#but I’m so critical with performers because I’m so quick to be like ‘there’s nothing here’

[neoflect]

sharing some of my disorganized jojo musical thoughts now that ive had a week to sit on it and ive rewatched it several times over. i intended to wait to publish something like this until a subtitled version was available, but im not seeing any indication that thats happening any time soon so for now youll have to deal with my loose interpretations from my extremely rudimentary and rusty japanese… so take what i have to say about the finer points of characterization with a grain of salt. gratuitous spoilers below obviously, both for the original source material and the changes made in the stage production

my feelings are OVERWHELMINGLY positive. of course there are things i can criticize or that i would have personally done differently but oh man… i have literally not thought about anything besides this fucking show for a week. im 100% confident in saying this is a better adaptation of the source material than the tv anime. sorry to the davidpro staff, i respect their hard work and their love for jojo and their dedication to what is by any metric a pretty difficult property to adapt off of the page, but i dont know if i can ever forgive them for leaving half of the first episode’s storyboard on the cutting room floor in order to fit a standard half-hour tv slot, especially considering that what they cut is some of the really crucial character-building stuff. happily those scenes are not only reproduced in the stage version, some of them are expanded upon!

with the quick disclaimer that i’ve only managed to get my hands on the final 4/14 performance with shotaro arisawa and yoshihisa higashiyama, from what i’ve seen the casting is perfect. i’m sure there’s a rip of the 4/13 performance somewhere (i’ve seen clips) but i haven’t been able to find one… every single performer knocks it out of the fucking park, the cast chemistry is incredible and even the minor characters are loaded with charisma. and mamoru miyano… my god… mamoru miyano i owe you an apology. i was not familiar with your game. of course hes been killing it for decades at this point but i had soured on him a little bit recently because i felt like he was overcast in everything and i just didnt connect with his dnt reinhard at all, so when the casting was initially announced back in august i was underwhelmed, and of course my standards for the dio role in particular were astronomically high… i’ll go more into detail later in the post because i have so so many things to say about dio’s characterization here but mamoru miyano’s performance is like, life-changing. i had impossible expectations and he exceeded them.

sorry if im gushing. i am a hater by nature. its unusual for me to be so thoroughly pleased with something. im not even a musical theater guy. these are strange new feelings for me.

just to balance things out i’ll talk about a couple of the things that didn’t really work for me: first of all, the music is just ok. my initial draft of this post called the music “bad” but three additional viewings later i have warmed up to some of the songs. i don’t know if this is a shortcoming by dove attia as the composer or if it’s just me, as i said i’m not a musical guy and a lot of the genre conventions of musical theatre are not really the things i look for in music that i enjoy, but like… even at their worst they are serviceable. nothing here is sonically unpleasant to me. high points are “resolve of the ripple” (zeppeli’s hamon training song, a jazzy swing number - it’s simply catchy and fun to listen to) and the closer “phantom blood” (a sweeping ballad that reprises the earlier “light and darkness”/”golden spirit” leitmotifs into an epic duet between jonathan and dio as they join hands and walk off into the darkness together… made me cry! i wont lie! on every single one of my numerous viewings this one got me misty eyed!)

wait i forgot this is supposed to be the part where i’m being critical. ok my most loathed song in the musical is “dio’s world”. sorry dio nation. it doesn’t really work for me. i think this might be a case of my standards/expectations being too impossibly high because it’s not even really the worst song in the whole thing. and of course miyano eats it up so it’s not really his fault. i just find it kind of underwhelming… i find the melody a little grating, it’s kind of just a generic rock number, it’s just missing a particular je ne sais quoi…. the essence of dio isn’t there… lyrically though i am obsessed with the premise of dio recruiting his minions by selling himself as a kind of social revolutionary who is upending and inverting the brutal hierarchy of post-industrial victorian society with zombie blood magic. you win some you lose some.

the second sticking point for me is the costumes. they’re perfectly serviceable… adequate… but i mean when it comes to jojo “serviceable” and “adequate” costume design obviously falls well below what’s expected, right? a lot of the outfits have kind of a boxy, almost flat-looking kind of unflattering fit on the actors, which if i wanted to be generous i could attribute to the challenge of bridging the gap between these frail slender musical theater twinks and the two-meter-tall 250lb roided-out beefcakes theyre meant to be embodying. (bearing this discrepancy in mind a lot of the insane martial arts stuff in the second act doesn’t really land with the oomph that it should, but i also understand logistically why this kind of casting is not practical, and all things considered i think shotaro arisawa does a really incredible job of embodying jonathan joestar even though he kind of looks like i could snap him in half over my knee like a twig. he’s very cute. so i’m not mad about it.) of course, again, logistically, i understand that in a stage musical production, where actors only have minutes to complete costume changes, some sacrifices have to be made to the creative vision in the name of practicality. nevertheless this is jojos bizarre adventure!! i want to see some fucking baubles!!!!!!

which is all to say that… after carefully considering it for some weeks… i still have extremely mixed feelings about dio’s grink ass feather bathrobe look. it’s not that i dont think its something he could wear (the concept of dio lounging around in his gothic vampire palace doing re-animator style body horror experiments on the local wildlife in this “officer i have no idea what happened to my husband”-ass nightgown is nothing short of hysterical to me) but then he wears it into combat and i felt a little disappointed… it has the same unflattering fit issue as the other outfits in the show, and it is just such an un-araki-like design… where are the gaudy color combinations? the bizarre geometric patterns? the tease of an exposed boob/thigh/midriff? erina gets a stage-original dress design that i have fewer issues with because the excessive pleats and ruffles have more of an araki-esque sensibility, but every time i look at dio’s robe it feels like there’s something missing.  i’m going to choose to be nice about it because it’s not at all a deal breaker and, again, mamoru miyano devours the look. it’s fine. it’s always fun to have a new dio outfit. if anything, the fact that the blu-rays are being marketed as “2024 cast version” gives me hope for the possibility of a future production with a new vision for the costume design. (although the fact that this was such a difficult production - with stunts and pyrotechnics and moving setpieces - that its entire first week was cancelled indicates to me that the prospects for a future production from a different company are impossibly slim. i guess there’s always hope?)

in terms of the writing and the changes that were made from the original narrative, honestly i don’t really have an issue with anything that was cut. sorry if there are any diehard stans of Poco’s Unnamed Sister out there who are steamed that their favorite minor late phantom blood character got the axe, i kind of understand how you feel because i’ve been malding over david pro cutting the Danny Lore for eleven years, but i think it was the right choice and the story flows so much better. the real juicy meat at the core of phantom blood as a narrative and the thing that brings it head and shoulders above so much of the rest of jjba is the character-driven drama - that deliciously pulpy victorian gothic family tragedy - and the relationship between jonathan and dio. the musical beefs up the character drama and slims down the action-driven second half by trimming out the extraneous battles. the only real downside i see to this is that the absence of tompetty and his prophecy makes zeppeli’s arc and death feel INSANELY abrupt, but tbf that’s not a deal breaker for me. sorry zeppeli. you were born to die.

okay. okay. i think 1500 words into the post is enough fucking around so let’s talk about the real reason why you and i both know we’re here

musical dio is SO fucking sad. he’s positively wretched, you guys. he was born in a wet cardboard box all alone and forced to eat cement when he was six. he cries even more than he does in the source material and even when he’s not crying he frequently delivers his lines as though he is moments away from bursting into tears. back when the musical first opened i was snooping on the reactions on jpn twitter and one commenter said they could see miyano’s tears and snot from the nosebleeds even without opera glasses, a remark i initially assumed was hyperbole but that i now think probably was not. araki’s dio is certainly tortured and a deeply pathetic crybaby beneath all the cruelty and posturing, but changes in the musical and miyano’s embodiment of the character bring this pathos to the fore. he is literally haunted: dario’s ghost lingers, a manifestation of all of dio’s traumas and insecurities that emerges from the recesses of his memory to taunt him with the reminder that he will always be his father’s son, all the way up until the very minute that jonathan breaks down the door to his vampire lair. i am OBSESSED with this - not only for the obvious reason that i delight in dio’s suffering personally but also because kong kuwata is a delight and he fucking kills it every time. also lends itself to a category 10 leitmotif moment at the top of the second act when dio emerges from the charred ruins of the joestar estate singing dario’s theme and calling out to jonathan - if i had to pinpoint this is probably the moment when this musical stuck for me as the Real Deal. they Get It.

the first solo number in the show is dio’s disney princess I Want song (amazingly, simply titled “dio”) where he weeps for his late mother and his wretched lot in life, and then - in a creative decision that made me clap my hands and hoot and holler at my screen in real life - there is a reprise of this number (delivered, naturally, through tears) when dio is almost arrested for murder and decides to become a vampire instead. so there’s this amazing hopeful uplifting inspirational orchestral music accompanying the onstage action of dio ruthlessly slaying jonathan’s dad and then getting pumped full of lead by a bunch of cops. it is brilliant. 10/10 no notes. it’s moments like this that i think really sell the “softening” of dio in the stage version for me, even though i am historically Not A Fan of fanworks that take a similar angle - like, yes, he is sad, but specifically he is narcissistically obsessed with the spectacle of his own suffering, he is boiling over with bitterness and rage for everyone around him who (by his own estimation) could never hope to have suffered as much as he has. this sensitivity and self-pity he wallows in are not expressions of a guilty conscience or a desire to change - they’re entirely the opposite - every cruel and monstrous deed dio commits is always justified to himself because he is simply the saddest little boy who has ever existed. he has been done wrong by the world and so there is no limit to the depravity he may reasonably respond with. i’ve seen several commenters describe this as a drastically different interpretation of the character from araki’s dio (and someone told me on twitter that mamoru miyano himself has also said this, but i cba to go digging for an actual source so take it with a grain of salt?), but i… dont think thats the case! dio’s obsession with his own weakness and his self-perception as the eternal underdog (as compared to jonathan) are certainly more exaggerated in miyano’s performance, but i don’t think this is an angle to the character that’s been manufactured out of whole cloth. the genre conventions of the stage musical force the melodrama up to eleven and dio’s incredibly repressed angst is the most rich vein to mine for that. hair-trigger sadist dio is still here, it’s the same guy, he’s still killing people mercilessly, you’re just getting to see him sing a big ballad about his feelings instead of confining those to an internal monologue.

if anything, the exaggeration of dio’s pathetic/cowardly/crybaby traits combined with his megalomaniacal aspirations and bottomless well of cruelty is just right. it’s perfect. fucking around, finding out, and then trying to weasel his way out of the consequences with crocodile tears just so you don’t see him drawing his knife to cut you clean open… yeah. thats the stuff. thats my one true blorbo. sad to say i will love him for ten thousand years.

i think that might be all i have to say… or at least all i feel like saying here… most likely ill come back and edit this post later. i certainly have some additional thoughts and some more esoteric/controversial takes but they’re not suited for a public blog. real ones will understand. im keeping my eyes peeled for somebody to translate this thing but to be frank i am kind of enjoying this little corner of fandom as it is right now: just the asians and the true hardcore phantom blood phreaks. i have not had this much fun in jojo fandom in almost a fucking decade. as soon as somebody publishes an english version my timelines going to get flooded with all the most deeply annoying “kono dio da” “speedwagon waifu” reddit guys and 15 year olds and my suffering will proceed. unfortunately this is my lot in life and i am doomed to be here forever because dio put a worm in my brain

#⚰️ #jjba tag for blacklisting purposes but i dont want this in the main tag

[itspileofgoodthings]

like. She is a tour de force, she IS the one-woman show, she is truly a superstar. It’s not like I didn’t know that going in but it was seeing that power at work and in its right context for the first time.

#like the crowd?? the crowd #it’s too big. it shouldn’t be that big. it’s inhumane it’s bordering on criminal #should it even be allowed????? #questions to be asked. but if there is one person ALIVE who knows how to direct them and give them a context in which they all have a part #and nothing feels too big just big enough #it’s her. and I KNOW it’s not the same for other artists. they don’t have that discography and they don’t have that range #and they just don’t have the SONGS #the songs are the bedrock!!!!! #(anyway sorry to any Gracie or haim fans but the openers in their own small way were part of pushing me to the brink of madness) #because I was like I came here for this?????? to watch you wail incoherently into a microphone?????? #but then it’s like ‘oh wait’ #‘no it’s just Taylor’ #except it’s also NOT because it’s her and the crowd and her working the crowd #also just. her magnetism. INSANE to be in the same room as it #and yet also the magic of it all is that my mind was racing during the concert putting the pieces together #but also I was just. there. Head empty no thoughts. singing songs I love with my friends #I’m always like ‘can Taylor give ME the same experience as this crowd’ #which is egotistical but I’m very very critical and hard to please and it is in a way SO hard for me to have fun #like I try to work on it and be a good sport (at a wedding. At a party) #but I’m so critical with performers because I’m so quick to be like ‘there’s nothing here’ #Because guess what: there usually I S N ‘ T #but Taylor is an exception. and so she is the most capable of taking me on a. Journey #Anyway not that it negated anything I’ve felt and still feel about her personal life and the pain of it and the way that fame #hurts her so deeply even while she’s so good at being famous. Or the way that this pop star life is not enough for her #because a pop star life is not enough for any human being #but that just was all part of the bittersweet experience #all of her humanity shines through and the humanity of her position #and the true vulnerability of it in a sense #anyway we stayed for a bit and listened to sweet nothing afterwards and it was perfect and bittersweet #!!!

