#has some of the best ship v ship combat

[isagrimorie]

Captain Kathryn Janeway as a Brilliant Tactician, part 1, 2, 3 (version 1) (version 2)

Star Trek Voyager, 7x10 -Flesh and Blood II (version 1)

Hirogen ships wildly outclassed Voyager and the first time Voyager seriously went up against the Hirogen, the crew lost control of the ship and they were forced to participate in various Hirogen hunting games.

The crew barely took back Voyager and Janeway had to give Hirogen the Hologram tech to get them off her ship.

And then in season 7, after the EMH Doctor betrayed Voyager and thoroughly sabotaged the ship. The Engine room was a mess and the only reason Voyager didn't explode is because B'Elanna reinforced the Warp core. And then the holograms kidnap B'Elanna.

Voyager, battered and limping was on a mission to retrieve their two lost crew members. So Janeway decided to use the Hirogen's hunting skill for their benefit and had the best tactic to deal with the Hirogen while Voyager was in no condition for a firefight.

And despite limping all the way while tailing the Hirogen ships, in the end Voyager fought against two Hirogen ships and won.

#star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #brilliant tactician series #once again #janeway proves never put her on the backfoot #also given a second or third chance #she'll find a way to fight any superior ship to a standstill #trek edit #my edit #star trek edit #flesh and blood (voyager) #also janeway is an expert #utilizing consultants and local knowledge #i was so mad at the emh doctor for this episode #especially since all he got was a slap on the wrist #even seven wouldn't get away with what he just did #the emh doctor literally put the voyager crew in danger #tuvok #harry kim #chakotay #trekedit #voyager edit #long post #flashing warning #also voyager #has some of the best ship v ship combat #in 90s Trek

[queerplatonicshipshowdown]

Round 3, Match 3

Crowley and Aziraphale (Ineffable Husbands) from Good Omens vs. Camilla Hect and Palamades Sextus (Campal) from The Locked Tomb!

Propaganda for Ineffable Husbands:

They are each others everything; they discarded their former affiliations to form their own sides; they are the best of friends and so close that they can't imagine life without each other. But they also *canonically* (at least in the books) do not experience sexual attraction, or romantic attraction, at least not in the same way humans do; their relationship *cannot* be defined by something as simple as romance, and this is a view the author (Neil Gaiman) has endorsed. Hence, queer platonic.

EEEEEEEE they're so CUTE and they LOVE each other and the fact that this love doesn't have to be specifically romantic doesn't make it less REAL and that warms my aspec heart.

those bitches are qpps for sure

In the book they’ve been friends for thousands of years and are v involved in each other’s lives (routinely have dinner ‘dates’, Crowley frequently hangs out at Aziraphale’s bookshop, generally hanging out and stuff.) Since their not human, they don’t really understand human relationships, love, and gender which makes their relationship v queer. They’re mistaken as a couple by other characters despite not being in a romantic relationship. In the show the same things happen and new scenes are added showing how their friendship grew, them becoming much more devoted to each other, and various struggles they’ve had in their relationship. (ei. Sorta breaking up, them each wanting different things out of life)

they've known each other for over 6,000 years. they saved the world together. they have saved each other over and over again. they love each other so deeply and you can see their love for each other in everything they do. as an aromantic queerplatonic person they embody what queerplatonic love means to me so perfectly

Propaganda for Campal:

They're two people who have spent their whole lives together and are hopelessly devoted and loyal to each other. While some people do read their relationship as strictly romantic or platonic, it has way more going for it through a QP lense! They've been lifelong friends, and in their culture are essentially non-romantic life partners as a necromantic wizard and his bodyguard/champion. It's actually strictly taboo for them to engage in a romantic relationship because of this. But nonetheless they remain close to and devoted to each other, going so far as to use necromancy to keep each other close after one of them dies, and then going on to share a body until it becomes physically impossible to do so any longer. So they burn both of their souls to merge together into one new entity, creating a walking metaphor for queerplatonic partnership. They endlessly support and encourage each other, they're a perfect team when it comes to both peaceful study and combat. They know each other inside and out, long before they had to share a body, they were inseperable.

They're two halves of one whole, literally, and nothing about that intense closeness and partnership is written to be romantic! Especially because other, similar characters in the series ARE written to read as romantic, and there's a distinct tonal difference to those relationships! Basically, they're two peas in a pod, two halves of a whole, clearly not quite platonic with it, but certainly not romantic either.

The author of The Locked Tomb has a long term queerplatonic partner! She even dedicates the books to him and signs those dedications with a <> (which is a Homestuck reference, denoting a non-romantic partnership that a number of fans associate with QPPs!). You can feel the influence of her own experience with queerplatonic attraction in a lot of the series, but it really comes through especially in Cam and Pal!!

#poll #tournament #polls #tournament poll #tournament polls #tumblr poll #tumblr polls #tumblr tournament #qpr #queerplatonic ship showdown #queerplatonic ship #queerplatonic #round 3 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens #camilla hect #palamades sextus #campal #the locked tomb

[christiansorrell]

TTRPG Read-Through: Traveller - Book 1

Here is a read-through I did about a year and a half ago (originally posted on Twitter) of one of the all time classics: Traveller by Game Designers' Workshop! This read-through just covers Book 1 - Characters and Combat from the original Traveller box set trio of books. - Christian

This is the 1981 Second Edition printing of the classic Traveller three zine box set! Been wanting to read this for ages now. It's discussed A LOT in Mothership circles.

Really interesting to see GM-less and solo play options here. Didn't realize that was being done explicitly at this time. Also, nice to see "he or she" language here rather than the just "he" you see a lot in older games.

The UPP is clearly the creation of an utterly deranged mind. This seems like a huge overcomplication of just listing stats (unless all your players are proficient in hexadecimal).

[Hi, it's me from the future here (aka now - 2024): I've learned to embrace and love the UPP (or more specifically the planet stat version from one of the other books). It's complicated at first but really quick and cool once you know how to read it.]

I really like Social Standing as a stat replacement for charisma or charm or other social skills you tend to see. Feels like it would have more impact on the story and less of a "Roll to see if you convince him, I guess" sort of anticlimax social skills have most of the time.

I'm now into the "you can die during char creation in Traveller" bits. Really cool in some ways. Really comical in others. It recommends you enlist your bad stat characters into the Scout service because of it's high mortality rate (so you can roll a diff char before play), lol.

Essentially, you roll stats and that's your entire character but to give them some experience they can enlist in a Service. You have to roll to get in and may get rejected. If so, you submit to the draft (get into one at random). You can die. You can gain skills and promotions.

Honestly, the char creation feels like a solo game unto itself. Risk v reward of how far to push your enlistments to boost your skills and standing and benefits. You could have a whole story in your head by the end of it. Great Session 0 material.

As a 34 yr old, this hurts. Apparently, I have -1 Strength, Dexterity and Endurance now...

I admire commitment but asking GMs to use this full char creator for all NPCs (which means generating chars until you get one capable of filling the role you need) is truly too wild. Best part: at the end, it just says you can also pick whatever you want for stats and skills.

The weapons and intro text have much more of a space as a new age of sail vibe to them than I was anticipating. It's cool. Far more Dune than Alien (so far).

Interestingly (unless I missed something), skills are detached from your stats. Your base stats make getting into a Service easier and help you with Saving Throws and such, but skills have their own modifiers based on the situation and your expertise. It's cool (if a bit dense)!

In case you were wondering, there is absolutely no art in this entire book. I'm hoping we'll get some in one of the other two books with vehicles and ships and such but won't be holding my breath. Gives the whole thing a very Serious vibe.

Always interesting to see how older games chose to handle this (or not).

Here's the UPP in action along with quick listing of other character info. Interesting even if it is just too overcomplicated for my tastes.

Can't overstate how much char creation feels like a whole solo game of its own. You can roll a character at age 18 and have them go through seven 4-yr terms in a Service before retiring and having substantial cash, specific possessions, memberships and social standings. Wild.

The character sheet mentions PSIONICS which is exciting (but I'll have to wait till Book 3 for more on that apparently).

Combat is straightforward but has some unique bits: a focus on stealth as an option and movement/attacks occur by all parties simultaneously which means everyone (enemies too) gets to move and then everyone chooses who to attack and you roll them all. Sounds really fun.

Stats have cool effects in battle. Your Endurance stat is the number of attacks you can make before needing to rest (can you imagine if DnD just didn't let you do a base attack at a point?). Strength and Dex can boost or lower certain weapon rolls like you'd expect.

If trained in a weapon, you can give your expertise as a negative mod to your enemy's rolls to attack you to reflect parrying and blocking which is cool. The skills also add to your attack rolls. Skills just seem really useful overall here.

I just love that we get stats for broadswords, revolvers, and laser carbines. Plus, there are even special tables for archaic weapons for when encountering lower-tech civilizations. It feels like a really wide open interpretation of what space could look like. Feels exciting.

A few more equipment tables and a final quick reference page at the back and that's all for Book 1. I'll be back with Book 2 and 3 in the coming days!

Main thoughts: Character creation is very involved but really cool - its own game practically. Skills are very deep in a way that feels refreshing when compared to more stat-focused games. Combat has some fun, chaotic twists. Feels like a wide universe of possibility here so far.

I'll add Books 2 and 3 to this thread when I give them their own read-throughs. In the meantime, here's my newsletter (last two months have Mothership freebies): https://meatcastle.substack.com

And here's my website (with links to my games and modules and all that good stuff): https://shop.meatcastlegameware.com/

Thanks for reading!

#traveller #ttrpg #rpg #science fiction #scifi #long post #read through #ttrpgs #roleplaying #roleplaying games #tabletop #classic

[the-scandalorian]

Title: Stepwise Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 5.1k Warnings: explicit smut (fingering, blowjob, unprotected p-in-v, cum eating, cum play, mention of ass play), touch-starved Din, possessive Din, somewhat inexperienced Din, soft feelings, references to canon-typical violence Summary: Requests for both soft and smutty touch-starved head canons spiraled out of control and became this.

Din Djarin knows some touch.

He’s versed in violent touch, in touch made heavy by duty. He's comfortable with the tangled chaos of hand-to-hand combat, the brutal embrace of wrestling a quarry to the ground, the dead weight of a body slung over his shoulder, the strange intimacy of towing someone by their bound wrists from the moment of capture all the way to the carbonite chamber.

From those things, Din comes away bloodied and bruised. Exhausted. They're second nature—reflexive, at this point—but whether he likes it or not, each one takes something from him.

Soft touch—touch that restores and comforts and gives—has been scarce for so long that it’s mostly foreign to him. He knew it best as a child, before his commitment to untouchable beskar and an unbreakable code. He has memories of his mother sweeping his untidy hair off his forehead and of his father taking his small hands in his much larger ones to show Din how to plant a seedling without crushing the delicate green leaves. He remembers falling asleep snuggled under a thick red blanket, crickets chirping a muted chorus outside his window, the grounding weight of a hand rubbing up and down his back.

These distant memories start to feel much closer—and more tactile—when Grogu comes into his life. Staring down at a wailing, wriggling kid with no idea what to do, Din finds himself thinking back to his childhood, to his parents, out of necessity. And as those memories sharpen, little by little, affection slips into his interactions with the kid. Din shrugs off a pauldron to rock him to sleep or soothes his hiccuping cries with reassuring pats from an ungloved hand. These soft gestures make sense: they keep the kid calm, help him stay asleep longer…which means Din gets to sleep longer. They’re purely practical. So they become habit.

And, gradually, they become comfort. For Din. He feels better—quieter—when Grogu is settled in the crook of his elbow with three tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb.

You come into Din’s life at just the right time, at the exact moment of this subtle opening.

He takes you on as a hunting partner—he finds that he needs one after ten years of working alone. Apparently, raising a toddler is a full-time job. Your relationship as work associates lasts maybe two months, though. Care and attraction are almost impossible to keep private in a space as small as the Razor Crest. He’s taken by your smile and your strength, by the way you soften the sterile lines of his ship into something akin to home. You’re enamored with his duality: a tender heart cased in steel.

