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whiskeynwriting · 1 year ago

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Carnal Conviction

Paz Vizsla x Female reader

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Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Alcohol consumption, sex work/stripping, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, hickies, voyeurism, f|f activities, female masturbation, oral (m receiving), unprotected vaginal sex

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A/N: I enjoyed this way too much, WAY TOO MUCH!!! Thank you always to my amazing beta-reader @thesleepingmusicneek (she’s literally the BEST)

Verd - Soldier/Warrior. Pronounced (vaird)

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At this point, it’s comfortable for him. The surrounding setting has become a place he prefers, an establishment he can relax in. Above all other patrons, Paz and his brothers were favored. The owner respected the creed, and that respect also radiated to the employees. Whatever the Mandalorians needed, the owner gave. There was also the small expectation of protection that came with this type of treatment that the Mandalorians were more than happy to provide. But tonight, Paz didn’t have anything like that on his mind.

When he first began to frequent this place, the lights and music were easily overbearing. It became difficult to see at times and this coupled with the loud sounds disoriented him. This, on top of the drinks being served, dulled his senses. But these drinks also helped to calm him, and arouse him.

Instantly, he’s greeted by multiple women working this particular night. Their pretty smiles, the way they nibble their lips and reach for his pauldrons, it did wonders to him. How amazing it was to be so utterly wanted, and wanted by many.

“Hey, Big Blue.” One woman greets, grinning up at him.

Glancing down, his head rolls to the side a bit, hand coming up to gently tap her chin. She always was so flirtatious.

“Elara.” He returns kindly, that deep voice shivering down her spine. She knows all too well the type of pleasure he can bring.

“You sound tired,” She pouts, running a hand down the armor covering his chest. “Why don’t you come relax with me?”

Beneath his Beskar, he grins. “Let me get a drink.”

Her moue expression does nothing to stop him as he walks off, sure that she’ll return to her stage. When he’s ready, he’ll come find her. But for now, he wants to watch.

This was something relatively new to him, these voyeuristic tendencies. It only began when he entered the club, and never occurred outside of it. The dancers here didn’t just strip, they were usually active with each other, too. Seeing two women kiss, touch each other, it made his body run wild. And within the club’s private rooms, he’s even had women touch themselves in front of him. That was something incredibly new for him. He never was one to have sex with multiple women at once; when he was ready to take someone back to a room, it’d always be just one. But on the stage? He loved watching those women interact with each other.

Free of payment, as usual, Paz grabs his choice drink before walking toward the area where the women perform. Usually, he’ll drink it in private before engaging with one of the girls. With a short grunt, he takes a seat, spreading his legs and leaning back against the comfortable chair.

Tonight, he can identify each woman by name. Helia and Vega, two dancers who frequently touched each other, Nova, with her long brown hair and curvy body, Trina’s gorgeous red hair and tight body. And then there were his favorites, girls he’s taken in private rooms many times. Venus, Cybele, and of course, Elara. It’s been years since a new girl has appeared, but it’s not like he minds.

He can feel his heartbeat rise as he watches with intent, Nova eyeing him as she dances. Sliding down the pole, she spreads her legs for him, trailing a hand down her thigh. Visibly, his head tilts in her direction, breaths becoming deep as he eyes the dainty piece of fabric keeping her modesty. It’s been quite some time since he pulled her aside, maybe she’ll be the one for him tonight. But this thought is fleeting, his attention now turning to the back curtains. Venus appears from behind the shades, grinning brightly with a certain excitement jumping through her veins. And then, she’s turning back around, reaching through the drapes of fabric to pull on a small pair of hands.

And then, you.

Paz has never seen you before.

Immediately, he’s intrigued, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. You look heavenly, so feminine and sweet. He’s already imagining your taste to be just as pleasant. The way your body wears your little costume, it’s taking his fucking breath away. The top holding your breasts together crosses over your chest, looping up around your neck. And leading his eyes down the path to your cleavage is a thin, silver chain long enough to touch your ribs. Thin fabric is looped around your hips, holding up a longer cloth that drapes between your legs. A teasing piece of fabric, incredibly thin, but just enough to hide your sex. Two silver chains also hang around your attractive waist, twinkling beneath the stage’s many lights as you sway.

Paz has yet to see a woman in this space wear something like this, and he’s sure no one would wear it as well as you; nobody here has your body type, and he’s already dying for a taste of it. The pieces cradling your plump breasts and what he’s sure to be heaven between your legs, are almost like petals to him. Petals covering the true beauty of the newest and brightest flower. One he’s ready to pluck from the garden.

In what appears to be a comforting gesture, Venus brings you in, cupping your face as she delivers a graceful kiss. Instantly, Paz feels himself fully harden, adjusting his position as he takes in a heavy breath. He watches as you smile against her lips, hands lifting to her upper chest, sliding down along her breasts. As you trail down her body, Paz witnesses you squeeze her chest, and outwardly groans from it. And when your hands land on her hips, curling around to cup her ass, he all but loses it.

“Ready for me?”

Turning, he’s forced out of his sultry haze as he now faces Elara once again.

“Who is that?” He asks, avoiding her question.

Pointing in your direction, Elara follows his hand, sighing dramatically as she rolls her eyes. Hands on her hips, she stares at him. “Of course, you want the new girl.”

“How could I not?” Easily, his visor returns to you. “Where did you find her?”

Watching the way you kiss Venus, your tongue sliding out as she leads you toward the center of the stage, Elara releases another breath. “Coruscant.”

“There’s no way you found her on Coruscant.” Paz scoffs, eyes unwavering.

“We did!” She claims, continuing with, “But she’s originally from Naboo.”

“There we go.” Paz responds smugly. “That makes much more sense.”

“So… you want her?”

“Fuck yes.” His response is instant, voice full of lust and anticipation. But then, his tone becomes stern, authoritative and demanding. “Bring her to me.”

For as demanding and cocky as he was, the girls were surprisingly taken with Paz. Maybe it had something to do with his height, his large body, his bulging muscles, his heroic armor.

As you reach for the nearest poll, Elara hops up onto the stage. While approaching you, she watches as you slide onto it with ease, your lean muscles flexing as you move over the smooth, tall metal. And beneath his Beskar cover, Paz is wetting his lips at the sight of it, the sight of you. The way you dance is elegant, seductive, swaying your hips to each note swirling through the club’s current song.

When the older woman walks up to you, she easily grabs your attention. Leaning in with a smirk, she whispers into your ear. And then, your eyes are flickering over to him, going wide before a bashful smile takes over your pretty features. And then, Paz sees you blush. Oh maker, he’s going to wreck you.

Elara speaks to you again, her mouth moving though Paz can hear none of her words. Turning back in her direction, your smile doesn’t leave, now nodding eagerly. There it is, he has you.

Observing you from a distance, Paz soon sees you close that gap. Slowly, you make your way down the stage steps, strutting languidly in his direction. And as you make your way over, he eyes every inch of you, taking his time roaming your body. He can’t wait to feel you pressed up against him, grinding over his lap, your pretty face just inches from him.

“Hi,” Your demure nature only serves to heighten his want for you. “The girls say you’re interested in me.”

“Very much so.” Exhaling the words, he leans back in his chair, arms resting up on either side of him.

An air of confidence just radiates from him, his large stature quite intimidating. But not daunting. And as you move closer to him, the excitement of it all continues to heighten. Standing between his spread legs, you lean in, hands resting on his pauldrons as you begin to situate yourself over him.

“I’ve never had a Mandalorian before.” And that admission sends him.

“I’ve never had you before.” He easily returns, voice airy and raspy.

While climbing onto his lap, Paz restrains himself from moving, allowing you to get comfortable on him. Your knees bend, resting on either side of his hips as you situate yourself, hands sliding down to his chest once you’re settled.

“Guess we’ll both have a first tonight.”

Mere inches away, your chest now rests before him, taunting him. Your thighs tighten on either side of him, now lifting yourself to grind over his crotch. The action is slow and soft, gentle, hips swaying in graceful circles while your pretty face holds that enticing grin.

“Can I have your name?” Your voice is sweet as you say it, hands rising to either side of his helmet.

In the blink of an eye, this man’s hands are on your own, quickly dropping his drink onto the side table. Paz witnesses your movement pause, your face full of caution. Amidst his bruising grip, the Mandlorian’s low voice rumbles, “The helmet stays on.”

At this, he expects you to run, to curl in on yourself and completely regret the action. It’s happened with the other women here, they all reacted that way when it first happened, before they got… used to him. And it’s not that he meant to scare you, it was just his natural reflex.

To Paz’s utter shock, you smirk, leaning in to kiss the space you’re sure his lips are beneath his outer, metal skin. And it fucking melts him. At this very moment, he knows all you want to do is please him. With his chest tightening, his fingers do the opposite, loosening their hold on your much smaller wrists.

“So,” Returning to your seated position, you wiggle your hips over him, grinding your bare clit down onto his codpiece. “Your name?”

He’s genuinely stunned by your casual response, but takes it in stride, nonetheless. For a beat, he thinks on this name business. No one here knows his name, not the girls, not the owner, no one. And honestly, nobody’s ever cared to ask. Mando was tossed around to pretty much every Mandalorian to ever walk a planet’s surface.

“Verd.” He finally decides on, wanting to give you an actual name. Although, the Mando’a word isn’t exactly a name, more of a title. But it’ll do for this scenario.

“Verd.” Repeating the word only prompts your grin to grow, hips rolling over his. “I like it.”

When you repeat the word, something is set alight within him. Hearing you speak Mando’a makes his pulse quicken, his throat running dry while he watches you dance. And suddenly, he feels your hands on his own, guiding them toward your angelic body. Even though his gloves are rough and worn, in desperate need of conditioning, you place them on your hips. Inside, Paz’s heart pounds against his ribs; he wants to explore you further.

“Do you want to touch me?”

“Will you let me?” He questions in response, fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

As soon as you say it, his hands are on your ass, fingers pushing aside the cloth to grab at your bare skin. It makes you gasp, feeling him haul you forward, shoving you back and forth over his lap. Appearing strong wasn’t any type of facade with him; Paz’s muscles were clearly capable of moving you in whatever way he wanted. And you move with him, leveraging yourself on his shoulders while rubbing your chest against his. Your breasts press against the smooth firmness of his armor, head dropping down to the cowl around his neck.

