again.

"Riley did it. She likes taking Hosts apart and putting them back together weird. Sometimes she just likes looking at them, though. She only looked at Stacy, but I know she took out a Host's entire digestion tract once." She told him quietly, and Will felt the blood drain from his face.

"Uh..." He swallowed thickly, mouth dryer than ever. "Stacy still has all of her organs, at least." 'What else can I say to that? Think, Will!' "Want to come stay with me until she's better?" 'Why did you say that?! Oh my god!'

For one, hopeful moment it looked like she was going to say no. But then she forced herself up right and turned to face him. "Fine." She ground out, making her way towards him.

'Fuck! Shit! Nooooooooo!' He crawled back out from the bed, waiting for her. 'Why did I even ask that?! Now I'm stuck with her for god knows how long!' He watched her crawl out from under the bed, then stood up, grabbing his taser.

"I have to do a couple of things before we go, so hang tight a minute." He told her, then made his way back to his car, where he dumped his hunting gear in the trunk and grabbed a duffel bag instead. He went back inside and to her bedroom, where he started packing some of her clothes into it. He then put the Switch and charger inside, and grabbed the backpack she always had, making sure her wallet was inside. He'd already taken her phone to the hospital, so at least he didn't need to worry about that.

That all collected and carried to his car, he returned to pick up Scout. He found her sitting on the couch, a small Kirby plush in her lap. She didn't look up when he entered the apartment, instead just slowly petting the toy.

"Uh..." Will cleared his throat and she looked up at him. "You ready to go?"

"Sure." She "stood" up and he, after a short hesitance, scooped her up. He carried her out to the car, making sure to lock the apartment behind them, and dumped her in the back seat with Stacy's stuff. He climbed into the front seat, and took a moment to stare out the windshield.

'I can't believe I'm doing this. I don't want that thing in my house!' He glanced back at Scout, noting she had unzipped the duffel and was trying to climb inside. He sighed, turning back around and starting the car. 'At least she knows how to stay hidden. Stacy would kill me if I let anything happen to her.'

#hello puppets #outside #fanfiction #scout #stacy stein #will carson

[nelllraiser]

mori | montgomery & nell

LOCATION: Deep in the Woods

TIME:  7:19 PM

PARTIES: Montgomery de Ville and Nell Vural

It was just a regular evening for Nell. The sun was just beginning to set, and it was the start of her prowl for the night. Not yet having a particular target in mind, she’d lingered close to the house, not drifting all that far into the Outskirts just yet. But maybe tonight’s hunt for something to bring into the Ring would be short, and she’d be able to turn in for the night sooner rather than later. It’d been something like thirty-six hours since she slept, having been on the trail of a monster that’d bring in big cash the day before, and being unwilling to lose out on such a victory. So tonight would be quiet, and easy. Or at least she hoped as much. Ever since Morgan had mentioned the Tenome that has chased her and Blanche, Nell had been hoping to find it. She walked on through the forest, aimless at the moment as she readied herself to cast a tracking spell. Not for a moment did she think that the hunter might become the hunted. After all, these were her woods, her home territory. These dense branches and enormous trees were practically a second home by now. 

Montgomery hadn’t forgotten everything that they had been meticulously learning about their target. The hunt was something they relished, but when you were hunting for money and a human at that, the pleasure was somewhat diminished. At least in the build up. The pleasure of the kill was intricate and more importantly absolute. The one thing in the universe that Montgomery could always keep faith in. She was collecting creatures again, her skill was undeniable and she moved like an expert. Montgomery would’ve enjoyed hunting alongside her but clearly that wasn’t an option. Creeping forward, they moved parallel to their prey, keeping down wind from her and out of sight. Their opportunity would come soon enough, patience was a virtue for a reason after all.

For a moment, Nell stilled, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. It was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Honestly, she should be used to it in woods such as these, with all sorts of creatures roaming the undergrowth, and even the trees above. Maybe tonight would be over sooner than she’d thought if something blood-thirsty was already nearby, making her hunt much shorter and less tiring than it needed to be. Already she could envision the smell of the freshly baked bread Bea had been making when she’d left the house, and Nell was all too eager to get home and chomp into it with little regard for manners or anything of that like. And then...sweet sweet release and she’d lay her head down to rest. Another night passed, finally able to close her eyes to rest and recharge.

Pausing for a moment, Montgomery sniffed the air cautiously. He wasn’t sure why he did it, it didn’t achieve anything. But it had become a habit and he was too stubborn to change it now. Creeping forward through the undergrowth on all fours, he stayed as low as he could. Moving with an athletic ease that had come from years of hunting game. This was just a different kind of hunt. Pulling the tranquiliser rifle from his shoulder he slid it through the grass alongside him. Positioning himself with a clear line of sight, Montgomery was pleased with the altitude they’d gained and took a second more to really settle in. There would only be one shot needed. Settling the rifle into his shoulder, Montgomery popped the cap off of the lense and peered through the telescopic view. Taking account of distance, wind, and of course natural projectile drop, Montgomery took his time, calmly taking a breath, his index finger slipped the safety off and curled around the trigger, pausing once more to make sure everything was perfect- he fired.

The longer this creeping sensation gripped Nell...the more foreign it felt. Rather than simply being watched, she almost felt...like prey. Like a vampire was going to jump out at any moment in an attempt to chomp down on— her neck. At the same moment the thought passed her mind, something else hit her, as if the universe had set her inner thoughts into motion. A sting in her neck, and a hand was automatically darting towards whatever had struck. What the fuck? Instinctively, she pulled the projectile from her neck, looking down at what appeared to be a tranquilizer nestled in her hand. Shit. Fuck. Adrenaline began to race through her veins, magic already sprouting to her fingertips. Her time was limited now. The chamber in the dart had been empty, and who knew what might have been in it. Anger, pure and hot shot through her as she yelled out. “Show your fucking self, coward!” Stomping her foot into the ground, the spell went out from there, designed to detect any living creature within a thirty foot radius. There, not too far from her in the tall grass. Without holding back, she sent an instinctual blast of magic in the direction of the body, summoning it towards her whether they wanted to face her or not. Her other hand had already drawn a dagger from its hiding spot, slicing a sizeable cut along her arm in preparation for her next move.