When Grogu leaves with the Jedi, it’s implicit that you’ll stay.

The rest should be simple.

But Din—the man you really want, not Mando or The Mandalorian—is armored in so many layers, both physical and emotional. You have to work towards intimacy in stages, in a stepwise function you feel your way through together.

One

In the beginning, Din flinches away from your friendly physical advances: twisting his shoulder out of your grasp, recoiling when you try to help him clean a smudge off his visor, retracting his hand when you reach for it. It’s not that he doesn’t want you to touch him—he wants that more than he thinks he’s supposed to—but he has to overcome decades of conditioning, of constant reinforcement that every touch is a threat. Defensive reflexes—survival and solitude—are woven into the branched network of his nervous system. It takes time to work them loose.

He’s trying though. As soon as he twitches his gloved hand away from yours, he lets out a tired sigh, rolls his shoulders, and reaches back over to rest his large palm over yours, intertwining your fingers and muttering a quiet sorry through the modulator.

One day at a time, his icy exterior thaws. He gets accustomed to having you in his orbit, and soon, he can’t remember what it’s like without you there. He’s so used to keeping everyone out of his radius, but he starts to feel off if you’re not in it. You weave yourself into the fabric of his life, and it feels so damn good for Din to be fully at ease around someone else—not always tensed and poised to react. It’s a novelty in his adult life: feeling more secure with company than alone, like he’d be off-kilter in your absence.

He stops flinching. He starts craving, gravitating.

Din’s body language shifts as he relaxes around you: his fists unclench, the tap of his restless fingers abates, his shoulders loosen, his spine loses that fighting-corps rigidity. He dozes without shutting himself in the privacy of his bunk. And—first subconsciously, then consciously—he starts to make a point of keeping you close at all times, within arm’s reach if either of you happen to reach out. Soon enough, that progresses to comfortable contact: sitting so near that his knee bumps yours, leaving a hand on your lower back as you walk side by side, enclosing your bare hand in his gloved one, sitting back-to-back while you eat, resting his helmet against your temple.

He blinks, and you’re the sun around which he revolves.

Din’s throat gets tight when you stand behind the pilot’s seat and wordlessly remove his pauldrons to massage the tension out of his shoulders. After a few blissful minutes of your thumbs working at his tight delts, his eyes can't focus on the flashing controls in front of him anymore, no matter how many times he tries to clear his vision. Everything goes hazy and warm, and he has just enough sense left to reach out and flick a few toggles to set the ship to autopilot. Then, he stops resisting. He lets his helmet thunk dully against the back of the seat and hums low and content when you work out a particularly stubborn knot—one he’s never quite able to reach himself. Sitting there, unwound and mellow under your attention, even the cold black void of space laid out before him feels golden.

After that, he stops wearing his armor around the Crest, and there’s one less layer between you.

Two

Din’s flight suit and his gloves are his second skin, a vital sensory organ. He’s worn some version of both since he was eleven years old. Shedding them—especially in front of another person—feels wrong. It’s not that he’s self conscious; it’s that he knows the world through them. So peeling them off feels like baring raw nerves.

He needs to go slow, and you understand.

He wants to go fast. You can tell by his heavy breathing, by his frustrated growls, by the things he tells you in that husky voice—rasped in a gruff murmur, his cold helmet tucked against your neck. He wants to strip bare and press his chest against yours—to undress you, lay you down, spread your knees, and sink inside your tight heat—but you both know that would be too much, too fast.

Like exposing someone with severe hypothermia to direct heat too quickly.

Dangerous.

So instead, you start with two fingertips, slipped between his glove and vambrace, while your foreheads meet in a Keldabe kiss. You stroke the sensitive skin there, and he shudders and caves, his shoulders rounding as he breathes through the initial sting of it—the shock—as if you’d slipped an ice cube up his sleeve.

When the feeling wanes into something sweet, he pulls his gloves off, letting them fall, forgotten, to the ground.

Gloves precede vambraces. His cape crumples to the floor by his feet. He shoves his sleeves up his forearms, exposing as much of himself as he can without actually undressing. Learning the feel of you without the barrier of leather and duraweave is more intense than he expected. He already knows the shape of you—the curves and valleys and ridges—but now he gets the textures and the temperatures: the softness of your skin, the tickle of your body hair, the warmth of your breath when you bring his knuckles up to your mouth to plant kisses on each one. He loves it all.

Whenever he can, he holds you with bare hands, like a lifeline. He burrows, his cold helmet buried between your shoulder and your ear. He breathes you in like spice. He adheres—sticks to you like beskar on a Mandalorian.

Din Djarin goes clingy.

He tries to make up for decades of asceticism in the span of weeks, days, minutes. The milliseconds between breaths. Maybe, he can paint over a lifetime of austerity and deprivation if he holds you close enough, often enough.

You help him out, pulling him into you every chance you get. There are sweet moments of whispered words and quiet comfort, and there are desperate moments of fumbling hands and shared body heat. Din gets painfully hard when you grab his suspenders and reel him in, your panted words leaving a smudge of fog on his visor, right over his mouth. He crowds you against the wall of the hull in return, dragging his bare hands up your clothed hips. He moans, long and low, when you reach up to ruck down his cowl and drag the flat of your tongue up the side of his neck. He's not proud of the sounds he makes, but he's too lost in the sensation to really care that he's panting audibly, his labored breath a staticky drag through the modulator.

Your mouth will be the end of him.

Three

It’s been weeks, and he’s ready. Skin on skin doesn’t burn anymore. No, now he lusts for it, aches for more.

Din sits down in the pilot’s seat and pulls you down into his lap. He starts to unwrap you—shucking your shirt off and running his warm, rough hands up the sides of your ribcage. He whines quietly—you think it’s a whine but it’s hard to tell through the subtle distortion of the modulator—when he palms the curves of your breasts, weighing them like he's memorizing exactly how they feel. What you know for sure is that he’s making sounds you’ve never heard him make outside of hunting: desperate little exhalations, as if he’s overexerted himself physically, as if he’s fighting for his life. He kneads your soft flesh, the black t of his visor glued to where his fingers sink generously into the give, where his calloused thumbs graze over your pert nipples.

He thinks he could cum like that, with you on his lap, your perfect tits in his hands.

He’s pretty close to being right.

Din completely loses it when you start grinding on his thigh, your breasts bouncing subtly as you ride your hips over his taut quad. He guides you back and forth with a bruising grip, encouraging your movements, urging you faster. He’s mesmerized, drunk… his hips jerk forward involuntarily when you reach down to palm his aching cock over his pants. You don’t do anything spectacular to it—too caught up in chasing your imminent orgasm—just keep your hand over him, tight and hot. 

Somehow, though, between the rhythmic movement of your body and the unrelenting pressure of your grip and the desperation of your whines, it’s enough. Before he even realizes it’s happening, he’s pressing the heel of his hand over yours, flexing his hips, and cumming in his pants like a fucking teenager. He’s too drowned in your lust-blown eyes and the way you moan oh fuck that’s so hot to be embarrassed. You keep your grip on the damp spot over his oversensitive, spent cock—clinging possessively—throw your head back, and fall apart too. The image of your face, jaw dropped open and eyes squeezed shut, will be seared into his memory forever.

Some time later, when you’ve both recovered and remember to start taking his clothes off, you discover something sweet. You ease his suspenders off his muscular shoulders then grasp the hem of his duraweave thermal to guide the thick fabric up, your fingertips ghosting over his skin, and Din makes a choked sound and leaps away from you. He's ticklish—of course someone so unused to touch would be hypersensitive.

At first, he doesn't like the sensation. It's itchy and weird, and the urge to wriggle and fidget makes him feel stupid and out of control—like a child. Slowly, though, he comes around to it: he sees the cute way you laugh and squirm away from him when he accidentally (…and then purposefully) tickles you. He considers the open way you welcome his touch, how good it feels that you trust him enough not to quell your natural reactions. He decides getting tickled isn't so bad and maybe white-knuckled composure isn't always a virtue.

He tells you his real name then, shedding another layer for you, letting the tight thread of his control go a little more slack.

“Din,” he says, “call me Din.”

Four

“Din,” you ask, “will you stay with me?”

So far, his bunk has been his sanctum, the one place you don’t follow. You haven’t questioned that boundary yet, haven’t asked for exception. But after all this time, he still pulls away from you when it’s time to sleep, and you’re starting to get tired of that, of sleeping alone just feet away from him.

He tilts his helmet—the proxy for a soft smile you know well by now. Apparently, he’s been waiting for you to ask.

Instead of staying with you, though, he takes your hand and leads you to the only place in the Crest you’ve never been. He’s dressed in only his thermal layer and his helmet, you in pajamas. You slide into the tight space, and he follows, shutting the door with a click once he’s shuffled all the way inside. For a long moment, you breathe together.

Then, there’s the sound of subtle movement and hiss, clink. Your heart jumps into your throat. You weren’t expecting this. 

With some difficulty, you find your way together, shifting closer without actually touching, waiting like two nervous teenagers for the other to initiate something. There’s been so much anticipation, so much build up for so long that it almost feels like your first kiss, too. It has all the significance of a first for both of you.

You start forward at the same time, sensing and mirroring each other’s movement, and it’s an awkward fumble to meet mouths. You readjust, scooting closer, but keep your own hands knotted safely in your lap—you’re waiting for his cue to touch his face.

He kisses you, and everything else in the galaxy evaporates. It’s a little clumsy. Eager and unpracticed. You like the sloppiness of it, though, how willing he is to submit to being out of his depth, something that doesn’t come easily to him. He searches blindly to find your hands and brings them up to his face. He asks you to know him. He lets you guide him.

The Mandalorian—the man of strength and competence and action—follows your lead.

You grip his stubbly jaw and slot your mouths deeper. His sharp nose nudges yours, your shallow breaths mingling together. The kiss intensifies, and his tongue tastes like desperation when it slides against yours. You rearrange, sinking onto your back and pulling him down on top of you, his long body settling over yours, his hips cradled between your thighs. You can feel the hard line of cock against your clothed core as you wrap your legs around him, and his hand slinks down your side, a slow drag over your stomach, to slip between your thighs, where your underwear is already damp.

“Show me,” he says, mouthing down your neck.

You guide his hand, showing him what you like—demonstrating just the right pressure and rhythm and touch. The trigger-calloused pad of his forefinger plays against your clit; the fingers of his left hand—the one that reloads the charges in his Amban rifle—grip the outside of your thigh, spreading you open wider, until your knee rests against the durasteel wall. Then, you gasp a plea, and two of those fingers sink inside you.

You’re close before you know it, so you reach down to fumble in the dark until you’ve worked his pants open and shoved his boxers down far enough to take his hard, leaking cock in your spit-slick hand. A series of frantic strokes, and you’re cumming at the same time—you clamping around his thrusting fingers, him spilling warm over your knuckles and dripping down onto your thigh.

Later, when you fall asleep together, he coils around you like a hungry snake, your limbs intertwined like climbing vines, his face tucked between your shoulder and your ear. Lying in the tight space, enveloped by him, his humid breath against your neck, you don’t need a blanket at all. You toss it somewhere down by your feet and soak up the heat he radiates like sunshine.

Weeks slip by in a haze of half torn-off clothes and desperate groping. Everywhere. In the shower. In the cockpit. In a grassy field. In his bunk. In the hull. In the middle of a forest. In a cantina bathroom.

You fog his head like a drug, and he gets a little reckless with his affection.

It’s only a matter of days before Din is able to make you cum with one hand and no feedback—aside from an arched back, dripping cunt, and needy sounds—from you. He gets addicted to sinking his fingers inside you. The warm, wet clench of your cunt. The eager heat of your mouth. Eventually, the tightness of your ass.

You learn him in return.

He knows it will be over fast when you sink to your knees in front of him and reach up for his belt, undoing the buckle and lowering the weapon-heavy leather to the ground carefully. He stands with uncertain hands fidgeting at his sides while you work open his pants to free his stiff cock. When you take him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, Din’s jaw immediately drops open in a pant, the chin of his helmet clinking against his chestplate as his head falls forward to watch you. 

