#(assigned hunter at birth)

[somethingsomeart]

I'm back on my bullshit again~! A more proper view of Hunter!Tahir (where he's not suffering my memes for once) as I imagined him while I played through The Northern Passage IF demo @northern-passage And small scenes and interactions with the characters: Lea Chen, Merry Harlowe, Clementine and Noel Lykaon

Special appearances by Dot (the horse), a badly carved turtle, a little lucky bell and the Rot (and Tahir at the end of the demo)

Fangirlish rambling under the cut! It long

This honestly largely took this long cuz I could *not* figure out which scene I wanted to use for Noel! Xe has a ton of really great scenes but in most the Hunter wears their cloak (as per usual) and I really wanted one where that doesn't happen. Cuz, for Tahir, Noel is one of the people he's the most comfortable just being himself around rather than a hunter, cuz xe is hunter too but kind and he makes it easier. And since Tahir is an idiot who didn't even care to check for the wraith before going for Clem, he's kinda unconscious when they first meet!

So I ended up picking the scene in front of the door after the Hunter accidentally-on-purpose opens the Vel, where, to hide xirs fear and concern ('m guessing), Noel makes a joke that actually has the Hunter laughing. A short moment of almost normalcy surrounded by something that, of the group, only the two fully share.

Meanwhile Lea (he/him from a d3 toss) gets to be a gremlin! It was honestly a cute and really natural scene that I'd been itching to doodle for a bit so here it is! (Tahir's horse is called Dot cuz she has a dot in the centre of her forehead. She's a lusitano uwu I'm dating a horseboy, I gotta respect the horse) Tahir's favourite (non alcoholic) drink is actually coffee so Lea won himself some extra points right there! That he immediately lost for laughing at Tahir's suffering >:'(

Merry gets the scene with the little carved turtle cuz my thoughts were pretty much the same as Tahir's when I read the scene. It was really cute! It felt like seeing Merry rather than the pirate captain who is trying to protect her town, almost vulnerable and caring for just a little trinket that matters to her. Basically, Merry cute, cute Merry cute, I draw

Clem gets to tell a story! A story that, I'm sure, isn't going to be deeply meaningful nor anything. This is also a moment where Clem reaches out to the Hunter with an offer to protect them so I really wanted to include it. Despite how scared they seem, they still offer to come to the Hunter if he calls, and, ye, wanted to draw that!

And Tahir! As the Hunter. Tahir has brown eyes in the narration but he normally has amber ones, so I kept here even if it's hard to see ':D

Alcohol for his poison of choice. Favourite magic is sword. Touch starved as much as touch averse, no, he doesn't get it either.

He promised Jorah and he means to keep that promise, but gods if he’s not tired…

Very protective of his people: Noel, Lea and his dads mentors in particular, but Merry and Clem too (and whoever might need protection but these people most of all atm). In part thanks to that promise, and how it does help remind him to not hate others for… well, most of what being a hunter means, but it has led to him internalising a lot of that anger into a lack of care for his own safety that then leads to him being almost self-sacrificing when others are in danger. It’s fine tho! He’s fine!

He’s always fine, he has to be.

I haven’t figured out yet which romance path he’s gonna go for yet! Merry cute, Lea is delightful drama, and Noel is an absolute darling (sorry, Clem, you're not an option for Tahir, but at least that means less angst in your life??) so I am dying here!!

At this point in the demo Tahir’s managed to fight with Lea, but still agreed to talk, and lit his pipe (delicious scene btw, 5 stars~), was not kicked out of Merry’s ship cuz he kept away from the books but did get kicked out of her office when he went there to talk (yes, it hurt. A lot. He felt like such an idiot), been flustered by Noel and had a surprisingly not terrible conversation with him before they went to the isolation district, and made a blood pact with Clem, that came back to bite him in the ass (but also not really cuz wow! Keres hurts), he wants to have a little chat, Clem…!

He also got punched with the butt of a knife in the face by Duncan but paid him back in the final-current-demo-fight >:) (Duncan is awful in the absolutely best way possible! Had a lot of fun in his scenes and really enjoying hating the guy)

Really excited to get to find out what the hell Jorah is doing there, and working with/for Keres and Duncan?? In future chapters. (Also, Tahir would like to know where's Rodrick?? Where's dad, dad??) Also to find out more about the Hunter’s new “little” tagalong (aka, the Firstborn, I'm still going all in it's them!). Tahir actually doesn’t hate them, since they’ve only hurt him (as far as he knows) and not his people so there’s a good chance they’ll maybe be actually able to talk??

If you read this far, wow.

#doodle #fanart #the northern passage #digital sketch #if fanart #artists on tumblr #Lea Chen #Merry Harlowe #Clementine #Noel Lykaon #the Hunter #Tahir Salit #If you have light enough brown-ish eyes are you basically ahab 🤔 #(assigned hunter at birth) #halp how do u draw wet shirts

[ease-for-nothing]

Hunter’s appearance at the end of Thanks to Them makes me really sad. And not just for the scars, but because of his hair, and his eyes, because of everything that changed to make him look more like Caleb. Hunter and his being a grimwalker has always read as a trans allegory to me, for many reasons I won’t get into all here. In the montage at the beginning, when Willow cuts his hair, is a clear allusion to dysphoria, Hunter seeing Caleb in the mirror, seeing what he was born as, what he was expected to be, and what he so deeply wants to be away from. And he cuts his hair, hair and hairstyle being so indicative of and important to identity.

And at the end of the episode, after everything, his hair has grown and his eyes have changed color, making him look more like Caleb again. And it hurts me so much to see. He’d come so far in being comfortable with himself, and with loving himself… and now?

I hope that boy gets another haircut cuz he deserves it so much.

#acab… assigned Caleb at birth??? oh no #toh season 3 #toh season three #the owl house #the owl house season 3 #hunter wittebane #toh hunter #transgender #trans representation #cw scars #thanks to them #lgbtq representation #dana terrace #I’m sorry

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Come and Get Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: After a job leaves you trapped, you realize how much you have come to trust the legendary Mandalorian.

Excerpt: “Please don’t cry,” you heard him whisper, “please don’t cry, Y/N.”

“Come and get me,” you begged, “Din, please come and get me.”

“The house is likely on total lockdown,” he said. “There’s no way for me to get in.”

This only made you sob harder.

“Please, Din,” you said through gasps of air, “please don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he said. It sounded like he was running now. “Not ever, you understand me?”

Warnings: claustrophobia, panicking, panic attack, crying, so much banter, dinny boy gets *stern, * but only because he is in love hehe.

A/N: happy dincember my people :)

Pedro Masterlist

All my writing

(gif credit to pinterest)

“Why are droids always so angry?”

A deep sigh arose through your comlink.

“Because everyone is always pushing their buttons.”

Silence.

“You’re holding back your laughter.”

“That is absolutely not what is happening,” Din responded, voiced husked with his ever-present exhaustion.

“I can feel it,” you countered. “You are actively killing braincells trying to hold it back.”

“That is not what is killing my braincells,” Din responded, and you gave a dry chuckle back.

“Just get the credits and get out,” Din said, “we have other jobs to do.”

“Yes sir,” you responded sarcastically, pulling down your mask. It was a soft obsidian fabric that covered everything but your eyes.

“Need I remind you it is your fault we are here in the first place?” Din asked, knowing it would push your own button.

Greef had known you since you were a kid, your parents always calling him a “close family friend.” In actuality, your parents were his most profitable bounty hunters, and they had worked with him until they physically couldn’t anymore.

Without hesitation, choosing you take their place.

They had trained you from birth, ingraining into you the strength, cleverness, patience, persistence, and of course the wit needed to be an adequate replacement.

In Greef’s own words, you were “more than adequate.”

You worked for him for over a decade before finally meeting the infamous Mandalorian. His name had been circling for a while before you met him, allowing him to climb the ladder of Greef’s good graces (a particularly slippery ladder, in your opinion), as well as the ladder of wealth. You didn’t mind at first, sticking to the lot of bounties Greef would assign you every month, and minding your business.

That was until this Mandalorian started getting your pick of the lot.

“He’s just as good as you are,” Greef had said to you. “Your skill sets are incredibly complimentary. It is best for me financially to have you both going at once.”

You scoffed into your drink. “Give me a break, smartass. Next thing I know it will ‘best for you financially’ to have us working together.”

“It was a joke, asshole,” you responded to Din. “I’ll admit, not one of my best.”

Din sighed and remained silent. After two dozen jobs together, he had learned how old that jab was becoming.

“Going in now,” you said quietly, pulling out your gun and – as quietly as you could – shooting through the lock on the front door of what had to have been the biggest house you had ever seen. The outside was made with some rare limestone that glimmered in the moonlight which, in your opinion, literally shouted “rob me.” The owners of this house had tricked Greef, running off with the sum of money he had owed you and Din for a previous job (quite convenient, if you said so yourself). Greef agreed to pay you and Din triple your original salary if you got it back for him.

And here you were.

The door squeaked on its hinges as you opened it, revealing a pitch-black living area. You took one step inside, and as you did, a generator must have kicked on, because the room was instantly lit up. You gasped, stepping back in fear of a possible alarm, but as you waited a few seconds, there was no such thing.

“You okay?” Din asked quietly. If you weren’t shitting your pants, you might have teased him for seeming like he actually cared.

“Yeah,” you responded, winded. “Yeah. Fine.”

You looked around the room, jaw falling open slowly as you did. It might as well have been a museum. Paintings, vases, chandeliers, stones, and jewels. You could tell one thing and one thing only.