Would’ve been nice if Montgomery had been able to work out that was an option for Penelope Vural. Having literal magic at your fingertips must be convenient. Montgomery was sure that it would make his job much easier. “It wouldn’t be called hunting if I just showed myself now would it,” he protested in his Afrikaneers drawl as her magic dragged him towards her, but they knew that it wouldn’t be long now until the tranquiliser really started to take affect and then it would be all that much harder for her to really do anything. Then it would just be a matter of doing his due diligence, taking a trophy and confirming the kill for that little shit of a man August Thompson. Honestly Montgomery was almost tempted to let her live, almost. The money on this job was too good and this really wasn’t an inconvenience. Montgomery struggled against her magic, pulling their revolver out alongside the large hunting knife that he had strapped to his upper right thigh. “Are you sure you want to play this game little girl?” he asked smugly as he waited for the sedatives to take effect.

A sneer marred Nell’s features as the voice reached her. It would be impossible not to recognize that accent and tone. It only made the fight in her rear its head more passionately, knowing it was Montgomery that had come after her. What the fuck was his problem, anyway? Who the hell just hunted for sport? At least, that’s what she’d assumed. Why else would he be after her? Though...it was true she’d made plenty of enemies in her past. But surely he wouldn’t know any of them, right? Already she could feel herself becoming sluggish, her reactions taking longer to manifest than they usually did. Vainly, she pushed a bloodied thumb to the summoning tattoo on her arm in an effort to bring forth her three favorite hellhounds. Nothing happened. Looking down, she realized that with the world beginning to spin, she’d missed the tattoo, a finger’s swipe of blood now running just below the ink she’d been aiming for. “I’ll kill you first,” she spat out, trying her best to figure out which of the fuzzy Montgomery’s she was seeing was the real one. She threw her first knife, magic behind it’s throw to help it hit its intended target, both supplying assisted aiming in a time like this, and putting more force behind the dagger.

The irony in Penelope Vural’s logic was one of the most ironic parts of all of this. Normally Montgomery hunted for sport. They did it for the pleasure of the kill, they did it to make their blood rush and to feel the visceral pleasure of hauling a carcass back. He was an expert now, he’d clean it themselves and make trophies, sell what they could and he would eat what he couldn’t. His dogs got the rest. If it was edible of course. Montgomery was cruel but he wasn’t a cannibal. Not yet anyway. But today he had been forced into this position by a large sum of money. Perhaps forced was a bit of a stretch, perhaps he should simply accept that he could’ve walked away. But that was no fun. The dart was one of his own special creations. Years of studying medicine had made it easy to mix natural and supernatural sedatives and if Penelope died from the weird cocktail of magic and sleeping drug that was rushing round her system then who was Montgomery to complain? She seemed to be realising the predicament that she was in and as she pulled a knife and hurled it in his direction Montgomery side stepped it easily. His right hand snapped out and caught the handle of the blade as it sailed roughly near where his face had been. “Naughty, naughty,” Montgomery said wagging his finger and loudly tutting like a concerned nurse as he looked at the bright and shiny blade sighed, “such a beautiful creation, such a shame it’s user is so … unfortunate.”

A nearly animalistic snarl rang out from Nell as her knife was caught, wasting no time as she drew another knife as quickly as she could, though it was much slower than she normally moved, the tranquilizer still doing its work well. Pure spite was what was keeping her going, and her simple refusal to go quietly. She’d take a part of Montgomery with her or die trying. That was her only thought as she let the next knife fly, fueled by magic in the same way the first had been. As it grew nearer, it duplicated, spurred on by her magic to create an illusion that was meant to keep the intended target guessing as to which was the real knife. But to Nell it wasn’t all that different from her current vision, the world still taking strange shapes as her awareness ever so slightly began to flicker in and out. “Piece of shit!” she gasped with as much anger as she could muster, trying to remind her lungs how to draw air normally. “You fucking cunty-ass sad excuse for a human!” When was the last time she’d felt anything this strongly? Did it make sense that in her possible last moments, those would be the ones she felt the most emotion? “Shut your fucking mouth!” Each word was punctuated with effort as her magic burst forth once more, closer to the lines of instinctual now that things were getting down to the wire. She wanted him hurt. She wanted him maimed. She wanted him dead. To bring him to his knees.

Montgomery ducked beneath the shower of daggers that went flying in his direction. She was creative, he would give her that much, after all who would’ve thought that this is the way that she would choose to do things. He had always imagined that if he had been fortunate enough to have magic that he would be much flashier and creative with it. But each to their own. “If it makes you feel better to call me all of those things th- th- the-” Montgomery couldn’t finish his own sentence, looking down at his arms he found his veins bulging as the blood seemed to stop flowing around his veins and arteries. Suddenly his entire body was on fire as agony lanced through him. He couldn’t move. At least, not without it being agonisingly painful. His eyes raced around, what the fuck was going on? It took less then a second for them to train on Nell, she was doing something, it had to be a trick. Magic. Something that was stopping him from being able to move, being able to truly fight this. With a visceral, primal grunt of pain, Montgomery took the final three steps that spanned between him and Penelope Vural. The agony was almost too much. They cursed themselves for not using a higher dosage of the tranquiliser as his entire body screamed in pain. Grunting once more, Montgomery drew all their effort into one strike and with the butt of their pistol he clattered into Penelope’s temple. There was a sickening crunch as the metal contacted the bone and cartilage of her skull. 

Nell watched as Montgomery paused, sleepy brain unable to truly process what exactly was going on. All she knew was that she’d done something, expended some magical energy and suddenly he'd stopped. As the magic left her, Nell fell to her knees, a combination of the effort she’d exerted and the tranquilizer finally finishing it’s job pushing her to the ground paying no mind to her fighting tooth and claw against it. No. No. This would not be how she went. This would not be how she died. All those times she’d escaped by the skin of her teeth, all the near misses who’s tales she’d lived to tell. Being shot in the neck by a tranquilizer via a coward who hid in the bushes wouldn’t be her last stand. Her last stand. In truth, part of her had believed she’d never had one, the invincibility of youth and confidence lending her their strength when it came to the endless path that had seemed to unfold in front of her. Even though she’d seen so much more in her life than most did, there was still so much more she’d wanted to see, to touch, to feel.  She looked up as Montgomery readied the kill, biting down on any part of him she could manage to find hold of. Would this really be her last sight? She met his eyes, glaring at him even now as something glinted in the moonlight. Whatever he was meaning to kill her with, no doubt. She wouldn’t let him have the satisfaction of watching her eyes close, anger and defiance still burning in their depths.