He only lasts a few minutes with your wide, eager eyes looking up at him through fanned lashes, your mouth and hand working him up and down. His fists are clenched tight, and it takes all his self control not to thrust greedily down your throat. He watches spit drip down your wrist as you work the length of him that doesn’t fit into your mouth with tight strokes, your other hand cupping and rolling his balls. Then, with a choked warning, his helmet rocks back, and he's spurting hot and generous down your throat. A pained sound—a sound like raw relief—claws its way out of his chest as he flexes his hips forward in sloppy, stunted thrusts, his vision whiting out as he cums harder than he ever has in his life.

When Din pulls back, zipping his spent cock back into his pants, and looks down, he sees that he spilled past your lips and is dripping down your chin. The sight of it makes him groan. You catch a pearly drop on your thumb and push it back into your mouth, your eyes locked on his visor, and he reaches down to hold open the hinge of your jaw so he can see the rest of his spend glinting so pretty on your tongue. You know he likes it, that he’s watching intently—so you tilt your head back and stick it out further for him to admire. When you close your mouth and swallow all of it, suddenly, he’s half hard again, straining against his fly.

Five

On an otherwise unremarkable day, Din decides to take himself apart for you—fully, completely, in the light.

Actually, he asks you to do it. There’s something about your hands taking the place of his that feels right. A sign of trust. A surrender of control. In a way that feels equal parts good and disorienting. But that’s the beauty of you, isn’t it? How easily you reorient him.

It’s the first time he’s put his sense of self and safety into someone else’s hands so completely and willingly.

Months ago, it might have seemed odd to do it here, in the middle of the hull. But now, the sterile silver walls of the Razor Crest are home. Slowly, at his direction, you dismantle him: beskar, weapons, leather, duraweave, cotton…until all that’s left is his helmet. He’s breathing hard, and when you splay your hand over his left pec, you can feel the hummingbird trapped in his chest.

“It’s okay.”

“I know,” he says, his big hand covering yours.

He undresses you much more quickly, a flurry of warm hands until your clothes lie in a discarded pile on the floor. He doesn’t mention or reach for his helmet yet, and you know that means he needs time. So you count his scars in the meantime, tracing them with reverent fingertips. You already know you’re going to study their unique shapes and arrangements until you learn them by heart.

Here, on his soft, thick middle, a golden brown constellation, an echo of spattered shrapnel. On his quad, a decades-old archipelago painted in dull mauve—from a bad fall down a scree slope, before the beskar, he says. There, along his spine, a faded slash as long as your forearm. On his shoulder blade, a pearly white crescent moon with rose-petal pink puckered edges—a recent gift from a bounty. Still healing.

He offers what details he can remember of each, patient while you circle him.

It helps, you think, for him to have something to do.

As you run your hands over him and he acclimates to feeling so bare, the frantic beating of his heart gradually returns to normal. It picks up again when he reaches for your hands and brings them up to his helmet.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Din thinks about how often he’s had to wrestle someone off him to prevent them from forcibly removing his helmet. All the times an enemy has spit some version of the same venomous threat—let’s see your eyes, Mando—at him. When he’s had to snap a wrist or shatter a jaw to stop someone from revealing his face. How, over and over again, he has had to fight to keep a stranger from making this decision for him. And how this is the exact opposite, finally on his terms.

He nods.

You watch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows thickly, and you think you know why he’s not speaking. He presses the release and leans down momentarily as you ease the beskar up and off his head, letting it hang heavily by your side as you take him in.

Sharp jaw with patchy salt-and-pepper stubble. Lips—a pink, kissable bow—sweeter looking than you were expecting. A sharp nose you know by feel. Brown eyes, warm and soft—right now, they’re shifting uncomfortably, like he doesn’t know where to settle his gaze, like you’re a too-bright light he can’t look at directly.

You reach out for his hand with your free one, and he meets your eyes steadily for the first time, letting out a long exhale. You’re so distracted that the slick metal of his helmet slips from between the fingers of your other hand, and it clangs loudly against the floor, reverberating in the echoing space.

“Shit—sorry!” you squeak, bending to snatch it back up and examine it closely for damage. “I think it’s okay.”

You look up at his face, and he’s smiling, an endearing dimple appearing on one cheek.

Adorable. Kissable.

“It’s beskar,” he says with a low chuckle. “If anything, it dented the floor.”

He takes his helmet from you and sets it on a crate behind him then grabs hold of both of your hands and pulls you with him toward the bunk. He climbs in first, and you clamber in after, crawling up the length of his body until you’re perched on your knees, straddling his thighs.

Other than an encouraging nod, he stays still, his breathing slow and steady, when you reach up to touch his face. The pads of your fingers scale the slopes of his cheekbones, trace the furrowed ridge of his brow, and descend the strong curve of his nose. You sweep your fingers through the tickle of his mustache and back up to smooth the concerned lines that deepen in his forehead.

Din only has one memory to parallel this sensation: he can’t help but think of his mother and her long, gentle fingers brushing his hair back, how she’d let her palm follow a crescent moon downward to cup his cheek. She’d smile at him for a moment—a moment that always felt so long when he was wriggling with energy—before she’d release him to go outside to play or do his chores.

You watch Din’s expression shift, and you can tell he’s slipped off to somewhere else entirely.

When you pull your hands back, he meets your eyes, blinks, and looks away again, the feeling of exposure suddenly unbearable. You notice the water collecting at the corners of his eyes, so you shuffle down into a prone position and rest your head on his chest. One of his palms cradles the back of your neck, the other finding a home on the small of your back, holding you in place. As if you’d move.

Another time, soon, he’ll tell you about his mother. And his father. Everything.

When you peek up at him a few minutes later to make sure he’s okay, he looks calm. One stray tear has escaped his eyelashes and is making a slow path down his temple. You lean up to catch it with a quick kiss before settling back down on his chest. He squeezes you tight.

You stay like that for a long time, until Din steps out of his memories and returns to you fully.

When he's ready, he pulls you up and kisses you in a desperate, consuming way that makes tears collect at the corners of your eyes. There’s barely any build up: seconds pass, your mouths locked together, and what starts sweet goes hungry.

His hand slips down your body to work concentrated circles over your clit, and your thighs automatically part for him. His hardening cock is aching and smearing precum against your thigh. When his hand moves lower and he eases two fingers inside your already wet pussy, you reach down and stop him.

“Need to feel you inside me,” you pant into his neck. “Please, Din.”

You can see from the naked relief on his face that he’s as desperate as you are. He doesn’t say anything, just grunts as he adjusts. He positions himself over you and works the fat head of his cock inside you slowly, your pussy slick and welcoming, like it was made for him. His forehead rests heavy and warm against yours—a familiar gesture that feels completely different without the cold bite of beskar between you. You whine at the stretch of him, tilting your hips to chase the pleasure laced with a thread of pain. When his hips meet yours, he bites back a curse.

Neither of you is going to last. From the start, Din’s thrusts are stuttering and uncontrolled, his eyes squeezed shut. He opens them to find one of your hands and move it down to where you’re joined.

“Touch-touch yourself for me, mesh’la. Make yourself cum while I’m inside you.”

He forces himself to keep his eyes open to watch you fall apart, his hips a constant slap against yours. It takes everything in him not to cum when you clench around him and moan his name. He holds tight to his last remaining vestige of control and stills inside to let you ride it out.

You open your eyes during the aftershocks, and when Din meets your eyes, a word sears through his chest, itches at the back of his throat, struggles against the cage of his bared teeth: mine. He wants to say it. He likes the claim of it, the implied permanence. Din has never had much to call his own, and that hasn’t ever bothered him. Until now. Until you.

Instead of running the risk of scaring you off with something so possessive, he drops himself over you again to resume thrusting, your foreheads bumping together, the bridge of his nose sliding against yours, and offers you something.

“I’m yours.”

You pull in a sharp breath. Both of your hands find the nape of his neck, and you guide his mouth to yours. He likes the hungry press of your tongue, returns it in full.

“And I’m yours,” you whisper back, your words hot against his lips.

It comes out as a growl when he does say it, torn from his throat as he cums, his head thrown back and lip pulled up in a snarl: “Mine.”

You gasp through his last desperate thrusts, strung out on the feeling of his warmth spreading inside you. He pulls out too quickly for your liking, shuffling backward on his knees, and you whimper. But the naked intensity on his face silences your protest, and he grips your thighs and pushes them apart roughly.

“Wanna see—” he rasps.

He dips his head to watch his spend drip out of your abused cunt, and his eyes darken and brim with lust, like storm clouds crowding a night sky. He collects it carefully and pushes it back inside you with two fingers.

Once turns into twice—you sink down onto him while he’s still leaking out of you, riding him until he’s filling you again. Then you collapse onto his chest, exhausted and sweaty and sated.

He shivers when you reach up to comb your fingers through his hair and lightly scratch his scalp—a pleasant tingle running down his spine. Eventually your tired hands still, you nestle your face further into the crook of his neck, and moments later, your breathing evens out. You fall asleep like that, your body warm and relaxed on top of his, his spent cock still inside you.

Din is so used to the weight of his beskar—of his Creed and his obligations—that without it, he sometimes feels like he might float away or fade into nothing. Dissolve into a froth of atoms, dissipate into the void. Leave only the negative space of his memories. All at once, nothing.

But, with you?

With you spread out on top of him, your reassuring weight an anchor, he thinks he might be okay.

#din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x female reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian #scheduled

[lightwise]

TBB S3E7 Reactions

Alright, in lieu of an analysis this week, you guys get some extra long reactions from me. Spoilers for Extraction under the cut!

- Of course the operative is still alive after being completely buried by rocks

- You okay there Rexy boy?

- Aww, Crosshair helping him up

- “There’s always another way” feels like foreshadowing

- CX does sound awfully like Tech when he’s grunting. Either that or DBB has only one way of making groaning noises 😂

- The rim lighting in this episode is such a pain for making screenshots but so satisfying for watching

- The modified clone theme when Wolffe lands 😭

- Wolffe was really getting 3PO flashbacks there with that disgusted sigh

- Isn’t Hilo a canon commando?? Or is he from legends?

- I will never get over how realistic light looks in this show

- There’s no way that CX just caught himself with his hands

- “We’re waiting on you” they’re not leaving Crosshair behind this time 🥹

- Lol Batcher. Licking cute clones faces. Always the priority

- How is this CX such a good shot??

- Oh Wolffe definitely has a constant headache. Idk how he’s actually put up with being in the Empire this long.

- This purple atmosphere is so pretty

- “I’m much worse” — SCREAMING. And the little tilt with his helmet to make his point clear? This man can have me however he wants. Anytime, anywhere. Call me, baby (I hope someone laughed at that lol)

- So Hunter does hear the ships. I wonder if his senses are more tuned for mechanical vibrations and animal life than people

- Lol Howzer is this really the time for a heart to heart?

- “Loyalty meant something to me” 🫡

- Lol that TK Trooper sounded like a mid-Atlantic 50s movie star

- How is the operative this nimble? Seems suspicious

- Smoke bombs are CF99s signature

- Interesting that for once the stun bolts are being used ON the Batch instead of by them.

- Wrecker and Batcher are a great team

- Hunter just dropping that TK and then Crosshair taking out their ship. Phew

- Also not suspicious at all that they’ve neutralized all the TKs and left the clone troopers for later.

- How did Crosshair sense the operative coming up behind them?

- RIP Nemec 😓

- “Too bad” 😩😩😩

- Oh Cross, you know you’re not the best at hand to hand combat. This is a very bad idea

- That waterfall is pretty though

- Dear lord why did they have to make these scenes so dark

- Oh fuck. I can’t even tell who threw who off the cliff

- The whole squad going after Crosshair even though he told them to get to the extraction point 😭

- CX obviously knows Crosshair and has beef with him. Again, for the millionth time—WHAT THE HELL DID HEMLOCK DO TO ALL OF THEM

- “You had your chance to be one of us. You chose the wrong side”. Really can’t wait for this to be explained.