[mountingpulisic]

BOYS DON'T CRY

a/n: this is just a quick little something i wrote for mason, it actaully pains me to read all the hateful comments he receives. i hope he knows how much he is loved. song boys dont cry by camilia cambello

i know thoughts you don't want in your head

are spinning 'round, 'round, 'round

i know you got demons from the past

slowing you down, down, down

but you don't answer your FaceTime

you never had much of a poker face

it doesn't make you less of a man

you're just human right now

the amount of hate mason was receiving online was alarming, every move he made he was getting criticized for.  

he didn’t vocalize it to you; however, you knew that it was getting to him. you saw past the fake smile he’d mustard up when discussing his performance with his father, telling tony that he was just in a rough transition right now, having a hard time adjusting to potter’s way of coaching. 

he thought you were bought into his act as well, reassuring you that everything was fine and you shouldn’t worry about the rude comments. he insisted it didn't bother him, that he knew of the challenges of a footballer career when he signed up for it. 

when I'm afraid of the world and every part of me hurts

you don't know how many times you've saved me

so why you hiding from me? It's only making it worse

i just wanna be close, my baby

you had caught him one afternoon reading the comments, stopping by his house since he had been ignoring your calls. when you first heard the sniffles, you thought he was just simply catching a cold but when you investigated further and saw the golden boy at the dining room table with a few fresh tears streaming down his face with phone in hand, you knew it wasn’t the common cold.

approaching him slowly and bending down so you were knelt in front of his thighs, you finally saw his true emotions towards the situation. bloodshot eyes and a running nose were what your eyes settled on; he tried shifting his posture and hiding his face when he saw your sympathetic look. not wanting you to see him like this because his old man had always told him boys don't cry.

“mase, baby, stop trying to hide away from me. you are only making it worse, you need to talk to someone about how you are feeling.” just wanting to hold him close, stood up and you settled down into his lap. he instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, nose nestling into your neck. 

fingers finding a home in his tangled hair, you created a safe place for him to cry. his body shook in snobs, tears hitting the flesh on your neck, as he finally expressed his true emotions. 

“i have given this club, the fans, the owners, my all. I have played through injuries, i have been the poster boy that they have all wanted for me to be. although the second i hit a rough patch, the second i’m not scoring enough goals, i’m the reason why we are last place in the league? that all our problems will solve if i no longer played? how could they turn their backs on me so quickly, love?” 

give me your pain

i'll take the weight off your shoulders

don't be afraid

fall into me, let me hold you

we weren't made

to hold back the rain from the sky

who ever told you that boys don't cry, boys don't cry?

it absolutely broke your heart seeing him like this, there was nothing more that you wanted to do than to take the tremendous weight off of his shoulders. you knew mason was afraid of getting traded, the thought alone of chelsea using the player nineteen as a scapegoat made you angry. you thought it was hilarious that these die-hard faces screamed for mason’s removal but forgot how he was the player of the year for two consecutive years. it was as if all his hard work had now vanished from the memories, that now he was just some washed up player who didn’t deserve a spot on the team. 

you knew now more than ever that you had to be there not only physically but emotionally for mason. us as humans weren’t made to bury this type of pain within ourselves, how everyone needed an outlet. 

you gripped him closer to your chest as you whispered reassuring words to him, “everything is going to be okay, baby.”

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x y/n #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagine #Spotify

[rosengeist]

Every 6 months or so I get this profound urge to make a comedic video essay on how the 1997 Don Bluth film is a fascinatingly subversive take on the Disney Princess archetype. (No it is not lost on me that Disney now owns the film)

Like especially in the last decade or so where Disney movies make characters royals by loopholes, or in straight up confounding ways (see Princess and the Frog or the live action Aladdin). And treat being a royal less as an actual occupation and more as “person who is attractive that everyone likes and gives money to.” Anastasia is the only Princess film where being royal is portrayed as strictly a performative role, and therefore one that ultimately she rejects. It’s not what she needed, nor what the audience needs, to achieve emotional catharsis.

It’s also fascinatingly subversive in that it takes place at a very specific time and place in history, as opposed to “kind of over there, generally, maybe in Norway? idk”. Like one of the jokes about the Disney Beauty and the Beast is how the French Revolution would have happened shortly after the film. And like, there is something to be said about having a fairy tale be set “long ago and far away”. However, Disney loves to give you the flavor of an era without ever really bringing in the politics of it. It muddies the waters of making royalty palatable at a time when we’ve largely abolished it. Anastasia doesn’t skirt the issue of a Revolution, it starts that way. I always assumed that must be profoundly offensive to Russians, but some basic research showed the opposite for the most part. (Not like they care too much about an animated film from the 90’s, they’ve got bigger things on their plate.)

There is nothing wrong with the Disney approach per se, it works for their films. However, Anastasia isn’t hindered by giving you specific years, months, timelines and cultural touchstones. It exists in the same world as political events, artistic milestones, and even medical innovation (like Freud shows up as a gag, it’s not a guy who looks like Freud, it’s him. You also get Isadora Duncan, and Josephine Baker making cameos. Them showing up provides a quick laugh, but also reinforces the idea that being a royal for Anya isn’t a political role, but would largely just make her a Parisian celebrity of the time with no actual power to affect Russians.)

Even stuff I used to think was unneeded in the animated film proved to be an asset to the film once I saw how it was altered for the theatrical production. The stage musical lacks Rasputin, and pulls in the Bolsheviks and it’s made way less fun or concise as a result. Personally I find it a mopey production without nearly the amount of fun it should have. (Ironically early versions of the film had Bolshevik villains but they replaced them with Rasputin upon learning that Russians found the Bolshevik plot more unpleasant. This was an actual case of “a wizard did it” being a less offensive option.)

Idk, I’ve seen SO much film essay criticism that is about how bad some films are, and there is some stuff I find silly in the film, but every couple of months I’m like “yeah, that was kind of an interesting way to tackle that.”

Talking out loud, because I can’t film or video edit atm, but I’d like to make this happen some day.

#Anastasia #anastasia 1997 #Don bluth #film appraisal I geuss #Bolsheviks just made it worse #unnecessary villain #I know Disney owns it #an actually subversive Princess #suprisingly political but still a fairy tale

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 3 - Post #4: Margin of Error

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 6.5K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

IV. You knew it was absurd for the Mandalorian to worry that you would draw unwanted attention.

Walking down the grimy streets of Daiyu City, everyone you pass either stares with terrified awe or performatively averts their gaze at the sight of him. And despite his professed desire for discretion, the bounty hunter doesn’t stick to the alleyways or sidestreets but steers you down a wide, busy thorofare lined with carts, stalls, and kiosks.

You have to step carefully to avoid tripping over vendors hawking their goods on the walkway.

As you pass, many of the merchants stop mid-sentence to nudge their nearest customer and nod in Mando’s direction. You can feel the news ripple through the crowd, shifting like a current as the night market patrons realize who’s among them. Because a Mandalorian in Daiyu City could only mean one thing—that serious shit was about to go down between powerful people with deep pockets. 

You’d like to reassure everyone that your presence isn’t a harbinger of some impending gang war if for no other reason than all the anxious whispering is setting your teeth on edge. But who would believe you? Look at him. Who in their right mind is gonna believe this man is anything other than a walking magnet for trouble?

“They give you combat training in the Medical Corps?” The Mandalorian asks, perhaps sensing your growing unease. His voice is barely audible over the droids weaving in and out of the crowd gathered in front of Daiyu’s transit terminal, announcing gates and berths, departure and arrival times. 

“Eight weeks of basic,” you manage over the din. 

“Better than nothing.” 

His Beskar reflects and amplifies the loud, lurid colors radiating from neon signs framing every shop window and marquee. Entire buildings are covered in bright flashing advertisements that, without your visor, would probably induce a stroke. The night sky looms over the city, but the stars are shrouded in an impenetrable haze of artificial light.

“Just stay close and keep your head down,” Mando adds in a low rumble, which seems like odd advice since no one is looking at you. 

Your long mane of moondust hair remains hidden under your hood, and the black bodysuit camouflages your silhouette in shadow. But, despite his criticism, your original outfit would not have been out of place given the elaborate fashions you see on the passing females. All of whom slow down to give Mando an appraising once over.

Hardly the jealous type, you’re grateful not to be the only poor fool to fall for him in that armor. One or two promise him the 'night of his life,' a quick fuck down a dark alley...but as usual, he doesn't even bother looking in their direction.

The port is much quieter as you near the private docking bays, isolated but not neglected. Your stomach does a terrified little somersault when you realize where you're headed. Mando strides confidently toward an elegant Nau'ur-class yacht so immense it could probably house the population of a small moon. 

Except there appears to be only one way in or out—which has got to be some kind of fire code violation—and it’s guarded by HK sentinel droids. 

You pause before crossing the gangway and turn to the Mandalorian. “So—um—how confident are we that Vos will let us off the ship once this is over?” 

“Not particularly,” he sighs, sounding resigned.

“Do you just navigate life expecting everything to be a trap?”

“That surprise you?” Mando asks incredulous. “You fought in the Rebellion.”

“On the battlefield, where our enemies were very straightforwardly trying to kill us. Plus, they all wore these super distinctive uniforms. Made it easy to know who to shoot at.” 

Somehow, you can hear his eyes rolling. 

“I’m sorry.” You stop yourself from reaching for him, knowing someone onboard Vos’s yacht must be watching your every move over the security feed. “I don’t mean to make everything a joke. I’m just nervous.”

He starts to raise a hand to your shoulder but thinks better of it.

“You’re right to be cautious. Even if Vos agrees to help, he’s always searching for leverage. Best not to give him any.”

“Okay,” you nod in understanding. 

“Just keep a low profile and do as I say. Please.”  

A voice inside your head urges you to make a run for it, but another voice reminds you to have some faith in the Mandalorian. Kriffing hell, there’s nothing left to do except roll the dice and step inside.

“State your business.” 

You jump a little when the sentinel droids activate. Mando’s helmet turns to glance in your direction, and you can only imagine his regret at bringing you with him.

“I’m here to see Ryun Vos. He’s expecting me.”

“You’ll need to check your weapons.” 

When you enter the foyer, more HK sentinels wait for you inside, guarding a second set of closed doors. Another smaller droid rolls forward, holding out a metal case and opening the lid for Mando. The bounty hunter begins disarming, and you realize he’s got several weapons hidden on his person that you swear you’ve never seen before, including a micro pistol (?) secured inside the lining of his utility belt.  

Another droid approaches, holding aloft an empty case for you.

Unlike the small armory the bounty hunter is packing, you only have the knife at your waist and his two blasters holstered over each thigh. Mando leans closer to look at the Westars, sighing roughly through his nostrils when he sees that you’ve set them both to stun.

“You’re not the only one sworn to live by a creed,” you mutter under your breath.

Your words are lost in the soft whoosh of the interior doors sliding open. A woman clad in black leather armor and a gleaming cybernetic jaw steps into the foyer. 

“Not just yet,” she raises a hand and purses her black-stained lips. “I believe there’s a knife in your boot, Mandalorian.”

Wordlessly, he crouches down to remove the vibro-blade tucked into his left boot. In an added gesture of contrition, Mando shakes loose the whistling birds from his vambrace—but not the whipcord you notice. Which is a clever bit of misdirection. 

“Since when do you work with a partner?” The guard asks, finally acknowledging your presence with a disgusted sneer. 

While she scrutinizes your inexplicable appearance at the Mandalorian’s side, you think back to the toughest, most badass bitch you knew from infantry and try to remember her posture and the way she would stand with her knees straight, hips tilted. 

“Since now,” is the extent of Mando's explanation.

Some silent test of wills plays out between the two warriors before the guard relents. “I’ll let Vos know you’ve arrived," she drolls. "He’s busy at the moment. Not sure when he’ll find the time to meet with you, but you’re welcome to wait for him on level seventeen with the rest of the miscreants.” 

She—the Anzati woman—is absolutely terrifying. With skin so pale it looked ashen gray. The intricate facial markings carved into her cheeks are blood red. Her yellow eyes had slit-like, reptilian pupils. Jet black hair fell in heavy waves over her shoulders and down her bare muscular back. A portrait of lethal beauty. 

It's scary and arousing at the same time. Also distracting. What was the significance of that look she shared with the Mandalorian?

“Does this mean we’re officially partners now?” Alone inside the lift, you can’t stop yourself from saying something—anything—to shake the tension. The nerves bubbling up in your stomach have gotten the better of you already. 