Montgomery had to admit that as they watched her collapse, as he observed, the tranquiliser really begin to enter her blood stream and start impacting her organs and functions. Montgomery could’ve given a whole lecture just on how it all worked. He was Doctor Montgomery de Ville for a reason after all, but now wasn’t the time. He had to admit that her magic had been something new. He had never felt that sensation or anything like it. It was like his very blood was boiling. Stepping forward, Montgomery reached down and drew their hunting knife once more. A wicked blade with a razor sharp edge and even serated towards the base of the hilt. Perfect for decapitation. Oh how it shone in the light, the reflection glinting off of the sheen of the blade. 

Luce. Bea. Winston. Jared. Blanche. Countless others Nell had met and loved since coming back to White Crest. It wasn’t her life flashing before her, but the faces of those that had made it all the better in the past months and years, even those she wouldn’t have expected to etch a place in her soul. Nic. Morgan. Adam. Remmy. Her father. Her mom. God, her mom. She was going to die without so much as ever being a point of pride to her own mother. What would her legacy be? Did she even have one? Did it fucking matter? The dead were dead. Even now she still struggled, as if somehow her weak attempts to break free would find some way to be successful, that she’d find a way out of this like she always did, always had. Nell had never once stopped fighting in her entire life, and she wasn’t going to start now simply because it was coming to a close. She was going to leave this world the way she came into it, yelling, kicking, screaming as much as she could. Montgomery tensed behind her, that silver flashing once again and suddenly all she could see was—

#wickedswriting #ch:montgomery #chatzy #mori #miss beasha

[the-neon-writer]

Fuck it, it may not be edited and it may change still, but here’s Cara’s Intro. She’s yet another character in my maybe novel that is coming along slowly. I may have not won NaNoWriMo but i still got further with progress. So i’m proud of myself. I have one more characters intro left to write. I promise it’ll be a good one when it arrives. In the mean time enjoy this as a special christmas treat 😉🎄😉

Cara’s Intro

She wasn’t sure where he had come from, but he was there nonetheless. The man had just appeared one day and decided to take care of her. What made it stranger was that people usually looked down on her because of the way she looked. But this man did not. She may have been young, but she knew how the world worked, the other street urchins had taught her that. She had to be smarter and tougher than the rest of them if she wanted to survive. He was different though, he didn’t seem to care about the colour of her skin, or what people whispered when they saw her with him.

It had taken some time to start trusting him and he had given her all the time she needed. The moment she knew she could trust him was her first full moon. She had no clue what was happening to her, she felt like she was being ripped to shreds from the inside out and she had no control over what was happening to her. They had been staying at a farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. He was in the other room and she assumed he’d heard her yell. She remembered seeing him rush in, sword in hand. She couldn’t control what was happening, it was like she was watching someone else control her body, but she charged towards him. All he did was just wrap her in a tight hug and whisper that it was going to be ok and that he would help her no matter what, that he would never leave her side as long as she needed him.

After that they grew closer, he was like an older brother that she’d never had in her life. He helped her understand what she was going through and patiently taught her to control the beast as best he could.

She had a purpose now, she was informing on people for him. People didn’t care enough to notice street urchins so she could slip into and out of most places without ever being seen. She spied on priests and gentlemen, ladies in fancy bonnets and young brats of rich families. She trailed them throughout the town and reported their activities to him. She wasn’t quite sure why she was spying on these people, but more often than not, she never saw them again. So one day she asked him why he was looking for those people. And he told her, that’s why she trusted him, he told her the truth if only she asked. She was angry and confused but he explained why these people needed to be eliminated, though, sometimes, on rare occasions, he didn’t eliminate people in the literal sense. A few times during the years, she helped him smuggle people out, making it look like they were gone permanently but really they were just removed from the equation.

He told her about The Council when she turned 12. That made her understand it a little better, why he killed the people he did and spared the ones he did.

“Now I don’t always agree with the council, but, I have to trust their judgment on most things. They’re family and I guess I’m sorta stuck with ‘em. I do have a noggin’ of me own though, and they’re not always as smart as they think they are. I’m tellin ye this so that ye can understand why they can never know ‘bout ya Cara.” That’s what he had told her, “I’ve seen that not all of ye are evil and mindless bloodshed sickens me, so I hope ya know that I’d never hurt ya. Do you trust me?” She had believed him, foolish, she now knew people always ended up hurting you.

The beast was growing with her and it was becoming stronger also. And not long after her 12th birthday, the beast spoke for the first time. It was just a regular day and she was out on the streets trying to nick whatever she could off the rich blokes and snobby arses who thought themselves so much better than her. She didn’t need the money but it made her feel good to get payback.

She’d just nicked a shiny pocket watch from a well-dressed gentleman when she saw a gang of other street kids approach her. She knew them since forever, she’d always managed to slip away right under their noses, but this time she was so enamoured with her find that it was too late when she noticed them.

“Whatchu got there girly,” said one of them, snatching the watch from her hands.

“Oi give it back ye thick gobshite, that’s my find,” she tried to snatch it back but the boy was taller.

“Or what, s’not like anyone’s gonna help you,” he looked her up and down disapprovingly and giggled with his mates.

“I suggest you give it back, boy,” it was a deep booming voice, with an accent so far from Irish it was startling.

“Oi who said that, show yerself ya flute.”

“If you insist,” Cara felt herself lose control again, this hadn’t happened in years even on a full moon, but she wasn’t trying to fight it this time. It lunged at the boy and she felt it sink its teeth into his neck and the life drain out of him with a horrible crunch. She remembered seeing the horrified looks of the other street kids and saw them start running for their lives. A pool of blood was forming next to her and she saw her reflection for the first time, only it wasn’t her, it was It. It was huge, with a long sharp muzzle and glistening black fur, its ears were pointed and its eyes glowed gold. It had a slender jackal like figure, yet it was bipedal and more muscular than any human or beast.

