#specialist subject records

[bandcampsnoop]

3/31/24.

When I first heard the first few seconds of "Stranger" by Bristol, UK band Cosmit, I really thought Shogun (Tim Wall) was the singer. I mean why not? He's been rather prolific lately what with the releases from his bands Finnogun's Wake and Antenna.

And while this undoubtedly sounds quite a bit like those aforementioned bands along with Royal Headache, there are some sweet backup vocals as well as times this sounds more like Green Day.

They have a new EP (currently digital only), this 7" and a cassette to their name. All releases are via Bristol, UK label Specialist Subject Records.

[deadbrokerek]

SHIT PRESENT- "What Still Gets Me" LP 2nd press on Aqua Blue Color vinyl from Specialist Subject! North America Preorder @ https://deadbrokedistro.com💥 Limited copies still available! Ships next week!

[saymoretv]

- I didn't like Martha, or so I thought. I felt like they were too sacharine and too poppy for my tastes. But the good about this Tumblr is that it gives me a reason to revisit bands I perhaps haven't immediately clicked with. And whilst getting a 3.5 hour train from Northumberland via Durham (the near enough hometown of Martha) to London, I thought why not give them another go whilst speeding through their Northeastern homelands. 

- Maybe it was the correct cultural context or just the desperate need for distraction on a noisey LNER train (🤪🔫) but something did eventually click for me and Martha, after a good hour of mobile phone music video action. They were, in fact, the perfect band to revisit for their music videos since they have so many. I mean, when it comes to the sheer amount of YouTube video output Martha are more in line with UK Drill rappers than other DIY punk bands, they are that prolific.

- There's a real variety of styles when it comes to their videos. They range from the more predictable (for the DIY punk scene / genre) tour footage / montage and spoofs of (B) movies, as well as some more esoteric and whimsical videos that play with narrative conventions, as well as just having a bunch filmed in the US with little reference to the band. The band also have a handful of scrappy lyric videos which definitely play to the band's handmade, hand drawn, cut and paste, DIY aesthetic, and it’s in this latter style of music video that the ‘Hope Gets Harder’ video falls.

- Although there are songs of Martha’s I like even more than Hope Gets Harder, the mood and meaning, quite literally spelt out in the video, is one of the best encapsulations of how it feels to live in England in 2022. 

- In talking about the state of the country, not just in terms of a political or economic analysis but just simply looking around at the empty high streets and depressed cities, there’s so little to be optimistic about. And yet, it’s in clinging to some sort of hope and happiness in sentiment and feeling that can feel so radical. The song seems to capture this perfectly in the contrast between the upbeat, optimistic music and the darker, pessimistic lyrics. A sort of thought that if we can’t be revolutionary in action then maybe we can be in affect? 

- Personally, I think some of the best Pop songs are always those that sound happy and light on the surface but scratch the surface and there’s a darker, more complex core to the music. The obvious example of a band who perfected this style would be The Smiths, but I’ve also always held up ‘Try Me’ by Dej Loaf as a personal fav example of a song that contrasts real dark, pessimistic lyrical content with the super, bright, optimistic poppy production.

- Anyhow, the song is a melodic pop-punk gem that in its very existence provides a bit of that precious hope that Martha and I agree on is so hard to come by. I plan to send this to all my non-UK based friends who ask how things are going. Thanks Martha.

[senorboombastic]

Release Rundown - Martha, Shit And Shine, Sugar Horse and TVAM

Release Rundown – Martha, Shit And Shine, Sugar Horse and TVAM

Words: Ben Forrester Martha – Please Don’t Take Me Back(Specialist Subject) According to the internet, it’s been 10 years since Martha released their debut single. Since then the County Durham quartet have become darlings of the DIY punk scene, smashing out consistently brilliant records full of sharp pop melodies and ripping guitar leads. ‘Please Don’t Take Me Back’ is their fourth album and…

[ssaalexblake]

no but even aside from the very obvious bridal carry over the threshold, when 13′s suddenly back from the forced regeneration in the pod thing and they’re touching through the glass, 13′s outfit looks Very Traditional Wedding Suit. 

Hilariously, the celery looks like the flower in the groom’s lapel. 

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Friendly neighborhood forensic pathologist Danny Fenton is a new master of The Court of Owls? (Dead on main, of course) +Part 2: Talon Dick

Don’t underestimate what a ghost will do for a higher education. You see, it's the custom of the Fenton family not to run away from things they are afraid of but to face their fear. So Danny Fenton, who has learned to fear scalpels, steel clamps and surgical retractors, decides to do something about it and to dedicate his life to giving souls of those who died a violent death the final rest and justice they deserve.

Well, it didn’t really come to him at once. It started out as a simple joke:

Danny didn’t think he could continue his education after school. Frankly, his grades suck. However, Tucker for fun applied for a scholarship for gifted villains from Gotham University on his behalf.

And hell, they are willing to pay money for his education. Pay in full! Living in Park Row is also incredibly cheap. And with his flying ability, he’ll also save on transportation.

Danny is not a villain. And he’s not planning on becoming one. But he couldn’t lose that chance.

Why do you deserve this scholarship? “My parents are renowned ecto scientists, and I’ve seen their dissection work at its best. Medical school is expensive, and this scholarship will help me accomplish my goal of becoming a forensic pathologist and helping maintain the boundary between the world of the living and the world of the dead…or use it for my own ends. Of course.”

Well, Mr Two-Face was fully confident that despite his grades in the subjects, Danny was fully committed to achieving high academic achievement. Finally, work experience of Dan came in handy somewhere.

There were only few things about the death that Danny didn’t find on his own or from his ghost friends, so he managed to graduate in record time. Young Fenton thought he was lucky enough to get a job near Crime Alley. It was odd that the job was available. Even a new specialist like him was allowed to work full-time. And the salary was very decent.

~~~~~~

Danny: Yes, Jazz, everything is just fine. I found a great job and I’m trying to relax and find a hobby, you know. Started feeding the local birds. Apparently they were abused, the poor things are so shy and aggressive.

The local birds:

~~~~~~

Let’s say that a returned Jason as undead cannot be killed for forever. The stab wounds heal quickly, the bullet holes sometimes itch unpleasantly for a few days, but in general his regeneration is at a level with some metahumans. This is convenient. But when Red Hood wakes up in the morgue after a particularly severe injury, he’s not happy. Sometimes even looking in the mirror at his dissection scar is difficult for him. And this situation is a fucking nightmare. Danny: Oh. Are you awake now? I’m sorry I didn’t have time to put you on the couch, I didn’t have clean sheets and my assistant would have killed me because of the new stains. Red Hood: What the hell? I’m sorry?! It’s fucked up! I’d love to see you wake up on the dissection table. Danny: Been there Done that. But hey, I didn’t put you there. You didn’t get here on my shift, give me a break.

Jason: …So, what's now? Danny: Well, I can offer you tea or coffee. Of course, only after I sew up the hole in your stomach and give you a change of clothes. Or I could go after the documents and pretend I didn’t notice one of my bodies got away. But then don’t dream about novocaine blockade. Pretty liver by the way, you don’t see that much in crime lords. Jason: Um, thank you? But you’re weird. Usually people are praised for the beauty of the face or eyes rather than… Danny: Wow, now I feel attacked.You wake up in your helmet. I can’t compliment what I can’t see. Jason: Gee, I’m surprised your colleague hasn’t taken it off yet. Danny: And lose important evidence? It is not customary for us to put curiosity above professionalism.

~~~~~

Jason learns quickly that although Batman is willing to go anywhere to track him, there are always exceptions to the rule. The morgue was one of them. Not surprisingly, the emotional constipation and uncomfortable theme of Jason’s death worked like a perfect bat repeller. Over time, Jason becomes really interested in a guy who genuinely laughs at his death jokes and listens to his problems at work without judgment. Danny is too cute and nice.

Danny*works*: No visitors allowed here.

Jason: Unless you are a zombie, right?

Danny:...Still not one of your hideouts. The book is where you left it, make some tea if you want it.

~~~~~

Jason, once again delivered without a sign of life to Danny after the fight, woke up during pupillary reflex test.

Jason: Oh, beauty, you are just dazzling today.

Danny: As I thought, your regeneration didn’t cure your concussion before your resurrection. I’ll give you referrals for all the tests and examinations. And we really should stop seeing each other like this. Please take care of yourself.

Jason: I don’t think you have the right to prescribe them to me. Danny: Technically I do not. But we live in Gotham. And for some time the hospital where I work at night is very sensitive to my requests.

Red Hood: And why? Danny: It’s hard to explain… Red Hood: Doctor Handsome, I’ve been through some shit, so try to surprise me. Danny: Okay, okay. Look, you are a crime lord for not too long, right? But criminals and cops are afraid of you and kids and your henchmen really likes you. Jason: ..So what? Danny: Can you please recommend how to maintain a reputation but so your people aren’t afraid of you? Jason: Why do you need this information? Your assistant finally realized you’re friends with walking corpses? Danny: It’s not about that! Although, like.. you aren’t wrong? It’s complicated. I may, well, accidentally, honestly, have seized power over a local secret aristocratic criminal society.

Jason: Baby, please tell me everything. I have a restaurant as a front for a business nearby. It’s a date. Let's go. Danny: Let me finish a few stitches first, Jay.

~~~~~

Red Hood and Red Robin fight near Batman: Hood: Replacement was on patrol without permission! Red Robin: And Jason is dating the new owner of Court of Owls! Batman:.. he's doing WHAT? Jason, how could you take such a risk? it is completely unprofessional and Red Hood: At least he loves me for what’s inside me! Red Robin: Yeah, like a beautiful liver. It’s a great relationship base. Red Hood: I’m talking about my feelings and interests. Dumb lil stalker with a big mouth! I’ll teach you not to bother my boyfriend.

~~~~~

Henchman: Boss. We shouldn’t go into that area, the rumors are that there are Talons here. Red Hood: All under control, they won’t touch us. Henchman: How can you be sure? The poem says 'Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadow..' Red Hood: Yeah yeah "speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head". I’m sleeping with their boss, of course I’m sure. Henchman: Boss, don’t kid like that. Red Hood: I don’t pay you for gossip. Let's go.