“I want to see you…” Breathily, you beg for him. “Some of you… can I?”

Paz can feel your fingers fumbling around the cloth, slow and careful as you wait for his answer. Disrespecting someone’s religion or creed was never a trait you harbored.

Swallowed thickly, he decides yes. “Yes, you can.”

Once he gives you permission, you find a loose piece of fabric, pulling it down to expose his skin. Leaning in, you press your lips to him, tongue poking out to drag a simple, sultry lick. And the way he groans makes you feel like you’re on fire, his head tilting back when you bite into him.

“Mm… pretty thing.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Curling into him with a bashful grin, you giggle, the sound flowing through him.

“Gorgeous.” He grunts, flattening his feet on the ground as he grinds up into you. Although, he can’t feel much through his codpiece. He’s going to need a room with you. “Perfect body…”

Leaning upright again, you sigh, taking both of his hands away from your ass and lifting them up to your chest. Lazily, his head lolls to the side, chestplate rising and falling with vigor as you guide him to cup your breasts.

“Fuck…” Squeezing them with a groan, his helmet moves side to side. “Tell me what you like.”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

Nibbling on your lip, you nod. “Yeah… big, tall…” And then you’re reaching for his arm, hand sliding down his bicep. “Strong.”

With a disbelieved scoff, Paz questions, “When the hell did you get here, huh? How the fuck did I miss you?”

“You haven’t missed anything; it’s my first night.”

Again, that familiar shiver down his spine. It prompts him to further massage your chest, head tilted up as he admires you.

“Is this your drink?”

Turning to the side, he eyes his still-full glass. “Yes.”

“Not too thirsty?”

This small observation provokes a certain thought in his mind. Reaching for it, he hums thoughtfully, lifting it to your lips. “Drink it.”

And you do so without hesitation.

While Paz holds the drink up to your mouth, his free hand continues to touch your glorious chest, trailing down the center of it and through your cleavage.

“Yes…” Listening so well already.

“Maybe I can return the favor sometime.” Comes your suggestive response, watching as he sets the glass down once again.

“Not likely, sarad’ika.” He replies, easily dismissing your comment. (Little flower)

“Hm… I like the way you speak.”

But then, all too abruptly, you’re standing. Rising from his lap, you take one last look at him.

“Maybe I can hear it again sometime.”

The way you left Paz had him wanting for more, and that’s exactly what you were going for. Throughout the night, you watch as the other dancers approach him, wanting to rub themselves over his armor and sit on his large lap, not dissimilar in the way you moved with him. To your surprise, though, he was having none of that. He spent his time watching you.

After you left him, he approached the bar once again. Ordering another glass of his favorite liquor, he then went to a private hall to down it. Here, he eyed the back rooms, listening to the gentle moans already flowing from the intimate spaces. He thought about what you’d do in those rooms, what he could do to you. He’d kill to see you naked, watch your tiny little fingers slither down to your sex, parting your lips for him, rubbing yourself for him. He imagines you’d spread your legs wide before coming to sit on his lap, riding his cock until he painted your insides white, staining you with his remnants.

He could feel it in his veins. He needed to have you, and he needed to have you tonight.

Returning to the center hall, his eyes immediately find you. Multiple men watch as you dance, some of them his own brothers, too. You’re sliding down one of the poles, leaning back against it as you squat and spread your legs. And then, one of your hands is sliding down through your hair, over your shoulder, and onto your breasts.

Taking his seat, your warrior watches as another girl brings you to her lips. Holding your cheeks, she kisses you, your hands lifting to touch her chest. He can see the way your thumbs stroke her barely covered nipples, the way you prop up your thigh between her legs. And when your tongue lays out, he finds himself wishing for a kiss. He’d love to feel your lips, your tongue, and on any part of him. Maybe tonight, you’ll be gracious.

All at once, you’re making him feel special, walking in his direction with your eyes on that intimidatingly dark visor. Staring into his eyes, into his goddamn soul, you squat down, thighs parted as your hand lowers to rub yourself.

Did she read my fucking mind?

Promptly, he stands, turning to find the owner. With his sudden movement, you’re worried you did something wrong. It dulls the excitement of the night for you, watching him strut off down the hall again.

But once he’s in the office, he’s dropping a sack of Republic credits onto the desk.

“I want her.”

“Who?”

“Your newest girl.” Paz presents with confidence.

“You don’t have to -”

“I want to pay for her.” He insists, knowing you deserve it. “I’ll be in room six.” A lucky number of his.

“How quick?” The owner calls out after him, listening to Paz’s gruff, “Quick.”

Again, Elara is tasked with pulling you aside. And your internal excitement is once again set ablaze. Knowing you didn’t scare him off makes your smile glow, your stomach fluttering with butterflies. And now, he wants a private room with you? Maker, you can’t get to that room quick enough.

“He’s already there.”

“In room six.” She smirks, hands finding her hips. “What do you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Baffled she’d even ask, you scoff. “Of course I’m going!”

“He’ll be quite a treat.” Your coworker offers a knowing look, with only a pinch of jealousy. “Have fun.”

“Wait,” Reaching out for her arm, your shyness appears once again. “What, um, what is he like?”

Instantly, her smile blossoms. “Demanding, and rough.”

A wave of anticipation rushes through your limbs, tongue poking out to timidly lick your lower lip.

“And he likes when you show off a bit.”

With that, she’s leaving, returning to her place on stage to satisfy the other men in the crowd. You wonder what that means, showing off, but you’re sure to find out. The only place you can go to now, is room number six.

There is power in this, you do have a choice. You know exactly what goes on in those rooms, and if you didn't want that, you’re more than allowed to reject him. The owner made sure of this; the safety and comfortability of his employees were among his top priorities. But honestly, you’d be a fool to reject this. To not enter this room, to not indulge carelessly in this man… would be a genuine waste.

The club’s rhythmic sounds begin to fade as you walk throughout the establishment, making your way to the back hall. The curtain covering room six’s opening has been pushed to the side, its warm yellow hue pooling into the dark corridor. He’s expecting you. And with each step, you can feel your excitement, can feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your ears ringing with a wild heartbeat. You’re meeting with a man you met mere hours ago, and you’re going to let him take you.

“Hi again,” With a cheeky grin, you tilt your head, eyeing the large, blue man.

That visor of his noticeably tips, analyzing your stance. The way your hips sway could convey nervousness, or excitement. And he chooses the latter, that grin of yours exposing your playfulness.

“Will you join me?”

The tips of your teeth find the thin skin of your lip, nodding as you step in. But only once or twice, just enough to be inside. Your timid nature entices him, your innocence.

Standing, this bulk of a man makes his way over to you. Reaching out, the warrior’s gaze holds your own as he closes the curtain, sealing off the room. And his towering form, that stoic expression, steals every word from your lips. It seems all you can do is stand beside him, watching his every advance.

With gentle motions, Paz undoes and removes his codpiece, revealing to you the black underclothes that lie beneath. The immediate movement of your eyes, and the quick expression you give, flatter him. Beneath the metal mask, he proudly grins, a single hand dropping to grip the tent you’ve given him. But before you can even truly admire him, he’s turning, walking back to the wide couch so he can take his seat once again.

“Come.” He then commands, voice soft but stern. Patting his thigh, he completes his request with, “Show me what you can do.”

His words offer encouragement, power, traits you snatch from the air as you approach him with interest. And once you’re close enough, his dominant hand reaches out to you, finding the delicate slope of your waist. But you reject this small advance, turning in his grasp. With your back facing him, you sit, sliding your backside along his lap.

All too easily, those covered eyes watch your hands. Slender fingers begin to undo the top tied around your neck, exposing your breasts once it falls. With a huff of arousal, he leans forward, pressing his armored chest to your back while reaching for your breasts. Warm, smooth metal presses to your cheek as he fists your tits in both hands, visor peering over your shoulder to gawk at them. And then he releases a groan, a sound that quickly turns into a growl.

Rough, just like Elara said.

A gasp escapes you when you’re pulled backwards, this warrior now resting back against the couch. Both of those meaty arms stay wrapped around you, gloved fingers plucking at your perked buds. And then, one is leaving, lowering to loop behind your knee so he can pull your leg up.

“Show me.” He demands breathily, voice already ragged. “Show me how you like to be touched.” Slinking your legs over his knees, he parts them wider, only a single piece of cloth hiding your most sacred parts.

“I like how you’re touching me.” Smirking devilishly, your eyes close, body squirming on his lap as he rubs your chest. But then, his most dominant hand is grabbing your wrist and yanking it down between your legs.

“I said show me.”

Demanding.

“Verd…” And for a moment, he’s confused. That is, until he remembers the name he’d given you.

“Ner verd.” Paz corrects, “Say it that way.”

Without question, you do, wanting to satisfy him. “Ner verd…” (My warrior…)

And for some reason, the fact that you don’t even know what you’re saying excites him that much more.

Leaning over your shoulder, he watches with hunger as you pull aside the last remaining piece of fabric. Though, he can’t see as much as he’d like at this angle; in the past, he’d had women sit across from him on this couch. Paz would have them spread their legs, exposing themselves to him while demanding they get themselves off for his entertainment. And when they were done, he’d run a hand down their sex, fingers playing with their overstimulated lips. Later, in the privacy of his own home, he’d taste it. And regardless of your current position, he knows he’ll do the same with you.

“That’s it…” Now, he approves, watching two little fingers tap against your clit. “Beautiful, sarad’ika.” (Little flower)

With a small, confident chuckle, you continue, the two of you watching as you pleasure yourself. Both of Paz’s hands stay on your chest while you do it, covered eyes witnessing the way you rub your reddened bud, the way your fingers play with your lips.

“You’re a teasing thing, aren’t you?” He hums, helmet rubbing against you softly. Giving you a single nod, he then suggests, “Tap it again… I love to see you twitch.”

On command, you do as he says, chest rising and falling beneath his hands. And the blue warrior groans when he sees it, this ginormous man shifting beneath you.

“Yes,” Paz huffs harshly in your ear, adrenaline and arousal mixing within his body. “You listen perfectly.”

“Baby…” It comes out as a whine, and it drives him wild inside.

“Pretty thing,” He hums contemplatively. “Pretty noises.”