The next thing she remembered was the chase, following the kids into the night, not even trying to regain control, the taste of blood and revenge sweeter than honey in their mouth. It caught up to them quick enough, they were hiding in an alleyway, It could hear their frantic heartbeats and smell their fear in the air. The fear tasted sweetest of all, filling It with new vigour and jest to toy with its prey.

It approached slowly giving the brats hope that it couldn’t find them, it paced in front of their hiding spot and took off at a short run to make them think it left. It didn’t. It waited for a few moments as it climbed onto the roof above them. It was about to jump them and rip them to shreds when they heard a voice.

“Cara, please, stop.” And there he was, but he wasn’t comforting or jovial. He was holding a crossbow, and it was aimed at them. “I can’t let you hurt innocent people, no matter how much I care about you.”

They turned to face him, jaws dripping with fresh blood and it spoke, “They aren’t innocent, are they…”

“Fer fucks sake they’re children, Cara, listen to yerself.”

“I’M NOT CARA.” Its voice echoed across the rooftops and silence fell between them as beast and hunter stared each other down.

“Cara, please, you can control it.”

“Oh, I don’t think she wants to anymore!” Cara was in there, but she had no control, but she was no longer certain she wanted this. It all seemed wrong all of a sudden.

It suddenly shuddered and stepped back to keep its balance.

“Cara, think about all the good we’ve done, please don’t undo it all now.”

The creature shuddered again but its eyes glowed golden, brighter than the sun. It growled and the growl permeated the air around it and cut the silence like a knife. The shuddering stopped and it looked up at him. Then it charged, but he had been ready, he hadn’t been training to hunt monsters his entire life for nothing. Before it even took 2 steps he had fired the bolt.

It stopped in its tracks and fell forward onto all four. Cara couldn’t take back control even then, she was scared but there was nothing she could do. She didn’t want to die, not yet, not like this, not afraid.

She awoke again in that warm room with a fireplace. She wondered if it had all been a dream or if she had died and this was meant to be the afterlife. But then she tried to move and it was painful. Her whole body was racked with pain as she tried to lift herself into a sitting position on the couch. She must have made some noise because she then saw him enter. He had a dagger on him made of silver, it was sheathed, but she could smell the silver.

“Don’t move, please.”

She stopped trying to sit up.

“Look, I know it wasn’t your fault that it took over, I couldn’t’ve prepared ye fer that. Something like that has happened very rarely in history and the accounts were all second-hand experiences.”

“w-what,” was all she managed to say, her tongue felt like a useless stone in her mouth.

“Yer not the same as It. There’s two of ye now.” he sighed, he looked tired and sad all of a sudden and she could finally see the age in his eyes, he forgot to hide the pain that only comes with old age, it was there for only a second before it was gone like sunlight on a winter’s day.

”You caused a lot of trouble, Cara. I don’t know how long before they notice something off, but we definitely have to leave Dublin.”

”Y-you shot me,” she struggled out, her muscles weren’t being cooperative.

”Right, yes, in yer shoulder, wolfsbane, gives a nasty shock to the system. I wasn’t actually goin’ t’ kill ya, just wanted to scare you to your senses, didn’t account on It having a will aside yer own”

She looked at him but try as she might she couldn’t tell how he was feeling, she never could.

“Get some rest,” he said as he turned to leave the room, “We’ll have to leave in the morning.”

He closed the door behind him and Cara was alone again. She was so tired, every nerve in her body thrummed with fatigue, ”shifting” was a very physically tiring process she had noticed. Before long sleep overtook her, she dreamed of a moonless night being chased by a figure with a deep foreign voice that encircled her as she ran.

#creative writing #short story #storytelling #writers of tumblr #original character #christmas treat #i promise i’ll have a dope surprise for new years #like seriously it’s gonna be whack #but hopefully fun #spoiler alert: it’s gonna be a romeo and juliette style forbidden romance #but with a twist owo

[xenoredux]

The Legend of Silver Fang - Episode 2: The Invasion

If you haven’t read episode 1 yet, you can do so here.

As mentioned before, the major story beats and overarching plot are the same. This is written under the supposition that, in fantasy land, this is a mini series with episodes that run about 2 hours in length each.

Some things to be aware of going in:

This story is violent as shit!!! CONTENT WARNING FOR: Animal and human injuries, firearms, other weapons, animal death, and just a whole lotta spilled blood. Basically if any form of violence upsets you, it’d be a good idea not to read ahead

I was trying to achieve a decent adaptation that combines the strongest elements of the anime and manga. It will not be precisely like either and will occasionally totally deviate from both

This isn’t meant to be “better” then the canon. It’s just the way I’d go about rewriting the Akakabuto arc if I had that level of ungodly power lol

Character designs made to represent several mentioned characters can be found here and here. Others will be left up to the reader’s interpretation. A link to the next episode will also be provided at the end. If a link isn’t available, the next episode just hasn’t been posted yet!

HAVE FUN READING OR ELSE!!!

Everyone has just recovered from Daisuke's nasty fall when Gohei has a fall of his own. The old man's antics (and his drinking too lbr) have finally caught up to him, and he collapses in the snow. Before he slips away, Gohei's mind is filled not with the hurried voices of those around him but with images of Gin.

He imagines Gin fully grown, a silver clone of his father. Imaginary Gin is leaping across a gorge like he did while bird hunting, and once again he falls. Except this time as he falls he morphs into Riki, and a trail of blood follows him during his descent into the void below.

Gohei's eyes snap open, and he's greeted with the electric hum of hospital overhead lights. He's greeted by not just the harsh white walls and flurescent lighting, but by Daisuke and Gin, who Gohei realizes has grown substantially. Daisuke explains that the old timer bit shit and has been in a short coma, but he's under the care of Dr. Hidetoshi now. As if summoned, Hidetoshi enters the room, reassured Gohei that he'll be overseeing his care for the next few months, and allows the three the privacy he'd initially interrupted.

Gohei pouts in the way only elderly men can at the knowledge that he won't be able to haul ass outta here while flipping off the doctors again. He's too weak to get out of bed now. Daisuke promises him that he'll be taking Gin's training into his own hands.

Oldie McGee appreciatively places his hand on Daisuke's shoulder, then on Gin's head. He looks down at the dog, relieved to see he's still got silver brindle fur instead of the red from his dream. Gin licks his hand affectionately.