Dick, to whom the memories began to return, haunts Jason because he did not cut for Lil Wing apple slices like he likes for lunch: Talon came to finish the job. Henchmen: scream

~~~~~

Jason *shows Danny 'Red Flags' on youtube*: Hey, baby, want to be a little shit on our date? I know where Brucie Wayne’s having dinner tonight, so you can meet the family.

[libraford]

Here's what's going on in Ohio right now. Heavy stuff ahead.

First, I want to apologize for the misinformation in my original post. I am still learning about legislative processes. To correct: the changes to ODH and OMHAS in regards to gender therapy are not a bill, they are changes in regulations.

This is important because citizens CAN affect rule changes. There is an open commentary period where your submissions get counted and can affect how they write new regulations.

Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, legal advocate, or medical professional. I'm just a dude who had to have it all explained to me.

The first one is Ohio Mental Health and Addiction Services. The rules proposed would make the already prohibitive process of gender transition even harder. In order to diagnose and treat gender dysphoria, a hospital needs to have a board certified psychologist per patient, a board certified endocrinologist familiar with the age group being diagnosed per patient, and a medical ethicist overseeing the hospital's plan for transition. 'Board certified' does not guarantee that the specialist is trans-friendly. It must include a detransition plan. Hospitals would have to report compliance annually. The professionals must have a contractual relationship with the patient, but do not need to offer in-person care. (In this instance, I'll get to that in the next rule change.)

This rule also deems it impermissible to prescribe gender transition care (this includes hormones, puberty blockers, or drugs) for anyone under the age of 21 without the approval of the professionals mentioned and 6 months of therapy.

There is an exception for intersex people, who may have their sex assigned to them without their consent.

The open comment period for this ends January 19 at 5pm.

Send an email to MH-SOT-rules@mha.ohio.gov with the subject title: "Comments on Gender Transition Care Rules."

The second one is Ohio Department of Health and it repeats a lot of the same as the first one. However, the focus is more on the regulation of doctors and paperwork. Anyone seeking transition will be put into a registry with their name redacted, but demographics like age, agab, specific diagnosis (difficult to achieve with the new regulations mentioned above), and any medications (not just related to gender transition, but any medications at all). Any cessation of care must be reported within 30 days.

This is a lot of paperwork and can overburden hospitals.

That 30 days cessation is important because if a person transfers doctors or if a clinic closes and the paperwork isn't filed, it may count as a 'detransition' when tallying demographics, even if that is not the case.

But what's curious is that the ODH regulations DO require in-person care. The rules are contradictory and vague.

The comment period for this ends Feb 5th.

Send a comment through the ODH website

Here are some important things that were mentioned at the meeting:

This is a good time to be personal with your statements. If this would disrupt your life in any way, please say so. "I fear that" "I believe this" "I worry that"- these are great ways to start your comment. An example one person gave is "I worry that this change in regulations would force me and my daughter to move out of state.'

With that being said, anything that you send to these sites will be public record, so be cautious about what you reveal about yourself in your comment.

If you are in need of help, please reach out to one of these resources:

Trans Ohio Emergency Fund Resource Page

Kaleidoscope Youth Center

If you are in need of legal advice on how to navigate all this, please call

888-LGBT-LAW

This is not everything. There is unfortunately more because Ohio decided to break a record this month with anti-trans motions. But today I'm focusing on things that we can take action on.

[peachesofteal]

Soap x Cypher's masterlist 18+ mdni / dark and twisty themes / dubcon / explicit, spanking Soap/female reader Sergeant MacTavish teaches you a lesson about honesty

"Cypher."

"Yeah?" You barely look up, too focused on the raw data that's filtering across your screen.

"Laswell asked for you." You don't hear it at first, the request. You're too lost in the lines and lines of code, numbers, letters, symbols all working together, where is it, where- "Cypher!" your coworker barks, and you jump.

"Shit. Sorry... what?"

"Laswell. Upstairs. Briefing room. Now?" Your lips quirk, head hanging. Yeah, guess you deserved that.

"Did she say for what?"

"No. And it's not my place to ask." They jerk their head, and you lockdown your console. Fine.

Station Chief Laswell scares you. She's probably one of the smartest people you've ever met, quick with analysis, observation, she can read a situation from top to bottom in less than three seconds. She knows everyone, and everything.

And, she handles the 141.

You don't have frequent interaction with her. You report to her, ultimately, but it's hard to understand where she falls on the org chart. It's hard to understand where you fall on the org chart, if you're being honest, since you're not military, just a civilian contractor. All of the authoritative titling and chain of command makes your head spin a little bit, and you've pretty much decided to ignore it all. Keep your head down, do your job, mind your ps and qs. Your yes sirs and no sirs.

You tap your knuckles against the briefing room door.

"Come in." It's a man's voice, a deep, smooth voice with a British accent, and it makes you pause, confused. I thought Laswell was up here?

You push the door open, hesitantly, and what you find makes your stomach nearly crawl up into your mouth.

The 141 are in here. You glance around hastily before finding Laswell, eyes a little wider than you’re comfortable with. They’re all seated at the table, looking at you, and when you peek at Sergeant MacTavish, he cocks his head so subtly, you might have missed it. Fuck. Shit. Why is he looking at you like that? You think you might pass out. Why do you feel like this around him?

"Gentleman. This is the civilian specialist I told you about." She gestures to you, giving them your government name before continuing, and they all nod. "This is Captain Price, Lieutenant Riley, Sergeant Garrick, and Sergeant MacTavish." She points to each, making the introductions to which you nod, and smile, trying as hard as you can to make eye contact so they don't think you're rude. When she gets to MacTavish, your stomach heats, and on instinct, your eyes drop to the floor before glancing back up to find him focused on you, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.

"You're Cypher." Lieutenant Riley comments, and you nod, surprised. How does he know you?

"That's uh... my nickname. Sir."

“Cypher is our resident analytics expert, and we believe she’s located your targets.” Laswell continues, tapping a key on her laptop that wakes up the black screen of the giant TV. You do a double take when you see your work up there, your lists of compiled data, cross matched and sorted. “I was hoping you could walk them through some of this.” Oh. Oh no. Talk to them?

“Uh okay.” Your fingers find each other, instinctually, trying to pick and tear at your skin as your heart rate speeds up. “This is-“ you glance at the screen, and then back at their expectant faces. Sergeant MacTavish is watching you, predatory gleam in his eyes, and you gulp. Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here. “This is a highlight of hot zones in two different target cities. It’s pulled from local agencies’ databases, everything from license plate readers to residency records, IP hits and census information. After cross matching with all possible identities for your targets, family members, associated persons, patterns of behavior, I confidently believe I've identified and located your subjects, and they reside in these areas.”

"You know who they are?" The Captain asks, surprised, and you nod.

“How confident are ye?” Sergeant MacTavish asks, and you blink.

“Uh, like ninety percent” He looks… displeased. “Sir.” You tack on at the end, hoping to see some sort of approval for it, and when it doesn’t come, the ache inside you widens.

“I like those odds. Heard you were good, but this is something' else. Our intelligence has been working on ID'ing these guys for months with no luck.” Sergeant Garrick raises an eyebrow, exchanging a look with his Captain, and you brighten a little bit. Okay, that’s good. Right? You did good?

“Not sure ninety percent is good enough.” Sergeant MacTavish answers, and Laswell nods like she agrees. You wilt. Welp. And now your boss agrees. “Can ye show me the raw data?”

“I- sure, it’s…” you snap your mouth shut abruptly when he stands, and motions for you to follow him out the door.

“Let’s go then.”

You don’t make it back down to your console. Instead, he pushes you inside a maintenance closet, hand firm on your shoulder, guiding you down to your knees in the back, behind a shelf.

“Sergeant I don’t understand, I-“

“Ye tryin’ to send us out on a wild goose chase?”

“What?” You stare up at him, jaw slack. He’s terrifying, lit by damp, yellow light, arms crossed in front of his chest. There’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes your thighs press together instinctively and at the same time, your heart starts palpitating. “Sir, I don’t-“ his hand darts forward, pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, squishing them just a bit with a menacing smile.

"Are ye tryin' to send us on a wild goose chase? Yes or no, specialist."

"Nossir." It mushes together in your mouth, vowels trapped between your cheeks, and he nods.

"I didnae think ye were." He releases you, only to step closer, and you gulp when his hands find the waistband of your pants. "Take these to yer knees. Now."

"My... my pants?"

"Aye." When you don't move, he sighs. "Ye dinnae want me to have to ask a second time, do ye?" And no, you don't. Because you're sure whatever is coming will be far worse if you test his patience.

It's humiliating, dropping the pants to your knees, and the mortification gets even worse when his finger slips under the hem of your very boring, generic brand black cotton thong, pulling it with a yank so it jerks you forward and you almost trip.

"Sergeant... Sir, I'm sorry, I-"

"Why are ye sorry? Stay put." He turns away for a second, locating an old, fold up chair that he sets up where he was standing, settling into it with his knees spread. "Now, come."

"I'm sorry, I don't know why... why this is happening, I don't understand." You try to explain your confusion, but it all comes out as nonsense, and he nods, sympathetically, like he's sad for you, in a mocking, cruel way.

He taps his thigh.

"Hips here." He instructs, moving you like a doll when you start to bend down, pressing your belly against one leg, your breasts and collarbone against the other, ass in the air. "Bleedin' Christ. Ye sure are a sight." He squeezes you, fingers rough in the swell of your cheeks, before smoothing over the skin of your hip, pressing a firm palm to the small of your back. "Do ye know why we're doin' this?"

"No." You whisper, eyes closed. You don't know why you're doing any of this, why he's doing it. You don't know why he picked you, why he keeps you in his sights, why he has you bent over his knee. You don't know why you felt floaty and fucked up after the first time, why you dreamt about it, why you felt like you needed it. This is wrong. Isn't it? He swats your ass, barely a tap, and you flinch. "Sir. Sorry. Sir."

"Ye said you were ninety percent."

"I did."

"But I know, ye're better than ninety percent, aren't ye, my wee genius?" Your lungs are burning with the breath you're holding, and you let it out in a burst.

"Yes." You whisper to the floor.

"Why did ye lie?" The question is followed by a swing of air, and then a palm is stinging across your skin, pin prickles of pain making you whimper. "Count."

"One-e." You gasp. He doesn't pull his punches. He strikes fast. True. Twice in a row, the intensity making you choke on a whine. "Two, three. I didn't."

"Ye did." He rubs the point of impact, cooing at your ass like it needs comfort, before asking again. "Why did ye lie?"

"I wasn't, I-" Smack. This one comes in the exact same spot, a cruel choice, and you bite down on your lip, eyes scrunching shut. "Four."

"Why did ye lie?" You don't answer right away, and he swings, palm swatting down onto your other cheek, skin rippling beneath the hit. It steals your breath, and he prompts you again, with the same question, and you fail to answer, his response coming swiftly against you, smacking raw against burning skin. It's starting to shift now, the pain blurring the lines between uncomfortable and unbearable, while also taking on a different characteristic all together, one that has blood rushing beneath your skin, clit rubbing against the front of your pulled tight thong uncomfortably, not enough contact or pressure to do anything, but enough to drive you insane. You blink, trying to keep yourself together, trying to prevent floating away into space somewhere.

"Sir!" You pant, and he laughs, shadow of a hand swinging through the air, landing against you with a resounding crack.

"Tell me. Why did ye lie?"

"I-" You scramble for an answer. Why did you lie? Why didn't you just say the truth, the facts. What you knew, without a doubt. Why did you lie? "I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of... of the room. Of making a mistake."

"But ye didnae make a mistake. Ye found a needle in a haystack." You nod. He's right, you did. "So the next time I ask ye how confident ye are, ye say one hundred. Ye tell everyone in that room, that ye did something other people can't, and ye own it."

"Y-yes sir." You whisper, and he runs a palm over the screaming skin of your ass.

"Good girl." He murmurs, your lower lip trembling. "Ye did good for me. So good."

"Thank you." You sniffle, and he shifts your body, lowering you to your knees in front of the chair, pants bunched under your bones like a little cushion.

"Sir?" You ask, confused as he pats your cheek, bending to press a long, hot kiss to your mouth, fingertips stroking across your pussy, overtop your underwear, before pulling back with a devilish smirk.

“Open.” He instructs, and your eyes widen. “Not goin’ tell ye again, sweet Cy. Open. Now.” You do, lips parting, mouth cranking wide, and he removes his fingers, hand drifting to his pants. Oh, fuck.

If your mouth wasn’t already hanging open, it would have dropped to the floor when he pulled his cock free. It’s long, long enough that it’s intimidating, and thick, probably as wide as your wrist, flushed red at the tip. There’s a bead of pre come dripping from the head, cozy crop of brown curls at the base.

“S-s-sir.” You squeak, and he smiles, cupping the back of your head as he taps your lips with it. "It won't- I can't, it's too-"

"I'll teach ye." He grunts, feeding you his cock slowly, tears falling down over your cheeks when he presses it into the back of your throat, as much as you can go, not even to the root yet. "That's it. Jus' like that, easy." He uses your mouth, your face, hand firm on the back of your head, stroking in and out between your lips until they go numb, faster and faster until you believe you might pass out, cock head jamming down past your tongue, blocking your airway with each thrust. You think you might black out. You could be blacked out right now, and not even know. You're not positive you're still in your body, the body with a sore, stinging ass, wet pussy, and occupied mouth, your Sergeant using you as he sees fit, determined to possess you like some sort of demon. You gag on him, throat seizing, and he pushes through it, bound and determined, your name a ragged whisper whistling through his teeth. "Fuck, swallow it. Dinnae lose a drop." He grits, and then plunges all the way, flooding you with sticky, sour salted earth that pours down your throat, hot come dripping down into your stomach.

