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moodymisty · 1 year

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heyyooo! love your work! big fan! wondering if i might be able to request Crosshair with a breeding kink pretty please? this man lives in my head rent free and the brain rot is fkn real

< You are here | Part 2 >

Author's note: Ohhh, a challenge. I like. >:3 I will admit I didn't like Crosshair much at first, but he's been chipping away at me for ages and now I have the brain rot too so sameeeeeee

Relationships: Crosshair/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, What I would consider subtle breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy but not actual pregnancy, Unprotected sex, Creampies, Crosshair being a pouty little shit, Pre-Echo(sry bby), one mention of smoking though it can be taken as a metaphor not literally, Little bit of angst,

Hunter balls his hands into fists so tight his fingers shake, before threading them through his hand and pulling at the root. Boots clanging against the metal floor of the ship he walks into the cockpit, seeing Tech and Wrecker both already looking up at him.

"He is being impossible." Hunter flops in the co-pilot seat, groaning almost harsh enough to sound like a growl. Wrecker throws out a nonchalant hand, shrugging and shaking his head.

"He's been all grumpy for weeks now, not like we did anything to him..." Wrecker crosses his arms and glances in the direction of the back of the Marauder, where Crosshair is currently hidden.

Swiveling his pilot's seat so he faces Hunter, Tech continues threading a screw into his currently ongoing repair job while he talks.

"I can think of perhaps one or two theories that have the most merit as to why Crosshair is behaving this way." While normally Hunter is used to Crosshair's attitude largely defying any sort of figuring out, he still cracks an eye open to watch Tech explain himself.

"Either he's become irritated at the extended length of all of our current missions," That's a no-brainer, and the reason why all of them are on edge. Tech glances in the same place Wrecker had looked, before continuing.

"Or, he is upset because he's been away from her for such a significant amount of time."

That catches Hunter's attention, leaning up away from the back of the seat.

They've all known for a while that Crosshair had met someone, and had simply been playing it off so he could say so himself. He leaves for hours at a time and refuses to say where, along with Hunter being able to smell the irrefutable scent of a woman on him. But as expected he's kept it all a secret, acting as if him disappearing isn't unusual.

Part of Hunter was maybe a little bit insulted that he's not divulging something that significant, especially given that it doesn't seem to be just a one night stand.

But since his attitude and patience had marginally improved the Batch had elected to just take the win; Though it seems the inevitable downside was now this. They hadn't expected to get rerouted three different times so far, extending their current deployment by double what had been estimated.

He gets missing someone, but he just wishes Crosshair wouldn't be such an ass about it. He keeps biting at anyone who so much as glances at him, entire body tight and angry.

Hunter can’t help but sigh in relief knowing that they’re on track back to Coruscant, and they can get off the Marauder and stretch out away from each other for a bit. Even on the best of days, it’s not a good mix to be in such close quarters for so long.

"Lets just get to Coruscant ASAP; I'm going to go insane being stuck up in here with him for much longer."

The storage crate Crosshair is sitting on wiggles slightly, but held mostly in place by it's straps to the ground. Tech had secured this load this time after they routed to a republic base for resupplying, since they'd run out of their original stock of necessities.

But even as far back as he can possibly get it's not far enough away from his brothers, as he can still hearing them talking from all the way in the cockpit. His knuckles crack as he uses one hand to grip the fingers on his opposite, hunched over as his elbows dig into his thighs.

"Or he is upset because he's been away from her for such a significant amount of time."

Damn right he's fucking upset.

He finally finds himself someone that he likes, that he wants to be around, and he has to be stuck up in the Marauder for literal months. The last time they'd gotten rerouted he'd swore up a storm, knowing it would be at least another few standard weeks till they were back on Coruscant. Wrecker had gotten the brunt of it, and he feels a little sour stomached knowing that he shouldn’t have thrown that stuff at him. Wrecker didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just his desire to have some semblance of a life biting him in the ass. Clones don’t get to enjoy things, they get to shoot or get shot.

But he’s so fucking desperate that he swears he can see you right in front of him, with that stupid smile and wearing the used bodyglove he'd given you and let you cut up into something pretty. You’d put thumb holes in the sleeves and cut the bottom off, turning into a cute little shirt you could wear whenever. You’d even left the republic symbol on the arm alone, so it’s still obvious that it’s military.

‘It reminds me of you,’ He remembers you saying, and it felt like you’d shot him in the gut.

But instead of being with you he’s here; Stuck in a stuffy ship the same air recirculating over and over.

He wants to fuck you. Bad.

So damn bad that even you right now, the mere thought of you leaning forward to grab something off a table enough so that your shirt raises just a tiny bit up your back, has him biting his cheek almost enough to bleed.

No matter how many times he beats his head in trying to forget you exist for even just a moment, or waits until he’s alone enough to lock the refresher door and try and yank himself until he feels the need die down just enough that he can think about anything else, it doesn't work.

None of it does; His mind just keeps circling back to you. The way you smile at him, the way you talk to him, the way his hands look against your skin.

He should hate you for doing this to him. He should hate himself for letting this be done to him.

You're a good girl experimenting with a bit of the bad; To feel someone who isn't afraid to get rough. To taste the smoke on his lips and reach for him the moment he tries to pull away. He’s supposed to make you cry, make you want him.

You should be the one acting sick with love and yearning; Not him.

He's head over heels like someone in love for the first because he is; Other than one or two one night stands you're the first to make him feel this way. He's been having dreams even, mind coming up with scenarios each one more ludicrous than the last. But gods had they made him hard; Enough so that when he jolted up from his bunk he'd almost slammed his head into the ceiling, heart racing in his chest. He had to change the bottom half of his blacks afterward as well, as silently as possible.

Everything about this just makes him furious.

The moment they arrive in Coruscant space he’s standing up and waiting, his foot tapping the ground as he grips the wall for support. He’s not going to bother sitting down, it would be a waste of time. Tech will jostle them around as they land the same amount either way.

Hunter can probably hear him back here, though Crosshair doesn’t care either way. Whatever the rest of them think doesn’t matter to him at the moment, even less so than usual.

With a bunched fist he hits the panel to drop the gangplank the moment the Marauder's engines are off, not even letting them get cold before he disappears.

It's the dead of night when your eyes suddenly crack open, having to adjust to the such low amount of light in the room.

You don't know quite why you're suddenly awake, and after rubbing your eyes you lean up a bit, looking around the room. When there isn't anything out of the ordinary, you almost move to put your head against the pillow again to go back to sleep, until you hear it.

It's the soft sound of metal sliding on metal, and so you wrench your body from bed, grabbing the blaster from your nightstand and racing out into the living room to see if the door is open.

The main one isn't, though the one that leads to your patio is, with a figure standing in it just inside on your floor.

For a moment your heart completely stops, until you recognize the shape of the helmet they're wearing.

"Crosshair!?"

Your hands lower, seeing his familiar lithe silhouette in front of the patio. "Did you, break in?" He pulls the sliding glass door shut as you brush a hand along your hair and set the blaster on your counter.

"Yeah, and?"

He says while pulling off his helmet, before throwing it in the direction of your couch. It bounces twice before rolling to a stop. "It's the fifth story!" He seems to completely ignore your comment, and instead walks closer to you, an unreadable expression on his face. It’s so dark in here, the only like is from the patio windows and the one little light you leave on in the kitchen.

You're in your nightclothes of course, bare feet against the floor as you'd raced right from your bedroom after hearing him pick the lock. You hope no one saw him on the way up, but it’s unlikely Crosshair would’ve allowed that to happen.

Walking closer you can hear his boots hit your floor, and he comes into your personal space you let him; His hands laying on the tops of your hips and pulling you close. The edge of the countertop hits the small of your back as he traps you against it, seeing his eyes brush over your face.

He’s not saying anything, so you fill the silence yourself.

"I missed you." He makes a soft noise.

"Really?" His tone of voice is amused, and skeptical. The plates of his armor are rough against your palms, as they brush over his chestplate. You can feel each little scrape and dent, every moment where he might’ve gotten hurt had it not been there to protect him.

"Am I not allowed to miss you?" He removes one hand from your hip to take the toothpick from his mouth and flicks it in the direction of your trash, it bonking off the wall and falling in.

After he does so, he leans down enough that his lips are just barely hovering over your own, and you can just barely see the outline of his features in the dark. They feel so soft, brushing against you as he speaks.

"You're too sweet on me, sugar."

Maybe so, but you can't help it.

"But I don't think you missed just me, right?" One of his hands leaves your hips to cradle the back of your neck, tilting your head upwards. He's not wrong, you know you’ve missed the things he does to you just as much as himself. They keep you awake at night, more often than not. You don’t answer him, but your lips gently part as you look at him. His eyes are hooded, looking at you and only you.

"So what; You want me to love on you, or fuck you."

Crosshair knows what he wants, and he knows by the way you've grown pliant under his grasp that you want it too.

He moves closer to you until you have no option to sit up on the table you'd had your back to, him stepping in the space between your legs. His lips are rough against yours as he tugs up the fabric of your nightdress, so much so that one might wonder if he'd ripped it. It doesn't matter.

His gloved hand is slipping down the front of your underwear so fast that you don't even have time to question it, instantly pressing against your clit. He chuckles at the way your hips press towards him, already pleading for more. Always greedy. You’re so senstive and begging and he’s barely even touched you. It’s been too long.

"Nothing else worked, hmm?"

His fingers slide along your cunt, them just barely shining from the light pouring through your windows. He only pulls his hand away to bite the tip of his glove and pull it off, so you he can fuck you with his bare fingers. While he does, he's one handedly undoing his armor, letting it fall and kicking it away.

It feels good to take it off, and it feels even better for you to feel the softer slopes of his body, instead of the harsh edges of his armor. You slide off your underwear and throw them away, just in time for him to press his hand against you again.

His fingers curl inside of your cunt, making noises that almost embarrass you as his jaw presses against your cheek.

"Don't tell me you've been this wet the whole time i've been gone?"

He keeps trying his usual 'nonchalant and disconnected' schtick, with the snarky quips and knowing looks.

But each time his lips press against yours it's with so much desperation, feeling the way he grinds against you through his bodyglove as your legs wrap around his hips. He leans back to pull off his chestplate, and before it stops rocking on the floor he’s already back against your body.

He knows exactly how to touch you, fingers curling inside of you perfect while his thumb presses against your clit. You're writhing under his touch, desperately close after so long being unable to feel fully satisfied. The memory of his touch stopped being enough after awhile, and you’d suffered without it.

“Sometimes,” You sigh, feeling how tight your gut is. “I missed you.” You did, in multiple ways.

"I wanted you here; Especially w-" You suddenly stop speaking, too nervous to say it out loud to him. Maybe this isn’t the time to say what was on the tip of your tongue.

But Crosshair is too keen, and slows before looking down at you.

"Hmm?" He notices the way you suddenly look away from him, and only when he almost completely stops touching you do you barely mutter the words.

"I, thought I was pregnant. Right after you left."

You can still feel his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you. It hadn’t made him run, like you’d thought it might.

Crosshair doesn't know how to feel over the fact that those words fail to startle him, or that they send a jolt right down to his groin.

"It was just me imagining things in the end but," His hand moves and the way his thumb brushes over your clit makes you stop talking, gasping as your thighs tense.

"The good girl wanted a clone to knock her up?" Your face squishes. You hate when he calls you that. It sounds demeaning; Both to you and himself.

"Just- Dammit Cross,"

You say, cutting off anything else he might say. You hate when he makes you fluster under him like this, instead settling to just kiss him instead. Your hands fumble on his bodyglove before he pulls them away, freeing his cock himself. His hands grab your hips harshly and pulls you to the edge of the countertop, enough so that he can line himself up with your entrance and slowly press inside. He feels your nails through the fabric of his blacks, gasping as he slowly buries himself to the hilt.

You know Cross can be gentle, almost surprisingly so, but clearly what you'd said to him affected him to some degree; So much so that his hands grip your hips and leave dents, teeth catching your bottom lip.

He's rough, fucking you like he has one goal in mind.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck almost like a hug, keeping him close while he drives up into you. His hands and grabbing at your hips, keeping you as close to the edge of the counter as he can, without you falling off.

"C-Cross..." Fuck, he missed this. He missed the feel of you hot and wet and tight around him, and being able to fill you up like this until you're begging for him. More of him. He missed the feeling off your warmth on his skin; He's always ran colder, and secretly enjoys when your arms are around him and he can siphon your warmth.

Your legs tighten around his hips, keeping him as close as possible as his hips thrust up towards you. His cock barely pulls out halfway each time, staying so deep inside of you he keeps grinding against your most senstive spots.

"Let, Kriff- Let me cum in you.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard him ask for something like that before; bordering on the edge of pleading. He says it through gritted teeth, hating that he let something like that slip. You grant him a mercy by whispering to him ‘yes, yes,’ against his shoulder.

The sounds of skin on skin fill the room as he thrusts his cock into you as deep as he can, brushing against every sensitive nerve within reach. You feel so hot and soft around him, your nails digging into him through his blacks as you clasp onto him. You would’ve let him even if he hadn’t have asked, but you can’t help the jolt that goes straight to your pussy at the way he wants to so badly.

He's so close you can feel him, the way he's uneven and swearing, and you grip him so tight he'd have to tear your arms off his body to pull out of you.

You suddenly feel him cum inside of you, as he hisses through his teeth in pleasure. His cock twitches inside of you, hips grinding against you as if trying to get impossibly deeper. He lingers until he’s finished, and when he finally does pull his cock from you, it's almost instantly replaced with his fingers. Pressing against your clit and circling, trying to help you chase the high you're so infuriatingly close to. He’s not just going to leave you hanging.