“Why?” Mando looks at you askance. “You hoping I’ll introduce you to Vos?”

Wow. Okay. Guess you’re not sharing the elevator with the tenderhearted Mandalorian who'd stolen your heart. At some point, that man had transformed into this callous bounty hunter who did not appreciate collegial banter.

But as Mando so astutely observed, you’re no longer afraid of his cranky stoicism. Someone’s got to lighten the mood. “We did sort of team up for that job on Danvar II,” you shrug. 

He clears his throat, “You think so?”

“Do you know what happens when bone marrow enters the bloodstream? If I didn’t amputate, that guy would have died of an embolism, rendering him literally worthless.”

“I believe you were compensated for your services.” 

“Would you be more comfortable if I used the term 'subcontractor' instead of partner?”

“I'd be more comfortable if you stopped talking so much,” the Mandalorian snaps. "But as I doubt that’s possible, can you at least keep your voice down?”

Good thing he wears that helmet cause otherwise, you might be tempted to break his nose.

“And I hope I don’t have to remind you that we’re not here to make friends,” he adds sternly. “These are Vos’s paid assassins and enforcers. They’re not your friends, and they never will be, so don’t talk to them.”

Oh yeah, you’d love to wind back a real sucker punch. Instead, you say, “Aye-aye, captain,” and give him a little mock two-finger salute. 

When the lift arrives on level seventeen, you step out into a pretty unremarkable mess hall, given the yacht’s extravagance. Lounge would be a more generous description since there are some gaming tables where people gather to play cards or dejarick. But the scene is closer to a military barrack, with a heated contest of arm wrestling drawing most of the room’s attention.

There are about twenty of them in all, a mix of species and genders, with a few droids amongst their ranks. Most pretend not to notice your arrival, but a few glare in the Mandalorian’s direction or exchange meaningful looks.

If Mando knew any of them, he didn’t seem to care. He stalks over to an empty corner of the room and takes root with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. 

Is this what he's like on the job? All business? Not that it's a huge departure from his normally standoffish behavior, but...what? Did you expect drinking buddies?

No, he saved his warmth and humor for the kids. With maybe a little left over for you, too.

Unfortunately, you aren't as skilled in compartmentalizing your emotions. There’s no way you’ll be able to sit still waiting on Vos indefinitely, not with this much tension circulating, so you take a seat at a nearby table and activate the holo-board. Nadu Chaal, a Huttese game testing memory and calculation, is an ideal pastime to divert your attention.

Keep your head down and eyes on the board; maybe you’ll leave without humiliating yourself. Or the Mandalorian.

“Hello, there.”

Ugh, kriffing ... You look up from your discard pile to see one of the mercenaries, a male Togruta, approaching your table. He walks over with a tankard but without a shirt, his well-muscled body glistening with sweat. Perhaps he’d been sparring with the group over by the bar. 

“Don’t think I’ve met you before,” he says, handing you a drink. You take it because it seems rude not to, and you don’t know what merits retaliation around here. “My name’s Talsala. And you?”

You twist your head reflexively to look at the Mandalorian standing still as a statue behind you.

“Ha!” Talsala barks with laughter. “Well done, Mando. She’s very obedient.”

It chafes your pride hearing him say that, but ‘very obedient’ has got to count for something with the Mandalorian.  

The Togruta leans one of his powerful shoulders against the wall next to him, “I’d offer you one, too, Mando, but then you might loosen up a little, and I know how you hate that.”

“Talsala,” the bounty hunter says in an irritated tone. “This is Thulani Vildar.” 

Fortunately, your visor hides the look of shock sweeping over your eyes. What did he mean by giving you Tigran Vildar’s name, especially given how much he seemed to hate the man?

“Always thought you worked alone,” the Togruta says, speaking to Mando. “Certain advantages to bringing in a partner, eh?” He shoots you a lewd glance, making it clear what these perceived benefits might be. “She looks…eager to prove herself.” 

And then, to your horror, Talsala takes the seat opposite you. “I’m trying to get a game of Bako going. You know it?”

Your nod is more wary than eager. “I’ve seen it played.”

He waves over two others—a Rattataki female and a human male—to join you around the table. You sense Mando’s looming presence behind you, but you don’t dare to look back at him and reveal your misgivings. There’s nothing hostile or threatening about their behavior, yet you can’t help feeling outnumbered. 

“Valine,” the Togruta smiles as she takes the empty seat on your right. “This is Thulani. And this brute is Kasper.” On your left is a stout, round fellow with short blonde hair, a bushy beard, and thick eyebrows, whose nose had been broken in several places. He grunts by way of greeting.

Talsala leans across the table. “Do not mind Kasper. He is not much of a talker.”

“No, we save all the talking for you,” Valine says dryly, motioning a droid over to refill her tankard. She slaps the Togruta’s arms off the table so she can reset the game. “I’ll take red.”

“Green,” you say evenly. 

When the game commences, they’re careful not to pepper you with too many questions, curbing their curiosity to match the flow of gameplay.

“Where are you from Thulani?” Talsala asks with a politeness that doesn’t match his arrogant swagger. “Can’t quite place your accent.”

The Togruta is committed to sending you a flirtatious smile every time he looks up from his hand, performatively biting his lower lip in concentration.

Years ago, you might have blushed, but thankfully, you're too well-seasoned for that now. “I’ve called many places home,” you reply impassively. “I’m sure it’s a mix of them all.”

“How do you know the Mandalorian?” Valine inquires moments later.

“Mutual acquaintance,” you tell her. 

All the while, Mando keeps his silent watch. Was he furious with you for letting yourself be drawn into their net? For certain, this was a fishing expedition. But whether one motivated by malice or boredom, you can’t be sure. 

“You two making the jump with us to Coruscant?" Asks Talsala, "Or are you looking for work after your business with Vos?” 

“Not really my place to say,” you insist, nodding towards the Mandalorian. 

Valine snorts, stretching her legs under the table, “She is well-trained.” 

Then, Kapser calls out, “What you paying her for, Mando?”

It’s the first he’s spoken since sitting down at the table an hour ago. The question is weighted with some significance you can sense but not fully discern.

Ultimately, the Mandalorian is saved from having to answer when Vos’s personal guard steps into view. “Lord Vos is ready to see you now.” She turns on her heels, leaving you to follow in her wake, her presence deeply unsettling.

As you pull away from your seat, Talsala places a chip card in your hand. “Come find me when you tire of this old monk. I’ll put you to work.” 

Arching an eyebrow, you point at the guy and mouth “I told you so,” to Mando.

While the bounty hunter was right to make you change out of your clubwear, you are fairly sure you could be brain dead, wearing a gunnysack, and Talsala would still have offered to poach you out from under the Mandalorian just for sport.

You expect him to make some sarcastic reply, but instead, he exits the room in silence. Shit! Is he really that pissed at you?

Vos’s guard waits for you in front of the lift. She steps aside, letting you enter the elevator car, before leaning inside the cabin to enter a code into the operating panel. “There’ll be someone to escort you upstairs,” she says, ducking back out. “Always a pleasure to see you, Mando.” 

You don’t have time to read something more into her words or the predatory look she throws the Mandalorian. The jolt of the ascending elevator forces you to take a step back to avoid falling into him.

Traveling up the ship's spine, you look out onto an aerial view of Daiyu City, choked in smog and radiant light. There’s a grim splendor to it. In the silence, Mando steps toward the glass to get a better look.  

Is it a seething silence? You can’t be sure.

Maybe he’s waiting until you’re both off Vos’s yacht to start yelling at you, afraid to open his mouth lest he fly off the handle. It was foolish to let yourself be caught in their game. If they had wanted to overpower you, they easily could have with only the Mandalorian there to save you. Yet nothing so dire had happened, and you were cautious not to give anything away. 

Curse that fucking helmet. You have no idea what he’s thinking. The job on Berchest had been a trial run, but this felt like the real test. 

"Why did you tell Talsala my name is Vildar?"

The question escapes your lips before you can swallow it back. It isn't the time or place to have this conversation.

He shakes his head absentmindedly. "It ... it's the first thing that came to mind."

Your stomach lurches. "Mando, I know you think there's—"

Erenada! The credits you’ve been fidgeting with fall to the floor, and you crouch down hurriedly to stuff them back into the pocket of your belt.

“You made that much on a hologame?”

“What?” The casualness of his tone catches you by surprise. He didn’t sound angry. “Oh, yeah. Well, they never catch on,” you smirk. 

“Catch on to what?”

“Bako is all about betting against the draw. It's pure probability.” 

When he says nothing in response, you clarify. “I can count cards, Mando,” you say before adding in an even lower voice, “Plus, it helps that I can tell if someone’s bluffing. Or excited about a good hand.”

“Don’t you need skin contact?” He asks. “Isn’t that why you wear the gloves?”

“It’s more about proximity. Touch makes for a stronger connection. But I can pick up on a lot just sitting next to someone. You ordinarily don’t sense it because the Beskar shields you from my influence.” 

“And this is what you use your abilities for? Gambling.” 

Ugh, there’s just no winning with him. “Did you never wonder where I get the money? You don’t pay me enough to afford these boots.”

While not as glamorous as your thigh-high red lace ups, the dragon leather boots you're wearing are both practical and spectacular. 

“Is this what you meant when you said we could get the money for repairs ‘another way’?”

“It would have taken me a few days, but yes.”

He pauses, once again dumbstruck by the revelation that you don’t simply go into stasis every time he leaves the ship. “Do you bring the kids with you?”

“No, I do not bring children with me to gamble!” You say immediately, which is not a lie since you never go looking for gambling tables. They just happen to be a common occurrence in most Outer Rim taverns. “Nito takes a turn watching the baby. Just like he is right now.”

If Mando has further concerns about your childcare responsibilities, they’ll have to wait. The elevator doors open onto a waiting circle of uniformed guards. Every one of them, except the Cathar standing in the middle, are HK droids. 

Or, at least, Cathar is what he started out as—he was more machine now than organic.

The HKs scan you for any remaining weapons, and once again, Mando’s whipcord goes unremarked.

Nevertheless, the Cathar steps directly in front of Mando, barring his path inside Vos’s private rooms. He's built like a brick wall and is at least a foot taller than the Mandalorian.

“You know the rules,” he growls between feline teeth. “No one sees Vos without showing their face.”

You can almost feel Mando’s hackles rising. Clearly, this was a frequent point of tension between them.

“I have worked for Ryun Vos many times, and he has never seen my face.” 

A tense silence unfurls. Then, like the coiled strike of a snake, the bodyguard’s metallic hand shoots forward, reaching for the Mandalorian’s helmet.

Mando catches him by the forearm, stopping his hand mere inches from the Beskar helm. The bodyguard snarls, bearing his teeth before striking out with the heel of his other hand. Mando ducks his blows—once, twice—an elbow catches him in the ribs, but he uses the proximity to hook an arm around the Cathar's shoulder and throw him bodily down the hallway. 

Both men turn to face each other, planting their feet and taking up fighting stances.

“Chirgar!” Vos shouts into the hallway. “I admire your loyalty, but must you harass the Mandalorian every time we conduct business?” 

The bodyguard reluctantly stands down. “No point in rules if you don’t enforce them,” he snarls, running his tongue over a row of pointed teeth and tilting his shaggy chin at a belligerent angle.

The shadowy figure of Ryun Vos had preyed upon your mind like a specter. Mando was never forthcoming about what happened on the job, but with Vos, he didn't have to. The work for Vos always left him visibly shaken. He's so wary of the man that he refused to dock the Razor Crest on the same fucking planet. You'd taken a ship from a nearby moon to Daiyu City.

Which is all to say that it felt incongruous to see an elegant, effete man smiling at you in a well-tailored suit.

“Come, Chirgar,” Vos says from behind his lacquered desk. “You know Mando and I are old friends.” 

With a wave, he motions you inside the handsomely appointed offices, supplying a panoramic view of the city below. Ryun Vos was quite an avid collector with an evident penchant for ancient weaponry. Displays of swords, daggers, and armor feature prominently on every wall of his study.

“Mando,” the crimelord calls out in greeting. “I can never seem to find you when I need you. Yet, I never doubt you'll show up at my door again like a stray dog.”

Vos chuckles genially, but the hairs along the back of your neck tingle. You sneak a glance at the bounty hunter to see how he reacts to being called a mongrel, but his posture gives nothing away.

“Are you in need of sanctuary? As I've said before, if you came to work for me exclusively, I could smooth over all this unpleasantness with the Guild.” 

“I’m honored by your offer, Lord Vos, but I've no need of your generosity.” 

Mando’s words are carefully spoken, his tone firm but respectful. Yet something dark crossed the crimelord’s face, replaced so quickly by a jocular grin that you can’t be sure whether you imagined it.

“Then what, pray tell, brings you all the way to Daiyu just to meet with me?” Vos asks, pulling a hand over his cleanly shaven jaw.

“I hoped to redeem the favor you owe me.”

The word hope is doing a lot of work to demonstrate Mando’s deference.