- Crosshair’s reflexes are so fast for being all gangly limbs

- Okay I seriously almost had a heart attack here (this is a rewatch so my reactions aren’t immediate but holy cow I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing watching Crosshair almost drown. Don’t you dare do it Jen!)

- It is v suspicious how fixated on Crosshair CX is even after he’s neutralized him

- Thank GOD for Howzer

- Okay, I can breathe a little again

- That’s…an awfully long fall for someone to survive

- The TBB team took the water scenes from The Crossing in season 2 and said, yeah, how about we just make that a million times better 🤯

- “That’s not Echo”. No, no it is not

- Good to know that Rex is still considered dead by the Empire (although that honestly seems strange that CX in season 2 knew who he was). That’s heartbreaking that Wolffe thought he was dead this whole time though

- Wow. The respect these two men have for each other

- “Oh I did. Lost a lot of good men that day” *cries in TCW season 7*

- Idk how Rex keeps going honestly

- His voice may be gentle but his face means BUSINESS

- Rex 🤝 Omega - believing the power of friendship can save anyone and anything they come across

- Fuck your orders Wolffe

- “I’ll make sure you’re given a fair trial” you really have no idea who you work for Wolffe do you

- Hunter being willing to stand down when Rex asks him to

- “I know you. As your brother, I’m asking you to do the right thing” the brotherly reunions this season are just paralleling all over the place

- Gregor the handsome fellow that you are. I swear his pauldrons get bigger every time we see him

- “Let my people go” the Exodus vibes are strong here too

- Guess we’re gonna be finding out what makes this CX so special. Still can’t believe he survived.

- Rex just lost almost all of his men again 😣😭

- The sheer respect and care that Hunter and Rex have for each other. The hand on the shoulder. The losses that tie them together. The worry and earnestness in Hunter’s face and tone when he tells Rex he can’t win. He doesn’t emote this much to people he doesn’t consider family.

- The ways Hunter still is hesitant to do anything but run and hide, and Rex still can’t give up. Not quite yet.

- How Hunter won’t be able to either until they know what is really going on with Omega.

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #tbb spoilers #the bad batch spoilers #tbb season 3 #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #the bad batch season 3

[siancore]

Second part to this fic.

A/N: This is from Bucky’s POV and takes place in the 1940s while Bucky is at war. Written in the form of V-Mail letters from Bucky to Steve. He wants to tell his best friend about meeting Sam and being smitten, but V-Mail was read and censored by military postal workers. Bucky could be dishonourably discharged and receive a court martial for being homosexual in the army. LGBT+ soldiers were given ‘blue tickets’ to discharge them from service because their ‘character was deemed undesirable’ — around 9,000 soldiers received a blue discharge during war times in the 40s. I hope this gives context to his correspondence. Thanks so much for continuing this journey with me. Enjoy!

Dear Steve,

They said these letters would get to their destination quicker and without much fuss. Better than regular old mail. I hope this finds you well. Hope you’re keeping out of trouble. It’s cold over here, but I don’t want to waste time talking about the weather. Stevie, I’m smitten, Pal. Just my luck to meet the sweetest Buttercup before I had to ship out. My Sweetheart has the prettiest brown eyes I ever did see, and a smile that’s as bright as the sun. Why can’t this world be a better place? Why can’t me and my Sweetheart settle down somewhere and live a nice life? I know there’s a war to be won, and things ain’t as simple as I would like them to be, but sometimes I just want something for myself. Sorry for going on and on. I’m maybe a little homesick. I wish you got to meet my Sweetheart before I left. You two would get on real swell. I miss you, buddy. Take care of yourself.

Yours truly,

J B Barnes.

Dear Steve,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. Thank you for sending a letter back. I hope you had a nice time at dinner with my folks. My Ma sure does love feeding you. Thinks you’re too skinny, and I think she might be right.

We’re shipping out to the front in Italy tomorrow. My Ma is worried, and she has every right to be. From what the other fellows have said, we’re likely to see combat action real soon. Truth be told, I will be happy to join the fight. As you know, I’m not good sitting on my hands.

How is it being the most eligible bachelor in New York, New York? I bet the dames are lined up around the block for you. Just be yourself, Pal. You will find that special someone. I’m lucky to have found my Buttercup. Wish I had an address to write my Sweetheart. I only know the name of the locality: Delacroix, Louisiana. V-Mail must reach down South. All of the Southern boys are writing to their loved ones. I should at least try, don’t you think? I’m endlessly charmed by a Southern Beauty. Like I said before, Buddy: I am smitten. You will grow tired of my ramblings I’m sure.

Take good care of yourself. I’ll write again when we arrive.

Your Pal,

J B Barnes.

Dear Steve,

Thank you for the drawing pencils. I’ve been using them while waiting for directives. I’m sorry for not writing sooner. Camp life is tough. Feels like the rain ain’t stopped since we put boots on the ground. Some of the fellows in the 107th have fought some skirmishes, I am still waiting to see action. I know you said you found a way to be of service, I just want you to promise me you will be smart about it. Every little bit helps our cause, I just want you to be safe. I am proud of you no matter what you do. You have a good heart, my friend.

I appreciate your encouragement. I thought about writing my Buttercup, but I don’t think that would be a good idea. Different sensibilities down South, you see. My Sweetheart’s folks probably would not appreciate letters from a sergeant in our armed forces sending unsolicited letters to their unwed offspring. It is a different world in the Southern states I’ve been told, and I don’t want to cause my Sweetheart any grief. Dreams of pretty brown eyes and sunshine smiles will have to sustain me for now. At least I can write you and go on and on about my heart’s yearnings for a certain Southern Beauty. You are a good friend to me, Stevie. Thank you for never judging me. I will write again soon. Give my Ma a cuddle from me when you see her next.

Your friend and brother,

J B Barnes

Dear Steve,

Thank you for TWO letters and drawings. Your comic renditions made me smile. I’m sorry for the long wait in between letters. I have finally seen combat action. I am well. Did not get hurt. My Ma was so worried. Rebecca wrote me as well. All of your letters make me less homesick. It’s a different world over here, but I will not waste time retelling the horrors I’ve seen.

I hope your mission is going well. I am proud of you. I hope your date book is full and you are having a marvellous time.

My heart feels heavy. Would it be such a terrible thing for me to write my Sweetheart? Maybe my Sweetheart’s parents wouldn’t mind a soldier writing to their unwed s — child. I don’t want to cause a stir. I wish I at least had a photograph, though I probably don’t need one. My dreams are filled with brown eyes and high cheekbones. Pretty smiles and soft skin. You must think I’m a love struck fool, Stevie. HaHa! Maybe I am. But when two people have a connection like me and my Buttercup do, it reaches beyond the borders of nations. It stretches through time. I don’t have words to explain. Just know that your best friend is love sick and not any less of a man for admitting so.

I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. Be sure to keep up with your medicines and treatments. Be safe and well.

Your Friend,

J B Barnes

P.S. Maybe when I return home, you might draw a rendition of my Sweetheart for me. I will pay you all of my hard earned money.

Dear Stevie,

I had to write this soon after my last letter, so you will probably get them around the same time.

I got new directives. We’re in the fight now. I just wanted to let you know not to worry too much about me if you don’t hear from me soon. I’ll be busy doing my part.

I won’t win the war until you get here, Pal. That’s a promise.

Signing off for now.

Your Brother in Arms,

Bucky Barnes

#sambucky #sambucky fanfic

[dellalyra]

Pixie’s JJK Theories

!! SPOILERS !! (225 included) if u don’t wanna know anything then don’t read <3

Okay so, I’ll try to make these make sense and put them in some sort of order bc I have so many ideas and thoughts they r swimming in my head :):)

Gna preface the whole thing by saying I don’t think Gojo is dead/will die, just from an editing/business perspective (I did 2 years study of being an editor and 5 years of creative writing studies, not an expert or anything so just MY OPINION)

So first theory set:

Who’s gonna kill Sukuna and Kenjaku?

Maki Kills Sukuna

I think that 225 has been a signal that Sukuna CANNOT be defeated/killed by cursed energy or techniques. I don’t know how to describe it best but think of Achilles, an unbeatable hero but he had that one weakness. Now Sukuna’s whole CT/DE is based around weaponry right? There’s literally nobody more talented with weaponry than Maki - it’s been hinted that she’s even surpassed Toji in terms of physical prowess since Mai’s death and the whole heavenly restriction thing. What if, he basically can only be beaten by someone playing his game: a proper fight? Think of it, maki has no CE, no CT, no DE. But she is completely unparalleled with weapons and cursed tools. What if - she’s the antithesis and also the mirror image of him and that’s what could take him down? Also: it would be a mirror of Toji V Gojo.

Gojo & Sukuna = Gods amongst Mortals

Maki & Toji = The Mortals

Toji’s lack of cursed energy and physical abilities also with the inverted spear allowed him to kill Satoru.

What if this will be repeated history with Maki - with something from the Zen’in vault?

If Maki could then save Megumi, then they could work to rebuild the Zen’in clan in their image: modern, fair and open.

That’s one theory anyway since we’ve seen that Sukuna cherishes and admires strength and power.

Theory Two

Choso Kills Kenjaku

OKAY SO Choso’s whole character is family. His whole aim since day one has been his brothers. What if choso kills kenjaku, as his revenge? Noritoshi Kamo is the one who both created AND destroyed Choso’s family - it would be poetic justice for Choso to be the one to kill him, since he has known nothing but manipulation and violence since his ‘birth’.

Theory Three

Yuuji kills Sukuna

Sukuna took so much from yuuji it would just be JUSTICE but also remember during the exchange event arc megumi really emphasised how even without cursed energy yuuji would still destroy them all in hand to hand combat? I think that’s rly important here. This kinda follows the same logic as my maki theory but I just have this feeling that Sukuna can’t be taken down with cursed techniques or DE, it has to be raw unbridled power. Like I said Sukuna respects and covets power and maybe it’s because he knows that’s the one thing that could kill a god like him.

Plus - this ties in with ‘start by saving me, Itadori’ and megumi and Yuuji’s promises and threats to not die. Regardless of whether or not u ship them romantically, their relationship (platonic or not) has been at the forefront of the entire series - it would make sense for Itadori starting his full Sukuna free life by the first person he really saves being Megumi.

Also I like this because remember the ‘Nah, I’d win’ conversion with Gojo? Wouldn’t it be cool if it was actually Yuuji who won - saving Gojo, Megumi and everyone else?

Theory Four

Inumaki is gonna have a big part to play. Idk what, but the timing of his return lends itself to this.

Also, Nobara isn’t dead. The other person that gojo Shoko and Ijichi were talking about was Nobara and she ain’t dead but severely injured and I think she’s gonna come in with a dramatic ‘here to save ur sorry asses’ moment bc it just is very on brand for her.

Theory Five

Why Gojover isn’t happening now/ever.

But especially now.

OKAY business perspective ik it takes away from the ‘story’ part but don’t forget that Gege has editors and he needs to sell more copies of future editions and chapters so a certain amount of fan service is required, Gojo stole the show literally - they know that killing him off is a bad business choice at any point, but especially in such an anti-climactic way.

Another rly important point is every character who’s had a huge impact on the story and then subsequently fuckin died, think Geto, Nanami, Toji - they’ve all had a poignant death and Gojo has had even more of an impact on the story.

Geto: you could at least curse me a little in the end and his moment w gojo in the alley

Nanami: you’ve got it from here looking at yuuji his protege who he was so tough on and then telling him essentially he trusted and believed in him

Toji: my kid will be sold to the Zen’in’s, do what you will after pushing gojo to unlock his full potential thru fuckin stabbing him and then gojo stopping the sale of megumi

After all of these deaths they’re not gonna do:

Gojo: 3 chapters, gets slashed in the neck and fucking croaks.