He can feel his cum against his fingers, mixing with your wetness as he drives his fingers deeper inside of you. Your thighs quake around him and he feels your hands grasping for anything to hold onto to keep you steady, mewling so sweetly for him.

"Come on doll," He mutters softly against your skin, teeth scraping against the soft skin just below your ear.

"Almost, almost- I,"

It's only seconds later than you finally do cum, body straightening up as your arms wrap around him, thighs trying to close tight. But they can't with him in the way, so they only wrap around him as he feels your pussy tense and flutter around nothing. He leaves his fingers against you for a bit, much more slow and gentle as he listens to your panting in his ear.

When he does finally pull away from you he glances at the way his cum slowly leaks from you, before glancing up and seeing your hooded, tired eyes as you lean back on your hands.

He'll never get tired of how this scene looks.

"Admiring your handiwork?" You dare to quip, feeling the way he gently smacks the side of your thigh to show his displeasure about it. It only makes you grin. Even if your heart is racing, you’re not tired quite yet. You can’t afford to be, you don’t know how much his time you’re going to have.

When you move to slide off the counter he lifts a hand a bit just in case, though you get down with no trouble. Your knees might be a little wobbily, but not unusable. The fabric of your nightclothes slides down, covering your messy thighs just enough.

"I wouldn't mind more, if you have any left."

The look Crosshair gives you is absolutely vicious, and just as quickly as the words leave you’re mouth he’s coming towards you. He's following, and quickly gaining, before he claps and arm on your shoulder and pushes you with in that direction with intent.

"Don't make promises that little body of yours can't keep up with."

#Crosshair just fits too well with my goodgirl/badboy cliché obsession i am so sorry #crosshair x reader #tbb x reader #the bad batch crosshair x reader #Crosshair/Reader #mywriting #reader insert #reader

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cienie-isengardu · 8 months

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Jango Fett and Walon Vau: Age Difference and Childhood Trauma

Edit: other part(s): The Laws, Orders, Jaster Mereel and True Mandalorians (pre-Galidraan)

For @delkios

This won’t be a traditional analysis as sadly, there isn’t enough data about the relationship Jango and Walon had, especially since Republic Commando book series and game tie-in material did not provide any scene in which those two characters directly interacted (in contrast to Jango and Kal Skirata, who had a chapter in Triple Zero). Due to these limitations, the following work took the shape of investigation and case building more than anything else as I was forced to rely on information from third parties whose opinion was often subjective and knowledge incomplete, the circumstantial evidence and even the comparisons to present how alike Jango and Walon could be, as similarities often connect people.

The collected data is separated into categories focused on different aspects. Each category has its direct quotes or comic book frames from available source materials while some examples get an additional commentary and/or point of interest if the topic discussed may be expanded upon by secondary sources that do not directly concern the relationship between Fett and Vau, but which provide a broader picture of the issue.

AGE DIFFERENCE

A bit of established chronology based on Jango Fett: Open Seasons, Fact Files and Jedi Master Magazine:

BBY - Battle Before Yavin

22 BBY - Attack of the Clones / Battle of Geonosis - Jango’s death and start of Clone Wars

32 BBY - Dooku interrogate Jango’s former allies, the best known example: Silas (as stated by JF:OS issue#2 “ten years before Geonosis")

44 BBY - Battle of Galidraan[1]

52 BBY - Battle of Korda VI / Jaster Mereel death (as stated by JF:OS issue#2, “twenty years ago” with date of Silas’s torture as starting point)

58 BBY - death of Jango Fett’s parents on Concord Dawn and the orphaned boy joining Jaster Mereel / True Mandalorians (as stated by JF:OS issue#1, “the events takes place 36 years before Attack of the Clones)

The comics and Fact Files did not provide data about year of Jango’s birth however Star Wars Jedi Master Magazine places it in 66 BBY:

[1] the date for Battle of Galidraan is actually not that clear, as comics issue#3 places it “twelve years before Geonosis” which would mean 34BBY and Jango being 32. However Fact Files vol.3 #14 states “Fett led the Mandalorians for eight years, during which the hunt for Vizsla was never far from their minds”. Similarly, the comics too imply that between Korda VI and Galidraan eight years has passed (Silas said “twenty years ago” for events of Korda, Galidraan was supposedly be “twelve years ago” however comics used Geonosis as reference point, instead of 32BBY - the date the “present” story takes place, as Dooku’s memory about Galidraan was told in that year. Otherwise there would be little time for Jango to gain a reputation as Bounty Hunter, as he said in the same comics (issue #4) “I rotted on spice transport for years.” - the plural form means at least two years, so he would be freshly out of slavery. The lore usually places Galidraan in 44BBY so I prioritize the eight years between Korda VI and Galidraan over comics flawed calculation.

The collected data allows us to establish that Jango was:

8 years old during attack on his family on Concord Dawn

14 years old when Jaster died on Korda VI and Fett became leader of True Mandalorians

22 years old when his True Mandaloris were killed by Jedi on Galidraan and he was sold into slavery

34 years old when became DNA donor and father of Boba

44 years old when killed

There is a little well-documented chronology for Walon Vau. From the bits of information, we can established that

Walon run away from his biological family at young age

“That strill had stood by him since boyhood” [Republic Commando: True Colors]

and

“Mird has been with me since I joined the Mandalorians” [Republic Commando: Triple Zero]

"Vau," he said carefully, "is still a fit man. A soldier since childhood, just like you and like Kal'buir. [Republic Commando: Triple Zero]

Of course, Vau joining Mandalorians does not necessarily mean joining right away True Mandalorians.

he was part of Jango’s True Mandalorians at least just before Galidraan

Vau didn’t meet Skirata’s eyes for a moment, but he glanced at Jusik. “I could have been at Galidraan, but I wasn’t, and I never forgot that. Not my fight. Should have been my fight.” [Republic Commando: Order 66]

So Vau knows Jango at least for 22 years (since 44BBY to 22BBY, the start of Clone Wars) however depending on interpretation, True Colors may implies, Walon could recall Jango’s undernourished appearance as a youngster:

Vau looked at Mereel in profile and tried to see Jango in him, but it was surprisingly hard. Odd as that might have sounded to an outsider, it was true: the clones usually didn't remind him of Jango Fett at all. Part of that was living among them for years, and becoming blind to the superficiality of appearance, but there were many ways in which they didn't even look like their progenitor. Jango - born of parents who lived hand-to-mouth, undernourished as a youngster - hadn't been much taller than Skirata, but the Kaminoans had managed the clones' nutrition carefully from the day the egg was fertilized, and they'd turned out tall and muscular. In a hundred and more ways, they weren't exact replicas of Fett.

From vocabulary.com:

Youngster is a good, generic way to talk about a person who's younger than you are, especially a child.

Jango in 44BBY was 22 years old, and Mandalorian for 14 years, so it is possible that due proper training he gained appropriate body weight and was better nourished - if Walon knew Jango only as an adult man, would he had so hard time to see Jango in clones he trained since they were two years old?

For a better picturing this matter, below a reaction of people who knew Jango only as an adult man and already met a clone troopers:

Attack of the Clones by R. A. Salvatore

Jango Fett walked in, dressed in simple shirt and trousers. Obi-Wan recognized him immediately, though he was many years older than the oldest clone, his face scarred and pitted, and unshaven. His body had thickened with age, but he was still physically imposing, much like many of the old gutter dwellers Obi-Wan encountered in far-flung places. A few extra pounds, sure, but those covered muscles hardened by years of tough living. Tattoos crossed both of Jango's muscular forearms, of a strange design that Obi-Wan did not recognize.

The Cestus Deception by Steven Barnes:

If Obi-Wan was entirely honest with himself, he had to admit that large groups of clone troopers made him slightly uncomfortable. Easy to understand and explain away. One factor was the fact that they were the absolute image of the notorious bounty hunter Jango Fett, who had come within a hair of killing him on three separate occasions. More disturbing still was the fact that, although genetically human, they had not led human lives: clone troopers were born and bred purely for war, without the nurturance of a mother's embrace, or the safety of a father's loving discipline.

As he came out of his thoughts, again he had the sense that she was staring at him, and this time he felt uncomfortable. "Why do you look at me that way?" She shook her head. Then, as if she thought herself the biggest fool in the galaxy, she shook with peals of deep, rich laughter. "I suppose I keep expecting you to remember me. That's crazy, of course." She laughed again, and Nate just felt more confused. "You have to pardon me." "I don't understand." "I suppose I should have told you before. I knew Jango Fett." He didn't quite believe what he'd heard. Worse, he wasn't sure how to react. "You did?" She nodded. "Yes, twenty years ago, in quite another life. Seeing you was kind of a shock. When you took those helmets off-wow!" Her laugh was throaty and vibrant. "It's him, all right, and just about the age he was when we first met." Nate's head spun. "I should have expected that, I suppose. Certainly some of my brothers have also encountered people who had known him ... I've just never spoken to one."

As Walon said, living among clones for years made him blind to the superficiality of appearance, but I think it is safe to assume Vau knew Jango for longer than the established minimum of 22 years.

There is no proper date of Walon’s birth, however the books either mentioned he is past his prime

Boss stands his ground. "You can't carry it all on your own." "I can carry enough." I can haul a fifty-kilo pack all right, maybe not as easily as young men like them, but I'm motivated and that shaves years off my age. [Republic Commando: True Colors]

or Walon is outright called an old man, both by himself or other characters:

"You're conspicuous in that black armor, Sarge," Scorch said kindly. "It's worse than having Omega alongside. What say you back out of here and leave me to hold them?" If anyone was going to do any holding, it was Vau. "Humor an old man." He fumbled in his belt for an EMP grenade. "I stop the droids, you pick off the wets." Wets. Organics. He was talking like Omega now. "Then we all run for it. Deal?" [Republic Commando: True Colors]

"Walon, whatever we've said or done to each other before this moment, it doesn't matter. Cm vhetin. A fresh field of snow." Vau looked at him blankly for a moment. Maybe he knew how precariously Skirata balanced on the edge of his resources right then, but that craggy humorless face softened for a few telling seconds. "Cin vhetin." Vau grasped Skirata's arm in a vise-like grip. "Mhi vode an, ner vod." Vau seemed purged. He slapped his thigh plate, and Mird trotted after him into the galley. "Sorry about that, Bard'ika," Skirata said. It couldn't have been easy for the kid to hear all that bad blood about Jedi on this particular night. He might have turned his back on them and put on the beskar'gam, but they'd been his family, and some of those killed must have been his friends. Jedi were living beings, too; some might have got what was coming to them, but others were probably decent like Etain and Jusik. "We're tired old men, with tired old grudges."

Vau did his icy I-know-something-you-don't smile. "Sport-fishing isn't sport unless you run the risk of being caught yourself, is it?" "There's always relaxing on the beach," said the Rek. "Or a pleasant walk around the harbor." She seemed to have classed them as two old guys trying to rediscover their youth through destructive machismo, maybe with Mereel as the fit young minder who could haul them out of trouble. It was perfect: whoever Ko Sai had as a contact here-and she'd need one, if only to get hold of supplies- wouldn't be tipped off to the fact that Mandalorian bounty hunters were in town. [Republic Commando: True Colors]

"Someone has to pilot Aay'han, because those things won't have much range," Vau said. "And I'm volunteering. I had my midlife crisis about ten years ago, so you can go play boy racer this time, Kal..." [Republic Commando: True Colors]

Additionally Commentary:

The definition of a midlife crisis is a period of transition in life where someone struggles with their identity and self-confidence. It happens anywhere from 40 years old to 60 years old and affects men and women. A midlife crisis is not a disorder but is mainly psychological. It occurs when someone looks at where they are in life compared to where they think they should be by a certain age. Who is affected by a midlife crisis? Men and women can both experience a midlife crisis, but it may look different for each. On average, most people experience one between the ages of 40 and 60 years old, but you may have it before or after those ages, as well. [From acendahealth.org]

As True Colors takes place in the second year of Clone Wars - if Vau’s words were meant to be interpreted as fact - the midlife crisis would happen around second year on Kamino. Of course, Vau may be sarcastic here but he could also mistake depression for the psychological crisis as the book series often pointed out how time spent on Kamino was depressive for Mandalorian training instructors and Vau was no less affected by that. This actually can be supported by the same book:

Scorch is about twelve years old. He's also twenty-four, measured in how far along that path to death he actually is, which is the only definition I care about. He's running out of time faster than me. The Kaminoans designed the Republic's clone commandos to age fast, and when I think of them as the tiny kids I first knew, it's heartbreaking-yes, even for me. My father didn't quite kill the last bit of feeling in me.

Side note: if I calculate right, the clone commando training started in the second year (8 years before Geonosis, as around that time Kal Skirata showed up on Kamino and was soon to start training clone cadets. Logically, each batch should start their training at the same time, so the “midlife crisis” could easily happen when Vau started training too young children for Republic and Jedi as this challenged both morality and principles of Mandalorian culture.

Kal Skirata was said to be around 60 years old [RC: Order 66] and book series keep describing him and Walon as “old men”, so it is easy to assume the age difference between Jango and Walon was quite significant, most likely more than a decade. Depending when Walon joined True Mandalorians - before or after Jaster Mereel’s death - there is also a possibility he could help train Jango when Fett was still a cadet or at least knew him (if not just heard about him), as Jaster Mereel had a special spot for the kid:

Jango Fett: Open Seasons, issue #2:

Jaster Mereel: Make me proud, Jango. Jango Fett: Yes sir, Jaster. Montross: I think he sometimes forgets that you're not really his son. Hnh. That's dangerous. Clouds his judgment. And yours. [...]