You sit there, on your knees, after, stunned, unmoving. He shifts around you, pulling your pants up, fixing your hair, wiping your face. He's speaking to you too, murmuring soft words in your ear, lips touching your cheek, your temple, something about how good you are, how sweet, how he's not going to let anything happen to you, how you don't have to worry, because he's here now- and you slip into it like you're falling into your bed, closing your eyes and drifting away, melting into his side when he gathers you up, cradles you against his chest.

"C'mon sweet Cy. Let's get ye to bed."

[techhasmjolnir]

Rites of the Covenant

Plot A: You're out on an extended scientific mission with Clone Force 99, assessing a planet for possible threats before the Republic moves ahead with plans for colonization. Damaged equipment leaves you and the squad stuck on the planet until replacements arrive.

Plot B: Hunter fulfills an intensely private mission of his own.

Author's Notes:

This is another one-shot story with a hefty word count (10,696). It features subject matter that is not intended for squeamish readers. The latter half of the story is roughly based on personal experience, although for the sake of entertainment, there is some embellishment. Please proceed with caution, and if you like what you read, please feel free to reblog!

Important Notes:

This content is strictly for audiences 18+. The roles in this story assume female readers and Hunter. Concepts introduced include: biting, blood, blood play, dirty talk, F oral (receiving), M & F masturbation, menstrual cycle, pain, PiV, and voyeurism (accidental).

The assignment was a relatively straightforward one – you, one of the Republic's leading scientists in the highly specialized field of bioacoustics, were to head to the planet of Eyyhá to record data and assess the feasibility of possible human colonization. Normally, a squad of regs would have been assigned to you for security detail and general assistance out in the field. However, this time around, you were left with questions when the word came down that a squad of specialist clone troopers – Clone Force 99 – would be accompanying you.

You found out that General Skywalker and Captain Rex were the ones who pitched the idea of giving you this assignment after your assistance helped the 501st locate a deeply hidden Separatist base that previously, no one was able to detect. You received the proper clearance, and the day you first met the squad still sticks out in your mind. Memories of Rex walking you up to the guys, who were casually waiting outside the Marauder for you to arrive... Remembering the looks each one of them gave you, particularly the tall silver-haired one, and the one with the facial tattooing; you assumed him to be the squad leader before he even spoke.

“Men, I'd like to introduce you to Dr. Y/N. She will be accompanying you on this mission to gather critical bioacoustic data that will ultimately lead to a decision as to whether Eyyhá can be colonized. You are to provide round the clock security and assist with any help she needs out in the field.”

The silver-haired one looked at you, an expression of contempt riddled upon his lips. “Just great...our talents being underutilized yet again for a civilian. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my bunk.” He picked up the large rifle at his side and walked into the ship. “Hunter, why are we even doing this?!” he said loudly, before disappearing.

“I'm really sorry about that,” the tattooed one spoke, his voice low and smooth. “That's Crosshair, by the way. Resident sniper, and usually a completely insufferable asshole. I'm Sergeant Hunter. I'm glad to meet you.”

“No offense taken, Sergeant. I've worked with regs before and gotten my share of snide remarks, but his was a bit much,” you reply, a little curtly.

“Please, call me Hunter. Everyone else does,” he said with a genuine smile. “Let me introduce you to the rest of my squad. The behemoth next to me is Wrecker, our demolitions expert. The one with the cybernetics and wearing the kama is Echo, who's new to the squad. The one who can't seem to be pulled away from his datapad for a split second, is Tech. Both Tech and Echo's electronics and engineering skills should be invaluable in the field.”

You smiled at the one called Wrecker, who caught your gaze and returned it with a light wave. “Glad to have you aboard, Y/N! If you need anything blown up, I'm your man!”

Hunter put his face into his hand, shaking lightly. You laughed heartily and winked. “I don't think there will be any real need for explosives on this mission, but you never know!”

Both Echo and Tech looked over at you. Echo smiled and gave you a salute with his scomp-link arm. “Welcome, Y/N. I'm looking forward to assisting you in any way possible.”

Tech looked up from his datapad and nudged his lenses up with a finger, nodding a few times in what you considered to be approval. “I have heard a great deal about you, Dr. Y/N. Your work as a bioacoustician is unparalleled. I read your last published journal...remarkable observations, I must say. I look forward to working with you, as well.” He glanced down at his datapad once more, tapping away at it absentmindedly.

Rex clapped his hands together once. “Excellent! You're in good hands with these men. You'd better be on your way. Intel we received indicates it will be best to land on the day side of the planet and establish a base camp. We know the planet is teeming with life, but the last thing you need are any unwanted surprises in the dark.”

“Then we'll take our leave, Rex. Let me take those cases from you, Y/N,” Hunter offered, picking up both the heavy black cases like they were nothing. “Good luck, everyone. May the Force be with you,” Rex called as Hunter took your belongings into the Marauder, Echo and Tech entering behind him, with you and Wrecker bringing up the rear.

Wrecker clapped you on the back a little too cordially, causing you to stumble with your overloaded backpack full of personal effects. He caught you just before you fell face first onto the entrance ramp, laughing loudly. “Sorry about that! Guess I don't know my own strength! I'm happy you're joining us. I don't know what bio... Uhh, bioac-- What is it that you do, again?”

You paused a moment, turning around to look at Rex, with his always handsome, stoic face. Raising your arm, you waved to him. He nodded once, then turned and walked off. Turning back, you looked up at Wrecker, feeling supremely tiny next to him. “I'm a bioacoustician, Wrecker. It means I study the sounds of nature, put simply.”

He nodded thoughtfully, and you knew he was trying to figure out exactly what you meant. “Well, I don't know what you'll do with all that, but it sounds kind of boring, if I'm being honest.” His remark caught you just the right way, making you laugh long and hard. “You're not the first one to say that to me, Wrecker. It's definitely not for everyone...”

His infectious laughter joined yours. “Come on, let's get you a bunk so you can settle in.”

*****

The mission was doomed from the very start. You quickly realized the intel was missing critical information that didn't prepare you or the squad for the horrific storms Eyyhá often has, and not long after you had set up base camp, some of the equipment had been struck by lightning. Cases of precious sensor arrays and receivers were mangled beyond repair, although you had Tech and Echo look at the blackened parts to see if anything was salvageable. They looked at you, and didn't even say anything...they just shrugged and gave you the look that clearly said, “sorry, you're shit out of luck.”

Thankfully you still had a few spares to at least get some work started, but without everything in place, it was rather pointless to start data collection. Your request to the Senate to return to Coruscant was denied after being told that despite how little functional equipment you had left, you needed to begin research immediately; a transport with replacement equipment would be sent as soon as you submitted a request with your needs.

Much to your chagrin, most attempts at field work have been rained out thus far, so you've spent more time hanging out with the guys in the Marauder than you have doing any actual research. They've certainly turned out to be a lot different than the regs you've worked with in the past. Very distinct personalities, senses of humor, personal habits... Hunter and Wrecker warmed up to you very quickly. Wrecker took to you so much, he affectionately started calling you ad'íka, while Echo and Tech took a little longer to come around, and Crosshair... You're still unsure of Crosshair.

Initially, you were afraid that being a woman, the risk of awkwardness or sexual tension would be quite high, especially since you were spending a lot of time in close quarters with them. Quite the opposite, actually...you get along with them very well, tolerating the light flirtation and off-color remarks better than you thought you would. You discovered just the level of respect they had for you the week you went through your period for the first time while on the mission.

You pulled Hunter aside just before you were due to start, and cautiously explained what was about to happen. At the time, you couldn't have known that he already knew, because the changes of your pheromones in the days prior, along with subtle behavioral changes, told him so. He was empathetic, offering to make up a makeshift bunk for you away from the others, if that's what made you feel most comfortable.

He explained that women worked alongside them on other assignments in the past, so he wasn't uncomfortable with the subject. Little did you know that those days leading up to and including you bleeding, would be some of the most arousing and tempting for Hunter. That was four weeks ago...

*****

Early this morning, you wanted to go exploring, extending the invite for the entire squad to join you. It finally stopped raining, and you wonder if this is just a temporary reprieve from what you believe to be Eyyhá's rainy season. Echo declined, offering to stay back at the Marauder, trying to think of ways to modify equipment to help you until the new parts come. The rest of the men were more than happy to come with you, grateful for fresh air and a change of scenery.

Here you are now, sitting in a field of tall prairie grass, swaying gently with the warm summer breeze. There's not much of anything you can do right now except scribble notes in your field journal about meteorologic observations and visible flora and fauna. After finding out replacements may take up to six weeks to arrive because your parts requisition request had been mishandled, you resigned yourself to the fact you might have to chalk up this mission as a failure. Looking up at the clear blue sky, you put your field journal in your backpack and lie back in the grass, hands cradling your head.

Unbidden thoughts of Hunter flit through your mind – some savory, some not so much. You've discovered through casual observation, coupled with confirmation from Tech, that Hunter's genetic enhancements shine through in his senses of hearing, and especially scent; his exceptionally keen tracking skills are merely another perk. A thought races through your mind now, thinking back several weeks to when you had last gone through your cycle – was he able to SMELL all that?

Oh, Maker, I hope not... Then you realize how much time has actually passed, and that you're due for your next cycle within the next day or two. That would explain why you haven't been sleeping well for the past several days, despite the fact you've been feeling quite fatigued.

“Oh...shit...” you say, thinking that no one is within earshot.

“Y/N, what's the matter? Is everything all right?” Hunter asks, emerging over the top of the grass, very close to you.

You let out a startled gasp, then cover your eyes with a hand. “No, Hunter, not really. I need to make use of the spare bunk...I just realized that now,” you say a little sheepishly.

He looks at you with those expressive brown eyes of his, concerned, but caring all at the same time. “No worries, I'll make sure it's fixed up for you.” “I'm sorry this is so much of a hassle,” you blurt out. “I can't help it, and I'm sure it doesn't make things any easier for any of you. ”

“Hey now, what kind of talk is that?” Hunter replies, coming to sit down next to you. “This isn't a hassle at all. Sure, the rest of us have to make some minor adjustments, but it really is no trouble, I assure you. When I get back to the Marauder, I can set it up for you, okay?”

Out of nowhere, his finger comes to your face, pulling a lock of stray hair back into place. He smiles gently at you, then gets up and starts walking back to the ship. You touch the place on your face where his finger had been, shivering a little. You have no idea what that's about, but the slow heat beginning to build between your legs is trying to tell you otherwise.

The warmth of the sunshine feels quite comforting today, so you close your eyes and exhale deeply. The rest of the guys are somewhere nearby and won't leave without you, so now seems like a perfectly acceptable time to catch a little loth cat nap. Maybe in dreams, Hunter's actions will become more apparent. You already think he's the most attractive of the squad, and you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't fantasize about him fucking you hard at least a couple of times, especially the last time you went through your cycle...

*****

Hunter's strong, warm hands slide their way up your legs, parting them when he comes to your knees. Running his hands along your thighs, he lets one of his thumbs rest on the hood of your clit, the other lying on one of your outer lips. Slowly, he begins to retract your hood, exposing the smooth pearl within. The other thumb begins to pull you open, exposing your glistening wet entrance. He moans softly as he traces his thumb through your wetness, smearing some on your clit. Gently, he begins to swirl the flat of his thumb over it, making you moan and arch up into him.

He chuckles as he slowly slips his index finger inside you, marveling at how tight, hot and wet you are. “Someone's needy, isn't she?” he teases. “I think you like it when I've got my fingers buried in your pussy...isn't that right?”

“Y...yes, Hunter...” you moan softly, grinding your hips up against his hand in an attempt to get him to start stroking your insides.

“That's my girl,” he whispers, pushing his middle finger inside you, your deep-seated groan of satisfaction bringing a broad grin to his face. He starts to move his fingers in and out, hooking them upward a little so he can touch that beautiful little sensitive spot that always makes you come so hard for him. “You want to come all over my fingers, mésh'la? Or do you want my cock, instead?”

You don't answer him right away, for the feeling of his fingers touching your sweet spot make you moan out his name. Hunter takes one of your breasts in his hand, squeezing gently, before his thumb swirls over your hardened nipple. He leans down and his tongue flicks over it, sending chills down your spine and a pulse of heat in your core. You contract your walls around his fingers, breath catching in his throat.

His mouth latches onto your nipple, suckling lightly on it, causing involuntary contractions that to Hunter, feel like delicate kisses on his fingers. He moans against you, swirling his tongue madly before his teeth close down on you, pulling gently. Your hand runs through his hair and down the back of his neck, cradling him as he releases you and his ravenous mouth searches for yours.

Hunter takes your lower lip gently between his teeth, pulling just a little before licking at it and letting his tongue slip into your mouth, letting it glide over yours. You moan deeply into his mouth as he gives your insides a few loving strokes before pulling them out. As he breaks the kiss, he looks at his fingers that are coated with your creamy juices. Your eyes meet his and he smiles, tracing his wet fingers over your lips.

“I want to watch you suck my fingers clean, cyar'ika. Do it like you're sucking my cock,” he tells you, his voice dropping into a husky whisper.

You comply, opening your mouth slowly as his fingers slip into your mouth. Your hand closes around his wrist as your tongue swirls around them, tasting the salt and tang of your secretions. Hunter moans softly and reaches down to adjust himself through his sleep shorts; he's almost painfully hard right now and wants nothing more than to sink himself balls deep inside you.