“Touch me,” Unexpectedly, you begin to beg, turning your face to look at him. It’s as if the anticipation building inside your chest has burst, body unable to harbor any remnants. “Please.”

“Oh…” Regardless of whether or not you’re aware, Paz holds your gaze, lowering a hand from where he’d been massaging your breast. “Like this, mesh’la?” He inquires, entirely sarcastic as he knows this is the spot, he knows this is just what you like. (Beautiful)

“Yes,” Arching back against him, your hips thrust up into his touch. While reaching for his forearm, he begins to rub you faster, listening to the soft squelch your center begins to emit. “Yes - yes.”

Writhing in his arms like a fish from the sea, you’re surrounded by nothing but blue, fiercely entrancing blue. Every sound you make goes straight through him, radiating into his chest, his pelvis, the throbbing shaft between his legs. Collectively, your actions brew a sense of pride in his belly, knowing he’s brought this out of you. Like a seductive siren, you’re singing a song, reaching out to consume him entirely.

“Maker, you moan like such a fucking whore.” Spitting the words through gritted teeth, he grunts behind you, the tips of his fingers rubbing through your entrance. The hand still on your chest, grabs at you firmly, metal face pressing against your flesh. Oh, how desperate he is for it, for touch. You can see it so clearly, and you wish he’d let you give it to him.

“Ner verd…” Gloved fingers brush over the peak of your breast, caressing the pebbled flesh. “Let me touch you, please.” (My warrior…)

“Come here,” Paz complies, finding a new weak spot with this name.

Strong hands gravitate to your hips, guiding you up from his lap. Moving with his momentum, you turn, completely naked for him. And to his utter shock, he pauses, breath caught in his throat. While his face is hidden, you can practically feel his amazement, one hand sliding up to caress your stomach.

“Just like that,” He coos quietly, admiring your advancement in the absence of his own. “Get on top of me.”

Settling over his broad thighs, your hands find his helmet, bringing him in. Unknowingly, you offer an incredibly intimate sentiment; you touch your forehead to his. It’s as close to a kiss as Paz is going to get, as close as he’s ever come to it.

“Please…” Dominant hand grazing his metal chest, it follows a line down to his pelvis. And when you settle over his lap, finally palming the stiffness of him, his hold on you tightens.

Harshly, thick fingers dig into your skin, his hips rocking up into your hand while releasing a soft moan. Something tingles inside your belly, listening to this gentle sound. Not a grunt or harsh groan, but a sweet release of breath.

“Hm…” Lips quirking into a grin, you express to him, “I want it.”

With bated breath, you wait for him, now feeling a particular wetness seep through beneath your hand. The moment stills, seconds now confused with centuries. Though, it’s not agonizing, this wait; it’s thrilling.

The pads of his covered digits then rub circles along your skin, his chest dipping with a breath as he finally says, “Then take it.”

Nimble movements unzip his covering, length hot and stiff against the knuckles of your hand. Without losing his gaze, your fingers move to his base, slowly sliding around his girth and feeling the coarse hair littering his skin. Paz’s own hands move, too, still on your hips as he helps lift you above him. Resting up on your knees, the two of you glance down, eyeing the treats you’ve each been given.

Helmet tilting up, Paz grins upon seeing your amazed expression. You’ve never seen a man like this, so veiny and thick, tip bulging and prominently crimson. The hairs around his shaft and base are damp, from either sweat or prespend but truthfully, you’re hoping for a mixture of them. You can practically smell it, him, his sweat and natural musk taking over your senses. And your mouth waters from it, wishing desperately to crawl down his body so you can put your lips on him.

“Sarad’ika,” Paz calls gently, finger prodding beneath your chin and tilting it up toward him. “Don’t make me wait.” (Little flower)

“Can I…” Trailing off, your gaze lowers again. Paz sees the way you lick your lower lip, the way your eyes widen from the sight of him.

With a chuckle, he encourages you. “Be my guest.”

Once he allows it, you scramble down from his lap, falling to your knees while settling between his. Mesmerizing is the look in your eyes, eager is the movement of your lips. Leaning in, you’re immediately licking him, tongue flattening as it drags up the underside of his cock. It surprises him, just how quick you are with it, a startled gasp easily spilling from his lips. And while your mouth begins to pleasure him, your hand pumps the rest of his leaking length.

“Perfect…”

Pulling back, your hand slides up, thickest digit thumbing over his slit. It forces a jolt of pleasure through him, a single hand coming down to grab the back of your head. The other, however, falls to his base.

“You like this?” He asks lowly, stroking himself. And when you nod, curiosity overtakes him again. “What about this?”

Smacking his dick against your mouth, he watches you moan. Those gorgeous eyes of yours flutter closed, lips parting as he continues.

“I like it…” Grumbling, the timbre of his voice prompts a small wave of pleasure to rush through your hips. “Just like that, smacking it against your pretty doll face.”

Truthfully, you’d stay like this as long as he asked. On your knees between his spread legs, naked body on display while he tapped his dick against your face. Some taps are harder than others, and then there were softer hits, ones that allowed him to smear his precum over your lips.

“Take it.” Applying pressure to the back of your head, he guides you onto him once again. “Ngh, ri-right there, right down your throat.”

The ridges of your tastebuds can feel every inch of him, every vein that throbs beneath the weight of your tongue. And now, he feels himself fully thicken within the hot cavern of your mouth. But you can’t take the entirety of him; all around, he was more than sizable, his width stretching your lips to your limits. Already your jaw aches, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet. Simply, he holds you there, keeps you pressed as far down as you’re willing to go. As the seconds pass, you can hear him grumble, hand petting lovingly at your hair. Violently, he throbs against the hot suction of your mouth, his tip entering your throat. Every pulse that runs through his erection is powerful, the pound against your mouth prompting a moan from the depths of your chest.

“You’re drooling.” He notes casually, head cocking to the side.

Just barely, you’re able to look up at him, tears already dripping from the corners of your eyes. It’s a wonderful sight, especially when you reach up to stroke the remaining length. Every bit of skin he shows has been touched, kissed and licked and sucked on until he just couldn't take it. And that’s exactly how he likes it.

The tiny fist you wrap around the base of his dick makes him grin, continuing to stroke your hair as he says, “You’re so pretty like this.”

For how rough he could be, this man also seemed to have a sweet side. Maybe he was like that with everyone, or maybe he was just like that with you.

Streaks of mascara run over your cheeks, lipstick smeared from the spit dripping down your chin. The makeup you’d worked so hard on, ruined. All from him, and it’s been done in his perfect vision. Just how he’d pictured you - on your knees, crying for him, mouth stuffed to the brim.

“Pretty little mess.” And with the way he says it, you’d think it was an insult.

The hand once petting your hair now grips it at the crown, shoving his hips up toward your mouth. Forcefully, you gag, the motion completely unexpected. But you take him as best you can, the hand around his cock now joining the other atop his thigh. It’s done to brace yourself, but he isn’t having any of that.

“No,” Paz growls, shoving your hands away. “Keep your hands down, keep them off of me.”

Obediently, you lower them both, resting loosely behind your back. And now that your hands are gone, both of his find the back of your head, repeatedly forcing you down onto him. Every thrust is accompanied with a harsh grunt, cock stiff and hot as it repeatedly punches into your mouth. His tip, red and dripping, strikes the back of your throat with every rut, every erratic and animalistic movement.

There’s nothing else for him, not in this moment. Right now, every bit of his attention is given to you, to your body and mind and everything you can bring him, everything he can bring you. Since the moment he laid eyes on your mesmerizing form, he knew he’d have you. One way or another, he was going to make you his; add you to his collection of girls. And this is just how he pictured it, even better, really. You’d already touched yourself for him, and so willingly dropped to your knees, too. He can’t remember the last time a whore sucked him off. Usually, sex was just sex; even here. Sure, he’d have his fun, but oral was never part of the deal. After a little bit of teasing, every woman here immediately got to business. But not you, and he’s liking that. You’re taking your time to satisfy him.

“Ugh,” With a wet gasp, you pull away, but only once he’s allowed it.

Every breath is ragged and hoarse and Paz’s are nearly just as rough. Allowing you this reprieve, he expects you to take it. But you’re full of surprises tonight, almost immediately diving right back in.

“Sh…” He says to you softly, gloved hand grabbing your jawline and chin. And when you look up at him, your expression is filled with such a sweetly sickening innocence. “Up.”

Climbing up his thick thighs, you find yourself wanting to meet his mouth. As if he’s thinking the same thought, his fingers move across your chin, sliding upward a bit. Using his thumb, he parts your lips, watching as you grin. With a single, simple shake of his head, he murmurs, “What I wouldn’t give to taste these lips…”

“Would you give your creed?” Teasingly, you return, mere inches from his metal skin.

“Not a goddamn chance.”

And with that, he’s reaching down and hauling you up and onto his lap. Your giggle is mixed with a tasteful gasp, hands reaching for those broad shoulders once again. Although you can’t kiss him, you can kiss his helmet, which you find comfort in doing. Pressing your lips to his metal cheek, you sigh blissfully against him. Somehow, it brings you closer to him.

Both of your warrior’s hands find the wonderful expanse of your backside, fisting it with a satisfied hum. Rocking you forward, he’s successful in brushing your smooth cunt against his shaft, another rapturous noise coming from him.

“Are you ready for me, hm?” It doesn't take long before you’re moving of your own volition, grinding against his tip and rubbing yourself all the way down his length.

“Mhm,” Forehead rubbing against the side of his helmet, you sigh, something similar to a tiny whine.

Pulling you forward onto his chest, he grunts, lifting you enough to slide his tip against your entrance. Using your hold on him as balance, you take the lead, reaching down to angle him as he begins to slide in. Easily, Paz sinks inside, every single inch slowly but surely becoming enveloping by your welcoming walls. It’s almost unfair, the expectation of this. He’s monstrously thick and pounding against your thin, sensitive skin.

“Oh,”

“Yes.”

Dragging hotly against your inner walls, he’s already stretching you to tears halfway in. Painted fingernails dig into the cowl covering his skin, wishing to touch him, to kiss and mark him. You’re certain if you pushed it away, there’d already be beautiful discolorations from your lips.