“Oho! A dog in search of food then…” Vos nods his head smugly and shifts his gaze in your direction. “And what about your lovely companion? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“Thulani Vildar, this is Ry—

“She knows who I am,” Vos says, waving a hand airily and leaning back in his sumptuous chair. “This favor. Name it, and it’s yours. Within reason, obviously.”

Mando pauses for a breath before launching into the pitch you devised. “While working a recent job—”

“Ah, working as a hunter? Warrior? ... Assassin?”

Has Mando worked as an assassin?

Alright, there's no need to be quite so naive. What else could the threat of bringing them in 'cold' mean? He's not referring to the carbon freezer, Thuli.

“My business is my own.” And the challenge in the Mandalorian’s voice is unmistakable.

Vos’s face tightens. “Careful,” he says softly. I would hate to have to teach you manners, especially in front of the girl.”

At his words, Chirgar eases a hand down over one of the knives at his belt. In the tense silence that follows, you wonder if Mando really means to take down Vos and his bodyguard, armed only with his whipcord. He was a skilled fighter, but how would he withstand the Cathar’s cybernetic limbs, which could pulverize his bones to dust.

Finally, Vos breaks the quiet with a hearty stream of laughter. “I’ve forgotten that Mandalorians are not known for their decorum. My mistake. Please continue.”

The bounty hunter lets his gaze fall back to Vos. “I’ve come into possession of a wanted man whose contract I cannot collect on.”

“Being a wanted man yourself must make it difficult to navigate official, legal channels, I imagine.” 

“It’s not the Guild or New Republic I’m trying to avoid. But he was taken by mistake, and I would like to return him.”

“And you want me to arrange for his delivery?” 

Mando nods.

“Seems to me it would be easier for everyone involved to kill this man and be done with it.”

“It would,” the Mandalorian agrees. “But I think his safe return might be of value to you.”

Vos’s steepled fingers point toward the bounty hunter. “Now you have my attention.”

“This man is an engineer for House Galantis, one of the Nine Houses now ruling the Berchest system. With New Republic bureaucracy, it’ll be years before they obtain permission to sell their hyperfuel through official, legal channels.”

“I see. So, you are handing me a gift, which I may use to make an advantageous introduction. Very thoughtful of you. And what do you gain from this, Mando? My gratitude?”

“I need money.”

“Shocking how it always comes back to that. How much?”

“A hundred thousand.”

“Anything else? Perhaps you’d like my ship?”

Vos's tone is so egregious it's a struggle to keep from laughing. The sale of this yacht could finance a star fleet. Hell, he probably owned this yacht and a star fleet.

“You have the money,” Mando persists. “You have money and power because I freed you from prison where you were left to die.”

“Then you should have negotiated back in that cell. I’m not a bank, Mandalorian. And even if I were, given your current situation, I’d say your credit is a risky investment.”

“I’m not asking for a loan.”

“You want me to give you...," Vos paused. "Seventy thousand credits for some nameless nobody who might open a door for me?”

Mando looks at you questioningly. You shake your head. “A hundred thousand is the deal,” the bounty hunter says again.

It’s the first time since you walked into his office that you have Ryun Vos’s full attention. “And what makes you think you deserve anything more than what I dain to offer?”

“My Lord Vos,” you say, trying to match the reverence he so clearly felt entitled to. “We can sell this man only once. The political connections he provides will reward you many times over.”

“A brilliant assessment but, as I said, one that weighs connections he might provide.”

“House Galantis is offering a bounty of two hundred fifty thousand for his safe return. If his delivery doesn’t yield any business opportunities, there's still a profit to be made.”

Vos’s eyes darken as he considers his options.

“I will give you the one hundred thousand credits. But in exchange for my generosity, I would like a favor. One good turn deserves another, after all.”

Mando shifts his stance. “What favor do you ask?”

“I would like to borrow the services of your Miralukan crew member here—with the offer of an additional fifty thousand for you, my dear. Your talents are so rare; I would not wish to take them for granted.”

A lump the size of your fist lodges in your throat. 

Sure, you’re disguised as Miraluka. And here was confirmation that the disguise had worked. Because if Ryun Vos knew that you’re a wanted fugitive facing a death sentence back on Hapes, he’d have no reason to ask for your help.

No, it’s the creeping feeling that this entire encounter has been orchestrated to catch you in this moment that fills you with dread. 

Mando steps closer to you in a few quick strides, shielding you from Chirgar’s view. “She’s not part—”

“She can speak for herself,” Vos asserts, raising a hand to silence the Mandalorian. “The man whose life you saved on Danvar II has since made some accusations that I must verify.” 

“How would I—?”

“Don’t be coy,” Ryun Vos drolls. “The Mandalorian may rely on your services as a healer, but we both know the Miraluka can do much more than that.” 

Fuck! Fuck, shit fuck. Hadn’t you just told Mando that you could sense when the other players were bluffing? Is that why Vos had left you to sit there for hours until a spot at the card table conveniently freed up? Had it all been a trap just to test you?

“I’m not asking you to tell me how you know…but you would know if someone was lying?”

“Yes,” you say in barely more than a whisper. Beside you, Mando’s body stiffens.

This is why he cautioned you against using your powers unless it was absolutely necessary. The quarry Mando captured on Danvar II had told Ryun Vos about his crimes and conspirators...but also about the young woman who'd healed him.

“Good,” Vos says cheerfully, clapping both hands together. “There are a few associates I’d like you to question.”

That he has them ready and waiting in the next room is confirmation of your worst fears, that this plan was set in motion the minute you stepped on board. 

“And what happens once I’ve found the person who’s been lying to you?”

Mando stands even closer, his broad shoulders enveloping you like a cloak. He was readying himself to defend you from attack. 

“I thought questioning a client’s intentions went against your professional code?”

You stare up into the Mandalorian’s viewplate, hoping that he understands—that he might be the only man in the galaxy to understand your conviction. “I’m not a hunter,” you tell Vos. “I’m a healer. And I took an oath to do no harm.”

Vos laughs with delighted surprise, smiling at you like the adorable idiot he believes you to be. “Very well. You have my word; I will not kill them.”

You scoff, “I’m sure it’s been some time since you bothered with wet work, Lord Vos.”

Next to you, Mando lets out a hushed curse in warning.

“Do no harm,” you repeat. “I need you to promise that this person will not be harmed. Evidence of their betrayal is what’s valuable.” A little taken aback at your own courage, you add, “These are my terms.”

Ryun Vos’s smile grows wider but doesn’t reach his eyes. “All right,” he says jovially. “Why not?” And he turns to a bristling Chirgar, “Bring in Pia'vak.”

The woman wears a tattered nightdress, a fine layer of grime, and several ugly burn scars. You shoot Vos a reproachful look. She'd obviously been snatched from her bed in the middle of the night to be tortured.

When she sits down at the table opposite you, your instincts have you reaching out for her. "Pia, give me your hand."

Pia’vak's spirit had been broken. You might have asked her to jump up and down on one leg, and she would have lept onto the table to oblige. Subservient, she gives you both her hands so you hold them together between your palms. You can't remove the filth from her skin, but you do manage to clear up all the cuts and bruises.

She reaches up a hand to feel her mended nose. "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Pia sobs. "Does...does this mean I get to leave?"

"Perhaps," Vos rests his chin on his knuckles. "You claim to have overheard Ivan say his information came directly from one of my lieutenants?"

Tears run down Pia's face as she nods frantically.

"Do you know who?"

"No! I swear! I never met him or saw his face or heard his voice or knew his name or —"

"She's telling the truth." You decide to save the woman from her helpless babbling. "Pia," you ask, staring into her wide amber eyes wet with tears. "You said you've never met him...if you didn't hear their voice, why do you think this person is a man?"

"That's what he said! Ivan said," she pleads hysterically. "That he knew where to find the weapons."

"Does Ivan know who this man is?"

"I don't know..." Pia'vak chokes, hiccuping as more tears spilled down her face. "I don't know...Ivan didn't tell me anything! I was out on the balcony, and I...he didn't know I could still hear him."

At that, she collapses into a fit of sobs.

You turn to glare at Vos. "Can we get Pia some clothes and a meal before she's on her way?"

He throws back his head to laugh. "You are a condolatory influence, my dear; I'll give you that. I can see why the Mandalorian is so...protective of you."

Mando's deep voice rumbles from over your shoulder, "Let's get on with it."

Chirgar spat, but Ryun Vos merely gestured impatiently, "Bring in Ivan."

Ivan's appearance confirms your suspicion that these two were taken in some sort of pre-dawn raid. He wore a thin, ratty tunic over his briefs, and that was it. They hadn't even let him put shoes on.

Ivan also showed signs of torture. His face was a mess, with one eye completely swollen shut, his zygomatic bone likely floating around in several pieces.

"I need your hand, Ivan," you say calmly, reaching across the table.

"Stay away from me, witch!"

He draws himself back, looking both terrified and disgusted. The Miraluka were primarily known as healers and diplomats, but being able to see the world without eyes can make some folks superstitious. He was probably imagining grotesque, empty eye sockets behind your visor.

"Hold him down," Vos commands.

Chirgar shoves Ivan forward, pinning his chest against the table's edge. When you grip his wrist, the man tosses his head with a hateful sneer. Should you attempt to heal his wounds, or would he prefer not to be tainted by your witchcraft?

"Pia's safe now," you say, trying to garner some goodwill.

"What?" His brows furrow.

You don't pick up on any sense of relief, and no remorse either for endangering her life. Ivan could give a shit about what happened to Pia'vak.

Well, that made you feel less conflicted about incriminating him. You might have saved Pia, but you doubt Ivan will get out of this alive, whatever promises Ryun Vos had given.

"I know you've been stealing from me, Ivan. That much we've established," the crimelord drones. "The only reason you're still breathing is because I need to know how deep this rot reaches. Who gave you the stockpile locations?"

"I don't know! I never knew who he was. He didn't reveal anything about his identity!" Ivan yells desperately.

"So you say..."

You close your eyes to avoid watching Ivan's hysteric meltdown. The tangle of his emotions is a frustrating knot to unravel. His skill—like all good liars—was to weave in certain truths, along with things he told himself were true, to create the falsehoods.

"Is he lying?" Ryun Vos asks.

"No. He's telling the truth that his source never revealed themselves," you explain, and Ivan's shoulders sag with reprieve. "But he does know who it is."

"Fuck you!" The man howls, but the shocked horror on his face is another kind of truth. One he can't hide.

"Give me a name," Vos demands, slamming a fist onto his desk, shaking loose his perfectly coiffed hair.

"He'll kill me," Ivan splutters, his one good eye darting around the room. "I'm fucking dead. I'm a dead man."

"Tell me his name, and I just might let you live," Vos growls. You throw him another glaring look. Could he not wait until you left the room to make a mockery of your principles?

Ivan turns his head back and forth, over both shoulders, hissing, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" and dissolves into unbridled weeping.

"Tell me his name," Vos roars, his voice full of cold fury.

The man raises his head, taking a deep breath. Then, a look of astonishment flashes across his face. Ivan gurgles, choking down the blood spilling from the knife protruding from his throat.

You sense, rather than see the second knife—the one that's meant for you.

It plunges down in a shining arc, ready to tear open your chest. You turn your head, squeezing your eyes shut in terror, but as you do, you glimpse the Mandalorian, his arm slashing through the air. There's a twang of colliding metal, and then…nothing.

Until you're knocked from your seat, landing with your face buried in the soft carpet, Mando's body shielding you.

“Stay down!” he yells.

You twist your head and open an eye to see the bounty hunter reaching for a gilded axe mounted onto the wall behind you. His fingers barely close over the handle before Chirgar upends the table and lunges forward.

Mando blocks the first swing of claws with the axe, but the next catches him in the ribs. Chirgar's bionic hand closes over the ancient weapon, and the wooden shaft splinters into pieces.

Grunting, Mando drops his elbow to launch a solid uppercut at the organic underside of the Cathar’s jaw. But Chirgar sees the blow coming and throws his head back to lessen the impact, blindly gripping the Mandalorian by both shoulders.

Mando’s body shoots upward to the ceiling, slamming into the crystal chandelier and crashing back to the floor with bone-rattling force. Chirgar lands kick after kick over the Mandalorian's prone body until he raises his knee high, intending to stomp the life out of the bounty hunter.

But at the last second before impact, Mando rolls between the Cathar's legs, launching to his feet with surprising speed.

Chirgar lets out a loud oof as Mando wraps his arms around him, pinning the Cathar’s cybernetic limbs to his side to neutralize their advantage.  He snarls, muscles straining, teeth bared as he tries to break Mando’s hold.

In answer, the Mandalorian drove his helmet into Chirgar’s nose with a nauseating crunch. Before you can blink, he releases the Cathar and lands a solid, well aimed punch to the solar plexus.

Chirgar hunches over, struggling for breath as blood gushes over his open mouth. Mando pivots on the balls of his feet to deliver a brutal kick to the back of the Cathar’s legs. Chirgar falls to his knees, swaying but somehow still upright. Mando lashes the whipcord around Chirgar's throat and dives for the floor, using his body as an anchor to drag the Cathar to the ground.