Daisuke is just about to leave and take Gin home when he notices something out of the corner of his eye. He turns a corner to find Hidetoshi's indoor archery range, cementing just how much disposable income the good doctor has. Hidetoshi fires an arrow right in the middle of the target across the room. The customized red, purple, and blue tail of the arrow bobs rapidly as it strikes the back wall.

Daisuke gapes in amazement. Hidetoshi laughs and tells the kid not to underestimate how powerful a bow can be. Daisuke enthusiastically grabs for the bow, and Hidetoshi allows him to, but soon the child finds he doesn't have enough arm strength to so much as pull the arrow back.

Daisuke is disheartened, but to make up for his abysmal performance, Hidetoshi says he'd like to show him something. He allows Daisuke and Gin into his office, which contains a multitude of taxidermied animals, photos of the man's hunting trips across the Western world, and a couple of dog beds. One of those beds contains John, and he smugly rises to meet everyone. John smirks as Gin stares at the photos of John adorning the walls, all of which showcase the dog sitting or lying beside a dead animal twice his size.

Hidetoshi elaborates on the adventures he's had with John, many of which he used a bow during. His face then falls as he explains something a lot less riveting: Gohei's meatsuit is too fucked for him to return to his old life. He'll never hunt again. He wouldn't be able to handle the physical strain. He will never get to kill Akakabuto.

Daisuke and Gin leave the hospital. Daisuke is struck with an existential crisis about what meaning Gohei's life will have now and how he'll never get to avenge Riki's death. Gin whines supportively, watching as Hidetoshi and John enter their car and leave. As soon as they're out of sight, Gin runs back into the archery range and snags up Hidetoshi's bow. His intention may have been to play fetch, or it may have been to stop the kid from crying, but Daisuke takes this as a sign that Gin and he will simply have to kill Akakabastard themselves.

For the next few months, Daisuke and Gin both work hella hard to improve their physical prowess. Daisuke jumps rope, goes for runs, lifts weights, and probably punches rocks or whatever it is body builders do. Meanwhile, Gin joins him on runs and, in his own time, makes an honest effort to leap across the rooftops of houses as if they were his mortal enemy: cliffs. The two boys do everything to get ripped shy of frequenting body builder forums and subreddits, and that's just because the internet isn't a thing yet.

The two have made amazing strides since they began their regimens. Daisuke has arms freaky large for a kid his age, and Gin, now just over a year old, has the most profound dog pecs anyone who hasn't experienced Ginga has ever seen. It's a good thing, too, because they'll need the strength. Though Akakabuto never truly rests, he's not the only thing frequenting the forests now. Winter will soon be over, which means that hibernation for the other bears will be over too.

One day Diasuke comes to Hidetoshi requesting to use his bow. Amused, Hidetoshi allows it. Daisuke finally manages to pull the arrow back and let 'er rip, hitting the target dead on. Hidetoshi is stunned. He knew Daisuke was tryna get beefed up, but he didn't expect the boy's self discipline to get him this far. He praises the boy for his achievement, and so does Gin. Gin and Daisuke have become inseparable outside of their individual training regimines, cementing their brohood more then ever before.

As Daisuke and Gin are walking home, they're met with a surprise. It's Gohei! The stubborn cuss has once again decided he's tired of waiting around inactive, and he commands Gin to come with him and hunt bears. But the ancient dude can barely chuff out the last few words before he collapses to his knees both real and artificial. He topples over, out cold.

Daisuke rushes to his side and tells Gin to retrieve Hidetoshi. Gin  understands because frankly he was gonna do that anyway, and he takes off like a rocket (or should I say a shooting star?) to find Doc. As Gin books it, Daisuke does the weirdest flex of all by lifting the old man unassisted.

Daisuke manages to carry Gohei halfway to the hospital when Gin arrives back with Hidetoshi. After some running around in a fuss, Doctor x Hunter has Gohei settled back into his own bed. The old man is murmuring something to himself about Akakabuto, but nobody pays it much mind. Hidetoshi thanks Daisuke for his help and allows him to go home - he'll stay beside the wacky ole spitfire tonight to make sure he doesn't get up to his old tricks again.

As Daisuke and Gin leave, Daisuke decides he's had enough. Tomorrow he and Gin are going into the forest and they're not coming back out until Akakabuto is Akakadead, Bro. Gin appreciates the conviction in the young man's voice, but shit dude, you sure?

Tomorrow arrives, as it usually does. Gin and Daisuke depart super early in the morning so the parentals don't notice. They only stop to borrow Hidetoshi's bow, taking care not to attract any attention. They've just entered the woods when their first roadblock presents itself.

The bridge across the river has been busted up. The heavy snow has begun melting into the now overflowing river beneath it, and the raging current finally did the shitty wooden walkway in. Now the two will have to go upstream to cross. Before they do, Gin pauses and snarls at something across the way. Daisuke notices several dark masses moving through the underbrush.

It's a mother bear and her two cubs, and it's instantly clear who their father is. Each twin bearbabe has a streak of dark, shiny red fur running from the top of its head to the tip of its tail. Daisuke is certain the family is taking a field trip to Daddy Bear's territory, so he and Gin follow the bears alongside the stream as they make their way to the pass.

Having risen only a little later then Daisuke, Hidetoshi is having a lark of his own. He, John, and a few of his friends are all packed into his Jeep and heading into the forest. This trip isn't for pleasure, though. It seems as if some of Hidetoshi's friends' livestock has been mauled to death and stolen, and nobody wants to stand by and let that happen.

The men come across the same thing the two kiddos did, the busted up bridge, and groan in frustration. However, just before they can start heading to the other pass, Hidetoshi pulls out a rope and passes it to John.

He begins giving John commands in English, commands which I wish I could understand, and John jumps over the stream and secures the rope around a tree. Hidetoshi also uses this show-offy moment to teach us all a valuable lesson in being overprepared by producing a pulley from out his Jeep. The other men are having a hard time knowing what to do with this information, but at least they don't have to hike up a different trail.

A ways away, Daisuke and Gin have finally located Akakabuto's territory. They know this to be true because they've found a freshly plopped pile of bear poop. Daisuke has never been more afraid of a pile of shit before, his knees quaking and his breath quickening at the sight.