Suckling more firmly on his fingers, you start to mimic the motions of giving him a blowjob, your head moving to and fro with vigor. Hunter smirks as you fight to suppress your gag reflex once his fingers are fully in your mouth. With his open hand, he begins to free himself from his shorts, the elegant curvature of his thick length aching for the sanctuary of your pussy. He pulls his fingers out, then leans down to kiss you deeply, the taste of your juices still there.

“That's my good girl,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver and moan his name once more. “Open up for me, cyaré, and take my cock...you're such a greedy little slut. Isn't that right?”

Hunter aligns himself with your entrance, slowly gliding the head of his cock through your outer lips to pick up your wetness, then lets it slip effortlessly over your swollen clit. A heated cry escapes you and you close your legs around his waist, pulling him forward and coaxing him to enter you. He plants his hands on either side of your shoulders, breathing heavily in anticipation as he parks himself firmly at your entrance.

“Fuck me, Hunter... I'm your greedy little slut,” you plead.

“That's all I wanted to hear, mésh'la.”

His lips press against yours for a heated kiss, tongue easing into your mouth as he begins to slowly push inside you, moving slowly so you can stretch around him. You let out a lusty moan of unbridled pleasure as he seats himself fully inside you. Instinctively, you flex your walls around him, squeezing his cock with everything you can muster. Hunter's head snaps up as you do this, with a primal growl. He closes his hands around your hips as he withdraws his cock until he's almost out of you, and with no warning, he surges forward –

*****

“Ad'íka? Ad'íka, where are you?” Wrecker yells, looking over the sea of grass, trying to spot you. “We're gonna catch hell from Hunter if we can't find her,” he groans. “Oi, Tech! Help me find Y/N. I know she's here somewhere.”

“Wrecker, please calm down. The likelihood of her going far without at least one of us accompanying her is statistically speaking, quite low. I saw Hunter heading back to the Marauder awhile ago, so I assume he likely spoke to her before doing so. I believe I can make an educated guess as to where she may be,” Tech replied.

Tech begins to move off in the direction where he last spotted Hunter, walking slowly and parting the grass as he goes, careful not to make a misstep – or accidentally step on you. He looks around cautiously, trying to look for telltale signs such as places where grass looks unnaturally flattened. The wind picks up and the skies are beginning to cloud over again, threatening to bring more rain, or worse, another storm.

“Wrecker, pack it in and move to my location. The weather is becoming inclement and we need to make it back to the Marauder with haste,” Tech calls.

He's still looking around and finds a patch of the grass that doesn't look quite like the others. Striding with a little more purpose, he's almost to where you're lying, but since he can't get a good visual of what's just beyond the grass, he stops and looks up at the grove of trees that marks the division between the forested area and the field.

“Crosshair, can you give me visual confirmation that I'm close to Y/N?” Thunder booms in the distance and Tech looks to the tree line.

When you and the squad exited the grove, Crosshair stayed back and got himself up into one of the taller trees, closely keeping an eye on all of you. He sighs and looks out upon the field, seeing Tech and Wrecker waving. Luckily, he's up high enough and can easily see that they're right at the edge of where you are, still blissfully wrapped up in your dream about Hunter. He laughs and then they hear him rasp, “she's down there all right, fast asleep. Watch your step. If I were you, I'd wake her gently...looks like she's having one hell of a dream!”

Wrecker looks at Tech with a quizzical look on his face. “How does he know that?”

“I do not know. Maybe by her body language?” Tech postulates.

“Wrap it up, you two. I'm heading back to the ship. Last place I need to be is up in a tree when it starts storming,” Crosshair warns as he starts making his way back to ground level.

Tech plows through the grass once more, and finally comes to a stop where his suspicion is confirmed. Sweeping the grass aside with one arm, he sees you lying on the ground, head resting on your backpack. You're still asleep, and Tech's eyes go wide when he realizes that you have slipped a hand down your pants and are slowly rubbing your clit.

“Did you find her? Is she okay?” Wrecker says lowly as he stands beside Tech. “I...I...yes, I found her all right,” Tech mumbles, feeling his face grow hot. This is something new for him, and he's distinctly uncomfortable, feeling like he's somehow violating your consent by seeing you in such a vulnerable state. “She's...well, I...how do I put this,” Tech stammers.

“Tech, what's the matter with you? What's she doing? Crosshair said she was sleeping, so what's got you all jumpy?” He looks down and sees you touching yourself and his eyes get just as big as Tech's, and he clears his throat, trying not to stare and desperately trying to ignore the fact he feels himself starting to grow hard. “Oh, I see, now. She's, uh...she's...” He's embarrassed, not wanting to say the word.

“Yes, that,” Tech replies, not wanting to say it either. “I am not sure how to approach waking her up. But we have no choice. It is going to start raining shortly and I do not wish to get caught out here if it decides to storm.”

“Let me do it, Tech,” Wrecker offers. He kneels down next to you and very carefully places his hand on your arm. “Ad'íka, he says quietly. “Ad'íka, I need you to wake up, honey, please?”

You groan softly and remove your hand from your pants. Tech coughs nervously and also kneels down at your side. “Y/N, it's time to wake up. A storm is coming and we have to get back to the Marauder quickly.”

“Come on, ad'íka, we'll get you out of here. I just need you to wake up first,” Wrecker tries again.

You slowly open your eyes and blink a few times, trying to focus. You have no idea how long you've been out, but you do know that your dream of Hunter fucking you mercilessly is now hopelessly irretrievable. “Tech? Wrecker? What time is it?” you murmur sleepily, rubbing at your eyes.

“Time to go, honey,” Wrecker says, slipping his huge arm under your back, pulling you up into a sitting position gently. “It's getting ready to storm, and this could be a bad one. Come on, let me help you up. Tech, grab her backpack, would you?”

Wrecker helps you get to your feet, and you let out a mighty yawn. “I'm so sorry, guys... That sunshine felt so good, and you know I haven't been sleeping well lately.” You grimace a little as you feel your lower abdomen beginning to seize up a little. You swear under your breath and Tech's eyes narrow as he studies your features.

“Are you quite all right, Y/N? You look like you're in pain.”

“I'll be all right, Tech. Don't worry about it.” You glance up at the sky and black clouds are building in behind you. Glancing at your chrono, you curse again and take your backpack from Tech. “Yeah, we need to get out of here. I can't believe how late it's gotten, and those thunderheads are looking nasty.”

You begin to feel a few raindrops hit your face, and you shoulder your backpack, wincing as pain shoots through your lower abdomen. What you don't see is Tech's look of deep concern as you start back toward the grove, with Wrecker quickly blazing a trail for you and Tech to follow. The three of you end up making it back to the Marauder in record time, sprinting through a deluge as you leave the relative protection of the grove into the clearing where the ship lies.

“What the hell happened?” Hunter calls from the cockpit. “I thought you would have all been back a few hours ago!”

“I'm sorry, Hunter, it's my fault,” you reply. “I ended up falling asleep and it took Tech and Wrecker awhile to find me.”

“Maybe you need to start carrying a homing beacon with you,” Crosshair interjects, coming around the corner as the three of you get inside the ship. “Wouldn't want you getting lost, or anything,” he says, looking at you with that smug expression you wish you could slap off his face. He lets his gaze linger as he looks you over, and you feel like he's boring holes into you.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” you fire back at him.

“Oh...no reason,” he says, and then he winks at you before walking into the cockpit to join Hunter. You look at Tech and Wrecker in disbelief, shaking your head. “What's his problem, anyway?”

“He's always like that, ad'íka. Try not to take it personally,” Wrecker says, frowning.

“I must agree with Wrecker, Y/N. We are used to him always trying to get under our skin. Do not let it get to you.”

Hunter emerges from the cockpit, a little smile on his face as he looks the three of you over. “You all look like drowned womp rats. Go get yourselves cleaned up and then come get something to eat. I managed to trap and kill some kind of larger foraging animal, so we've got some fresh meat, for once. Tech, I might ask you to keep an eye on the radar later. We might be in for a long night with this storm... If it looks like something dangerous is brewing, we'll need to get out of here as fast as possible.”

“Certainly, Hunter. I shall keep you updated.”

“Come on, ad'íka, I'll take your backpack,” Wrecker says quietly, pulling it away from you as he starts walking back to the bunks.

Tech gently touches your shoulder, startling you. “Are you quite all right, Y/N? You do not look well. Would you like assistance returning to your bunk?”

You look up at him, his large, golden brown eyes clearly showing signs of worry. “I'll be honest with you,” you say quietly. “No, I'm not feeling well at all, and yes, I think I'll accept the help, if you don't mind.”

A small smile briefly crosses his face, and he offers his arm to you. You happily accept as more cramping strikes, trying not to audibly groan, but you can't help it. As you get back to the bunks, you can see that Wrecker has carefully put your backpack by your bed. He sees you holding onto Tech's arm and immediately looks concerned.

“Hey, ad'íka, you don't look so good. Is there anything you need?” “Could you take my backpack to the spare bunk, please? Hunter said it would be ready for me by the time I got back. I'm...not feeling well, Wrecker.”

As you mention the term “spare bunk,” Tech turns to look at you, and then it all makes sense to him. “Ah...now I understand. You are not feeling well because you are...” He hesitates to finish his sentence, and he coughs awkwardly.

“It's all right, Tech. You don't need to say it. I think I'm going to grab a quick shower before coming to join you all for dinner. Thank you for helping me today...both of you. I appreciate it.”

As you let go of Tech's arm, he turns to look at Wrecker. “I think we should leave Y/N alone for awhile, Wrecker. Why don't you go see if Hunter needs any help with dinner preparation? I need to speak with Echo and see if he came up with any workarounds we can use for Y/N's research until the new parts arrive.” As Tech turns to leave, he stops and looks over his shoulder at you, concern still etched across his face. You give him a little smile, then nod. He accepts that as the sign to leave, and heads out.

Wrecker picks up your heavy backpack and walks it back to the small room just off the main sleeping area, separated by a floor to ceiling curtain fashioned from an extra blanket. He pushes aside the curtain and gently puts your backpack on the floor. On the way back, you stop him and put your hand on his upper arm. As terrible as you currently feel, you still feel the need to thank him again.

“Thank you again, Wrecker. Both you and Tech have been very kind. I'll come eat after I'm done in the refresher, okay? Maybe a shower might help me feel better.”

“It's nothing, ad'íka. As far as I'm concerned, you're a member of our little family now. We've got your back.”

You chuckle quietly. “Even Crosshair?” you ask, with a hint of suspicion in your voice.

Wrecker stops to think about that for a moment, and with great amusement gives you an honest response. “Yep, even Crosshair.”

*****

The pain in your pelvic floor is steadily growing more intense. As you strip off all your wet gear, you check your panties to see if you've started bleeding yet, and sure enough, there's a few spots of blood. Sighing in annoyance, you throw them on top of the pile of wet clothing, mentally reminding yourself to ask Tech later if there's any kind of good stain removing solvent on board. You see that Hunter was kind enough to leave a stack of clean towels for you, and you suddenly feel irrationally guilty, but then you can't help but smile when you see Wrecker's beloved Lula tucked in the corner of your bunk.

You pick up a towel and wrap it around yourself, grabbing your bag of toiletries as you peek your head around the curtain, making absolutely sure the bunks are cleared out. You don't particularly want most of the guys seeing you like this, and thankfully the path to the refresher is clear. You step in, and crank the hot water. As you wash your hair, you start feeling marginally better, although you're worried about how the rest of the night is going to play out. You finish the rest of your bathing routine quickly, not wanting to make the guys wait too long to have dinner.

When you get back to your bunk, you only want to be as comfortable as possible for the rest of the night, yet still be presentable. Fishing through your clothes to find the special black panties you have specifically for absorbing blood, you slip those on, along with a clean bra and one of your oversized t-shirts that you use for sleeping in. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in a small mirror as you comb out your hair, and you can clearly see you're not well. Dark circles under your eyes, and paler than usual.

“Could be worse,” you say softly as you dig through one of your bags for a small bottle containing painkillers. Tapping two pills into your palm, you down them with a swig of water from your canteen. You look back at the mirror and sigh. “Could be a hell of a lot worse.”

You make your way to the common area where you know you will find the guys waiting for you. They will not eat unless you're present, which you've told them repeatedly they don't need to do, but they still insist upon it. You remember the last time you went through your cycle, there was one night you were too sick to eat anything, and you had spent the entire night in your bunk. Now you truly feel guilty, because that means they all went hungry that night.

You stop in the doorway and see them sitting around the table, laughing and having an animated conversation. This brings a smile to your face, seeing that they're content and happy, despite being stuck on what has truly been a horrible mission. The others don't notice that Hunter turns to look at you standing there. He knew you were coming; he picked up your scent after you left your bunk, the smell of blood teasing his senses.

As your eyes lock on his, you see his expression change from one of acknowledgment to one of definite interest. His dark eyes began to take on a hooded appearance, and you realize what you see there – it's sheer lust. Then it hits you that he knows you've started bleeding, and a twinge of arousal begins to form in the pit of your chest. Hunter raises an eyebrow at you and a sly grin forms, because you've betrayed that you're more than interested, too.

Conversation stops when the rest of the guys notice that Hunter falls silent, and they turn to follow his gaze. You walk slowly toward them, one hand clutching the material of your shirt between your breasts. Glancing over at them, you can see that Wrecker's mouth is hanging open, a look of surprise on his face. You catch Tech's gaze, and he immediately blushes and looks away. Echo, always the gentleman, looks away immediately. Crosshair's usual stony faced visage is replaced by something resembling a combination of surprise and the same kind of interest you saw in Hunter's eyes.

“I'm sorry, guys, I just need to be as comfortable as I can tonight, so please forgive the way I'm dressed,” you say quietly.