Fact Files vol. 3 #14:

"Jango became a favorite of Jaster Mereel, something that didn't sit well with one of his men, Montross [...]"

Additional Commentary: It makes sense to think that older and/or more experience Mandalorian Mercs helped to train the cadets however it is worth to keep in mind that Walon Vau was introduced into story as specialist of interrogation and True Mandalorians in fact trained their members to endure tortures [Jango Fett: Open Seasons, issue #2]. This information comes from Silas, who was part of True Mandalorian first under Jaster Mereel's and later Jango's leadership. It is hard to tell when and how interrogation became Walon’s expertise, but if he took part in training of cadets, his training may as well be pretty brutal to endure. On another hand, if Jango spent eight years keeping the hunt for Vizsla in mind all the time, Vau could be one of the people responsible for gathering information about Death Watch from captured enemy soldiers or other suspects. If he was that good as books implied he was, this could make him a valuable addition to Fett’s army.

CHILDHOOD TRAUMA

[Prime source] Jango Fett: Open Seasons, issue #1

Imperial Commando: 501st

Jusik didn't know what to expect; he just knew that she'd been hurt, physically and emotionally. Jango had told Vau just the barest detail about the Death Watch punishing his father for harboring Jaster Mereel, and his mother shooting one of them dead so Jango-eight, maybe-could get away. That was the last he saw of all of them, his mother shielding fourteen-year-old Arla, his father on his knees yelling at him to run. Jango thought they'd all died.

Additional Commentary: For a supposedly the barest detail, the short description accurately presents what happened in original source [“Death Watch punishing his father for harboring Jaster Mereel”; “his mother shooting one of them dead” “his mother shielding fourteen-year-old Arla”, “his father on his knees yelling at him to run”], so maybe it is not Vau who get the simplified version from Jango, but Jusik from Walon?

For better contrast, below a story Jango told Zam Wesell:

"Did you know I was an orphan? My family had a farm. There was a civil war. We got caught in the middle of it. I don't know what would have happened to me... if someone hadn't come along and saved me" [Source: Zam Wesell comics, 2002]

Additional Sources: Jusik and Kal Skirata were aware that Jango Fett had a sister in previous book (RC: Order 66), as this was their main motivation to abduct met by accident Arla Fett from the asylum:

"I thought I was a chancer," Skirata said "but Bard'ika, you make me look like a Neimoidian accountant. You know who that is, don't you? If she is who she thinks she is, anyway. Because she's supposed to be dead." "Oh, I know," Jusik said. In the last few years, he'd absorbed all he could about Mandalore and its people, both from Mando'ade themselves and from aruetiise who knew them all too well-like certain Jedi. "And that's why she deserves our help." "So who is it?" Vau asked plainly irritated. Mird watched the woman with head cocked tail slapping. "We'd better have a good reason for taking a psychotic killer with us tonight." "We have," said Jusik. "That's Arla Fett-Jango's missing sister."

In the same book, Fenn Shysa also seems to be aware about the fate of Jango’s biological family:

Shysa was making an awfully big assumption about Boba's willingness to take over where his dad left off. "Fett's got an older sister, you know. Arla." "No, Vizsla killed them all." "Not all." "Now you tell me. Are you having me on, Kal?" "No, ori'haat. I swear. Jango thought they all died, but the girl survived somehow [...].

It makes sense that Mandalorians, especially the survivors of True Mandalorians (and Jusik who learned from them) to some degree were familiar with their leader's past, however their knowledge doesn’t necessarily need to come from Jango himself.

Additional sources outright say or strongly implies Jango wasn’t willing to confide in others about his childhood trauma.

Internal memo penned by Hali Ke, senior research geneticist, Kamino, 27 BBY (source)

I have now logged many sessions with our prime clone Jango Fett, and concluded that he embodies his species’ contradictions. He is a killer many times over, ending the life of others without hesitation if paid to do so, yet his anger was obvious when I suggested he lacked morality. He is one of the most able, competent humans I have ever observed, remaining calm in situations that would leave most organics helpless with terror. Yet he witnessed horrors in his childhood that he will not discuss, and around which his mind has constructed apparently impenetrable barriers.

Jango Fett: Open Seasons, issue #2

Important thing to note: Jango only described the enemy as “ex Mandalorians who split with Jaster Mereel years ago” instead of personal information like killers of his biological family. It could be due to being under enemy fire, however the fact that Silas has no clue who Death Watch was in the first place, strongly suggests that Jango did not mention his childhood trauma in any specific detail to him, while comics presented Silas as deeply loyal to Jango, both as first person to stand by him against Montross’ claim to leadership

and as a man who endured for a whole year a torture because he refused betray Jango and who used his last breath to ask Dooku (the torturer) to not tell Jango about his failure.

As Imperial Commando: 501st states, “Jango had told Vau” about his childhood trauma and there is no reason to think Vau lied about this to Jusik. So far, within the broadly understood Republic Commando series, Walon is the only mentioned character to whom Jango voluntarily confided about things he normally did not speak.

(Unless, as pointed in my additional commentary for Age Difference, Vau did in fact trained Jango to endure torture and he managed to break Fett to get this information from him during "exercise" while he simply omitted that detail when sharing his knowledge about Jango's childhood with Jusik. Personally I like more the implication of trust given to Vau what fits well with his role in Kamino program, however I feel obligated to mention this possibility as another interpretation.)

However when it comes to Vau’s own biological family and his aristocratic title, Republic Commando: True Colors says Kal Skirata was most likely the only person he told about before Clone Wars.

"What's in there, Sarge?" I'm not robbing for gain. I'm not a greedy man. I just want justice. See? My Mandalorian armor's black-black, the traditional color of justice. Beskar'gam colors almost always have meaning. Every Mando who sees me understands my mission in life right away. "Part of my inheritance," I say. "Father and I didn't agree on my career plans." Justice for me; justice for the clone troops, used up and thrown away like flimsi napkins. "The drinks are on you, then," says Boss, Delta's sergeant "If we'd known you were loaded, we'd have hit you up earlier." "Was loaded. Cut off without a tin cred." I've never told them about my family or my title. I think the only person I told was Kal, and then I got the full blast of his class-war rhetoric.

Additionally commentary: Once Walon and Kal joined their forces to provide clones a future outside the army, Vau started to mention his aristocratic family more often (sometimes simply to annoy Skirata). This of course does not cross out the possibility that Jango wasn't privy to this "secret", as Fett could easily learn that from other Mandalorians, like his mentor Jaster Mereel (if Walon already was one of his True Mandalorians while Jango was a young cadet himself), or even straight from Kal who was passionate about the topic enough to lecture Walon - something that was mentioned through the books on few different occasions and these two men knew each other for decades.

Republic Commando: Triple Zero

"Yes, we all know." Vau turned to Etain. "This is normally where he starts lecturing me on his ghastly childhood as a starving war orphan living feral on some bomb site, and how I just ran away to become a mercenary because I was bored with my idle, rich family." "Well, that saved me some time," Skirata said irritably. "What he said."

Thus it is up to debate, if Jango knew and if he knew then how he learned that and if he didn’t, why Walon did not mention it at all. There are potential possibilities like that Jango simply wasn’t interested in Vau’s past so he has never asked (the other, out-of-universe explaination is that the author did not had at that time outlined the plot-twist about Jango and Walon’s much closer relationship than Jango and Kal - the main character of book series since Triple Zero. This is the most likely the case, as Karen Traviss’ Legacy of the Force books that predate Order 66 pretty much ignore Jango & Walon relationship in favor of Jango and Kal mentions in Boba’s POV characters. But about that more later.)

[Next part coming hopeful soon]

#star wars #jango fett #walon vau #jango fett and walon vau #cienie's research #so far a) vau knows stuff jango wasn't willing to share #b) likely knew him as youngster #c) likely the age gap is quite bid maybe even more than decade #if jango was mereel's favorite (and treated as son) probably everyone who served back then knew or heard about the kid #as the boss' kid so who knows maybe vau and other older than jango mandalorians babysitted him lol just a thought #i should write about galidraan and related matters as next part but we will see if i will go with proper chronology or skip straight #to kamino era #sorry for bringing so much skirtata but he is the main character since Triple Zero and a lot stuff orbiting about him and his men #gives some good insight into jango and walon

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bonefall · 7 months

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i am definitely one of those people who gives their cats warrior names so here r my parents' two young cats:

"Cloudbound"-> Haipipip "fat cloud bouncing." He is a big floofy ragdoll himbo and he reminds me of a cotton swab.

"Flywhisker" -> Ffawshusspap "keen fruit fly." There's not yet words in the lexicon for her name I think, so I used "bee sensing with carpal whiskers" as a placeholder which is kind of what I want to get at but she's really more of a fruit fly yk? And I couldn't find a personality adjective for an observant cat or a proficient hunter, which I think could be a good addition regardless. Anyways she is a very skittish and twitchy little black and white spotted cat and i am her favorite person because i walk quietly.

Don't feel obligated to answer this ask, i just wanted to share :]

FLIES

Fruit flies are actually quite rare, and mostly only seen in ThunderClan because of their notorious love of including fruit in their recipes. This climate is very cold, and fruit flies are most common around human settlements where there's a year-round supply of fruit (pre-infested!) coming in from supermarkets.

So I'll add fruit flies when I get around to a legitimate entry on flies as a whole, but for now, there's a whole bunch of teeny flies that could be very fitting here.

Let's start with the broad "categories" of "Fly" that Clan Cats have plus some related words;

Fly (Generic) = Usprr Any insect that primarily flies to travel, but is not a butterfly, dragonfly, or midge. Bees are a type of Fly in Clanmew. (Midges include craneflies, robberflies, and mosquitoes)

Waste = Bloh Translates directly. A waste. Something that can't be used.

Gall = Oorp Swollen bumps and shapes that rise off plants to house certain types of insects, very popular with certain types of flies, but also used by some mites.

To Harmlessly Pretend/To Pretend To Be Busy = Aweerron/Aweerro/Aweerr This is a REALLY hard verb to translate into English. Translated directly, it means "doing the act of being dandelion-yellow." Translated roughly, it means to don the color yellow so you're left alone by something with a greater threat-level. It can mean 'compliance,' or it can mean to 'mind your own business,' or it can even mean 'looking busy.' A verb that describes several animals, but especially types of flies, of which bees are a type. Their yellow coloration acts as a deterrent to bigger animals who want to avoid being stung. If you've ever been at work and just done something pointless when the boss rolls around, so you don't get assigned more work, you were doing this.

Maggot (of any fly) = Ulae The most general term for baby flies of all types. Also used for bee larvae. NOT derogatory in Clanmew.

Maggot (of green bottlefly) = Huli The medicinal maggot, a VERY important species for use in treating SEVERE wounds.

SPECIFIC CATEGORIES OF FLIES

Hover Fly = Hafrr Little flies capable of a true hover, coming in various odd shapes, but most are dandelion-yellow. Just like butterflies, a fly that is capable of performing this difficult flight pattern is highly respected, but in a cutesy, diminutive way. Hover flies are primarily pollinators, seen around flowers. Being likened to a hoverfly is like being called "spunky."

Building Fly = Kyybr Most bees, wasps, hornets, certain gall flies. Flies that build another structure. Ants temporarily become these at certain times of the year, according to the Clan cat interpretation of an ant's nuptial flight. There are a TON of other subtypes under this, wasps, solitary bees, swarming bees, etc, which I'll get into some other time.

Bristle Fly = Bfurr Probably what you imagine when you hear "fly." Round, bristly, buzzy things, which are often attracted to rotting things and waste. A little fruit fly is a type of bfurr, but so are bottleflies and the golden dung fly. Some flies which are not drawn to decaying matter, such as the Red Parasite Fly, get lumped in here too.

Lace Fly = Honrr Clear-winged, slender insects. Includes scorpionflies, some sawflies, actual lacewings, and the bay sucker.

And lastly, a couple of interesting species.

Scorpionfly (Panorpa Communis) = Yykrn The web-pilferer. Named for its habit of snatching the prey of spiders right out of their webs!

Cleg (Haematopota pluvialis) = Grawr The MOST annoying fly in the entire Clans, absolutely detested. A nasty creature whose bite contains an anticoagulant, causing it to bleed profusely. Common in WindClan and near the edges of conifer forests (such as the plantation near ShadowClan). Considered a lot worse than mosquitoes, which are just itchy.

Marmalade Hover Fly (Episyrphus balteatus) = Fsi Yes. Marmalade can be a valid warrior cat prefix if you'd like <3 The most common hoverfly, traveling in swarms and looking almost exactly like a bee. Their maggots kill aphids and the adults pollinate flowers, causing them to be looked at especially fondly in ThunderClan.

Green Bottlefly (Lucilia sericata) = Holibf The species that is attracted by Clerics so its maggots can be used in medicine. A fly species you're definitely already familiar with, for its shiny, green abdomen.

#Flies #Clanmew

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huntunderironskies · 10 months

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Been a while, huh? I wanted to put out some werewolf stuff that's been sitting around my drafts for a while. This is not fully adapted to the Lodge style guide yet, I was going to try and make it fit completely by putting in story seeds but I got stuck beyond just one and I figured that perfect is the enemy of the done.

So, the high concept here is a lodge that hunts hunters. More specifically, they primarily target Slashers, which they call the Others, but have been known to do pre-emptive strikes and be extremely trigger-happy against hunter cells that show any sign of corruption or backsliding at all.

Small note: their benefit needs some work, though I think the rest is functional. I kind of started at the idea of "what would ruin a hunter cell's day" and worked backwards from there. I would be interested in some feedback! I believe @enddaysengine suggested this name some time back? And without further ado...