He decides now is the time to take a breather, so he and Gin settle beside a tree to have breakfast. But Daisuke's anxiety has given him a gut ache, so he just passes the dog his food. Gin tries to enjoy the rice when a torrent of noisy crows descends upon the trees. The birds caw incessently, their calls blaring in Daisuke's overwhelmed noggin. Some of them even begin to land and try to steal from a snarling Gin.

Daisuke's overstimulation has reached its peak, and in an effort to get the flying vagrants to fuck off, he takes out the bow and fires a warning shot at one of the birds. Only it's less a warning shot and more a bullseye.

The arrow plows right through the bird's greedy guts, and though it does scatter the other bothersome thieves, it wasn't what Daisuke had in mind. He's never killed before, and he gets a hard hitting rush of guilt, shame, and astonishment in the pit of his gut. He comes to realize he'll have to make peace with this feeling if he's to slay Akakabuto, so he swallows his emotions and tells Gin to hurry up. They've got a bear to kill.

The two trod through the forest before a drop of moisture hits Gin's nose. Then one hits Daisuke right in the eye (he totally wasn't crying you guys). Daisuke looks up. Just their luck - it's started to rain. Perturbed, Daisuke says he and Gin should find some shelter. Gin begins looking for a cave to hide in, and he has the good fortune of finding one. Psych, did I say good fortune? I meant THERE IS A BEAR IN THE CAVE.

Daisuke almost pees his pants at the sight of the thing. It's not nearly as big as Akakabuto, but it IS massive, and it looks pretty peeved. Gin's prey drive kicks into high gear and he starts wailing on the bear, snapping at its face and leaping around its body to land a few good bites. He's actually managing very well for himself despite his lack of hands-on experience.

Daisuke, on the other hand, ain't doing so hot, having collapsed into a hyperventilating mess beside a fallen tree. Who knew life and death situations would be so scary?!

Elsewhere, Hidetoshi's squad have found one of the missing horses. They're surprised to find it alive... kinda, sorta, for a moment. When they get a better peek at it through the foliage, they see it's barely breathing, mostly because its neck is being chomped on by a bear.

This bear is not Akakabuto, but unlike Daisuke's find, it's almost his size. It takes one look at the men before turning tail and galloping away, leaving the corpse of the horse behind. The men ready their guns while Hidetoshi commands John to tail behind the animal, which the dog does without a moment's hesitation.

The battle between Gin and the bear rages on. In between his blows, Gin repeatedly looks over his shoulder at Daisuke, urging him to join the fray. Daisuke is too busy going into panic induced shock to help, so Gin is forced to keep up the brawl alone. He throws himself into the bear repeatedly, snapping and snarling and trying to draw blood, but the animal is too much for him to handle alone.

With a well placed swipe of a gargantuan paw, Gin is sent whimpering to the forest floor. A rivulet of blood follows him in his descent, the sight of which finally snaps Daisuke out of his stupor. Lightening strikes somewhere nearby. The bear's roars are indistinguishable from the thunder above. Gin stumbles weakly to his feet, blood dribbling down his face as it mixes with the falling rain. Four deep, long gashes span the length of Gin's forehead.

Daisuke stops wallowing in his own fear long enough to begin thinking of how to save the dog from the fiend that just performed minor surgery on his scalp. Through tears and sobs, Daisuke tries to remember what Gohei once told him about bear hunting. The center line. He needs to hit the center line.

While Daisuke is having a callback/bruh moment, Gin is still getting his ass handed to him. The bear sweeps all four of his legs and sends him flying once more, the poor poochie yelping miserably. Gin crumples to the ground, the blood from his mauled forehead running into his eyes. The landscape goes red as Gin sees Daisuke finally take some goddamn initiative and aim the bow at the bear's face. Daisuke doesn't manage to hit the illusive center line, but he does take out the animal's right eye.

The bear reels back in pain, even more furious then its default state of being. It swipes at Daisuke instead of Gin for a change, but Gin recovers from his bloody stupor and drags Daisuke out of harm's way. When the two are a safe distance from the bear, Daisuke realizes that he'd dropped the bow, and now it's too close to the pissed off wildlife to retrieve.

Gin doesn't take notice to this because all his brainpower is focused on getting back to ass kicking. The dog returns to baiting the bear just long enough for Daisuke to snatch up the bow and let loose one, then another, then another arrow into the animal's face.

One arrow pierces a nearby tree. Another enters the bear's left nostril, drawing more blood. The last lodges itself dead center in the animal's throat. The bear topples backwards, scratching wildly at the projectiles stuck in its skin, which causes the arrow in its throat to shoot sideward and pierce its jugular vein. As the two youngsters watch, the bear collapses to the ground and bleeds to death.

Daisuke practically passes out beside the fallen tree, and Gin howls victoriously into the rainy night sky. At that moment, the clouds depart and the rain ceases.

Gin licks Daisuke's face to rouse him. Daisuke hugs Gin, crying out happily at their amazing victory. An unfamiliar sound joins in with Daisuke's whoops of jubilation, and the two lads turn to the forgotten cave. Within it they see two sets of shining eyes gazing back at them. Two small shadows rush from the cave's entrance and half run, half waddle to the fallen bear's side. It's the two red-backed cubs they'd seen earlier. Daisuke and Gin have just killed their mother.

Elsewhere in the forest, Hidetoshi and Company have just managed to down the bear that was chomping on the horse. Hidetoshi praises John for his involvement in the hunt before going to reload his rifle. John seems almost dismissive of the compliment. Of course he did a good job, has he ever failed before?

Despite it's magnificent size, the dog's ego isn't large enough to blot out the smell of something else in the area. Something that smells awfully familiar. While the men are distracted, John heads deeper into the woods.

Back at the new monument to matricide, the bear cubs are trying to awaken their mother and scare off Daisuke and Gin with pitifully small snarls. Gin stands and stares slack jawed at the orphaned twins while Daisuke sobs an apology to them. He can't help but connect what he's done to the cubs to what Akakabuto did first to Riki, then to Gin. Maybe this hunting thing isn't all it's cracked up to be.

The sound of a dog barking fills the air, and the two turn to see who's making all the racket. It's John, snarling and running towards them. It takes them a moment to realize that John isn't actually running at them, but at the cubs huddled by the dead bear.