Chirgar makes a series of frantic choking sounds, slashing at the Mandalorian’s fists. But the Beskar gauntlets safeguard his relentless grip. Steadily, the grunting fades, and the flailing limbs still, until finally, the Cathar's body goes limp.

Staggering to your feet, the Mandalorian's arms surround you, holding you to his chest in a crushing grip. He looks down at you, raising a gloved hand to cup your face. You feel his gaze searching for yours to make sure you're okay. When you nod in answer, you can tell he doesn't believe you.

Despite the blood splattered across your face, you're unhurt. The shock of violence had turned your guts into jelly, but rugburn is the extent of your physical injuries. As long as you don't faint.

With Mando’s gasping breaths and your thundering heartbeat, it takes a moment to register the sound of clapping behind you.

You whirl around to find Ryun Vos leaning back in his chair, applauding. The Mandalorian had said the man would search for any source of leverage, and the look in Vos’s eyes, broadcast in his steadfast gaze, affirms what you know to be true. That Mando had betrayed his weakness with a single gesture, that comforting hand holding your face.

It had all been a trap. Or a series of traps that Vos had laid just to see what he could catch. Now he understood that a Miraluka and Mandalorian were within his grasp, and he only needed to catch one to get at the other.

Heeding none of this, Mando furiously demands an answer. “Why let him in here—armed—if you suspected him?” 

Vos shrugs. “Something’s different about you, Mando. I needed to see if you’d lost your edge or just gone soft,” he shoots you another glance. “Now I know.”

The crimelord looked bemused. “This prisoner of yours, how will I find him?”

Mando places a communicator down on the desk. “Once we’re off the ship, I’ll let him know it's safe to contact you.”

“Mando! This paranoia of yours is unfounded. Can’t you see, if you simply worked for me, there would be no need for all this worry? You’d both be highly rewarded for your talents as members of an organization that could protect you. And as you can see,” he nodded toward Chirgar’s lifeless body. “I have an unexpected vacancy.”

“My 'prisoner' will be in touch. Send Morigan to collect him.”

Vos looks between you and the Mandalorian in surprise. “I’ll let her know she has your endorsement.” Sensing that there would be no further discussion of employment, Vos stands and places a hand over his heart. “You have my word, that I will return him safely to Berchest.”

With that, the office doors open.

“Is he really going to let us leave?” You mumble once you're back on the gangway. By the time you step onto the dock, your entire body is drenched in nervous sweat.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

***********************

Continue reading Volume 3- Post #5: What did the wall ever do to you?

Back to Volume 3 - all posts

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mando smut #sexy mando #sexymando #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian smut #mando fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #mandalorian smut #din djarin #star wars smut #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : SEPTEMBER 2000

The X-factor

Is He Content Being a Team Player? Or Will He Challenge Triple H For Leadership?

Transcript Below!!!

“X-Pac Sucks!” 

“X-Pac Sucks!” 

“X-Pac Sucks!”

…that’s a chant you’re likely to hear from the crowd at just about any World Wrestling Federation live event. 

You’re not likely to find X-Pac on a list of “most Popular Superstars.” Yet, despite his infuriating actions and his ability to stir controversy inside and outside the ring, today he remains uncharacteristically silent. 

How can one Federation Superstar provoke so much fan emotion without even getting on the mic? For the man who calls himself the “Ultimate D-Generate,” the answer’s simple: “I do my job well,” says X-Pac. “People love to hate me. And some people just hate me. I strive for that. When we got DX back together, my mission was to be the biggest @#$ I could possibly be, because that’s my job and I enjoy it. It’s a good release valve for me.”

But how good of a job can X-Pac actually be doing when it seems his day in the spotlight is over?

Some argue that what looked to be a promising career has been put on the backburner under the McMahon-Helmsely Faction. The problem has some wondering if all is well behind the scene with D-Generation X. 

“ have the respect of my peers,” X-Pac responds. “The public has its opinion of [my career] but they don’t really know. I’d much rather go by the opinion of my peers than the opinion of people who don’t have the first clue of what to do in the ring.” 

Just a few months ago, one could hardly find X-Pac without a microphone in his hand. He enjoyed verbally insulting fans. And he took great delight in angering them when he turned his back on Kane–a man who’d given his friendship and opened up his soul only to have his world torn apart by his supposed best friend.

Despite the fact that now the only insults X-Pac seems to dish out are hand gestures, he insists nothing has changed. 

“I haven’t had much to say. I do my talking when I perform in the ring,” he insists. “I have to be inspired to go out there and run my mouth. I’m not a bigmouth. I’ll talk $#@& as much as the next guy, but I pick my spots. That’s not to say that I’m not going to be more vocal in the near future. It’s just that I’ve been kinda lurking in the background for the last couple of months.” What X-Pac is quick to point out, however is that the rise of Triple H has in no way relegated him to the role of DX’s sacrificial lamb. 

“Triple H is the man now,” X-Pac says by way of explanation. “He’s on top of the mountain, and he really deserves to be.”

However, since Triple H’s marriage to Stephine McMahon, X-Pac has done more lurking in the shadows than even he’s accustomed to doing. And the April 2000 issue of World Wrestling Federation Magazine in which X-Pac openly criticizes Stephine McMahon-Helmsley for stirring up trouble in that group, probably didn’t help. In fact, it has led some insiders to think Stephine may have had X-Pac muzzled. 

But X-Pac quickly shrugs off the suggestion that staying aligned with Triple H has hurt his own career. He instead feels that he has a certain role to play, and that it shouldn't be seen as that of a lackey.

“[Triple H] is not doing that at all,” he says. “I’ve been satisfied with the way things have been. I haven’t made any noise about it. So there’s nothing for me to b@&%^ about. Things are great. Business is great. Money is great. The pressure’s not nearly as bad as when you’re the top dog and everybody’s gunning for you.”

But is the easy money that X-Pac now receives for watching Triple H’s back going to cost him later? The Minnesota native is easily one of the most gifted athletes in the Federation, and regardless of what fans think of him, he’s able to get the job done.

If X-Pac sees his role in DX as purely business related, it wouldn’t be outrageous to question his true allegiance to the group. His own words seem to suggest that without him, there is no D-Generation X–he’s the glue that holds DX together. 

“I’m not going to say I am anymore than [Road] Dogg or Triple H,” he says. “But I don’t think it would stay together without me. I really don’t.”

“When Shawn Michaels quit, DX was dead. One guy can’t be DX,” he continues. “I was the perfect guy [to join] because of the history between Triple H and me. And, I just think the Raw is War just following Wrestlemania XIV was the magic day. That was the day I came back.” Is X-Pac the team player he’d like to convince the world he is? Or, could it be that he’s waiting in the wings for the right moment to assert himself as the real leader of DX? It’s very possible that the cunning X-Pac just might’ve mastered “the Game” from his close association with Triple H. This makes him even more likely to eventually try to wrestaway the leadership of DX. One thing he says is for certain, though–when he’s ready to move to the next level, everyones going to know. 

“When I get ready to do it,” he says, “When I tell myself ‘Okay. I’m gonna do this,’ then it’s going to be done. It’s always been that way. I just haven’t had any personal missions in a while.” 

As for whether that personal mission might include the leadership of D-Generation X, X-Pac says this: “I haven’t beaten Triple H…yet.”

#wwf #world wrestling federation #X-Pac #wwf magazine scan #wwf magazine #magazine transcript #magazine scan

[mirambles]

Currently Watching Kdrama Update:

1. Extraordinary Attorney Woo: I haven’t voiced my thoughts on this drama here because it got popular too quick and fans of the drama were unable to accept any criticism of this drama. I guess the euphoria has died down given how this drama has fallen into the formulaic Kdrama trap forgetting what it has started out to do. The writer is completely confused.

It was supposed to tell us Woo’s story, how autistic people face discrimination and how she grows as a lawyer tackling the personal & professional challenges. The legal cases were very good until episode 6 and then they went downhill. Then they introduced too many tracks - second lead romance & love triangle, back story for the mean guy, boss’s illness. But the worst bit of the drama and something that has made me extremely uncomfortable is making Tae SuMi a villain - she was literally forced to have a child she did not want. She has full rights to not want a child - given how women’s rights are being attacked all over, what the writer has done here is great disservice to the women and their choice!

The romance was the sweetest part of this drama and even that has been ruined with the typical family and breakup melodrama. I honestly couldn’t care now if Woo and JunHo end up together or not, it’s so Kdrama cliche to cause unnecessary breakups. I loved the girl friendships and Kang Ki Young, his dynamic with Woo is one of my favourite bits. But they reduced both these aspects so much post episode 8, that I have nothing to look forward to in this drama now.

I even have my views on EunBin’s portrayal of an autistic character, and even though I like EunBin, I haven’t been able to connect to her performance, because autistic characters in other dramas / series touched me more - Move To Heaven and As We See It being my favourite ones. So conclusion , my mixed feelings in Ep1-3 went to liking the drama in Ep4-6, and post that it’s just been downhill for me. No where close to making it to my Top20 or will rewatch many times lists.

2. Goblin : I finally caved in and started watching this drama to understand why it is so popular. I’m 6 episodes in this drama and I’m struggling. The lead pair romance is a no-go for me. The female lead is shown to be 18-19, a high school senior. The ML (ignoring he is actually a zillion years old) is around his mid30s. I wouldn’t be fussed if a 20 something adult was dating a 40+ , but she is in school. How on earth are people swooning over their romance? Also Kim GoEun who am generally neutral to, is unbearable to watch as the cutesy teenager. She is not pulling this off. Everyone raves about the bromance and yes it is good, but I have watched far more KDramas where bromance was far better. LDW has only one expression on his face. Gong Yoo is literally saving this drama, but him a middle aged man falling for a school girl doesn’t make me want to watch his romantic scenes at all. I don’t think I will finish this, or probably skip a lot and watch to see how it all ends.

3. Chicago Typewriter : Only managed 5 episodes and I have liked what I saw except the actress who has not impressed me at all. She is rather expressionless. Yoo Ah In is stealing the show in every frame and scene he comes on screen. The soundtrack is lovely, and the story is very intriguing. I really need to get cracking on this one.

4. If You Wish Upon Me : I’m very biased to Ji Chang Wook, but post Suspicious Partner I have not liked any of his dramas. LoveStruck in the City was good in parts, but he really needs a good stylist, the panache, the head turning persona from Healer and SP has been missing for me. I’m not sure I like his look in this drama, but in the first 2 episodes his acting has been top notch. He has nailed every scene and his dynamic with Sung Dong Il is superb. The female lead is cute and doesn’t take shit from anyone. Anyways too early to judge - the premise seems like a blend of Move to Heaven and Chocolate. I had liked both the dramas - very hopeful and positive, despite the grim subject matter they tackled. Let’s see how this one goes.

#extraordinary attorney woo #goblin the lonely and great god #chicago typewriter #if you wish upon me #ji chang wook #yoo ah in #gong yoo

[jeff-from-marketing]

Wow so uh, some shit has been going down in the TTRPG space lately. I didn’t exactly intend for this to become a TTRPG blog, but oh well that’s what brain has decided and I’m not one to argue against it. Wouldn’t go well anyway.

I do however want to talk about “holy shit Paizo are absolute fucking mad lads and I respect the shit out of them.”

Let me get one thing clear: I trust any company about as far as I can throw them. Often times, if given the chance and the choice, most companies will gladly stab you in the back if it means a few extra coins in their pocket. Hell, Wizards of the Coast and Hasbro have shown that perfectly fine this month and a bit. But I would also be lying if I said I didn’t have trust in Paizo, because as far as I have seen and as far as I can tell, they do basically everything right and everything I could ever hope for in the TTRPG space.

Everything a player needs to play the game is available for free by Paizo on sources like Archives of Nethys, which reduces the barrier of entry to basically nothing and heavily encourages the “try before you buy” mentality that more of every industry needs to adopt more of. They have really solid and respectful representation of so many people across so many different walks of life, as well as do a lot to actually look after their players and ensure that everyone has a good time. Hell they even became a union without a fight. And this is to say nothing of their community outreach, how well they encourage third party creators to make stuff, the actual quality of their works, etc. etc. If anything my biggest complaint is that it’s hard to find their books in local game stores, which isn’t really much of a complaint.

But the announcement of the ORC? Holy shit. I was not expecting that. 

I was absolutely expecting Paizo to have something in their back pocket. A “break glass in case of Wizards of the Coast” plan if you will. Something to ensure that they can stay afloat, and maybe even fight WotC in court or something. Comments they’ve made in the past have suggested such things anyway. Paizo did that and so much more. Seriously I cannot do the whole thing enough justice, I really recommend reading it for yourself. The fact that Paizo have effectively said “we waited for your response Wizards, we were there when the original OGL was forged, we have not forgotten. So we’re making our own OGL, with blackjack and hookers” and came out with the Open RPG Creative License (or ORC License, which I just find is a delightful name). Then in that same post, openly and publicly stating that they are ready to legally fight Wizards of the Coast is one hell of a move. Not to mention the not insignificant number of other sizeable members that are behind the creation of this new ORC, and Paizo’s plan to not own the license so there’s no chance of history repeating itself. It’s as if Paizo saw everything that’s happening now, and was like “right, make this even more watertight and so that none of this can ever happen to it.” 