“Don’t worry, ner sarad’ika…” Paz grumbles, his hands moving over the curve of your waist. One finds purchase on your hips, while the other rises to the back of your head. With gentle force, he pulls you into him, feeling your arms loop entirely around his neck. “We’ll make it fit.” (My little flower)

“Verd,” Whimpering, your arms shake as he lowers you even more. “Ner verd.” (Warrior, my warrior)

“There you go,” Your correction forces a sense of pride to grow within his chest. “So good…”

“Fu-uck,” The cry is broken and breathy as it spills from your lips, sitting firmly on his lap.

He’s entirely inside, your ass resting against his scrotum. Even through his Beskar, he can feel the heavy rise and fall of your chest, can feel the shift of your thighs as you spread even wider to accommodate him. But then, you’re wincing, something that quickly concerns him.

“What?” Rubbing your back, he sighs, feeling your walls clench hotly around him. “Tell me.”

“Mm,” Timidly, you whimper, one hand dropping to press against one of his tassets.

“Oh,” He realizes, hands dropping down to remove the armor that must be pinching at your sweet skin. And once the tops of his thighs are uncovered, you shimmy against him, rubbing over the black fabric still covering his bulky body.

Once he’s set the plates aside, his hands run up and down your arms. “There…” He says comfortingly, hips rocking up into you. “Keep going, keep going.”

Shifting your hips, you gather yourself enough to sway against him. With both palms pressing against his cuirass, you steady your breaths in order to find a rhythm. And quickly, you do, alongside your warrior’s own eager movements. It brews inside him, the need to have you, to stretch you out and fuck you in a way you’ll remember; mold your insides to him, steal your breath and captivate your complete attention.

“That’s it, sweet little whore.”

“Baby,” His words do something ungodly to you, mixing with every ounce of exciting sin.

“Look so fucking good,” His words are breathy, body moving with yours quite smoothly. “Impaled on me.”

“Yes, yes.”

The man beneath you is big enough to lift you entirely before dropping you right back down, cockhead hitting the deepest parts of your sex. His ridges rub along your insides in the most delightful way, pressing up against the spot that makes your eyes roll and your hips sway.

“Can, can I, please…” Pawing at the covering around his neck, Paz becomes impatient, reaching up to rip it off completely.

With a breath of relief, he continues, hand returning to your ass with a harsh spank just as you move to his neck. Your body shakes with his force, the motion repeated as soon as your lips attach to his neck. You’re bouncing down on him, ass slapping against his clothed thighs.

“Fuck,” Growling, he almost can’t keep himself from doing it again, slapping your cheeks just to watch and feel them jiggle. “Fuck yourself onto me, just like that.”

His voice is deep and demanding, yet sincere and encouraging. Adrenaline rushes through your body every time you hear him speak, that slightly muffled and almost staticy voice doing wonders to your aroused state of being.

“Ner verd,” Digging your teeth into his skin prompts another quick spank, one that sends a shrill giggle straight from your chest. “Yes.”

The slightly muted sound of your naked thighs against his covered legs begins to reverberate through the room, skin against skin echoing when you bring yourself down to his pelvis. He seems to enjoy it when you mark him, sucking on his skin with a fierce sense of determination. And when you’ve deemed one spot complete, you lick it sweetly. More than you can even fathom, it satisfies him.

“Sweet thing,” The smile in his tone is evident. “My new favorite girl.”

Wrapping both arms around you, their strength prevents you from any more movement. Instead, he pulls you onto him, pistoning his hips up against your sex. The pure power and force behind his working muscles leaves you fighting for breath. And alongside his flattering words, you find yourself smitten with him.

The overwhelming sensation of him claiming your weeping cunt makes you see stars, makes you cling to him like you’d die if you didn’t. His panting breaths even fan out beneath his bulky mask, brushing over your skin and giving you a subtle taste of him. Floating through your head is the thought of his tongue, how he’d taste if you ran your own across it; how would he kiss you? How would his lips feel? How would they move?

“I want to claim you.” Voice deep and rumbling, he goes on to say, “Fill you to the brim with nothing but my seed.”

“I want that,” Nodding, you cling to him, his body firm and strong and Maker, how did you get him? “I want it.”

“Fill this sweet cunt, plug it with my cum.” It’s almost like he’s rambling, talking himself up to the point of an earth-shattering orgasm. “Say it to me.”

“Hm?”

“Th - my name. Say my name.” Amidst his excitement, his clouded mind, he’d almost forgotten.

“Ner verd.” And the way you say it makes his entire existence float away with something akin to yearning, longing. (My warrior)

Inside, you feel fuzzy, needy and tingling with overwhelming bliss. The way he fucks up into you is sloppy, desperate to cum inside the warmth you’ve given him. You feel like a toy, nothing but entertainment for him. And you’re more than fine with satisfying that expectation.

Driving his hips upward, something in him seems to break. Choking on his own breaths, he grunts, seeking out your wet warmth as he releases inside.

“Soft fucking insides, so warm and welcoming - fuck. I’m gonna cum in it,” Squeezing you in his arms, his hips stutter, jerking against your core. “I’m gonna cum inside…”

“Y-Yes,” Dragging your nails down his neck, you witness the evidence of your own pleasure painting his skin red.

The force of his high brings on your own, rutting over his lap as you try desperately to rub your clit onto him. It brushes over his pelvis, over the coarse hairs littering his base as you shake in each other’s arms, wanton moans floating freely through the room and out into the hall. Rope after rope fills your channel, the white liquid flooding your most sensitive space. And it milks him for every drop, clenching around his girth as your own high wrings every bit of pleasure from your limbs. Shivering through your body, he holds you through the overwhelming pleasure of it, listening to your feminine moans and reveling in the fact that he’s caused them.

One hand then drops to your backside, squeezing you kindly once again. Giving you an easy tap, he clears his throat, sighing into relaxation. It’s obvious when he calms, body slumping slightly into his seat. Resting back against the cushions, he urges you to lay on his chest, smiling to himself when you do. It’s always comforted him, this brief sense of intimacy after sex.

His next words are genuine, a promise he intends to keep. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

#Paz Vizsla #baby daddy #Paz Vizsla x you #Paz Vizsla x reader #Paz Vizsla x female reader #Paz Vizsla smut #Star Wars #Star Wars fanfiction

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dailydemonspotlight · 5 months ago

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Attis - Day 57

Race: Kishin

Arcana: Hanged Man

Alignment: Light-Neutral

June 18th, 2024

It's odd that this is the first figure from Greek Mythology I'm covering, given how widespread it is throughout the series, honestly, but I'm not complaining. Something that I have to give SMT a lot of props for is how it goes into far more obscure things from mythology- sure, you've got your Thoth's, your Odin's, your Shiva's, and your Baphomets, but something this series does a lot that I adore is that it creates demons for some of the most obscure figures out there. Sure, it makes researching them difficult (a la Porewit) but the spotlights (heh) that this series shines on otherwise obscure figures is fantastic. Case in point, today's Demon of the Day, Attis.

While everyone knows the Greek pantheon, there are so many lesser gods in the sprawling labyrinth of Greek mythology, gods worshipped by obscure cults or left in the tradewinds of history. Attis, of course, was one of these gods, but he also had another reason- he was from a completely different mythological origin. In Phrygian myth, the archetypical 'Mother Nature' was a character named 'Cybele,' who has her own tonnes of myths to tell. However, when the Greeks began to subsume into the rest of the Phrygian people, she was met with a mixed response. Some took her to become a new form of Gaia, the Greek goddess of nature, while others took off and painted her as an exotic goddess whose meaning couldn't be known. Now, what does this have to do with Attis? He was her consort.

The tales surrounding Attis are, and I cannot stress this enough, insane. Everything happens in them from weird amounts of hatred towards an intersex prophetic child, to a cycle of life and rebirth, and I'm a bit scared of going into it, but... okay. Let's do this. Recanted in Catullus 63, the first recorded tale of Attis begins with, and I'm not kidding, him castrating himself. Right off the bat. Yup, this is one of those stories. And I quote,

Over the vast main borne by swift-sailing ship, Attis, as with hasty hurried foot he reached the Phrygian wood and gained the tree-girt gloomy sanctuary of the Goddess, there roused by rabid rage and mind astray, with sharp-edged flint downwards dashed his burden of virility. Then as he felt his limbs were left without their manhood, and the fresh-spilt blood staining the soil, [text]

We just got here! Okay, okay, I'll continue. The story goes on to describe the aftereffects, and the motivation for this sudden castration, that being a fanatical obsession with the nature goddess, Cybele. After he awakens in likely the world's first (and worst) hangover, he looks out and bemoans his fate, having been left behind by his companions who had already run to pursue the goddess. However, from what I can tell of this story, given the confusing wording, the goddess grants the man permission to drive one of her nuns to 'his allegiance.' I can assume this means someone in his home kingdom, but I'm not very sure? It might be referring to the goddess herself. My lack of knowledge in ye olden terms has made this a headache and a half. Later in the story, after his self-mutilation led to his death, he would later be revived by Cybele, becoming her consort.

A later addition expands on this, giving light to Attis' birth- in the story regarding it, it begins with, as always, Zeus being Zeus. In the tale, he fell in love with Cybele, who didn't return his advances, but... of course, with him being himself, he forced himself on her. Her child would later be reared, a deity called Agdistis who was notable for being a hermaphrodite, essentially 'male and female.' For whatever reason, the gods got terrified of how particularly powerful they were, and proceeded to... castrate Agdistis. What the fuck is with the castration?! Jesus Christ! From the blood left behind, an almond tree spurted forth, and a nearby woman named Nana would decide to take an almond and put it in her bosom. Okay. This led to her getting pregnant. Okay. Later on, she would give birth to the newborn Attis, before promptly throwing the kid out into the nature, to which he was soon raised by a goat. Oh kay.

A lot of stuff relating to Attis has been lost to time, especially given that he was only really worshipped in, you guessed it, cults. Originally, separated from the Greek mythology he would later be co-opted into, a cult formed surrounding him in 1250 BCE, in-and-around an area of modern-day Turkey called, and I kid you not, Dindymon. Originally worshipped as a semi-deity in the area, he would later become slowly integrated into Greek mythology as several Greek cults began to form surrounding Attis around the fourth century BCE. In Phrygian culture, later adapted into Greek, Attis was a deity who represented vegetation and the cycle of fruits- particularly, the castration story (yes, again) represented the idea of fruits dying in the winter then coming back in the spring; the date of Attis's revival, that being the spring equinox, is no coincidence. Frankly, though, as pretty as this concept is, the absurd amount of castration in his stories is just... Why? Why are you like this, Greek Mythology?