Whoever these people were, they were fucking loaded.

“Hey, Din,” you asked.

“Yeah?”

“Did Greef say anything about being allowed to steal anything else?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Got it,” you said, and moved further into the house.

“Greef paid some gungan to have dinner with them, so there shouldn’t be anyone in the house.”

“I was at the meeting for this job, Din.”

“I know,” he said, “Just checking.”

His voice was laced with an undertone of…hurt. You didn’t have time to think about that.

“I’m headed to the master bedroom,” you said, weaving your way through objects worth more than you would ever see in ten lifetimes. “I’ll let you know when I find the box.”

“Alright,” Din responded, and you carried on.

You circled the first floor of the house, hemming and hawing at what seemed to be an endless supply of riches.

“Are we focused, Y/N?”

“Lazer,” you responded after almost touching the shiniest blue stone you had ever seen. “Nothing on the first floor.”

“Okay,” Din responded. “How-how you holding up?”

Your eyebrows wrinkled together. “Fine. How about you?”

“I’m good,” he said softly. “Just now realizing we have never done a job like this before. Me only hearing you through the comlink. I’m used to being next to you.”

“Oh, the poor Mandalorian, all alone in the desert, cursed with the job of keeping watch. You missing me big guy?”

“Just missing being faster than you,” he jabbed. “It’s good for my ego.”

“Har har,” you responded, opening the first door you found at the top of the stairs. “You can’t deny I give you a run for your money though.”

“You sure do,” he said, once again laced with emotion. What the fuck was with him?

And why did you keep noticing?

You opened the door and were welcomed by what had to have been the biggest bed you had ever seen in your life. It took up half the room, with the rest of it being looted with more treasures, including plants, shelves of books, and…

…a music box.

“Bingo,” you said.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a game you play for fun,” you responded. “You wouldn’t be familiar with the concept.”

“Very original.”

“I’ll be here all night,” you said with a smirk, and walked to the box. You pulled it off the shelf delicately, feeling the weight of credits in the bottom. You laughed happily, unable to hold it in.

Din laughed too. He understood immediately.

You felt for the seal on the front and began to pull it open carefully. You got it about halfway open before it immediately shut, snapping your fingers into it.

“Mother –” you said, pulling your fingers out and holding them to your chest.

“You okay?” Din asked quickly, almost as soon as the word left your mouth.

“Yeah,” you said, flexing your fingers. You laughed lightly. “I think this house may be out to get me.”

As if you spoke it into existence, all the lights in the house suddenly shut down, soaking you in darkness. Strobe lights of red began to pulse on the ceiling, the door to the bedroom shut automatically, and an ear-piercing alarm permeated the room.

You were suddenly unmoving.

“Y/N?” Din asked, his voice a whisper above the alarms. “Y/N, what is that?”

The box fell from your grip.

“Din…” you said, chest constricting, muscles locking, brain failing. “Din…”

“What’s going on?”

You started shaking your head, making your way to the door slowly. You jiggled the doorknob, then pulled on it, then yanked on it, then threw your body into it.

It was no use. You were locked in from the outside.

“Din, I –” your voice cracked with a sob. “Din, I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded like he was walking.

“I’m-I’m trapped,” you said, sobs now fully escaping from your mouth. “Din I’m trapped. They know I’m here. They’re gonna…”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, hand cupping your mouth as you began to hyperventilate, because suddenly, you were a child again. Put up against one of your parents’ countless tests. Locked in a basement, or a ship, or your own room, forced to find a way out, told that in the real world, if you couldn’t find a way out, you would likely be killed.

You could never pasts their tests. Never.

“Din, they’re gonna kill me.”

“Shut up,” he said firmly. It sounded like he was moving faster. “You’re not gonna die.”

His tone was unconvincing.

“Din,” you cried, tears staining the fabric covering your face, snot soaking through it. Panic was seeping itself into your bones. “Din, what do I do? What do I do?”

“You’ve gotta find a way out.”

“I can’t,” you wheezed, body sliding down the door and onto the floor, the alarms and the red overstimulating your every nerve. “I can’t Din. It’s so loud,”

“Please don’t cry,” you heard him whisper, “please don’t cry, Y/N.”

“Come and get me,” you begged, “Din, please come and get me.”

“The house is likely on total lockdown,” he said. “There’s no way for me to get in.”

This only made you sob harder.

“Please, Din,” you said through gasps of air, “please don’t leave me alone.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he said. It sounded like he was running now. “Not ever, you understand me?”

You nodded, now plugging your ears, and closing your eyes, rocking yourself back and forth subconsciously.

“I’m going to get you out of there,” he said, his voice suddenly nasally. “I swear to the maker I’m going to get you out of there. I just need your help, okay?”

You tried your best to gather breath. “Okay. Okay.”

“Okay,” he said. “I need you to see if there are any windows in the room. Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed, standing on shaking legs, ears still plugged. You squinted as you walked slowly, finally reaching a wall. You then felt the wall with one hand and walked forward until you felt something that resembled glass.

“I-I found one.”

“Good,” he said, sounding peculiarly winded. “Now, I’m going to need you to break it.”

You sobbed once more. “How?”

“Anything. Shoot at it, throw things at it, the fucking music box for all I care. Anything.”

You swallowed again, breathing in as deep of a breath as you could, before pulling out your gun. You felt the glass once again, and slowly backed away from it. You continued to release faint cries as you did, holding up your gun with quivering fingers, before letting blasts fly.

You heard some cracks as they landed against the glass. Once you halted your firing, you made your way back over to it, and realized they weren’t nearly enough.

“I’m going to have to kick it,” you said, some semblance of power returning into your voice.

Din didn’t respond.

You backed away again, breaths still rapid and voice still raw. But you gave that piece of fucking glass your all.

Your foot went right through it, cutting shards into your calf and ankle.

You grunted, falling back into the room.

“You get it?” Din asked, panting.

“Yeah,” you said, clutching your leg. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Now stand up.”

You did.

“Walk to the window.”

You did.

“And jump.”

“What?”

“Jump now.”

It was in that moment that you realized that you truly, unequivocally, deeply trusted the Mandalorian. Because you jumped into the dark, cold night, and he caught you, mid-air.

You gasped as you landed in his arms, watching as the ground beneath you whizzed by, eyelids pealed back in awe.

A smooth, gloved hand framed your cheek and pulled your vision upwards, locking it into his visor.

You stared at him, the remnants of tears against the cold wind freezing your face, and yet his hand was the true culprit of your goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly. The flames from his jet pack illuminating his armor in golds and reds.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

He nodded, diverting his gaze to stare forward into the night, but keeping his hand pressed against your face.

You would say it was the shock, or the trauma, or the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In reality, all you wanted was comfort – his comfort. You couldn’t stop yourself.

You rested your forehead against the side of his visor and closed your eyes, scooting your body as close to his as possible as the two of you shot through the sky.

“Thank you, Din,” you said, tears escaping you once more. “Thank you.”

Din audibly swallowed, then removed his hand from your cheek and used it to remove your mask, before sliding his hand into the hair at the back of your neck.

“I swore to you I’d get you out of there,” he said, his voice crackly and weak. “I don’t break promises.”

You nodded against his visor, clutching desperately onto the fabric around his neck. He smelled of sweat, metal, and home.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Tag list: (if you would like to be added please let me know!)

burned-dorito, @tiredbuthappyppy @em---r @just-a-sewer-goblinlin @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanprideerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkylee @stardust-galaxies @c4psicle @joelsflannell @mysun-n-stars@tateelii @darth-voder @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgothh @thesmutslut  @alastorhazbinbin @grincheveryday @reader8679 @cockscombkingdom

@lexloon @pauphs @enjoyyourlatttebitch

@miss-goldenweek

@darling-murdockk @1deadpool266 @queen-nothing-blogg @burnt-dorito @untitledareaa @julialoopeezz @daphne-turner @jediknightjanaa @sasakipspoststs

#din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din x reader #din djarin x you #dinner #mando #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the last of us fanfiction #dincember #din djarin fanfiction #dincember 2022 #dincember 2021 #dincember 2023

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Family Planning

Life slows down once everyone is safely back on Pabu, and maybe now it’s time to start focusing on what you both want for the future.

Pairing: Hunter x f!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Rating: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: breeding kink, very very brief and vague medical procedure (birth control removal), established relationship, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, pre-established safe word (always play safe, folks), oral (f!receiving), unprotected PiV, scent kink, light marking, bandana as bondage, light hair pulling, love and fluff, soft aftercare.

“I can put a replacement in immediately if you’d like?” The doctor asked, turning in his chair, ready to remove the expired birth control implant buried in your upper arm. 

“Urm…” You paused, not entirely sure what you wanted to do. Honestly, you’d forgotten about the small plastic rod under your skin until Hunter had offhandedly commented that you smelt a little sweeter this cycle.

He sat beside you now, warm brown eyes sliding in your direction as the doctor waited for your answer. With nothing to do this afternoon, he’d offered to come with you to the appointment you’d made at Pabu’s only clinic. After four years at his side, having been assigned as the squad’s civilian handler at the start of the war, nothing was sacred anymore. Even more so after you’d fallen into bed together two years ago. 

Two years of waking up next to each other, of stolen kisses and wandering hands, of knowing looks and being railed against the nearest surface. Two years of ‘I love you’ and ‘stay safe out there.’

During the war, the two of you had discussed a family late at night, tucked away in a bunk together, voices whisper soft and full of hope.