“There's nothing to forgive, Y/N. We understand,” Hunter replies, gesturing for you to come and sit. “Hopefully after you eat a little something, it will help take your mind off your discomfort.” Your eyes widen as he says this, because he didn't see you grimacing earlier...how does he know? “Tech and Wrecker told me you were exhibiting clear signs of being in pain. It's nothing to be ashamed of,” he says reassuringly.

“Please, ad'íka, have something to eat,” Wrecker says as he nudges a plate of roasted something at you. “Take whatever you want.”

You look around at the others and they look at you expectantly. It certainly smells good, whatever it is, and you haven't eaten much other than a measly ration bar early this morning. As you pick slices that have the brownest, crispiest skin, you can hear Echo next to you letting out his breath in a large sigh of relief. You pat his arm gently as you start to eat. Whatever this animal is, it's surprisingly tasty.

“This is really good, you guys. It reminds me of boar-wolf meat.” Tech turns to you with a look of rapt interest. “When did you get the opportunity to have boar-wolf? They're supposedly endemic only to Endor.”

You swallow a mouthful of food and grin. “I was part of an expedition to the forest moon of Endor. We were tasked with locating any sentient life with the goal of establishing contact, but ultimately we found nothing. Some of the men decided they wanted fresh food instead of the rations, so they went out hunting and managed to bring down a boar-wolf. That was some fine dining, I tell you. The expedition was a total failure, but spit-roasted boar-wolf was the highlight of that entire trip.”

“Fascinating... Y/N, when you feel up to it, I would like to talk with you further about your trip to Endor, if you don't mind. So little is known about the planet itself, let alone the forest moon.”

“I'd be more than happy to share that information with you, Tech. I have all of my findings backed up on one of my datapads.”

You turn to look at Hunter, and his eyes still have that sultry look to them. You pause a moment before speaking again, because you feel the familiar heat of arousal creeping back between your legs. Your face starts to grow hot just looking at him, as juicier bits of your dream come back to flood your mind. Hunter notes that your scent has drastically changed, your pheromones intermingling with the thick smell of rich blood. He's glad he still has his codpiece on, because it's hiding the fact he's hard as steel underneath it.

“Truly, this is outstanding, Hunter...thank you for all of this.” You look around at the others, and do your best to not betray the fact your insides feel like they're being squeezed half to death. “Dig in, everyone. There's no guarantee we'll get an offering like this again while we're here.”

“You heard Y/N, boys! Let's eat!” Wrecker booms enthusiastically.

The rest of dinner is a rather noisy affair, with a great deal of spirited conversation, bad jokes from Wrecker, a few dirty ones from Crosshair, and plenty of raucous laughter. The others don't see that you and Hunter are constantly exchanging glances, looking at each other progressively longer each time your eyes meet. You can feel yourself beginning to bleed a little more, the intoxicating scent of it starting to dominate his keen senses. Hunter's earlier assumption is correct – it's going to be a long night.

*****

As you lie in your bunk, the screaming of the wind and driving rain against the Marauder's hull does nothing to ease your shattered nerves. The spasms in your pelvic floor escalated during the course of dinner, after which you quickly excused yourself to retreat to the privacy and confines of your bed. You've attempted to distract yourself with one of the many books you brought, but nothing can take your mind off your body tearing itself apart.

The painkillers you took did nothing to abate your misery, and the only thing you wish is to be released from this punishment. You cradle Lula in your arms and curl up into the fetal position; it's not long before you feel the tears slowly roll down your face.

“Make it stop,” you whisper. “For the love of the Maker, just let this be over...”

Time loses all meaning as more waves of acute tightness pass through you. Clutching Lula tighter, you start rolling back and forth as the tears flow faster, and you try to cry as quietly as possible. The intermittent roaring of thunder combined with Wrecker's snoring provides adequate cover, but you're afraid that at some point, you're going to wake someone up. You've shown no weakness to these men the entire time you've been with them, and not about to start by admitting you're crying from pain.

Hunter lies awake in his bunk, restless and overstimulated with the scent of you assailing him. Visions of lying with his head buried between your legs, tongue slipping into you to rapaciously lap up blood dominates his every thought. He shifts uncomfortably as he feels himself starting to grow hard again, and his hand drifts down between his legs to start touching himself through his sleep shorts.

In the dim, cool white glow of the bunks' overhead lights, Hunter looks around the room at his brothers. Confident that they're all sound asleep, he sits up, swinging his feet to the floor. Lifting his head a little, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Though the room is filled with natural scents of the others, the one that permeates the air the most is yours – the metallic, iron-rich tang of blood commingled with the unmistakable perfume of female pheromones. He groans quietly as his cock swells, hand sliding into his shorts to start stroking himself.

Hunter stops as he picks up the sound of your distress, feeling compelled to go and check on you. Rising slowly, he makes his way from the bunks down the small hallway to where you lie, sobbing quietly. He stops just outside the doorway, hand on the curtain, rooted to the spot as he listens to you, trying to ignore the incredible redolence of blood emanating from your room.

Pulling the curtain aside, he cautiously enters, seeing you sitting up, arms wrapped around your middle and hunched over as pain wracks your body. He sees that you laid a towel down over your bed, now tinged with deep crimson. So this is why she wanted to be sequestered from the rest of us the last time... You look up at him with blurry, red-rimmed eyes and at first you have no idea who it actually is that's come to check on you.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Hunter says quietly, coming closer. You don't answer, but the slow shaking of your head and the heavy trembling speak volumes. “Mésh'la, talk to me. How bad is it?”

You let go of yourself and rest your hands on the edge of your bed before exhaling sharply, pushing yourself up and onto your feet. Your knees wobble as you take a few steps toward Hunter. As you stop, a fresh wave of cramping tears at your midsection; you let out a cry and bare your teeth at him. Locking your eyes on his, your fingers close around the hem of your nightshirt, not caring if he sees you like this. Hunter's eyes go wide, breath catching in his throat as you begin to pull it up.

“You...want to see? Look at this and...f-f-feel my pain,” you choke out.

As you lift your nightshirt up past your waist, his eyes gravitate lower to see that you're wearing nothing underneath, having shed your panties earlier in the night when you knew they would be useless at being able to catch the flow that was to come. Parting your legs just a little, he sees that your inner thighs are covered in blood, a fresh trail quickly coursing its way down your leg onto the floor. He continues to watch transfixed as a large, thick blood clot oozes out from between your legs, followed by another, unable to fathom how you're tolerating this.

Swallowing hard, Hunter stares as you bring a hand down and run your fingers through your outer lips, coating them before bringing them back to your mouth, where you slip them inside to suck them clean. He can see that blood is smeared under your lower lip, and the urge to taste you is overwhelming. Stepping forward, he reaches out and slowly takes you by your upper arms. You don't flinch as his head dips down, mouth hovering just above yours.

“Mésh'la, is it all right if I taste you?” Hunter whispers, his rapid, shallow breathing hot on your face.

You close your eyes and moan softly as his lips trail across your cheek, stopping short of the patch of coagulating blood. “Yes, Hunter...don't be afraid.”

His tongue trails delicately over you, passing over several times until the blood is gone. The concentrated taste of iron combines with the salt from your skin and tears, creating a potent aphrodisiac for his already overtaxed senses. Hunter releases your arms, then slips one of his around your waist, and the other around your shoulders to pull you close.

As you do the same, you feel his lips brush against yours, and you moan deeply into his mouth as he kisses you, his tongue ardently sparring with yours. He breaks the kiss and your eyes meet his. All you can see is a fierce hunger, and you gasp as he takes one of your hands and plants it on his cock, yearning to break out of his shorts. Without thinking, you begin to massage him through the material, feeling him twitch underneath.

“Let me help you,” Hunter says, before gritting his teeth and moaning quietly as you fondle him. “Do you trust me, ad'íka? You can't go on through the night like this.”

“I'm willing to try anything at this point... I just want it to stop,” you whimper.

“You didn't answer me. Do you trust me? I won't do anything unless I'm absolutely sure you're okay with it.”

You hook your free hand around the back of his neck and pull his head down, pressing your lips to his and slipping your tongue into his mouth. Hunter moans deeply against you and bucks his hips into your hand. You squeeze his cock hard, and this time he lets out a loud groan.

“You're here, aren't you? That means I trust you.”

Letting go of him, you turn around and step back to your bed, pulling off the heavily stained towel. Thankfully, there's plenty of towels, so you grab a few more and lay down a thicker barrier. You turn back to him, and see that he's got a thumb hooked in the waistband of his shorts. The head of his cock peeps out above it, slick with pre-cum. Eyes laden with desire bore into yours as he slides off his shorts, the graceful curvature of his thick length just as remarkable as it had been in your dream.

“Take your nightshirt off, mésh'la,” Hunter commands. “You've already shown me that delicious bloody pussy of yours. Now I want to see the rest.”

Heart beating wildly, you obey, pulling your nightshirt off and casting it to the side. You scarcely have time to breathe before Hunter rushes you, hooking an arm around your waist and slipping the other under one of your legs, not caring he's being painted with blood as he lifts you. He sets you down gently on your bed, spreading your legs with hands that feel like they're wreathed in flame. The flat of one thumb trails lightly through your outer lips before it gently flicks over your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.

“I've never seen anything more beautiful,” Hunter murmurs, trailing a fingertip from your bottom lip in a straight line from your chin down to your pubic mound. “...and I have waited so long to do this.” He looks at you with a wanton grin spreading across his face. “But before I do anything, I need to know that you want this. Trusting me is one thing, but wanting me to do this are two different things.”

You press yourself back against your pillows, stretching out a hand that Hunter readily accepts. “I want this, Hunter... You said you could help me. So help me through this...please...” you implore.

He lets go of your hand and leans over you, bringing his head down just above yours. You moan deeply into his mouth as your lips reconnect with his, feeling your clit pulse as his tongue slips across yours. One of his hands closes around a breast, squeezing tenderly as you begin to arch your body up into him in the silent plea to take you. Hunter breaks away and moves his attention to your neck, alternating between light kisses and gentle licking. As he reaches your pulse point, he nips at your flesh, making you cry out in surprise.

“Shhhh, ad'íka, you want to wake everyone up?” Hunter laughs quietly as he moves to position himself between your legs. “Just relax, Y/N, and remember, if it's too much or something hurts, tell me and I'll stop right away.”

You nod and let out a shaky breath as you look down and see how much blood is already on your lower extremities. Hunter looks up at you with fire in his eyes, and you don't look away when he turns to one of your legs, using the flat of his tongue to lick a wide path through the newest trail of blood from your knee all the way up your thigh. Lifting his head, he lets his tongue hang out of his mouth just a little, and you moan when a single drop of fresh blood drips off the tip.

“You taste so fucking good,” Hunter growls. “I want to find out how luscious that pussy is, mésh'la... Are you ready for me?”

“It's all yours, Hunter,” you moan softly.

He slides his arms under your legs, resting his hands on your hips as his face closes in on his quarry. His eyes close as he breathes you in; blood obfuscates nearly everything, but the essence of your fluctuating pheromones is the undercurrent driving him mad. In a flash, his tongue is slipping between your scarlet folds, licking at the fresh trickle of blood slowly seeping out. A large blood clot finds its way into his mouth, and Hunter moans deeply against you, the vibrations sending chills down your spine.

He lifts his head to look at you, and your eyes widen as you see not a man now, but a beast. Blood is on his nose, lips, and chin – macabre tattooing that complements what he already possesses. Hunter turns his attention to your clit, now sticky with drying blood. Out snakes his tongue, swirling over that tiny seat of all your pleasure, cleaning you off and making you moan his name deeply. Closing his lips around it, he suckles gently, letting the tip of his tongue glide along the underside effortlessly.

“Oh, Maker,” you sigh, “don't stop, Hunter...don't you fucking stop...”

He pulls away briefly, looking up at you with a devilish grin. “I have no intentions of doing so, ad'íka. I'm just getting started...” He shifts positions and sits up, bringing one finger to your entrance, which is already leaking once more. “That's what I want to see,” he says, voice dangerously low. “You're so nice and open now...play with your clit for me while you take my fingers.”

Hunter begins to sink his finger inside you slowly, letting you acclimate to him. As you squeeze your walls around him, his brow furrows and he closes his eyes, groaning as his cock flexes.

He starts to glide his finger in and out, watching as it's coated with hot, fresh blood. Watching as you deftly lick your fingertips, he waits for you to slip your hand down between your legs to start rubbing your clit.

“That's my girl,” he croons softly. “Come undone for me...”

He slides his middle finger in, stifling a moan of his own as reflexively, you constrict your walls down around him. Biting your lip, you close your eyes and let your fingers dance over your clit in tight, concentric circles, a low and perpetual moan pouring out of you. Hunter begins to move his fingers in and out gently, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. Seeing none, he picks up the pace a little, this time hooking his fingertips up to catch your sweet spot.

Your eyes snap open and meet his as you feel that familiar tingle inside you, breath catching in your throat as Hunter's tender stroking draws you closer to the edge. Faster your fingers swirl around your clit, feeling that delicious heat and pulsation build. He grins at you as he slowly trails his free hand down his body until he closes it around his cock, stroking it in time with the rhythm of his fingers. Your walls tighten around him little by little, and he knows you're not far from your climax.

“So close, Hunter...let me come,” you moan lustily.

“Not just yet, mésh'la,” he chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you abruptly, watching a splatter of blood follow them. He holds his hand up for you to see, blood quickly flowing down his palm and onto his wrist. “On your hands and knees, baby. There's no hiding how much you want my cock... So let me show you what I've been waiting to do to you.”