That’s just bad storytelling and no matter how cruel he is Gege is a phenomenal storyteller

NEXT point is I think this is where we’re finally gonna see some real RCT. It’s interesting how Gojo said he doesn’t mind going HAM on Megumi’s body bc he looks like his dad - I don’t think that’s a coincidence that he’s fighting someone who looks so like Toji and then gets slashed in his neck? Seems a bit like repeating history, but I think even Gojo’s RCT won’t cut it - I think it’ll be Shoko who saves him.

The giveaway for this for me was ‘You were never alone’ and her reminiscing. She’s always been there for the two boys and she always will be - she’s the most powerful RCT user and she’s never left Gojo’s side, and she won’t fail him now. She will heal his neck, because he’s not alone at the top of the food chain. Pair with this if Utahime is still using her amplification technique, Shoko is almost unstoppable in terms of RCT.

We’ve seen this situation with Yuuta and Yuuji too, so there’s canon evidence of its existence and potential.

Also - I don’t think the Tojification of Gojo is accidental or just gege having a hard on for Toji. This is again a Man Vs God situation, take this and use it on Toji (man) v Gojo (god), but now it’s Gojo (man) vs Sukuna (god). Ultimately, Toji killed Gojo. He killed a God by force. Maybe that’s some foreshadowing idk idk.

Theory six

Yuuta kills Kenjaku.

Don’t fight me on this one. It’s feminine intuition. Idk why or how or where but it’s gna happen.

Theory seven

Noritoshi Kamo kills Noritoshi Kamo.

The battle of the Noritoshi’s.

Won’t happen but would be funny and I would enjoy the confusion at the both screaming each others names and it being their own names like the confusion from Shibuya.

Theory Eight

I kill Sukuna and Kenjaku.

They’re testing my patience rn, and they’re hurting my babies. Mama Pixie is unhappy. I’ll chase after them both and beat them with a frying pan until they both apologise and get me a bouquet each for being such unruly boys and then they will make ‘I’m sorry for killing your brother/I’m sorry for taking your eye out/sorry for living in ur body and taking ur heart out/sorry for killing ur sister and then taking ur body/sorry for using ur ex-bfs body as a marionette’ cards for everyone and I put them in time out (hell).

#jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk manga spoilers #jjk #gojo satoru #maki zenin #jujutsu kaisen yuuji

[put-me-out-of-my-destiny]

Proposing V for the ask game, if you're still doing it?

My favorite thing about V:

On a narrative level, he represents the best quality of DMC5, it's fleshing out of Vergil. I love that deep down, underneath the fear-driven quest for power, Vergil is a soft goth boy who loves a particular poet so much he makes it his whole personality. Plus, I love the interpretation that he looks so young because Vergil lost so much of his life to being Nelo Angelo.

On a gameplay level, I love how you can make V constantly taunt while making his minions fight.

My least favorite thing about V:

On a narrative level, as much as I love his voice and design, it would have been so cool if he was a woman instead. Besides the Implications, it would be a neat way of nodding to his human mother. Also, I've been told that the literary character that Urizen is named after is a part of a dyad, the other half of which is a female deity. And DMC5 sorely fumbles it's female representation anyway, having a playable female character might have won it some points (though realistically, there's a good chance they would have fucked up her design, and the hate toward her playstyle would be so much more vitriolic).

Speaking of playstyle, on a gameplay level, I do enjoy playing as V, but the moveset definitely needs more development. I don't like that V's evasive actions require his familiars because you have to interrupt their combat (and even Griffon's attack charging) in order to use them, even though the whole point of V seems to be multitasking. Plus, the hidden range limit for the minions can really screw you, especially considering that Shadow's attacks can easily take it outside of that limit, causing it to teleport back to V's side and interrupt your attack strings. And what's sad is that due to unpopularity, there's a real chance that we won't get to see a new iteration of this playstyle.

(There's even a series in my pinned post all about a certain character ending up in this position, just saying).

My favorite line by V:

It's hard to say, since he has one of the best if not the best vocal performances in the game. I do like that he says "it's my turn to play with the Devil Sword" at one point.

My "brOTP" for V:

I love his friendship with Griffon. It's a shame it got no closure whatsoever because the writers decided they wanted to magically wipe away Vergil's trauma via DMC1 callback boss fight.

My "OTP" for V:

I don't generally like ships for Vergil, but one that I would entertain is one with Lucia. I see the humor in her meeting a man who's just as handsome as Dante but with none of the charm, and realizing she's actually fine with that. Plus, Vergil is far more comfortable with his demon side than his human side, and I think that would extend to Lucia. He would think her devil form is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he'd be right. Lucia deserves a handsome loser boyfriend who loves the demon in her so much that she learns to love it too, especially since he also comes with a giant stoic tree man with sharp teeth and tentacles, and of course our favorite poetry-lover.

My "nOTP" for V:

Nero x V is sadly popular, even though they're literally father and son. And even when talking about just V, not Urizen or Vergil as a whole, I don't care for shipping him with Lady. She doesn't even fucking like him, nor should she.

A random headcanon about V:

I think his cane is tied to Rebellion in some way. Perhaps it simply contains some of the same materials, which is why it's good at conducting demonic power, and why it allowed him to reunite with Urizen.

An unpopular opinion about V:

While I am firmly in the "V and Vergil are the same character and that isn't a bad thing" camp, I am sympathetic to the wish that V was his own character. I cannot fault someone for loving V but not finding Vergil interesting, and I don't think it's worth getting mad at them over.

A song I associate with V:

Besides Crimson Cloud? There's a "combo mad" sort of video from time to time titled Void Violin, it features some good music.

My favorite picture of V:

That gif of him tripping and dropping his free taco.

#thanks for the ask! #devil may cry #ask game #vergil dmc #v dmc #quen speaking

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Chapter 25: Dajunar (Second Chances - Hunter x reader)

Dajunar. v. to plan or plot.

Chapter summary: You come up with a plan to rescue Crosshair.

Chapter warnings: angst, canon divergence (because I think it's stupid that they couldn't have just found Mt Tantiss to begin with). more angst.

Word count: 2,774

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A surprise awaits you on Pabu. An unfamiliar ship is parked in the main courtyard next to the Redthorn. Sharing a frowning glance with Hunter, you take the steps off the Marauder two at a time, eyes narrowed in equal parts curiosity and suspicion. Despite the tension creeping back into your shoulders, you silently relish the steady warmth of Pabu’s sun, a mother’s embrace welcoming her children home.

The ship before you is small—smaller than the Redthorn, and clearly made for combat. Carbon scoring scars the outside of the hull; yellow and red paint chips away where blasters damaged the sturdy metal beneath. Movement through the front viewport draws your attention up. 

Then, appearing at the top of the ship’s ramp, like something out of a dream or vision—

“Echo!” A gasp tears from your chest. You fly up the ramp and throw yourself into his arms, hugging him against you. 

He stumbles, then steadies, mismatched arms returning your affection. “Hey, Nav.”

“How— when— what—?” Laughing in incredulity, you step back, but keep your hands on his shoulders. He looks more...tired than you remember. Face pinched in stress-lines, even now, as he gives you a small smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“I got your messages,” he says. “I— hang on, incoming.”

He gently nudges you to the side and then crouches, arms wide open to receive the blur of blonde hair that launches into his waiting grasp. Omega laugh-sobs, clearly succumbing to the same emotions that course through you. Letting her have a moment with her ori’vod, you rejoin the rest of the squad in the courtyard, beaming. 

“Did you give him the coords, Tech?” you ask as you catch Hunter’s hand to hold. 

Tech adjusts his goggles. “Affirmative. He responded on a triple-encrypted channel shortly after we entered hyperspace. He was in a nearby system already.”

“That explains how he got here so fast,” Wrecker says. 

Once greetings are made, you lead Echo back to your new dwellings. He turns his face skyward more than once along the walk, and a twinge of worry returns to your chest. Where has he been? What has he been doing, exactly? But Hunter is there to pull you back from the brick of spiraling into overthinking, his fingers warm and comforting against yours, his gray eyes sparkling when you glance up at him. You nod at him in reassurance.

Echo’s face softens when he takes in the three structures before you all. “You’ve done well for yourselves since I left.”

“There’s room for you here,” you say. “Whenever you need it.” 

The look he gives you is inscrutable, but he nods at you in appreciation. “We should talk strategy.”

Suppressing a grimace, you try to not let the deflection sting. He’s right, of course; but the fact he glossed right over having a home to come back to leaves your heart aching. 

Tech catches Echo up to speed on the emergency signal you received and describes the sector of the galaxy that he was able to trace the signal to. Under the shade of a palm tree, the glowing blue holographic map seems to flicker in and out, alternately overpowered by sunlight and reanimated in shadows. 

Echo frowns, rubbing his chin. “We’ve heard some rumors about a new science facility in that sector.”

“What kind of facility?” Tech asks. 

“Cloning,” Echo says, voice heavy. “Like I said, it’s just rumors. No one is willing to talk about it, and the files we’ve retrieved are all corrupted.” 

Anxiety begins to bloom in your stomach, simultaneously hot and cold. “It’s the best lead we have. If the Empire is pursuing cloning technology, it makes sense they’d take clones, right?” 

“I still think it’s risky,” Hunter says, an edge to his voice that you’ve not heard in a long while. You don’t have to look to know that his gaze is settled on Omega. Her protection comes first, as it always has. Clearly your conversation on the ride back to Pabu has given him much to think about. 

“He’s our brother,” Wrecker argues. “He’d come for any one of us, you know he would.” 

“Crosshair still cares about you,” Omega chimes in. “He wouldn’t warn us if he didn’t.”

“The kid’s right,” Echo says, gaze flicking between you and Hunter. “Tactically, it’s a huge risk. You’re not wrong there, Hunter. But if we’re successful, if we could get him out and get intel on that facility, we might be able to do some real damage to the Empire.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Hunter says. His grip on your hand tightens almost painfully. “What then?”

“Then at least we tried,” you say, trying to keep your voice gentle, neutral. “You agreed we’d try.”

His eyes dance with worry. It mirrors the worry that coils around your own lungs, threatening to suffocate you like a python. Even if Hunter is wrong, and this isn’t a trap, very few of the squad’s missions of late have gone to plan, except perhaps your rescue off Coruscant, and even then, there are aspects you wonder about. 

And nagging at the back of your mind is another worry, one that is much more personal, perhaps even self-centered. That emergency signal came to your comlink, not anyone else’s. You’ve seen Crosshair the most recently of the entire squad. What if this isn’t a trap for the squad, but for you, luring you into the jaws of the sand lion at last?

Your immediate next thought is a resounding no. When you blink, you vividly recall the defiant set to Crosshair’s mouth when he expressed his goal of bringing in you or Omega, not both. Unless something drastically changed since then, you know he’s in dire need of help.

Hunter’s eyes search yours for a long moment. Then he sighs, hanging his head with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” 

For another moment, the only sounds are the wind rushing past your ears, the gulls cawing as they soar overhead, and the distant, constant crash of waves against the island shore. Looking around at your family, you gnaw at the inside of your cheek, studying each of them in turn. Wrecker’s scarred face is pulled into a defiant pout. Next to him, Tech fiddles with his datapad, intent on the holomap. When you meet Echo’s eyes, he offers you a slight nod, his eyebrows lifting in a teasing cant at your and Hunter’s joined hands. Omega peers up at Hunter, her arms on her hips and a grim set to her expression. 

Hunter, for his part, stares right back at Omega. You can see gears turning in his mind, the beginnings of a plan. 

Sighing, you gesture towards the houses. “Let’s get inside and start planning, then.” 

You hate the plan, as it turns out. But none of you were able to come up with anything better, and the clock is ticking, so you have no real choice. Back in hyperspace, in the relative comfort of the Marauder, you perch at the edge of one of the datacenter seats, leg bouncing as you turn the plan over and over in your mind. Tech and Wrecker chat quietly in the cockpit; somewhere behind you, Echo follows in his own ship. At the very least, you’re comforted by the fact that you have him back, for a short while, anyways. 