Now, life had slowed. After rescuing Crosshair, Omega, and Tech from Mount Tantiss, you’d slipped off the Empire’s radar and had settled down properly on the tropical island. You had a home and a routine, were on a first-name basis with the locals, and even snagged a teaching job at the school.

Eyes shifting to meet Hunter’s, you chew on the inside of your lip. Was now a good time? Would your baby be safe, or would the Empire come sniffing if they caught wind of a child of an enhanced clone?

“It’s your choice, cyar’ika.” He states, his mouth’s corners turning into a devastatingly handsome smile. “It’s your body.” He adds. You know his stance on having a family, Maker above you play into often when he’s buried deep inside you late at night, but this feels like a pivotal moment in your relationship.

Holding his gaze, you’re not quite sure what you’re searching for – but you can see so much in his eyes. All the trust and love he has for you, all the support. At first, it had been terrifying to have someone believe in you so much, but your self-worth and confidence flourished over the last four years.

He’d be an incredible father. You’d already seen it from his interactions with Omega, how the young girl pulled all those paternal traits out of him. He’d go to the ends of the galaxy to keep you and your baby safe, of that you were sure.

Contentment seeped through your body, a feeling of rightness settling in your gut. You wanted a family too, and you loved each other - had been to hell and back for each other. You shifted your attention to the waiting doctor. “Don’t bother replacing it.” You tell him, hearing Hunter inhale sharply, the armrest of his chair creaking as his grip tightened on it at your words.

The doctor gave you a knowing look as he swabbed a disinfectant pad over your upper arm. “Normally, I encourage my patients to use other contraception, but something tells me that advice would fall on deaf ears.”

You make a slight noise of agreement, glancing over at Hunter as the doctor quickly removes the small implant. Your eyes take in the way he’s watching the little piece of plastic being removed, his fingers flexing against the arms of the chair, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the implant is pulled free of your body. And then those dark eyes find yours and steal your breath.

It was the right decision.

He’s on you the moment you get home, not even giving you time to properly shut the front door. Rough hands grasp your body, lips finding yours for a passionate kiss – there’s no finesse to it; it’s needy and messy, noses bumping and tongues meeting.

Buttons are undone; his shirt hits the floor, and his shoes and pants follow. Strong hands cup your ass and lift you, lips still pressed desperately against yours as he carries you a few steps further into the house, laying you on the couch and following you down. Your kiss breaks long enough for him to pry your dress up and off, lips meeting again before the garment even has the chance to hit the floor. He’s back on you, using one hand to prop himself up above you.

“Fuck, cyar’ika.” Hunter’s voice is low and smoky as his mouth moves to your jawline, light kisses peppered across it before he works down your throat, nipping gently at your delicate skin. Your chest heaves with each breath, mind spinning as your hand’s card through his hair, nails dragging across his scalp, eliciting a small hiss of pleasure and pain from him.

A needy whine breaks free, your hips lifting as you desperately seek some friction. Hunter matches your actions, grinding his hard-on against your thigh as he reaches the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. He bites down a little harder this time, your moan filling the air, pulling a growl from him as his tongue laves over the mark. The light sweetness to your scent is still there, but he knows it’ll only get stronger as the artificial hormones make their way out of your system. He can’t wait to bask in it.

Your bra is slung over the edge of the couch, hands cupping your breasts as Hunter’s mouth continues downwards, leaving a trail of kisses. Shivers skitter down your spine as he licks across the soft mounds, dragging the flat of his tongue across your rapidly hardening nipples. Drawing one into his mouth, he sucks, scraping his teeth gently across it. The pleasure makes you gasp, back arching as you chase the warmth of his mouth.

Forefinger and thumb tweak your other nipple, the double onslaught making you whimper. Hunter smiles against your breast, enjoying how easy it is to pull such delicious sounds from you. Downwards, he continues, scooting back a little on the couch to press more kisses across the softness of your stomach, yet he pauses for a second just below your belly button.

The actual reality of it slams into him. That damn implant is no longer in your arm, and while it might take a few cycles for your hormone levels to settle back into their natural state, his child could soon be growing here, nurtured by your beautiful body. He moans at the thought, hands moving to kneed gently at your belly.

Gazing down your body, you watch as the man you love laves attention to your stomach. You might’ve pulled away, self-consciousness flaring a little in the past, but you know why he’s doing it. You know the thoughts that are swirling through his mind. You reach down with one hand, fingers tangling in his hair, pushing his bandana off. You snag it with your free hand, sliding it down your wrist, knowing how much he loves seeing you wearing it.

It has the desired effect. Hunter catches the motion, groaning as the band of red fabric rests around your wrist, possessiveness flaring low in his gut and his hips flex, hard cock grinding against your leg again. Deft fingers pry your panties down, and he buries his face between your thighs moments later, turning his head to scatter kisses on your inner thighs. His stubble’s roughness contrasts with his tongue’s softness, and your hips buck in anticipation, desire building further inside you.

He presses forward, burying his face against your pussy as he inhales deeply, growling as your scent floods his nostrils. Tongue dragging through your soaked folds, his nose presses against your clit, and you grind against it, knowing how much he loves you riding his face. Fingers fan over your thighs to keep your legs open as he devours you, his tongue circling your entrance a few times before plunging in, pulling back a moment later to flick it over your clit, making you shudder. He repeats the action several times, driving you crazy with need.

Mouth finally staying on your clit, he presses two fingers into you, crooking them, rubbing your g-spot. The angle is perfect, and between his talented hands and hungry mouth, you’re done for. “Hunter!” You cry out his name, your release slamming into you. Your hips and thighs shake, your chest rising and falling rapidly as the pleasure sweeps you up, searing through your veins.

Smug satisfaction paints Hunter’s handsome face as he slows, lapping up your release before he takes his mouth off you, though he continues to lazily pump his fingers in and out of you, feeling the way you spasm around them as you come down from the high. “You have no idea how fucking badly I want to cum inside you.” He rasps, the smokiness of his voice amplified.  

Catching your breath, you’re mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze. Biting down on your lower lip, a thrill runs through you. “I think you should show me.” You challenge.

His growl is feral, your pussy clenching at the sound. Fingers slide out of you as he reaches for your wrists, grasping them as he hauls your arms up, pinning them against the couch above your head. Quickly, he ties his bandana around them, a smirk tilting his lips.

Softness creeps across his features momentarily as he looks down at you beneath him, and you know what he’s asking. “Havoc.” You re-confirm your safe word. You were entirely comfortable with this and had been the hundreds of times you’d done it before, but he always double-checked.

Shifting back to sit on his knees between your thighs, Hunter’s hands smooth across your body. You hadn’t been made for war or the frontlines, even though you’d insisted all those years ago on being out there with him and his brothers. You were softer, unable to take as many hits, making him want to protect you all the more.

You relax against the couch, content to let him lead, trusting him implicitly. He catches you off guard as he dips his head down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue swirling around the pebbled bud. Back arching, you huff a breath, squirming as his hands grasp your hips. His lips trail upwards, across your neck, leaving a mark on the other side to the one he’d made earlier. The sweet moan you let out is music to his sensitive ears.

“The way you sound pinned under me…fuck. Your moans are so pretty, cyar’ika. Can hear your heart racing too.” Hunter’s eyes close momentarily, losing one sense, further heightening the rest of them. He breathes in your scent once more, using one hand to pry your thighs further apart, dragging the velvety head of his cock through your slick folds. “So needy for me. This what you want?” He can’t help but tease, enjoying your whimpers and eager nod.

He makes you wait for a second, that mischievous glint in his eyes part of why you fell in love with him in the first place, and then you feel him press against your entrance, inch by glorious inch pushing into you. Your moan catches in your throat, pussy stretching to accommodate him until his hips are flush against you, heavy balls resting against your ass.

Hunter grunts as he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut once again. “Such a good girl.” He murmurs, giving you a second to adjust before he pulls back and slams back in, making you both cry out. His eyes snap open, locked on your beautiful face as he sets a punishing pace. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, your arms trapped above your head, completely at his mercy.

Fingers grasp your thighs, keeping you in place as he pounds into you. The couch creaks beneath you, but you pay it no mind, too focused on the pleasure building inside of you once again.

“Gonna fuck you every damn day until it sticks. Gonna make you a mommy.” Hunter snarls, watching your lips part, your head tipping backwards as you moan unabashedly. You clench around him, and he knows his words excite you.

He won’t last much longer, having been worked up since you’d told the doctor to remove the implant. He’d never been more grateful for loose-fitting pants in his life – walking out of the clinic with a boner was not something he wanted the island residents gossiping about.

Pulling out of you, he chuckles as you whine. “Patience, mesh’la.” He chides gently, strong hands grasping your hips as he flips you onto your front. He unties the bandana, letting it fall to the floor, and you grab at the arm of the couch as he hauls your ass up, fingernails clawing uselessly at the fabric.

On his knees behind you, Hunter pushes back in, setting a quick pace again. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, making your back arch, ass pressing against him. “Feel you so deep.” You gasp, hearing a deep rumble of pleasure from behind you moments before a hand grasps your hair, tugging your head backwards.

A sharp sound leaves you, eyes screwed shut at the combination of pleasure and pain that erupts in your body. The warmth in your body builds, the edge drawing oh so deliciously closer. Hunter keeps a hold of you as his thrusts pick up, eyes glancing down to watch his cock slide in and out of you a few times before his free hand snakes around you to rub your clit. “I can feel you squeezing me tight. You gonna cum on my cock, baby?” His pace is relentless, hand letting go of your hair a moment later as he eases you down, your cheek pressed against the couch, back arching beautifully. The change in angle is pure perfection.