Okay, now with all of that over with, how is he portrayed in the series? I honestly really like his design. The bandages and the blade make him look rather unique, and I really do enjoy just how bizarre he looks. Wait, but is the reason why his legs are separated from his body...

No.

You have got to be fucking KIDDING ME.

IT'S CASTRATION AGAI

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #attis #for a bit of context #attis' ties with greek mythology are... strange?#he was worshipped in greek myth #yes #but his connections were almost exclusively tied to cybele.#tw sa mention #tw sa #the amount of castration in everything related to attis is alarming #tf is the deal with greek mythology man

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clockworkreapers · 3 months ago

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Do your AN trolls have particular aesthetics/subcultures they align with?

Lil bit I think? Most are like edging on punk vibe but like that’s just cyberpunk as a genre right- that’s the point. Especially the lowbloods cuz fuck the system right? They can’t do much about the said system but they will try to survive in whatever way they can. Falmea and Cyrusk are example in at least vibes- also obviously Sauron he’s a programmer he’s a hacker, big nerd who’s part of that cyberspace scene which if you know anything about this history also does have a subculture associated with it that started in the 80’s (yall seen War Games? Yeah Lightman’s character contributed bits to Sauron)

Cybele kinda leans into the hippie flower child kinda vibe just with how she acts kind to everyone lots of love wants to help people heal, if she didn’t need to stay in the city cuz of ease she’d def be kinda nomadic. She’d like the style of she could afford other clothes.

Majell and helstm don’t really have a big subculture you’d categorize them as, sure Majell kinda punk cuz against the system- Helstm though… unless you consider high up mechanic bros a subculture I don’t think so. He’s part of mainstream Alternia for the most part.

#if they are not part of the subculture in style they are in opinions and vibes #which is like ok you don’t need to be a purist about it #they are also like alternian and probs have a bit dif visuals for their subcultures #clock rambles

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afatlotofchance · 2 months ago

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Speaking of Otha and the Master... Fat sorcerers or wizards is actually something quite recurring in fantasy. There is a page on TV Tropes and Idioms called "Squishy Wizards" which highlights how wizards in fantasy typically do not have a fighting body - they are too old or too young, skinny or chubby. To have a muscular, fit, warrior-built wizard was seen for a time as a subversion of the traditional wizard (see for example The Kingkiller Chronicles, which was praised at the time for having a warrior-wizard as a protagonist).

While fat wizards do not typically lead the archetype, they're still recurring. In another 80s classics of fantasy, the Riftwar books by Raymond E. Feist (in France they're better known as the adventures of Pug the wizard), the protagonist is first tutored in magic by a Gandalf copy (elderly bearded wizard who likes to smoke a pipe), but with a few differences - he has a tiny pet dragon, he is a human court wizard instead of an otherwordly wanderer, and... he is noted to be a large and fat man with a round belly. Name's Kulgan by the way. Don't ask me more about him, because I couldn't even finish the first book of the series (while I don't mind some "cliche fantasy", there's some stereotypical fantasy that just doesn't work with me, and the Riftwar books do not click for now. Maybe if someone encourages me to read them or has positive things to say about them... But for now, nah).

A different fantasy series, but one I quite enjoyed and fully read (unlike the Riftwar one) is the 70s classic "The Fionavar Tapestry", which is basically "What if Lord of the Rings crossed over with Narnia, and was even more epic and even more mythological as we sprinkle in Cybele, and Irish mythology, and Arthuriana, and other stuff?". You have book series that pastiche and imitate in obvious ways Lord of the Rings (Shannara). You have book serie that take back, reinvent, subvert Lord of the Rings (Belgariad). And you have the Fionavar tapestry, which was actually written by one of the men who worked on compiling and studying Tolkien's works and notes to re-create things like the Silmarillion and other books, and thus literaly pays homage and soars from the world created by Tolkien to do its own thing (though if you do not enjoy hyper-intellectual, hyper-poetic, hyper-mythical fantasy this series is not for you). There's three wizards in this series. One is you Saruman ; another is your Gandalf (but with the bonus point that he is in a gay relationship with a dwarf king) ; and the third, more unique to the series, is described a curvy, bellied fat man. And when we finally get a bit of background info on him (in the third book of the trilogy) we learn that he was always the weakest of the three wizards, and mostly was into the wizard business to enjoy the comfortable life, high position and material pleasures it brought with it - hence why he is quite a fat man today. In the third book he even complains at one point that due to being involved in war activty he has lost a lot of weight, only for other characters to mention he is still quite plump and far from thin.

Technically, when it comes to the "fat wizard" archetype we can go back to the first of the Earthsea books, "A Wizard of Earthsea", with the character of Vetch. Fellow student at the wizard-school with the protagonist, later becoming his own local sorcerer in his village, and described as a stout, large boy than man with a healthy appetite and a love for food... Fan-art today does regularly depict him as a big beautiful man he is strongly implied to be - though he might fall rather into the "large sidekick/fat bestfriend/chubby companion" archetype that I evoked in an earlier post. [Note: if you ever want to check out Earthsea, don't hesitate, because not only is it one of the foundations of the genre, which influenced all the later classics, but it was also one of the early attempts at doing a non-cliche fantasy - first exploration of a wizard school in fiction, first time having a wizard as a main protagonist in a fantasy story, with an archipelago setting specifically designed to not feel European in the slightest, AND with a non-white cast! You couldn't guess it due to all the illustrations and adaptations white-washing the hell out of the books, but Earthsea was all about black-skinned and copper-skinned and distinctively non-white people, and Ursula Le Guin was always very sad and mad each time the cover-artist or movie-makers made all of her cast whiter than bread dough. There's white people in Earthsea indeed, but they are the barbarian foreign minority serving evil gods, which was quite a perspective switch for a 60s fantasy series]

More generally, the "fat wizard" idea is often used to subvert or counter the "Gandalf archetype". One of the most famous examples is the wizard Bayaz, from Abercrombie's "The First Law" trilogy. Not to be confused with "The Wizard's First Law" by Terry Goodkind, a "regular" fantasy book that opened a quite... unfamous fantasy series, but which deserves a mention because it reuses and mixes the "fat counterpart/fat is evil" fantasy elements, by having the brother of the main protagonist (Michael Cypher) being described as "smaller, heavier and softer" than his brother, and ultimately falling for the lies and tricks of the main villain leading him to oppose his brother... But back to Abercrombie's The First Law, the entire point of this trilogy is to take back the archetypal epic fantasy story, but present it in a dark, cynical, morbid light. Bayaz is here the subversion and caricature of the typical "wizard mentor", Gandalf-type - he is the main wizard of the story, the patron of the protagonists, the one who leads them in their quest... But he is also a deceiving brute, a power-hungry war-mongerer, and a shady, amoral and selfish man. And this subversion of his Gandalf type is marked in his appearance, as he is described as a butcher-like man, large and thick, built with a mix of muscle and fat (and people who compare the statues once sculpted for him to his current state do point out how since his glory days he grew a gut).

And of course, no need to tell you that the "fat wizard" archetype blooms in works where the fatness of sorcerers and magic-users is systematized - ranging from Robin Hobb's The Soldier Son, to Terry Pratchett's Discworld, two universes where being fat is basically a pre-requisite to be a wizard...

#fatness in fantasy #fat wizard

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the-lunar-library · 3 months ago

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TO THE RAVENS

Parrhesiades, or Pas to his friends, a seeker of the divine but a skeptic of prophets. As a priest of the goddess Kybele, himself a member of a sect sometimes viewed with disfavor by the Romans, Pas quickly takes an interest in Alexandros' dramatic new cult. Particularly when he realizes how inextricably his old friend Akantha is bound up in it.

While To the Ravens isn't a religious book (as in, it's not here to proselytize), religion is an important element, and I wanted to study it from a variety of sides. So where Genesius is a spiritual skeptic and Buca is open-minded to a fault, Pas is here as someone with deep religious convictions, the sort of person who does believe in supernatural things, prophecies, magic, stuff like that. But he doesn't believe in them indiscriminately. And now he's faced with this unprecedented new cult of Alexandros', and he's equipped to levy both a personal and a professional judgment on it.

The galli, priests of Kybele/Cybele, are notable in Roman history because they were AMAB folks who dressed in feminine clothes, even at a time when there were fewer distinctions between men's and women's clothing. Which is intriguing, particularly the question of how they might have identified had they lived today – and how I, with my modern sensibilities, should speak of them. Historical texts aren't very useful in that respect, defaulting to masculine pronouns and assuming masculine identities, and the modern resources I looked at took a similar line. The concept of a person changing genders or having multiple genders did exist in both Greco-Roman myth and philosophy, but I (possibly I wasn't looking in the right places) didn't find anything when it came to the real trans people who just lived their lives in imperial Rome. The galli are also famous for castrating themselves in service of their religion. Which feels very significant, but I didn't want to presume that they all were, across the board, trans women. In Totr's glossary, I clarify that Pas, who uses masculine pronouns, is just one gallus and isn't meant to represent all of them. My own feeling is that there could have been a spectrum of identities among the galli, but it's a gut feeling without any evidence.

I'm not shy about having favorites, and Pas is one of my favorite characters; I enjoyed every scene he was in. He's thoughtful, outwardly calm, generous, and has a patient listening ear for other people's problems. At the same time, he's often cutting and stern, and he won't lie or compromise to make others feel better. He's an intellectual who obeys logic and his principles, but he has a deadpan sense of humor and a love for the absurd.

As for his name, it was drawn right from Lucian – Parrhesiades, “free speaker”, underlining his willingness to call things as he sees them, regardless of others' opinions. But I figured that was way too much of a mouthful. The first part of his name, though written here as “Par”, is the Greek word “pas”, so he goes by Pas. And as for his design, he's tall and graceful, and despite not being rich he dresses as beautifully as his budget allows, both because he enjoys it and to glorify his goddess. He typically wears a full face of makeup, which, depending on what you've just said to him, makes him look softer and more gracious, or harsher and more warlike. My portrait caught him at a sterner moment because, really, he finds a lot to question in this book.