But the trade-off is that Omega was left behind. Hunter made that decision unilaterally, much to the girl’s dismay. You’d barely been able to resist the pleading eyes she turned on you, but in your heart of hearts, you knew it was the right decision. Omega is too important, too full of life and opportunity, to let her fall into the Empire’s clutches again. Still, that doesn’t quiet the sensation of bugs crawling in your stomach since you hugged her goodbye. 

A loose screw in one of the wall panels squeaks. Gritting your teeth, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to ignore it as you mull over the plan again. Step 1: leave Omega behind to keep her safe; check. Step 2: acquire supplies for the infiltration of a top secret, high-security Imperial facility with no hope of backup; check. Step 3: fear for your lives; check. Step 4: land on the other side of the kriffin’ planet and hike all the way to the facility, get in, find Crosshair, get out alive, and make it all the way back to the ship, alive and in one piece. 

You can’t help the groan of frustration and desperation that rakes out of your throat. 

“I don’t like it either,” Hunter says to your right.

You jump with a curse. Blinking, you peer into the gunner’s mount, where Hunter posted up as soon as you got on board several hours ago. The soft blue glow of the datacenter illuminates only the shimmer of his eyes, the curve of his nose and jaw, and his fingers, interlaced where his arms rest over his knees. 

The two of you gaze at one another for a while. Drinking in the sight of him like this, tense and keyed-up and desperate, you bite the inside of your cheek. You stand eventually and drift to him, reaching up to gently tug the bandana off his head. When you card your fingers through his curls, skimming the warm skin of his scalp, he hums low in his throat, eyes sliding shut. You smile softly.

“We’re going to get him back,” you say. You know you’ve said it a few times since receiving the message, but you need to hear it as much as Hunter does. What you don’t say, can’t say, is that you’re all going to be okay, that you’ll be together as a family on Pabu soon enough, because to say that you will is just inviting the galaxy to kriff it up.

Hunter sighs, a deep, chestful of air sloughing out of him. He leans heavier against your touch. “There are too many things that could go wrong. Too many moving pieces.” 

You don’t disagree. It’s part of the reason you dislike this plan so much. Four clones and a wanted deserter sneaking into a top secret science facility is just tempting fate. No, the plan needs to be simplified. 

An idea occurs to you. An alternate plan, not one that you’re much more thrilled about than the current one, but it at least removes those moving pieces. 

“I’ll go in alone,” you murmur.

Hunter’s eyes snap open. “Like hell you will.”

“Why not?” You shuffle back when he thuds to the floor of the hold, but otherwise hold your ground, peering up at him where he glowers over you. “It makes more sense than all of us going.” 

Snorting, he shakes his head. “You can’t seriously expect me—us—to be okay with that.” 

“I don’t expect that,” you say. “I just expect you to hear me out.” 

When he doesn’t protest, you continue, choosing to ignore the way his eyes narrow at you. “I know we can’t land too close or their radar will pick up our signal. But I also know that the farther away we land, the harder it’s going to be getting out of there. If I go in alone, though, I can disable their ground support, destroy what I can, and get Crosshair. Then you all fly in, pick us up, and we disappear.”

“Absolutely not.” He crosses his arms, jutting one hip out in a gesture that is so painfully similar to Omega that it makes your heart squeeze. 

“Let’s put it to a vote,” you say. “You all voted to come back for me, right?” 

You can tell by the way that his jaws works that you’ve won. Not waiting for a verbal affirmation, body buzzing with anxiety and energy, you flit to the cockpit. “Team meeting.” 

Tech turns the pilot seat to face you. From the passenger seat, Wrecker looks up at you with a curious expression as you open the comms line to Echo’s ship.

“Problem?” Echo asks as soon as the connection is established. 

“I’ve got a new plan,” you respond. Behind you, Hunter enters the cockpit, his frustration rolling off him in waves. You ignore the way his anger makes your skin prickle. 

Wrecker sits up straighter and grins. “Let’s hear it.” 

“I’m going to get Crosshair by myself.” 

There’s a moment of silence where Tech and Wrecker exchange incredulous glances, then Tech gestures for you to explain. Over the comms, silence greets you, but you’re certain that if Echo has any protests, he’d offer them now. You rattle off all the same reasons you just gave Hunter, feeling more secure in them now that you’ve said them twice. 

Tech tilts his head at you, and you wait patiently for his brain to do the calculations. “Technically...one person alone would have an easier time staying hidden. Though this does hinge on the fact that you will have to navigate an entire base on your own. As our weakest navigator, Navigator, I cannot recommend you undertake this mission.” 

“Thank you, Tech,” Hunter grunts. 

You shoot him a frown. “I’m more likely to blend in than any of you.” 

“You’re also wanted for murder, remember, cyare?” Hunter retorts. 

“And you’re all supposed to be dead,” you say flatly. “We can repaint your armor, and you might be able to stay undetected for a little while, but they’re going to question a clone going off on his own more than they will a nat-born officer.” 

“Nav’s right, there,” Echo says. “The Empire’s been phasing out clones and recruiting nat-borns.” 

A surge of victory crests through you. 

“Ah,” Tech raises one finger, “but we don’t have any Imperial uniforms.” 

“I do,” you say. “I never got rid of it after I deserted. I’ll just need to steal security codes to get around.” 

“There is still the matter of you finding your way around,” Tech reminds you. 

Pressing your mouth into a hard line, you sigh. ���I’ll manage.” 

Hunter huffs. “You all can’t seriously be considering this.” 

“I am, actually,” Tech says. He levels Hunter with an even stare. “Statistically, this new plan has a 16.7% higher chance of success.” 

“I’ll take those odds,” you say with a wan smile. 

Growling, Hunter glares at his brothers before turning his gaze back to you. “No.” 

“Hunter.” You spread your palms. “May I remind you that just a few weeks ago you were ready to throw me into an Imp base as bait? How is this different?” 

He grits out your name, your given name, frustration clenching his jaw around the word. “This isn’t some backwater base. This is one of the Empire’s top facilities. There will be more guards, more chances for you to be recognized and thrown in a cell yourself, leaving us down another member.”

His eyes plead with you to let this go. But you can’t. Crosshair’s intense gaze is seared into your brain. “Be honest with me, all of you. Would Crosshair go with you if it was one of you who showed up at his cell?” 

Echo’s sigh crackles over the comms. “No. He wouldn’t.”

Wrecker looks like he might cry. “But we’re his brothers,” he says, so despondently that your heart breaks. 

“I know, big guy,” you say. “But I get the feeling that if he wanted one of you to come, he’d have commed you.” 

And this, you know, is the heart of the matter. Crosshair has only seen you since Kamino. Granted, only the one time, but you must have left an impression if he alerted his brothers to your whereabouts. You can see in Hunter’s face that his resistance is crumbling, his eyes shining. 

“If this is actually a trap,” you say, looking only at him, “then it’s for me. I won’t put any of you in danger again. I won’t risk Omega being found because of this.” 

Hunter closes his eyes, an errant tear glistening over his cheek. Guilt chews against your stomach for playing the Omega card like that, but you’re telling the truth. He knows it as well as the rest of them do. 

“All in favor of Navigator being the sole operative?” Tech says. “Aye.” 

“Aye,” Wrecker says, “though I wish I could blow up those Imps.” 

That makes you chuckle. A smile quirks at Tech’s mouth.

“Aye,” Echo says. 

When Hunter meets your gaze again, the defiant, frustrated light in his eyes vanishes; in its place, you find a scared, worried man. “You better figure out how to get those security codes, or you’ll never make it past the front door.”

Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @fjordg @idoubleswearimawriter @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @blueink-bluesoul @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#hunter x reader #tbb hunter x reader #hunter x gn!reader #second chances #rhiwrites #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader

[fumikomiyasaki]

Introducing Nakaumi, founded by the curiosity of the Pirate King

Fandorm for @deaths-academy-of-combat​ (one piece fandorm)

Nakaumi focuses mainly on Maritime combat and many students are adventures of the seas. The dorm color is Orange.

Most of the dorm members are either already Pirates, the next generation of it or just want to perfect some skills that are in need for a ship. hence why most dorm members wear a skull symbol somewhere.

The Supervisor of the dorm is Shanaya Bane (@twsted-princess) who first found the current dorm and vice leader as they were much younger. Being as passionate about the sea on Erena came to her with her dreams of being one day one of the best Pirates, she couldn't say no to help her this way to acheive it. The Nakaumi students are a very colorfull chaotic combo so even if order is hardly that possible at least they can make their best out of them.

Erena Ryūjin (twst Luffy) is a dorm leader that doesn't seem like she keeps the authority well but in actuality she does do a good job to give everyone taskes and help them get closer to acheiving their dreams.

"Slice" (Twst Buggy the clown) Never shares his real name but aside having a circus show in the dorm, he often lurks behind Erena to make sure nobody bugs her, as well as is old friends with Shanaya

Most of the dorm is located on a huge ocean... with many small building and a huge one in the middle serving as a base, the restaurant on it is often where dorm members in the morning eat together and discuss some dorm stuff... most students have their own little cottages and under the base is a underwater area for 1 v 1 battles as well as tons of small Facilities that some dorm members lead... like individual pirate crews as well as bars and entertainment... Slice as mentioned has his own circus show and often builds it up to give some a good break.... however it can get pretty dangerous as well. Most of the dorm has a Map to orient and outsiders are often very welcome given Erena likes to introduce others into her wacky adventures.

Blank Card:

Reserved so far:

Dorm leader Luffy

Vice leader Buggy

Boa Hancock

Uta

Zoro

Sanji and his siblings

Crocodile

Nico

Bentham

Ace

Chopper

Brook

___________________

Feel free to tell me if you wanna do a character

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland ocs #disney twst #twst #twst ocs #twistedwonderland #twistedwonderlandoc #twisted wonderland fanschool #nakaumi #deathsacademyofcombat #one piece #twst fandorm #tw clown

[jedimaesteryoda]

Varys, the elusive spymaster who seems to know all that goes on in King’s Landing. From when we first met him, we don’t truly know his motives, which side he is truly on if any and he dons multiple disguises. It’s underscored by his name being a homophone for “varies.” 

However, we learn by ADWD that he is effectively on Team Aegon who he likely knows is Illyrio’s son by a Blackfyre mother. That leaves the question of why does he support House Blackfyre’s cause? What is his connection to House Blackfyre?

More to the point, just exactly who is Varys?

Let’s take a look at his backstory.

"I was an orphan boy apprenticed to a traveling folly. Our master owned a fat little cog and we sailed up and down the narrow sea performing in all the Free Cities and from time to time in Oldtown and King's Landing.

-ACOK, Tyrion X

"The Lord Varys was born a slave in Lys, did you know? Put not your trust in spiders, my lord."

-AGOT, Eddard V

Varys stated that he was an orphan from apprenticed on a mummers ship, but Pycelle gives a detail that Varys was a slave in Lys. He mentions in the story to Tyrion that the master of the mummer’s boat sold him to a sorcerer, and Illyrio mentions he arrived in Pentos “one step ahead of the slavers” indicating that he likely was a slave.

Who else do we know of who was a slave in Lys?

"Serra. I found her in a Lysene pillow house and brought her home to warm my bed, but in the end I wed her.

-ADWD, Tyrion II

Varys was practically from the same city as Serra, and under the same status, but whereas Serra was sold to a pillow house, Varys was sold to a mummers’ ship. Varys likely knew her, and directed Illyrio to find her and produce a son of Blackfyre blood. That just leaves the question of how are the two people connected? How did Varys know her?

We may get a few hints in Illyrio’s mentioning of Varys’s backstory.

He [Maelys] won command of the Golden Company by fighting his cousin, Daemon Blackfyre, for it, killing his cousin's destrier with a single punch and then twisting Daemon's head until it was torn from his shoulders.