“Hunter!” You cry out his name for the second time this afternoon as the pleasure crescendos, your body clenching around him, muscles spasming as you climax.  

With your body clamped around his cock, Hunter gives two final thrusts before he stills and presses himself against you, shoving in as deep as he can with a grunt as he cums. His thighs shake as the pleasure washes over him, cock twitching as he fills you.

The sound of both of your ragged breaths fills the room, and the pair of you spend a moment catching your breath. Gentle hands smooth across your back after a moment. “Keep that ass up, cyar’ika. Don’t waste any, even though there’s plenty more where that came from.” Hunter murmurs, folding himself over you as he drags his lips across your shoulder blade, tongue laving at your skin and the thin sheen of sweat on your body.

You let out a little noise of agreement, tilting your hips a fraction to ensure none of his release can escape. It draws a deep chuckle from him, and you bask in the sound.

“I love you.” He whispers, warm breath brushing against your ear as you feel him ease out of you, his softening cock resting against your ass.

“I love you too.” You reply quietly, head tilting to capture his lips in a sweet kiss as his hands slide around your body, resting against your stomach. 

As the kiss breaks, he presses his forehead to your back, warm hands rubbing gentle circles against your belly. “Stay like this a little longer, baby.” He insists, the quiet sounds of your synced-up breathing the only noise in the room.

You know it won’t take, but you stay still anyway, soaking in the moment and the feel of his body pressed against you, safe and happy in your little slice of paradise.

#the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #the bad batch hunter x you #hunter x reader #hunter the bad batch #hunter x you #hunter bad batch #star wars #star wars clone wars #star wars the bad batch #breeding k1nk #smut #fools want to start a family

[writerlyhabits]

Aliit ori’shya tal'din

Pairing: Din Djarin x female reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Your second day in the covert reveals both new and familiar faces; hospitality and hostility.

Chapter 3 of the Shereshoy series | Masterlist | Ch. 2 | Ch. 4

Warnings: lots of Mando’a, mild language, soft Din, awkward Din, protective Din [he’s got a wide range, okay?], original Mandalorian characters… maybe a little bit of angst? It’s mostly worldbuilding, so I think that’s about it. 

AN: A word from the author – “I’m in grad school, I take forever to write things.Soon I will start grad school again, which means I’ll write this instead of my dissertation. I’m quite fond of the Mando Legends Lore, if you haven’t noticed. I literally got Kad Ha’rangir & Arasuum tattooed on me.”

This is the third part of a sister fic for my one-shot (Courting) a friend of mine wrote based on this request, and I’m so happy she’s letting me share it with you guys! She is also sharing it on AO3, so be sure to send her your love and kudos there as well! We hope you enjoy 💛

Translations, in order of appearance:

Aliit ori’shya tal'din: Family is more than blood

Rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?:  Are you gonna tell her to kiss your ouchies?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.: Be careful, sister.

Aliit: family

Ad(e): child/children

Kar’ta beskar: the central "diamond" of Mandalorian armor; lit. heart armor

Mirjahaal: peace of mind, "healing", general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Beroya: bounty hunter

Kurshi: tree

Sen’tra: jackpack

Buir(e): Parent/Parents

Akaanati'kar'oya: The War of Life and Death (Mandalorian myth), creation story

Verd'goten: a special trial for one to become warrior; lit. birth of warrior

So'haale: births

Urman'gedete: prayers

Eparave: feasts

Cyarir evaar'la: Courting

Alii'aliit: meeting of the clans, the closest thing mandalorians have to government or parliament; lit. "clan of clans"

Tsad: group (of people), alliance

Bes'ede: Mythosaur

Kandush : inevitable doom

Time moves differently underground.

With Odona, the hours passed quickly. As a team, you could disassemble and reconstruct nearly any ship in their small fleet, save for a few parts— which no one had yet found and delivered. The days were faster when the guardsman opted to join you in his free time, his first visit and subsequent dialogue with Odona still memorable.

To what do I owe the displeasure; Oh Mighty Protector of the Covert and Savior of Foundlings?

The pleasure of my company is for your friend, ‘Dona.

Why? Going to terrorize her again, Ik’? Ven’rejorhaa'i kaysh murcyur gar shupur’ika?

Cuyi ulyc, vod.

You had sensed there was a joke hidden within their jibes, one you were unable to decipher in their foreign tongue, but neither took the time to explain. Whilst Ikarus lacked use for the labor that required fine motor control, his presence disrupted the monotony of the many tedious and repetitive tasks you and Odona spent much of your time doing— their frequent banter kept you entertained throughout the day. 

The time you had spent in the medbay was shorter— the most common injuries coming from the older adolescents early on in their training, whose resilience and constitution had yet to strengthen— as well as wrist and ankle sprains from poor fighting forms, the occasional laceration from knife safety training; and at worst, injuries from the teens and young adults earned from a vigorous sparring session.

But with Din, the mornings and evenings together never felt long enough. The hours were reminiscent of your time with him and the Child in the Crest, the warmth of your aliit protected by familiar cold walls; the stone of the cavern both analogous yet antithetic to the durasteel of your former home. 

One forged of hands, and the other of time— one of the fires of a furnace, the other the fires of a planet’s mantle. Your time together before was that of contrivance, engineered— with agendas to follow and assignments to complete— your interactions affable yet somewhat artificial, a present barrier precluding your companionship from evolving into something more… More natural, more innate, more intimate. Here, your time together had been more candid, endearing— Din no longer shied away from any probing questions or physical closeness, which allowed that previous barrier to melt and slowly flow away like that of bedrock to magma, reshaping and remolding your times of leisure together to hours of unified repose.

The hours turned to days, the days turned to weeks, and the weeks turn to this moment, where seemingly no time passes at all— blanketed in the familiar darkness of your room. The unlit and chilled space, at first an unacquainted oddity, now a comfortable companion to spend the sleeping and waking hours in. The ritual remains the same— awaken with the Child, have the morning trade-off with Din, make the caf, and begin the tasks for the day— like clock work, a well-oiled droid.

This morning is almost no different, and yet, you hesitate to leave your bed, your conversation with Din the previous morning still fresh in your mind— 

Din had sat aside the table, his body resting against the wall— unarmored, arms crossed, head tilted to the side, the same position as every morning. Once you handed him the Child and sat, caf in hand, he finally spoke.

“I’d like you to join me tomorrow,” he stated. 

The lack of pleasantries from him was unsurprising, though a teasing ‘Good morning to you, Din’ was a tempting response. Instead, you greeted him with a grin and an unobjectionable reply— 

“Alright, what are we doing?” 

He hummed, pleased with your immediate acceptance.

“The adults alternate supervising the ade. Tomorrow, it’ll be our turn.”

You gestured toward the Child in his arms, in a playful retort. “Don’t we supervise this ad every day?”

The Child cooed in his arms, his ears perked tentatively at his mention. Din sighed, with a smile in voice.

“We do. It’s tradition for all of the adults to care for the ade… All have wisdom to share.”

Skeptical, you thought: ‘What would I possibly teach them?’

You observed the Child resting so comfortably on Din’s chest— his tiny hand gripped tightly into Din’s clothes, right where his armor’s kar’ta beskar normally sat. It was a stark contrast compared to the Child’s behavior upon your first meeting. With any loud noises and sudden movements, he would shrink inwards in his cradle— as if he could make himself any smaller. Medical scanners made him grimace, unfamiliar places and people made his ears droop— seeing others upset made him wary. And yet, he was endlessly curious. Despite his initial unease with the two new adults in his life, the Child was quick to trust you both— and with his trust, his personality came through… his affection, his laughter, his love. 

From there, Din learned how to tend to someone outside of himself— what it meant to have someone that relied on him, and more colossally, someone that wanted Din, as he was. The Armorer branded him as the Child’s father, and the delighted squeal from the little one sealed the bond that Din had been trying to hide for so long. Just as the Child learned to trust Din with his welfare, so too did Din learn to trust the Child with his own mirjahaal.  

Perhaps it wasn’t the lessons they taught, but rather the connection they made, and the wisdom they sought.

With this, the true question then inverted from the skeptic ‘what would I teach them’, to the sanguine ‘what will I learn?’...

“...When do we meet them?”

—

To the ade, the former beroya is nothing more than a tall kurshi fit to climb. 

Somehow, Din appears endlessly patient and playful with all six of the young children. They utilize their limitless spurts of energy to continuously attack Din as a squad, bringing him to the ground— he’ll exclaim a faux wail, and collapse to his knees— and the collective giggles of the ade begin the cycle again. 

Whenever a child grows tired of their battle, they come to you— wanting to be tossed into the air, or onto the nearest surface. Supposedly being gently thrown around aids in their brain development, and ‘it’s good practice for their first sen’tra flight’, Din tells you. The logic is questionable at best, but hearing their joyous squeals makes the ever-growing muscle fatigue worthwhile. Even the child of the Djarin clan is as equally amused, his own little spirit mightily lifted by the experience of being with other kids again. 

During your time on Sorgan, the Child was happy to interact with the other children— but mostly, he watched them, rather than play. Perhaps he was still too shy or too wary to fully engage with so many people, but surrounded by these Foundlings now, he looks at home; like he belongs. Amidst this cohort, he’s made a new friend, Mara, the youngest of the lot. Her long and dark hair reminds you— and perhaps the Child— of Winta, Omera’s daughter. The two spent the most time together on Sorgan, and despite the little one’s inability to say, he misses her. 