The Final Lodge

Survivors, the Hunted, Weeping Wolves (amongst each other)

The Wolf must hunt.

Things other than the Wolf hunt, of course. That’s a given. But it’s not a Sacred Hunt. It’s something to do, not what they are.

Or at least, that’s what the Uratha have told themselves for all their history. By their own billing, the Final Lodge stands alone among the People by acknowledging the fact this isn’t true anymore. Some humans must Hunt. They are the Others, whose Hunt is debased and profane, done without respect for their prey or any purpose at all. They must die, down to the last.

The Survivors have been tracking these aberrations for decades. There is one obvious conclusion to make: they’ve been getting more common. The past five years have shown a geometric increase in sightings. And their statistics show another disturbing trend: the Others come disproportionately from humans who actively seek out the supernatural to destroy it.

Most werewolves find no issue with killing a cell of hunters that intrudes too far on their territory, of course, and especially bold Iron Masters have been known to deliberately manipulate human hunters into taking out threats to the pack. But so long as the humans don’t pry into werewolf matters and keep to their own territory, it’s best to leave them alone. Tracking down and murdering every single human who suspects that monsters are real is a fool’s errand. It’s the era of modern surveillance. Everyone knows. They just don’t want to admit it. And as long as they keep their secrets, it’s fine.

That’s just how we got into this situation, say the Hunted. Granted, trying to wipe out all of humanity would be absolute madness, but from the moment that a human takes a step into the shadows their lives are forfeit. Weeping Wolves stalk hunter cells, waiting for any signs of degradation, and strike when they do.

What they won’t admit in mixed company is they know it’s a lost cause. They fear that the number of the Others will only get higher as it becomes harder and harder to hide. And any scenario where that happens will be grim. The most cynical members of the Final Lodge believe these are the end days. But there won’t be seven seals, the world turning to fire, and angels descending from the heavens. It’s a slow, grinding, miserable process that will leave everything that the Uratha hold sacred as nothing more than ash and grave-dust. The world will devolve into a war of one against all as the corruption that creates the Others spreads.

And when man becomes a wolf to man, where will that leave the wolves?

Totem: Dakausu, One-Left-Behind

Dakausu is an old spirit for a recent Lodge, born out of the bloody history of Wilmington, North Carolina. She is Lady Death, the Mourning Woman, a beatific figure with a skeletal face and glittering finery, hiding her face from the world lest they see the decrepit, rotting horror underneath. Despite what her appearance might suggest, she isn’t a spirit of death. She’s a spirit of grief. The Survivors claim that she feels the pain of all those left behind from indiscriminate hunters, and so she urges her adoptive children to take their bloody revenge. Or, better yet, make sure that she will have nothing to mourn.

Aspiration: Emerge from a conflict as the last one standing.

Ban: Once per lunar month, the werewolf must make an offering of money or goods (composing of at least one Resource dot) to the loved ones of a victim of her Sacred Hunt.

Benefit: The Hunted have a knack for disrupting teamwork. Those attempting to use a teamwork action in the presence of the Survivor or any teamwork action at all that would impede them or their pack, regardless of whether or not the Uratha is aware of it, must roll 7 successes to gain an exceptional success against them. If a teamwork action against them fails, they take the Steadfast Condition. Furthermore, if they were not aware they are being threatened, are intuitively aware someone is attempting to harm them, though they won't know any specifics about the instigators or what their goals were.

Sacred Hunt: You can scent the broken on the wind. Anyone who has reached Integrity 3 or lower smells like rotted gore and dried blood. You take a +2 bonus and 8-again on all Perception and tracking rolls against them because of their distinctive scent.

#werewolf the forsaken #chronicles of darkness #i need to do some writeups for wilmington #but the chronicle i set in it is called “the kingdom is on fire” for a reason #things are uhhhhhhh bad and the final lodge is far from the only apocalypse cult to spring up out of the city #there is also a disproportionately high number of slashers and other very unfortunate things due to a lot of wounds #which means that the uglathu are thriving there #like i said it's all bad all the way down #ttrpgs #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpg #world of darkness #hunter the vigil

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astarab1aze · 1 month

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"There are monsters in this world, you know."

Bestiary

just some monsters, really, both disgusting and destructive in their own ways. warning for body horror, stuff like that.

Flesh Warden

A Flesh Warden is what happens when you allow a necromancer to dive ever deeper into their obsessions with death and keep them well supplied with bodies - this is a natural consequence, in particular, for necrotic witches and sorcerers, who may become so consumed with furthering their twisted magical sciences that they become their own experiments, falling into the depths of madness and depravity. Cosigned by the Sanguinarian sect, adherents within the International Nightfolk Coallition, and put to task in a number of prisons and ruins long abandoned and forgotten over the ages, left to their own devices, to malice and rage and the cold silence of death itself - ever, ever and always grafting more and more bodies to their withering flesh.

They are, essentially, centipedal amalgamations of bodies and arms draped in filthy cloth, caked in blood and bodily fluids in varying material states. Beyond enormity. The 'core' body is always at the head of these necrotic nightfolk-turned-abominations (which, if you can reach and destroy it, will bring it down), but the majority of their greater body is comprised of countless dead, all expertly surgically parted and sewn back together, grafted onto the Warden by the Warden. Hundreds, even thousands, of bodies so cleanly cut and stitched into place, yet still filthy, imperfect, never so enough, never enough. So they continue, the intensity of their madness persisting, until at last natural rot sets into their own bones, cursed by the wrath of the desecrated dead, their brains putrifying in their skulls until there is nothing of what they once were, not even in memory.

In combat, they begin rather slowly, hulking their mass around, but the echo of hundreds of voices incanting proves their necrotic magic anything but. Booming, loud, haunting voices that deafen, enfeeble, and crush, sickly-hued magical thread tendriling toward their target. They draw in, make their prey weak beyond imagination, grind them to dust mentally and phsyically, then rip them apart, feast upon their internal organs and graft them onto their bodies. More arms, more legs, heads, torso, everything everything everything, ever growing in size and power.

Contortia

A mass of flesh twisted into something no longer recognizable as nightfolk or human. Exposed decaying muscle, what mummified skin they still have threatening to tear at every turn, split and crack to let caustic blood. Its skin is scab-like in appearance, but scarily flexible, stretched and dry as if mummified, yet... Driven by instinctive impulse, throbbing with wretched unlife. Contorting, twisting, wringing, streeeetching, leaping and racing around - extremely fast and flexible despite appearances. When that skin finally rips open, its blood, putrid greenish-brown, burns and eats through everything it touches, including metal and stone as if hydrochloric acid had been spilt instead (which could be turned back on them). They also do not have faces, scrambled flesh where a face should be.

Contortians are pre-existing, once Nameless Things, but relatively few in number as they cannot reproduce or be recreated. While the basic principle above goes for them all, they are all still very diverse in terms of elemental effect, coloration, strength, and constitution; One could be strictly necrotic in nature, where the next could be shadow or blood, or solar, holy, storm, etc. They are extremely difficult to kill, hard to pinpoint, pin down long enough to do any meaningful amount of damage, attuned to their chosen environs deep underground or underwater. As they are also incredibly aggressive, it's best not to go looking for them.

They're hunters, first and foremost, apex predators designed especially to slaughter and destroy, eat and dissolve. Insatiable appetites, indomitable instinct, too much riding on too little and always on the brink of extinction (for better and for worse; what's their true purpose?). These monsters thrive in darkness, picking off people and animals who dare to get too close, and the nameless things deeper within the sea, trenches, forest and desert caves, mines, abandoned silos... They rarely, if ever, come to the surface. They also do not need to breathe.

#☿ || Headcanons.#☿ || Bestiary.#body horror /#death /#necromancy /#/ gross #/ next up is gas adders and frogmen #/ got some things started. some people messaged #/ tomorrow - more

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the-world-annealing · 1 year

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Witnessing Orcs: Diet

The main source of food that the carnivorous orcs consume is, of course, wild game. Rabbits and deer are common parts of the diet, but orcs have no qualms going after larger, more dangerous beasts also. Bison, aurochs and boars are all hunted when available, regardless of the threat they pose to individual hunters. Orcs have no qualms hunting predators, as some human cultures do, believing that such hunts are a proof of strength and will be rewarded with more game next season. Complementing the diet are various waterfowl and fish.

Children, though barred from wielding weapons, might set small snares, craft nets and fishing lines, and scour rocks for edible bugs, sharing the scraps they so obtain among their peers. They will also climb trees to search for birds' nests: something their older peers are typically too bulky to do. During my own childhood, I myself earned much of my favor with the other children in this manner.

After a successful hunt, the beast is butchered where it fell. No part of a kill goes to waste, except for the eyes, which are considered to contain the soul. Consuming eyes is considered a sign of madness and a risk of opening oneself up to possession, and so these organs are simply tossed away, free for either Gruumsh or Yurtrus to claim as they see fit.

All other parts are taken: fat, muscle, organ meat, skin, even the prey’s pre-digested stomach contents: if it can serve as food, it will. Killed game can be preserved by smoking and curing it, but this requires access to both salt and firewood, so more commonly it is simply cooked or dried before being taken back to the larger group. In cold climates, food may be buried in snow to preserve it.

On the rare occasion that the kill exceeds the hunting party’s carrying capacity, the excess is wrapped in skins, then submerged in water or buried underground, out of reach of scavengers and largely protected from rot. The partially fermented meat is then recovered later: still palatable and no less nourishing. Water is the preferred medium for such actions, but if none is available, a short ceremony to dedicate the skins to Gruumsh and Luthic is considered to protect the food from the worst of the rotting dirt’s taint.

Orcs are not quite true carnivores, and can digest several fruits and seeds without much struggle, but tend not to consume these plants even when they come by them. Retaining and transmitting knowledge of edible plants is hard, especially for those with the short lifespans of orcs, and only rarely is meat so scarce and fruit so plentiful that an expanded diet would be worth the risks. Generally, orcs consider plants and vegetable matter to be universally unreliable and poisonous things, ingrained in rot and dirt, whose deep-running roots suck up buried taint.

Orcs with access to human food quickly embrace the wide variety of preparation methods and flavorings found in their cuisine. They lack the human preference for sweet foods, preferring strong spicy, sour, or salty tastes. Most vegetable products they reject outright for reasons stated above. Of animal products, they cannot stomach milk and cheese, pay little mind to honey, and eagerly consume eggs, which adult orcs can otherwise only rarely obtain. The many strange beasts that are found in the sea they eat without pause, even when wholly unfamiliar with them: once during my travels I was served a strange, snake-like fish, utterly black in color, and found myself hesitating before it, but my orcish tablemate appeared wholly unbothered by its unwholesome appearance, and was in fact already halfway through her plate.

Last, I must discuss the more unsavoury sides of orcish food habits. I shall go right ahead and say this: yes, orcs eat those they slay in combat, and yes, they will even eat their own dead. It should be understood that orcs simply do not ascribe the same worth and dignity to a corpse that humans do, and are in fact very puzzled when humans exhibit concern over their practices: do they not both agree the soul has moved on? As they say, the dead cannot own what they cannot use: this applies to weapons and treasures, but corpses all the same. Conversely, the human tendency to take the dead and put them underground uniformly horrifies orcs, who interpret it as a calculated act meant to deny them food at best, and active sacrifice to Yurtrus at worst. When victorious in battle but unable to butcher the dead, some orcs make a point of removing and taking the eyes of the fallen, ensuring that those at least are not buried. Humans, for their part, can only interpret such acts as willful desecration of the dead.

(Next chapters will be about interaction with nonhuman and human people, perhaps with a little break in between to describe the orcish epic tradition)

#witnessing orcs #orcs #worldbuilding #cw cannibalism #cw food #we're back babyyy #d&d

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just-your-average-cryptid · 1 year

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Apocalypse Radio

Yes this is very late but It Is Done. Kinda. There will be updates. Maybe.

anyway-

“What is Apocalypse Radio about?”

If you haven’t seen the poll from last week, this is a post-apocalypse tale starring one awkward radio host/gardener who spends her days reporting on local events from the old radio station building and tending a massive garden that’s built up around it. One is a nice relaxing activity that lets her focus on how long until the next watering should be and when that patch can be harvested instead of, well, how long until everyone dies and/or she loses her mind after let’s-not-keep-track years without human contact. The other is a potential avenue towards connecting with other survivors and an outlet for pretending to talk to someone instead of having conversations with yourself.

Plot-wise, there is contact established with one of the “Domes” - more on those later - but that’s for another post.

“What is the world like?”

In short? Not great. The excellent combo of nuclear wars and weaponized zombie virus basically wrecked society as we know it, with the few survivors having to figure out how to live without, in most places, electricity, clean water, food, or farmable land.

The virus itself spreads through bites or contaminated fluid (blood, spit, etc.) and takes 2-3 days to kick in. A rare few have or can develop immunity fast enough to survive, but most lived through avoiding it at all costs. Zombies hunt in groups, often others they turned or were turned by. They have crude eyesight designed more for movement detection than real vision, and hearing you won’t set them off alone.

What will get you killed is cuts, wounds, and injuries they can smell - blood is the fastest trigger for a swarm. Rotting bodies draw them in, as well as general stink - hygiene and disease are pretty closely related, after all. An infected wound is like a beacon, so major injury is essentially a death sentence unless you’re lucky enough to have medical equipment. Otherwise healthy people get turned; those who won’t be able to hunt or fight get eaten. It’s not pretty.

“How do people survive?”

Where it takes place, there’s three general divisions of people:

Raiders are gangs who attack on sight to steal supplies, especially food and weapons. Some have vehicles (usually bikes,) but most are on foot. They camp out in abandoned buildings and watch for wanderers searching the cities for useful items.