I gotta say, I respect the fuck out of Paizo for that. The absolute audacity to slap down Wizards, come out with their own license with blackjack and hookers, and futurerpoof to ensure this can’t happen again. 

The question now is simply: where does this leave Wizards of the Coast? 

Now I’ll admit, I’m no legal or marketing expert... ignore the Tumblr handle real quick. But I can’t see this possibly ending well for them, at least not with the D&D division. This whole situation has caused the biggest backlash I think I have ever seen to something like this. Such is the case that several major news outlets and even non-TTRPG based content creators such as Linus Tech Tips or Moist Critical are covering this and going “my dude, what are you doing?” Coupled with the backlash being such that they’ve had to completely cancel announcements relating to the OGL, and now the campaign to mass unsubscribe from services like D&D Beyond...

Thing is, even if they do in fact perform a 180 and cancel all OGL 1.1 plans, that’s still a net loss for Wizards of the Coast/Hasbro. They’ve shown their hand now, they’ve shown that they are a bad faith actor that cannot be trusted, so why would anyone willingly enter any deal with them? Why would anyone trust that they won’t continue trying to undermine the OGL? And now with the ORC, why would anyone not go for that instead? Even if this somehow does result in some short term monetary gain for Wizards, they’ve lost the one resource that is incredibly difficult to renew: good will. A resource that Paizo and other companies are now drowning in. That can only do harm to D&D in the long term. Leaks show that they’re banking on the community just simply forgetting and moving on. Were this the gaming industry, I’d say that’s a safe bet. This isn’t the gaming industry. I’ve found that people in the TTRPG space have long memories and harbour deep grudges. This is certainly something that’s going in The Book.

Personally? I’m excited for the whole thing. I’ve been saying for a while that D&D’s soft monopoly is hard to beat; that the brand name of Dungeons & Dragons is incredibly powerful and often analogous with TTRPGs themselves. But they may have just undone that monopoly themselves. I don’t expect D&D to just shrivel up and die, it’s still a very big name after all. I do, however, expect other systems to gain a surge of popularity following recent events, and that much is even already starting to happen. I do hope that other systems will get the light of day they deserve, and that it’ll now be easier to convince those new to the hobby to try other systems. 

With this latest announcement, I think the future is starting to look quite bright for TTRPGs. 

#oh no I did it again #someone take my ability to words away before I write any more #but also eat a flaccid dick WotC #I cannot wait to see the absolute piss weak response they make #if they even make one at all at this point #all hail the orc #I can't believe we're being saved by an orc #what a time we live in #pathfinder #pathfinder 2e #paizo #ttrpg

[cheekyquokka]

you're putting words in my mouth I never said you couldn't be critical - I was referring to the fact you were basically saying that people that apologise for anything never actually change and they don't mean it? Which is extremely naive especially when you're talking about childhood. How am I the immature one exactly?

You said I was talking like an anti as opposed to what I actually did. Which is express my feelings on a song and spoke on being critical of it and of kpop apologies. Never said people never change. People can change. I’m aware of that. But we’ll never know which ones do and which ones don’t because we don’t know them personally. We know what’s put in front of us, and of course that image is meant to be clean and friendly. We will never know their true stances on things, we can only be hopefully that it’s not bigoted. I also said MOST. I’ve seen some apologies that seemed sincere but MORE that seemed like damage control. I feel as though they write them in a way that doesn’t make it seem like they know WHY people are upset, they just know people are upset and they have to say something. (I don’t think this is the case for Han, I feel like he knows why people were upset.) A lot of them do give off the vibe that they’re performative, if you don’t see that I don’t know what to tell ya. Everyone’s quick to accept the apology and then sweep it under the rug, or worse, lot of kpop stans are quick to make excuses, tell the idol they did nothing wrong, and then jump on the groups affected for making the idol feel bad. A lot of them bury it the best they can by flooding hash tags and message boards so you have to dig to find out if an idol is bigoted. This is a HUGE problem with kpop stan culture. But back to the main point, none of us will ever know for sure who’s genuine and who’s not. I said I hope he’s changed. But there’s no way for me to know that for sure and I was expressing that that makes me feel uneasy when that song crosses my mind. Usually when another idol has a controversy or someone calls another situation out. Because I don’t want to throw money at someone with that mindset, however I’m clearly still here so that hopes strong enough. If I didn’t think it was possible that he changed or I had cause to say he for sure didn’t, trust I wouldn’t be here. I bailed on other groups for less. I said you’re immature because you equated being an anti to being critical, because that’s what I was, critical.

[trixies-show]

CARNEVIL!!!!

A story directly following this post

The prior post has a bit of context but here’s more story for fun, and this one follows a separate character, Jackalo! Constructive criticism appreciated :)

Jackalo! waved his hand lightly, and the ribbons bonded to his arms flowed around his body like water. He smiled softly. During the performances, his magic was mostly restricted to quick, borderline violent movements. Circus Mcgurkus believed that made a better show. But the softer, smoother movements were just as good in Jackalo!’s eyes. It reminded him of his solo acts, long ago.

A shiver ran through his ribbons, a tremor that Jackalo! didn’t cause. His focus dropped away from the ribbons, and he turned to see Circus Mcgurkus running past with a delighted smile on his face, masks piled in his arms. Jackalo! simply watched him run by, sprinting past the braindead performers and out the door. He sighed, and turned back to his ribbons, but Raya approached slowly from Circus Mcgurkus’ room as well. She took a seat silently next to Jackalo!, and he turned to her, but when she didn’t say anything he moved back to his ribbons.

The two sat silently for a while. Jackalo! absentmindedly twirled his ribbons together, forming patterns and making soft, simple movements. It wasn’t his usual style, before or since the Carnevil, but since being trapped in the Carnevil he didn’t get many chances to do this style of magic. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so they say, Jackalo! thought to himself.

The ribbons grew and twisted into many forms: vines, a flower, a star, flipping and flowing between new symbols and sigils as images sprung into Jackalo!’s mind. He turned over to Raya, looking on at the display with starstruck eyes. Then he turned to the other set of performers. They were all milling about, nothing sitting behind their eyes. Occasionally, one of them would look over at the two of them, but their eyes glazed over Jackalo’s show, not recognizing that something was happening in front of them.

Jackalo! called down his ribbons, and began to wind them back up his arms. Once his show was over, Raya looked over at Jackalo!.

“I’m sorry there aren’t more people to enjoy your tricks,” she said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Jackalo! said without taking his eyes off his ribbons. “The magic is mostly for myself anyway.”

“How’d you convince him to let you do your own magic?” Raya asked.

“I didn’t,” Jackalo! said shortly. “This magic is mine.”

Raya perked up. “You… have your own magic?”

Jackalo! smiled. “What, the retained sentience and the independent tricks didn’t give it away?” he said dryly. “I assumed you’d have magic. What makes you not like the rest of them?” He gestured vaguely to the walking corpses. As if to illustrate his point, one collapsed, and proceeded to flail aimlessly, unable to pick itself up.

Raya sighed, and moved to help them up. She turned back to Jackalo! and continued. “No… I wish I had magic. But as for why I’m not like the rest of them, I don’t know. I think he likes me. Or he at least thinks I’m special.”

Jackalo! laughed. “You think you’re special? Of course you’re special. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

“I… I don’t know. You think he did something to keep me alive? Because he likes me?”

Jackalo!’s smile faded away. “You really didn’t notice. Interesting. But yes. The longer you spend here, the more you’ll realize that yes, he does care about his performers, in his own twisted way. But something is different about you. You are special. He keeps you alive.”

“And he doesn’t do the same for you?”

“Ha! No. I’m sure that if he could have made me like them, he would have. Tell me – have you ever wondered why his mask is fragmented in one corner? Did you know it wasn’t always that way?”

Raya paused for a moment. “I think I saw an old poster once, with a full face mask. I thought that was a design change.”

Jackalo! froze suddenly. Raya saw a poster with his full mask on it, while she was living a normal life. She lived outside of this world, fairly recently at that. Circus Mcgurkus’ mask was damaged so long ago, at least it felt that way to Jackalo!. He wasn’t even sure when that was. It might have been last week, or it could’ve been a year. His mind drifted to the last things he could remember from his past life. He’d started thinking of it that way, a lifetime ago, a whole other person, one who didn’t know about the Carnevil.

“...Jackalo!? Jackalo!?” Raya had been calling out his name. Jackalo! snapped back into the present, and looked back to meet Raya’s eyes.

“Sorry… I was just thinking about something. What did you say?”

“I think you were telling me how Circus Mcgurkus’ mask broke.”

Jackalo!’s expression dropped. The ribbons hanging from his wrists twitched on the ends. Raya didn’t notice, but he did, and he stood up quickly, winding the last ends of his ribbons back on his arms to prevent them from moving unintentionally.

“I’ll tell you later.” Jackalo!’s voice had suddenly turned cold. “I’m going to go design some new modifications for my outfit.”

Raya looked at him, but stayed quiet. Did she offend him? Did she say something she shouldn’t have? She looked on at the small groups of performers that Jackalo! had disappeared into. She’s never really looked into them, but something had to be different about them. What made Jackalo! and her different than the rest? Circus Mcgurkus would know, but he was… difficult… to speak with. He might still be willing to share something, though. She resolved to ask him later.

#writeblr #my ocs #oc blog #Carnevil #Carnevil main post #Jackalo!

[adamwatchesmovies]

In My Mother's Skin (2023)

The film everyone will compare In My Mother’s Skin to is Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth. From the child protagonist to the wartime setting, the fairytale characters that turn out to be more sinister than at first glance, the sick mother a young girl has to care for, they have A LOT in common in content and tone. That’s pretty good company to keep.

In 1945, in the Philippines, World War II is coming to an end. The occupying Japanese soldiers know it. Though many of their neighbors haven’t been as lucky, Aldo (Arnold Reyes), his wife (Beauty Gonzalez) and their two children, Tala (Felicity Kyle Napuli) and Bayani (James Mavie Estrella) have managed to remain relatively unscathed through the conflict. As the soldiers become more nervous, the rumours that Aldo’s home contains a stash of stolen gold forces him to leave the family behind. When her mother suddenly becomes ill, Tala must take care of her. In the nearby forest, the young girl meets a fairy, who promises to help.

Though it’s being distributed by Amazon, this is a Filipino film. The folklore it's portraying will feel new to most viewers. The fairy, for instance, isn’t tiny and winged. She’s a full-grown woman wearing an elaborate dress and head piece covered in glittering jewels that evokes insect wings. Though that description doesn’t match what you had in mind when you read the synopsis, you immediately recognize her as a magical creature and Jasmine Curtis-Smith’s performance lets you know right away she’s not to be trusted. Tala knows this. Unfortunately, she has no choice but to accept the creature's help. Laura's mother is sure to die if nothing changes. Things going horribly if Tala accepts the fairy's offer is not necessarily a guarantee. Her father is gone. Tala is certain he'll return soon. You’re not so sure. There’s the housekeeper (Angeli Bayani) there to help, but a part of you wonders if she’s really committed to the family, or if she’s been sticking around because there’s nowhere else to go. Maybe she's hoping to get wind of that rumoured gold. The young girl truly feels alone.

This is a harsh film that doesn’t hold back. Sympathetic characters suddenly become villains. Lives end violently and without warning. The people who aren’t desperate are too consumed by the thought of gold to pull back their punches - children or no children. It’s hard to tell who are worse: the people or the magical creatures with a taste for human flesh. At least the fairy lets you know right away she’s sinister. The betrayals in this story cut deep and everything feels even more impactful because the people in it are so vulnerable.