Slowly, you bring your legs down, stiff from being spread apart for so long. As you get on all fours, you purposely tilt your ass up a little bit in a clear sign you're presenting for him. Hunter licks the dried blood from his mouth and shifts until he's up against you, his cock lying between your outer lips. He begins to rock his hips lightly, slipping through your wet cleft, guiding the head of his cock over your clit, relishing at the sound of a deep moan from you.

Hunter plants his bloodied hand on the back of your neck, dragging a wide maroon path down your spine before leaning down and biting into your shoulder, making you curse in both shock and pain. He curls an arm around your waist as you writhe underneath him, still latched onto your shoulder. After what seems like an eternity, he pulls his mouth off you, smirking as he sees the mark he's left behind. As he straightens up, his strong hands fall upon your ass, kneading the flesh gently.

“Now this is a view I could get used to,” Hunter murmurs as he looks down to see blood beginning to drip out of you again. “Such a messy wet cunt, waiting to take my cock...”

You push your ass back against him, and he closes a hand on one of your hips, the other hand on his cock. He slips once more through your hot, slick folds, running the head of his cock over your clit slowly, sighing happily as you moan his name. Finally, he aligns himself flush against your entrance, his other hand closing around your other hip.

“Here we go, mésh'la,” Hunter says quietly. “I want to savor every moment of this.”

He closes his eyes and exhales slowly as he eases his way inside you, relishing at how tight and wet you are for him. You moan deeply at the intrusion, feeling just how thick his cock is, stretching your walls tightly. Bringing a hand down between your legs, you start to stroke your clit again, letting out a sigh of relief as your fingers glide across it, slick with new blood. Hunter takes this as the sign to continue, inching the rest of his cock inside until you gasp as he presses up against your cervix.

“Shhhh, don't worry, baby, I'll be gentle. That's it...work your clit for me. Such a good girl...”

“Fuck me, Hunter...make me come...I need you,” you reply with a heated whisper.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw from you, stopping just before the head of his cock slips out. Looking down, he sees he's fully veiled with blood, thick droplets of it dotting the towels underneath. He runs his tongue over his upper lip and one of his canines, grinning as he threads himself back into you. Your breath comes hard and fast, and you have to stifle a scream as he fills you back up. Fingers swirl over your clit a little faster, and Hunter can feel your pussy fluttering against him; he flexes hard in return and now begins canting his hips into you.

He relaxes the grip on your waist, moving his hands to rest on your ass, his thumbs gently spreading your cheeks apart. You begin to bear down a little as you stroke your clit, relaxing your pelvic floor to accommodate Hunter's meaty girth. Exhaling sharply, you feel his thumb press lightly on your hole – almost curiously – giving pause before he pushes down carefully on it, massaging it as his hips collide with you noisily.

“That's the way, Y/N...” his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “You're doing so well...is this okay?”

“Keep going...I'm all right,” you reassure him. “Don't stop...”

He pulls his cock out just enough for him to wipe blood on his fingers, before pushing back deeply into you, making you gasp and squirm underneath him. Bracing himself with one hand, he leans over you and brings the other to your mouth, running the tips of his fingers over your bottom lip and chin before pushing them into your mouth. You let out a muffled cry, but quickly take to sucking his fingers clean.

“That's it, ad'íka, take my fingers like you are my cock,” Hunter groans.

You contract your walls around him hard as you feel his breath on the back of your neck, then his lips as he kisses your neck and your shoulder, moaning loudly as you give his fingers one last hard suck before he pulls them out. As he straightens once more, his hands return to rest on your ass, and now you feel him withdraw enough to feel the thick, swollen head of his cock spreading your entrance wide.

“Hunter...”

“Breathe, mésh'la...”

A tremendous rush of heat radiates through your pussy as Hunter presses forward and starts to fuck you, this time with no more teasing. His hands move from your ass back to your waist, gripping firmly as each forward surge is replete with a singular purpose. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back as he bucks his hips up harder into you, smacking against your ass at a progressively accelerated pace.

The moans from you both grow unchecked, not caring that you're getting increasingly loud. You start to throw back against him, Hunter letting out a deep growl and loosening his hands from your hips to let you be in control. You move back and forth effortlessly along his cock, feeling him beginning to swell each time your ass claps back against his body, relishing at the way he massages your sweet spot.

He lets out a low moan as you connect with him again, this time stopping to swirl your hips as he bottoms out within you. You lower yourself onto your bed, guiding your hand back down between your legs. Your clit pulses heavily, screaming at you to bring forth the relief you desperately seek. Once more, you swirl your fingers over the hard little nub of flesh, quickly feeling that magical electricity returning.

Blinded by instinct and utterly blood-drunk, Hunter grasps your hips and retakes control. He fucks you hard and fast, hips slamming into your ass and thighs, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy. His cock drives relentlessly into you, slipping past your sweet spot, magnifying the quivering of your walls around him. Stroking your clit in time with each thrust, every nerve ending is alight as you're nearly at your peak.

“Come for me, Y/N,” Hunter groans deeply. “I know you're so close...”

Your moaning crescendos as Hunter slows his pace down, his cock swelling to its maximum. A heaving cry flies out of you as your orgasm breaks, your walls contracting around him wildly. Hunter can't believe the strength of your pussy as you bear down and start to push his cock out. He pulls out of you fully, agape as a gush of blood drenches his hand. Undeterred, he strokes himself hard a few times and doesn't hold back a roar of pleasure as he spills his seed all over your ass and onto your back.

Trembling from exertion and still coasting the waves of your orgasm, you collapse onto your side. Hunter shifts forward and slips his hands under your legs, moving you onto your back. You hold up your hand, marveling at the velvety crimson rolling down your fingers, down your palm, and back onto your wrist. He looks at you and smiles, both of you still breathing heavily and bathed in sweat. Leaning down over you, he reaches for your hand and brings it to his face, pulling it across his cheek, mouth, and chin to mark himself once more.

“Ad'íka, that was incredible,” Hunter murmurs against your palm. “So much more than I ever thought it would be. I need to ask...do you feel any better?”

Thinking for a moment, you realize you long since forgot your pain, as you now bask in the pleasant warmth spreading through your entire body. “I feel like a million Republic credits, Hunter. That was...beyond intense.”

He chuckles softly. “May I ask you for one more thing, Y/N?” He lets go of your hand and moves down to your thighs, trailing his fingertips down them gently, making you shiver. “Can I have one more taste of you? We probably won't get to do this again while we're here, so I'd like to have something to remember this night.”

You smile and nod, slipping your hand down between your legs to spread your folds apart for him. “Take all you want, Hunter. I know I'll never forget this.”

A little sigh of contentment is heard as he dips back between your legs, tongue licking every last bit of flesh, sucking on your outer lips to clean them off. Gently, he licks your still-sensitive clit, making your legs twitch involuntarily. You can't help but moan softly as his tongue probes at your entrance, before slipping in and gathering what he can. As he pulls away, he slips two fingers inside you to glaze them, then draws parallel lines on each of your cheeks and down your chin.

His lips seek out yours and you meet him halfway for a deep, passionate kiss, moaning into his mouth as he lets you have the remainder of the blood he took from you. Hunter pulls away from you and moves your hair out of your face, his dark eyes now full of tender care. He smiles and shifts you over so he can lie next to you, his hand resting on your chest, head next to yours. Putting your hand over his, you close your eyes and exhale deeply.

“Y/N,” Hunter begins, “there's something you should know.” You turn your head to look at him with a quizzical expression. “It's no secret that blood consumption is practiced by many cultures throughout the galaxy. But there's one thing that's considered universally sacred, and that's getting to taste the precious lifeblood from a woman during her cycle. Something to do with honoring women as the ones who bring forth life, and the bonds of family, I guess. Unlike my brothers, I've never gotten to go through the ritual...until now. For that, I'll always be grateful to you.” “Hunter, you don't need to...”

“There's more, ad'íka. Since you have given me the intimate honor of being the one to have you during your time, I want to offer you something, if you would accept it.”

“What would that be?”

“A place here with us... I heard what Wrecker said to you earlier today, about being part of the family. My brothers and I pledged to take care of each other in all circumstances, and I want to extend that covenant to you. What do you say?”

You shift onto your side, reaching to touch his face, your thumb gently caressing the corner of his mouth. His eyes search yours hopefully as he slings his arm around you and pulls you against his chest. “I think I'm going to the be most well-protected scientist in the Republic,” you tell him softly. “Yes, Hunter, I accept... I know you don't offer this to me lightly. I need to thank you for everything...you and the others have made this entire ordeal so much easier to bear.”

Hunter's mouth joins with yours in a surprisingly soft, delicate kiss. You chuckle quietly and curl your arm around his waist as you return the favor, slipping your tongue into his mouth and letting it tussle with his. As he presses his forehead to yours, cradling your head gently in his hand, he whispers, “No, cyar'íka...thank you. Welcome to our family.”

“What are you going to tell the others? Are they going to be okay with this? I'm not concerned about Wrecker, obviously, but –”

“Shhhhh, Y/N, there's no need to worry about anything. They'll understand why. Hell, they've been waiting long enough for me to even do this. There won't be any waiting to tell them, either.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, sounding slightly alarmed. Hunter starts laughing, covering his face with his hands. “We woke everyone up, cyar'íka. They heard everything. There's no point in hiding what we've done.” Your face grows hot with embarrassment as he sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, looking down at you. “I think you and I both need a trip to the refresher...we look like we came from a slaughterhouse. Get up, and I'll lay more clean towels down.”

You rise slowly and look back at the mess you two made, and then you look at Hunter, who looks like something out of a horror film. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and you see the tattooing on your face that he gave you – grisly marks of initiation. Dried blood coats your inner thighs, but it looks like the worst of the bleeding is over. Glancing back at Hunter, he's gathered up all the soiled towels, along with his sleep shorts.

“Come on, Y/N, let's get cleaned up.” You look at your nightshirt that's crumpled up on the floor and move to go put it back on. “Leave it,” Hunter remarks as he peeks out of the doorway and down the short hallway. “If we're lucky, we can make it to the refresher before anyone spots us. If not, then...”

“Then someone's getting an eyeful,” you chuckle dryly. “It's not exactly the end of the world if the others see me naked. I guess in time, it's bound to happen, anyway.”

Hunter steps out into the dimly lit hall with you close behind him. Quietly, you approach the junction leading to the refresher, catching a shadow of someone coming toward you. Crosshair stops and leans up against the wall, arms crossed with a distinctly irked expression on his lean face.

“Pfffft....couldn't even be bothered to put your damn clothes back on, could you? Nice job waking us up!” he gripes. “You were going at it like two banthas on glitterstim and I didn't think it was possible, but you even managed to wake up Wrecker!”

“Crosshair, shut the fuck up and keep your voice down,” Hunter snarls. “Cyar'íka, with me. It's all right.”

“Cyar'íka? Hunter, what are you talking about?”

You gather your courage and step out from behind Hunter, his hand closing on your shoulder protectively. Crosshair gets a good look at you and Hunter now, eyes wide, his sleep-addled mind not entirely comprehending what he's seeing. His face grows hot as he stares at you first, dried blood caked on much of your body, your hair disheveled. Seeing all the blood smeared on Hunter's face, he covers his mouth with his hand and starts laughing quietly.

“What's so goddamn funny, you smug prick?” you snap angrily.

“Y/N, don't. I think I know what this is about. There's no need to get upset,” Hunter says, squeezing your shoulder gently.

Crosshair composes himself and coughs before looking at Hunter with soft amusement. “So, you finally went through with it, Hunter. Congratulations... We took bets ages ago as to how long it would take you to get the job done...if I'm not mistaken, I believe Tech has now earned himself quite a few credits. Jokes aside, I can see you took things to a far higher level than the rest of us ever did, but for what it's worth, ner vod, I'm proud of you, truly. I have to ask, though...what's with calling Y/N cyar'íka? I'm missing something, here.”

Hunter's hand leaves your shoulder, trailing down your spine before his arm comes around your waist loosely, holding you close to him. “She gave me something incredibly sacred, and in return I offered her something just as sacrosanct – a place in this family. You know what that means, Crosshair, and you know I didn't offer this lightly.”

Crosshair turns to you, this time his expression changing from amusement to one of solemnity. You could swear he almost looks guilty, as if he's feeling remorse for being rude to you on numerous occasions. “If he's offered that to you, Y/N, then...” He trails off, looking down at the floor, resting a hand on the back of his head.

“Then what?” you ask gently.

He looks back at you and exhales sharply. “Then I accept you too...ad'íka. Is it too late to apologize for not being exactly kind to you? For that, I was wrong. Forgive me.”

“No, Crosshair, it isn't too late. And...thank you. It's an honor to be welcomed into this family...an honor that will never be forgotten.”

“Good. Now do us all a favor and get your asses in the refresher. You reek of blood and sex, and frankly, it's a little insulting,” Crosshair laughs just as Hunter steps forward and shoves the blood stained towels into his arms.

“Just for that, you go ask Tech for that special enzymatic cleaner he has,” Hunter growls, taking your hand gently in his, turning in the direction of the refresher.

You wait until you're out of Crosshair's earshot before finding your voice. “Is it always going to be like that with him?” you ask curiously.

Hunter sighs as he opens the door to the refresher, then laughs quietly. “I'm afraid so. I did enjoy seeing you rip into him, however. He needs to learn a little humility, anyway.” As the door closes behind you, Hunter cranks on the shower. He turns toward you with a seductive grin, beckoning for you to join him. “Let me test a theory, mésh'la, that it's going be just as much fun getting you clean as it was getting you absolutely filthy.”