Mara and the Child sit away from the squad play-fighting Din, in front of the single wall of volcanic tuff— embellished with crimps and pockets, graven by many hands. You watch them, as they examine the wall, looking up and down, side to side. Your eyes travel upward to the small cavate, almost eight feet from the floor. You watch as Mara looks to the Child and nods, and begins her ascent up— using her fingers and toes to grip tightly onto the various crevices in the wall— and the Child begins to follow.

You step forward, almost instinctively, wanting to call out to them to stop, wanting to reach out to the children to prevent a fall—

Then, from nowhere, Din appears at your side, extending his hand to stop you. “Don’t,” he says softly, “Let them try.”

You look at him puzzled, and he continues. “If you distract them now, they might fall…” he pauses, and turns his head to watch them, “...but if you allow them to focus, they can succeed. Watch…” 

The pair silently step closer, closing the distance between themselves and the wall, watching the two ade slowly make their way up to the cavate. Mara climbs inside first, and lays on her belly, reaching out to the Child to help him trek the final span of the wall. Once inside, the Child turns around, to face the entire room below him. He squeals a little clamor of excitement, proud of his triumph, before looking down to his buire.

“Good job, kid,” Din says. “Come on down, it’s time to go.”

The Child looks at you both doe-eyed, his ears drooping, as he peers over the ledge. He looks back to Mara, and back down over the ledge, contemplating his next move. 

You lean slightly towards Din, speaking in a hushed tone. “I don’t think he knows how to get back down.”

“He can do it,” Din says confidently. 

You challenge him, “He looks scared.” 

Din insists, “Then he’ll do it scared.” 

He steps forward once more, his body almost pressed against the wall, reaching one hand up. “Come on kid, climb down.”

The child’s ears droop even lower, letting out a quiet whimper, a little anxious look on his face. He looks back up to Mara, who gives him an encouraging “You can do it,” before he finally begins his descent towards you and Din. 

Carefully, his little clawed feet grip into the same pockets he used to climb up, and his hands hold onto the ledge. He looks down at his buire with a slightly quivering lip, then back up to his hands. Slowly, he presses on, his movements deliberate and cautious, gravity tugging at his little limbs with relentless persuasion, clammy clawed-hands threatening to slip free from the cold stone. His disgruntled babbling fading with each tentative step, footfalls growing more steady with every downward stride. 

His little foot finally reached something soft— the hand of his buir, waiting for his arrival. With an excited squeal, he looks to Din, holding out his clawed fingers for Din to grasp. Din takes the Child into his arms.

“Good job… I knew you could do it.” Din whispers to him.

With his ad in hand, Din looks back to the cavate, where Mara sits silently. “You too, Mara, come down,” he says. 

Mara, unlike the little one, is less graceful, only climbing down two feet of wall before leaping off. You instinctively reach your arms out to catch her, but are a few seconds too late, as she lands confidently on her feet, smiling up at you. She giggles, asking the Child “Wasn’t that fun!” and the little one cooing affectionately with a bright smile.

“They need to rest.” Din says, before leading Mara and the Child back with the other ade. You follow him in toe, and aid him while he attempts to settle the children in preparation for them to sleep. 

The chamber is bathed in the soft, warm light of the cressets along the walls. The ade sit and lay in a circle on the floor, looking up at the two adults expectedly, waiting for you both to join them. Din gently places the Child in Mara’s lap, seating himself amongst them. 

The ade demanded a story before they would agree to their midday nap, and with only one long sigh, Din relented. As you sit beside him, the tale of Akaanati'kar'oya begins.

—

In ages past, when cosmic realms were naught,

Two gods emerged, each with a purpose sought.

Kad Ha'rangir, embodiment of change,

A dance of growth, His essence did arrange.

Arasuum, the god of slow decay,

In stillness thrived, where life would fade away.

Eternal foes, in battle they engaged,

Ideals clashed, the cosmic script was paged.

Kad Ha'rangir, with eyes of vibrant light,

Envisioned galaxies in endless flight.

His very step, a ripple through the void,

Transforming all, where life and change enjoyed.

Arasuum, with eyes as deep as night,

Desired a realm where stasis held its might.

Decay His touch, a silent, withering breath,

A universe in stillness, touched by death.

In ceaseless clash, their cosmic struggle roared,

A dance of gods, where destinies were stored.

Stoic truths emerged from this grand design,

A tale of action, life's breath so divine.

"For action is the breath that life bestows,

A vital force, as mighty river flows.

Inaction, slow demise, a creeping shade,

A silent death in stillness' dark cascade."

Through galaxies and time, the story spread,

Of Kad Ha'rangir, where change was bred.

Arasuum's touch, a cautionary tale,

A realm in stillness, where all things frail.

So heed the moral, in verses spun,

That action is life, beneath the sun.

For inaction's grasp, a silent breath,

A slow demise, an encroaching death.

—

The ade rest together in a haphazard heap of limbs on various bedcovers and furs draped across the floor. Exhausted from their Beroya Battles and abseil adventures, they finally sleep, leaving the two adults to quietly watch over them together. In the chamber’s silent embrace, the air hangs heavy and chilled— a symphony of stillness envelops the room, broken by the muted shuffle of shifting bodies, and the hushed breaths of the ade. The only audible rhythm is that of the pulsating cadence of your own heartbeat and the rush of blood moving inside your head. 

Your eyes scan over the ade, finding a sense of calmness watching their steady breaths, in… out. 

In… out.

In… out.

Your gaze once again falls onto the Child, cuddled against Mara, also breathing steadily. In the gentle cradle of his friend’s arms, he looks peaceful. Had he ever slept this soundly on the Crest?... Who held him every night before us? Who will take care of him after us?

In the softest whisper, to not disturb the ade, you lean closer to Din, telling him the obvious— “He’s happy here.”

“...Yes,” Din replies, just as quietly. 

“Was this your experience, too? After the Mandalorians saved you?”

“No.”

His visor is trained on the little one’s sleeping face—the same face of a child who was once trapped in the suffocating darkness of a sealed cradle—a cage, a cage whose opening only revealed another prison, in the form of two bounty hunters hovering over him like… a B2 Battle Droid, with a blaster pointed in a child’s face. A child rescued from death at the last possible moment by a shiny warden, offering an adiaphorous detainment. 

“It was… a time of war. I was trained to fight in it. I hope… that they never have to.” Din says, his gaze scanning over the ade once more. 

“I thought all Mandalorians were warriors.”

He, too, believed the same notion for many years. Training from the day he was rescued to the day he became an adult, after his verd'goten, life became a perpetual streak of jobs. Commission, retrieval, payment. Commission, retrieval, payment… Until a strange, golden, aureate armorsmith joined his tribe, bringing tales of the “Great Forge of Mandalore,” and the songs of the artificers that echoed through the speos as they worked. He remembers the first time he kneeled in front of her small, austere forge, in a dark room beneath a busy market above, listening as she spoke of the ethos, the rites, the latria, the true way of the Mandalore. 

“No. Everyone is trained to survive. But… we used to live, too.” 

“...Until Mandalore was taken.”

“Yes.”

So'haale, urman'gedete, eparave, cyarir evaar'la, alii'aliit… A cultus he could only dream of, but never truly have. Spoken knowledge fades into whispers, slipping through his fingers like sand as the voices of the ancestors grow ever fainter. Each decampment a dissolution of tsad res publica, each step forward a battle against oblivion. 

“I’m sorry.” You lean over, resting your head on his pauldron. “...Maybe there’ll come a time when we’ll live in the light, on a planet that welcomes us.” 

Din knows that within every Mandalorian is a patchwork of unfamiliar faces and ever-changing landscapes, their solace and safety as elusive as a bes'ede itself—and yet they endlessly repugn the kandush they have faced time and time again, guided by the conviction that within the uncertainty of the cosmos lay the promise of a sanctuary forged from the resilience of their spirit. 

He tilts his head, resting it atop yours. “There will.”

Ali'nare vencuyanir yaim. This is the Way.   

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

To show this author your direct support, go ahead and check this story out on A03 + leave some kudos and a nice comment 💜

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mando'a #original mandalorian character #shereshoy #shereshoy series #not my writing #i have permission to post this

[swiftrunnerfelidae]

So apparently the arguments have devolved from "but it doesn't say that in Japanese!" to "being given multiple years to escape and self-reflect and reach your own conclusions is grooming!" and "later entries in a franchise can never change a character they must remain exactly the same forever".