-WOIAF, Jaehaerys II

"In Myr he was a prince of thieves, until a rival thief informed on him. In Pentos his accent marked him, and once he was known for a eunuch he was despised and beaten. Why he chose me to protect him I may never know, but we came to an arrangement. Varys spied on lesser thieves and took their takings. I offered my help to their victims, promising to recover their valuables for a fee. Soon every man who had suffered a loss knew to come to me, whilst city's footpads and cutpurses sought out Varys … half to slit his throat, the other half to sell him what they'd stolen. We both grew rich, and richer still when Varys trained his mice."

-ADWD, Tyrion II

It has been stated more than once that the best lies have bits of truth in them, something a master spymaster like Varys would know. Illyrio would keep some information hidden, and give just enough to satisfy Tyrion’s curiosity but with some lies to cover up their plan and keep out details that would potentially expose it.

Maybe Varys was a kind of prince, but there are no monarchies in the Free Cities like in Westeros except for one family of claimants at the time of his birth: House Blackfyre. 

Maelys Blackfyre, the Monstrous: Captain of the Golden Company, named for his grotesquely huge torso and arms, fearsome strength, and savage nature. A second head grew from his neck, no bigger than a fist. He won command of the Golden Company by fighting his cousin, Daemon Blackfyre, for it, killing his cousin’s destrier with a single punch and then twisting Daemon’s head until it was torn from his shoulders.

-WOIAF, Jaehaerys II

Varys may have been “a prince of thieves” or a Blackfyre prince as Daemon IV’s son, until a “rival thief,” Maelys the Monstrous, overthrew him in a coup. Of course, Daemon IV lived long enough to father children: Varys and Serra. Maelys may have killed Daemon in combat, but killing his children would have potentially cost him the support of the Golden Company, so as a simple solution he sold them into slavery, or their mother was sold into slavery when she was pregnant with them at least. 

Varys and Serra’s story would sound very similar to that of Viserys and Daenerys: a pair of orphaned children of Targaryen blood in the Free Cities who lost their father in an usurpation by a distant cousin. The sorcerer that bought Varys likely knew of his dragonblood/kingsblood.  

The cut was quick, the blade sharp. By rights the metal should have been cold against her flesh, but it felt warm instead. She could feel the blood washing down her face, a rippling red curtain falling across her brow and cheeks and chin, and she understood why the priest had made her close her eyes. When it reached her lips the taste was salt and copper. She licked at it and shivered.

-ADWD, The Ugly Little Girl

If his story sounds familiar, that’s because it is Arya’s story: a child who saw their father beheaded, and lost everything their family, their home and freedom who dedicates their life in pursuit of vengeance and learns a craft to do so. Needing the mercenary Illyrio to protect him, Varys was not well-versed in combat, so he set about to become a master spymaster. 

While he would work with Illyrio in the thief-taking and espionage business for some years, he never lost sight of his true goal for the Blackfyre conquest of the Iron Throne. Look at Varys and he is the opposite of the ethos of House Blackfyre. Daemon I, Maelys and arguably many others including Bittersteel were all powerful warriors embodying the idealized, masculine warrior-king while Varys is a soft, plump eunuch with powdered hands, and wearing perfumes and silks. The contrast in appearances emphasizes the contrast in their approaches with the Blackfyres having tried to overthrow the Targaryens using hard power while Varys uses soft power. Varys is basically the Blackfyre counterpart to Bloodraven or the anti-Bloodraven:

Master of Whisperers and closest advisor to a weak king named Aerys

Dwells in tunnels of Red Keep with his children who serve as agents while Bloodraven dwells in a cave with the children of the forest

Cultivated a certain boy king for his grand plan (Aegon as opposed to Bran)

Associates with boy named Aegon raised in the country who is crowned king

Use of disguises

Uses his “little birds” as informants in place of Bloodraven’s actual birds

Son of a royal father who was the fourth of his name (Daemon IV as opposed to Aegon IV for Bloodraven)

His sigil would be a black dragon as opposed to Bloodraven’s white dragon.

Uses a crossbow to kill Kevan as opposed to weirwood bow Bloodraven used to kill Daemon I and his sons

Wizard as opposed to greenseer? (that’s best explored in another post)

He is effectively the image of everything House Blackfyre despised yet Varys managed to succeed where all his predecessors failed in overthrowing House Targaryen, and not through an invasion, but espionage and subterfuge.

Overthrowing the Targaryens was part one, but part two was installing a Blackfyre on the Iron Throne. Varys had two serious constraints concerning part two: he knew he couldn’t sit the Iron Throne due to himself being a eunuch who couldn’t sire any heirs, and he knew the realm would never rise for a Blackfyre. He came up with a solution that solved both problems: his sister Serra would produce a son of Blackfyre blood who would then be presented as the son of the late Prince of Dragonstone in a supposed restoration of the Targaryen regime. Serra like Daenerys would end up being sold as part of a marriage deal involving Illyrio in a plan to take the Iron Throne.

He was willing to do whatever it took to succeed, even at the expense of his own sister and innocent children. His story itself is a warning to Arya of what a life dedicated to vengeance could potentially lead to.

#asoiaf #varys #lord varys #maelys blackfyre #blackfyre rebellion #house blackfyre #daemon blackfyre #house targaryen #aegon vi targaryen #aegon blackfyre

[therapardalis]

— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

[For main verse.]

name: Thera Pardalis / Thera Landsend / Therese of Lands End. name meaning: Therese was originally from the old Greek or old English, 'harvester' or 'huntress'. Thera, as she was known after leaving home, means 'wild', 'untamed' and, according to some sources, 'guardian'. (I swear I did not know this when I named her!) 'Landsend' was a surname she adapted from 'of Lands End', her birthplace. alias/es: Thera D'Gaea, Felicia Cornwall, 'not her again', and 'HELP! Get her off me!!' 'Pardalis' is an alias as well, one she picked up in the late 20th century. ethnicity: English (Cornish)

one picture you like best of your chara:

three h/cs you never told anyone (not never, but haven't for a while!):

The first time she sailed away from Cornwall, she was so worried about being seasick that she actually made herself feel seasick.

She's climbed to the top of each of the Pyramids of Giza (on different days of course) back when it was only frowned upon rather than illegal. She was also disguised as a young man at the time!

She knows exactly what happened at Tunguska.

three things your character likes doing in their free time: 

Exercise - going for a run, weight training, combat training, dance, yoga, cross-training, cross country, obstacle courses.

Reading, studying.

Shopping at markets (flea markets, farmers' markets etc).

eight people your character likes / loves: ('v' means verse dependent) (If we are or were actively shipping, your muse is also on this list!)

Gaia (obvs!)

Ares (@ares-godofwar) (ex-lover, long time friend, partner in unspeakable crimes)

Loki (v, @princesilvertongue) (Lover (first ever ship on here, 11 years strong!))

Mike Williams (v, @strikelikeahawk) (Friend, chaos-buddy, partner in crime)

Ilona Rakowski (v, @thestorycontinues) (Friend, colleague, partner in crime)

Chi (v; @dontstepinmypuddle) (Friend, though neither will admit it. Also crimes.)

Strife (@godofskirmishes) (Friend, bad influence, more crimes.)

Ace and Germaine (@specialagentace), Ray ( @empatheticagent), Theo (@toodamnloyal), Pris (@herstoriies) (all 'v', but deserving an honourable mention <3)

two things your character regrets:

Only two?

She doesn't often have regrets, except for the 'I shouldn't have said that to [person]' or 'why did I choose this [method/thing]?' kind. There are plenty of things she doesn't like to think about or that make her cringe, but everything that's happened has helped her learn and led her to where and who she is now, so she doesn't really regret them.

two phobia fears your character has:

Old fashioned asylums, or hospitals/medical/research facilities that bring that sort of place to mind. She's been captured and experimented on in similar places twice before and gets very twitchy about them.

Failure. Not being good enough, in multiple meanings of the term, but especially failing in her duty to Gaia.

tagged by: Absolutely no-one, but the cool kids are doing it

tagging: All y'all who haven't yet!

#Dash Games #Headcanons

[coloricioso]

Bias against Agamemnon 🙄

Because the bias against Agamemnon is also horrible in the scholarly field, let me show you this one, that is just atrocious 🙄 I found it yesterday while researching something:

The aristeia (ἀριστεία from ἄριστος meaning "the best") is the greatest moment of heroism and glory, where a warrior excels himself and stands out for his skills. Who are the Greek heroes performing an "aristeia" in the Iliad? Diomedes in Books V-VI, Agamemnon in Book XI, Patroclus in Book XVI and Menelaus in Book XVII.

The author deliberately ignores that, unlike Diomedes and Menelaus, Agamemnon doesn't receive any divine aid in his performance, so he could only be compared to Patroclus. Both heroes are fighting with their "human" strength alone. From Agamemnon, we're told that he kills 6 known Trojans and many others (literally too many for the narrator to name them), while Patroclus kills 27.

Yeah, probably because no one else dares to fight him? Hector is not around because Zeus literally orders him to retreat so he and Agamemnon won’t fight together (although the Iliad does not explain why Zeus does this). In Book VII when Hector asks for a single combat, none of the Greeks wants to face him at first, none. Menelaus offers himself because of shame, and Agamemnon stops him so Hector won't kill him. Then Nestor makes a speech to "scold" the Greeks, and after that Agamemnon is the first one to offer himself to fight Hector in single combat, followed later by Diomedes and the other heroes.

The biases of the author also shows when he deliberately omits that the narrator says many times that Agamemnon is the first one to go in front of the army and attack first, and is always leading the troops: verses 91, 154, 165, 188, 179. Homer compares him to a lion and a devastating fire for his incessant slaughtering.

What’s even the point of this sentence? The first hero in the Iliad who is said to have missed a spear throw is Antiphos (IV-491), then Diomedes in Book VIII, 119, and only then Agamemnon. Now, indeed, Antiphos and Diomedes miss their throw and hit someone else instead, but they’re not in single combat, there are more people around so the spear can actually hit someone, unlike in the case of Agamemnon who is fighting face-to-face with Iphidamas, not among the crowd of warriors. Is that enough to claim Agamemnon is a bad warrior? Absolutely not. Who else in the Iliad does miss a spear throw and hits nothing at all? 1) Sarpedon (XVI, 477), 2) Achilles (XXI, 169) and Menelaus (XIII, 605). Agamemnon, Achilles, and Menelaus are called great spear throwers by Homer (Menelaus gets this epithet a lot). So, according to the author, Achilles, and Menelaus would be “inferior warriors” just because they threw a spear and missed hitting anything? How is Agamemnon the "inferior" warrior, but Achilles and Menelaus missed shots don't count?

Also, by claiming that Agamenon "is the first hero to make a clean miss..." the author makes it sound like the first thing Agamemnon does is "throw a spear and fail", ignoring that during verses 84-221 Agamemnon kills 6 named heroes and many unnamed Trojans. His missed shot just comes in verse 233, but after that, he kills his opponent anyway.

Here is when I feel like... some scholars are just trolling rather than making serious work.  I mean… seriously?? SERIOUSLY? Diomedes does it too in the same Book after being wounded by Paris' arrow!!! SAME BOOK: “he (Diomedes) sat down to draw the arrow from his foot, and sharp was the pain he suffered as he did so. Then he sprang on to his chariot and bade the charioteer drive him to the ships, for he was sick at heart”. How is Diomedes’ wound different from Agamemnon’s wound? Ares himself abandons battle when wounded. Even the Trojans like Deiphobos and Helenus leave the battlefield when wounded. And again, the author makes it seem like Agamemnon has some minor wound and leaves the battlefield because he is weak. What Homer tells us is that Agamemnon is wounded on his arm by Coön, who attacks him stealthily by the back, and with his spear, pierces Agamemnon's arm, (the weapon goes through the flesh to the other side). And yet, Agamemnon does not stop fighting, faces Coön and kills him, and then keeps on killing more Trojans while being wounded, with his spear, sword, and stones.