“Domers” live in forts surrounded by circular walls of scrap metal and any other parts they could find - coastal ones might have pieces of ship hull or docks woven into the barrier. They’re tightly organized communities that employ people as guards, hunters, builders, scavengers, and any other job that needs doing. Their quality and safety tend to depend on who’s in charge - poorly led Domes tend to disappear fast. Large Raider gangs often attack them for better loot.

Loners are individuals or small groups surviving on their own, though most join a larger group and start a Dome sooner or later. Most long-term Loners have a good hideout or food source - our protagonist being one of them.

“Wait, how are there still plants if nukes were dropped? Didn’t you say the land can’t be farmed?”

Areas far from the impact point were able to recover slightly - mostly because plants are persistent beasts and radiation-resistant species were being proactively bred in some places during the pre-war stage.

Our radio host lucked out on a spot where these plants had started to rebuild the soil and spawn some fascinating crossbreeds with the seeds still buried underground that could now start growing. This is already pretty long though so I’ll continue this later if anyone wants more :) feel free to leave any questions or comments in the tags :)

#it speaks #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #apocalypse radio

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

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Heya! I hope I'm not interrupting you but, can we get a snippet about Angry Forest God? What would set him off?

Also, what type of father would he be if he has children?

He's rarely gotten genuinely angry. He gets defensive of his land if humans trespass, sure, but that's just instinct- all he does is drive them out again with classic scare tactics. Even if they're especially disrespectful (like, say, hunters who kill only for the fun of it, or fools seeking to dethrone him) it only requires a quick kill before he goes back to his regular business. Because... come on. They're humans. He's kinda annoyed at the worst, hardly baying for blood. Actual rage hasn't befallen him since he was much younger and more foolish.

... But that doesn't mean there aren't things that would light a fire in his bones. Especially after he meets her.

Someone trying to 'rescue' Mc from him would incite rage, for sure. Regardless of the situation, if he still had her captive in a dream or if she was remaining willingly, it's a cold and dark anger- the woods in the middle of the night, eyes in the nothingness, dread creeping over you like a wet rot, because how dare you. He finally has what he's craved so desperately for centuries and now... now, you want to take it? You want to take her? Let's hope you enjoyed the sun while you knew it. You'll never wake from the nightmare he puts you under.

Even pre-Mc however, there were a few things that could induce fury. Mistreatment of children, in particular, attracted swift punishment.

And as for him as a father...

... Papa Forest God is quiet, deeply caring, calm and serene, but with a surprising playful streak that tends to catch people off guard. He's endlessly patient- in his mind, his children should never ever feel like they can't/shouldn't talk to him. Issues that to him might seem silly might be, to them, deeply important. He struggles mostly with initiating affection... it's just been so long since he was affectionate and familial with anyone and he sometimes forgets how to act that way. But if any love is initiated, he'll absolutely reciprocate.

#llamagines #forest god sans #hes the kinda dad to let his kids hang from his horns so they can 'fly'

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gffa · 4 years

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THE MANDALORIAN - A TIMELINE Assumptions this post will make: - It’s possible that they’ll throw out canon/contradict something that’s been established up to this point (I’m hoping not, as Dave Filoni is one of the main people who oversaw the creation of that canon, but it’s still a possibility!), especially as Favreau has mentioned that he wants to recanonize some Legends stuff, but for now we’re assuming canon is canon and they’re going to work with that. This is a post that is focused on what canon and creators of canon have said! - Din Djarin is ~44 years old, as a reflection of Pedro Pascal’s age. - Out-of-universe, Star Wars’ timeline is referred to by BBY / ABY (Before the Battle of Yavin / After the Battle of Yavin) because that’s when the Death Star was blown up/the Rebellion battled the Empire over Yavin IV, which was because A New Hope was the central compass point as the very first SW movie. However, this timeline will focus on The Mandalorian season 1 as Year 0, as I think that’ll make it clearer how everything relates to this show. THE TIMELINE SO FAR: 50 Years Ago - The Child (Baby Yoda) was born, Anakin Skywalker was born in the same year 41 Years Ago - The Phantom Menace ?? Years Ago - The Mandalorian Civil War. There was an insurgency against Satine Kryze’s rule of Mandalore, which eventually required the intervention of the Republic, by sending two Jedi (Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi) to protect her, causing them to go on the run for a year. Obi-Wan later describes this as, "An extended mission when I was younger. Master Qui-Gon and I spent a year on Mandalore protecting the Duchess from insurgents who had threatened her world. They sent bounty hunters after us. We were always on the run, living hand-to-mouth, never sure what the next day would bring. A civil war killed most of Satine's people, hence her aversion to violence. When she returned, she took rebuilding her world alone." Whether he means that the people loyal to Satine were killed or nearly all of Mandalore was killed, it’s hard to say. (Presumably the latter?)

31 Years Ago - Attack of the Clones, the Clone Wars begin, Kamino’s clone army is discovered, they become part of the Republic, which may tie into Dr. Pershing’s arm patch symbol likely being the Kamino emblem.

~31-28 Years Ago - The flashbacks we see in The Mandalorian are likely to take place during the Clone Wars, that the people were attacked by Separatists (hence the Super Battle Droids we see being used) and were rescued by Mandalorians, adopting Din Djarin as a Foundling, raising him in the Fighting Corps. Din would have likely been around 10+ years old? At least one of the Mandalorians in the flashback was wearing a Death Watch symbol, but it’s unclear how the politics of this were going, since they’re fighting Separatists in the flashback and it’s unclear precisely when Pre Vizsla joined with Dooku and the Separatists. (Separatist alliances shifted all the time, so this isn’t hard to work with!)

~31-28 Years Ago - Death Watch, a Mandalorian splinter group, publicly arises as a protest against Satine’s pacifist ways and determination that Mandalore leave behind its warrior past. They bomb targets in the city of Sundari and work with the Separatists to try to kill Duchess Kryze and put their own leader into place on Mandalore proper. Pre Vizsla of Clan Vizsla is the governor of Concordia (a moon of Mandalore), voiced by Jon Favreau, secretly leads the Death Watch and reveals that he has the darksaber when he fights against Obi-Wan Kenobi after its revealed that Pre is part of Death Watch. (Clan Vizsla is one of the most central Clans of Mandalore.) They are not successful in their plot (to have the Republic Senate forcefully invade Mandalore under the threat of Death Watch/the rumor of Mandalore joining the Separatists) and remain neutral in the Clone Wars. It’s also later revealed (a few months later/a season later) that Bo-Katan Kryze, Satine’s sister, is a lieutenant in Death Watch.

28 Years Ago - Darth Maul creates his own Shadow Collective (an alliance of various criminal organizations) by allying with Death Watch and taking over Mandalore. Duchess Satine Kryze is murdered by Maul as part of his takeover of Mandalore/his revenge against Obi-Wan Kenobi, as well as Pre Vizsla is killed by Maul when they disagree over the direction/who is leading Mandalore. Maul takes the darksaber. 28 Years Ago - Fenn Rau, as part of Skull Squadron of the Protectors (a group of Mandalorian royal guards), assisted the Jedi in the Clone Wars, including helping out in a fight with Jedi Master Depa Billaba and Padawan Caleb Dume (Kanan Jarrus). 28 Years Ago - The Clone Wars are nearing the end, the Siege of Mandalore happens at the same time as ROTS/Order 66, this is referenced as “The Night of a Thousand Tears” by Moff Gideon, “when gunships outfitted with similar ordnance (to the e-web cannon) laid waste to fields of Mandalorian recruits in the Night of a Thousand Tears”. He doesn’t say who the gunships belonged to, if they were Republic gunships or Maul’s Shadow Collective gunships or something else.

The Siege of Mandalore is basically: Darth Maul has set himself up as leader of Mandalore, so Ahsoka Tano and a battalion of clones (including Captain Rex) lead a mission to retake the planet. While they’re in the middle of this mission, Order 66 happens, where the clones’ inhibitor chips have them turning on the Jedi, including Ahsoka though she is no longer officially a Jedi. During/after this huge shitshow, Bo-Katan Kryze is appointed Regent of Mandalore. 28 Years Ago - Revenge of the Sith, the Republic fell, the Empire rose, the Jedi Order was genocided basically out of existence. 11 Years Ago - The Ghost crew discover Maul hiding out, who still has the darksaber, and they retrieve it. Sabine Wren (of Clan Wren) briefly trains with it, but struggles to decide how to proceed with it and her contentious relationship with her family. Fenn Rau (governor of Concord Dawn, as appointed by the Empire) explains the history behind the darksaber to Kanan Jarrus, that a thousand years ago (give or take) the first Mandalorian Jedi was named Tarre Vizsla who created it as his weapon, that it stayed with the Jedi until a few decades ago, Clan Vizsla stole into the Jedi Temple and took it back, as it was a symbol of House Vizsla and had the power to unite the Clans/Houses in the right hands.

10 Years Ago - Sabine Wren rallies her family into deciding to fight back against the Empire’s occupation of Mandalore and gives the darksaber to an initially reluctant Bo-Katan Kryze. Leaders of several clans of Mandalore swear allegiance to her and they vow to fight the Empire, after many years of living under Imperial rule.

9 Years Ago - A New Hope, Alderaan was destroyed, the Death Star was destroyed, also the events of Rogue One happened. 6 Years Ago - The Empire Strikes Back 5 Years Ago - Return of the Jedi, the Second Death Star destroyed, Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader died, Yoda died, formation of the New Republic 4 Years Ago - The Battle of Jakku, which is the final giant battle between the New Republic and the Empire, where they officially lost (see: Star Wars Battlefront II for the story) 0 Years Ago - The Mandalorian, season 1 THINGS I’M NOT SURE WHERE TO PLACE ON THE TIMELINE: - Din and the other Mandalorians have cultural differences from the Mandalorians we’ve seen up to this point. The tradition of being unable to take their helmet off, lest they cannot put it back on, doesn’t match up with what we see of Pre Vizsla in The Clone Wars, who was the leader of Death Watch, rather than Satine’s New Mandalorians who were pacifists. This also strongly contrasts what we see of Bo-Katan Kryze (who was affiliated with Death Watch) and Sabine Wren (along with her family, who all took off/put on their helmets). Is this a splinter group? Is it different for people who were born Mandalorian vs Foundlings who must prove themselves? Something else? - Satine says that Jango Fett was not Mandalorian, but a regular bounty hunter and she didn’t know how he acquired the armor. Out of universe, Pablo Hidalgo has supported this, but that was years ago and canon evolves over time. Dave Filoni has also talked about how, as far back as Attack of the Clones, George Lucas intended for Jango to not actually be Mandalorian. THE BIG QUESTION MARKS: - Paz Vizla’s name is spelled without the “s” in the credits, is this a reference to the different spelling as used in SWTOR? Or is it a typo? Favreau has been re-canonizing some Legends things, but also the credits for Chapter 5 have “Tuskan Raider”, which is a typo of “Tusken”, so typos are a thing in the credits. - The Great Purge isn’t clearly set within the timeline yet. It does not seem to be the same thing as the Siege of Mandalore or Order 66, because it’s too significantly tied to the Empire.

While the Empire was being created during those moments and it’s possible that Paz Vizla was referring to something that happened in the aftermath of the Siege of Mandalore, something big enough to referred to separately, it might also very well refer to something that happened after Bo-Katan Kryze received the darksaber and united Mandalore against the Empire, as we don’t know how that fight happened, and may little comments in The Mandalorian indicate that seeing Mandalorians is very rare these days. Last we saw them, when Sabine talks about the Imperial Academy on Mandalore or when we see House Wren’s interaction with the other Clans, they don’t seem to be that rare. Paz Vizla says, “Our strength was once in our numbers. Now we live in the shadows and only come above ground one at a time. Our world was shattered by the Empire, with whom this coward shares tables.” and “These were cast in an Imperial smelter. These are the spoils of the Great Purge. The reason that we live hidden like sand rats.“ Unless they are a splinter group, Mandalorians didn’t live hidden away 10 years ago in the events of Rebels.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #mandalore #din djarin #pre vizsla #bo katan kryze #satine kryze #fenn rau #meta #long post

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leam1983 · 3 years

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Felix the Reaper - Thoughts? Review?

Can't really go into too much detail, it's rather late as it is and the ol' bed is beckoning, but I also want to couch this down somewhere while it's still fresh...

So, Death as a concept - as a character - obviously permeates the whole of human civilization. You've got Anubis and Osiris, Humbaba the Undying, thousands of years of mythology surrounding the concept of life leaving you and your flesh-bits rotting, generation after generation of people processing grief in visual and abstract forms - and now, we're sort of living in a context where Death isn't really all that scary anymore. We understand it, we can push it back in some cases - and when we can't, then we can sort of map out its occurrence. What started as just this inexplicable force swiping at hunter-gatherers and that warranted Danse Macabre paintings across Medieval France is now something we can put an almost-precise date and time on. There's a bunch of "death clocks" online that project a potential DOD based on your age, gender, health status, habits and BMI; sort of turning the concept of memento mori into a shockingly literate manifestation.

You will die, one day. We're so aware of that that a bit of science and Web design wizardry can shit out a half-serious guesstimation of when it'll happen. Pre-Colonial aspects of Death survive in Mexican culture in the forms of both calaveras and the Santa Muerte cult, and the inevitability of death now even counts as a game mechanic in the SoulsBorne genre. You've got Terry Pratchett's extremely Humanist rendition of Death and, well, Hollywood faff à la Meet Joe Black. The short of it is we're far from the robe-wearing zombie we used to plop everywhere as a reminder of our own supposedly sinful urges or on the fleeting nature of youth.

Another item that's of interest is the notion of life and youth being represented as the Maiden - and of Death being in love with her. Sometimes, the affection isn't returned and disgust is shown. That's most of Holbein's death-related works, in this case. In others, the Maiden leans in, lets the skeletal figure push a hand underneath her skirt and against one of her thighs. They share a kiss, press against one another in the way honest lovers might. He's a dried-out corpse with a bloated midsection and she might've stepped out of some sixteenth-century church in the Netherlands, but their liplock is intense and genuine. In one statue, the Maiden looks like she might've just surrendered to the Reaper's arms, but her hands are also touching his scythe....

Eroticism, a commentary on suicide or plain acceptance - there's several ways to look at that duality, and it's even managed to worm its way over to cultures that don't natively have similar associations with human remains. The Japanese, for instance, do have their own Gashadokuro concept, but the locals of Nagasaki needed their initially-exclusive exposure to Portuguese traders to shrink down their massive skeletal eidolons of doom and to design woodblock prints where a Danse Macabre effectively meets the dress codes and habits of the locals under sakoku, or the Emperor-mandated closing-off of Japan to the outside world.

Death as a dancer. Death, especially, as a force that's quite lively, despite its attributes. A force that falls head-over-heels for Life in its own anthropomorphized form.

This is what Danish devs Kong Orange opted to work on in Felix the Reaper. Their Death has a human name, has a thing for the stuffier ends of Business Casual, is maybe eighty pounds overweight - and won't ever, ever, let the music die. He's also in love, obviously - and in love with Betty, the equally portly and nimble personification of Life. The pair look a bit like a Fernando Botero couple waiting to happen, with ample waists and sagging breasts held aloft by spindle-thin legs - but if Ghostbusters taught us not to cross the streams, then you can assume that Life and Death starting a tango in the same workspace could have severe coincidences on the biosphere. Not that Felix cares, he'd want nothing more than for Betty to notice him. His supervisor is voiced off-camera by Sir Patrick Stewart, who's as delightful as always, and who sort of plays the part of the well-meaning supervisor who eventually realizes his new employee's quirks don't diminish his potential.

And what is Felix's job, exactly? Well, he's Death. He's not getting paid to distribute hugs and kisses, obviously. He gets sent to the mortal plane to, well, kill people, and more specifically, to kill people in precise and pre-ordained ways. His "televator" takes him to an instant frozen in time, and he has to alter the surrounding scene so that once time resumes its course, the requisite accident or happenstance occurs. You do that by picking up items, flicking switches, and placing targets in the path of whatever it is that's set to kill them. You also move the sun around the world using a magical sundial doohickey, as Death can only move in shadows. You're basically Death in the same sense as in the Final Destination movies, except you really, really, really want to twerk and sashay your voluminous heinie through the small changes needed to turn a nothing-burger into a drunk huntsman getting his head stuck in the stump of a decapitated deer, so the dejected and near-sighted hunter you've been following mistakes him for a target and shoots his spear through his brain-case.

And yes, Felix does twerk and he certainly sashays. Dude dresses like a stuffy librarian, sure, but seemingly loses all inhibitions once his headphones come up - which allows the player to share in his personal soundtrack. This particular Reaper seems to have a thing for very bass-driven and samply EDM, with occasional forays into Ambient and Jazz. His many, many, many idle animations all sync with whatever it is that's playing, and so does the variety of prances, somersaults, grands jetés and twirls he goes through while moving from place to place. Comparatively, you get the sense that Felix's coworkers are more the dour and solemn type - with a few unsubtle cameos from Skeletor and Manny Calavera in the opening cinematic - and Felix, well...

Let's just say it's a wonder he has those hips and that paunch. If he twirls around for every little thing he does, then you'd assume he only sits down to hoover an Olympic athlete's worth of food once a day. Or maybe I'm overthinking things because, well, death.

And therein lies the problem, honestly. In thinking, I mean. Felix is a puzzle game through-and-through, and also ties into a Challenge system in order to really tickle those completionist nerves. The starting scenarios are braindead-easy, but the later ones left me stumped for fifteen minutes per screen. Add to that the notion that the game doesn't check off some of them as complete if you only do the bare essentials, and you're left with another would-be mobile offering that doesn't reach its endpoint until you exhaust every little bit it has to offer - even if you're effectively done with the main gameplay loop. It's a great game, but there's just not a whole lot to do in those six chapters, beyond repeating bits of drudgery until your noodle clicks or you give up and look up a solution online.

It's a shame, too. The isometric perspective is perfect, and the game could've been pitched as a hybrid between a puzzler and, say, XCOM: Enemy Unknown. You'd take cover to hide from moving targets or to escape daylight and instead of shooting at them, would emerge from cover to move items around or solve puzzle elements. You could've had Death evoke the illusion of a friendly face to inject some more concrete narrative delivery, for instance. Steal a friend's features, magically conceal yourself, and then have your target piece her own weaknesses together, leaving you to retreat and regroup before executing your plan of attack. But no, everything is out in the open and everything is spelled out for you. Kong Orange could've also stolen a page from Hitman Go and set multiple triggers in place to truly sandbox the experience.

What is there is fun - it oozes personality and charm - but there's just not enough of it to justify Steam's full asking price, IMO. Comparatively, the Switch's online store is currently running a sale for it (as of Sunday the 15th, at least) and lists it as being 2,15$. Two bucks for a few hours of harmless fun is a pretty good deal, as far as I'm concerned. It also underlines why the devs and Daedalic Entertainment alike consider it as having "bombed", as the marketing effectively targeted Devolver's usual stable. It's not crunchy enough, however, and not exactly irreverent enough to warrant that comparison. A more hefty Felix could've earned its full 20$ price point on PC - and Kong Orange's very design for Betty makes it obvious that if Felix ever returns, it'll be in a co-op setup with the love of his, well, unlife.

I'd be up for more of this cuddly, swinging skelly - assuming the devs mature a tad and put something together that's just a smidge more compelling.

#felix the reaper #pc #switch #ps4 #review #puzzle #game #indie #felix #the #reaper #fat #skeleton

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padme-amitabha · 4 years

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You know I’m glad suitless!vader isn’t canon or that Anakin still retained his good looks if it means cant Disney make him a fuckboy in the comics! It was bad enough worry this writers would try to spin some weird sexual fantasy bullshit with Vader and some potential love interest...

I couldn’t agree more! It’s one of my biggest pet peeves in the fandom. Anakin’s journey is modeled like every tragic hero’s: his own choices and his flaws are his downfall. His injuries are a result of his own actions. I don’t see any reason to prefer Suitless!Vader other than because he would still have his good looks. If Anakin had not been stopped on Mustafar, he would have been unbearable and he would be even more arrogant because of his abilities. His defeat was necessary as Count Dooku predicted in the beginning of ROTS (“Twice the pride, double the fall”). Anakin shows his arrogance when he is denied the Rank of Master and shows it again on Mustafar when he decides he can overthrow Palpatine. The first time it leads to his moral downfall, and the second time it leads to permanent physical injuries. Star Wars has morals and the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker is a cautionary tale. It’s like a curve: the more Anakin rises in station in life, the more his arrogance grows and in ROTS, it peaks and then falls to the point he no longer cares about his force potential and he is back to his original position as a slave.

While Hayden is a very attractive man and helped bring the character of Anakin Skywalker to life, he isn’t Anakin; the actor is not the character. A character is more than just his looks. Still, there’s fanfiction for that. But I just can’t condone Disney sexualizing him or making him another Kylo Ren because that’s exactly how a Suitless!Vader is portrayed in most fics (and would probably be in the actual story). Besides, growing more and more powerful without check would make him a Gary Stu. His defeat was proof that being the Chosen One didn’t grant you immunity or plot armor. His injuries humbled him and he learned from his mistakes so he grew as a character. Anakin as a child was a simple good-hearted boy but being raised in the order - where everyone thought he was special - had made him arrogant. He started believing he was special and better than others. His constant complaining makes sense and his defeat made me realize he was not invincible.

I think Anakin has always been a prideful person (especially since he was of humble origins and longed for a life of significance) but he still managed to keep it to himself (like you can see him relent in the council meeting and he mostly complained to people he trusted like Padmé and Obi-Wan). It’s in the body language: he wants to be free and exercise free will but, in the end, he’s very submissive. In the same way, Vader has big plans with Luke but in front of the Emperor, he is submissive. He didn’t attack his Master till the very last moment when Palpatine wants to kill and not injure Luke. Becoming Vader was a part of his character development and it’s so much more interesting to see a hero actually struggle to adjust to his new life and deal with the repercussions and become a villain in the eyes of the next generation of heroes. I think it’s so much more relatable because everyone has dealt with mistakes in their lives. We are all shaped by our experiences.

I don’t care all that much about sequel trilogy or their new content but it does bother me when they change pre-established characters for fan service. They just had to change Lucas versions of Anakin and Vader to fulfill fanboys’ male power fantasy when Lucas tried so hard to establish both of his heroes as anything but generic male protagonists from action movies. I don’t think Marvel Vader is completely horrible but the way he deals with pain and memories of his past makes me completely unsympathetic towards him and I don’t believe he deserves redemption (especially since he continues to repeat the very things he regrets in the first place and because he is unnecessarily brutal). He is not Lucas!Vader so I don’t particularly care about other people’s fanfictions. Both TCW!Anakin and Marvel!Vader are more stoic than their Lucas counterparts and some of their actions are completely out of character, and they are also more overpowered (Lucas Anakin and Vader didn’t win in every duels they fought). And that sexual fantasy bullshit enrages me because while people are free to amuse themselves in whatever way they want, it should not be in Disney material they label as canon. They didn’t even need Suitless!Vader to come up with these absurd storylines.

Though as unbelievable as that crazy obsessed stalker nurse issue was, it still sent the message “Don’t be crazy and fancy Darth Vader”. The nurse got what we had all predicted in the end but Kieron Gillen’s OC is the worst character to ever exist because it seemed like he was having fun including his twisted fantasies. The entire “potential love interest” bit is rubbish because nobody can replace Padmé. Anakin was a demisexual and a romantic and sensitive guy but like TCW they want him to act like a straight white male and rob him of his individuality. Vader in the movies was respectable and this OC made everything into a joke. Did we see Boba Fett and other bounty hunters joking around with Vader and him tolerating that sort of nonsense in ESB? These writers have been given far too much creative liberty to screw around with good and complex characters. At this point, I think the comics are what I hate the most about Disney’s Star Wars.

#ask #anakin skywalker #darth vader #suitless vader #anti disney #anti disney star wars #anti marvel bs

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goldlightsaber · 4 years

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i think it’s so funny that the writers planted seeds for both kataang and zutara in the series from the first season.

kataang seeds were stronger in the sense that we get aang falling in love with katara the moment he sees her. he has a boyish crush. of course his feelings aren’t based on nothing -- they have a truly nurturing, healthy relationship. then madame wu predicts katara will marry a powerful bender, and katara comes to realize that aang is a powerful bender.

of course, all arrows point to aang -- which is good in the sense that kataang being endgame was no random fan-service-y surprise. although one could interpret that zuko is a powerful bender as well since he eventually becomes a firebending master.

then you have the episode where june, the bounty hunter, makes quips at zuko about him “chasing his girlfriend” and teasing that katara was “too pretty for him.” obviously this sets up a tension, even though zuko isn’t really after katara. but i also feel like the redirect plants the seed in the audience’s brain. hey, what if she was his girlfriend? june’s comment is a joke, but if taken apart, it could be interpreted this way: in a way, she is too pretty for him -- zuko’s awful first haircut aside, his soul is an open wound and it’s rotting. in no way does he deserve katara as unredeemed zuko.

but of course that’s not always the crux of a good, interesting ship. zutara, especially if one pairs up pre-redemption zuko and katara, has conflict, tension, fighting, shared trauma, etc. post-redemption, zutara might begin to look a little something more like kataang.

#zutara #im kinda scared to do it but i'll tag #kataang #atla #zuko #katara #aang #tagged kataang #because i'm genuinely interested in both ships #for different reasons lol

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stusbunker · 4 years

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What Lingers Within: Five

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Past Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Written for @thisismysecrethappyplace

Amazing help & beta’ing from @itmighthavebeenintentional

Lovely aesthetic from @thoughtslikeaminefield

Word Count: 1972

A/N:There are some quick flashbacks and talk of rotting bodies, but nothing out of the normal of the show for warnings. Angst. Thanks for reading! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

^*^*^*^*^

In a strictly “looking for a silver lining type way,” Sam was impressed with how Dean held in the road rage as they reached the city limits. He felt it too, the worry, the restlessness, the need to do something, anything. Dean drove, Sam thought; it was all they could do in the moment, however unsubstantial. Luckily, the natural progression of intense emotion defused overtime leaving logic and hunters’ patience on their side.

They spotted Michelle in her parked truck, right where she’d told them to meet her. Dean had to circle back twice before they found a spot big enough for the impala. They made do with only their handguns hidden on their backs, clocking their bustling surroundings on the way to the old pick up. Michelle dodged traffic and met them on the sidewalk, her shock dulled with exhaustion. Sam tried his best to reassure her before walking her back to wait in their car.

Ten yards before Sam reached his brother, Dean’s phone rang.

^*^*^

The first week had been a blur, being introduced to everyone repeatedly and suffering through hours of online training in your tiny bland cubicle. Your new job, essentially, was double checking other people’s work. “Quality Assurance Specialist’’ had been thrown around, but your title didn’t matter; it was entry level work.

You went home each day to your airy, quiet apartment alone. Hours spent reminding yourself that you had made the right choice moving and starting over. But there were moments when it felt like you were stuck, by moving you had acted on a hidden impulse to search for something. Something missing from your life.