#original character #writeblr #writers on tumblr #indieauthor #cybele #gallus #pas #to the ravens #meta

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tonbanereblogs · 8 months ago

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Tag Game: 10 fandoms, 10 characters

Tagged by dear friend @bloobluebloo (I should be doing this from @tonbane account but I've been too talkative there 🙊) I don't consume a lot of media so this is a challenge for me

1. Just like Bloo, Ganondorf from Legend of Zelda. I love him so so much there's so much made up lore in my brain 🧠

2. Marcille from Dungeon Meshi. I love stressed lesbian 🤝

3. Crowley from Good Omens. I love stressed nonbinary lesbian 🤝

4. To all my Sims 2 besties: Pascal Curious from Strangetown. He's literally my blorbo I love to play as him

5. I'm running out of shows. I really like our goddess Cybele from real life. She originated in Anatolia in the Neolithic and I love that there's traces of her throughout the southern Mediterranean travelling west until it reached iberians and she became the patron goddess of Madrid :3

6. I ran out of recent blorbos. I too watched Shin Chan when I was little, does that count? But I related more to Misae the mom because once again, the levels of stress HDHDJSH (there's something wrong with me)

7. I also watched Doraemon but Nobita was so cringe for me when I was little, I felt so much embarrassment at his mistakes lmao. Also both shin Chan and Doraemon are translated to almost all languages in Spain, my sis could watch it in her native language, isn't that neat? :3

8. AH!!! Yennefer from The Witcher!!! I literally wrote a 10 page essay about her at university lmaooo. So yeah I love the symbolisms and how she's always had fortitude and resolve and potential power but was not respected for her looks (and blood) so she changes to a conventionally beautiful body and NOW people feel afraid? She's always been that insanely powerful (and insane <3)

9. I'm literally going through my gallery to remember what shows I like. I love WWDITS (film and show) how could I forget. From the show, I love Nadja because she's like an exaggerated version of my beloved sister. I know it doesn't sound like a compliment but it is HAHAHA she's so alive!!

10. I had to rack my brains for this. Miku has been one of my longest blorbos since highschool. One of my fan videos has 63k views in YouTube but you'll never find it 😈 (jk it's extremely easy to find)

PHEW!!! That was fun!

I tag my recent boopers 🐾 if they're up for it! @panna-acida @avenin @gay-moth-nerd @mailjeevas66 @ganonfan1995 WEEEEEE!!!

#ask meme #thanks bloo you made me realise i have fandom amnesia #now im gonna check my navigation tags (all the fandoms ive drawn and forgotten i like #that'll be fun HAHAHAHA

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ask-the-hearsayer · 3 months ago

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Have you ever met a certain Mr. Virgil, Cybel?

What's your opinion on him?

"Mr. Virgil? Oh, he's a coworker, technically we have met. The witch man, that man."

Daphne drops her immitation hat and 'cosplay', blowing out the flame with a short shout so it wouldn't kill her table. She flusters somewhat, a mix of embarassed and admiring again.

"He's neat. Pretty, neat, you know.. yess, The Lawbot Department is full of that methinks. Soo regimented, so dedicated, so 'not giving up' authority guy.."

"And he blatantly misunderstands how recruiting is supposed to be! You're- You're supposed to encourage synergy, not infighting, alriighty? Oh he does not like me for liking our boss- he does not. Oh no, no no. I'll show you this newly-hired is well qualified to represent the LBHQ!"

"Where was I? Oh, it's a strange.. love-hate, strange highs strange lows. That's-how-my-love-goes.

I'd prefer him over most Sellbots."

#askthehearsayer #rp post #toontown corporate clash #ttcc oc #art post #prester virgil #witch hunter #mentioned at least #oopsdaphcrushmoment

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becausegoodbye · 1 year ago

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(This is a really incredible essay by the recently-passed author and trans legend Rachel Pollack, first published in issue #9 of TransSisters: The Journal of Transsexual Feminism. I wanted to reproduce it here in full because it's a goddamn banger, because archived PDFs can be a bit hard to read, and because every trans person should get the opportunity to read it at least once.)

***

Archetypal Transsexuality

By Rachel Pollack, 1995

The San Rafael Hospital in Trinidad, Colorado has become a kind of shrine for transsexual people in America. Even for those who did not get surgery from Dr. Stanley Biber, his clinic in San Rafael has become synonymous with "sex reassignment surgery" in the same way that the entire nation of Denmark came to symbolize "sex changes" in the 1950s and 1960s, after Christine Jorgensen stepped out of Copenhagen and into the world.

A small hill rises behind the hospital, and on top of it, surrounded by trees and flowers stands a genuine shrine, a small structure dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Behind a conventional statue of Mary, with room for candies and other offerings, the building houses a more precious sculpture of the Christian Goddess. According to the plaque at the front of the shrine, a Trinidad man was caught in a blizzard and in danger of being blown away when be came upon the statue of Mary and clung to it until the fury of nature broke open and he could find his way to help and recovery. The sanctuary he created looks over Dr. Biber's clinic, gently blessing all the trans-formed women and men who pass through its doors.

Now, Mary occupies an interesting place in the history of mythology. Many people know that while the Christian Church attempted to portray God as entirely male, the ordinary people clung to Mother Mary as giver of hope, mercy, and nurturance. Less known is fact that the early Church consciously adapted aspects of various Pagan Goddesses to create Mary's image and place her in the hearts of the people. Two Goddesses in particular contributed to Mary: Aphrodite, who rose from the sea, and Cybele, a Goddess from Asia Minor who earlier had made a triumphant entry into Rome as the Great Mother of the Gods.

I have written elsewhere of Aphrodite as a transsexual Goddess. Her story tells us how the Sky God, Ouranos, was oppressing Gaia, the Earth, until Gaia gave a sickle (a women's harvest tool shaped like the crescent Moon) to her son Kronos. Kronos cut off his father's genitals and threw them into the sea. Ouranos does not die in the story, but withdraws into the shadows, the same way the male persona of many transsexual women will withdraw once the female reality has given itself permission to emerge. The severed genitals, however, do not sink out of sight. Instead. they stir up a great foam on the waters. Out of this foam, golden Aphrodite. the embodiment of femininity in all its grace and power, emerges into the world.

And Cybele -- when the Great Mother came to Rome she brought with her her Gallae. The Gallae were anatomical males who, in the midst of ecstatic group frenzy, used stone sickles to sever their own genitals, which they then flung through open doorways. The families who received the bloody relics considered them a blessing. In return for Cybele's grace, a family would tend to the bleeding Galla and nurse her back to health, at which time she ceremoniously received women's clothing and entered into the service of her Goddess.

The presence of Mary overlooking the San Rafael clinic, and in particular her mysterious emergence out of a storm, forms part of a great web of images and history. The web includes all the mythological figures who change sex or cross genders. It includes the real life Gallae and Hijras and others who alter their bodies as well as the tribal shamans who move into the roles of the "opposite" sex, usually not as a matter of conscious choice, but because the spirits demand it of them. It includes the Stone Age evidence of androgynous Goddesses and cross- sexed priests and priestesses alongside the increasing numbers of contemporary transsexuals who have begun to understand that, as Davina Anne Gabriel puts it, we cannot comprehend transsexuality without some notion of "transcendence," or, as Dallas Denny says, more bluntly, "Transsexuality is a religious experience."

To recognize our place in that web means, paradoxically, to step out of a trap. This is the trap in which we experience transsexuality as a sickness, or even just a psychological condition. For transsexual people, such an ideology (and that is what it is) has become more and more of a dead end - literally, with so many people losing their lives to depression, suicide, bad drugs, unsafe sex and all the other miseries that allow the purveyors of pathology to say "There? You see? If it wasn't a sickness, wouldn't they all be happy?"

Even those of us who insist that transsexual people are not "sick" will still talk about "healing," whether we think we need to heal from shame, or society's oppression, or unhappy childhoods. But as long as we speak of healing we stay within the world of sickness. In the United States we consider happiness the basic human condition, and any suffering as some sort of aberration. I would argue that transsexuality arises from a passion so powerful that it transcends issues of happiness. The word passion originally meant suffering, not pleasure. The suffering of transsexuality, however, is like that of religious ecstasy, or even orgasm -- overwhelming, intense, and ultimately joyous when we surrender to it and let it carry us into the power of the experience.

Think where transsexual desire leads us. We give up our positions in society (I am not talking here about the slide downwards in status for male-to-females, but much more basically of our very places in the world, a loss that applies to transsexual men as well as to women, even if the men eventually go up in status). We risk losing our family and friends. We face ridicule and sometimes extreme violence, even death. We take powerful and dangerous drugs to alter the very shape of our bodies. And finally, we undergo -- we seek out, even demand -- surgery on our genitals. No logical decision, or confusion, or social conditioning, or even mental illness, can account for such an overwhelming need.

Recently, a number of transsexual and transgender people have suggested that people seek surgery because of pressure from the medical profession, which convinces them that surgery will allow them to become normal members of society. I cannot believe this. I have met too many transsexuals who know very clearly that surgery is exactly and precisely what they want, and that the doctors are not their masters but their instruments.

To describe transsexual people as dupes of the medical profession, or slaves to social conditioning, or trapped in rigid ideas about gender roles, is precisely to take away our power, a power so intense that it terrifies people. Sometimes we can see the question in their faces. "What would make someone do -- or want to do -- such a thing?" And because the dual acts of changing gender and altering the body frighten them they try to think of an explanation. "He must hate himself so much." "She can't accept the role society has given her." "Her parents must have abused her." Each of these statements, and all the others, assume that the transsexual man or woman doesn't really know what he or she is doing. And more, they shift the focus from transsexuality itself to some external concept or ideology. All explanations, even friendly ones, drain away the passion of the experience.

It is time to realize that changing gender and altering the body are not the same thing. While many people cannot imagine a gender change without surgery, many others find surgery totally unnecessary. And many people who have surgery will say clearly that it is not the surgeon's knife that makes them men or women, that surgery only changes the outer form to match their inner feelings. The confusion of surgery with gender identity leads many people to think of postoperative transsexual people as superior to preops or to people who change gender without caring about surgery at all. This hierarchy is unfortunate , because it sets people against each other when them is no need for that. At the same time, it also takes away the mystery of surgery itself. Once again, it "explains" surgery as a way just to prove something, or to join an elite. But genital surgery is too strong an experience to dismiss in this way.