As Daisuke tries fruitlessly to scare the cubs away, Gin yells demands at John to stop in the name of all that is good and wholesome. John doesn't know the meaning of the words, but he is familiar with snapping animals' necks, which he now does to one of the cubs.

John then flings himself headlong at the remaining little bear only to be intercepted by a flash of silver. Gin knocks John on his ass and away from the fleeing cub. He scolds John for the cruelly and proudly killing infants, but John doesn't seem to care. All he does is snort, gaze silently at the new scars on Gin's head, and then lunge at the Akita. He introduces Gin's cheek to his hind foot and sends him flying. Gin almost swears he hears John utter "Ha, gottem" before he tears the throat out of the remaining cub. The baby had been too slow to outrun him.

This starts a scuffle between the two dogs with, to John's amazement, Gin gaining the upper hand. He flings John ass-side up, asserting his dominance via animu protag posturing, and the two have a staredown. While they toss schoolyard insults at each other in their hackles-raising contest, Daisuke has other things on his mind.

If John is here, Hidetoshi is sure to be nearby. Daisuke begins yanking arrows out of the dead bear, then calls for Gin to join him in escaping the scene of the crime. The two pound pavement (or the forest equivilent of) as John barks for his master's attention.

Hidetoshi's crew come to find John and are taken aback by the sight of a dead bear and its two cubs. At first they believe that John somehow managed to slay them all, but Hidetoshi notices something that changes their minds. He draws attention to the arrow sticking out of the tree trunk nearby. It's impossible to miss the arrow among the desaturated greens and browns of the forest because of its red, purple, and blue tail.

Hidetoshi and friends begin their own trek home. Both the men and the boys share a similar experience while leaving the woods. While leaving, both Gin and John notice a peculiar smell coming from the surrounding mountains. Both are too distracted to pay the faint whiffs much mind, but without their knowing, they are being watched by at least 100 sets of eyes, all gazing down at them from the mountain cliffs. Tens of four-legged shadows disappear from the clifftops just as swiftly and soundlessly as they'd appeared.

Daisuke and Gin make it back to civilization first. Daisuke tells Gin to make believe they've been here in Hidetoshi's shooting range the whole time. Gin doesn't understand how he's supposed to aid the illusion, so he just sits and chews on himself. Shortly after, Hidetoshi and John pull up in their Jeep. John leaves the car and settles down beside it to rest. Hidetoshi enters the hospital to inform Gohei of what has just transpired in the woods.

Daisuke is pretending to practice when Hidetoshi enters the room. Daisuke greets him nonchalantly without meeting his eyes. Hidetoshi greets Daisuke by telling him he forgot something as he produces the abandoned arrow. Daisuke just about shits.

Hidetoshi scolds Daisuke for his recklessness, tells him he's too irresponsible to use weapons, and bans him from using his bow and arrows ever again. Daisuke responds like any mature young man would by throwing a temper tantrum and storming off with his dog to run through the streets and holler about how nobody understands them. We've all been there, kid.

Later that night, Gin stands atop Daisuke's house, gazing off into the abyss of space. His head is throbbing from where the bear got him, and Daisuke's parents had angrily let their son know that each mark would forever be a scar carved into his loyal friend's head.

Gin wasn't afraid of having scars. At anything, he decided that from now on he'd consider them a trophy from his first real victory over The Enemy. Before he climbs down for the night, he watches as a shooting star crosses the speckled black sky.

The next day, spring really starts gettin' sprung. While this would normally be a relief to the village people (not the band, the phenomenon) no snowfall means no more hibernation for the wildlife, which means all of Akakabuto's allies are sure to be around. Daisuke and Gin are especially aware of this, and Daisuke's feeling the pressure to do something about it.

That said, Gin's mind has been wandering elsewhere. A strange smell from the mountains has been wafting through the village. Gin can't quite put his finger on what it is, but it's neither bears nor God lettin' one rip. Something strange is occupying the woods.

Daisuke and Gin go to visit Hidetoshi. Daisuke plans on begging Doc to let him borrow his bow so he can help stop the ever growing Winnie The Pooh Lookalike Competition sweeping the forest. When the two arrive, they find Hidetoshi and his friends loading back up into the Jeep. They plan on going back to the forest and bringing back both the bear they killed and the one Daisuke killed. Hidetoshi greets Daisuke with a disapproving glare, and John matches Gin's annoyed expression.

Before Daisuke has a chance to ask, Hidetoshi reads his mind and tells him no, he can't have the bow, but yes, he can instead fuck off. Daisuke has proven he shouldn't be allowed to have it, and Hidetoshi, being a doctor, doesn't feel comfortable purposefully setting someone up to get hurt.

As the men depart, Daisuke regresses to 5 years old again. He stomps his feet and screams every obscenity he's ever learned. From his hospital room window, Gohei is looking down at the kinder, his face unreadable. All he thinks is that the little shit sure is serious about this bear killing thing.

Meanwhile, The Master Blaster Squad has reentered the forest. John leads the men back to the bear he helped slaughter, but his reaction is unexpected. His hackles raise and he utters vaguelly panicked sounding barks, two things he's usually too full of himself to do.

The men instantly see why - the bear's carcass has been stripped clean of fur and flesh! All that's left of the animal is a few scraps of muscle on its skull and a slimy pile of white bones. John continues snarling and barking as he gazes at something on the nearby cliff's edge. The men look up.

It's dogs. Dogs of all different breeds are lining the cliff as if in military formation. Everyone becomes more then a little anxious, concerned about being surrounded on all sides by feral animals. The dogs gaze down at the men for a moment (one of them totally does that "I'll be watching you" gesture with a forepaw) before departing, swiftly disappearing from sight. A strong feeling of What The Fuck lingers in the air.

Back in town, Daisuke has stopped screeching long enough to come to an obvious conclusion: couldn't he just, like, ask his dad to buy him a bow? He and Gin head home to ask pops if he's willing to drop a few yen on a deadly weapon for his 12 year old when Momma Daisuke makes them aware of the fact that Dad is outski. He's at a town meeting that's been organized to sort out the whole Man-Eating Bear business. Daisuke, overcome with a need to be involved again, invites himself and his dog to participate.