And once Agamemnon leaves the field because after the blood dries the pain is felt and becomes unbearable (Homer compares it to the pain of a woman in labor), Hector can join the battle and he says that the best (ἄριστος) -of the Greeks- has left (verse 288).

so..... seriooouslyyy.... I don't understand why people hate Agamemnon SO MUCH that they ignore the source material. There's plenty of other verses in the Iliad that show Agamemnon's bravery and strength, and even Socrates (Xenophon) would praise Agamemnon for being a good king and a good spearman (warrior). I'm baffled.

#iliad #agamemnon #homer

[totentnz]

soft OTP: #5 for silverv?

Soft Ship Prompts

5. Write about a casual kiss between your ship. aka i decide to plague you with 400 words describing what v looks like

johnny had managed to talk v into taking the NCART today, she barely got any sleep last night and he wasn't gonna let her drive, they needed to be alive if they wanted to do that gig for el clowno later.

she was occupying two seats at once with the way she was sitting, her legs spread and arms on the backrest. he wanted to comment on how she should stop manspreading but he was too busy admiring her. she was so unapologetically comfortable in this public space and he enjoyed witnessing it.

the music blasting from her earplugs made the scene even better: sex pistols. he remembered the first time he heard his british counterpart from the stereo in her car: they were out in the badlands as few days after he woke up in her body, he could barely believe what he was hearing, after all that band was older than he was and there was no way she even knew about them. these days however it made perfect sense: if anyone was gonna listen to classic punk-rock, it was her. she had good taste in music, sometimes, and he was more than happy to fill the gaps.

she was wearing the replica samurai jacket, johnny knew she would have burned it in that damn trunk if it wasn't his. underneath it was a crop top - it used to be full sized "I ♡ NC" shirt but she cut off the collar and lower half. v had an aversion to wearing bras so her pierced nipples were visible through the fabric. he caught himself staring for a little too long so so he moved his gaze downward, to her midriff.

he wondered why she didn't have her bellybutton pierced as well, considering the amount of metal that adorned every other part of her body. she did have a tattoo on her hipbone though: a millitech m-10af lexington, it was placed there to make it look like it was stuck into her pants, it would look better if it was his malorian though, maybe he was gonna get her another present on the other side of her hip.

her pants were perhaps the best part of the getup - cargo-pants with pockets that seemed to be bottomless, stuffed with everything she needed to roll her own cigarettes and other less important things like keys and chapstick. she had sewn the pockets on herself along with multiple patches - much to his delight there was a samurai one there as well and it has been there since before he showed up. safety pins, metal studs and even nicola tabs were attached to the flaps and seams all over. of course the pants had holes, conveniently placed at her knees where the star tattoos peeked through. she was also wearing her usual big black combat boots with steel caps. johnny could tell from this outfit she didn't intend to handle this gig on the low, which he appreciated; he was itching for a good fight.

all of this fit her so well, he remembered the night he woke up in her head, she was wearing what was left of that stupid suit and he assumed that was her choice in clothes - he was glad to be proven wrong. she had character, individuality and good taste - not his type though.

v must've caught him staring as she was giving him a look now. he was sitting across from her and she was smirking at him with that damn look she always gave him when he caught her staring, which didn't happen often, really.

"why dontcha come over here, hm? get a better look?" she propped up her head on her hand, rubbing a finger over her browbone - shaving off your eyebrows was a weird choice but it looked good on her. "that ain't how it works, dickweed." he retorted but decided to pop up right in front of her anyway, grabbing his balls to provoke her. it never worked and he didn't know why he thought it would this time. she simply took in the sight, giving him a nod of approval.

perhaps it was this reaction that made him follow through with a plan he had been stewing on for some time now, a way to finally throw her off, get the reaction he wanted.

he leaned down and grabbed her face, causing her to lean forward. he could feel their heart quicken in this moment, he grinned and pressed a kiss to her lips, a proper, head tilting kiss. it lasted for longer than he expected, both in the sense that he could feel her lips for longer than a moment and that she didn't pull away from him. quite the opposite, she even slipped her tongue into his mouth. that damned split tongue of hers that always made him wonder what she could do with it. he could feel it glide along its own and it sent a shiver down their spine. eventually it was him who pulled away, looking around to see how the other passengers would say to this weirdo sticking out her tongue like this but people were unphased - this was night city, weirder shit happened every day.

he straightened up and looked down at her, of course she was so damn pleased with herself, lazily leaning back in her seat as she licked her lips.

"guessin' that one didn't go as expected." she said and pulled one earbud out. "underestimated how much of a freak ya are." he said and sat down next to her, resting his metal arm on the backrest behind her. she offered him the earbud, a pointless gesture since he could hear the music the whole time but he accepted anyway. "takes one to know one." she turned her head to him. "yeah now imagine if i had a body o' my own." he replied, raising his eyebrows flirtatiously. "i do. every day. have been this whole ride in fact."

#sammy says shit #sammy writes shit #otp; just the two of us #oc:v #you know when i started writing this i thought it was gonna be short #but then i decided i needed to let you know what v looks like lmao

[electricrogue]

A, F, K, U, and V for the ask :)

Thank you for the ask! :)

A - Ships that you currently like a lot. (They don’t have to be OTPs because not everyone has OTPs.) Friendships, pairings, threesomes, etc. are allowed.

I have one OTP the o stands for one and it's Teslen basically xD. Other than that? Eda/Raine from The Owl House and Crowley/Aziraphale from Good Omens (though they're... you know... not talking at the moment xD) as far as romantic ones go. Friendship wise I just watched The Marvels and I got hit hard with Kamala, Carol and Monica (yes the fanfic part helped but I was there ok I feel her so much with this).

F - What’s the longest you’ve ever been in a fandom?

14 years and a half with Sanctuary apparently xD (God I'm old :)))

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

I'll go with favorite development arc and the first one that comes to mind is Cordelia from American Horror Story (Coven and Apocalypse and yes Apocalypse was a shit show plot wise but I still loved her in that one so yeah xD). Still, the way she went from basically a wallflower to the Supreme who tricked the Antichrist just to get her girlfriend back from hell? Yeah. I stan.

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

I hate the different thing because I can't do both sides of Teslen for the record xD. But fine. Girls it is.

Helen Magnus from Sanctuary. And it's a very long list as to why but basically Amanda needed something in which she was in charge ok? And I don't mean SGA in charge because that was more like a desk job if anything else. Helen is that, and way more. She's badass, no-nonsense, has a very big heart (too big in some cases but I don't want to talk about that), super smart, can hold her own in combat and does it in heels... I think that pretty much covers it xD.

Eda from The Owl House. Because I lowkey want her to adopt me if that's a valid answer (I mean I would also want Helen to adopt me but I'd maybe also want Helen to do other things to me or at least let me watch while she does them to Nikola and adoption would make that weird so yeah). No but serious answer? I fell for Eda the second she said that thing with Us weirdos have to stick together and yeah. She may be basically a wine aunt but she's also a mother hen (owl? literally actually xD) and she can talk as much as she wants about eating kids and all but she's too kind to actually do it. And she went from burning a school down to actually running the place (of course I don't have details on that fuck Disney but yeah).

Cassandra Cillian from The Librarians. I always said that from all the characters I've known she's the most like me (minus the brain tumor thank God and minus the magic unfortunately). But she has this quote about how she was basically a super smart kid but she didn't want that to be the only thing she was, and yeah. I felt that.

V - Which character do you relate to most?

I actually answered that above with Cassandra but yeah xD. I still stand by that :P

#ask game

[creativebrainrot]

okokokok *purusing the questions like in the line to subway* can i get... pyrs and louis pre relationship 1 to 3, and gwyn and twahearne domestic life 5 to 7 with a side of love 1 to 3 for both ships pls

lemme get on that order for you right now

Pyrs & Louis

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

oooo one of my favorite lil tidbits of lore Belial, early on as commander, had implemented a program to encourage recruits of the different orders to get to know one another. The program would pick groups of recruits and rotate them through the order halls for training with each order. Pyrs was a Vigil recruit picked for this program in it's testing stages. His group was meant to train with the Priory.

Their very first meeting was the introductions of the Vigil recruits to the Priory recruits & faculty. Pyrs couldn't stop staring at Louis, even though he tried. Louis, thought he was cute, handsome even.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

Louis thought Pyrs was adorable. This sweet, nervous sapling genuinely trying so hard to chase his Wyld Hunt, which was quite vague, despite how unfit for the Vigil he was at first. Louis found him physically attractive as well, Pyrs is shorter than him, has always been stronger than him, and his voice is like a siren's song to Louis.

Pyrs was very very nervous in Louis' presence because of his high rank in the priory. That faded quickly when he got to talk to Louis, finding out that he was a really sweet person. He thought Louis was very handsome, he could listen to him talk for hours. (he was able to aswell- attending priory lectures Louis gave.) He thought- and still thinks,- that Louis is a charismatic, kind, caring man.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Louis keeps in touch with his family who're back home in Kryta through letters. His little sister encouraged him to try and get closer to Pyrs when their relationship was new. Louis wrote this off as her naivety- Pyrs was a recruit after all, that's a bad idea.

Pyrs' closest friend, Branthyn, wanted him to "just tell the damned magister already!" She was sick of his pining. (And wanted him to quell his anxieties, he was worrying about everything to do with it so much, she just wanted him to be able to relax again.)

(Pyrs was the first to confess, very nervously asking Louis on a "date," or whatever next best thing they could manage. Louis thought it was adorable, needing to stand up from his desk to feign browsing the bookshelf behind it in order to hide the smile creeping onto his face.)

Maelgwyn & Trahearne

DOMESTIC LIFE

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

Trahearne. Maelgwyn's more like "I taught them how to use a knife, it's fine." It's not that drastic of a difference though, both would probably set rules, but Trahearne's the one to be more specific with said rules or outright ban certain activities.

6. Who worries the most?

I think this is a tie. They've both been through a lot. Maelgwyn has had to deal with some heavy trauma regarding loss and loss of loved ones. Trahearne has too though, and more times than Gwyn. They're almost always at eachother's sides in combat. I'm sure both always have that thought in the back of their minds, "Is this the last time I get to tell him how much he means to me?" And every other thought like that.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Maelgwyn's house, where they both live, is very open for airflow so they probably both just swat/relocate bugs back out where they came from. I can't see either of them being squeamish about insects tbh. "put those lil idiots back outside where they came from >:V"

FOUR of Them (both ships)

Maelgwyn & Trahearne

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Avae beat ya to this one by like a millisecond last night asdfgdhsfgdsf

2. What are their primary love languages?

Trahearne's is verbal. Telling Gwyn he loves him, randomly telling him he's attractive, and getting back at Gwyn with inappropriate comments. Touch as well just less than words.

Maelgwyn it's definitely physical affection & gifts. Words are Difficult and Talking about Emotions is HARD for him, so why not grab Trahearne by the waist when no one is looking? Why not snatch him at any chance he gets just to kiss him or touch him. why not.

Trahearne certainly doesn't seem to mind.

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Honestly i don't think either of them do, but if I had to pick, Maelgwyn would find the worst ones just to ironically inflict them upon Trahearne.

Louis & Pyrs

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Honestly this one is almost a tie as well. I think Louis would've really really wanted to tell Pyrs first, but opt instead to let Pyrs say it whenever he was ready. So Pyrs did say "I love you" first. Pyrs was the more heisitant of the two, until the campaign against Mordremoth. He told Louis he loved him, the day after he almost lost him.

2. What are their primary love languages?

They're both very affectionate & cuddly with eachother. Louis favors being the one touched. They're both very flirtatious with eachother aswell, through words, touch, and body language from across the room.

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

so louis' guilty pleasure is goldclaw books. and pyrs is a dork who would abso-fucking-lutely find the worst lines in the whole book just to slip them into conversations with louis. A "i know you know that i know," sort of subtle teasing. the way it makes louis flustered is endlessly entertaining to pyrs.

#TYVM for the ask thea!! <3 #ocposting #thewordboxresponse #trahearne #oc: louis ebonpromise (he/him) #oc: pyrs (he/him) #oc: maelgwyn (he/any) #gw2 ocs