Gender identity is a matter of self-knowledge, but also of social functioning. We inhabit our gender and exhibit it to the world. Genital surgery is not really a social experience at all. Obviously, it becomes important in intimate sexual relationships. It may also give us more confidence, as well as legal status. Ultimately, however, surgery is private. It forms a mystery of the body. It may have more in common with religious body altering, such as ritual scarring, than with changing gender. (It is important to remember, however, that transsexual people not only desire surgery but go to great lengths to get it. This makes the experience radically different from any body altering imposed unwillingly on people, such as clitoridectomy performed on pre-adolescent girls, or even the surgery done on intersex babies.)

There is a verse in the Tao Te Ching, the ancient Chinese teaching on "the Way", that speaks directly to some of these issues. In the translation of Gia-fu Feng by Jane English it reads as follows:

"Knowing ignorance is strength. Ignoring knowledge is sickness. If one is sick of sickness, then one is not sick. The sage is not sick because he is sick of sickness. Therefore he is not sick."

Whenever we try to find the cause of our transsexuality we become weak. This is because we deny its reality within our selves and try to find some explanation outside of us. Some sickness or conditioning. If we know and accept that we are ignorant of what makes us transsexual, and that we should not waste our energy trying to pinpoint some external cause, then "knowing ignorance" will indeed become a source of strength.

But if we cannot know what causes transsexuality, we can know a great deal about it. We can acknowledge its power and its reality, we can learn about other transsexual people and their experiences, and we can discover its ancient worldwide history. To ignore all this knowledge only weakens us and makes us sick.

To overcome the pathology that our culture attaches to transsexuality, we need, above all, to want to overcome it. To finally and utterly reject it. To be sick of sickness. At the moment that we do this, that we become sick of sickness, we begin to escape it, and the deeper we go in that direction, the greater our liberation.

Carl Jung once remarked that the ancients had gods, we have complexes. The Gallae may have experienced feelings and desires similar to those of modem transsexual women. After all, since no one chose them to be Gallae, they must have felt the same overwhelming push to present themselves. But instead of seeing themselves as compelled by a sickness, they believed their Goddess had called them into Her service. Both viewpoints require a surrender, but when we surrender to a Goddess we join ourselves to her power and her beauty. When we surrender to a sickness we get nothing but shame.

Here are two more aspects of that web of images. In Greece, the main God who ruled over transgendered activities was Dionysus. His male followers would dress as women, his female followers would strap on large phalluses. He himself was depicted as a stick with a dress and a beard. Some of the more patriarchal Greek writers described him as "effeminate" or "womanly." Indeed, his myth tells us that he was raised as a girl, and even when he came into his Godhood he often wore feminine clothes and kept his hair long and flowing, something only women were supposed to do.

The psychologist Ginette Paris tells us an interesting story about Dionysus. Raised as a girl, he went mad in adolescence. Paris tells us that we do not know the cause of his madness. Certainly some of the readers of this magazine might make a guess. Insane, Dionysus wanders the world until he comes to Phrygia. the home not only of Cybele and the Gallae, but according to some accounts, Aphrodite. Cybele initiates him, Paris tells us, and restores his sanity. Paris says we do not know how Cybele heals him. Did she initiate him back into his femaleness? Did she lead the God to embrace the doubleness of gender? After he returned from his wanderings, Dionysus became the God of ecstasy, leading men but especially women out of the traps laid for them by a rigid polarized society.

The second myth does not invoke transgendered or transsexual issues quite so directly. However, it involves someone clinging to a statue for deliverance from an emotional storm, and thus it returns us to the presence of Mary overlooking and blessing Dr. Biber's clinic. The Greek Orestes went mad -- madness again -- after Apollo ordered him to kill his mother as punishment for her crime of murdering her husband. Though the Goddess Athena absolved him he still had to pay a penance to the Goddess Artemis (Orestes' mother had killed her husband because he had sacrificed their daughter to Artemis in the hope of gaining the Goddess's favor -- the story of Orestes involves generations of murder and abuse). Thus Orestes wandered the world carrying a statue of Artemis. Finally, he felt the insanity leave him, and he dared to put it down. He set it in a riverbed and walked away. Two Spartans passed by. When they saw the statue staring at them, horribly, from the water, they went mad.

Now, Spartans were known for being ultra-masculine, while Orestes, despite his defense of his father, was considered -- like Dionysus -- effeminate. Thus, the rigidly male Spartans cannot believe the sudden emergence of the dark feminine. But there are more direct connections to our own stories. Artemis was often linked with Cybele. The most famous statue of Artemis stood not in Greece but in Ephesus, a town in Asia Minor, the home territory of Cybele. The Phrygians themselves described Artemis as another name for Cybele.

The Ephesus statue showed the Goddess's torso covered in small globes. Most modern writers assume these are extra breasts, showing her power as the Great Mother. Recently, however, a British archaeologist pointed out that the globes have no nipples. The archaeologist suggested they might have represented the testicles sacrificed by Artemis/Cybele's gallae worshippers.

Classical Greek Artemis was not a mother Goddess but a virgin. We might describe her as forming a link between transsexual women and lesbians (or between the two sides of a transsexual lesbian). Goddess of the Moon, Artemis lived in the mountains apart from the male dominated civilization. She refused all contact with men, spending her time with her band of nymphs. A lover, as well as hunter, of animals, she also watched over women in childbirth. In short, she is almost the model of a back to the land radical lesbian. And yet, as Cybele. she also is the Goddess who accepts the Gallae into her service.

And a final link -- the early Christian council which established Mary as officially the Mother of God took place in Ephesus, the site of that famous statue, once considered one of the seven wonders of the world. And so we come full circle, to Mary, and to Cybele/Artemis, and to statues.

Writing about the story of Orestes, the statue of Artemis, and the two Spartans, Roberto Calasso states: "Such is the power of the image; it heals only those who know what it is. For all others, it is an illness." Transsexuality comes to us with all the power of a divine force who will not be denied. If we recognize it and accept it as a true vision of the self from the deepest part of the psyche, if we carry the Goddess with us until we find ourselves strong enough to set her down, then we may find it opens us to a life of spirituality and joy. If we try to deny it, or belittle it, or explain it away, it can destroy us. Knowing ignorance is strength. Ignoring knowledge is sickness.

If one is sick of sickness, then one is not sick.

***

#WHENEVER WE TRY TO FIND THE CAUSE OF OUR TRANSSEXUALITY WE BECOME WEAK #IF ONE IS SICK OF SICKNESS THEN ONE IS NOT SICK #I'm normally pretty allergic to invocations of spirituality #but this is a perfectly-notched arrow that goes straight through my heart #RIP Rachel Pollack #1945-2023

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sang8262 · 1 year ago

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Random JP Headcanons (SFW, hobbies and lifestyle edition)

Likes doing the laundry and ironing his clothes himself when he can. Cybele likes it too: he loves sleeping on the fresh, warm pile of clothes.

Knows a dedicated tailor through Shadaloo (maybe a team of them), who makes sure to provide JP with the right outfit for the job.

Appearances and fashion are important when deceiving people, so he takes the time to research and wear clothes that will get him the respect or response he needs.

(Such as the Nayshalli-esque suit from the comics, and robes from arcade mode he wears while in the midst of executing his plan for the tournament, but once it's over, he changes into something following his personal tastes a la Alt Costume 2).

Probably knows how to cook, but more often eats at local restaurants and such. Not only does it taste better and saves him the effort of preparing a whole meal, they double as building rapport with business owners, or places to host importat guests for lunch/dinner.

Part of him really does enjoy travelling the world, learning about, and bonding with the people he's plotting to use for his own gain. He just doesn't care quite enough to feel bad for them.

He loves dissecting what makes people tick and finding the exact ways to manipulate or take advantage of their desires, weakness, and habits. It's much like a game for him, to see what he can do and how far he can take it, but still get away without conseauences. Reminds me of a certain attorney one must better call.

Doesn't like sleep because it's a waste of time. That said, makes sure to sleep, but just enough to not be tired, less he make the wrong decision in exhaustion.

Takes short naps with Cybele curled up in his lap. But Cybele, too, doesn't stay still for long, and they both get back to their lives soon enough.

Somewhat of an insomniac. He'd rather stay awake in bed thinking of the next stage of his plans, the logistics of his current one, or whether he made sure to feed Cybele today.

Definitely a workaholic, he's constantly working on some nefarious plan or another, keeping himself busy and his schedule full. I'm sure he spends a lot of time just dedicated to covering his tracks, and making sure his schemes are watertight to prevent any in the first place.

In an interview with devs, they said his theme is inspired to be something JP himself would be listening to as he thinks of his next move. So he definitely enjoys having music playing in the background while he works.

Enjoys various orchestral pieces, or operas, ballet, the works. Based on his win quotes for Manon ("Ballet is truly one of humanitiy's greatest achievements.") and Zangief ("Seeing you, I can't help but recall Mosolov's Iron Foundry, tovarisch."), I'm opting for the easy route and nominating Tchaikovsky and Prokofiev as some of his favorites.

I'd go into more detail about which composers or ballets he'd like, but I don't know enough about music to go too deep. That said, I swear parts of his theme are references to . something. They just sound so familiar...

Likes chess puzzles... but I'm personally not a fan of their decision to make this his canon. It seems so obvious and typical for the "evil puppet master pulling the strings behind the curtains" kinda badguy y'know?

I much rather enjoy his connection with playing cards, as if they wanted to go for a 'safe' hobby for his manipulator/ deceiver type character, poker would make a lot of sense. Chess just seems forced in there, whereas he has visual connections to playing cards with his overall design, font for his name, World Tour moment with the Antique Playing Cards gift, etc.

My hc though, would be pool/ billiards. It fits the dapper, gentlemanly aesthetic he has going on, and he wields a cane, invoking pool cue energy. He'd like practicing and perfecting those crazy trick shots. Plus, Venom from Guilty Gear: it's the ranged, purple energy, tricky type character vibes.

He says in his World Tour conversations that he doesn't keep up to date with the latest news or gossip too well... which is a blatant lie.

His entire recent plot against Ken and Nayshall hinged on using social media virality, sensationalistic news reports, and manipulating public opinion through conspiracy and entertainment: and there's no way he pulled this off by being ignortant to what the audience craves, or what the internet likes to consume.