Your nights were spent scrolling decorating boards cuddled on the couch in an old flannel that had started to wear in patches from burying your face in the soft fabric, searching for a scent that had long been washed away.

Mornings were easier, especially with a coffee shop just around the corner. Slowly you had built a routine, growing more comfortable with your surroundings and your coworkers.

Then came the afternoon Katelyn called you into your office, the day this all began when somehow you had put a chopping block over your own head and inadvertently, Chase’s.

You had been doing your job, she couldn’t fire you over the discrepancies you had bubbled up. But, whatever scheme she had been working was deemed more important than two people’s lives. The memory burned into the back of your mind as you listened to the call ring over the line.

“Agent Berkman.”

“Dean?” You croaked, his voice broke through your fighting mentality, bringing an instant vulnerability.

“Thank God! Where are you?”

“I don’t know! Katelyn got out on bail—the cops know you guys aren’t FBI!” Your mind jumped back, warning Dean before you could focus. His fake business card crumpled in your clenched fist.

“Is she there now? Are you someplace safe?” Dean coached.

“Um, I think I’m in a basement, it’s all cement and smells. This is Katelyn’s phone, I had to—,” you started to sputter.

“Hey! Listen to me! Is there a door? Can you get out?” Dean pressed.

You exhaled slowly. “I think so? I don’t know who dragged me here. I didn’t see them clearly before they knocked me out. I got fucking chlorofomed! I didn’t think people really did that.”

Dean grumbled, and you realized he must have been catching Sam up.

“Well, generally they don’t. I’m guessin’ Katelyn and her partner aren’t exactly experienced kidnappers.”

“That’s oddly reassuring.”

“You movin’ yet?”

“Oh, right. Don’t hang up.” Drawn out of your daze, your eyes focused onto corroded metal, your only exit.

“Honey, I wouldn’t dare,” Dean huffed out a chuckle. It made your cheeks burn as you wiped away the tears. You took another deep breath for courage and cranked open the heavy, old door.

*^*^*^

Her voice rang through the pre-dawn air, she was already giggling his name as he nuzzled against the back of her neck.

Dean was already hard, but the way her laughter broke off had him aching. Noises in any other context would be annoying were melodic, craved, sought out there. She was soft against his chest as he wedged a knee between her thighs. He rocked into the inviting cushion of her ass as they rolled, sheets twisting into an inescapable cocoon.

He took his time, sprinkling kisses over every inch of her back as they settled into place. With nowhere to go and no one that needed them, they indulged in each other. It had been a hard fought couple of months finding a new normal without Sam, but they’d done it together. This was just the dollop of whipped cream on their slice of pie. A perfectly lazy morning lay, something they’d done dozens of times before and Dean couldn’t imagine them ever stopping.

She whined with exhaustion and moaned with pleasure, a soundtrack he never knew he needed. He fell back asleep sometime after nine, and she lingered beneath him, playing with the hair at the scruff of his neck as he drooled in the crease below her bare breasts. Sticky and sloppy and stupidly content.

They went for brunch or ate in or any number of other silly weekend things regular couples did. It didn’t matter.

What mattered was the feelings never left Dean’s memories. They were folded in among the layers of her scent and the flash of her smile, the warmth of her voice and the shape of her body against his. Things time had faded but could never fully erase.

^*^*^

Dean and Sam beelined for the alleyway, retracing her steps until they ran into the trail they had followed to the vampire den less than a week prior. Dean switched his phone to his other hand as he held open the hatch for Sam to ease into the service tunnel. He prayed he wouldn’t lose service as he continued to talk her out of one room and into the labyrinth.

“Alright, are you being followed? Check again. Don’t stop watching your back, you hear me?” Dean huffed, his shoulder pinching his phone against his ear as he climbed down after Sam, leaving civilization behind.

“I am!” She was whispering all the sudden, which only made him more worried.

“Do you see anything? Any emergency lights or signs, pipes maybe?” Dean offered, crouching as he kept up with Sam’s hurried pace.

“Oh god,” she broke off.

“What is it?” Dean barked.

“I figured out what the smell is,” she coughed.

“Let me guess, bodies?” Dean jutted his chin to Sam.

“Who says that as your first guess?” She muttered the rhetorical question. “Wait, did you do this?”

“Maybe. Listen, whoever dragged you down there knew the vamps had been cleared out. Keep sharp.” Dean pushed against Sam’s back, speeding up as much as they could in the cramped space.

“I’m not going in there, I just spotted them through the hole in the wall.” She was adamant; Dean knew exactly the face she was making with that tone in her voice, and he couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“Alright, we’ll be there as soon as we can. Just, uh, keep talking,” Dean prompted.

“So, uh, is it weird that I’m hoping to see Michaelangelo or Donatello down here? Because I am getting some weird nostalgia vibes right now,” she wondered aloud, earning a solid guffaw from Dean, which got him a questioning grimace from Sam.

“If you see a man-sized rat, I wouldn’t stop and ask for any Kung Fu tips,” Dean mock warned.

“Master Splinter is more than a mere rat, dude,” she tisked.

“You see the new ones?” Dean kept her talking.

“With pretty boy Casey Jones? Or the cartoons?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Look, they could have been worse—,” Dean was cut off.

“Shit! Roy’s calling! What the fuck do I do?” She started to panic.

“It’s call waiting, just let it ring through, you’re fine. It’s going to be okay,” Dean tried to soothe her with only bullshit and a sliver of hope.

“What if it was him that drugged me, Dean? What if he’s looking for Katelyn and comes looking for me?” She continued to spiral and Dean felt like they were moving backwards. It hadn’t taken them this long to find the vamps the first time, had it?

Just when he was going to butt in and calm her down, the line went dead.

^*^*^

If Katelyn’s phone had grown hands and punched you in the face, you would have been less surprised; Roy’s face, in an altogether uncomfortable smirk, stared back at you from the blue tinged call screen. Somehow he had managed to interrupt your call to Dean.

There was no hiding that you weren’t Katelyn. You had no reason to answer her phone before, why would you now?

Too bad logic didn’t ease your worry.

You pushed End Call and shoved the phone in your back pocket. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you ducked into the hole with the decapitated vampires and hugged your knees. Any moment you could be discovered. You kept yourself quiet by reminding yourself that there was hope that Dean or Sam would find you before Roy could.

You buried your face in the grime and sweat on your clothes, trying to block out the stench of decay. You felt eight-years-old again, hiding in your grandmother’s closet waiting for the older cousins to find you. You remembered they had given up and started playing baseball without you. No one had come to find you until it was time to leave. Your dad said you had won Hide & Seek, but you knew what he wasn’t saying: you had been forgotten because you were unnecessary. A bother.

It wasn’t the last time you had been left behind.

Just when you decided to try and continue escaping, heavy footfalls echoed closer. You trembled in place, face hidden in your forearms while your eyes slammed closed in fear and childlike instinct.

“Where is she?!” Dean’s voice broke through the eerie quiet. “She said she was out here.”

“Here! I’m, I– I didn’t know where to go?” You crawled onto your knees and then climbed out through the gap in the wall.

You fell into Sam’s side, one pair of warm hands caught your waist and another righted your shoulders. Before your eyes could readjust to the light, you found yourself drowning in freckles and lashes.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Dean searched your cheeks and neck, wrists and feet for any sign of injury. His touch was hurried, but careful, like you could crumble at any moment.

“I’m fine, just a little woozy.” You mumbled, suddenly self-conscious of being the center of attention. “We really need to get going.”

“Did you see Roy?” Sam asked, gun out and eyes darting around.

“No, but he’s bound to track Katelyn’s phone eventually.” You held up the phone. Hastily, you wiped it off with your shirt best you could before dropping it to the mildewed floor and crushing it beneath your shoe.

“Why’d you do that? Why not just leave it for a false trail?” Sam cocked his head.

You shrugged. “I was hoping it would delay the inevitable. Katelyn’s dead. Or at least I think she is. I killed her.”

“You what?!” Dean and Sam gaped in unison.

“Look, can we keep moving? I need you guys, uh, to hold off on the questions, because I am not really sure how I feel about it yet.” You hoped your desperation was coming off as endearing, because you still needed their help. Sam was obviously befuddled, but Dean’s expression looked more like pride.

You pressed your luck. “Be my getaway driver?”

“I’m all yours,” Dean smirked and clicked his tongue, ushering you to follow Sam’s lead.

^*^*^

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624 @kalesrebellion

General SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Six

#what lingers within #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean angst #amnesia fic

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trashbinbackyard · 4 years

Note

basics and environment for gilly and ipes

gals... one wholesome, one not so much

Basics:

1. What is their gender?

Female

2. What is their sexuality?

Panromantic demisexual

Bisexual demiromantic

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

Gesiye Ikande, goes by Gilly a lot. Gesiye means genuine in Ijaw (ethnic group in Nigeria)

Her real name is Nayla Hahn Nayla being Arabic origin and Hahn Korean (her moms’ backgrounds) Though at this point no one knows her real name as she goes by Ipes which is a different spelling for a demon Ipos

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

She has two younger sisters. She’s pretty close with both of them, but they live on earth so she sees them rarely

No siblings

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

She loves them but being the oldest sister she also kinda fell into that third parent role. She has a pretty big family as her parents also have multiple siblings, they spend holidays all together

She got emancipated at the age of 15 due to her parents not being able to care for her and she refused to enter any kind of foster system. She hasn’t talked to them since, assumes they’re dead

6. What would they give their life for?

Her family for sure

Honestly, nothing. No one comes even near being worth dying for. Neither is her business. If it ever came to it, she’d rather rot in prison than die for it

7. Are they in a romantic relationship? With who? How did they meet?

Mallory, met her at work. She wanted to wait to become more than just an investigator intern before starting anything but she’s smart and now she’s a fully fledged investigator

No, she has a strict no dating or banging your employees policy and since all the people she has respect for so far are her employees, there’s no one available. Also, she thinks pretty highly of herself so it’s gonna take work for someone be on the level she sees appropriate. (i myself am kinda curious where tf she and kenjiro are gonna end up)

8. What do they believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?

She’s not religious, but does believe in some sort of good/bad place, she doesn’t really let it control her life and she tries to be good for the sake of being good (also, being mean is not nice)

No. And since she doesn’t fear life after death she feels free to do whatever the hell she likes

9. What is their favorite color? Favorite animal?

Purple. Any type of antelope, she thinks they’re neat

Black, surprise, but also really likes neon lights (you can guess what type of lights there are in her club). She likes snakes, especially black mambas

10. What are some of their talents/skills?

She’s very resourceful, quick thinking and good writer (of reports at least)

She knows how to read and push people, very conniving, and a great actor

11. If they could make a mark on history, what would they like it to be?

Idk, she’s just happy to be here

Woman has a drug empire right under law enforcement’s noses

12. How old are they? When is their birthday?

24-29 depending if time is pre-mallory vs relationship

35 (and both for them i really hate coming up with specific dates)

13. What do they do for fun?

Read, swim, enjoy coffee, cuddle with Mallory, watch animal videos

Gamble (she’s cheating), drink, have long ass baths, patrolling her club is work but she enjoys that part of her work a lot

14. What is their favorite food? How often do they get to eat it?

Something very spicy, veggies, she’s not a huge meat-eater

Due to her past drug abuse, most foods make her nauseous, so her fave is something light like fish

15. What was something their parents taught them?

Be kind and respectful, know your worth and do the dishes

Everyone is own their own

16. Are they religious?

No, spiritual, kinda

17. Where were they born?

Nigeria

Outer rim

18. What languages can they speak? Where did they learn these languages?

English and trade

Trade, whatever is the second biggest language on outer rim

19. What is their occupation?

Private investigator

Night club owner (that’s the side hustle to her drug business)

20. Do they have any titles? How did they earn them?

P.I, lots of school and getting a good internship

Word on the street is that she runs the biggest drug ring this side of rim, not officially though. Hard work and lots of blackmailing

Environment:

61. Which season is their favorite season?

Spring, lots of green, but not yet unbearably hot

Whenever her money comes in

62. Have they ever been betrayed? How did it affect their ability to trust others?

No, doubt she ever will, the bounty hunter (at least the citadel ones) are good people

Since birth honestly, whatever trust she had for her parents wilted away and now she won’t trust anyone unless they’ve proven themselves time and time again

63. What is always guaranteed to make them smile?

Animals, friends, the outdoors, she’s simple, just living the good life

Money, getting what she wants

64. Do they get cold easily? Do they get overheated easily?

She get cold more easily than too hot

Thanks to her metal leg all drastic changes in temperature are felt almost immediately

65. What’s their immune system like? Do they get sick often? How do they react to getting sick?

She’s got a pretty strong immune system. Doesn’t get sick that much

It’s pretty weak. She often gets flu when it’s the season

66. Where do they live? Do they like it there?

She lives in the citadel, has nice apartment there, she likes it lot

She has carved herself a place on the outer rim, it wasn’t exactly her dream but at this point there’s no place she’d rather be, has multiple apartments scattered around but her main one is on the top floor of her nightclub

67. Is their bedroom messy? What about their bathroom? Kitchen? Living room?

It’s somewhat messy, coffee cups and plates here and there, papers and journals scattered about, the whole house is like that

It’s super neat, she looks after herself. Her suite doesn’t even have a kitchen because she gets her food from the club kitchen

68. How did their environment growing up affect their personality?

Her parents influenced her a lot, she turned out good

Coming from two addicts, becoming one herself and generally being distrustful...