The one thing holding me back from giving In My Mother’s Skin a higher grade is its similarity to Pan’s Labyrinth. If someone told me they could only watch one, there's no contest. This also means the picture is not quite as memorable, unpredictable, or impactful as it could be. I’m not saying the two films are the same. You could definitely watch both in quick succession without feeling like you’re watching the same movie again. We haven’t seen so many of these grim fairy tale stories that there isn’t room for more - in fact, “In My Mother’s Skin” proves we should be getting them more frequently - but one is just better than the other. That's more of a praise for the Del Toro picture than a criticism for In My Mother's Skin - which leans more into the horror direction and showcases a lot of gore. It's an unsettling tale that showcases a unique folklore and some strong performances from the child actors. (November 30, 2023)

#In My Mother's Skin #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Kenneth Dagatan #Beauty Gonzalez #Felicity Kyle Napuli #Jasmine Curtis-Smith #James Mavie Estrella #Angeli Bayani #2023 movies #2023 films

[f1]

Norris bats away speculation over his F1 future as he denies McLaren are in crisis

Lando Norris faced several loaded questions from the media on Thursday as the F1 paddock gathered for the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix, covering both his future plans and McLaren’s early-season problems. After a compromised testing period, McLaren went on to endure a challenging first race in Bahrain, losing their drivers in Q1 and Q2, suffering a DNF with Oscar Piastri and facing race-long trouble on Norris’s car. READ MORE: ‘Good pit stop practice for the mechanics’ jokes Norris after being forced to pit six times with power unit issue in Bahrain With Norris pitting six times to manage a pneumatic pressure leak en route to 17th, two laps down and the last of the finishers, it served only to add concerns about reliability to questions over their missed performance targets. However, asked about McLaren’s difficult start to 2023 in Saudi Arabia, and whether the team are now facing a crisis, Norris brushed off the suggestion and expressed confidence over the issues he and Piastri faced being fixed. “Everyone makes it sound a lot worse than it is. Calling it a crisis? It’s far from that at all, and it’s nothing close to it,” Norris commented. Norris made six pit stops during a heavily compromised race in Bahrain “We’re confident we can get some good points, I would say, this weekend. I think it’s a close fight with Alfa [Romeo], and a lot of those teams… towards the top four teams it’s a very big jump. But I’m confident we can be in that fight; I don’t think we’re that far away. “It was made very clear very early on that we’re far from where we want to be, for McLaren’s expectations, and who we are as a team; we’re far from where we want to be, but we have a very clear plan. READ MORE: McLaren Team Principal Stella expecting Piastri to become ‘one of the best drivers on the grid’ “I think it’s very clear from everyone back at [the McLaren Technology Centre] and here what we need to achieve and want to achieve, it’s just going about setting it and achieving it, which is our next goal.” Norris was also asked about media reports over his future – and links to the likes of Ferrari and Mercedes – amid McLaren’s struggles, but he was similarly quick to play those down. “I guess I’m at a point where [the rumours don’t] affect me in any way. I’m, I guess, fine with it to an extent, apart from when it’s just complete BS that people try and come up with, and completely fake stories that people make up,” he said, having last year signed a contract extension to stick with McLaren through 2025. Norris is hoping for better luck as F1 gears up for the Saudi Arabian GP “To a certain point, harsh criticism is acceptable, it makes sense. You don’t like it when it’s too much and people in the team start to get affected by it. Especially because maybe for some of them, they don’t understand so much, or don’t know so much the truths. “I think we do a good job within the team, within McLaren, explaining things to people, telling them what’s going on, explaining my side of the story, things that are going on with me, things that are going on within the team. READ MORE: Horner confirms McLaren have expressed interest in Red Bull engines from 2026 “It’s tough, it’s the world we live in, it’s just media. It’s just what you’ve got to deal with sometimes. I’m fine with it, the team are fine with it.” McLaren head into this weekend’s Saudi Arabian Grand Prix as one of three teams – along with AlphaTauri and Haas – yet to get off the mark in the constructors’ standings. via Formula 1 News https://www.formula1.com

#F1 #Norris bats away speculation over his F1 future as he denies McLaren are in ‘crisis’ #Formula 1

[rosengeist]

Every 6 months or so I get this profound urge to make a comedic video essay on how the 1997 Don Bluth film is a fascinatingly subversive take on the Disney Princess archetype. (No it is not lost on me that Disney now owns the film)

Like especially in the last decade or so where Disney movies make characters royals by loopholes, or in straight up confounding ways (see Princess and the Frog or the live action Aladdin). And treat being a royal less as an actual occupation and more as “person who is attractive that everyone likes and gives money to.” Anastasia is the only Princess film where being royal is portrayed as strictly a performative role, and therefore one that ultimately she rejects. It’s not what she needed, nor what the audience needs, to achieve emotional catharsis.

It’s also fascinatingly subversive in that it takes place at a very specific time and place in history, as opposed to “kind of over there, generally, maybe in Norway? idk”. Like one of the jokes about the Disney Beauty and the Beast is how the French Revolution would have happened shortly after the film. And like, there is something to be said about having a fairy tale be set “long ago and far away”. However, Disney loves to give you the flavor of an era without ever really bringing in the politics of it. It muddies the waters of making royalty palatable at a time when we’ve largely abolished it. Anastasia doesn’t skirt the issue of a Revolution, it starts that way. I always assumed that must be profoundly offensive to Russians, but some basic research showed the opposite for the most part. (Not like they care too much about an animated film from the 90’s, they’ve got bigger things on their plate.)

There is nothing wrong with the Disney approach per se, it works for their films. However, Anastasia isn’t hindered by giving you specific years, months, timelines and cultural touchstones. It exists in the same world as political events, artistic milestones, and even medical innovation (like Freud shows up as a gag, it’s not a guy who looks like Freud, it’s him. You also get Isadora Duncan, and Josephine Baker making cameos. Them showing up provides a quick laugh, but also reinforces the idea that being a royal for Anya isn’t a political role, but would largely just make her a Parisian celebrity of the time with no actual power to affect Russians.)

Even stuff I used to think was unneeded in the animated film proved to be an asset to the film once I saw how it was altered for the theatrical production. The stage musical lacks Rasputin, and pulls in the Bolsheviks and it’s made way less fun or concise as a result. Personally I find it a mopey production without nearly the amount of fun it should have. (Ironically early versions of the film had Bolshevik villains but they replaced them with Rasputin upon learning that Russians found the Bolshevik plot more unpleasant. This was an actual case of “a wizard did it” being a less offensive option.)

Idk, I’ve seen SO much film essay criticism that is about how bad some films are, and there is some stuff I find silly in the film, but every couple of months I’m like “yeah, that was kind of an interesting way to tackle that.”

Talking out loud, because I can’t film or video edit atm, but I’d like to make this happen some day.

#Anastasia #Anastasia 1997 #Don bluth #film appraisal #subversive Disney Princess #not intentional I think #happy accident #bolsheviks make it worse #mopey stage show fun film

[silversatoru]

megumi + gaslighting / iq reduction

pls mr fushiguro, undermine my intelligence every day, purposely keep me unstimulated until im ur dumb, dependent plaything ❤️

a present for you when you get off the plane <3 i took a slightly diff approach to this and i know ur degree is very much not related to science but science is all i know,, so idk,, pretend u were a bio major or something for the sake of this fic okay

megumi + gaslighting/iq reduction

tw: nsfw 18+, f!reader, college-student!reader x professor!megumi, dark content, gaslighting, heavy manipulation, iq reduction, dumbification, slight misogyny?

wc: 1.3k

you still remember the first day of mr. fushiguro’s class, and the way he seemed to pick on you of all people — the way he asked you to stay after class and immediately offered you a position on his team of research students. you remember questioning why he chose you instead of someone else, to which he affirmed that no one had quite the credentials that you did. and you were left wondering how he could possibly judge that on the very first day of classes.

you still remember the first time you showed up to the lab for said research group, the straps of your bag clutched nervously in your clammy palms. mr. fushiguro was a young but incredibly esteemed professor, and this was going to look great on your transcript, so you were nothing but a ball of excited jitters. and you were smart! you knew you’d be an excellent addiction to this team of students, and you were grateful for the opportunity.

or so you thought; but it quickly became apparent that you weren’t nearly as prepared as you thought you were. it seemed like everything you did was wrong — all of your experiment results were compromised, lacked accuracy, and were always rejected. it seemed like all the other students were excelling, and mr. fushiguro loved them — but he was always so frustrated with you.

if only you knew the frustration was a front. if only you realized that every experimental result you got was right, that every answer and every theory you came up with was painfully accurate. if only you knew that your struggles were entirely fabricated by mr. fushiguro and his ulterior motives.

eventually he made the recommendation that you do some remediation with him — a few one-on-one sessions to help sharpen your skills so you can contribute more to his research. so of course you said yes! because you wanted nothing more than to be helpful and you couldn’t understand what you were doing wrong.

so you attended the tutor sessions with your dark-haired professor; but they were less about learning and more about brutal criticism of your skills. mr. fushiguro berated and insulted your intelligence several times, making you falter at his words and wonder what you ever did to deserve to be involved in his research project in the first place.

“i just don’t think you’re cut out for this, ms. l/n”.

maybe you really weren’t cut out for this.

“your lack of skills has surprised me, i can’t say i’m not disappointed in your performance so far”.

you were disappointed in yourself too.

“you’ll have to put in a lot of extra work if you want to stay on the team”.

you’d do whatever it took.

you were always bright, always excelled in your science-related classes, so what was happening to you? why were you the weak link of his research group? why were you on the verge of failing his class? why was everything suddenly so hard?

you didn’t mean to break down in front of him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you choked back sobs and hid your face behind your hands. it’d been building up for a while now: your frustration, your sudden lack of self-confidence, your feelings of inadequacy; they were all overflowing. but mr. fushiguro showed you zero sympathy, staring down at you with icy eyes and not a shred of mercy. you were exactly where he wanted you, and he was about to seal the deal.

“i really expected more from you”

those were the words that broke you in half, your fear of failure becoming all to real in that moment. but his next words halted your tears and created a small shred of hope in your despair.

“but i do want to help you. my door is open to you anytime. i have practice questions and study methods that i’m happy to share with you”.

and so here you were, anxiously sitting at his kitchen table trying to solve a few problems that he’d given you to practice. but you couldn’t seem to figure them out no matter how hard you tried — brain frying as you tried and failed over and over.

but it was all exactly as it was supposed to be — the problems were never solvable in the first place — there were no right answers — they were simply meant to melt your little brain.

you came back to his house time and time again, and each study session was worse than the last. you were never able to figure anything out on your own, you always needed his help, you couldn’t do anything without him.

it was no shocker when you began to admire him, depend on him, feel like you couldn’t do any schoolwork on your own. his months of manipulation were finally paying off, you were finally a dumb little thing who had no self confidence and who was constantly begging for his help. and he was happy to provide that for you, but you were going to have to start making it worth his time — his expert help doesn’t come for free.

you’re not sure what possessed you to agree, to have his cock lodged in the back of your throat while he groaned and leaned back in his seat — but you needed his help, this was just a small price to pay. you’d bob your head and choke on his tip as it pressed into your esophagus as if your future depended on it, because at this point, it kind of did.

but the prices kept getting steeper; eventually a quick blow wasn’t enough to appease mr. fushiguro. he wanted more. if you wanted to keep his help you needed to be face down and bent over his kitchen table — and so that’s exactly what you did.

brain foggy and knees aching your sweaty fingers grasped at the smooth table top as he took you from behind. his strained cock dragged against your sopping walls, your ass nearly bruising from how hard he was fucking himself into you. whimpers and moans overflowed from your lips as your bare tits pressed into empty worksheets — the two of you had completely glossed over the “studying” portion of your night tonight, skipping right to your payment.

you could barely even think straight, your head spinning with endorphins as you cried out in response to the tip of his cock kissing against your cervix. his fingers dug into the sides of your hips, pressing little red circles into your skin from how hard he grasped at you. your were shaking, your entire body pulsing with bliss each time he thrusted up into your cunt.

he was so happy with himself, balls deep inside one of the smartest students who had ever graced his classroom. he’d taken a girl with so much potential it was sickening, and convinced her that she was worthless, reduced her to a less than average student who was desperate enough to take her professor’s cock in exchange for better grades. you were pathetic, embarrassing even, laying here on your stomach and babbling complete nonsense while he filled you up.

all it took was patience and a sprinkle of manipulation to get you like this. to make you a dumb little fuck toy who came to his house several times a week under the guise of getting help with class work.

and he’d keep this up until you could barely even think for yourself — reducing you to a brainless little pet who deserves to be stuffed with cum and nothing else.

you didn’t belong in STEM, you didn’t belong in a university in general — you belonged right here on his kitchen table, your face sitting in a puddle of your own drool.

you were stupid, or at least he convinced you that you were so much so that you actually became it.

#dark content mini event #tw dark content #tw manipulation #tw dumbification #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi smut #fushiguro smut #silver.nsfw

[offbrandhange]

𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖊𝖆 // 𝕷𝖊𝖛𝖎 𝖝 𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

After liking your Captain for so long--you finally decide it’s time to confess. // SOFT ONESHOT

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: ~1.1K

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗: neutral ! :)

a/n -- if this does well I might make a few more chapters about before, during, and after the expedition.....with some ✨ angst ✨

You sucked in a breath—slightly nervous, heart beating quick. 

Today was the day you were going to confess, and more specifically, you were going to confess to your Captain.

You were fairly certain that he shared the same feelings as you based on his actions. In the past few months you shared with him, he was fairly talkative, and often searching for you when separated; the reason you knew that, was because your comrades would tell you—all the time about how the Captain would ask where you were when you were gone. Additionally, he had promoted you to his squad, which you weren’t complaining about, but you definitely did not feel like you deserved the position; you performed averagely, if not slightly above average, but nowhere near any of the top-rankers; you blended in well. 