Listen, I'mma spell it out real thorough-like. Bridget knew she was assigned male at birth. She knew her options were to either dress like and act as a woman, or get either herself or her twin brother exiled or KILLED. She willingly accepted dressing as a woman until she got an opportunity to escape, to prove the superstition wrong without endangering her family, and almost immediately declared herself Male, to anyone and everyone who asked, and several who didn't. She then proceeded to wear a nun outfit and feminine clothing for what turned into years while out on the road hunting bounties. In that time, she was able to claim many bounties, bringing the money back to her village, and thus convince the village its superstition was wrong. At that point, if she wanted, there was no longer pressure whatsoever from her home village to keep presenting femininely, and if there was? She was a successful bounty hunter! She could just leave! Never come back! Live how she wanted! She kept dressing femininely. This clearly affected her, as by the time we see her in Strive, she's deeply introspective.  When she encounters Goldlewis Dickinson, her statement of “I’m a boy” is hesitating and apologetic - completely unlike her previous brash confident declarations of masculinity.  Over the course of her arcade mode story, Goldlewis is comforting and supportive - “you don’t need to tell anyone anything you don’t wanna” - while discussing this “true self” that Bridget is hiding “for the sake of other folks”.  This is clearly meant to imply that Bridget is hiding something - but Goldlewis is fully supportive and non-judgemental, stating how he’s “riding that horse too”. Eventually, Bridget gets into a spar with Ky Kiske, to show how far she’s come.  If, in the previous fights, Bridget lost a heart - winning the round, but not winning all fights in the round - Goldlewis Dickinson jumps in as support.  If a heart was specifically lost in the previous fight, Bridget confirms that she’s become a top-class bounty hunter and, quote, “made lots of money”, further cementing that she has the means to remove herself from any coercive situation involving her village - but also, Goldlewis will state "you don’t look as confident as you sound”, further affirming that he sees something troubling her. At the conclusion of the fight with Ky Kiske, a number of possible cutscenes can trigger, depending on if Bridget lost any fights in previous rounds.  If Bridget lost a fight in previous rounds, she is openly reluctant about something, while both Ky and Goldlewis are supportive.  If Bridget flawlessly finished all stages up to this point, the fight with Ky ends with her asking if it was “scary” to go public about Gears, to reveal that truth he’d kept hidden.  If Bridget’s heart loss was in the fight before Ky’s fight, she openly says "no more lying to myself”, followed by affirming that “I’m a girl!” after prompted by Goldlewis calling her cowgirl, before correcting himself to “cowboy” based on what she’d requested in their previous conversations.  If the final fight after this is unlocked and completed, Ky also manages to convince her to “live as [her] true self”. While the exact specifics of each scene vary, the tone across all the cutscenes is the same - reluctant “admission” of being a boy in the fight against Goldlewis, Goldlewis recognizing her having some trouble she’s keeping private on during their second fight, doubt about something that isn’t her combat abilities when sparring against Ky Kiske, and eventually an affirmation to live as her true self, no matter what others think - including in one specific ending, loudly and proudly proclaiming “I’m a girl!” Furthermore, in Bridget’s design in Guilty Gear X-2, her headband sported a prominent Spear of Mars, alternatively known as the “male symbol”, an indicator of her then-perceived gender identity as a man and that she was not hiding it.

However, in the Guilty Gear Strive incarnation of Bridget, the male symbol is no longer seen, having been replaced by this symbol:

This symbol, neither the Venus symbol nor the Mars symbol, is called a couple different things, but most notably as a symbol for the “androgyne” gender - a gender label used by some people who feel either both male and female at the same time, or as being somewhere between male and female - but it is also utilized as a symbol for transgender people in general in some contexts, if rarely.  Regardless, this is a pretty clear design decision that indicates Bridget no longer identifies as purely male, and thus falls under the trans umbrella. With her responses to the fight against Ky Kiske, her reactions to support from Goldlewis and Ky, and the alterations to her design, it’s very clear that Bridget should no longer be read as male, and it’s equally clear that through the canon of the story, she reached this conclusion on her own, after multiple years of self-reflection. But, of course, you might be opposed to the canon of the story and oppose Bridget being trans on some idealistic ground - the most common complaint levied outside of her being “groomed” (again, she publicly rejected being female IMMEDIATELY upon leaving her village, and only came to identify as female after years of self-reflection long after any grooming could have taken place,) is that this is a loss of representation for effeminate men. While technically statistically true, in that losing one possible member of representation is, technically speaking, A Loss - anyone can tell you that [x-1] is less than [x] - Bridget is far from the only example of the archetype.  Furthermore, Bridget in particular was an especially problematic example of the archetype - her nun costume, her giant handcuff belt thing, and frequently discussing how “I’m a man!” all lend to the image that she was meant to be seen as attractive, and fetishized, for being an effeminate man. This also led to an infamous internet meme on 4chan that has since entered the lexicon of much of the online sphere - namely, that people would post images of effeminate male characters (in particular Bridget), in order to “trick” people into finding the character in question hot and reveal that “you’re gay that’s a man!”.  As the knowledge of the character spread, people began to reply with a particular image or gif:

The sheer prevalence of that particular “prank” led to “tr*p” becoming a slur levied at effeminate men, trans women, and intersex women, with the implication that they were “tricking” or “trapping” straight men into finding them attractive. I should not have to explain how that’s fucked up. So instead of having a problematic memory of a transphobic meme, Arc System Works has taken Bridget and transformed her into a thoughtful and interesting trans character, simultaneously both removing an extremely problematic representation of an effeminate male character, and adding a nuanced representation of a trans character.  This is a gain for both sides. Hopefully, I shouldn’t have to say this, but just in case here it is anyway:

If you continue to believe that Bridget either is not actually trans, or should not be trans, you are transphobic.  You are actively ignoring both interesting lore that explains her identity, and the problematic real-world past of the character that is being left behind in this update to the sensibilities of our current day.

#bridget #guilty gear #vent #discourse #bridget discourse #transphobes shut the hell up and let us enjoy her #she's fucking adorable

[lostlosersclub]

amab? afab? no. ahab. assigned hunter at birth. that whale is dead.

#quoted from the discord server #no context

[screamydreamy]

What do you mean about not being able to have internalised misogyny

I'm assuming this was based on a post I made a while ago, I guess it's still going around. The post was inspired by a dug up art piece made by Hunter Schafer years ago talking about her identity. I don't remember exactly the details but in it she told us that her early understanding and feelings of being feminine and a woman were rooted in a feeling of sexual submission to men.

It's worth noting that now, and as further elaborated on in the essay, hunter identifies as a lesbian, and has long since seen herself in this way. But the creeps who dug this up ignored anything apart from this and removed all context to paint her (and trans women as a whole) as fetishists enforcing the patriarchy.

But apart from the added step of being assigned male at birth. This is literally something every woman goes through. It's what is forced into our brains that being female is all about. It's internalised misogyny and so many fucking cis feminists have won awards for talking about this.

When I say trans women aren't allowed to have internalised misogyny, it's this. Cis women are victims of it, but despite it being directed towards the self (INTERNALISED) just the same in trans women, we are perpetrators of this misogyny onto all women. Our perception of ourselves as sex objects, enforced by little to zero representation or career opportunities outside of pornography is our fault, our doing. Not the people jerking off to us, making millions off us. Us.

#anon #dunno if you are the same person for these two anons but im kind of guessing you're not around to actually these

[blueberryarchive]

File Name: The Hecate Project

Classification: Top Secret

Subject: 377

Background: Experiment #377, nicknamed Jungkook (Name provided on the birth certificate found in his chambers) is a classified research project initiated by the Cromwell Agency on September 1, 2023. The project is aimed at discovering the behaviors of this creature, the first hunted in almost two centuries, caught by the Cromwell Hunter Foundation.

The last subject, experiment #376, died due to the negligence of the hunters and scientists themselves.

The main objective of #377 is to find a way to make his DNA useful for operations under extreme and rigorous conditions. Including infiltration, night operations, and search for objects.

Among other objectives is the consideration of training the species for recruitment into the Cromwell Hunter Foundation.

Subject Profile

Code Name: Jungkook

Species: Homo Desmodus

Age: Appears in his 20s.

Physical characteristics: 5'10, aprox. 70kg, intensified senses, increased strength, agility, non-human flexibility, iris and cornea turn scarlet red after 6 o'clock.

Diet: Requires a minimum of 3.0 liters of human or animal blood to maintain physical abilities.

Intellectual Skills: Has the ability to communicate and understand two languages (Korean and English), knows how to read, write, and do basic mathematics.

Psychic abilities, such as controlling the mind. (On September 12, at 03:25 a.m., one of the scientists was found dead in the laboratory where 377 was located. The cameras show how a level 9 scientist, Göta Princeton, voluntarily takes the sedative given to Jungkook. The body was found by hunters Bronimir Ehmet and Máximo Felipe at 05:04 with 75% of its blood missing.

Additional Abilities: Can heal a wound of about 6.35mm in 1 second. Wounds that reach muscle or bone in 30 seconds. It can completely regenerate a limb in 36 hours.

Behaviors and conduct of the subject: The psychology department of the Cromwell Hunters has classified 377 as being quick to respond, conceited, and ribald (more notable towards the female sex). Good vocabulary and always looking for information. Aside from the incident with Dr. Göta Princeton, he has maintained good behavior when examined. Although, for precautionary reasons, he has been administered relaxants of about 20g every hour intramuscularly.

Security measures

Starting at dawn, the work area is kept under minimal light to reduce exposure and damage to the subject.

At least 6.5 liters of O-blood are required to be available in the area. For 377's diet and/or blood loss from one of the scientists.

To enter the subject's dome, an amount of about 25g of Lovatrim must first be administered and wait at least 45 minutes.

Note: Access to this file is restricted to personnel with Level 8 or higher security clearance. Unauthorized access will result in severe consequences.

Experiment #005 on Subject #377

Classification A

Background:

September 15, 2023. The Cromwell Hunter Foundation has chosen four candidates to do the seminal test. Two of the four candidates have died in the last 24 hours of entering the dome. One of the hunters refuses to enter, the last option has been trained for the project and has signed the assigned paperwork that gives Cromwell and Company complete autonomy in her decision to go inside the dome.