69. How did the people in their environment growing up affect their personality?

Wait i thought the previous one was the same question abbgöreghaeh

70. How do they feel about animals? Do they have any pets?

Love them! No time for one tho, if she had it’s be a cat

On that note.. I think she has a pet snake in her suite, its got a huge terrarium for it

71. How are they with children? Do they have any? Do they want any?

Love them, she’s good with them, she’s definitely the fun big cousin for her small relatives. Doesn’t have any but might want one? She feels she’s too young still

She doesn’t hate them but would rather no kids see her, ever. Doesn’t have any, doesn’t want any

72. Would they rather have stability or comfort?

i mean.... with stability comes comfort. But she’d choose comfort

Stability, life is already one big uncomfort for her to begin with

73. Do they prefer the indoors or outdoors?

Outdoors

Indoors

74. What weather is their favorite? Do they like storms?

Sunny for sure, storms are nice when you’re inside and in a secure place

Loves rain and storms, they also make ppl gather inside more

75. If given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

She’d doodle, they’re not great but i’m Mallory would love whatever she’d draw

If something, she’d draw a middle finger for investigators to find

76. How organized are they?

She keeps her work very neat and packed, everything else, not so much

Very much so, everything is neat and organized and hidden away, that’s key to getting away with doing what she does

77. What is their most prized possession?

Her badge, or a stuffed animal from her home

A single memory card contains mountains of excel sheets, it’s either always on the move and hidden or locked away, never in the same place for longer than a week

78. Who do they consider to be their best friend?

Mallory, she’s sappy like that

Juicebox comes the closest

79. What is their economic situation?

She’s comfortable, not super rich but not going from paycheck to paycheck either

Oh she’s loaded

80. Are they a morning person or a night owl?

Night owl

All the best stuff happens at night in her opinion

#my mom called in the middle of writing this and that took extra 20 mins safohghaeuhb #ipes has a pet snake and it's only slightly disturbing when she feeds it live mice #though from what i know snakes dont need to eat that much they can go for long without a big meal #it's a spoiled little noodle for sure

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years

Text

Forgive Me Father - Priest!Dean x Reader

A/N: Why does this one feel so much better than LHYHM?! I need to smut more often, obviously...Anyways. I stayed over a little late so my phone could charge (I’m not home, if you didn’t know). And if I’m lucky? I’ll actually be able to pump out the next part of LHYHM before the week from hell hits. I’ve been hella motivated the last 24 hours. Until then, though? Have some more Dean porn.

As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

Part One

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. This piece especially. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Warnings: Smut. PWP. Oral (Female receiving). Fingering. Kinda public sex. Role play. Kinda dirty talk.

Word Count: Roughly 2,400

“Dean?” You walked into the empty church somewhere in a tiny town. Tennessee, much like the rest of the bible belt, had plenty to spare. Ducking under a cobweb, you glanced around in interest.

Anyone else would have been intimidated by the way the darkness surrounded you. Only pieces of light breaking through the rotted walls. Kudzu clung to pieces of old brick; the vines had already taken over half of the outside. A third of the inside. Humidity forced your clothes to cling to your skin in a way that only made everything feel that more closed in. The one thing that you feared, however, was the sight of a venomous snake or spider.

Your hunter senses remained peeled as you moved. Listening for a sign of him. Or one of the aforementioned creatures.

Sure enough, there was a creak above your head. A single ray of sunlight that had managed to sneak from above was broken for only half of a second as the shadow walked past. An intentional slip, you were sure.

Your lips curled up as you moved towards the stairs. Each sound of your feet on the steps was deliberate. Letting him know exactly where you were. Hoping the anticipation of your body moving towards him was causing his pulse to throb like it was yours.

When you got to the door, you could openly hear the movement from inside the room. The words 'Father DeNiro' were etched onto a wrinkled piece of paper over the previous owner's true name. Crude, but it'd do in a pinch.

Without missing a beat, your fingers found the bottom of the white dress he'd insisted you wore. Ensuring that it was tugged down over your chest in the best kind of way. It had looked modest on the hanger. Yet, was anything but when it was clinging around your body. If Dean wanted to play, you were more than willing. Following through with a small, timid knock the game kicked up a notch.

“Come in,” The words followed the squeak of a chair. You let your eyes move over the room as you opened the old wooden door. Dean had been a busy man.

A light mint smell filled the air- an attempt to both set the mood and deter spiders. Something you appreciated greatly. Candles lit up areas where electricity had been shut off eons ago. Making up for the areas where the sunlight couldn't quite reach. The dust had been cleared away in the room. A rag hidden under a piece of furniture, you were sure. He sat at the large, old, wooden desk. Donned in the gear you'd fallen to your knees for- literally.

“Father?” The door was shut carefully behind you. Hardly making a sound. You let your back rest against the wood, letting your eyes widen almost comically. Slipping into your role.

It didn't take much effort to get there. He was bent over, reading over some kind of paperwork. Likely notes from the hunt, or maybe even his next credit card scam. A pair of thick rimmed spectacles sat on his nose- the hell hound glasses.

Somehow, it added to the experience. Exactly as he'd planned, you had no doubt. When Dean Winchester wanted to play, he didn't miss a detail.

“Y/N.” He sat up, looking as surprised as he could muster. The dress aided in your cause. He'd known it would look good. Just hadn't been quite prepared for the way your breasts peaked out of the top. “Have a seat, please.” He motioned towards the padded chair that sat across from him. His hands reached up, lowering the glasses from the bridge of his nose; leaving those dangerous pine green eyes on you in their place.

“You wanted to see me?” Your head tipped to the side as you lowered yourself into the faded leather. A good girl would have crossed her ankles. You weren't a good girl.

Your knee came up over the other, flashing the crotch of a thin pair of white panties his way. His nostrils flared at that, but he gave no other indication that he'd witnessed the fabric hardly covering your lower half. His willpower was incredible. Determined to see this through.

“Your family is worried about you,” He answered, locking his fingers together as he leaned onto the desk. The action tugging the black material across his arms and chest just right. You saw his too full mouth twitch as he resisted the smile on his face. Noting how your tongue darted out to wet your lips at the action.

“Oh, really?” Your back leaned into the chair, resting your free limbs on the arms. The action pushed your breasts forward. Fighting back with your own tricks. “What about, exactly?” The way his eyes trailed over your chest said that it was appreciated.

“You've been heading down a bad path,” He answered, tilting his sharp jaw more into the air. Highlighting the five o'clock shadow that rested there. The confidence in his role was astounding. “Consorting with demons, summoning spirits, dabbling in witch craft...the list could go on.” You didn't flinch as the accusations came out.

“Guilty.” Was your answer. The inner minx unable to resist the possibility of punishment. “Are you going to tell me how to repent, Father?”

“A sound lashing would do you good,” He leaned back in his chair, then. Searching over your body as he thought about where he wanted to lead the day's fun.

“You're going to spank me?” Your brow lifted at that. Sounding almost hopeful in the process. It was exactly what you craved.

“Not that kind of lashing.” You understood what he meant, then. Your spine straightened visibly, earning a small smirk. “I don't believe in corporal punishment.”

“Then what do you believe in, Father?” Your knee fell off of the other one in anticipation as he got to his feet slowly. Giving you a chance to take in every piece of his predatory stance.

“A good, ole fashioned tongue lashing,” He answered. Despite knowing where he was going, your breath hitched at the way he said it. His teeth caught onto his plump lower lip; letting it slide through so slowly that you thought you were going to burst into flames. His tongue rested against the back of his teeth as he took that first step forward. “Open up, sweet heart.” Who were you to resist? Your legs widened a bit as his knees just barely brushed against yours. “Wider.” His calloused fingers gripped your thighs. Tugging them open as far as he could get them. “I think better pray, first.”

Every bit of what was happening was sacrilege. Surely Chuck, wherever he was, would be scandalized by the easy way you two fell into the act. You didn't give a damn.

“I'd like that,” You breathed out. Voice thick with longing.

He lowered himself to his knees, then. Your gaze never left him. Not even when his palms rubbed over your the apex thighs. Whispering an undecipherable little prayer over the sight that sat in front of him.

As he murmured, his hands crept higher. Reaching for the fragile lines of your panties. Your hips lifted, letting him tug them down your legs. Over your shoes and to the floor. The material was already wet, earning a small click of his tongue. He shoved the ruined underwear in his back pocket. Knowing you weren't going to need them any time soon.

“Lean back...bring your hips closer,” He ordered, pulling your leg over his shoulder when you did as instructed. Your dress was bunched up over your waist. Not that you minded in the slightest. “You're not going to like this.”

“Of course not, Father,” The breathy way you said it had him smirking before he dipped in. His nose just barely brushing against you.

He started slow. Just letting his lips lightly graze over your flesh. His fingers pressed into your thighs, holding your legs open wide. It wasn't until a small whine left you that he added more pressure. Kissing your mound deeply in a way that earned a satisfied sigh.

Softly, he began tracing through your folds with his tongue. Licked, sucked, and nipped away at your wet heat until you were trembling in the chair. Your fingers had stopped digging into the faded leather. Instead, finding their way to his hair. You tugged, earning small groans that vibrated through you. And then, the punishment truly began. The pressure increased. All mercy forgotten.

When he finally pressed his tongue into you, you thought you were going to lose it. He wasn't having that, though. Not yet.

“Don't cum,” He ordered, pulling away to meet your eyes. His own were a deeper pine than they'd been only minutes before. Lips shining and swollen from his activities. Tiny freckles still visible in the low light. Fucking perfect. “Not yet, Y/N.”

Then, he was back to work. Fucking you harder with that damned tongue of his. Torture at its finest.

You tried to focus on something else to keep the control in place. Your eyes left his face, and turned towards the open window. Looking for birds. Attempting to count the dust particles dancing in the sunlight. Hell, even hoping for a spider to take your mind off of the friction inside of you. It was useless.

Instead, your eyes closed; letting yourself feel as he pressed his fingers deep inside your waiting body. The slick sounds of your tight hold accepting his touch filled the air, leaving you breathless. He had no leniency; curling his fingers inside of you to scrape against your g-spot. Forcing a strangled moan mixed with his name to leave your lips time and time again. His tongue traced around your clit, adding pressure just to the left over and over. Drawing whimpers and his name brokenly from your mouth.

Dean knew exactly what he was doing. He brought you to the edge. Once. Twice. Only backing away when you could just feel the beginnings of your orgasm. So dreadfully sinful.

He hadn't been lying about the anguish he could inflict. Just when you thought that you couldn't take anymore, he pulled away. Pressing his lips against your thigh affectionately. Basking in the shiver of it. Forcing your eyes to open weakly.

“I think I've learned my lesson, Father,” You breathed out shakily. Your body was boneless against the chair he'd held you in.

“Not quite,” He managed, his voice rougher than it had been earlier. God, you loved the sound of it. The deep gravel of it was enough to make your insides twitch. “I think we can dig deeper, here.” Your body was pulled forward, allowing for your arms to wrap around his thick neck. He lifted you in a well practiced manner. His breathing was hard, but not from the effort of carrying you. It was from his own arousal. The clothed erection rubbed against your sensitive flesh as he moved; stopping only to throw the papers off of the desk with a single hand before letting you sit on the cool wood. “You were speaking in tongues, Y/N...” He murmured, his dept fingers lowered to his belt. Flicking it open. “I think a baptism is in order, Darlin'...” Absolute fucking blasphemy. You simply leaned back on your elbows, watching as the pants dropped to the ground.

“This is going to fix it?” Your eyes batted innocently, resting on your elbows as he freed himself from his boxers. Shoving them down to meet the black material below. He didn't bother to remove anything else. There was no need.

“Sweetheart, it'll fix anything.” He promised, low and steady as he lined himself up. He moved slow, pressing the tip in first. “Watch, Y/N...” He pulled away a bit before pushing in a little further. Each time, he got a little deeper. Stretched you a little better.

Your lip tugged between your teeth as you watched him bury into your body fully. His own eyes rested on where your bodies met. Then, he seemed to snap. His hips reared back, and slammed forward. “Dean,” You whined, giving up the rouse. Letting his true name fall from your lips with ease.

Your head tossed back as each harsh thrust rocked your body against the creaking desk. The strength left your arms, leaving you to lay flat back, legs sprawled. The position only opened up more room for Dean to move forward, and lean over you.

His pace never slowed. He grew more demanding as you weakly met each thrust. Only stuttering when he moved to tug your legs up and over his arms. Letting him shove even deeper inside your clenching heat.

“Fuck,” He murmured reverently, watching your body accept everything he had to give it. The sound of his thighs slapping against yours filled the room; echoing off of the empty walls. “You're so fucking sexy.” Before you could argue, your legs were pushed back down. Your upper body was yanked upwards so that his lips could slam into yours. Hungrily blocking your ability to whine his name, again. You clawed at his costume as his tongue moved in time with his hips. Wrapping your legs around his back to hold him close.

His pace grew unsteady. With each squeeze of your body, he grew a little wilder. More sloppy. His fingers reached down between your bodies. Rubbing at your clit mercilessly. Even then, he tipped over the edge first. Stilling as he throbbed deeply inside of you. The action was enough to set you off, whimpering as your orgasm washed through you.

When it was all over, everything was quiet again, except for your mingled breathing. Without a word, he pulled away. Tugging out the cloth he'd carried in his other pocket. In a practiced move, he cleaned you both up before tossing the rag across the room. Not caring that it was out in the open.

“So...” You crossed your legs as Dean snapped up the slacks. Tugging the dress down your thighs to cover up a little. “What brought that on, Father DeNiro?”

His eyes crinkled at the name, “This place called to me.”

“Thank Chuck for that,” You sighed out, still feeling deliciously weak. “Must'a been God's Will...” Going to Hell for your actions was a given. But, somethings were just worth it...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

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