As you step under the blissfully hot water, Hunter's arms close around you, one hand wandering down to squeeze your ass as his lips touch yours for a particularly deep, sensuous kiss. You feel his cock stirring to life once more, twitching against your stomach.

Welcome to the family, indeed...

*****

"The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

[spacemilkies]

stress management

pairing: könig x reader

rqt: [] yes [x] no

wc: 1.5k

a/n: i promised to write about this fandom ages ago but got distracted as usual. but hey, can we talk about this new autosave feature. saved a life today.

synopsis: könig knows how to fix a very bad, no good day

warnings: on the job stress. fingering. könig is a literally a king

if he knows one thing, könig knows a lot about hard limits. he grew up on the cusp surviving the severity of emotional cruelty at a young age. so he, subjectively, knew better than anyone the signs of a very bad, no good day. 

he was pre-warned throughout the day by both colleagues and indirectly yourself. his off-days were few and far between and rarely matched with yours, so he spent the first three hours straightening up the flat when he got the text about the surprise inspection.

 being part of the special forces did not excuse unscheduled routine checks and more often than not it never failed to catch soldiers off guard. he was one of those, metaphorically caught with his pants below the knees more than once. the job came with many expectations, it was impossible to keep up with them all.

but you. 

you were a perfectionist, priding yourself with promptness and precision. as a weapons specialist, your caches were always primed and ready. you were so particular, it had become normal for you to customize specific loadouts for different teams and specializations. each freight equipped with situation fixed accessories and artillery. 

it set you up for a lot of success but equally as much failure on the wrong day. 

the warning came from fender, the demolitionist expert whom praised you as his saving grace on more than one occasion. könig trusted him to watch your back in the field in his absence, the tacked on friendship came later after the result of too many beers and a local football match. 

you valued all your loadouts, but there were a few that picked up dust. the speciality meant that you catered to all factions, but lately kortac favored tactical contestation over free-roam agency. a forgotten division that apparently took precedence today, and unfortunately you off guard.

there was no telling the severity of the reprimand, for something as simple as a short bullet count could count towards you. but he knew your reliability favored higher than the marks. it wouldn't stain your record, but it would certainly ruin your day. 

könig had given you an hour after receiving the news to see if you would seek him out. he had no doubt that you would spend the rest of the day clearing and taking inventory of every cache on deck and likely recalling some others. when it became apparent that you weren't in the mood for comfort, he decided to strategize another approach.

it became increasingly apparent just how much the failed inspection wore down on you when you arrive home in a /mood. könig was ready, however, alerted by the pointed click of the front door closing. 

he’s a picture of openness, relaxed comfortably against the wall adjoining the kitchen and the hall as you kick away your shoes and stack them neatly at the door. he always finds it adorable how your persistence to structure is retained regardless of any emotion. it’s what makes you so good at your job and so proud. 

könig knows though, that now is not the time to mention work, instead opting to great you with his usual kiss and squeeze at the waist. you never withhold affection when it comes to external factors, though your reciprocation is a muted affair. 

könig matches your reservation at first, cataloging your stiff posture and rigid movements. he can see the tension taut in every muscle of your body, more obvious in the way you handle appliances and when your back is turned to him.

he knows you’re not yet ready to talk about it, so he offers peace another route, attentive to your reaction as he slides against you from behind. between the two of you, it’s difficult to catch one another off guard with your actions, on the job training making it imperative to be cognitive of your surrounds. 

so he’s assured that his approach is consented if not yet wholly welcomed as his fingers deftly unravel your hand from whatever you have in your grasp. könig is aware that he has a lot of ground to cover in the short range of your allowance before you catch on. he swallows your instinctive complaint, coaxing you into a rhythm of lips and tongue distinctive to your relationship. 

it’s a difficult angle for him to kiss, and likely stiff your neck to meet him over your shoulder due to his height, but it’s a perfect way to keep you secure. with the right tactic, he only needs a few minutes to effectively bring you down a few notches.

he loves when you curl beautifully into his touch, the role of a nurturer falling seamlessly into his palms when you allow yourself to be pliable like this. the two of you share the role, knowing when taking the mantle is necessary. könig has never let his size dictate a relationship, preferring to rely on healthy communication to assign what was needed in any giving situation.

you gasp into his mouth when his knuckles first brush against heat of your sex beneath your pants. the way you immediately latch onto the gesture and draw your hips away from the counter in invitation, give him all the approval he needs to make quick work of your fastenings. 

he planed for it all to be hasty but thorough. just enough to workout the initial frustrations before offering you the soundbox and a meal. he knew from experience that not all things could be talked out, but effective comfort could come from other gestures of affection. if all you wanted was an orgasm and hot shower, he’d pluck your strings until only he could keep you upright then carry you to the bath himself.

könig moves the articles of clothing out of place rather than pulling them down, easily finding the elastic at your inner thigh and slipping his fingers underneath. he is ready when your knees go weak, his free arm holding you at the waist as he slides a digit into the stretch of your body. you’re no longer invested in his offered kiss, so he pulls away in favor of blooming small red blossoms against the skin of your throat as his thumb strokes your pearl with each punctuated nip of his teeth.

the rate at which you wet his fingers only strengthens his decision to go down this route as he adds another finger to your weeping entrance, teasing them into a slow thrust that already has you tightening in anticipation. the hidden danger of a calculating mind gave way for perceptiveness to detail as he stroked your most sensitive walls with practiced ease.

the flat of his tongue traces the line of your jaw, the even exhale through his nose leaving a slight chill against the dampness left behind. “no matter what sours your day, i will be here to make it better,” he promises against your ear.

he’s aware that he makes it impossible for you to reply, but it’s intentional. for now he just wants you to feel— soak in all his love and adoration until is washes away everything on the opposite side of the threshold of the door. 

your head drops back against his shoulder, as your hips undulate with the rise of your toes as you attempt to meet him on each upward drive you’re sure the roses he’s littered against the column of your throat have brightened under the heat of your flush, projecting as beacon of your obvious pleasure. 

any thoughts of returning the favor are effectively cut off by a twist of his wrist as the calloused pads of his fingers create friction with a bundle of nerves. 

it’s tacky and slick as he glides through your passage. a particular angle brings him knuckle deep, as his thumb continues to rotate in circles without rest. you’re well gone by this point but he exhausts the point by crooking his touch inward to produce white spots in your vision as your eyes flutter shut. your body trembles with the effort of wading through the anticipation as pleasure coils in your stomach and radiates to pressure at the base of your spine.

somehow your threshold allows you to pinpoint the roundness of his nose as it meets the crown of your head. the tone of his voice dropping as his fingers widen to spread you open to his touch,” let go, little maus.”

and you follow the command like a wave pulling you to the sea, the sensations lapping over you in a consistent current. könig remains insistent, blunt nail scraping hypersensitive tissue until you squirm. he hums a note of satisfaction as you squeeze one last time before going limp in his hold.

you inhale sharply when his touch leaves you, but voice no complaint when soiled his fingers run excessively over your thighs to get rid of some of your release still clinging to them.

his lips return to your hairline, and there’s a delay before you realize the movement is intended to form words.

“…now then, tell me about your day.”

you can 100% send me your thots on this man. i can go on for days

[crevicedwelling]

my mom recently read in a novel that some larger praying mantis species have been known to kill and eat hummingbirds. I know about bird-eating tarantulas, but I was curious if you knew of other insects who prey on birds, mammals, etc.? I know most will scavenge anything, but what abt critters who hunt? the idea of insects who hunt large prey is fascinating to me

large generalist predatory insects like mantises and katydids predominantly eat other insects, but the majority of the vertebrate prey they take is probably frogs and lizards, and typically ones smaller than themselves. hummingbirds might not be too representative of typical vertebrate prey because (I believe I heard a mantis researcher say) their metabolism is so tightly wound that the stress of being caught is enough to kill them, and all the mantis has to do is hang on, which they definitely can do. still, vertebrate predation is pretty impressive for orthopterans and mantodeans, since they’ve got to do it all without venom!

army ants of various types are also famous for their ability to catch vertebrates, but most army ants are actually specialists on other social insects (ants, wasps, termites), and the few generalist predator army ants still predominantly prey on invertebrates (and don’t skeletonize cows and horses like they do in cartoons).

diving beetles will hunt fish and aquatic amphibians—there’s a reason their larvae are called “water tigers!” belostomatid water bugs are probably the most impressive aquatic vertebrate-eaters though, and use powerful venom to subdue surprisingly large fish, tadpoles, and even other vertebrates:

outside of insects, there’s a lot of spiders that can feed on herptiles, either by overpowering them with strength like huntsmen and tarantulas, or by snaring them in webs like widows, the most successful snake eaters:

plus, there’s always the famous Nephila orbweavers whose sturdy webs can catch avian prey, but this is probably a fairly rare occurrence.

going over to centipedes, giant scolopendrids are quite successful predators of vertebrates, with any species large enough likely preying on herptiles, and occasionally on some far larger than they are!

Scolopendra venom is evolved to take down large prey, so it’s no surprise they’re some of the most prolific vertebrate-eaters in the arthropod world. some very large Scolopendra (gigantea, maybe galapagoensis, viridicornis, heros) will hunt bats, sometimes by hanging to catch them in flight. other predation on mammals and birds seems to occur opportunistically, especially where the prey is helpless: S. galapagoensis was recorded feeding on baby rodents in the Galapagos; other island species like Cormocephalus coynei will feed on seabird chicks (enough with the “fluffy” avian favoritism, Nature! ‘pedes gotta eat).

oh, speaking of nestling-devouring, there’s also some freaky observations of slugs munching on soft mushy songbird babies! someone on Twitter had their nest camera record some chicks getting eaten by a large Carabus ground beetle, but I can’t find it again.

but I think the most shocking example of vertebrate predation by an invertebrate is probably Epomis, another ground beetle. as larvae, they feed on frogs far larger than they are by letting themselves get attacked, latching onto the would-be predator, and munching on it until it perishes. adult beetles also prey on amphibians, but just run them down instead of luring prey.

(there’s also video of the adult beetles preying on frogs, but they seem to all be stolen by some weird content scraper YT channels, so I’ll not post them here.)

let me know if I missed any good examples of vertebrate predation by bugs!

[icu-fetish]

Test subject Kate. Part 2.

I still don't understand how it all happened. I must have been hit by a car and then taken to the hospital. And then I was transported here. To the place from which I wanted to stay as far as possible.

After waking up, I realized that a plastic tube had been inserted into my throat. However, my attempts to remove it were futile, as my hands were tied to the bed with straps. Soon a nurse appeared and informed me with a smile that I would have to endure this tube for a long time, because without artificial ventilation I would suffocate. She also said that I had been in a coma for several weeks. It's just terrible!

However, it still wasn't the worst of it. Soon she visited me. Dr. Cohen. A person I would like to see behind jail bars, not near my hospital bed. She already knew what information I had and clearly did not want me to ever leave this hospital. The doctor looked at me for a long time, and then began her monologue.

"I must admit that I am a fan of your blog. You were able to collect a lot of delicate facts about our institution. And in this you have significantly surpassed many large and well-known publications. However, you underestimated our security service. They are simply the best... We use the best in this place: equipment, specialists.... Anyway, your informant talked about your interest in our work. And now you're finally here."

I listened to her in shock, unable to utter a single word.

“We should have stopped you before you finished your article. However, I apologize for that incident. Even professionals make mistakes... Everything suddenly went out of control, and you fell into a coma. Therefore, it was a matter of honor for me to engage in your treatment. The last brain surgery was successful, and you finally woke up. Soon the headache will pass, and you will feel better."

I could not believe what I heard! Was she cutting my brain?! What else did they do to me while I was in a coma?

"You need a long rest. Therefore, no visitors will disturb you. According to the documents, you have been recorded as brain dead. The success of our treatment will remain a little secret for now. By the way, the nurse who helped you gather information is in the next room. Soon you will be able to see each other. And I'll leave you for now."

It was too much... I thought about what I heard for a long time and... I have no idea what to do. I am completely helpless and can't even breathe without these tubes and hoses. From now on, I am worried about one single question - what will be done with me next?

[olderthannetfic]

Now wondering how many "third genders" from cultures were the equivalent of tomboy/tomgirls or just being gnc. Like, those are identities, but they don't change what your gender is, it doesn't even say if you're trans or cis, or Nb.

OMG here's a third gender from 2000 years ago... plot twist, that identity is the equivalent of a IT programming furry specialist wearing thigh high socks, and says nothing about the gender of the person.

Like what if you have the trans adjective gender that people claim is a "third gender" and like an NB "third gender" but people are also taking the "tomboys/tomgirls" of the bronze age and calling them third genders, when that wasn't even a gender back then, they just had a word for it like we did.

--

Most bronze age stuff we know fuckall about if we're trying to get as specific as gender identity. People who say otherwise generally got their info from their spirit guides.