What appears on the following pages are the chronicles of the night of the 15th, from 8 p.m. to 3 a.m. The huntress meets 377 for the first time in the dome.

Jungkook's physical and mental behavior is different for the first time in the whole project. The eyes appear to be of a vibrant red.

For the first time we get a glance of the acicular canines.

#idk where i was going with this #anyway #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook short #bts #jungkook smut

[galacticlamps]

not sure i've seen anyone mention it yet but also i havent looked - but the bit at the beginning of episode 5 where edwin's reading up on astrological compatibilities just before brad & hunter show up - is there a prevailing theory about a specific taurus and aires he might be referring to?

he did just leave charles and crystal together to settle their relationship status (not that he's aware that's what they're discussing at the time), so i'm kind of inclined to assume it was them, but as far as I can recall he & niko are the only people whose signs we're told outright (and frankly, just removing his from the equation does rule out about half the potential ships in the show)

but if crystal is one of the parties involved, that just raises more questions

Like does that mean she remembers when her birthday is? I wouldn't have thought so, since even with only a partial name, a specific DOB might make her significantly easier to look up, particularly if her parents are kind of famous (i've been assuming all along that her name being a noun effectively made her google-proof). Or is it more likely monty just declared her something & they all accepted that as fact because he was noticeably right about everyone else so far? But if that's the case, how much has he been talking to/getting to know the rest of them, because she would press him on that, right? like it's one thing to make quips about people who are capable of confirming their own birthdays being typical of their signs - but since crystal's actively on the lookout for chances to learn more about herself, you'd think someone being confident he can just tell certain things about her like that would be of particular interest to her. And alternatively if monty hasn't spent too much time with her & is still responsible for assigning her a horoscope anyway, does that mean he's been like. displaying a certain amount of supernatural knowledge all along without anyone getting suspicious of him? and where does astrology fall on that scale anyway, in their world? edwin's skepticism at first would imply it's not considered a normal science to them, even in the context of ghosts and spells and witches - unless that's just meant to read as him being especially hypocritical?

Do any of these things have clearly implied answers to people who do know about astrology? Or have I missed canonical birth dates given for anybody anywhere? I feel like they'd shed some light on an unusually large number of questions for me at the moment

#dead boy detectives #the case of the two dead dragons #so idrk which characters to tag here since my whole thing is asking who this is meant to apply to #crystal palace surname von hoverkraft #monty the crow #edwin payne #sorry i dont actually know shit about astrology im just here for the media analysis #if it makes anyone in the know to whom i am appealing feel vindicated #i will admit my only point of reference for this stuff is that i know im a capricorn with an astrology-minded taurus for a best friend #& he often assures me it is extremely fitting both that we're as close as we are and that neither of us gets on well with my aries ex #but thats about where we exhaust my knowledge of these things & i dont want to assume that's enough of a norm #that it's meant to read as the implication here among the edwin/charles/crystal dynamic #though for all i know it could be

[fukoronoko]

Im a Sam Winchester Trans ftm truther

But in the sense that he figured it out as a kid, only told Dean and John fucking forgot he didn’t always have two sons

They called him Sam or Sammy anyway, had to wear practical clothes (and layers bc yk that is the hunter uniform) and John never spent any fucking time with his kids and if he did he would have probably been exhausted, oblivious and distracted especially in the first at least ten years after Mary’s death

So yeah. John had two sons. All the fake cards and IDs always had male bc he fucking forgot that Sam wasn’t assigned male at birth

Congrats John! You abandoned your kids so much you accidentally unwillingly became a trans ally

#also I think Jess and all their friends gathered money for him to get top surgery bc he fucked up his ribs bc he didn’t bind properly #Sport with a binder or badly taped? nah uh. hunting with a binder or badly taped? even worse #i‘m trash #supernatural #supernatural sam winchester #sam winchester #spn #spn sam winchester #trans sam winchester

[ghostofskywalker]

“look me in the eyes and say you don’t feel anything for me.” with our beloved tin can man din djarin

I LOVE YOU AND IM GIVING U THE BIGGEST HUG RN

hi my beloved i am so sorry i didn't get this done last week but here it is!! this prompt punched me in the gut but i love it

words: 1,130

summary: you weren't supposed to get attached to the Mandalorian. But he was easy to fall for, and now you had to reckon with the fact that none of it was ever supposed to be this real.

din djarin masterlist

It's Easier to Lie (When You Don't Stick Around)

Sometimes you wondered what your life would be like if you hadn’t become a bounty hunter. Maybe things would have been easier if you had decided to remain on Tatooine and lived life as a clerk in a clothes shop or a vendor in one of the open-air markets. It would have certainly been easier on your conscience, there’s no doubting that. 

But as much as you occasionally wondered and daydreamed, there had only been one person who actually made you question your life decisions, and that was the Mandalorian. He was kind and gentle, and yet the way he would fight tooth and nail for the child that had become his in all but birth made you reconsider the pledge of solitude that this life forced you to live. 

It didn’t help that you had been traveling with them for a few rotations now. Unfortunately, it was a necessity, as he had something that you had been hired to steal, a priceless artifact that had been perceived as lost since the Clone Wars. And he wasn’t exactly going to just hand it over if you asked nicely (as he had been hired by someone else to ensure its safe passage), so you had to play a bit of a double agent. 

Now, that plan was all falling into place. The Mandalorian and his child were both asleep, and you knew where he kept this artifact. There was a small part of you that felt bad for taking it, but you knew that he did well enough for himself that his child never went hungry. And besides, when you lived this life, you couldn’t afford to be soft. 

Soft, like you could feel your mind becoming every time you looked at him. It didn’t make sense, why you were so immediately drawn to the Mandalorian when you hadn’t known him all that long, but it was the reality you were faced with. And it certainly didn’t help that you had used the feelings that you would usually push down and try to ignore to your advantage, and things had gotten a little out of hand. 

You didn’t know what he looked like, but you knew that his lips were soft, softer than you’ve ever felt before. You had no idea what color his eyes were, but you knew he was a passionate and committed lover. What hurt most of all was the fact that you kissed him knowing that there was no way you’d be sticking around, that all of this was simply just a means to an end. 

At first, you thought he would understand. 

Then you heard him moan your name quietly as he slept.

Things were getting too real too quickly, and it scared you to no end. If he had asked you to forsake your previous life and travel with him until the end of the galaxy you would have said yes in a heartbeat, and that was not okay. It was bad enough that you had already stayed three assignments past when you had said you would leave, and you were starting to wonder if taking this priceless artifact was really worth the inevitable pain of leaving, and having him realize that you had betrayed him. 

But an angry communication from your employer had opened your eyes to the truth, and now all you wanted was out. You wanted to leave him before you did something rash, before you threw away your future and your reputation for something that you weren’t even sure was anything but infatuation. You wanted to return to your life of solitude before you allowed him to tempt you into staying. 

You had just slipped the artifact into your bag when you heard his voice. “Stop right there.”

“I don’t want any trouble Mando,” you said, drawing your blaster. “I promise it’s nothing personal.” 

“I don’t know, it feels pretty personal.” 

“I promise-” you started to say, but he cut you off.

“Was any of what we shared real?” he asked, and you could hear a hint of hurt in his voice through the modulator of his helmet. “Or was it all just a ruse to get what you wanted?” 

You hesitated, which gave him the answer he needed. “I meant what I said, you know,” you said, casting your thoughts back to the conversation you had shared with him when you first came on board, about how you were afraid of love because you’ve never known what it felt like, and that the life of a bounty hunter was the only life you’ve ever imagined yourself succeeding in. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.” 

“Does it?” he asked. “Look me in the eyes and say you don’t feel anything for me. Was it really all just business?” 

It was the closest thing to pleading that you had ever heard from him, and you gulped quietly, not knowing if you could truly commit to his request. It scared you so bad, the idea of admitting your feelings to the object of your affection. But as much as wished things could have been different, you knew that you were here because you had a job to do, and you didn’t intend to leave it unfinished. 

“Nothing we had was ever anything more than business Mando,” you said, the chilly edge to your voice hiding the way your heart broke to speak those words. “I thought you of all people would understand.” He didn’t say a word, and due to the helmet on his head you had no idea what expression he wore as he registered your words.  

You expected him to put up more of a fight, you expected to have to prove your worth if you were to leave with this artifact, but that didn’t happen. The Mandalorian stood to the side as you walked out of the ship, and even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were watching your every move. You almost would have liked it if he had tried to stop you, because this was so much worse. 

When you finally got back to your own ship, you sent a comm to your employer, telling him that you had acquired the artifact and where to meet you to get it. This better be worth the credits, you thought, as you set course for the rendezvous point, your mind still fixated on what (and who) you left behind. 

Maybe one day you would meet again, and you could beg for his forgiveness. 

Maybe one day you would allow yourself to feel the things for him that you were currently ignoring. 

Maybe one day you could be a family. 

But right now you had made your choice, and you had to live with it. 

- the end -

#2023 spring ficlets 🐝 #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction

[renegade-diamonds]

Thinking about the Monster-Hunter ABO Ronance AU again...

I know I have quite a few of these AUs, but I just love the idea of oblivious werewolf-Robin falling in love with secret monster-hunter Nancy, and being caught totally off-guard when she discovers her first girlfriend- her first kiss- her first partner- the person she thought was going to eventually become her mate, has actually been the very hunter tracking her for the last few months ever since Robin's family moved back to Hawkins after spending years traveling the country.