Plus he was an accountant/ financial advisor with a keen interest in human psychology, the economy, sociology, morality, and culture. He most definitely keeps a close eye on the latest trends or world wide news, out of genuine curiosity and fascination in people, if not out of necessity to make his schemes work right.

#and this got really long but one thought leads to the next #and by the time i realize it's already morning #sf6 jp #jp rambles #this one is sfw but i'll do a spicier edition uhm. later. eventually.

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that-irishman-fan · 11 months ago

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dr. strangelove or how i learned to stop worrying and love the bomb as an 80’s dark fantasy movie headcanons!

This is definitely going to be the most niche thing I’ve written across all my blogs and in my time posting fan content; but I felt the need to do this deep down in my soul. In this new year, I wanted to take one of my favourite films of all time, Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb, and fuse it with one of my favourite genres of film, retro dark fantasy( by that I mean movies like Labyrinth, Legend, The Princess Bride, Neverending Story, Willow, etc. )

Quick note that NONE of Dr. Strangelove belongs to me whatsoever, full rights go to Stanley Kubrick and everyone involved there. I’m only writing based on these brilliant characters and stories, not claiming them as my own in any way. This is merely an alternate universe take, not canon.

These are going to be small headcanons to establish a ground zero idea for what I would love to turn into a full fledged fanfiction, but I wanted to get the general consensus on whether or not it was something worth pursuing. I’m going to tag my favourite human being in the whole world and best friend, @itscrimsonsixx and the absolute goddess that is @jaethebloody in this post!

Thank you everybody for your continued reblogs, likes, comments, and support on my posts, you guys are literally the best and I appreciate each and every single one of you!

FANDOM: Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love The Bomb, 1964

GENRE: Alternate universe, headcanons, medieval au, and whatever else this could be classified as!

SYNOPSIS: My headcanons of the cast of Dr. Strangelove in an 80’s dark fantasy style world!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of angst, swearing, info-dumps I apologize in advance for, and just general weirdness as a whole that I don’t know if I regret or am proud of…

Let’s start by establishing the general plot and who’s who in this demented chaotic bin on fire of a story.

There are two kingdoms in a magical realm who have been warring against each other for eons, as far back as history goes. The purpose for the battle isn’t really known anymore, but these kingdoms fight to carry on their legacies. In the west is the land of Cybele and in the east is the land of Vanth. There are many planes of existence in this world, but the story takes place on the middle plane where humans, magical creatures, and forces of good and evil spirits reside. The metaphysical beings can cross over, but not mortals.

King of the Cybele in the West is Merkin Muffley, late in life to the throne after the sudden passing of his father. He’s a humanitarian, philanthropist, and a good man who cares for his people and wants the best for his land. It is him who has pushed the concordance between both kingdoms despite protests from his court. The character of Staines becomes his Royal Advisor and they are good friends.

The Archlord of the Vanth Kingdom is Dmitri Kissov, a royal who came from a long line of warlords, generals, and intellectuals. Like Muffley, he’s also a benevolent ruler not wanting to sacrifice his men to a war he deems to be useless bloodshed. But pressures from his court mean he’s got a hell of a time trying to make cordial decisions and relations with his ‘sworn rival.’

To cement this alliance into permanency, Dmitri has pledged his sister to marry Merkin for them to unite both the Cybele and the Vanth houses. While Dmitri’s younger sister is a woman of good character, Merkin does not love her. Rather, he is in love with Dmitri, the forbidden love between the two rulers going way back to their youth. They pine for each other afar, not able to express their love.

In this instance, I would prescribe the classic role of the innocent princess to Muffley whereas his love interest can be the noble prince from a faraway land or the outcast he’s prohibited from marrying. I want to switch up gender roles with this story, giving the characters broader spectrum to express themselves without ideas of stereotypes or patriarchy being a dominant force.

The Royal Guardsmen of Cybele are led by the High General Buck Turgidson, a militaristic and uncouth old soldier who was once apart of the crusades of the Lady of the Moon, the Cybele deity. Since such wars were outlawed, he craves the thrill of battle and thus opposes the union of the Cybele and Vanth kingdoms. ( Quick note, the Moon Goddess is Cybele’s deity whereas the Vanth are atheistic, also similar to how the Americans and Russians were in the original movie. Of course, there are always exceptions, the goddess is universal, but the Vanth tend to be skeptics and the Cybele more spiritual )

He is having an affair with the dark witch, Madame Scott, in the enchanted forests bordering Vanth and Cybele. She promises to keep eyes open for any rebel forces in the woods if he does not turn her coven in for practicing the dark arts. In return, the two have a passionate albeit dysfunctional relationship.

Overseer of the court of Vanth is the Duke Alexei de Sadesky, a diplomat and merchant appointed to the role after many years as a successful broker. He is well-educated, reserved, but with a fiery and passionate side like most people of Vanth. His love interest is also an ‘enemy’ who is in the court of the Cybele, with the exception that they are together show love in correspondences.

This love interest is none other than the famed sorcerer, alchemist, and learned man rumoured to not be from their mortal plane—Jürgen Merkwurdigliebe or Doctor Strangelove. He has tremendous powers, protecting the kingdom of Cybele with his technological skills of infused magical weaponry and machines. It is him who gave flight, weapons of warfare, and many more amazing inventions to both sides of the war by his genius. He is much like High General Turgidson, opposed to unification but having to put on a public face. And he’s very versed in magic and the dark arts, once being a dark wizard of the Supreme Nox before defecting when it was locked away by the heroes of many years before. But with a new generation and the peace talks, it has broken free—and Strangelove may or may not be involved.

Strangelove would be the classic Merlin archetype, sort of the Gandalf-slash-Dumbledore character with his mad genius. de Sadesky is a villain who’s more of a hero than anything else in this story. Him and Strangelove regard themselves as married, their love covert and secret so as not to cause scandal over two rivals being together. A male identifying person being a bachelor isn’t uncommon in this world and neither for a female identifying person, but marriage is considered to be important—almost necessary to royals and aristocrats. And of course, genderqueer, non-binary, fluid, and agender folks are fully accepted too, this is a world where the binary doesn’t have a hold on the minds of the people. War, famine, dark magic, pleasing the gods, and being of good character are far more important than what pronouns a person uses. Its just considered acceptable and normal.

Now, those who oppose the unification who aren’t in the aristocracy have banded together to form the vagrant rebel forces. Looming over the peace talks between these two kingdoms is the Supreme Nox, a being only spoken of in only the darkest of circles. It is a being of pure darkness, pure sin, and pure diabolical evil, the very incarnate of everything frightening, harmful, and broken in the cosmos. The minority of subjects and officials who break away from their kingdoms because they don’t like the idea of the war ending fall into two categories: they either join the Supreme Nox and its growing armies of shadows, or they integrate into a new group of people hidden deep in the woods.

This new backwoods commune is lead by a former wing pilot for the Cybele kingdom named T.J. Kong. While he isn’t hostile nor wanting to be subservient to Supreme Nox, he refuses to go back to the villages and grand city of Cybele. This story revolves around nationalism just as the original source movie does, and I wanted to keep those elements in my little fic here. To get rid of it would strip the characters of this important detail. Kong is devoted to his new found family, knowing all their names, stories, and backgrounds, and he is as kind a leader as Muffley and Kissov.

I would love for Kong to be the quirky sidekick, much like Brown Tom and Screwball in Legend or Vizzini’s crew in Princess Bride. I can imagine him being so off-kilter and just hilarious, but with a heart of gold. Keep him in the back of your mind as we progress, he’s going to show up shortly.

On the opposite spectrum, there’s the turncoat Jack D. Ripper of the Cybele kingdom. Once a middle ranking guardsman, he became aware of the unification talks between Cybele and Vanth. He’s fought in many of the wars between the two powers, staunchly pro-Cybele. Conspiracies, lies, and disgust all boiled over into him going rogue, and joining the Supreme Nox. Because he has national secrets and knows the weaknesses of the kingdom, he is given a bounty and becomes the most wanted man in the lands of the Moon Goddess and in the Vanth lands too.

Now who should chase after Ripper but courageous Lionel Mandrake of Cybele! He’s of middle class blood, the reject of six other brothers and was the rightful governor of his village until it was stolen from him by his younger siblings. As such, Mandrake became a guardsman. This offended his family so much since they dislike the upper eschalons, that he was cut off. When Mandrake learned of Ripper’s desertion, he took it upon himself to go after his former commander. He journeys through the plains, mountains, and woods towards the dreaded Castle of Doomsday of the Supreme Nox in the badlands to retrieve Ripper. He’s become a classic Dungeons and Dragons style ranger mixed with the nomadism of Aragorn from Lord of The Rings. Along the way he meets T.J. Kong, who joins him to stop Ripper and the Supreme Nox.

Mandrake is most definitely the chosen one archetype, the scruffy hero who rises up to the challenge of good versus evil. It’s in a long lost prophecy for him to join forces with Kong, Ms. Scott, and de Sadesky to conquer the forces of darkness that would destroy the universe; so think Legend with Tim Curry, basically, but with the aesthetic of Labyrinth and Willow, and the type of humour of The Princess Bride.

I’m gonna throw in the character of Colonel Bat Guano ( oh my god, his name ) as a folk hero of his village in Cybele, famed for his valour and his nobility. He’s not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but he can fight and he’s respected by his countrymen for it. He comes from Mandrake’s village and joins him at the final battle against the Supreme Nox.

So yeah, the basic premise is that Cybele and Vanth are in the process of making peace and possible unification whilst having to contend with the very real threat of the Supreme Nox. It’s a clusterfuck and amalgamation of everything I love about Dr. Strangelove and about retro dark fantasy, and it’s honestly weird even for me—but I feel as though it could be really good? I don’t know, time will tell.

Thank you so much for reading if you got this far, I am BEYOND grateful and appreciative for you reading my thoughts. Please let me know what you think, if this is something you’d be interested in seeing or something I should just keep to myself. Have a great rest of your week everyone and Happy New Year!

#dr strangelove or how i stop worrying and love the bomb #dr strangelove #dr strangelove fanfiction #dr strangelove au #stanley kubrick characters #stanley kubrick movies #retro movies #dark fantasy #80s dark fantasy #dark fantasy au #my writing

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