Typically, when reputable academics and the like talk about third genders, they're looking at people who had a specific role in society that was clearly distinct from that of women or men. It's going to be something from after a written record existed, and it will extend far beyond fashion. That doesn't mean the people in this role would have described it as a third gender though.

In the modern day, when subjects in groups like this are interviewed using modern, Western terminology, there's usually a split between those who see themselves as equivalent to binary trans women, a third gender, a mix of male and female, genderless, etc. They'll agree they're the same local category. How they feel they map onto foreign categories varies.

[senorboombastic]

This One Song… Martha on Please Don't Take Me Back

This One Song… Martha on Please Don’t Take Me Back

Tell you what – we love hearing from artists when things go right. We equally love hearing from artists when things go dreadfully wrong. A song that was a piece of piss, written in 20 minutes? Or years in the making and a bastard to write? Whether it’s a song that came together through great duress or one that was smashed out in a short amount of time, we’re getting the lowdown from some of our…

[jeannereames]

I see you talk a lot about historiography! What would you consider the most important development of Alexander’s historiography?

What the Hell is Historiography? (And why you should care)

This question and the next one in the queue are both going to be fun for me. 😊

First, some quick definitions for those who are new to me and/or new to reading history:

Historiography = “the history of the histories” (E.g., examination of the sources themselves rather than the subject of them…a topic that typically incites yawns among undergrads but really fires up the rest of us, ha.)

primary sources = the evidence itself—can be texts, art, records, or material evidence. For ancient history, this specifically means the evidence from the time being studied.

secondary sources = writings by historians using the primary evidence, whether meant for a “regular” audience (non-specialists) or academic discussions with citations, footnotes, and bibliography (sometimes referred to as “full scholarly apparatus”).

For ancient history, we also sometimes get a weird middle category…they’re not modern sources but also not from the time under discussion, might even be from centuries after the fact. Consider the medieval Byzantine “encyclopedia” called the Suda (sometimes Suidas), which contains information from now lost ancient sources, finalized c. 900s CE. To give a comparison, imagine some historian a thousand years from now studying Geoffry Chaucer from the 1300s, using an entry about him in some kid’s 1975 World Book Encyclopedia that contains information that had been lost by his day.

This middle category is especially important for Alexander, since even our primary sources all date hundreds of years after his death. Yes, those writers had access to contemporary accounts, but they didn’t just “cut-and-paste.” They editorialized and selected from an array of accounts. Worse, they rarely tell us who they used. FIVE surviving primary Alexander histories remain, but he’s mentioned in a wide (and I do mean wide) array of other surviving texts. Alas this represents maybe a quarter of what was actually written about him in antiquity.

OKAY, so …

The most important historiographic changes in Alexander studies!

I’m going to pick three, or really two-and-a-half, as the last is an extension of the second.

FIRST …decentering Arrian as the “good” source as opposed to the so-called “vulgate” of Diodoros-Curtius-Justin as “bad” sources.

Many earlier Alexander historians (with a few important exceptions [Fritz Schachermeyr]) considered Arrian to be trustworthy, Plutarch moderately trustworthy if short, and the rest varying degrees of junk. W. W. Tarn was especially guilty of this. The prevalence of his view over Schachermeyr’s more negative one owed to his popularity/ease of reading, and the fact he wrote on Alexander for volume 6 of the first edition (1927) of the Cambridge Ancient History, later republished in two volumes with additions (largely in vol. 2) in 1948 and 1956. Thus, and despite being a lawyer (barrister) not a professional historian, his view dominated Alexander studies in the first half of the 20th century (Burn, Rose, etc.)…and even after. Both Mary Renault and Robin Lane Fox (neither of whom were/are professional historians either), as well as N. G. L. Hammond (with qualifications), show Tarn’s more romantic impact well into the middle of the second half of the 20th century. But you could find it in high school and college textbooks into the 1980s.

The first really big shift (especially in English) came with a pair of articles in 1958 by Ernst Badian: “The Eunuch Bagoas,” Classical Quarterly 8, and “Alexander the Great and the Unity of Mankind,” Historia 7. Both demolished Tarn’s historiography. I’ve talked about especially the first before, but it really WAS that monumental, and ushered in a more source-critical approach to Alexander studies. This also happened to coincide with a shift to a more negative portrait of the conqueror in work from the aforementioned Schachermeyr (reissuing his earlier biography in 1973 as Alexander der Grosse: Das Problem seiner Persönlichtenkeit und seines Wirkens) to Peter Green’s original Alexander of Macedon from Thames and Hudson in 1974, reissued in 1991 from Univ. of California-Berkeley. J. R. Hamilton’s 1973 Alexander the Great wasn’t as hostile, but A. B. Bosworth’s 1988 Conquest and Empire: The Reign of Alexander the Great turned back towards a more negative, or at least ambivalent portrait, and his Alexander in the East: The Tragedy of Triumph (1996) was highly critical. I note the latter two as Bosworth wrote the section on Alexander for the much-revised Cambridge Ancient History vol. 6, 1994, which really demonstrates how the narrative on Alexander had changed.

All this led to an unfortunate kick-back among Alexander fans who wanted their hero Alexander. They clung/still cling to Arrian (and Plutarch) as “good,” and the rest as varying degrees of bad. Some prefer Tarn’s view of the mighty conqueror/World unifier/Brotherhood-of-Mankind proponent, including that He Absolutely Could Not Have Been Queer. Conversely, others are all over the romance of him and Hephaistion, or Bagoas (often owing to Renault or Renault-via-Oliver Stone), but still like the squeaky-nice-chivalrous Alexander of Plutarch and Arrian.

They are very much still around. Quite a few of the former group freaked out over the recent Netflix thing, trotting out Plutarch (and Arrian) to Prove He Wasn’t Queer, and dismissing anything in, say, Curtius or Diodoros as “junk” history. But I also run into it on the other side, with those who get really caught up in all the romance and can’t stand the idea of a vicious Alexander.

It's not necessary to agree with Badian’s (or Green’s or Schachermeyr’s) highly negative Alexander to recognize the importance of looking at all the sources more carefully. Justin is unusually problematic, but each of the other four had a method, and a rationale. And weaknesses. Yes, even Arrian. Arrian clearly trusted Ptolemy to a degree Curtius didn’t. For both of them, it centered on the fact he was a king. I’m going to go with Curtius on this one, frankly.

Alexander is one of the most malleable famous figures in history. He’s portrayed more ways than you can shake a stick at—positive, negative, in-between—and used for political and moral messaging from even before his death in Babylon right up to modern Tik-Tok vids.

He might have been annoyed that Julius Caesar is better known than he is, in the West, but hands-down, he’s better known worldwide thanks to the Alexander Romance in its many permutations. And he, more than Caesar, gets replicated in other semi-mythical heroes. (Arthur, anybody?)

Alfred Heuss referred to him as a wineskin (or bottle)—schlauch, in German—into which subsequent generations poured their own ideas. (“Alexander  der  Große  und  die politische Ideologie  des Altertums,” Antike und Abendland 4, 1954.) If that might be overstating it a bit, he’s not wrong.

Who Alexander was thus depends heavily on who was (and is) writing about him.

And that’s why nuanced historiography with regard to the Alexander sources is so important. It’s also why there will never be a pop presentation that doesn’t infuriate at least a portion of his fanbase. That fanbase can’t agree on who he was because the sources that tell them about him couldn’t agree either.

SECOND …scholarship has moved away from an attempt to find the “real” Alexander towards understanding the stories inside our surviving histories and their themes. A biography of Alexander is next to impossible (although it doesn’t stop most of us from trying, ha). It’s more like a “search” for Alexander, and any decent history of his career will begin with the sources. And their problems.

This also extends to events. I find myself falling in the middle between some of my colleagues who genuinely believe we can get back to “what happened,” and those who sorta throw up their hands and settle on “what story the sources are telling us, and why.” Classic Libra. 😉

As frustrating as it may sound, I’m afraid “it depends” is the order of the day, or of the instance, at least. Some things are easier to get back to than others, and we must be ready to acknowledge that even things reported in several sources may not have happened at all. Or at least, were quite radically different from how it was later reported. (Thinking of proskynesis here.) Sometimes our sources are simply irreconcilable…and we should let them be. (Thinking of the Battle of Granikos here.)

THIRD/SECOND-AND-A-HALF …a growing awareness of just how much Roman-era attitudes overlay and muddy our sources, even those writing in Greek. It would be SO nice to have just one Hellenistic-era history. I’d even take Kleitarchos! But I’d love Marsyas, or Ptolemy. Why? Both were Macedonians. Even our surviving philhellenic authors such as Plutarch impose Greek readings and morals on Macedonian society.

So, let’s add Roman views on top of Greek views on top of Macedonian realities in a period of extremely fast mutation (Philip and Alexander both). What a muddle! In fact, one of the real advantages of a source such as Curtius is that his sources seem to have known a thing or three about both Achaemenid Persia and also Macedonian custom. He sometimes says something like, “Macedonian custom was….” We don’t know if he’s right, but it’s not something we find much in other histories—even Arrian who used Ptolemy. (Curtius may also have used Ptolemy, btw.)

In any case, as a result of more care given to the themes of the historians, a growing sensitivity to Roman milieu for all of them has altered our perceptions of our sources.

These are, to me, the major and most significant shifts in Alexander historiography from the late 1800s to the early 2100s.

[phoenixyfriend]

Thought- in the terracotta warriors thing, you mentioned that the Jedi archeologists brought in a specialist in mando iconography to try and work out what’s going on with the 501sts symbols- what if that outside specialist is jaster mereel? Could be pre becoming the mand’alor, could be just his side job, but either way he spends a few years studying it all and getting used to being the only mando in a base camp full of Jedi, makes friends, has academic discussions and disagreements, steals someone’s holopad to try and use the link to the Jedi archives to read all the things on tarre visla, gets into an actual argument, reconciles with agreeing to help with a historical reenactment of a Jedi mandolorian war, gets Madame nu’s comm number, introduces his new son to his comm bff who argues historical nitpicks with him, brings jango to the next summer at the site, clones react to jango somehow and/or there’s a few tubies in there who look distractingly like jango and/or someone has their helmet off and jango has a breakdown over it looking like a family member? And so on and so on

Context: Sleeping Soldiers AU

See, I don't really subscribe to the "halfway to archaeologist!Jaster" fanon. I'm especially reticent to engage with the Jocasta ship, honestly.

But... okay, here's the thing. It does feel pretty incongruous with how I've written Jaster thus far. I can believe him having like. A 'classical' education. Not actually tutored like a noble, but that he sought out the same subjects as an adult to make sure he understood how to rule once he started having a proper political angle. He's a history nerd in the way that a particularly political/philosophical aristocrat of the 18th century would have been.

Military history, philosophical history, political and even some arts... but not actually in an archaeological sense.

(Also, it raises my hackles because it's one of those things that feels like it's heavily associated with the whole "True Mandos Were Best Mandos" crowd.)

It also really depends on the era! Tarre makes more sense than Jaster, just because of the timescale! The soldiers are millennia buried by the time Jaster is born! That said, even Tarre is a few millennia late but... makes more sense than Jaster.

Most likely, there are historians and archaeologists coming by every few centuries, as new generations encounter the issue, and older analyses are lost in the depths of the archives. Frequency tapers off after a few millennia, but... by the time Jaster is around?

It's 100% a New Mandalorian with an art history doctorate. (With a military symbolism specialty, in this case.)

It's probably not a New Mando if it's an Early On moment, but it probably is a New Mando if the Jedi start getting Weird Vibes and investigating the soldiers in the decades leading up to the Prequels.

Would the New Mandalorians know more than the traditionalists? Not necessarily. Would they know less? Actually, no.

I firmly believe that the New Mandalorians are taught about their histories in a "German kids learn about WWII atrocities, going on field trips to historic sites of said horrors, so their teachers can stress that they don't repeat the mistakes of the past" kind of way. I imagine the New Mandos would have plenty of research and records in regards to actual history, with plenty of museums and such. Part of maintaining pacifism is ensuring that the coming generations understand what led them to pacifism in the first place.

Is this thousands of years in the past, and thus difficult to research? Yes, but the traditionalists would have that same problem.

More of them, even. If the New Mandos have been around for seven hundred years, like Legends claims, then the traditionalists have probably have lost a lot of history through various battles and bombings, while the New Mandalorians, while not entirely escaping large scale destruction and such attacks, are much more likely to have protected and maintained their sites, simply by not courting war as a matter of culture. The traditionalists, meanwhile, would have had a much stronger emotional and cultural attachment to legends and themes, though I'll admit those are probably prone to revisionism, much like real-world folklore and mythology.

As @atagotiak put it:

Ehhhh. The traditionalists do care about legends and history and stuff. Often in an idealized way, sure. But you could argue that they’d have more reason than new mandos to be into these stories. Which, to be clear, isn’t like, saying that Jaster is definitely a part-time historian or anything like that. It’s just I don’t think one side would have an advantage over another. (edited)

So the New Mandos and Trad Mandos are probably on an even playing ground, insofar as skill and resources and knowledge go.

But by Jaster's time, the Jedi would have more reason to think the New Mandos would cooperate. No real downside to asking them when it comes to knowledge/skill, and an upside in terms of 'not getting shot when asking.'

As Tia said:

And even if we assume Jaster is a big history nerd and would be receptive to the Jedi (and tbh there’s even less indication of the latter) there’s no reason to think the Jedi would know that.

So yeah, when the soldiers start having Vibes And The Force Becomes Suspiciously Active on that level... New Mando archaeologist, definitely.