Robin was cursed with lycanthropy since birth. After her pregnant mother was bitten by what park rangers thought was an unusually aggressive wolf during a camping trip, Robin began shifting soon after her seventh birthday. To hide their daughter, the Buckley's went on an extended road trip- traveling to remote locations and doing odd jobs for cash until Robin managed to tame her 'wolfy' side.

After her 16th birthday, Robin convinces her parents that she's got it under control and they travel back to Hawkins. She starts school, joins band, and tries to make friends.

She fails miserably at the social aspect of high school. She's awkward and quiet, never mind the fact that she can't seem to stop putting her foot in her mouth. Things get worse when she presents as an omega, one of the few in their year, but the other students still seem weary of her.

She's not sure what to make of Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington. When she first started, they were dating. But romance apparently doesn't always work out, and they allegedly break up on Halloween after a blowout fight at some girl's party. Nancy starts dating Jonathan Byers for a bit afterwards, much to the student body's shock, but even that doesn't last more than a few months.

In May, they're paired together for a partner-project. The final for their creative-writing class. The teacher wants a fake newspaper story, a big one that's well thought out. If there's one thing Robin's good at, it's reading. Her bookshelves at home are filled with the numerous novels she's collected over the course of her family's travels, and it turns out that Nancy's pretty damn good at writing. They finish the assignment within a week, well before the due date, and decide to spend their remaining free time for the period in the library, talking quietly and getting to know each other.

Nancy's an alpha- a really attractive one too. Robin can't help the knot of affection that grows inside her- she can't help the crush that starts to develop. By mid-May, she's hopeless. Nancy Wheeler is all she can think of, and Robin's never felt this strongly about anyone before. It's scary and exciting- it's thrilling and terrifying. It's everything the teen flicks she's been watching said it would be.

And that's what scares her most of all. Because she's not a safe option for Nancy- she's not even a real option for Nancy. As far as Robin knows, Nancy's never shown interest in girls, not even omega girls. There were rumors about Barbara, Nancy's missing friend from last year, but that wasn't a topic Robin felt comfortable bringing up.

That's why it's such a shock when Nancy abruptly asks her to Prom next week during lunch, almost shyly handing Robin a small bouquet of flowers and a little stuffed teddy bear holding up a sign that says - Prom?

Robin can't believe it. For a horrible moment, she wonders if it's a prank- if Nancy's just messing with her like some other students have tried to, but that feeling is quickly chased away by the tenderness in Nancy's scent, by the adoration she sees in the shorter girl's eyes.

She says yes, blushing deeply when Nancy leans up and presses a kiss to her cheek in gratitude, before informing Robin that she'll be giving her a ride home today after school.

Later on, Robin skips into her house with giddiness running up her spine. She meets her parents with a wide grin, showing off the gifts she got from Nancy's prom proposal, and eagerly informing them that she really thinks Nancy truly likes her! She might finally have a girlfriend!

Meanwhile, Nancy watches Robin hop inside, staring after her with a expression that slowly goes blank. She drives back to her house, parking in the driveway and fishing out a worn leather journal from her bag. She flips through the pages and makes a quick notation under a page labeled Robin Buckley. The paper's doted with little facts and observations she's picked up on about the eccentric omega.

Then she reaches under her seat and retries the walkie, clicking it on and checking in with the group. She confirms that Robin accepted her offer, and that she doesn't seem to suspect anything suspicious. The kids all talk rapidly at her over the radio, and Nancy merely rolls her eyes and climbs out of the station wagon, telling them she'll be down in the basement soon and that they'll go over the details then.

Her eyes catch sight of a rumpled flannel hazardly cast into the back seat, recognizing the shirt as belonging to Robin. She'd worn it over a tee-shirt earlier in the day, before it got too warm for double layers.

Robin's scent, sweet and earthy, drifts into her nostrils. Her inner alpha purrs with contentment, something she hasn't felt in a long time, and the feeling of guilt and wrongness ease into her soul.

Nancy knows what she's doing is bad- she knows it's not fair to Robin. But if they're suspicions are true, it won't matter anyway.

Werewolves were monsters, and Nancy firmly believed that the only good monster was a dead one.

#ronance #ronance abo #ronance omegaverse #alpha nancy wheeler #omega robin buckley #werewolf au

[catboymoments]

This is a super delayed response but honestly with you talking about belos being queer. Even if he did realise it in his life time he would be the living embodiment of "I'm gay because I hate women. We are not the same"

Belos: Hunter, it’s normal to be attracted to the same sex and present differently than your gender assigned at birth. Everybody knows that. But you have duties to the coven so you can’t think about that.

Hunter: oh ok

[furious-blueberry0]

I have to say, I love the idea of the Clones slowly creating their own culture by interacting with their trainers on Kamino, with their Jedi Generals during the war and by just talking with the people they save from the Seppies, instead of just using the Mandalorian culture of Jango.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like when authors integrate Mando things in fanfictions or fanarts, I basically learned Mandalorian by how many fanfictions I read with it in it. 

But at the same time the idea of a Clone unique culture is more appealing, and I really wish fancreators would toy with it more, it has so many possibilities!

Imagine:

A Twi’lek trainer is in charge of a class of cadets, he is an ex-bounty hunter who can’t stand his old job anymore, not after one of his failed assignments killed his son for revenge.

And now he is here, on a secret planet, being tasked to train little perfect child soldiers, who look at him with such wide and curious eyes just like his boy. But his mind is plagued by the sight of his son’s body, and the last conversation he had with him: the meaning of the Kalikori. 

It always felt like a cruel destiny that the last thing he would talk to his son about was the Totem of his family history, where there were also his parents and his wife's deaths depicted on it.

And now his boy too.

It was on the day of his Death Anniversary that he had this conversation again, but with a different boy this time. A cadet had come to search for him, because he was late for the morning lesson, unaware that his trainer had drunk so much that he could barely stand on his feet, let alone teach. 

And it was probably because of his drunken state that he decided to just talk to this boy, identical to all the others, with no real name, that possessed nothing but the clothes on his back, his brothers and the knowledge that was taught to him, knowledge about war and nothing else.

And so he talked to him, and gave him the last lesson he would ever teach on that planet, a lesson not about war but love:

He talked about the Kalikori, about its meaning, how it works and why it is made. 

Every time he indicates a segment he talks about what it represents: his marriage, the birth of his son, his first job as a bounty hunter, the death of his parents, the death of his wife’s parents and so on… until his finger lands on the last one, his son's death. 

“It’s a way to remember your loved ones” he says, looking into the dark and curious eyes of the cadet, so so similar to his eyes.

“so that even if you’re gone, if no one who knew them is still alive, whoever will see this, they’ll know that they must have been special to someone, and that they were loved, like nothing else in this universe. It’s a testament of your love for them, eyan bou. So that they may be remembered until the stars break.”

He was never seen again.

Some say that Jango himself threw him out of the planet after discovering his drinking tendencies, some say he just leaved on his own because he missed his home.

But there is a story of an older cadet who saw him on the platform outside, standing on the limit, looking at the waves below, and the moment the cadet looked away, and then turned back to the trainer… he was nowhere to be seen. 

All his things were thrown away, including the Kalikori, and then a new trainer replaced him just a few days after, and everybody forgot about him.

But not the little cadet, he remembered his last lesson, and so he talked about it to his batchmates, and they talked about it to their friends, and by the time of the start of the war every single clone knew about it, about the testament of love, the one used to make the memory of your loved ones eternal.

After the start of the war this knowledge transformed itself into something new: in the little side pouch of every clone there was now a beaded cord, and on every bead there was a different drawing, sometimes a number, sometimes the initial of a name, or a symbol. 

No cord was ever left behind, there were multiple clones who risked their life or lost it to retrieve it, to bring on the memory of their brothers. Some symbols were familiar to them, and some were not, some were for the soldiers who died by their side, and some were for those who never got out of Kamino, clones that no one cared about and were taught to forget they ever existed, but they just couldn’t.

It was not rare to have cords full of strangers, or to attach your own cord to that of a fallen Vod, or to have more than one bead dedicated to the same clone.

And it was not rare to die surrounded by droids while clutching the cord, and not the blaster, because the presence of those fallen brothers just made them feel safer and more invincible than any weapon they could ever have.

#I JUST THINK IT WOULD BE COOL OKAY! #AND THIS IS JUST ONE RANDOM IDEA GUYS!!! THINK ABOUT THE INFINITE POSSIBILITIES THIS HAS!!! #Also “eyan bou” means “young one” in Twi'leki #I thought it was sweet and decided to include it #I may add more new ideas if I get them #If you have some pls write them!! #I'm so so curious about what others think #star wars #clone wars #clone troopers #star wars clone wars

[prionfromspace]

listen: two genders, but the two are hunters and gatherers.

genitalia? we don't care about such things in our caveman-cavewoman-and-caveenby society. do you have long legs? can you run, like, real fast? that's all that matters. if you are born a gatherer but have long legs and big lungs and strong muscles or know what to do with a bow and a spear, you are... shit, who said you even were a gatherer? who the hell assignes you a profession at birth, that's crazy. anyways, if you don't have these, but instead have large palms and long fingers and a lot of back strength and good vision or know a lot about plants, the community of gatherers welcomes you.

and if you happen to have neither... then... well... you see there are some seeds on the ground... wait, what are you doing. you are supposed to eat those, not plant them. what does it even mean. stop it. STOP IT. sigh congrats we now have 0 seeds AND patriarchy.

#shitpost #patriarchy #feminism #gender history #transgender #nonbinary #trans