The meeting is more enlightening then most town meetings are. Akakabuto is obviously mentioned, as are the sightings regarding his children, but so are two newer threats.

Another bear named Madara ("mottled" or "spotted", guess what she looks like) who was originally being hunted in neighboring Miyagi has made her way to Akakabuto's territory. She's not known for picnicking on people, but she is aggressive and willing to attack anything in her way. She's powerful, too, refusing to die even after getting several bullets stuck in her gut.

The other bear is named Mosa. He's traveled here from Iwata, and the easiest way to recognize him is by his missing right foreleg. He's infamous for having killed several lumberjacks and woodsmen on his trek over. It's believed that both bears are making the effort to move into Futago Pass, aka Redhead Central, for good.

Daisuke and Gin have been watching the meeting from a window. Daisuke is seething with hatred at all the beary big invaders while Gin is trying to image the heinous power of three giant killing machines tearing through the mountains. All the men in the meeting are too chickenshit to wanna confront the bears, so they just sorta shrug and say "What can ya do?" This pisses Daisuke off enough to get him to yell at the men from outside, calling them out for not wanting to die in bear maulings.

The dude leading the meeting opens the window and begins scolding Daisuke for rudely interrupting when another rude interruption barges in and tells everyone to shut the fuck up. A rude interruption by any other name is Gohei Takeda, and he's hobbled here from the hospital, getting up the moment the words "bear" and "meeting" were used in the same sentence.

Exhausted from the walk there, Gohei pants to everyone in the room that Akakabuto and his ilk will not stop until they ruin everyone's lives forever. Then he tumbles into the meeting room table, swearing. Several men get up to help him as he tells them, and especially Diasuke, that no matter what, Akakabuto MUST die.

Unbeknownst to the human populace, Futago Pass's Fight Club has just opened, and it's first participants are Akakabuto and Madara. The bears have the arm wrestling match of the century to prove if Madara's allowed to walk around wherever she wants.

Akakabuto defeats her, but he allows her to hang around under one condition: she and any bear she either recruits or births must fall in line as Akakabuto's body guards. She figures that's not a bad deal for free room and board, so she agrees to be his right hand bear. With any luck, they'll all be enjoying human hamburger very soon.

Gohei has been taken back to the hospital, much to his dismay. Hidetoshi is trying to comfort him, saying that he'll get revenge enough for both of them. Gohei doesn't seem pleased at the idea of being left out, but he's actually less concerned about the ego bruising and more worried about Daisuke.

That damn kid has got it in his head that he can kill a 10 foot tall bear with a bow he barely knows how to use and a dog who's not fully grown yet. Hidetoshi says that Daisuke's lost his bow privileges, but Gohei doesn't care. He doesn't believe being disallowed the doc's toys will stop the stubborn child.

He's right to think so, because Diasuke and Gin are hauling ass AND their snowmobile into town. Diasuke barges into the weapons shop and strikes up a trade with the man behind the counter: the snowmobile in exchange for the most bitchin' bow and arrow set he's got.

The man can barely stop himself from laughing, taking Daisuke for an overzealous kid who can't tell the difference between a toy and a deadly weapon. Daisuke strikes up another deal almost instantly: for the bitchin' bow, he'll give the dude the snowmobile AND prove he can fire an arrow himself.

The Weapons Seller is about to protest that the traveler cannot handle his strongest weapons when he schanges his mind and takes Daisuke up on the offer. If Daisuke can hit the tree out back from the other side of the yard, he can have the bow. As expected by everyone who's reading this, Daisuke strikes the tree without breaking a sweat, and so he and Gin hop, skip, and jump home with a new, genuine bow and arrow set of their own. It's time to prepare.

Daisuke and Gin head into the forest in the same fashion they log into Disney.com - without their parents' permission. Daisuke is so overjoyed at having his own flying spears that he's firing off into tree trunks like it's no one's business, making believe each one is a monster bear.

Gin's not paying any mind, though. Not because he's seen Daisuke do this before, but because that strong, unfamiliar scent is even stronger here. His hackles raise and he begins growling involuntarily. There's a power to the strength of the scent that he can't ignore.

In an instant, Gin takes off after the weird smell. Daisuke is confused before scrambling to his feet and following. The sound of snarling and... is that barking? fills their ears as Gin follows the scent. Along the way, they find the battered body of a dog who's clearly picked a fight with a bear.

The dog is white with brown spots, and its head has been crushed as if stomped on. Gin gazes sadly at the corpse for a moment before continuing after the smell. The dead dog isn't the only unusual thing out here.

At the end of the scent trail, the two come to a small hollow in the woods. In a little sand embankment is a young Japanese black bear snarling at a large pack of domestic dogs. The dogs are standing over the body of a freshly killed deer, no doubt telling Tubby Teddy to back off 'cause they ain't sharing. The bear doesn't take the hint, so the dogs begin their attack.

A particular dog, a dark fawn great dane with a collar of red beads around his neck, barks commands at the others. Team 1, attack the legs! Team 2, go for the arms! Team 3, see if you can reach the eyes!

Gin and Daisuke watch spellbound as the dogs organize into units to slay the bear, downing it in mere minutes. Daisuke can't understand what the Great Dane is saying, but he gets the idea of how clever the dogs are. Gin watches spellbound, amazed at the pack's organization and power.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Gin slides down into the hollow to meet the canine coterie. The Dane's gaze meets his first, and every other dog turns and snarls at the Akita. Gin utters a weak "Hi" before the entire pack starts growling at him in warning.

Daisuke's understandably scared, but he knows there's not much he can do against a pack of this many animals. Luckily, the dogs' attention is torn away from Gin by a howl in the distance. Everyone turns to look.

Standing atop a nearby hill is the silhouette of another dog, a dark splotch against the setting sun. His howl is powerful and visceral, and it instantly draws the attention and command of the pack.

Gin is especially taken with the sound. He can't pinpoint why, but the voice stirs up something primal and powerful inside him. He wants to follow it. He wants to follow the pack.

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End of episode 2, wherein we finally see where this story is going. More mysterious dog antics are yet to come, which is what I know all you dog weebs are actually here for.

Episode 3: The Soldiers

#ginga #ginga nagareboshi gin #silver fang #hopeanuoli #yoshihiro takahashi #ginga words #rewrite #fanfic