Knocking on his door, you quickly asserted yourself, fixing your posture; confidence was key.

“Captain Levi? It’s Cadet Y/N.”

The moment your name slipped your lips, the door was practically thrown open.

“Come in.” 

You walked in, placing a cup of tea down on his desk; it had become a daily ritual for you to bring and share tea together during lunch.

Levi brought a chair over, the one he kept in his office just for you, placing it opposite his.

“Do you want hand sanitizer?” He questioned, opening his drawer to get it out—he was going to make you put it on anyway, even if you said no.

You nodded your head okay, and accepted it, rubbing it into your skin—and for some odd reason, Levi watched carefully.

You said nothing, simply looking at him. Once his eyes met yours, realizing you noticed his staring, he diverted his gaze, coughed, and tilted his head downwards in an attempt to hide his newly reddened cheeks.

“I made your tea how you like it,” you said in an attempt to clear the awkwardness that surrounded you two.

“You didn’t fill it with that shit—did you?” He asked, trying to crack a joke. His only downfall when it came to being funny was his tone of voice—his aura always came off as eery and critical.

“Taste it and see,” you laughed, sipping from your own cup. You filled yours to the brim with sugar—it tasted better that way, although, Levi would never agree.

What you shared in common, though, was that black tea was the best—especially when it was strong as hell. It was mainly why Levi preferred it when you boiled it, although, the fact that it was you making it was a bonus.

“The next expedition was planned,” your captain informed you. 

“I heard,” you said, placing your mug down. “It’s next week.”

He nodded his head, organizing the papers on his desk. Usually, when you visited him, he was busy. Normally, he would kick people out since it was distracting—but when it came to you, he let you stay. He was calmer when he knew you were near him, safe.

“I need to tell you something.” You stated, making sure to adjust your hair and posture before sucking in a breath for courage. 

“Hmm?” He hummed, eager. He liked being needed by you—and you picked up on that quite early after your friendship started.

You blinked—slightly unsure how to word it. At this point, you didn’t want to mess it up, but you were so, so tired of not admitting your feelings—you just wanted them out.

“I like you.” 

Levi froze, which you expected, his whole face and tip of his ears changing from pale to blossom pink.

“Huh?” He mumbled, making timid eye contact with you; he was nervous, but still wanting to see if you were serious.

“Yeah, I like you.” You breathed, starting to blush yourself; seeing his reaction made you more flustered than you wanted to admit.

“I, hold on,” he stuttered, placing his papers down quickly, and balling his fists—that were now placed on the desk. 

“Captain?” You said, starting to get anxious. What if you had misinterpreted his feelings all this time?

“I’ll....I’ll be back,” he quickly mumbled, standing up from his seat. “I’m gonna take a shit.” 

You watched as he left the room—awkwardly stammering out, face still bright red.

Placing your face in your hands, you whispered to yourself, “what the fuck?” You were beyond confused, and even a little offended. 

Sighing, you grumbled and rose from your chair; you were beyond disappointed, a slight ache of disbelief and embarrassment pulling at your heart. 

You began to walk out of the room—assuming that he didn’t accept your feelings. You didn’t want to overstay your welcome; it was better to give him time and take the hint that him leaving the room meant he felt uncomfortable around you.

As you were trying to cheer yourself up, holding onto your facade that was keeping you from bawling like a bitch in the public hall—you heard quick footsteps, just before a figure crashed into you, arms wrapping around you and a head nuzzling into your neck. 

“Man, what the fuck—“ you breathed, starting to tear up; you were processing rejection, in a fragile state, too overwhelmed to deal with what was happening. 

You felt the man deftly and roughly press an envelope into your chest—all while continuing to burry himself into your shoulder; raven black hair tickling your collarbone through your thin, collared shirt.

“Read it.” He stated, unmoving.

And that’s when you realized, removing the man’s arms off you—turning to face him.

“Captain?” 

He didn’t look at you—he looked anywhere else, 

“Call me Levi,” he paused. “and open the damn note.”

You softly took it from him, confusedly prying it open. What was inside—was a piece of paper, with large, bold, un-neat writing, that said: “I like you two”

You laughed and looked up at him. He shyly met your gaze, slightly offended by you laughing at his letter.

“What?” The man breathed.

“You used the wrong too,” you chuckled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

His face grew even brighter in color—and he defensively crossed his arms. “Shut the hell up.” 

You calmed yourself, relief flooding over you—you were so glad it was all just a misunderstanding.

“Can I hug you?”

Levi twitched, saying nothing. Instead, he slowly uncrossed his arms and waited for you to move—signaling he was okay with it.

You embraced him, pressing yourself into his awkward posture, slowly wrapping himself around you—unsure where to place his hands. 

You took one last laugh before thinking about what just happened—and then opened your mouth to speak.

“I’m glad you didn’t actually ditch me for a shit.”

#levi ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi oneshot #soft levi #shy levi #levi ff #levi x y/n #levi x you #aot #aot fanfiction #snk #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #aot x y/n #aot x gn!reader #levi x gn!reader #levi x fem!reader #levi x male reader #snk x you #snk x reader #snk x y/n #levi fluff #aot fluff #snk fluff #aot oneshots #snk oneshot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #anime #nervous levi

[after-witch]

Take Flight [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Title: Take Flight [Yandere Nikolai Gogol x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re a fantastic actress when you’re on the stage. But your captor isn’t fooled when there’s no stage magic to hide your real feelings.

For request: request for anything with BSD!Gogol please!

Word Count: 1772

notes: Yandere, kidnapped, noncon implications, implied torture/physical abuse

You look so beautiful when you’re immobile. Especially when you don’t know what you’ve done to deserve it, when your eyes are widened in fear, your mouth whimpering behind the tight cloth gag; your mind no doubt racing, searching for what you’ve done and why this is happening.

You look especially beautiful when he opens his coat and pulls out a few tools. He deliberately lays the hammer on the far end of the table, next to your feet. Now that makes you beautiful, as you cry out as much as possible behind the gag, some drool making its way past the increasingly soaked cloth your chin. Your muffled “no” is music.

He hates to clip your wings like this. But it’s only temporary. And, really, you’ve brought it upon yourself. Not by acting up--oh, no, definitely not that. He smiles to himself as he thinks about what a good birdie you’ve been lately. How obedient. How submissive. How sweet.

It took a lot of effort. A lot of punishment. A lot of pain. But on the surface, you’ve transformed into the sweet swan that he’s dreamed about keeping in a gilded cage. Literally and otherwise. Of course, he’s not that easily fooled--he knows you still hate him, fear him, on the inside. No matter how much you embrace him or let him have his way with you, no matter how much you try to please him with words and kisses, you’re still fighting him in your heart. Beating against your cage with your wings when his back is turned, as it were.

And you know something? It’s just not good enough. His life is already a game of duality. And he wants only a singularity with you, a single reality where you are broken and his for however long he wants to keep you. What would be the point of throwing you away when you’re still fighting him?

And thus, it’s only fitting that you’re currently bound to the table where you’ve received your other punishments. He’s not much of a cleaner, and there’s still the odd blood stain lodged in the wood grains. A handy table with straps on each end that keep your wrists and ankle immobile. He’s even given you a pillow, because why not, why not?

It’s easier when you’re tied up to see the real you underneath, the desperate, terrified person that only wants to stay alive. That only wants to avoid pain. The remnants of blood stains underneath you are a testament to that.

You do put on a good show, otherwise. But not quite up to par, he admits, hence his critical review. If he was a theater critic, he might call your efforts “valiant, but not worthy of the highest acclaim.” Or perhaps “They clearly need a little more time to develop, but it’s a good effort.”

You can kiss him. You can perform for him. You can let him touch you and hurt you, when he wants, without complaint. But you can’t hide all of the little things that give you real state of mind away. The way your jaw trembles ever so slightly when you stand up on your toes (so precious) to give him a kiss. The quarter-second that your eyes drift away before you tell him you love him, you adore him, you never want to leave him. The slight hint of revulsion, always covered with a smile in an instant, when he enters your cage at night. 

Did you think you’re fooling him? He hopes you did. He loves the idea of snatching the rug from underneath your feet, nimble as they may be. You’re good at acting on the stage--he could wax poetry about how ethereal, how in-the-moment you look when you’re dancing; when you’re practically flying across the stage, your tulle skirts swishing and the thin soles of your shoes slapping against the hard floor.

But when you’re off the stage? The magic is lessened. There are no stage lights to cover up your occasional tired expression, no swelling music to add emphasis to your movements if they become too strained. No stage tricks to hide your face from the audience for a moment of reprieve. It is no good, after all, for Odile to seduce the prince with her arms, her legs, the fierceness of her fouettes--if her face gives away that she finds him repellent.

Without the trickery of the stage, you give yourself away. Which is one reason why he’s decided to be oh-so-cruel to you today. The other? He’ll never tell you. Maybe you’ll guess it someday, if you happen to glimpse the expression he holds as you pirouette across the stage, no limits, no boundaries, only the music and the motion and the buzz of the audience to lift you up high.

But, he muses, picking up the hammer--the noises you’re making, oh, how fun!--it’s time to get back to the task at hand.

“Or at foot,” he says, giggling. But you don’t get the joke. He approaches the head of the table and your muffled pleas grow louder. They’re so soft, so confused. What did you do? What did you do? Please, please, please. He’s heard it all before, but it’s still enjoyable to take in. Like a comforting book.

He trails a gloved finger along your cheek, spreading your tears around like a child tracing lines on a foggy car window.

“I know you want to fly away from me.” He keeps his tone light and teasing. You immediately shake your head in denial, and Christ in heaven is that fantastic, the way you want him to believe you no longer desire escape, no longer desire true freedom.

He tuts at you, wagging the tip of his gloved finger in front of your face before leaning in closer. “If I let you fly away, would you still be my pet? If you fly away on your own, would you be free?” It’s rhetorical, and your expression betrays your lack of understanding behind his words.

He does want to hear your voice behind the gag, so he swiftly undoes the tight knot and tosses the soaked fabric aside.

“Please, I love you,” you say immediately, voice weak and pleading. “Nik--Nikolai, I don’t understand. What did I do wrong?” You hesitate for a moment, but then you continue. “I’m so sorry, whatever it is. I must have… disappointed you.” You lower your eyes and the downcast expression, the defeat in your gaze, makes him wish he had a camera on hand.

You’re so submissive. It really is beautiful. But you’re submissive because you want to avoid being hurt. You’re submissive because he’s got a hammer resting next to your precious feet and you don’t want him to lift up that hammer and bash your bones until they break.

Where’s the fun in that?

He hums to himself as he begins a deliberately slow walk back to the end of the table. He trails his fingers down your body and enjoys the sight of little goosebumps rising on your flesh, enjoys the way you squirm, just a bit, when he pokes at your sensitive side.

When he picks up the hammer, you begin to babble. The words aren’t important--he’s listening to the tone, the way your voice is thick with sadness and fear. Please, no, don’t, I’ll do anything; all words that run from your mouth like water through a stream. He ignores them and instead holds one of your feet still with his hand. There’s a power in your feet, thanks to the years of dancing and even more years of training. He thinks about taking that power away. About what that would mean. About what it would do to you.

When he rubs the end of the hammer against the top of your foot, you groan, a guttural sound of pure horror. The sound of someone whose entire reason for living, whose heartbeat, rests on the ability to dance. 

Your breath is sharp and scratchy when he suddenly lifts the hammer up and brings it crashing down on your ankle--where it immediately compresses and squeaks, high and childish.

It’s rubber. It’s a rubber toy. Nothing more.

Your breath comes out in short, harsh puffs. He takes in your expression, which is at once horrified and confused and relieved and even a bit angry.

“What--”

His sharp, pleased laughter interrupts you. And when he laughs, you laugh, just a little. He’s surprised that he can’t tell if it’s a genuine laugh of pure relief, an attempt to mimic him to stay in his good graces, or a sign that you’re losing your mind. Maybe it’s a mixture of all three.

He wastes no time in undoing your straps, and he pulls you into a sitting position. Your entire body is trembling, an adrenaline crash turning your legs to rubber as he helps you to your feet and loops your arm around his shoulders for added support. 

You don’t even have time to process the fact that he didn’t hurt you before he starts leading you out of the room and back to your pretty little cage and your pretty little bed. He drops you on the bed with a flourish, and you bounce slightly on the mattress--face still in shock, still processing.

“That was fun, right?” he says, voice once again teasing. “Now let’s play a little more.” He begins undoing his belt buckle, and what would have been the normal flash of revulsion on your face is replaced by something new: relief. Relief that you can dance? Relief that you didn’t earn any new scars, any new injuries, any new pain? He’s not sure that the exact reason matters. It’s something new, and it’s a step closer.

He grins and begins making quick work of his clothes. You’re already on your knees in front of him.

Relief, after all, comes in many forms.

#yandere #yandere nikolai gogol #yandere bungou stray dogs #nikolai gogol x reader #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes