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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

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Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 4 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to lie: it was weird seeing Nie Huaisang smiling again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember how Nie Huaisang used to behave when they were all back at the Cloud Recesses, and even before, but that seemed so long ago these days that it might as well have occurred in a past life. The expression just didn’t fit him anymore, like a grown man trying to return to the clothing of his childhood, and yet at the same time it was wretchedly familiar, even welcome – it was as if time had reversed course all at once, plucking them all out of the stream of their lives and returning them to how it used to be long before. Back to simpler, happier times.

It was kind of funny, actually.

Those that had not known Nie Huaisang as anything other than the Pallbearer seemed to be in a state of utter shock, gossiping madly – Did you see? He was smiling! He laughed at someone’s joke! He told a joke! He patted that child on the head and said ‘good job’ and the child didn’t cry even once!

Those that had known him from before only by reputation were, if anything, even more aghast – Do you think he’s going to start pouting and crying at things again? Surely not, I can’t even imagine! The last time he pouted was when one of his fans got stained, remember, after he stuck it straight through that man’s throat –

Those that had known him from before in person…

Well, the reaction was mixed. There was some relief, some distress, and a great deal of pain as they remembered once again how much their friend had changed in the wake of his brother’s near-death – the reminder of his former self was both nostalgic and bittersweet.

Personally, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were working through their feelings on the subject with the help of a lot of roleplaying involving their time at the Cloud Recesses. It was very healthy of them, emotionally, although maybe not so healthy for the state of Wei Wuxian’s waist. Or throat. Or hands…

(No, they weren’t officially married yet, since they were still hoping that they could have a proper ceremony when the war ended, but they were both of age and engaged. And that meant they could go to bed together, no matter what some of the more conservative Lan sect members thought – with Lan Qiren backing them up, which he did with no small amount of eye-rolling and deep sighs and long-suffering resignation, they were free to do as they pleased.)

That, too, was something they owed to Nie Huaisang.

Without Nie Huaisang’s timely intervention, both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would’ve fallen for the Jin sect’s instigation and turned against each other in an act of mutual destruction that harmed both of them, and everyone else besides. Jiang Cheng would have cut off his own right arm, voluntarily weakening his sect just at the moment when they needed strength the most, and rendered himself without any other choice but to be dependent on Lanling Jin, while Wei Wuxian would have remained trapped in the Burial Mounds in Yiling, getting called the Yiling Patriarch as some people still today did, growing ever more resentful at his isolation and poverty.

(That one uncomfortable month he’d spent arguing with Wen Qing and Wen Ning about whether they should try to grow radishes or potatoes had been very educational, especially since they were both not-so-secretly convinced that the argument was futile and that nothing would ever grow on the Burial Mounds, such that they were just whiling away time until they all starved to death.)

They would be scattered, weakened, unhappy and vulnerable. Wei Wuxian would be sitting there like a giant target until the Jin sect decided, in their leisure, to deal with him the way, in hindsight, they had so obviously always intended to.

Wei Wuxian would have missed his sister’s wedding, probably. He might even have missed Jiang Yanli’s widowing, and the consequences of that were unthinkable.

If Wei Wuxian hadn’t brought the Wen sect back with him to the Lotus Pier as a result of Jiang Cheng’s defiance of the cultivation world’s criticism, Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli would never had the chance to hit it off the way they had, becoming fast friends. If they hadn’t been friends, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been visiting Jinlin Tower to check up on her good friend when the news of Jin Zixuan’s death had first spread.

His murder, rather – Wei Wuxian wasn’t terribly clear on the details, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jin Guangshan had pressed his legitimate son’s filial piety to the breaking point in his pursuit of power, and finally he must have done something to go too far, to cause there to be a real break between them. Jin Zixuan must have made clear that he would not play along, no matter what, and by that point Jin Guangshan already knew there was Jin Guangyao waiting in the sidelines to step up and take his place. There was no other way it could have gone, simply because there was no other reason for both Jin Zixuan and his mother to so conveniently die on the very same day.

If it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang convincing Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been there. Wen Qing wouldn’t have been available to be bold and decisive, the way she was with her medicine; she wouldn’t have been able to persuade Jiang Yanli of the possibility of danger and then to smuggler out of Jinlin Tower and take her on the run in disguise, long before it occurred to anyone else that there might be some threat to her – that the Jin sect might decide to hold her hostage, or worse.

Definitely worse. If Jin Guangyao had had the chance to figure out what only Wen Qing had known back then – that Jiang Yanli, barely more than a newlywed, already carried the next heir to Lanling Jin within her belly…

Jin Guangyao’s ambitions would never have let Jin Zixuan live, a fact they’d all only realized in horrible helpless hindsight, but if Wen Qing had been trapped in Yiling with Wei Wuxian at the time, instead of visiting Lanling, then Jiang Yanli…

Wei Wuxian didn’t even want to think of it.

So, really, it was only fair that Nie Huaisang, who had whether intentionally or incidentally saved so many of them these past few years, finally, finally get what he’d been dreaming of all these years: his brother’s return.

It was only fair that he be allowed to return to being happy.

And yet, at the same time –

“You need to go talk to him,” Jiang Cheng said. His arms would be crossed in front of his chest if he wasn’t currently holding a sleeping Jin Ling, who’d had something of a fright upon meeting the new and improved Nie Huaisang. The poor kid had been convinced that his habitually bitter and vicious Second Uncle Nie was possessed by some sort of fierce but bizarrely friendly ghost. “There’s a war on, for fuck’s sake. He can’t spend all his time haunting the Unclean Realm trying to pretend that he’s something he’s not in order to keep his brother from finding out that he’s changed!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Wei Wuxian objected. “I mean, Nie Huaisang’s always run most of the war through correspondence, anyway, and it’s not like we’re totally helpless without him to boss us around.”

“His absence hasn’t been noted by our enemies just yet,” Wen Ning murmured. His arms were similarly full with Wen Yuan – a little older than his friends, steadier and more mature, but a sympathetic crier, and spending a month of his childhood in the Burial Mounds made him more susceptible to fears of possession, not less, so he’d been set off by Jin Ling. And seeing them both in tears had, of course, made poor level-headed Jin Rusong, who didn’t cry easily at all, panic and try to help in a way that only made it worse; Xiao Xingchen had swept him away to the kitchen, and the two of them were currently making snacks for the other two when they woke up. “But it will be, soon. They are already puzzled by the change in tactics.”

Wen Ning’s voice was as soft as ever, his stutter subdued only by the fact that he was with company he liked, but his tone brooked no argument – he’d changed a lot since their youth, too, and knew more intimately than most how some things could not be undone.

The Jin sect, not content with merely killing him, had dubbed his resurrected self ‘the Ghost General’ in an attempt to incite the cultivation world into hating and fearing him. It had been a lie back then, when he’d been doing nothing more than planting radish seeds and babysitting, but now Wen Ning was a general in truth, the leader of their archers and one of Nie Huaisang’s right hands. He was still shy, still didn’t speak fluently and probably never would, but Nie Huaisang had assigned him several capable deputies who understood him even when he had to resort to the type of hand-signs used by the deaf or in covert situations. He was surprisingly popular with the cultivators on their side of the war, although Wei Wuxian acknowledged that perhaps his popularity shouldn’t be that much of a surprise: there was a certain morale-boosting effect in seeing your general continuing to fight even after being struck with enough arrows to create a porcupine.

“Being puzzled by a change in tactics is fairly run of the mill for any enemy facing Nie Huaisang,” Wei Wuxian pointed out.

“Which is why they haven’t noticed it yet, Wei-gongzi. But eventually…”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “Is it really that dire?”

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji said ominously, and – fine. If even Lan Wangji thought that someone should talk to Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian would go and talk to him.

After all, they were old friends of long acquaintance.

Very long, even.

“I come bearing terms of peace,” Wei Wuxian announced, walking into Nie Huaisang’s study and waving a few jars of wine at him. “Come negotiate with me, Nie-xiong!”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to barge into my room,” Nie Huaisang said without looking up from his correspondence, a little flash of the vicious Pallbearer they’d all grown painfully accustomed to – he had his family’s temper but a cooler head, with rage that burned low and long rather than flaring up hot and burning out.

Wei Wuxian reflected once more on how apt Nie Huaisang’s personal title was. The foolish thought that it referred to the filial piety he showed in mourning the brother that raised him since childhood, the somewhat wiser to the way the attack on Nie Mingjue had forced Nie Huaisang to find the virtue he had previously lacked, but the really smart ones knew that the most accurate interpretation was that those that Nie Huaisang chose to accompany to their end would ultimately find themselves without any path forward but death.

Nie Huaisang’s cultivation was still nothing special, his ability to fight virtually non-existent beyond the most basic of saber forms – a saber he now carried with him often enough, but still almost never used – and he’d rejected Wei Wuxian’s very innovative idea (if he did say so himself) that he try to train with a war fan, both on the basis of it being both too much effort and furthermore thoroughly lacking in aesthetic. As a result, he had no particularly notable talents, and none that could allow him to triumph in a night-hunt or a duel.

It didn’t make him any less terrifying.

“You’ll forgive me,” Wei Wuxian said flippantly, and sat down next to him, looking at the words that filled the page with Nie Huaisang’s lovely, artistic calligraphy. “More spy stuff?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “Naturally. The network never sleeps, as you well know. I assume you’ve been sent to scold me about the war?”

“Amazing,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged him in the side with his elbow. “It’s almost like you have a brain in your head or something. Since you’ve guessed it, I don’t even know what more I need to say…how’s Chifeng-zun doing?”

That got Nie Huaisang’s face to soften, as he’d hoped it would. “Much better. He’s been sleeping and waking consistently, and the mobility exercises are working well, though of course he’s insisting on trying more than he can manage. He only just managed to walk across the room without stumbling yesterday, had to sit down right away after, and he’s already asking about saber training.”

That was very in character for Nie Mingjue.

“I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian said, meaning it with all his heart. “I missed da-ge.”

He owed him so much, after all.

So much more than most people knew.

It had been Nie Mingjue who had found him all those years ago, in the dark days when his parents had died in a night-hunt gone wrong and the money they’d left with the innkeeper turning out to be insufficient to keep him housed or fed for more than a fortnight. Wei Wuxian had been a spoiled, beloved child – even if his parents were rogue cultivators, his father originally a servant, they were famous; there wasn’t a town that didn’t welcome them with open arms. They had never lacked for money, for warmth and comfort.

Wei Wuxian might have had a chance if they’d died in the spring or summer. He might have been able to learn to sleep on the streets during warm nights and used those rich fat months to learn from all the other beggars how to eat refuse, but his parents had died in the winter. Even the beggars chased him away, unwilling to spare the smallest scrap of food or lose any bit of warmth by sharing the spots they had found to shelter from the cold; and when he went to the richer districts that had once greeted his parents with such enthusiasm, wild dogs were sent to chase him away, vicious and merciless…within a week, he had been very nearly dead.

Luckily, when hiring rogue cultivators turned out to be insufficient to deal with the problem, the miserly local landlord that had sent out the notice in the first place had finally given in and written to a Great Sect, begging for aid – as a rich man, he was obligated to contribute to the costs of a requested night-hunt, and the Great Sects, while generally more successful, were typically far more mercenary in that regard than rogue cultivators – and Nie Mingjue had come with his Nie sect, the most willing by far to do the work of defeating evil without charging too much for the privilege.

He’d found the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s parents.

Soon after, he’d found Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian had been about seven, then. It had been a full two years before Jiang Fengmian had found him on the very same streets, hiding in the trash with a dirty face and a sad and miserable expression, ready to be picked up and taken home by his father’s old friend, the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang.

Just as anyone might’ve predicted.

After all, Nie Mingjue had never stinted on sending out spies, even if he never used them.

(He’d released Wei Wuxian of all those old obligations long ago – but Nie Huaisang never had.)

“Da-ge passes along his thanks, by the way,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks the array you created to help preserve his life is brilliant.”

“It is brilliant,” Wei Wuxian said, shameless as always. Getting a truly vicious scolding from his little master Nie Huaisang about exactly how close to the line his arrogance had brought him and the Wen sect had humbled him a bit, and the disaster of the Stygian Tiger Seal nearly going out of his control at the Nightless City not long thereafter had humbled him still more, but in the end he was still Wei Wuxian. He was awesome. “Could anyone else have done what I did?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“He’s not angry at me for misusing Baxia?” Wei Wuxian asked, fishing for confirmation. If there was one thing that his two years in the Nie sect had taught him, it was a near-pathological revulsion at the thought of touching another person’s spiritual weapon – he’d been very nearly more excited to be allowed to put his hand on an unsheathed Bichen than Lan Wangji’s dick, although not quite – and Nie Mingjue was quite justifiably more paranoid than most on the subject.

Even that treacherous dog Jin Guangyao hadn’t dared touch Baxia. The spiritual poison he’d used on Nie Mingjue had been limited to the man himself, and that had been what gave Wei Wuxian the idea for the array he’d invented. Nie Mingjue cultivated with Baxia as his primary, if not only, spiritual weapon, and the disciples of the Nie sect were closer to their sabers than most – and by the end of the Sunshot Campaign, Baxia was a fearsome entity in her own right, possessed of her own spiritual energy.

And as he’d always said, energy was meant to be used.

There was something about the Nie sect’s cultivation style that reminded Wei Wuxian of his innovations in demonic cultivation, although it wasn’t quite the same. They didn’t manipulate resentful energy directly the way he did, but they still made use of it, refining their blades with it until the sabers were very nearly guai, cultivating saber spirits filled with a lust for blood – although the strict disciplines of the Nie sect cultivation path meant that every saber spirit that Wei Wuxian had ever had the fortune (or misfortune) to personally encounter just as absolutist in their disdain for evil as their masters.

Even Nie Huaisang’s saber Aituan was like that, and maybe that should have been Wei Wuxian’s first hint that Nie Huaisang wasn’t as simple as he appeared on the surface.

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Really. Da-ge said it was – how’d he put it – a charming contradiction, that his saber get used to cultivating energy for him rather than him for the saber. Though maybe he was just relieved that she was intact, given everything.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and toasted Nie Huaisang, drinking a little of the wine while Nie Huaisang continued with his correspondence.

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

“I’m not pretending,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, and Wei Wuxian, who’d drifted off into daydreams involving him, Lan Wangji, and a very sturdy bathtub, turned to look at him. “I know what Jiang Cheng thinks –”

“Of course you do. I tell you what Jiang Cheng thinks.”

“Shut up, you – you calamity. I don’t need you to tell me what Jiang Cheng thinks, he tells me himself more often than not. He thinks that I’m pretending to be useless because I don’t want da-ge to know about everything I’ve done, but that’s not the case at all. He knows. I wouldn’t keep it from him.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said, because he did. Even at his most lazy and self-indulgent, Nie Huaisang abhorred the thought of lying to his brother. “But you are spending too much of your time in the Unclean Realm. We need you back in the field.”

Nie Huaisang scowled. “The cream of the cultivation world,” he said disdainfully. “Can’t they do anything by themselves, just for a few short months? You’d think my brother fought the entirety of the Sunshot Campaign by himself with how little they seem to contribute.”

“Personally, I think that everyone has just taken the Nie sect as lucky cats, and are afraid to do without you,” Wei Wuxian said, batting his eyelashes at him in his most provoking show of earnestness. “Nie-xiong, if I rub your head, does that mean I’ll win my next battle…?”

“Don’t you dare,” Nie Huaisang said, but the scowl receded and he looked amused again. “I can’t wait to send da-ge out on the battlefield again.”

“The Jin sect will trample each other in their eagerness to get off the battlefield rather than face Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian agreed, and couldn’t help his own smile at the thought. “The rumors that he’s returned have already started spreading like wildfire, but you’ve done well to hide him away so thoroughly. It means no one knows if the rumors are right or if you’re just pulling some kind of trick on the world.”

“Who, me? A trick?” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled thinly. “I only wish I could’ve seen the look on that treacherous dog’s face when his spies reported on my unusual behavior. I hope he’s afraid.”

Wei Wuxian agreed.

He had tried many times to imagine doing what Jin Guangyao had done. To turn your hand against the man to whom you had sworn to love as a brother –

He couldn’t even imagine hurting Jiang Cheng like that, and Jiang Yanli even less.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue his life. He had sworn fealty to him with all the passion and singlemindedness of childhood, and had never once regretted it. Nie Mingjue had taken him off the streets and brought him back to his sect, he’d taken back his parents’ bodies and buried them with full (if private) honors, he’d given Wei Wuxian training to make him strong and smart and capable. He’d sent him to do work in a place where he would prosper and thrive and be happy, and all the while promised that he would never be trapped – that he would have a way out if the Jiang sect became too suffocating or he was treated too viciously, on one hand, and on the other told him that he could one day petition to be released from his obligations to the Nie sect if he ever found them too demanding.

Wei Wuxian had asked to be released from those obligations after the fall of the Lotus Pier, unable to stomach the idea of reporting on Jiang Cheng now that he was all alone in the world in the way that he had so effortlessly reported on Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. Nie Mingjue had granted the reprieve without a second’s hesitation, even though it meant wasting the years and years of investment they’d put into him, even though it would have been a critical moment to have an ear within the Jiang sect’s camp.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue everything.

And yet – if the man had asked him to kill Jiang Cheng, he would have said no.

Twin heroes, he’d promised Jiang Cheng, and if for a while he’d thought he would have to give up that promise because of the secret of the golden core that he still kept hidden away, he refused to think it any longer. Jiang Cheng was his brother in all but blood, in all the ways that mattered. Wei Wuxian would stand aside from him if he thought he had to, as he had with the Wen sect remnants; he would keep secrets from him, he would even deceive him, but he would never willingly seek to hurt him.

Jin Guangyao, though? He had attacked Nie Mingjue without even being asked.

He was like some rabid beast, a white-eyed wolf, Wei Wuxian thought. Utterly beyond his understanding.

He deserved to be afraid.

“Speaking of which,” he said, suddenly remembering. “I think I’ve figured out why Jin Guangyao was willing to kill his own heir to further his and his father’s ambitions.”

“About time,” Nie Huaisang said, and while his tone was stern Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that he was teasing. “I put you on that job months ago. What do you think I keep you around for? Your brilliant inventions? Your armies of corpses? Your amazing ability to stun irritating sect leaders into silence with your overwhelming shamelessness regarding Lan Wangji –”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Wei Wuxian said hastily, although the giant grin he couldn’t keep off his face said everything about his shame – or lack thereof – relating to that last one. You get caught doing one little roleplay about the fearsome demonic cultivator Yiling Patriarch being arrested by the righteous cultivator Hanguang-jun and suddenly no one wanted to look you in the eye anymore… “Anyway, according to all the rumors, you keep me around because you want me to raise your brother the way I raised Wen Ning.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one, and I still can’t believe anyone believes it. Da-ge’s a sect leader! Even if you wanted to bring him back, think about the amount of resentment he would have had to feel at his death to rise up again despite all the soul-calming rituals he’s gone through! If he ever became that resentful, he wouldn’t rise up as a ghost general, he’d be a ghost king, and then we’d all be screwed.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong. Nie Mingjue was one of the most powerful cultivators living – if he rose as a fierce corpse, he’d be able to slaughter an entire village of common people overnight with just the energy in one hand. And if he were then allowed access to Baxia, her power added to his…he’d become a scourge on the world, a true calamity, and they’d need to find a way to appease his anger and somehow lock him away forever just to survive.

Assuming Nie Huaisang allowed something like that, anyway. Wei Wuxian was very happy they had never been forced to face the question of whether Nie Huaisang preferred his brother or his morality, as he suspected no one would like the answer to that. Not even Nie Huaisang.

“Enough speculation,” Nie Huaisang said, and Wei Wuxian twitched guiltily even though he knew Nie Huaisang was not, in fact, a mind-reader. “What’s the story with A-Song?”

“You want the long version with all the proof I found to support it or the conclusion?”

“Start with the conclusion.”

“Jin Guangyao couldn’t risk A-Song growing up into a half-wit on account of being a child of incest.”

That actually surprised Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian was pleased to see.

“Incest?” Nie Huaisang said wonderingly. “But how – oh, of course. Jin Guangshan and Madame Qin? An affair or rape?”

“Rape while he was drunk, supposedly, though of course we only have the relevant people’s words for that, and they’re not exactly impartial sources. Could’ve been an affair that had unexpected results, not that anyone would ever admit it.”

Nie Huaisang started laughing.

Wei Wuxian really wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the sort of happy giggle that he sometimes let out nowadays when he was thinking of Nie Mingjue’s recovery – it was the jagged vicious bitterness of the Pallbearer, through and through.

“Oh, Qin Su, Qin Su,” Nie Huaisang said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I gave you all the chances in the world, you stupid woman. I hope you’re happy with what you chose.”

“Can I ask?” Wei Wuxian said cautiously. “You never said – you just showed up with A-Song, no Qin Su and no explanation…”

“Says the person who adopted A-Yuan all but sight unseen?”

“I lived with him for a month, it’s different,” Wei Wuxian said. “What happened with Qin Su?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that her husband was planning on killing her son to frame his enemies, which is reasonable enough given that everyone knows I’m at odds with him. Even when I offered her proof, she said it was just a forgery – that he wasn’t like that, that she knew him, the real him, that she was the only one who really understood him, even though I’d say the whole cultivation world knows the ‘real’ him by now.”

“Irritating, but understandable, I think – he is her husband, the dashing hero that rescued her so valiantly in the Sunshot Campaign and which she defied custom and her parents to marry. So why all the disdain?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips pressed together tightly with disapproval. “I asked her if she was willing to risk losing A-Song just to show her husband that she trusted him, and she said that she was, because it wasn’t a risk at all. Because she knew he loved her too much to do such a terrible thing without a good reason.”

“Without a good reason?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “That’s her son!”

“Don’t you know that they can always have others?” Nie Huaisang said with a sneer, clearly paraphrasing words he’d heard. “They’re young, in love – it’s all my fault that he stopped touching her, apparently. I took Lan Xichen away from him and he’s so upset about it that he can’t come to her bed, but once the world is rid of me, it’ll all go back to the way it should be…”

“I’ll give her that much: she really loves him,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. The delusions of a person in love, he supposed. He hoped that he and Lan Wangji weren’t quite that bad. “She’ll be in for a disappointment. Given what I found out…he’ll never return to her bed or give her children, not in this lifetime.”

“No, he won’t.” Nie Huaisang reached for his fan. “Thank you for this. I’ll think about how to use it.”

“And?” Wei Wuxian prodded.

“And I’ll come back to the battlefield,” Nie Huaisang conceded, looking discontented, and Wei Wuxian smiled smugly. “You can supervise the Unclean Realm in my place.”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian protested, his smile disappearing at once. “You have Xiao Xingchen –”

“He’s newly blinded, and out of all the cultivators we have available, you’re the most effective at fighting on a stand-alone basis. Think of it as having some time to bond with your mother’s shidi.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t want time to bond with his martial uncle – or, well, he did, he’d been dying for an opportunity to talk with Xiao Xingchen more or less since the man first made his name known in the cultivation world, but Nie Huaisang’s rules were such that no one outside the most trusted inner circles of the Nie sect was allowed in the familial quarters of the Unclean Realm, or even in the Unclean Realm at all. And that meant…

“But – Lan Wangji –”

“Will not die if he’s forced to be abstinent for a little while,” Nie Huaisang said, and oh, it was on.

“Did Qin Su specify the method by which you took Lan Xichen from her husband?” Wei Wuxian asked, crossing his arms. “I was under the impression that you still referred to him as Zewu-jun –”

Nie Huaisang glared.

Too bad – if the Pallbearer didn’t want to get mocked over his crush on the First Jade of Lan, he shouldn’t have let Wei Wuxian find out about the fact that the torch he held for him was still burning hot as ever.

“Perhaps my information is out of date. Tell me, little master, what means of seduction did you employ to convince Zewu-jun to betray his poor sad little A-Yao? Did you work your wicked wiles on him?”

“Wei Wuxian –”

“Did you play his xiao?”

Nie Huaisang let out an ungentlemanly snort and had to cover his face. “Oh no,” he said. “Oh no. Why did you have to give me that mental image? Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you too. Abstinent my ass.”

“I think you’ll find that the problem with abstinence is that it’s not your ass,” Nie Huaisang said, shoulders shaking. “That’s kind of the point. Now go tell everyone that I’ll be rejoining them tomorrow.”

“I will relish their groans of despair,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up. He was clearly going to have to take as much advantage that he could of the little time he had with Lan Wangji before being cruelly locked away. “Oh, is there any news on Song Lan?”

“None,” Nie Huaisang said. “He may as well have ascended into the heavens. Don’t tell Xiao Xingchen, he’ll only worry.”

“I won’t, I won’t. As for you – could you try to lighten up on Zewu-jun? Now that da-ge’s awake again?”

Nie Huaisang frowned.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” Wei Wuxian clarified. “Just – you know that da-ge wouldn’t want you to be so mad at him, especially since you still like him and all.”

“I’ll let da-ge decide that, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, and the humor had fled his face entirely. “It was his assassin that Zewu-jun decided to trust and protect, after all.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, accepting the verdict – he disagreed, but he understood – and turning to leave.

He paused at the door.

“Just so you know,” he said, not looking at Nie Huaisang. “Having trusted Meng Yao doesn’t mean you have to be so mad at yourself, either.”

He left before Nie Huaisnag could respond, but he heard something shatter in the room behind him.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wen ning #my fic #my fics #unfettered

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joel-millerr · 4 years

Text

Choices Are Made in an Instant

Chapter Six of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.1k

Summary: You and Mando help Ahsoka in battle. Then, when you get back to the Crest, he starts acting weird. You couldn't have been prepared for what happens next...

Warnings: SMUT, dom/sub mentions, mild choking, (maybe a bit of edging?) aftercare, graphic depictions of violence, a sprinkle of fluff. mando is possessive af during sexy time

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“What’s the plan, again?” Mando asks you, not because he doesn’t know the plan, but because he wants to make sure you know the plan.

Scowling up at him as you sit on the floor of the Crest, Grogu slowly falling asleep in your lap, you roll your eyes when you see Mando put his hands on his hips like he’s annoyed with you.

“Seriously?”

His head tilts to the side, and then shifts his weight over to one leg. For someone who doesn’t like to talk about their feelings, he sure does wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mando’s body language is a dead giveaway as to what’s going on under that bucket of his.

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy.” You pick the kid up off the ground and hold him in your arm as you explain to Mando—for the third time, what’s going to happen.

“Ahsoka will storm the main gate and engage the guards. You and I are going to walk around the wall and find a way into the village without getting seen. The Magistrate—”

“Morgan Elsbeth.” Mando chimes in.

“Yeah, whatever.” Using your free hand to wave him off because who cares what her name is? “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted—Ahsoka needs some information from Elsbeth so she’s off limits.”

“Good. You remember.”

“You know—”

“Yes?” He probes.

Lips forming a thin line, and realizing he’s just trying to rile you up you shrug it off and bite your tongue, instead opting to put Grogu down inside Mando’s bunk. The Child looks up at you with his big eyes, babbling incoherently. You wiggle your finger in front of him, causing him to giggle excitedly.

“Are you sure he’ll be safe here, alone?” You ask Mando over your shoulder, continuing to play around the kid.

“There’s no one else out here but us, and I’m going to engage the ground security protocols once we leave.” He explains as he fiddles through his armory, gently placing his pulse rifle back on its hook, and reaching over to his jetpack and strapping it to his back. “Nothing will penetrate the Crest.”

It doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety but since Mando seems comfortable with this, then this must be the safest place for him to be. Air exhales through your slightly parted lips as you turn to the armory and grab a vibroblade from Mando’s stock, strapping it to your right thigh. As time ebbs on, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears becomes louder and louder, and you’re unable to stop the steady thumping of your heart against your ribcage. This feeling reminds you of spice running. The rush, the excitement, the worry of not knowing what could happen or if part of the plan could go wrong; it’s something you’ve always chased after.

The plan is almost foolproof, so you shouldn’t worry. Of course, the thought of something going wrong is always there in the back of your mind, but how often do you see a Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a smuggler working together? You’re almost certain this is the first time in the galaxy that this has happened, so how could you fail?

As you make your way to the ramp, you feel a rough leather glove grab hold of your wrist, and turns you around gingerly to face the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, tone low and husky, and it strokes that part inside of you that forces you to rub your thighs together.

No matter how much time you two can spend being around each other, the moment you’re standing only inches apart—you can’t stop your heart rate from picking up. Your mouth dries up like the sand dunes on Tatooine, and the only thing you can focus on is how fucking intoxicating this man is.

“You can stay here with him.”

His hand is still on your wrist, and you look down to where leather meets your skin. His thumb brushes small, gentle circles on your wrist; an otherwise small token of affection, but taking into consideration that Mando is willingly giving you such a gesture, it makes you heart do cartwheels.

“And miss all the action?” A smile stretches across your face, arching an eyebrow at him. “No way, Mando.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

He whispers your name softly and drawls out exhale that cuts up through his vocoder, as if your name is his way of begging you to reconsider. The ‘T’ of his visor stays glaring at you, but it’s damn near impossible to sway you from doing something once you’ve set your mind on it, so no matter how he stares, it won’t make much of a difference. He knows this isn’t a battle he’ll win. Your free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his elbow, hoping your touch will help calm his apprehensiveness about you coming along.

“Mando, I’ll be fine. I know you like to worry, but I’ve been in plenty of worse situations and I’m still here.”

Making a noise deep in the back of his throat, he gives you a quick nod and lets go of your wrist. A groan threatens to escape through your lips at the sudden lack of touch, but you manage to keep it under control as he breezes passed you, hearing his boots hit the durasteel ground as he descends the side ramp of the Crest. Taking one last deep breath and looking at Mando’s cot where Grogu is resting, you walk over to the panel by the door, and whisper “We’ll be back soon, kid,” before pressing the button to close the door, watching it come down with a hum. You turn on your heel and march down the ship to meet Mando, who waits patiently for you to join him before using his vambrace to shut the ramp.

You tread towards the village in a comfortable silence. Nightfall is especially unnerving here. The air feels dirty, like dust and ash mixed together, trekking through large gusts of wind as it almost knocks you off your feet. The sky is a dark mossy green, glooming over you, almost like there’s an ominous presence watching the night unfold. Three clicks away from the wall is where you meet Ahsoka. She’s wearing a long robe that aides her in hiding within the shadows, the hood pulled over her montrals, cloaking them from being detected. Her lightsabers, not laser swords like you thought they were called, dangle off her waist. You eye them curiously, wondering how it must feel to wield one of them. The thought makes you chuckle. If you really wanted to know what it felt like to hold such a beautiful weapon in your hand, you just had to find someone to train you, and then you’d be privy to it. A problem for another time, though. Right now, you had more important matters to worry about.

Just as you reach the woodland edge, Ahsoka turns to you and Mando and once again repeats the Magistrate is not to be harmed.

“Save the prisoners,” She reiterates.

Offering her a nod and a smile of reassurance, her hand touches your forearm, squeezing it gently. Mando detaches his right pauldron—the one with his signet engraved and hands it to Ahsoka. It looks like a mudhorn signet. You’re reminded of what Grogu had shown you just a few days ago. Mando battling the ferocious beast, and the Child, watching him on the brink of death, feeling his need to save the Mandalorian.

“We’ll go around the perimeter,” He announces, shooting you a quick look that you acknowledge by dipping your head downwards. “Just make my death believable.”

The corners of Ahsoka’s lips curl upwards. “Don’t worry about that.”

You and Mando break off, choosing to go to her left. Being mindful of where you walk, and making sure not to rise any suspicions by making noise and accidentally stepping on a broken twig, your eyes shift constantly between the ground and the giant wall just a few metres in front of you. Given your experience with sneaking around, you’re basically a master at keeping to the shadows.

Once Mando’s content with the distance you’ve put between yourselves and Ahsoka, he scans the area of lifeforms with his helmet. Beckoning with his hand, he moves forward with you following closely behind him. You crouch over, making yourself seem as small as you head straight for the fortified village.

“We’re going to have to climb it.” He says, realizing the sound of his jetpack would be too loud and alert the guards.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak around,” You jest.

Mando lifts an arm towards the top of the rampart and a grappling line shoots out from his vambrace, flying right over the top of the duracrete wall and latching onto the parapet. Tugging the rope to make sure it’s got enough of a sturdy grip for both of you to scale, he hands you the wire to climb first. Blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing faster than the fathier races on Canto Bight, you take the line from Mando’s hand and pull on it hard enough until your body is leaning backwards.

Your left foot presses against the rampart, making sure to balance yourself properly before your other foot hits the wall, then you begin scaling it. Mounting it quickly, you make it to the top in just under a minute—you can’t help but be impressed with yourself.

Once you climb over the parapet, you crouch down immediately, head whipping to the left then to the right to make sure there aren’t any soldiers in sight. In the distance you hear cries of pain, whooshing, and a loud bang. Ahsoka must have engaged the guards by now.

Taking notice that the coast is clear, you beckon for Mando to join you, and he scales the duracrete wall, beating your time by just a couple of seconds. Show off.

The village is a good… maybe thirty or forty feet drop, and the thought makes you groan. Already you can feel the ache in your legs and knees, but better to get it over with. As you’re about to jump off the wall, Mando’s arm comes flying out across your torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers through gritted teeth.

Standing there somewhat dumbfounded, your eyebrows pull closely together. “I was going to jump?”

“And break your legs in the process?” He asks rhetorically. Then, without waiting for your answer, he coils the grappling line around his arm that you used to scale the rampart and drops it on the other side of the wall.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Your eyes dart over to Mando’s eye slit, narrowing them as you watch him climb down just as fast as he came up. When you hear him reach the ground and taking one last look around, you grab onto the line and head down into the village.

The fighting in the distance has stopped, you hope that means Ahsoka’s made it through the barricade of guards. Darting between alleys through the village, you can hear her voice echoing in the distance.

“Your bounty hunters failed.”

Making sure to keep your centre of gravity low as you continue to navigate through the huts, you follow Mando on his heels until you see Ahsoka in your sights. She’s standing just a few metres away from Elsbeth, who has her own platoon of armed soldiers behind her, holding the staff in her hand, alongside the gunslinger Lang.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Ahsoka says, voice calm and stern. “Where is your master?”

Elsbeth stays silent for a few seconds, scowling at Ahsoka, eyes burning into hers, rage all but spilling out of her words. “Kill her.”

Lang takes a step forward, hands gripping his gun fiercely as he says with amusement, “Love to.”

A blast of red shoots out from his gun, narrowly missing her as she jumps onto one of the roofs. Her lightsabers come to life, beams of white whirl around her as she blocks an onslaught of blaster fire. You want to help her, to take down just even one of the guards, and Mando seems to sense your urgency because he grips onto your arm as a warning. You can’t blow your cover, not yet. The guards need to follow Ahsoka and leave the prisoners alone so you and him can free them.

The Magistrate instructs Lang to take her battle droids with her before turning on her heel and stalking back towards her fortress. She orders the remaining two guards by her side to execute the prisoners. Shrieks and cries fill the air as the prisoners start begging for their lives, and then your feet move before your brain takes notice, running straight for the guards before Mando can pull you back into the shadows.

You come up behind the soldiers, just as one aims their gun to one of the men strung up. Your hand flies to your blaster, unholstering it and shooting him right between the shoulder blades. He cries and falls to the ground with a loud thud. The remaining guard pivots towards you, aiming his own rifle at you but is shot down by Mando before he can pull the trigger.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” He hisses through the helmet as he appears from behind one of the houses to join you.

“You were taking too damn long.”

“And why the hell is the safety on your blaster not on?”

Narrowing your eyebrows, your mouth opens to answer but you have trouble finding the words. “Uh—is that reallyimportant right now?”

He doesn’t answer, but sighs somewhat angrily. Okay…

In the corner of your vision, you see the elderly man from yesterday emerge from one of the huts. Out of reflex, you catch Mando pointing his blaster at him. The man’s palms fly up in defense and freezes. They exchange a series of glances, ending with Mando placing his blaster back in his holster. They make their way to one of the prisoners, trying to gauge how to free him without hurting him or themselves.

The sounds of gunfire in the background catch your attention. Looking over to Mando and the elderly gentlemen, you really want to go out there and fight.

What if Ahsoka needs backup?

Surely, you should help her, right?

Hands fidgeting at your sides, your body racing on adrenaline and the urge to make these soldiers pay for what they’ve done, you take one last glance over to Mando who instinctively looks back at you. By his body language, you know he understands what you want because he squares his shoulders and takes a tentative step towards you. Shaking his head, slowly but nothing shy of authoritative, basically warning you not to go after her. Giving him a shrug and lips forming a tight line, you whip your body towards the sounds of gun fire and disappear into the shadows.

“Get back here!” Mando’s voice come from the commlink on your wrist as you continue zig zagging through the city, following the sound of gunfire. Ignoring him, you turn the volume down on your commlink until it’s fully muted, as to not draw any attention to yourself. Your body is running entirely on the electricity pumping through your bloodstream right now. Senses heightened to a degree you’ve never experienced before. The wind brushing against your hot cheeks, hearing the thumping of your heart in your ears, you feel everything so much stronger, now. Maybe it’s because you’ve never being in such a gritty battle like this, but it’s so much more intense than any spice run you’ve ever done.

Navigating through the huts and keeping yourself hunched over, you look out for any potential threats, coming up on dead-end after dead-end. You’re running out of time, and need to find Ahsoka now.

A hand touches down on your shoulder, causing you to gasp a little too loudly. Reaching over your chest and gripping the hand tightly, you twist your body around to face them while pulling downwards on their arm, vibroblade flying into your free hand. Relief overcomes you when you see it’s Ahsoka.

“Felt like you were missing out?”

You give her a smile, tucking the blade back into its strap on your thigh, hand clutching your chest as you try to come down from the sudden alarm. “Little bit.”

The moment is short lived when a blast of red gunfire flies by the back of your head, missing you by only inches. Ahsoka wraps her arm around your back, pushing you behind her as her lightsabers come alight once again, using them to dodge and ricochet incoming fire. As she continues to block blasts, a guard emerges from behind you, giving you only a second of time for your blaster to come out of its holster and into your hand, shooting them down with two blasts. Just as his body hits the ground, a second soldier comes right for you from the left. Your free hand shoots up close to your body, palm facing him. Taking a step forward, your arm straightens out and the power of it sends the guard flying backwards, hearing his skull hit the ground with an echoing crack.

You don’t have time to process it, to think about the fact that you’ve just heard that man’s skull split because you propelled him so aggressively into the ground. Turning your body back towards Ahsoka, she continues to fight off blasts, one of them knocking a lightsaber out of her hand and sending it flying through the air, landing just a couple feet behind you. Without even taking a second to think about it, you dash for the lightsaber, gripping it with your hand just as you fall over onto your stomach. A black gloved hand grabs hold of your shoulder, flipping you onto your back. The man crouches down and presses his body into yours, each leg on either side of your body, pinning you to the ground. You wrestle for a few seconds, dodging some punches but ultimately taking a couple hits to your stomach. All of a sudden, a bright white light nearly blinds you—the lightsaber buzzes to life, and then you’re pushing it in your hand through the man’s chest, screaming as it impales him. The sound of flesh sizzling against the lightsaber makes your skin crawl, never before hearing such a foul noise. Maker, even the smell is agonizing. Something you never thought you’d ever experience. You’ve cauterized wounds before, but that was just kissing the skin. This? Fuck, this went through his body, burning his skin, bones, and whatever organs were in the saber’s way. Ego and pride aside, it makes you nauseous. Pushing his limp body off yours and rising to your feet, the smell still lingering in your nostrils, you attempt to shake it out of your mind and wrench your eyes shut for a moment. This isn’t the time to dwell on things.

Feeling the lightsaber in your hand, something in you changes. Everything stills for a moment. All of the insecurities you had about yourself, the feeling of having lost your way, not knowing which path to choose, it all comes together. The answer is around your fingertips, its power clearing your mind of the questions you so desperately wanted the answers to. For the first time in your entire life, you feel at peace, like you finally found your place in the galaxy.

A new power courses through your veins, enabling you to take down enemy after enemy with Ahsoka’s lightsaber. As you battle in between the huts, your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and it’s almost like she understands how you’re feeling. After cutting down the last guard, your chest is heaving, body shaking as it burns off the adrenaline that was exuding from your body just seconds ago. You head over to where Ahsoka is standing, a pile of bodies surrounding her. Mindful not to step on anyone, you tiptoe around them and hand her her lightsaber.

“And?” She asks, head cocked to the side.

You can’t even find the words. How can you even describe such a feeling? All your anxieties solved in just one moment. Jaw nearly dropping to the floor, you want to say something but the only thing coming from your mouth is a laugh. Ahsoka smiles back, but it quickly disappears, leaving you to look into her eyes, she seems…sad? You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you table it for another time.

As you both make your way back to the main street of the village, she treks along the rampart of Elsbeth’s fortress. Once you clock the second gate ahead of you, Ahsoka leaps onto to the top of the wall, leaving you to meet Mando on the main road. Keeping to the shadows of the little houses around you, you see him standing just a few feet shy of the wall, hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his thigh. Towards the end of the cobblestone street is Lang, hands on his rifle.

No one speaks for a moment; Lang’s eyes shift between Mando and Ahsoka who stands at the top of the rampart. Your body is still shielded in the shadows, gauging Lang’s body language; waiting for the right moment to show yourself. Finally, Ahsoka turns her body and jumps into the Magistrate’s home, leaving you, Mando, and Lang behind.

“So, you threw in with the Jedi.”

Taking a quick look around, and noticing you to his right, he answers Lang, “Looks that way.”

Maker, you’ll never get tired of looking at him. Broad shoulders pushed back so his all-encompassing chest is on full display, practically toying with Lang because he knows they’ve lost, it’s not only intoxicating how much he turns you on, but it’s quite frankly obscene how your pussy gushes at the sight of him. His ability to stay calm, even when he’s seething with anger. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, but watching Mando in his element, full of gusto and brawn…It’s quite a shock that some people choose to fight a Mandalorian rather than save themselves the trouble and simply surrender.

Sounds of beskar clashing with lightsabers ricochet through the air. Cries from both women pierce your ears. You want to see Ahsoka fight, curious to see how a Jedi battles with a formidable opponent, but you’re too transfixed on Mando right now to tear your eyes away even if for a moment.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Mando doesn’t answer, just stays ever still, his cape flapping in the wind behind him. Lang takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then another. “Could be your side…” He taunts. “Could be my side.”

He’s getting too close for comfort; you think to yourself. Stepping out from behind one of the homes, you make sure Lang sees you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk over to Mando cautiously, keeping eye contact with Lang the entire time. Once you’re by his side, your arms rest by your thighs, one hand gripping on your blaster.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that you were left behind… or dead,” The last word drips from his tongue like venom.

Clamping down hard on your jaw to keep yourself from snapping back, your free hand balls into a fist, white knuckling so aggressively, you’re digging half-moons into your skin.

He takes one more step forward.

“I got no quarrel with you two.”

Another step.

“That’s far enough,” Mando warns, his hand coming up to stop Lang in his tracks.

The Magistrate’s cries blend in with Ahsoka’s. The silence between resonances of weapons colliding become more and more frequent. The fight must be nearing its end.

“You know, we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

What in the kriffing hell is this man talking about? To think that you or Mando could ever be similar to someone like Langmakes you scoff, an empty laugh expelling from the back of your throat.

“All of us, willing to lay out lives for the right cause.” He says orotundly then pauses for a moment, listening to the two women fighting on the other side of the rampart. “Which this is not.”

He can’t honestly think either of you believe him, right?

All of a sudden, you hear the beskar staff hit the ground, bouncing a few times before everything becomes jarringly quiet. Tilting your head slowly in Mando’s direction, his visor keeps to Lang.

“Looks like you guys win.”

Holding out his gun in front of him, he shows you the weapon and ever so slowly places it down on the ground, motioning his surrender. Mando’s hand flexes over the blaster, gauging Lang’s next move. Without skipping a beat, Lang’s hand flies to a blaster at the back of his waist, but before he can even take it out of its holster, Mando’s own gun flies into his hand and shoots him down.

“Did you have your safety on before you shot him down?” You ask sarcastically, darting an eyebrow at him as holsters his weapon.

“Is that really important right now?” He repeats, using that same mocking tone that drives you fucking crazy.

Eyebrows pulling together in a frown and rolling your eyes, you reply, “I hate you,” while also trying to hide the dumbass smile that’s sneaking up on your lips.

The elderly gentlemen, who has apparently been watching you this entire time, emerges from his home. One by one, the villagers come out, stunned that they’re finally free. They cheer and holler, walking over to you both to give their thanks. Seeing the instant smiles on their faces fills you with warmth and pride. All the pain, all the cruelty they were forced to endure is gone. They can live the rest of their lives free of tyranny.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone cries. In a nanosecond, panic sets in, whipping your head in every direction trying to find the threat. Looking at the roofs, there’s the faint silhouette of a battle droid, crawling on one of the homes, its gun aimed right at Mando.

“Mando!” You shout. The droid’s weapon then switches to you, a red beam of light flies from his gun, hitting you right in the shoulder. The force of the hit sends your body flying backwards, landing hard on your back, head smacking the ground hard enough to make you dizzy.

The pain in your shoulder is fucking intense, the smell of sizzling clothes and burnt skin quite literally burning into your nostrils. Hand flying to your shoulder and pressing down on the wound to ease the bleeding and hopefully the pain, you realize your shoulder has been taking quite the hit lately. First the bruise, now a fucking gash.

Mando rushes to your side, holding the back of your head with one hand as he eases you to sit upright.

“Are you okay?” Baritone pulling rough through the helmet, panic sits at the back of his throat. The hand cradling the back of your head travels down to your lower back, the other reaching for your hand that’s keeping pressure on the place where the droid hit you.

Unable to answer, you groan low in your throat and gesture that you’ll be fine with a simple nod of the head. When you finally look over to Mando through hooded lids, the corners of your lips curl upwards in an attempt to prove to him that you’re fine. Folding your legs at the knees and using his forearm to pull you to your feet, he helps you stand up, keeping his hand on the small of your back the entire time.

“Kriff, that hurt.” You groan through jagged breaths. When your hand finally moves away from the injury on your shoulder, you peek down to see just how badly you were hit.

Thankfully, it’s actually not that bad. There is a gash where the blast connected with skin, but the bleeding has stopped significantly, although your tunic and hand are drenched with blood. You could probably cauterize it right away to close up the wound and then put some bacta on it once you get back to the Crest.

Mando’s still holding you. It’s like he’s too scared to let you go, like he needs to protect you and the only way he can think of doing it is to keep holding you. In any other moment, you’d be absolutely loving this, but right now? His body heat mixed with the fervor and throbbing from the gash near your clavicle is making you burn up. It’s when you finally take a step forward that his arm falls back to his side, fist balling up like he’s fighting the urge to keep you in his reach.

“The droid dead?” You manage to say through winces of pain, hunching over.

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.

“Okay, good.”

As more and more villagers approach you both, they continue to give you their appreciation and continuously asking if there’s anything they can do to thank you. An elderly woman even retreats back to her home and comes out just a few minutes later with a medpac for your gash. Initially, you reject her kind offer, insisting that you can wait till you’re back on the ship for your wound to be taken care of, but after she continue to argue that you should accept a bit of help, you take it graciously. They seat you down on one of the cobblestoned steps, and begin wiping away at the dried blood, trying to be mindful not to touch the actual wound.

“We can’t thank you enough,” She says kindly.

“You’re—ah shit—” You try to thank her, but despite her best efforts, you’re still in quite a tremendous amount of pain. “Sorry. It’s our pleasure, really.”

Once she’s done cleaning up the blood, you look down at your shoulder to see that the wound isn’t even as big as you initially thought. The blood splattered around your shoulder had made it seem much worse than it actually was. It’s barely the size of a Calamari Flan coin. It’ll definitely scar, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Your husband doesn’t ever take his helmet off?” She asks, trying to keep you distracted as she begins to spray bacta on it.

Completely taken aback by the word ‘husband’, you blurt out a laugh. “Husband? Oh no, he’s not my husband. We’re just…” Your voice trails off because in truth, you have no idea what your relationship to Mando is anymore. It doesn’t seem appropriate to say that you two are friends because your relationship has certainly developed passed that, but to go so far as to say you’re…together doesn’t really seem to fit your situation either.

“Oh, my apologies.” Shaking her head like she’s embarrassed by assuming the nature of your relationship, you place a hand over hers and smile.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”

“I just assumed that because of the way he was so concerned for your health after getting shot by that droid…”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mull over how Mando held onto you for a lot longer than he needed to when you finally got to your feet. How he stood so close to you, even when you assured him you were okay. How he still looks over to you every couple of minutes while he talks to Ahsoka, like he needs to watch over you.

You watch as Ahsoka hands the staff over to Mando, who seems to hesitate to accept it at first, but is eventually persuaded to take it. He takes a moment to speak into his commlink, your wrist comes alive to the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be okay here, alone?”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, and you attempt to hide it by biting down on your lip. Bringing your wrist up to your lips, you press on the talking button on the comm, “Yes, I’ll be fine, Mando.”

As Mando disappears into the forest, Ahsoka makes her way over to you, just as the elder is finished addressing your wound. She’s put a bacta patch on your laceration now, its cooling sensation untensing your muscles and relaxing you almost instantly.

“Thank you.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting you go, and hobbling back over to her home.

The city is full of life now, residents cheering and conversating. The children are running around, laughing and shouting with joy, even kicking a ball around the main cobblestoned road. It’s such a stark contrast from the city you and Mando had entered just two days ago.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you pat the dust and dirt off your pants and face Ahsoka.

“How the shoulder?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine. It was barely a scratch.” You joke. She laughs in response. The first moment of genuine happiness you’ve seen on her face since you two met.

You both begin to take a leisure stroll through the village, noting how different the villagers seem now the Magistrate is gone. It’s such a fulfilling moment for you. For most of your life, you’ve behaved selfishly, usually only caring about yourself and doing whatever was in ever was in your own self-interest, and now you’ve just helped hundreds of people. You don’t want to put yourself on a pedestal, but if you’re being entirely transparent, you’re pretty proud of the change that’s happening to you. This? You could get used to this.

“If I did want to train…”

Ahsoka turns her head to face you once you address her. “Yes?”

“Like…How would I go about doing that?”

She stops walking, looking down at the ground. “You need to learn to control your emotions before you can even think of training. You’re pretty reckless.” Her voice stays kind, but she’s very much warning you of the difficult road ahead if you choose to go down this path. “I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.”

You could argue with her, you could say that there is no such attachment, but if you were to be completely honest with yourself, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something there. It’s almost unbelievable to come to terms with the fact that you’ve developed some kind of connection with him, especially when you used to pride yourself on the idea that you had transformed into the type of person that did not become invested in someone else but Mando is different. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

He’s full of mystery. An enigma that you could learn about every day for the rest of your life and never even scratch the surface. Mando can be cold and callous in one moment, then tender and kind in the next. It quite literally makes your head spin. He can be so distant, and then all of a sudden, he can’t bear to be away from you. The inability to know what he’s thinking or what he wants just reels you in even more. You want to know everything about him, to feel like you’re a part of him, that you’re more than just someone passing through his life.

“Surely, the two can coexist?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes leave you to look up at the sky, as if searching the clouds for help. “Asking that question just proves that you aren’t ready to train. Attachments clouds the ability to see reason. If you let your attachments control you, you can never act solely based on the good for all. You’ll always put your loved ones first, and that’s something the Jedi do not do.”

Your lips press into a thin line.

“If you want this, you have to realize what you’ll be giving up. What you’ll end up denying yourself later on.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “There will come a time when you’ll need to make a choice. To embrace the way of the Jedi, or walk away forever.”

“It’s just…” You begin shifting, pacing around as the words come to you. “Ahsoka, the darkness I feel inside me? It scares me, like I’m never actually in control of it.”

“The Dark Side is powerful. It’s something you’ll fight your entire life as a Jedi, but it’ll become easier to deal with as the training progresses.”

“When I held your lightsaber…” Voice trailing off, you let out a small chuckle. Her lips curl into a smile, she knows the feeling all too well.

“I know.”

As you both stand at the gates of the village, the newly appointed Magistrate—the old man that aided Mando in rescuing the hostages, approaches you both, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you again for saving the village.” His eyes are kind, the wrinkles on his forehead giving you an insight as to the many years of injustices and struggles he’s had to face, as well as the hope he’s held that his people would one day be free once again.

Dipping your head downward, he grabs your hand in his, shaking it twice before turning to Ahsoka. “The New Republic will be here soon for Ms. Elsbeth. If there’s anything else you’d like to question her about, now would be the time.”

“Mando should be here by now…” You remark, noticing that it’s been too long since he left.

Ahsoka nods in agreement. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.” She doesn’t wait for your response before following the Magistrate back into the city walls.

During the walk back to the Crest, you continue to go over everything Ahsoka’s told you over the last two days, weighting out your options. You’re not like Mando. You’re not a Mandalorian, nor are you a bounty hunter, so naturally you couldn’t expect to stick with Mando once you get all of this figured out. Going back to spice seems irresponsible, given that you know you were destined for something better. Moreover, now that you know why you’re different, it would see inappropriate to ignore that side of you and continue to live a life where your powers were wasted. Maybe this is something you could discuss with Mando. Maybe he’ll offer a different view that you hadn’t thought of before.

When you catch sight of the Crest, you suddenly feel a bit nervous, almost shy. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you near the ship, and clutch your chest with your hands when you see what’s happening inside the ship.

Mando’s sitting by his cot, one leg resting on the edge of the bed, Grogu seated on his thigh, and speaking gently to him. Even if you tried not to get sentimental about it, you’d never get tired of seeing how endearing Mando is with the Child. Every moment is more precious than the last, warming your heart and making you fall for the Mandalorian even more. You know he doesn’t need it, but you want to protect them both—to keep them both safe from anyone who would ever try to harm them, and on some level, you think Mando would do the same.

“Hey,” You announce as you get closer to the edge of the ramp, making your presence known so that he hopefully doesn’t think you spent the last minute gawking at them during their little intimate moment.

As you approach them, Mando rises to his feet and walks over to you, holding Grogu with both arms. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Much better. The bacta really helped,” You answer, keeping your voice low as to not wake him. Grogu’s eyes flutter open, head tilting to the side when he sees you.

“Hi, little guy.” Your index finger gently boops him on the nose, causing him to giggle in Mando’s arms. Although you don’t know for sure, you have an inclination that Mando’s watching you, and when you look up away from Grogu, sure enough the eye slit in his helmet is pointed at you.

“You’re like a father to him.”

Your turn your body around and see Ahsoka standing at the end of the ship, arms crossed against her chest. Mando heads down the ramp first, and you follow closely behind him.

“I cannot train him.” She says, a bit of disappointment hidden in her voice.

“We had a deal, and we held up our end.”

Letting out a deep breath, Ahsoka takes a step towards Mando and takes Grogu’s little hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his tiny claws.

“There is one possibility.”

“We’re all ears,” You reply.

“Have you heard of the planet Tython?”

“No.” Mando answers dryly.

“It has a strong connection to the Force. There you will find the ancient ruins of a Temple atop one of the mountains. Place Grogu on the seeing stone and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For Grogu to choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there is a chance that a Jedi might sense him and come searching for him.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before pulling her eyes away from the dirt to look at you. “Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.” He answers sincerely, then turns on his heel and heads back into the Crest.

You take a step towards Ahsoka and wrap your arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling again. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“This will not only be a test for Grogu, but for you as well. You will need to make a choice.”

“I know…”

Her head dips down, offering you a farewell smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Heading back into the ship and closing the ramp, you hear the Crest’s thrusters come to life, finally feeling like you now have a purpose.

“Do we have enough fuel to make to it to Tython?”

“We’ll have enough to get there, but not enough to leave. We’ll have to make a stop beforehand to refuel.”

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. You look out through the transparisteel and watch the stars change from small specks in space to giant rays of light as you beam passed them, and then cockpit is surrounded by waves of baby blues similar to the waters on Naboo.

“Hey, where are we headed?” You ask once Mando rises from the pilot’s chair.

“You ever been to Coruscant?”

Fuck. “There’s nowhere else we can go?”

He walks over to where you’re still seated. At this angle, your eyeline is pointing right at…that. Trying to look anywhere but there, you opt to tilt your head at high as it can go so you can look at Mando in the ‘T’ of his visor. Maker, don’t you dare even peak down there.

“Is there a problem with going there?” He asks in jest, head tilting ever so slowly to the side. When you don’t immediately answer, he takes an excruciatingly slow step forward. He’s now almost touching your knees with his, making it even more difficult not to look down and catch sight of his—kriff, pull yourself together!

“No—” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high. “I mean,” Clearing your throat in an effort for it to go back down to its normal octave. “No, that’s fine.”

Mando hums smugly in his helmet before disappearing through the cockpit door and descending down the ladder.

Uh… what the hell was that about? Was Mando acting…coy? No, surely you were misreading things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t joke around or act smug…right?

Sleep.

You should get some sleep.

Shifting around in your unbearably uncomfortable chair until you’re in a somewhat comfortable position—which is just you sitting upright in the chair with your leg crossed over the other, you fold your arms across your lap and close your eyes, hoping it won’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You can hear a light scuffle in the hull, and you try to ignore it, but now that you’re aware of the sound, it’s impossible for you to ignore it and try to get some sleep. All you can focus on is trying to ignore the sound which just makes the noise that much louder. Letting out a groan in annoyance, you move around even more in your seat hoping you’ll be able to find some kind of position that’s more comfortable, but to no avail.

Not only is the noise annoy the hell out of you, but you’re completely hung up on your interaction with Mando just a few moments ago. He usually doesn’t get that close to you unless he thinks you’ve been injured, but there he was, willingly getting closer and closer. Actually, it seemed like he was enjoying watching you squirm and get frazzled by how close he was to you.

Just when the sound stops, you hear heavy boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder. Great, he’s coming back.

You sense Mando reach the top of the ladder before you see him. Although, he doesn’t directly step into the cockpit. After a couple seconds of still not seeing him, you look over your shoulder to see where he might be, but you end up craning your neck to an uncomfortable amount and still no sight of him.

Fuck it. You jump to your feet and face the door to the cockpit, and see him standing like a goddamn statue. He’s still in full armour, but you definitely notice something different about him. His fists are balled up together at his sides, black eye slit pointed directly at you, and by the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breathing is uneven. As your eyes travel downwards from his helmet down to his feet, you can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. Shit.

Your mouth instantly goes dry, your own heartrate picking up slowly, heating pooling in your belly. This isn’t the first time you’ve both been in this exact situation. It happened before on Sorgan, but somehow this is a hundred times more intense. Maybe it’s because of the rush from today, maybe it’s because you’ve tasted him before, but whatever was on your mind right before this moment is totally gone.

Right now, you can feel the blood pounding in your ears, you can feel the fucking heat radiating off Mando, your panties sticking to you like glue because of your slick, causing your pussy to fucking throb.

You want to say something snarky, but words are something you’re not even able to come up with, you’re so fucking spellbound by him that nothing in this galaxy could pull you away. He’s got you entirely wrapped around his leather finger and he hasn’t even said a word to you.

A broken moan forms at the back of Mando’s throat, coming out rough and distorted. It reminds you of his sobs the night his cock was wrapped around your lips. You want to run to him, feel his big arms pull you closer to him, but you need to know he wants this as badly as you do, so you wait. You wait for him to speak, to make the first move.

“I—” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s struggling to find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.” You say breathlessly.

He takes a step towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. His own chest is heaving, his quick breaths cutting through his helmet. “Fuck.”

Realizing how hard this must be for him—admitting how he feels, you step closer to him. Now, you’re just arm’s length away. If one of you reached out, you’d touch the other and it’s becoming more difficult with every second that goes by not to jump into his arms, rip that helmet off his face and kiss every inch of his skin, but you won’t. You would never touch him in a way that would compromise his creed.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about bending you over that control panel and fucking you until you begged me to stop?” He nearly growls. Voice so rough and low, you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips.

Your pussy gushes in response. “Maker…”

He inches closer to you, taking his sweet, agonizing time as he continues to taunt you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I picked you up on Kijimi.”

Another inch.

“I thought about it in the alley with my hand touching your drenched, sweet cunt.”

Another inch.

“I thought about pulling you off my cock and pounding into you right against that wall.”

The heat coiling in your stomach is so fucking intense, you can feel it all over your body. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, jaw slacked so you can breathe in quick little bursts of air. He’s standing merely inches away from you, and you want to reach out and touch him. You want him inside you, but you’re frozen, unable to move. Unable to break free from the trance he’s put you in. All you can do is stand there helplessly as he continues to torture you with his confessions.

“But I was able to control myself.” He grits out, head tilting ever so slowly to the side.

“Mmm…” Is all you can say. Your mind is on fire, your body’s on fire. Everything’s fucking on fire.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”

Only one word comes to mind now. Once you say it, your relationship to the Mandalorian will never be the same. It’ll definitely make it harder to choose between Mando and following the way of the Jedi but quite frankly, right now, you really don’t give a shit. You want this. You want Mando, and nothing is going to come between you and him. “Good.”

Finally, he closes the tiny gap between your bodies and wraps a big arm around the small of your back, spinning you around and pushing you up against the door to the cockpit. You yelp at his swiftness when you feel metal hit your back, but it’s still not fast enough.

You want more.

You need more.

“Mando…” You moan helplessly.

The shakiness of his breath, kriff, you really want to drop to your knees and make him feel so good. His hands try to touch every part of you. They settle on your waist and he flips you around. Your face nearly smacks into the door but you’re able to catch yourself before your cheek makes contact, hands bracing up against the wall. He grinds his hips into yours, and you feel the outline of his cock nuzzle against your backside.

“If I’m too rough…” He begins to say, but you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I’m not fragile, Mando. Do what you want with me.”

“Fuck,” He punches out, fist hitting the door in front of you. “Y-you can’t say things like that to me.”

“I want you to,” You make sure to drawl out your words, to make sure he really hears you, so that he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

The sound that comes next is almost animalistic. It’s somewhere between a cry and a snarl, but it’s the sweetest, most arousing sound you’ve ever heard. It’ll be something you replay over and over in your mind.

His hands travel down to your hips, grabbing onto the waistband of your pants and yanking them down in one swift motion. A brown leather glove flies to your throat, using his thumb and index finger to press on that sweet spot right under your jawline. You sob brokenly as he continues to apply more pressure on your neck, but still gentle enough for you to know he’ll never actually hurt you.

“M-Ma-n-ndo…” You manage to choke out.

Mando hums in the back of his throat, pressing his body into you even more. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and your hands leave the wall to fumble around behind you, trying to touch him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of both your wrists and holds them in place behind you. “Let me take care you, pretty girl.” He purrs, his baritone dangerously low.

When his hand leaves your throat, you whine at the sudden lack of pressure. Cupping your jaw, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, your tongue darts out and tastes leather. Two fingers force themselves into your mouth, and Mando growls into your ear. “Bite.”

You obey like the good girl you are, biting and tugging on the glove until it comes right off his hand. He takes it from you and tosses it on the ground, revealing his beautifully tanned skin. It’s a little embarrassing how just the sight of his hand makes your pussy pulse, but everything about Mando draws you in. His smell, his stoic demeanor, even his fucking hand.

As his naked hand travels back down your body, fingertips barely touching your tunic, it’s driving you crazy. He’s taking his sweet ass time, reveling in the fact that he has you completely spell bound against him. You can’t move, you can’t shift under him and create more friction for yourself. No, you’re going at his pace, which is making you fucking dizzy.

When his hand reaches the edge of your underwear, sending shivers down straight to your throbbing cunt, your body is basically shaking from the lack and overwhelming amount of stimulation all at once. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough. A thumb begins to trace the skin around the waistband of your underwear, tantalizing you. Your broken sobs echo through the cockpit, and then in a second, his hand pushes passed the thin material and cups your sex.

“Fuck!” You cry out.

“Look how wet you are, and I’ve barely touched you,” He whispers.

Pushing your ass out and rubbing against his cock, you feel him twitch in his pants as you continue to tease him. The hand on your cunt disappears and wraps itself around your throat again, pressing into your flesh just enough for you to stop grinding your hips. When Mando speaks next, he growls through gritted teeth. “Do that again, and I’m stopping. Do you understand?”

Your throat is dangerously dry, and all you can do is moan in response.

“No, pretty girl. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?” He says again, this time in a much gentler tone, but without relinquishing any of his control over you.

“Yes,” You whisper breathlessly.

“Good girl,” He praises, and then his hand is back on your pussy. His fingers rub between your folds, sending shockwaves through your body as he starts collecting your slick on his calloused fingertips, and then he’s rubbing tight, quick circles around your clit. You mewl helplessly into the door, forehead pressed against door with such force, it’s actually starting to hurt, but in the best way possible. You wouldn’t dare move from the spot you’re in right now, not when Mando continues his agonizingly slow assault on your bud.

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now,” He begins to instruct, his head resting on your left shoulder. “And you’re going to be a good girl and keep them there, right?”

Your orgasm begins to build in your stomach, the rhythm on your clit never faltering. “Y-y-yes,” You answer, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Letting go of your wrists, you do as you were told and keep them behind you on the small of your back. You hear him fumble with his utility belt and pants. Panting and having to manually control your breathing because air just isn’t fucking coming into your lungs fast enough, your body starts to shake from the white-hot pleasure, causing your hands to clench violently. Mando thrusts his body against you once again, almost flattening you on the door, but now you feel his free cock pressing between your ass, feeling drops of precome graze your skin.

His hand drenched in your slick, you’re on the verge of coming. Breathing picking up even more, he must sense you’re close because his rhythm gets quicker and quicker, nearly pushing you over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna c-come, Mando.”

“Already? Hmm,” He hums proudly. A gloved hand comes up to your throat, using his thumb and index to choke you again. The pressure on your throat and cunt is making your head fucking spin. It’s too much all at once, your orgasm teetering right now. This is so much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Come for me,” He commands gently in your ear.

Head lulling back, your knees are about to give out, but he never stops. He develops a pattern now, rubbing even tighter circles on your clit and then brushing his fingers through your soaking folds, then back to your bud.

“Fuck fuck, fuck, Mando!” You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body. He doesn’t stop though. As you cry out, riding out your climax, he slams his gloved hand over your mouth, muffling your cries; still continuing his pace between your thighs. Practically convulsing from the overstimulation, your knees almost completely cave in, and you almost feel your body going limp, but Mando keeps you steady.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He praises.

You don’t even have time to come down from your climax before he’s thrusting a thick finger allll the way inside of you. Flexing it in and out of your pussy and body trembling, if you don’t grab onto something, you’re sure you’ll drop to the ground. Broken sobs stifled by leather, feeling the corners of your eyes getting wet with tears, your mind is going fucking blank. Maker, the Mandalorian is going to be the death of you.

Pushing a second finger into you, your eyes wrench shut. He eases them in and out of you at a deliciously slow rate, sometimes choosing to roll his fingers inside you before pulling out. One of your hands grabs onto his vambrace, using that as a means of staying upright because you’re hanging on by a thread right now. This is the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever even come close to making you feel the way Mando is, and you’ll never be able to be with anyone else after this. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you’re literally coming apart under him. He pushes two gloved fingers inside your mouth and orders you to bite down again. You do as your told and his hand yanks free of the glove, tossing it to the ground like he did with the other glove.

His precome continues to paint your back and backside, and you start begging and pleading.

“Please, Mando…”

“Please what?” He asks, and then he’s fucking curling his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You cry out again, feeling a second orgasm bubbling to the surface.

“Please, f-fuc-c-k me. Please, Mando I need you inside me.”

“Mmmm,” He drones deep in his throat. Flexing his fingers inside you once more time before pulling out, you feel suddenly empty.

Need more.

Using the slick he’s gathered on his hand, you look over your shoulder and can barely make out him smearing it all over his thick length. “Gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up, and fuck that pretty cunt of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

All you can do is mewl back, a broken sound that he barely notices. Mando grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down to your knees. One hand digging into your waist, the other holding his length, he starts to rub his cock between your sopping folds, gathering even more slick. Once he seems satisfied hearing your broken sobs, he angles himself to your entrance, and pushes just the tip into you.

Kriff, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to take all of him.

He stills for a moment, and then he’s back to pushing himself against your cunt.

Fucking unbelievable.

Mando’s teasing you, getting off on the sweet torture he’s putting you through. Every time you think he’s about to fill you up, he pulls away and continues to toy with you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, but then pulling away at the last second.

“Mando!” You whimper.

“Shhh…” He scolds, giving you gentle slap on your left buttcheek. “I want to take my time.”

He continues his gradual onslaught, and then finally, he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, and ever so slooowly eases an inch of himself in your entrance.

Maker, he’s huge. Even with just an inch inside of you, he fills you up, your walls clamping around him in an attempt to stop him from pulling away again. “Fuuck.” He drawls out through shuddered breaths. “You’re tight, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer because you can’t. Words are no longer a thing inside your mind. Just Mando.

“You’re mine.” He snarls, pushing another inch of himself inside you.

Something like a sob escapes your lips.

“No one else will ever get to touch you like this.”

Another painful inch. You can feel the veins around his girth pushing against your walls.

“I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you, do you understand me?” Mando doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues to push himself more and more into your pulsating cunt. He must be almost fully inside you now. It burns, almost painful. It’s uncomfortable but it’s so fucking good, it feels so fucking amazing to be filled up by the Mandalorian. A delicious pain you’ll be thinking about for days.

With both hands on your hips, he seems to lose control for a second because the next thing you know, he stills for a moment, his helmet dropping to rest in between your shoulders, and then he’s grinding even more of himself into you. Kriff, how fucking big is he?

When Mando finally fucking pounds into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go blank, you scream out, feeling completely stuffed to the brim. “Fuck!”

He’s so much bigger than you thought. Your walls flex around him, your pussy is on fucking fire right now, pain and pleasure mixed together to form a delicious cocktail, you’re drunk on this feeling. Mando widens his stance to steady himself, and pulls out just enough for only the tip of his head touching your walls and then slams into you so hard, your entire body flattens against the door, his cuirass digging into your back.

“Ah shit!” He swears breathlessly. Mando’s barely began fucking you, and a second orgasm is seconds away from unleashing electricity through your entire core.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock, sweet girl. Are you going to come again?” He taunts deliciously, pulling out once more and snapping back into you with such force, it blinds you momentarily. Bending your knees and using one his hands to push down on your back so you’re arched with your ass out—almost sitting back on his cock, he wraps a hand around your throat and begins pounding into you like an animal. The sound of skin slapping skin pierces through the cockpit, you can’t even make a sound. Your pussy clenches once again, climax nearing.

Two rough fingers find their way to your clit, and rub tight circles on your bud, the sounds of his length thrusting in and out of you are downright obscene.

“Be a good girl and come for me again,” He orders, voice so deliciously low in your ear. You last only a couple more seconds before a second orgasm rips right into you. White-hot pleasure tears through you, the ecstasy so intense, tears are streaming down your face at a constant rate. He doesn’t relent, just continues to plow into you over and over and over again.

“Fu-ck, you feel so fucking good. I’m g-gonna, shit, I’m gonna c-come.” He pants, his rhythm beginning to falter as he approaches his own climax. “Wh-ere should I…?”

“Inside…please.” You choke out.

“Kriff, are, a-are you sure?” He punches out, thrusting deeper into you between each word.

“Im—implant,” Is all you can manage to say, but it seems to be enough for Mando, because he uses the remaining strength he has to pound into you a few more times before his own orgasm hits him.

“F-fuck, pretty girl.” He grits out as his cock starts pumping his seed into your worn-out, swollen cunt. He sheathes himself one more time, reaching that sweet spot inside you before ever so slowly starting to ease out of you. Being the brat you are, using all the strength you can muster—which isn’t very much right now, you fiercely clench around his cock, causing Mando to cry out in the back of his throat.

“Maker, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” He says, shuddering but ending with a soft chuckle. “Well go on then, squeeze out every bit of come out of my cock like a good fucking girl.”

And so you do. You continue to squeeze down on his length, milking every single drop of his seed until you feel it trinkle down your legs. As soon as his hands leave your body, your knees cave in and you double over, nearly falling right on the cold metal floor, but Mando manages to wrap an arm around your waist before you do, holding you upright. Lifting you off your feet, he pulls you close to his chest, hooking his arms under your legs and around your back. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your cheek against his cuirass. Beskar cools the heat on your face, and you swear you could fall asleep right now in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filling up with the smell of sex and gunpowder, your eye flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet.” Baritone low and gentle. “We need to get you cleaned up first.”

“Mmm,” You mumble in protest. “ ‘M gonna sleep here.”

“Hey,” He repeats, this time more commanding. “You’ll need to climb down the ladder, can you do that?”

Pouting and wanting to resist, but knowing Mando won’t take no for an answer, you give in. “Fine,” You answer, petulantly.

He puts you down gently, making sure that when your feet touch the ground, you’re able to stand up straight on your own. He pulls your underwear and pants back up from your knees. His come mixed with yours sticks to your underwear, and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You definitely need to clean yourself up before falling asleep. Legs still buckling, Mando opens the cockpit doors and heads down the ladder first.

“Okay, come down.” He whispers kindly.

Kriff, your whole body is shaking. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it down those stairs without falling back. As you begin to descend the ladder, your grip on the rung loosens and you slip. Thankfully, Mando’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder and catches you in his arms before you could hurt yourself. Leaning on his pauldron is the only way you’re able to stand up, so you continue to lean into him as he guides you over to the fresher.

“Will you be able to clean yourself up?”

Looking up at the visor through hooded lids, you nod your head slowly. The possibility of you falling asleep in the fresher is very real, but you could try not to…

“Dank farrik…” He swears to himself. Mulling over his options with your half-asleep body leaning into him, he must realize there’s only one option available. “You’ll have to keep your eyes closed the entire time, okay?”

You look up at him sheepishly. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” He repeats. “You can’t—”

“I won’t look, Mando. You can trust me.”

A drawn-out sigh emits from the helmet, but he seems to be satisfied enough with your comment. Keeping yourself steady by holding down on his pauldrons, you watch as he carefully begins to remove your pants and underwear, gently telling you to step out of them and tossing them to the side.

“Lift your arms,”

He pulls your tunic over your head, and even though you’re absolutely wrecked and exhausted, being completely naked in front of the Mandalorian while he stands there, fully clothed and wearing his armour, you begin to feel a bit self-conscious, and try to cover up your body with your hands and arms.

“What…are you doing?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

“Feel so exposed,” You mutter.

“Now you feel exposed? Not when my cock was inside you?” He jests.

“Mmm, that was before.”

Mando sighs once again, the sound breaking apart like static through his helmet. “Get in the fresher, I’ll be there soon.”

“M’okay.”

Turning around sleepily, you head into the refresher and turn the water on. Kriff, it feels good. Standing directly under the hose, you let the water cascade down your body, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth that tickles your skin.

“Okay, eyes closed,” Mando says, voice no longer modulated by his helmet. Maker, his voice is heavenly. Curse the helmet he wears, covering up a sound as sweet as Mando’s voice. Smooth like silk, you wish you could listen to him for hours, undistorted and naked. Keeping your promise, your eyes wrench shut, palms coming out trying to find him in the small space you’re both sharing. You feel his hands meet yours, your own feels so small in his. Calloused fingers trail up your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and you purr into him.

And then, he’s gently massaging the bar of soap across your body, ridding your body of the grime and sweat from the day. It’s ridiculously intimate, and it’s actually quite surprising how gentle he’s handling you, given the fact that he kills people with those same hands, but it’s incredibly endearing. The entire time he cleans you up, your hands are resting on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, you feel him get closer to you, and you’re forced to back up, feeling the wall touch your bare back. Mando leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. You need to crane your head upwards to meet his, but it’s not uncomfortable. This is probably the first time his face has been touched by another being since…well you’re not sure when because you’ve never actually asked him when the last time he took his helmet off was, but you assume it’s been years.

“When’s the last time you took off your helmet in front of another person?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, not only because your vocal cords are shot from all the obscene noises you made before, but also because you’re scared that if you speak too loudly, he’ll dismiss your question.

“I was just a child.”

“You don’t ever want to show your face?”

The water trinkles over both your faces and bodies, hands carded together.

“This is the Way.” He answers plainly, but you sense a bit of uncertainty in the way he speaks. It’s almost like he’s lost the true reason for covering his face—that there came a time in his life where he began to question his Creed, but still feels like he has an obligation to adhere to it.

You want to see his face. There are so many questions that you wish you had the answers to.

Do the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he laughs?

Does he have any scars or dimples?

Have the many years of fighting and surviving aged his face beyond his actual age?

What color are his eyes?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know all those aspects of him because they’re simply just arbitrary details. Everything that you really need to know, you’re already aware of.

And what you know is, you’re in love with a Mandalorian.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #the mandalorian smut #we are one when together #fics

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deanpinterester · 2 years

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OH RIGHT i’m on a S&B reread and here are my thoughts on the first book:

> I WANT TO START OFF WITH: this is not a bad read at all. the writing itself is pretty good, considering this is bardugo’s first book. like yes, it’s a product of its time, so it can come off as pretty standard chosen one fantasy, etc etc, but it’s fun to read

> the d*rkling is somehow even creepier. the scene where he tells alina he will torture and kill mal if she doesn’t do as he says and then only offers mercy when alina agrees to kiss him is so 🤢

> sorry to book mal stans but i don’t agree with the take that show!mal is the same as book!mal and the only reason we like him better in the show is because we got to see his side of the story. there are many lines in the book that i straight up cannot picture show!mal saying. it’s not a bad thing or good thing, just that they definitely read very different to me, especially when you get into the rest of the books

> alina is a LOT sassier in the books and i wish we could have seen that more in the show, but maybe the show was trying to move away from the teen-y vibes

> another thing i wish the show gave us more was alina actually training with her powers. the book goes so much into how she learns to integrate summoning into combat, how she has trouble summoning at night, actual scenes of her practicing growing her power’s strength, etc. i don’t even think the show gives her much time training in physical combat with botkin, who only appears in like, one scene. does this girl even know how to fight in the show

> ALSO also another thing missing from the show is the gossip in court. i’ve definitely said this before, but we missed so much info about genya’s relationship with the king and queen, the talks of the younger prince and how he may or may not be a bastard and how he’s training in ship making 👀, the division between the grisha orders despite the fact they’re supposed to be on the same side (maybe they thought this was too high school cliquey). i know the show had to cut two episodes worth of content to fit everything into 8 episodes which is such a goshdarn shame, especially in regards to genya’s character. i wonder how many non-book-readers even understood what happened between her and the king because the show kept it so vague.

> zoya was barely in the book, which shocked me for some reason. i thought the show had too little of her, but it was like that in the books too

> in unsurprising news, alina and genya are still 👀 god how do authors so effortlessly create gay ships with actual chemistry and then not even know it

> in the books it was MAL who suggested looking for the stag, which was..............idk, after seeing the show where alina is the one who wants to seek the stag, it felt weird to read that it was originally mal who wanted to do it, and alina wanted nothing to do with it. +1 to the show for giving alina that agency

(mild spoilers for book 2 incoming)

i’m about halfway through the second book now and trying to imagine how the show will tackle the material. a lot of people had a problem with how they catch the second amplifier within the first act and the rest of the book is dealing with how alina and nikolai build up a following for the sun saint, and it’ll definitely be interesting to see how the show will make that engaging to watch. personally i didn’t mind that there isn’t much action since i do find the political stuff intriguing, but since this is a fantasy show after all, people Will be expecting some turning gears that isn’t just talking and more talking. also mal isn’t as annoying as i remember so far, but there are Definitely scenes where i’m like yikes, a little possessive of alina much? ANYWAY i’m super excited to see season 2 content and ready for more genyalina vibes

#uhhhh me #grisha

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whetstonefires · 4 years

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Do you think the DC fandom maybe, Infantilizes Tim a little too much? Like for a rich kid character who's main trauma for a long time was a getting left home alone too much there's an oddly amount of meta abt how much how much his parents hurt him~ compared to, y'know the two poor characters who grew up with physically abusive dad's+druggie mom's, or the two that were raised assassin cult's, etc

…well, yeah, I do kind of think that? His whole schtick for so long was being too old for his age in ways that didn’t sacrifice his jokey, relatable teenager energies. It’s weird how little of that we see anymore, sometimes.

And then DC broke him and discarded him and he’s sort of awkwardly hanging around getting reimagined as more woobie with every fan generation. It is weird!

But tbh I do get it. And I think the reason his parents’ failure of him and his vulnerability get played up so much, and Jason and Steph’s sufferings (while used a lot for things like motivation and context) not dwelt on quite so much in the same lugubrious style, are kind of the same reason.

Which is that canon didn’t commit to it. Jason and Steph’s experiences with bad parenting were foregrounded and retconned more dramatically awful several times. (There’s some definite classism in how that was approached imo, and I’m never budging on being mad about DC retconning out Catherine being sick and then ignoring her forever in all Jason characterization because a drug death invalidates a person ig, great message during the opioid crisis guys.)

They engaged and coped with it–Steph (and Cass, our #1 canon batfam parental abuse victim) pretty directly, Jason a little less so because of the dubious and fluctuating canon status of most of the content more specific than ‘poverty, homelessness, theft, parental drugs and crime in there somewhere,’ so most of his parent issues have been focused on Bruce. He sure has dug into them tho. 😂 Rarely well or productively, thanks DC, but it’s explicitly part of his character, is my point.

Whereas upper-middle-class Tim was always treated by the narrative as fortunate and unharmed by his experiences with his parents. Even though they were clearly behaving badly in several ways, and Tim showed signs of being harmed by it.

Tim outside of immediate moments of frustration always was of the opinion he was Fine, and Very Fortunate Actually.

Therefore a huge chunk of the numerous everyone who’s got parent-related mental and emotional harm, but has struggled to have that validated and hasn’t responded with a lot of anger toward the parent, identifies with Tim. The only one who’s never really lashed out at his parents for fucking up with him. The one who still needs it explored, because canon ultimately didn’t.

[editing post to put in a readmore because lol it’s long, post otherwise unchanged]

(Dick obviously didn’t ever have any Issues with the Graysons, but he Angry Teenagered at Bruce so hard it changed Bruce’s characterization permanently, rip.)

The things Jason, Steph, and Cass have been through are dramatic, obvious, and fit stereotypes because that’s what they’re based on.

That’s important content to have, but because it’s right out there in your face even people who identify with it quite a lot are less likely to feel the need to work all the way through it again in fanworks. That part’s there. It’s text.

(Well actually Jason having been physically abused kind of wasn’t? I think? It was mostly assumed on the basis of stereotyping and Jason’s not caring about the man much even as he felt possessive of information about his death, which is valid. I don’t actually know what’s up with Willis now, Lobdell did some weird shit that lacked emotional resonance or staying power because he’s Lobdell and has no soul.

Cass’ wandering years are also ludicrously underdeveloped. But very very few comics fans or writers can personally relate to being amazing child warriors with no grasp of language living feral under bridges. That part of her life is consistently represented in terms of absences, in terms of its deviation from the norm and the deficits of normality it left her with, which is typical but unfortunate.)

The interesting things to do with these characters are often informed by the bad stuff in their childhoods, but there’s relatively rarely that much more to say about the fact that those things were bad. They know they’re bad. They’ve had a lot of on-panel rage about it, as discussed above. Steph and Cass both beat the shit out of their dads.

Jason is, in fandom especially, a sort of Platonic ideal of a kid who’s mad about his bad childhood and really bad at figuring out where to point that rage.

(Damian is a whole other kettle of fish, because he’s been lumbered by so many detailed retcons coming so fast no two people can seem to construct compatible models of what his early childhood was like, and even more because he’s still ‘a child’ enough that he’s necessarily in a different stage of processing than someone who’s officially only a few years older than him at this point, but still functionally 8 and also 20 years older, and whose parents are no longer in the picture to continue screwing up.

Also there’s no question that if he brings up an abusive thing the League did, he will be validated by his current environment about his realization that it was in fact bad. There’s a lot of fic on that theme! But it doesn’t have the same tone precisely because it is usually understood that that support will be there if he wants it. Realizing that his previous context contained things that were wrong keeps being made the focus of his arc.)

The badness of Tim’s childhood, on the other hand, was mainly in subtext. Even when we were clearly meant to understand Jack was fucking up, like when he canceled plans with Tim at the last minute to go on a date with Tim’s stepmother, or that infamous time he came to apologize for not being a great parent and got mad Tim was distracted by a crisis on TV so he flew into a rage and took the TV and smashed it and was like ‘that’ll teach you,’ it wasn’t leaned into.

The story didn’t treat Jack as a minor villain to be overcome but like a sort of environmental hazard of childhood, like homework, to be endured and coped with. Tim said things like ‘it’s fine’ and ‘at least he left the computer.’

(And like. It’s not about having a TV and computer in his room. It’s about not letting a child have boundaries, pointedly not respecting a child’s possessions, creating an emotionally insecure environment, punishing minor infractions in proportion to their momentary impact on your own ego, physically lashing out at a proxy for the child…)

Rather like Tom King later didn’t understand about the punching from Bruce, whoever did that story (probably Dixon? I don’t care enough to check) did not understand how serious a case of bad parenting that scene was. That is most definitely textbook abusive behavior. (It’s a hell of a lot more common abusive behavior than being a lame supervillain or shooting you when you screw up, and a lot more specific than ‘was a thug, might have hit me, dead now.’)

And Tim was never allowed to be mad at his parents about it. It was fine. He needed to be ignored so he had the freedom to be Robin. He deserved his dad being mad at him because he was keeping secrets. He complained too much, although objectively he did not.

The universe punished him for ‘complaining,’ more than once. We cut straight from him shunting aside his disappointment that his postcard from his parents was just to say they weren’t coming home yet after all with ‘if it will stop all the fights they’ve been having lately it’s more than fine’ to them getting kidnapped.

He agreed not to come on the rescue mission. His mom never made it home, and his dad was in a coma for a while. And then ultimately Jack died as a result of Tim’s decision to be Robin, immediately after finally deciding to accept it.

So Tim walks around feeling a huge burden of responsibility for his parents’ deaths, and completely unable to process any hurt they did him as real or valid, especially in comparison with the far more blatant awfulness other people have been through, and canon is clearly never going to address it. Or even acknowledge it properly.

Let me repeat that because it’s kind of my main point:

People are fixated on getting Tim’s emotional abuse validated because that’s an incredibly important step in recovering from emotional abuse, and it’s one canon consistently denied him.

How ‘bad’ things are ‘in comparison to’ problems other people have is a bad and unhealthy way to engage with trauma. Okay? That’s just a really harmful framework to apply to pain.

It’s also a way that both Tim and people with experiences similar to Tim’s are encouraged to engage with their own experiences, compounding the existing problems.

So. Not a form of relatable DC was ever actually aiming for when they tried so hard (and pretty effectively) to make him a relatable character as Robin, but an enduring one for a lot of fans.

So Tim’s childhood is a natural target for fanworks in a different way than the traumas that have been made explicit and taken seriously by the text. And then a lot of that got compounded by the way the introduction of Damian as Robin was handled, and the lack of resolution that got. And his current status as not quite having a place in the family anymore.

So between the level of projection encouraged by that context and how relatively difficult to access Tim’s Robin run has become ten years after the fact, this has led to a lot of fanworks on these themes that are based mostly on other fanworks, and stray further and further from the original content.

So at this point there’s an entire wing of Tim’s fandom wherein this side of him has expanded enormously, and he primarily exists to suffer, frequently in ways that 1) escalate to a point that is inarguably ‘valid’ and hard to dismiss and 2) set him up to rebound from it in whatever way the writer finds emotionally satisfying or useful–being ultimately cared for and reassured by people who value him (the most infantilizing option but like, popular for obvious reasons), or unveiling his brilliant scheme that was causing him to pretend to be passive in the face of mistreatment, or turning around and using his genius ninja skills to wrest power back from his abusers, or just laying down some sick burns about being treated fairly.

But not that many of the last one, because that’s mostly done with other batfam members.

Tim’s become a vehicle for a lot of vicarious coping that Steph and Jason just aren’t appropriate for, because they get angry and they get even. And those are stories that exist already, so there’s less scope for telling your own.

And because Jason’s reaction pattern is ultimately so masculine (i’ll make them all sorry! with my guns! blam blam!) while Tim’s is pretty gender-neutral, the demographics of fanfic mean that the bulk of the people using Tim vicariously in this manner are female-aligned, which has over time feminized this archetype of him a lot. Sometimes in ways I find really uncomfortable, like there’s a lot of forced pregnancy stuff which activates my panic buttons. x.x

But, ultimately, it’s fandom. People are going to do what they’re going to do, DC in their perpetual fail has hung Tim out to dry in narrative terms, and I’d rather the people who are using Tim for victimization narratives over the people who can’t dismiss or discredit him fast enough now that his position has been filled. 🤷‍♀️ What we gonna do? Fave’s in an awkward spot. DC hates us. This is the life in this comic book pit. XD

Also if you’re the same anon who left me a callout about op of that weird Steph post in my inbox, or if you aren’t @ that person, 1) I refuse to get involved so I’m not answering that ask 2) those aren’t even particularly dramatic fandom crimes? That’s pretty normal? That’s just…Caring Too Much About Ships And Disagreeing With Me.

Do I also feel those opinions are kinda bad? Yeah. But I disagree with everyone about something. Chill.

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

The Crucible (part two)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU 2]

Part 1

Word count: 9240

TW: Child abuse, blood, the r-word again, emotional manipulation, minor implied sexual content (as in: one paragraph and nothing actually happens), underage drinking, vomit

------------

-Eve Was Weak-

“Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone

And if he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so alone?”

Mulaney looked up from the notebook, which is studded with doodles of crosses and stars and hearts, and set his gaze on the teenager sitting across from him. Her arms are crossed over her chest again and she’s leaned back in her chair, jaw set thoughtfully. She’s got some sass, but was one of the easiest, most well-mannered people he’s spoken to for questioning before. Plus, she made the examination more fun with her snarky comments, which were even able to make his stoic partner who ran the camera, Madeline, chuckle or smile from time-to-time.

“Any speculation as to who the author is?”

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say Joan Seymour.” Katherine Howard said. That sass mentioned before slipped back into her voice, edging her words in a way that made Mulaney huff out an amused breath.

“What do you suppose she’s trying to say?” Mulaney questioned.

“Probably, ‘help me, my mother’s insane.’” Katherine responded.

“Interesting.”

Katherine raised her eyebrows at him, sniffing. She’s poised and waiting.

“Do you consider yourself anti-religious, Katherine?” Mulaney asked.

Katherine snorted a light laugh. “No.” She said. “I just think some people take it too far, that’s all.”

“And you disapprove?”

“Look--” Katherine uncoiled her arms and sat up straight. At Mulaney’s side, Madeline quirked a brow at her change in stance, intrigued. “I’m all for believing whatever it is that you believe, but you say ‘religion’ to me, and I’m thinking da Vinci’s Last Supper. Jesus looks sad. The apostles look miserable. I don’t want to go to that party!”

Mulaney blinked at her logic. Katherine looked back at him, then turned her gaze up thoughtfully. She drummed her pointer fingers against the tabletop.

“Shouldn’t religion be more like Dogs Playing Poker?” She said.

“Dogs playing…”

“Poker.” Katherine finished for Mulaney. “I can’t tell you what any of the apostles are doing in The Last Supper. But I can tell you that the little white bulldog is holding an ace under the table.”

Mulaney unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. Katherine caught it, grinning.

“See?” She said. “That’s fun! I’m engaged! There’s wonderment and awe! That other stuff is just all ritual and punishment. And it’s way too weird and way too serious.” She leaned back again, studying Mulaney and Madeline’s expressions. “What? It is!”

------

Jane Seymour was a woman of many faces, and not in the mentally ill sort of way, although some people assumed she may have been harboring multiple personality disorder within her wretched brain. She had many masks to wear, some cold and stoic, others sinister and wicked, and a few that may have even been sweet and nurturing. When she was at the local laundromat she worked at in town, several customers reported how she would “look at them like she was assessing their souls”, like she was judging whether or not they deserved to go to heaven. She thought most of them were Godless and muttered about it constantly, regardless of if they could hear her or not. She simply did not care.

Many people thought she would never delve into the sexual world of intercourse, what with all her screws loose that warded away most men and her extreme devotion to Christ, so it was quite shocking to hear the screams that erupted from the Seymour bungalow May 13th, 2005. Police were called, but had to wait to get a search warrant, so they, along with several neighbors, sat on the curb for hours, listening to the piercing cries that split the street in two. By the time police finally burst into the house to locate the struggle, they thought they were too late when they reached the master bedroom, which was covered in blood. But then they saw the woman rocking back and forth on the soaked bed, holding a tiny red baby with tufts of whitish hair to her left breast and everything clicked into place.

Several believed this woman was not fit to raise a child for obvious reasons, but police had no right to take a baby away from its mother, so the infant stayed and grew up in the house she was born in. It wasn’t like there was any place she could go, anyway. Jane’s husband was nowhere to be found.

Henry Tudor is--was--had been a mountain of a man. His arms were like truck tires, round and firm to the touch. He had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a huge body to go along with his already giant frame. Coppery gold hair framed his head and his bright sapphire blue eyes struck a stare that could put someone six feet under. Every single aspect of the man’s body boasted of an indestructible juggernaut.

And yet, he hasn’t been seen in fifteen years.

Rumors bubbled up. They always did. Some speculated he ran away to avoid the burden of taking care of a child or to simply get away from his insane wife. Others, mainly rowdy teenagers itching for drama, said Jane killed him and sacrificed his body to the Lord. Because of that, stories of the Seymour bungalow being haunted were created, although there was no proof of anything of the sort. Because they weren’t true. But Jane Seymour had been out to kill.

Her girl-spawn had barely been a few months old at the time. She laid in her homemade crib, gurgling and laughing, staring with strange blue eyes up at a mobile that was made for her. Jane crept up to her and aimed a knife for her throat.

Henry stopped her.

“You shall name her Johanna,” He had rumbled, easing Jane’s hand back to her side. “Joan for short.”

“Like Joan of Arc.” Jane had observed.

“Yes,” Henry had said.

“Hm.” Jane had peered down at the wriggling little beast. “I suppose that does make it slightly less Godless.”

“Yes,” Henry had said again. “Wait and see.”

And then, he was gone, disappearing into the night and never coming back.

Jane should not have let him stop her.

The child, of course, did not know this.

Joan slipped through the front door, but not without noticing a few neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. The whole neighborhood, possibly even the entire city, was always so interested in every little detail of the Seymour family’s lives. At least a few of them actually had the decency to duck back inside when they saw her coming up the sidewalk. One didn’t even notice her, it seemed, because he was still staring when she disappeared inside, while another was only pretending to not snoop while she fussed unnecessarily over her rose garden. Joan shot the flowers a sharp look, willing them to burst out of the ground and bite the lady’s nose off, but the front door closed behind her before she could see if anything happened. From the silence outside, she assumed nothing did.

(damn stupid woman wish she’d just go blind)

The smell of cinnamon was drifting through the entrance hallway. Maroon and orange (never red) candles were lit up throughout the downstairs area; Mama always preferred their warm glow over the harsh fluorescence of the overhead lights. Mama’s favorite radio station, WORT Radio, could be heard playing from the kitchen, along with the sound of singing.

Mama’s singing.

“Jesus, possess me!

Sweet savior, be my shepherd

Bless each endeavor

Till I finally join you forever”

A giddy tingling sensation zipped up through Joan’s spine. She always loved the sound of Mama’s singing. Her voice was so silken and honey-slicked, like the gentle croon of an angel. Joan said she should join a gospel, that she would be the best singer in the entire group, but Mama would always wave this off with a dismissive hand and a chuckle.

Joan ventured further into the house, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. She entered the lounge, where a Black Forest cuckoo clock clucked peacefully on the wall. There were many religious pictures and crucifixes in here, but Joan’s favorite was the photo of Jesus leading a herd of baby lambs through a beautiful flowered field. It radiated so much innocence, unlike all the other paintings of punishment and hellfire and sin. It was hung up beside the huge wooden cross with reddened edges over the unused fireplace. Joan did her best to never look at that decoration in particular.

Weaving around the brown felt couch and two moth-eaten velvet throne chairs facing each other, Joan glided into the kitchen. It was an old kitchen indeed, with an oven that squealed like a dying pig when opened and a sputtering gas stove, but everything worked perfectly fine for the two of them.

Two…

“Fly me free of temptation

And the flames of Hell's devastation

Then He will take me

And wash me in the river

I will make celebration

In the joy of final

The might of final

The fire of final Salvation!”

There was Mama, singing along to the song playing from an old radio on the counter, her back to Joan.

She was a moderately sized woman, but had a strong, corded neck and incredibly muscled hands from years of working at the local laundromat. Honey blonde hair framed her face, which was quite beautiful in a weird, overzealous religious way. Reaching brown roots slithered like snakes from her scalp, with only a few white hairs visible. Despite being in her forties, her complexion was more weathered by hardship and discipline than age. Piercing golden brown eyes flickered when she finally noticed her daughter standing there and a smile broke out on her pale pink lips.

“Mama,” Joan said breathily, unable to bite back her giddy grin.

“Ah, Joan,” Mama said, “there’s my sweet girl.” And then she opened her strong arms out wide and Joan darted into them instantly, nestling into her embrace. Mama smelled like honey and laundry detergent. “You’re home early.”

Joan felt her lower stomach twinge and she leaned a little closer into Mama’s chest. She would keep her mouth shut about the incident at school for now. Mama was in a good mood; no need to go and mess that up.

“School--ended sooner than usual.” Joan said, internally wincing. She hated lying, always fearing that she would be struck dead the moment the fib rolled off her tongue, but she would correct herself and tell the truth soon.

Mama hummed. “I see.” She pulled away and turned back to the counter, where she had been shaping bread dough with her wolf-like hands. “Dinner won’t be ready for awhile.”

“That’s okay,” Joan said. “I can wait.”

Mama hummed again. Joan fidgeted anxiously behind her.

“Is everything alright, my darling?” Mama asked, concern in her smooth voice.

“Yes, Mama,” Joan answered. “Just-- umm-- may I go shower?”

Mama chuckled. “Of course, dear.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Joan gave her another quick hug, then scurried up the creaky wooden stairs to her room.

Filthy. She suddenly felt so filthy. She had showered barely an hour ago, but grime seemed to be crawling all over her. Would Mama be safe from it? Was it bad that she touched her?

She tried to remember what Miss Aragon had told her. About this being…

“Normal.” Miss Aragon said. “It’s perfectly normal, Joan. Every girl goes through it.”

Joan whimpered. The spattered mess between her legs had been wiped away by Miss Aragon, a humiliation she would never be able to live down, and she was now fully dressed again, but her clothes felt too tight, especially around her groin. It felt like there were eels alive and writhing inside of her. She squirmed on the grey couch she was seated on in Miss Aragon’s office, a place where most students were forbidden to go into.

“My skin feels weird,” Joan whispered. “I-I’m hot…”

Miss Aragon frowned. Joan looked up at her with shiny, wet blue eyes and a glazed expression.

“It hurts,” She croaked.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“What did I do?”

“What?”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. Guilt surged through her, along with another painful sensation in her lower stomach. She whimpered again.

“What did I do?” She asked again. “D-did I sin? Is this my punishment?” Miss Aragon looked baffled, and Joan wasn’t sure how she should feel about that.

“No, no, Joan,” Miss Aragon said quickly. “You didn’t--you didn’t sin.” She made a face, like those words tasted funny on her tongue, but it disappeared quickly. “You’re a very good girl. All women go through this, like I said. It’s completely normal.”

“But--but I’m bleeding!” Joan cried woefully. She could feel drops of blood squeeze slickly out of her vagina and she cringed. “You shouldn’t-- it’s not-- I-I’m gonna bleed to death!”

Miss Aragon is frowning again, and Joan easily recognized it as a frown of pity. That’s the expression most adults wear when they look at her.

“You aren’t, Joan,” Miss Aragon said patiently. “It’ll stop in a few days.”

Joan squirmed again, wanting it to stop now. She looked up at Miss Aragon helplessly.

“What did you do?” She asked. “To get yours? How did you sin?”

Miss Aragon sighed and Joan instinctively shrunk away. Instead of being struck, however, her coach eased an arm around her shaking shoulders and pulled her in close against her side.

“Oh, Joan…” She murmured, stroking her wet hair. “You poor, poor girl…”

Miss Aragon had then gone on to explain the process of the strange word called ‘menstruation’, telling her how she would bleed for four to seven days at a time every month for basically the rest of her life. It sounded awful. How could God curse females with such a horrible bodily function?

The sharp ache in her lower stomach returned like a tug on her small intestines. She put her hand between her legs, but drew no blood (this time). A new feeling rose in Joan’s sore chest, a yearning, an ache. She felt suddenly cold, as if the sun could no longer warm her. This was it, then, the change was here.

Would she still be Joan after it was all over? When she shed the last of her “uterus lining”, as Miss Aragon had said, would she still be herself? Or would she be someone new?

Would being someone new be all that bad?

Joan swiped some looser, fresh clothes from her dresser and then scurried her way into the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the lights, so she lit a few candles instead, letting their warm glow fill the small space.

With muscles that were weak with fatigue, she slowly began to undress herself. First her overalls, then her white and baby blue flannel, her cream colored bra, and finally her underwear. The puffy sanitary napkin--a “pad”--that Miss Aragon had put in for her was spotted with large dark red, almost black stains that looked like gross bodily jelly. It was wilting already, so she carefully removed it and replaced it with one of the many others she had been given, remembering how Miss Aragon had told her to always change them whenever she got the chance or she may get sick.

After throwing away the pad she wadded up with toilet paper, Joan stepped into the bathtub and cranked the faucet handle.

Showering was agony.

Although the hot water had offered her a brief respite from the deep, otherworldly chill that had settled into her body, there was no escaping the pain. Each beating droplet against her limbs felt like a fresh wasp sting stabbing into her muscles and the flesh on her stomach, taut and uncomfortably bloated, pulsed and throbbed with agony every time she moved.

Like before a few minutes ago, like at school, she reached between her legs, and it came back sticky and red.

The smell of the blood was pungent and unnatural. It was nothing like real blood at all. It was more like the rot from her deteriorating insides as her sin caused her to rapidly decay. It made her feel sick, so she stuck her hand under the spray of liquid fire shooting out from the shower head and didn’t pull it back until all the blood was gone.

The smell remained on her hand.

Joan scrubbed vigorously between her legs, which seemed to be permanently stained. Crimson would smear across her pale flesh each time her vagina bled again and she did her best to wipe the trails away with an itchy sponge. By the time she finally gave up, her inner thighs felt chafed and raw.

Joan took to just watching the water and beads of soap run down the slightly rusted drain. Slowly, she sat down, knees bent up to her chest, legs spread slightly. Red drools down the floor of the shower to join the suds down into the pipes.

This reminded her of a time when she was eleven and was violently ill in the shower. She remembered looking up, slumped heavily over the rim of the tub, still in all her clothes, and seeing Mama in the doorway. She had been shaking her head, but had a morbidly amused glint in her eyes. Then, chuckling darkly, she was saying, “You shouldn’t have gotten--”

“--drunk,” Said Joan, her fists clenched determinedly at her sides and her heart hammering in her throat.

The figure in the armchair in front of her turned to look at the doorway and squinted up at her for a moment as though trying to figure out who she was. And then it sagged back into the chair with an air of disappointment. Like it had been expecting someone else, someone better.

Joan stared back through the thick mop of white-blonde hair that had started to hang in her eyes lately because she’d been too lazy to cut it.

She was eleven and standing in the doorway of the house she’d grown up in, feet squared in her tattered shoes (she hadn’t gone and gotten herself a new pair in awhile, though she was long since overdue) and jaw set grimly.

“...You're what?” Said the figure slowly, her weathered, thick-knuckled hands clutching a periwinkle embroidery and a shiny sewing needle.

“I’m drunk, Mama,” Joan said again, feeling a thrill that was equal parts excitement and terror run through her from head to toe as she said the scandalous words. She watched those dark eyes apprehensively, dimly aware through the buzz of alcohol that she was shivering.

Later, on nights when she had nothing better to think about (there would be a lot of nights like that), she would dramatize this event in her head. She’d think about what might have happened if she’d been yelled at, or sent to her closet, or even slapped across the face and sent sprawling. It wasn't that she did this to feel sorry for herself, or to pretend that it had been worse than it actually was.

The truth was that all of those outcomes were things she wished had happened more than what actually had.

From the worn-out old armchair, the figure stared at her a moment longer, before simply shaking its head in silent apathy and looking back down at the embroidery.

“This is why God has left you,” Said Jane Seymour, dismissively.

And then Joan had trudged off, disappointed by the lack of reaction. Usually her Mama would throw an absolute fit over the littlest things she did, but the night she drank alcohol was barren of any dramatics.

An hour later, she would violently heave up all the whiskey she ingested from her system in the shower. It burned more than it did on the way down and made her cry helplessly for her Mama, who knelt by the bathtub and stroked her hair like she was a dog while she threw up all over herself. Mama had cradled her head against her chest when she was finished, mouth and chin still dripping with vomit, and told her what an evil little imp she was in a voice like sweet caramel.

Joan shook her head, scattering droplets across the shower walls and curtain. She looked down and saw a small sea of blood rippling around her feet. Her nose curled in disgust and she backed up further against the back of the tub.

Minutes passed. Joan’s mind was fuzzy and blank for most of the time she sat in the water and her own blood. Her vagina began to hurt at one point and throbbed steadily with her beating heart.

When it was eventually time to get out, she found that the heat of the water had soaked the energy right out of her, and it took everything in her to get dressed again instead of just curling up naked in a corner of the shower and passing out.

The cuts splattering her figure, those that hadn't scabbed over yet, were gooey and red, the flesh around their edges white and puckered from the water. They burned faintly as she stepped back out of the shower’s steamy shelter and into the cold air of the rest of the house.

The light from the candle flames cast her gaunt features in harsher contrast when she peered into the mirror. Her hollow cheeks nearly became empty holes and her sunken eye sockets were black caves. Still, the shiny blue of her eyes was visible even in the cavernous puncture. The fire’s glow reflected off the stygian liquid steel of rolling droplets over her emaciated frame.

The sight of the deathlike girl would send anyone but Mama screaming into the night.

------

“Good news, Kitty!”

Anne came out of nowhere, flinging her arms around Katherine and causing her to jump. They staggered, nearly falling right over, but managed to stay upright in the crowd of students leaving the school. Katherine laughed.

“What can it be this time, Annie?” She asked, shifting her backpack onto one shoulder after Anne pulled away.

“It turns out we are going to college together after all!” Anne declared, smiling widely. “I just got the text last period!”

Katherine felt a surge of happiness go through her, but still couldn’t help but tilt her head.

“Wait-- I thought the Royal College of Music turned you down?”

Just saying the school’s name sent flutters of joy and excitement and awe through her. She still couldn’t believe that SHE, Katherine Howard, got accepted into THE BEST music school in England. Maybe even the entire world!! She couldn’t wait until she got to explore the castle-like campus and fulfill her dream of being a real performer, and although she had hoped that her dear cousin and best friend would be a part of that, she didn’t actually think it would have happened.

But here Anne was, shrugging nonchalantly with a radiant look in her dark brown eyes.

“Yeah, well,” She waved a dismissive hand, “Daddy pulled a few strings and now I’m in.”

Katherine couldn’t help but chuckle knowingly when her Uncle Thomas was brought up. She could only pray for the poor soul at the Royal College’s administration board that must have met the other end of his needle-sharp words.

“We get to be roomies together!” Anne said. “Isn’t that great or what?”

“It’s AMAZING!” Katherine declared, hugging Anne. “I can’t wait!”

The sound of a car broke their embrace and the two of them, along with a few other students in the courtyard, turned to look at the shiny dark blue Ford Mustang honking at the curb. The driver’s side door popped open a second later and a gorgeous young woman, probably twenty or twenty-one, with lush olive skin and curly brown hair came sliding out. She lowered her electric blue Burberry sunglasses and hickory brown eyes swept over the crowd of high school kids in disdainful amusement.

“CATHY!!” Anne cried gleefully. She launched herself at Catherine Parr and the two immediately melted into a heated kiss. Katherine sputtered a laugh.

“Classic Anne,” Maria said, coming up beside Katherine with Maggie and Bessie. “Always can’t wait to jam her tongue down her lady’s throat.” She’s elbowed in the ribs by both Katherine and Bessie for that, making her snicker. “What? It’s true!”

“Come on,” Maggie said, and they all crossed over to the couple. “Alright, children! That’s enough PDA!”

Anne parted from her girlfriend to stick her tongue out at Maggie. Cathy chuckled and turned her gaze to the others.

“Hello, kids,” She said languidly.

“Hey, Cathy,” Katherine smiled at her. The other three greeted the other woman as well. “How are you?”

“Bitchin’ good,” Cathy rumbled, her lips twitching upwards. The lipstick coating them was a dark red color; Katherine believed it was called “Nibble” if she remembered correctly.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Anne suddenly said. She perched on the hood of the Ford Mustang and spread her hands out in front of her like she was about to tell a grand fairytale. “Can you guys believe the stunt in the shower earlier?”

Like that, Katherine’s good mood dropped away and icy guilt slammed into her once again. It made her feel so stupid, as all her friends burst into giggles around her, enjoying the funny memory while she just felt sickened by them. Why couldn’t she be more like them?

“What?” Cathy looked at all of them in confusion. “What happened?”

“Oh, Joan Seymour happened,” Anne told her. “Sixteen fucking years old and that stupid retard just stood there having her very first period.”

Katherine winced at the use of the slur. Why did it suddenly hurt to hear? She hadn't cared when Maria said it earlier in the pool. Was she just now realizing that it was wrong to say?

“I think she’s fifteen, actually,” She said.

“Who cares?” Anne said. “Doesn’t change anything! I knew when I was 9!”

“Wait--” Cathy said, and then she exclaimed, “Gross! In the shower?”

“Oh yeah!” Anne nodded her head enthusiastically. “Blood was just dripping down her legs!”

“All the blood ran into my stall!” Maggie joined in excitedly.

“And she sat in it!” Bessie added.

“All while squealing like a fucking pig!” Anne chortled. “WEE WEE WEE WEE!!!”

“Anne, enough!!” Katherine shouted over all the laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!”

Anne looked at her and then said, “Hey, you guys! Stop! Stop! Kit is right. It’s not funny.”

All the giggling died away instantly. Katherine breathed out a sigh of relief--

“It’s fucking hilarious!”

--that was quickly replaced with a sharp intake of breath.

Anne slung an arm around her shoulders. “Aww, sweetie!” She nuzzled her cheek with her nose. “There’s a runt in every litter! A nobody. And our nobody,” She chuckled darkly, “is Joan.”

------

The smell of freshly baked bread hit Joan’s nose when she walked down the stairs and her stomach growled so loud it caught Mama’s attention in the kitchen. Her face flashed dark red, her blush bright against the pale backdrop of her white-blonde hair, and Mama chuckled in amusement.

“Someone’s hungry,” Mama said.

“J-just a little…” Joan stammered shyly.

She really, really was, though. She skipped lunch because she had left school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast, which had just been two pieces of plain toast, but she felt like she was starving. Like it’s been a lot longer since she ate anything. She set her hands on her lower belly and wondered if hunger was another bitter side effect of menstruation.

“Joan?” Mama noticed the way she was holding her stomach. “Is your tummy alright, darling?”

Joan felt an intense flash of fear

(she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows)

lance through her and she inhaled sharply. She nodded, dropping her hands limply to her side.

“I’m okay, Mama,” She said. “Just hungry.”

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mama told her. Joan could smell the casserole in the oven and her stomach growled again. “Why don’t you go wash your hands and set the table?”

Joan nodded and hurried to wash her hands off in the kitchen sink before retrieving the plates and utensils from various cabinets. She took them to the dining room, a dimly lit room filled with more crosses than anywhere in the entire house. A huge iron one hung above the table, where Jesus’ petrified face of agony could always leer down at her when she was trying to eat. The only other decoration was a wooden picture frame laying face-down on a small shelf. Joan glanced at it and remembered the last time it had been filled by...

...a photograph of Mama’s wedding.

It had been a bright and sunny day, with white clouds floating over the wedding ceremony. In the picture, the newlyweds were standing on the top of the stone stairs leading to the chapel. Above their heads was a tall arch decorated with beautiful white roses, handpicked by the maid of honor. The bride and groom held each other’s hands, the picture of matrimonial bliss.

This was the first time Joan actually saw what Daddy Henry looked like. Mama didn’t talk about him very much, and when she did, it wasn’t ever in a good way.

But these two in the picture looked so happy.

Daddy Henry’s wedding tuxedo had to be one of the largest ever designed. He was herculean, with a behemoth body and golden blonde hair. Dazzling sapphire blue eyes stood out brightly in the photo, so much like Joan’s own. He had a massively wide smile on his bearded face, grasping his bride’s hands in his own huge ones.

Mama was in a beautiful white gown gown that hugged her every curve, with sterling silver feathers sewn into the sleeves and into the frills of the wedding dress. Her lips were painted ruby red and were curled up into a blissful smile as she leaned into the wall of muscle that was her husband, her hands lost within Daddy Henry’s colossal grip.

...Were these really her parents?

Joan had found the photo hidden behind one of Jesus’s birth when she accidentally broke the frame while playing. She was ten at the time, and itching for mischief, so she hid the photo from Mama, despite all the questions she wanted to ask.

It had been a complete accident that Mama found out she had it, when she saw it in her room after she forgot to put it away.

For a long time, Mama didn’t speak after she found the photo. She just gripped it tightly and stared at it with wide, bulging eyes.

“Where did you find this?”

Joan flinched at the edge in her voice. Trembling, she stuttered, “I-I broke a picture frame a little while ago. You didn’t notice, so I picked up the broken glass so that we wouldn’t get hurt. I found it behind the picture of baby Jesus.”

Mama took several deep breaths that did little to calm her. Joan swallowed thickly.

“M-maybe it could help us look for him?” She said timidly.

Turning abruptly, Mama stormed out the bedroom and downstairs. Joan ram after her, crying, “Wait! Mama!”

Mama strode into the lounge and began roughly throwing firewood into the fireplace. Joan skidded to a stop behind her, her eyes wide.

“Mama!” She shouted. “Stop! We have to find Daddy!”

But Mama didn’t stop. She just kept tossing in wood until the fireplace was full, then moved to dousing the logs with an alarming amount of lighter fluid. Joan lunged forward and grabbed her arm as she lit a match and flicked it in. The flames roar to life instantly, illuminating the cold look in Mama’s golden eyes.

“No.” She hissed, and then threw the photo into the fire.

“NO!!!” Joan screeched.

She threw herself at the fireplace, dropping to her knees and shoving her hands into the burning logs. Flames licked at her skin and she howled in pain, but didn’t pull back until she grabbed the smoldering remains of the photograph. It disintegrated in her fingers and she wailed in anguish right before Mama grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her backwards.

“What are you doing?!” Mama cried. Her eyes are even wider now, and Joan saw that she was scared. The smell of burned flesh hung heavily in the air.

“That was going to help us find Daddy!” Joan yelled, tears running down her cheeks. Her hands hurt so badly. Pink and scarlet criss crossed together over her charred skin. “We were gonna find him and he was gonna come back!!”

“No he wasn’t, Johanna!”

“WHY?!”

“BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING KEEPING HIM AWAY!!”

In an instant, the scalding hot blood in Joan’s veins turned to ice-water. She started to comprehend the implication of Mama’s words, and the tears came out from her eyes faster and faster. She wilted like a daffodil, crossing her burnt hands in front of her chest and grabbing her arms, squeezing them tightly as she bowed her head and doubled over on her knees. The crown of her skull cracked against the hardwood, sprawling her hair like a waterfall of white-gold all over the floor.

“No… No… No...” She wept again and again.

“He doesn’t want you, Joan,” Mama said ruefully. “He didn’t even want me.” She took a deep breath, sadness etched in the grooves of her words. “He doesn’t want either of us.”

Mama knelt and took Joan into her arms, rocking her slowly. Joan tried to grip onto her, but just let out a pained wail when she moved her hands.

“Mama!” She cried. “Mama, it hurts! It hurts!”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Mama said sadly. “Shh… It’s going to be okay, my darling angel. It’s going to be okay, Joan…”

“...Joan? Joan?”

Joan jolted, backpedaling into her mother, who looked concerned. Mama gently cupped her cheeks.

“My dear angel,” She murmured, “what’s wrong?”

(tell her tell her tell her)

Joan swallowed thickly. “S-something happened at school today. Something terrible...”

Mama frowned and brushed a loose strand of hair out of Joan’s face. “Terrible things are the Lord’s way of testing us, Joan.” She said wisely.

“I know, Mama, but the other girls--”

“You aren’t like the other girls.” Mama cut her off.

“But I am, Mama! I am!” Joan said. “I never thought so, but--”

“You aren’t, Joan. You aren’t. You’re special.” Mama’s lips twitched slightly. “Special.”

“You aren’t listening to me, Mama…”

“I’ve heard all I wanted to hear, now finish setting the table, please.” Mama said. She glided past Joan and went back into the kitchen to check on the casserole. Joan slowly laid out the plates, then looked over her shoulder.

(tell her tell her tell her)

“Mama, in the showers today…”

Mama whipped around instantly, her eyes suddenly lit up like hot coals. Joan thought she might have seen a flicker of fear somewhere in there, too.

“What have I told you about showering with the other girls?” Mama said.

“I know, but--” Joan floundered.

“What have I told you?” Mama shouted.

“It’s a sin! It’s a sin!” Joan gave in.

“And as such--”

“But Mama--”

“It is--”

“I STARTED TO BLEED!!”

Silence.

Stillness.

The platter Mama had been holding slipped from her fingers and shattered against the wooden floor. White and blue pieces exploded out in every direction. A few chunks cut Mama’s slipper-clad feet and ankles, and blood slowly began to bud out like blooming roses in May, but Mama did not move. Or flinch. Or even blink. She just stared very intently at Joan like she was hoping she would burst into flames if she leered hard enough.

And then, her face did something strange. It twitched, like all her expressions were falling off one by one, so it looked like a mask for a moment. Then, the skin rippled and creased and wrinkled, and her soft features were eroded away by furious and sinister ones. A sick white light ignited behind her golden brown eyes, like twin lightning bugs of insanity inside the sockets. Joan backed up against the dining room table with a whimper.

“Mama, I started to bleed in the showers and the other girls-- they laughed at me and called me names and threw things at me!” She said woefully. “I was so scared, Mama! I thought I was dying!”

Mama’s face twitched again, and this time her head jerked a little with it. The veins in her neck bulge out of the flesh and pulsed monstrously. Her eyes suddenly looked a lot less golden brown and a lot more brown-red.

“Mama, why are you looking at me like that?” Joan asked softly, quaking.

“The curse of blood,” Mama said quietly. There’s an awful, dry chuckle edging her words. Joan blinked like an oblivious pure white heifer about to be sacrificed to God.

“Mama, you’re scaring me…”

Mama’s entire head twitched this time and then, a split second later, she’s striding across the kitchen with her right hand held high. Joan didn’t have any time to react before she was backhanded across the jaw by pointy, spike-like knuckles. She yelped out in pain and shock, tottering sideways and careening right into one of the dining table chairs. Her body unceremoniously crumpled into it, and she and the chair both crashed to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

“You’re a woman now,” Mama said above her. Her eyes are wide and gleaming, but there’s no emotion in them. “Pray to heaven for your wicked soul.”

“Wh-what did I do?” Joan stammered, rolling over onto her back. She could already feel her jaw welling up with a fresh bruise. “M-Miss Aragon said it’s something all girls go through. Even y--”

Mama hit Joan again, and blood splattered out in a bright red line across the floor. Joan whimpered sharply, tears of pain springing to her eyes. Her tongue instinctively flicked out against her newly busted lip and it stung in response to being licked.

“And God made Eve from the rib of Adam,” Mama said like she was in a trance. “And Eve was weak and loosed the raven on the world. And the raven was called Sin and the first Sin was the Sin of Intercourse. So the Lord visited Eve with a Curse and the Curse was the Curse of Blood.” She leaned down to Joan and her words were suddenly washed with potent venom, “Say it, woman.”

“No, Mama--”

Joan was struck a third time. Smears of her blood are left on Mama’s knuckles.

“Say it!” Mama bellowed.

“No!” Joan cried. She turned sharply and scrambled away, but Mama pursued her and delivered a kick to her ribs that sent her sprawling on her back.

“And Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden and into the World and Eve found that her belly had grown big with child.” Mama droned on. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on Joan’s stomach, pinning her to the ground. Joan yowled in pain when a cramp seized her at that very moment, deepening her anguish even further. “And there was a second Curse, and this was the Curse of Childbearing, and Eve brought forth Cain in sweat and blood.”

“Mama!” Joan sobbed. The tears were flowing free without resistance, now, and creating small pools on either side of her head. “Mama! Stop it, please! Listen to me!!”

But Mama did not listen. She just leaned down, applying more pressure to Joan’s poor belly, like she was hoping to make all the blood come out now. Joan threw her head back and screamed in pain.

“And following Cain, Eve gave birth to Abel, having not yet repented of the Sin of Intercourse. And so the Lord visited Eve with a third Curse, and this was the Curse of Murder. Cain rose up and slew Abel with a rock. And still, Eve did not repent, nor all the daughters of Eve, and upon eve did the Crafty Serpent found a kingdom of whoredoms and pestilence.”

“Mama, listen!!” Joan yelled. “Stop! It wasn’t my fault!”

“And Eve was weak,” Mama said flatly. “Say it.”

“N-o!” Joan squirmed underneath her mother. Her hands, rough and scarred permanently from the burns she got five years ago, flew up and grabbed Mama’s leg. Two of her fingernails jabbed into one of the cuts on Mama’s ankle she got from the glass and Mama jerked away with a hiss.

“You vile demon!!” She screeched.

Joan fled as quickly as she could, but Mama went after her, just like last time. Just like all the other times.

(if i had a nickle for every time she made me cry in here...)

Her wrists are seized and they both fall to their knees on the floor in the lounge. The impact rattled Joan’s frail body and she could feel more blood drip out onto the sanitary napkin in her underwear.

“Mama, let me go!!” Joan cried frantically. She struggled, but her Mama was much stronger than she was and was able to restrain her. Mama’s body hunched over her, her belly pressed against her rigid spine, practically crushing her frail daughter. “Please! Please, Mama! I’m sorry!!”

“Say it, woman,” Mama whispered harshly in her ear, her words biting like serpents.

Joan sniffled and, with words that were thick with blood from her busted lip, choked out shamefully, “And Eve was weak.”

The grip on her wrists loosened slightly. Mama’s hot breath tickled her ear when she breathed out a dark laugh. A sloppy, halfhearted kiss was pressed to her temple.

“Good girl,” Mama whispered breathily. She leaned back and twisted Joan around so they would be facing each other, but did not release her child from her ironclad grip.

“Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Joan asked. Her icy blue eyes are filled with tears and sorrow, so much sorrow. “I was so scared, Mama. I thought I was dying!”

Mama shook her head and looked up ruefully. She squeezed Joan’s hands together and exclaimed hugely, “O Lord! Help this sinning woman beside me here see the sin of her days and ways!”

“Stop it, Mama--” Joan squirmed uncomfortably.

“Show her that if she had remained sinless the Curse of Blood never would have come on her!” Mama brayed on.

“Mama--” Joan whined. “Mama, please stop! I don’t understand! What did I do?” She squirmed harder. “Mama, let me go!!”

Mama shook Joan violently, then drew her in close, eyes flashing.

“Ask for forgiveness of your sin.”

“No, Mama.” Joan said, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t sin, you sinned. You didn’t tell me and they laughed.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Darkness overtook Mama’s features like the black clouds of a thunderstorm. Her face twisted with disgust, and she suddenly looked like she hated her child with every inch of her being. She dug her fingernails deep into Joan’s brittle wrists.

“I did not.” She hissed lowly. “I did not--sin.” She carved off chunks of Joan’s flesh with her nails. “Go to your closet and pray.”

Joan stiffened, her eyes bulging hugely in her skull. She whimpered and shook her head, shrinking down into herself.

“No, Mama,” She whispered fearfully. She could see her prayer closet from the lounge, the door fitted underneath the staircase. It was cramped and dark and hot in there, just how Mama liked it for her. “D-don’t wanna go…” She couldn’t look away from it.

“Pray.” Mama said. “Ask for forgiveness.”

“Please, Mama,” Joan begged, looking up at her mother desperately. “P-please don’t make me go. I-I don’t wanna go. I’m sorry!”

But Mama’s uncaring look of hatred did not change, and inky black dread poured out through Joan’s organs like a thick, dark oil spill. Her breathing began to hitch and pick up, but Mama didn’t seem to care about her worsening panic attack.

“Please, Mama,” Joan wheedled hoarsely. “I-- I’ll bring the Stones again!”

This time, it was Mama’s turn to look scared. But then it morphed into intense enmity and she began to beat Joan senselessly towards the closet.

“You monster!” She howled. “You spawn of the devil! Why must I be so cursed?!”

“The Stones!” Joan yelled as she was kicked and hit and slapped. She rolled to the side, but Mama beat her back down to the floor, slowly getting her closer and closer to the wretched, evil closet. “I’ll bring the Stones, Mama! I’ll bring the Fire!”

And then a powerful kick drove into her belly and her words pitched into a shriek of agony.

“MAMA!!” Joan screamed. “MAMA-- MAMA, STOP!! IT HURTS!! Y-YOU-- IT HURTS!!!”

Mama grappled onto Joan’s arms and began dragging her across the floor to the closet. Even with the sharp, unbearable pain in her stomach, Joan fought her, kicking and struggling and screaming bloody murder, but it was futile. Mama shoved Joan into the prayer closet and slammed the door shut, locking it tightly.

“NO!!” Joan shrieked. She threw herself at the door, causing it to rattle heavily on its hinges. “Mama, let me go!!”

“Pray, little girl!” Mama ordered. Madness curled from her lips like poisonous vipers. “Pray!”

“Please, Mama!!”

But Mama did not let her go. Her footsteps retreated somewhere into the house and Joan sunk to the floor, weeping. Panic started sticking to her lungs like black tar, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Mama was so angry… What if she never let her out?

Dread sped up her thoughts, racing through her veins, filling her with desperation.

No one would even hear her screams, her last dying words, her final prayers…

She began to wheeze, the thick, musty air brushing against her lips. The oppressive stench of her own fear and blood and piss from other times in the closet burned her nose.

Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care?

Pain lighted in her belly again as her chest contracted with her heavy breaths.

Would her teachers, so quick to look away from her black eyes and limping figure, even call and ask where she was?

Joan began to scratch on the door, the frame, the hinges, scrambling to escape, her instincts pitching her action into a fury of movement.

What would they say when her body was finally discovered, a rotting corpse hidden in the darkness of a closet made for holy purposes? Perhaps she would be the talk of the town, even more than usual. The poor Seymour kid, whose Mama went mad after her husband left and God could no longer satisfy her. Who killed her only child, slowly starving her tiny daughter to death one evening while she sewed a new blouse for a customer at the laundromat and listened to her religious music.

Joan’s fingernails scratched harder, grazing the wooden confines of her holy coffin. She could feel the warmth of her blood as the nails began to tear and break, smell the copper of her panic, leaving thin lines of crimson as she clawed frantically.

What if she didn’t starve to death? What if she suffocated? Could that happen? No, she’d read about that before. There was enough air filtering in here, probably. She’d die of dehydration first. Already she could feel her throat constrict, dry and callous, an arid lining of flesh. Spots of light pricked her vision. Tears ran down the side of her bruised face, mingling with the sweat now coating her skin. She felt clammy and cold, yet suddenly too hot, as if in a fever.

“Mama, let me out!” She begged coarsely, the words scratching at her throat.

She could take the hitting or yelling or cursing. Anything but this.

“Mama…”

Joan slumped to her side, shuddering. She looked up and gazed around at the horrors that littered the closet. There were so many paintings of Jesus’s death, all in great, graphic detail. When she was little, they used to give her awful nightmares about evil men nailing her to a cross or Jesus’s bloodied body chasing her through a ruined dreamscape, welding a wicked-looking crucifix made of barbed wires and yelling at her to join him on his cadaverous crucible.

They still gave her nightmares, she hated to admit.

The dead eyes of Christ bore down on Joan’s pathetic, shaking frame. Jesus’s face was contorted into the same expression of disgust and pain as Mama’s had been, like even he knew that she was the worst thing to ever grace God’s green earth. She curled into a tight ball on the floor, not wanting to meet his scornful gaze anymore, and began to pray through her haze of tears.

------

Moonlight cast silver streams on Anna’s smooth, glowing skin, making her look like a goddess of the night above Katherine. Her soft touch sent pangs of pleasure crackling through Katherine’s body like lightning bolts of lust, soothing her mind of all its worries with her warmth. Everything felt good and okay and wonderful again when Anna was with her, holding her, talking to her, loving her. She thought that nothing could possibly bring her down when her girlfriend was there by her side.

And yet, she still couldn’t get the image of Joan Seymour’s naked body covered in blood on the floor out of her head.

Katherine sighed heavily and Anna pulled back, blinking.

“Am I really that bad?” She said, then looked at her fingernails, inspecting them closely. “I thought I got them down to the perfect length this time…”

Katherine managed to laugh. “No, it’s not you, you big silly,” She nudged her playfully. “It’s--something else…”

Anna tilted her head. “What is it?” Worry flashed across her expression and Katherine couldn’t help but feel a flutter of love flap in her chest. She loved when her girlfriend got like this, all concerned over her, even over the littlest things. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Katherine said. She pushed herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. “It’s just-- I did something...not good today.”

“Oh no,” Anna gasped. “Not good?”

Katherine shoved her. “I’m serious!”

Anna laughed slightly. “I know! I know!” She said. “Come on, tell me about it.”

They got dressed and stepped out of Anna’s red Jeep so Katherine could get some fresh air that would hopefully help her tell the shameful story. It was a warm spring night and they were parked on the side of a small grove that had a trail that led to a hiking trail and some camping grounds. Katherine ducked under a tree that was wrapped in blooming vines of pink-white dog roses, pale ghost petals shivering in the breeze. Anna came up beside her and they both sat on a low-hanging branch that was practically grown for the purpose of sitting and telling your girlfriend about the awful bullying you participated in today.

“Did you...hear about the Joan Seymour incident today?” Katherine eventually choked out hesitantly.

Anna actually thought for a moment, as if a fifteen year old girl getting her first period and thinking she was dying hadn’t been the talk of the entire school.

“Vaguely, yeah,” She finally said. “I don’t get into that kind of drama, though. I tend to stay away from it, you know?”

Katherine did know, and that sent fear ricocheting through her body when she remembered it. Of course Anna didn’t like discourse- she’s told her several times before! How could she be so stupid?

Anna peered at her closely, and she knew it was too late to turn back now.

“What does Joan Seymour and her period have to do with you?” Anna asked her.

Katherine swallowed thickly. Fear pounded heavily at her brain, fear of Anna breaking up with her when she told her and leaving her all alone--but didn’t she deserve that? What she did was horrible. She didn’t deserve a girlfriend after harassing a poor little girl, ESPECIALLY when she herself was eighteen and technically an adult.

“I--” Her words caught in her throat for a moment, but Anna’s patient, loving gaze made them all come tumbling out. “I was in there. With her. In the locker room.” She lowered her head in shame. “I--yelled at her with everyone…”

Anna just looked at her for a long time, moonlight glinting in her caramel brown eyes and making them look like they were glowing. Then, she sucked in an impressed breath and said, “You’re right. Not good.”

Katherine felt a cold slicing of fear slash through her, but then Anna’s grave expression shifted into a thoughtful smile. She ran a hand down an ivy-coiled section of the tree and mused, “I kicked a kid in the ribs one time.”

Katherine blinked at her.

“I did!” Anna said, then shook her head and chuckled at the memory. “Reed Mulligan. Big white kid who’ll probably grow up to be a robber or something. Anyway, he beat the shit out of me once in Year 7. And then, in Year 8, he picked on the wrong kid and got his ass handed to him. Everyone ran when he dropped to the ground, but first I gave him a good kick in the ribs. Felt terrible about it afterward.” She peered at Katherine closely. “Are you gonna apologize to her?”

Katherine snorted dryly. “Did you apologize to Reed Mulligan?”

“Hell no!” Anna said. “But there’s a big difference, Kat.”

“There is?”

“This isn’t Secondary School anymore.” Anna said. A flurry of snowy pink petals swirled down from the tree and over their shoulders. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you?”

------

The prayer closet lock clicked and the door creaked open after seven long hours. Joan stopped crying for her Mama after the first hour and fell silent for the rest, not even asking to eat or go to the bathroom. Probably because she was asleep, curled up into a little ball on the floor, pillowing her head with her arms. Mama knelt down to her, setting one hand on her shoulder and raking the other through her white-blonde hair. Joan’s eyes shot open instantly, and they seemed to glow in brilliant shades of blue in the candlelight.

“Did you finish your prayers, little girl?” Mama asked.

Joan nodded.

“That’s my good girl,” Mama cooed. She kissed Joan’s cheek, saying nothing about the dark indigo bruise bloomed on her jaw. “It’s time for bed.”

“Yes, Mama,” Joan whispered. Slowly, she uncoiled from her position on the floor, shaking out her numb limbs as she did so. Mama watched her with a sharp eye as she rose to her feet.

“Joan?”

“Yes, Mama?”

Mama took a deep breath and stood up, practically towering over her little daughter.

“I know I sometimes do things that I can’t explain,” She said, “but know that my feelings for you never change. Even--if you have sinned.”

Joan winced, but she shook her head and managed to smile wryly up at her mother.

“Mama, you don’t have to say that,” She said. “You love me. You don’t need to ask for forgiveness from me. I know you do what you have to.”

“Yes,” Mama said slowly, nodding. “We have no one except each other, Joan.”

Joan shivered. Her heart ached fiercely in her chest, and she so badly wanted to believe that that wasn’t true, that there was someone out there who wanted her, but she knew that was just wishful thinking. Fifteen years, and the only person who didn’t throw her away was her Mama.

“I’m the only one who cares about you.” Mama said. “No one will ever love you except me.” She cupped Joan’s cheeks and looked at her with maddening adoration and love flickering in her eyes. “You will always be a monster to everyone else.”

And Joan nodded, knowing this would always be true, and whispered, “Yes, Mama.”

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shellheadtm-a · 4 years

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Steve x Tony @shieldslinger / send me a ship and-

Who asks the other on dates: lbh with each other here, these are the kind of assholes that have an actual date night. sometimes they even make it to it and do date things. but also let's be honest with the fact they've been going on dates for years and were too dumb to realize it. museums? burgers and a movie? you know they've done it, you know it was a date, and you know they had literally no idea. because they're dumbasses. Who is the bigger cuddler: with all the unnecessary touching that went on with them from like literally steve's first day out of the ice and you come into my home and ask that question? as touchy as they were before (those sweet, sweet shoulder squeezes of validation) you know it's worse now. movie night's probably a nightmare just because you know it's either bc tony's draped some part of himself on steve, or they're jammed so close together you couldn't squeeze a sheet of paper between them, or...listen. when two tactile people love each other very much, they're probably really gross and annoyingly handsy, and i don't mean in the...gropey kind of way, they're just touchy. all the time. must toch. plus they have a shitton of issues, which probably doesn't help in that either but eh. Who initiates holding hands more often: there's a theme here, you know that right. there's a theme here, because it's a theme in canon, and it's tony offering a hand up to steve. like it's a thing, you know it, i know it, so if you don't think tony's needy hand holder in this relationship, you'd be wrong. it's sad, he gets this weird little thrill at even being able to do that, and on the one hand...you gotta feel bad for him. he'd take whatever steve gives him and tell himself that's enough and he's content with it, because it's steve. but knowing steve's okay with it? a religious experience.

Who remembers anniversaries: well, it's not steve rogers, i can tell you that. and you know what, that's okay, and that's fair, and tony loves him anyway. he might be the man with a plan, but he's useless with a planner. he gets caught up in things, it's fine, tony remembers for the both of them, it's why he has friday. what i'm saying is the only one who really remembers any important dates at all is friday. Who is more possessive: i don't know that...you could really classify either of them that way? overly protective, sure. clucky with mother hen tendencies, the both of them, yeah. taking what they can of each other's time, even if it's just to be able to say good night and good morning, absolutely. but i don't think...with who they are as people, they really can't be. Who gets more jealous: which goes back to being possessive, right, like tony has a little jealous streak but it doesn't manifest blatantly as one. two, they're public figures so...there's not a lot of room for jealousy there. like captain america and iron man might be characters they play (which are still them, i know i've talked about it but bear with me, it's an idealized version of them, separate from the inner selves) but they're public, you know, they're superheroes, and there's an expectation you share each other with the job. and with the people you save. with the world, really. i think it's more about taking what time they do have as steve and tony more than anything else. Who is more protective: this is a joke, right? this is a joke. these two idiots would throw themselves in front of each other over and over and over again if you let them. that said, tony's moreso. and i'll tell you why. everything he's done? all the bad? the times he's sold his soul? was to keep steve - and their loved ones - safe. or happy, in a situation where there was really nothing they could do. every time. or i'll go one better. tony will absolutely trade his own life for steve's in the blink of an eye, because he's always believed between the two of them steve's the better man. he's done it. willingly. without a second thought once he's made the decision to do it. he probably has a "sacrifing myself for the greater good and especially steve" face. i'd like to lie and say that he understands if something happened to him how badly it would hurt steve but...if it came down to a choice of tony dying if it meant steve would live, he'd trade himself in a heartbeat. that's uh. something he's working on (he's not). Who is more likely to cheat: this really is a joke. steve "my middle name is noble" rogers and tony "has been in love with steve rogers for years" stark. like tony would never, ever, ever say it, but this is it. i don't mean in some fatalistic way, and i mean he fully believes he has an expiration date so he wouldn't say anything anyway, but this is it. steve's always been The One. his Person. never would happen, not in a million fucking years. Who initiates sexy times the most: you would think the answer is anthony edward stark and in most cases you'd be right, but steve rogers is not most cases, it is steve rogers and the rules don't apply to him. by which i mean surprisingly steve is the proactive one here, and i think it's because tony is...he is hesitant. it's weird, he's pushy with his forms of affection and then he backs off in this arena but i would argue he's getting better about it, and that the only reason he is like that is because he doesn't...he's very careful with steve, really, he's still walking on eggshells a little. give him time, the tables will turn, he'll be pouncing steve from dark corners like an overgrown house cat with the 3am zoomies and a need to fight. Who dislikes PDA the most: they're not, you know, public yet. so it's not like this is really a thing outside of their friends circle, and even then, like. i'm willing to bet literally nothing has changed in the slightest except you might walk in on them smoochin. oh, the huge manatee. tbf, for some people it might be (clint, looking directly at you) considering who wants to see their parents doing that but you know. tough tiddy. anyway, they’re just...not really the type. Who kills the spider: listen they know some spiders who are very good people, and it's not nice to talk about premeditated murder. there is a strict catch and release program in place and by that i mean tony will absolutely release said spiders back with their people. except nat, because she's scary. Who asks the the other to marry them: steve's joked around about that once. once. and tony did not take it well with his past history of failed relationships. not out of a fear of committment, are you kidding me, this is tony who makes being married a personality trait. but because he thinks he's a jinx. i can tell you one thing, it won't be him that asks, if they ever get around to doing something more official than cohabitating. shaking up. whatever you want to call it. not unless it's a jokey thing that gets taken seriously (which would change his tune embarrassingly fast). he's gunshy at this point. he's been engaged a few times and it's telling that he doesn't have like three divorces under his belt. and also they're still feeling out the new them, which is fine, it's good they're doing that. but he'd say yes in a heartbeat. Who buys the other flowers or gifts: the answer you're looking for is tony stark. it is tony stark who does this, thank you. it could be big things, like, i don't know, a mansion (hello, 890 5th avenue). training robots for the gym that...no one needs to know the price tag on that steve's going systematically tear apart. training scenarios for the danger room he's spent three days straight coding and putting together. new uniforms. or it could be little things like a book steve's been meaning to get and read or his favorite bagel or...either way. it's just who tony is, he can't help it. if he has it, he gives it. honestly i feel like at some point steve's just learned to roll with it because there's no stopping it. he's been doing it forever, since day one (hey guys, remember the cray mainframe?), but now he's signed up for no complaining so you know. that's on him. Who would bring up possibly having kids: said like it hasn't already happened. it's steve, by the way. it's 1000% steve and he's already done it and tony's giving ten million reasons why he shouldn't when he knows he's going to say yes, and so what i'm really getting at here is they need to start thinking nursery colors for the mansion, because they're not fooling anyone. and they're gonna be amazing parents and that kid is gonna be the most spoiled, loved, protected baby ever. she hit the jackpot and doesn't even know it. this is also the only superfamily content i am here for. just a dumbass, a himbo, and a superbaby. also consider. all the cute. knitted things. i demand cute knitted things, it's not up for debate. Who is more nervous to meet the parents: that's...not an issue, for one thing. for another, like. literally their entire friends group are...all...the same people. lbr there was literally a betting pool in place and i wonder who won. it keeps me up at night, wondering who cashed in on tony and steve no longer being quite as big of a pair of dumbasses as they have been. part of me hopes it was peter parker, i worry about you, spooder-min. Who sleeps on the couch when the other is angry: tony uh. will stay in his lab if they have a row but i can promise you he doesn't sleep much. if at all. it's part and parcel with the tony stark experience in this case. he'll stay in his hidey hole and be sad because steve's mad at him, but won't do anything about it at first, just stay and be sad. because he's sad. and also Feeling An Emotion is hard and they don't know how to use their words. Who tries to make up first after arguments: i'd argue 70% of the time it's probably tony. like, they're both stubborn, we know that. they both dig in their heels and think they're right, the other's wrong, and they're being stupid about it. and about some things they're just literally never going to agree but don't know how to agree to disagree. tony gets set in a rut and won't consider a deviation from what he's already decided is going to happen. steve gets mulish and refuses to listen to another point of view. they butt heads. but honestly, at this point, at the end of the day (if he can stop sulking), after everything that's happened? you know, at this point it's obvious that when they argue and stay mad, bad things tend to happen. tony doesn't even have memories of the worst of it but he knows he took it badly, let's be real here (i say, like badly's not a hilarious understatement). he may not apologize in a way that says he's wrong, but he may do it for helping escalate a fight. bc, you know, blah blah, not half as good as anything as i am doing it next to you, blah blah, azure eyes, blah blah, good morning beloved. Who tells the other they love them more often: honestly, now that those big scary words are out there, and there's no takebacksies in having said it, they've both been pretty free with them. making up for lost time, i guess. i think they have different tones, though. tony's as free with those with steve as he's ever been with anything else. he gives them...often? and with no expectation of anything in return. because that's how he's always been with steve. and from steve like...a lot of time it seems like...as much as he says it? it's a reassurance more than anything (because we know how tony is). sometimes tony even lets himself believe it without second guessing himself.

#shieldslinger #array //: ( ooc asks )#paradigm //: ( main )#bind //: ( shieldslinger :: there's that one you circle back to - for home )#// one day i'll do one of these memes without like #// writing a ship manifesto #// but today will not be that day #// anyway i fail at successfully putting into words #// how intense tony is about steve #// but here's this ig #array //: ( queue )

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mediaeval-muse · 5 years

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Book Review... Courtney Milan, “Unraveled”

Rating: 4/5 stars

Genre: historical romance

Part of a Series? Yes, Turner Series #3

Summary: Smite Turner is renowned for his single-minded devotion to his duty as a magistrate. But behind his relentless focus lies not only a determination to do what is right, but the haunting secrets of his past—secrets that he is determined to hide, even if it means keeping everyone else at arm's length. Until the day an irresistible woman shows up as a witness in his courtroom. Miranda Darling isn't in trouble—yet. But she's close enough that when Turner threatens her with imprisonment if she puts one foot wrong, she knows she should run in the other direction. And yet no matter how forbidding the man seems on the outside, she can't bring herself to leave. Instead, when he tries to push her away, she pushes right back—straight through his famous self-control, and into the heart of the passion that he has long hidden away.

***Full review under the cut.***

Overview: I haven’t read a lot of romance, but I think it’s safe to say that Courtney Milan is one of my favorite romance authors. I really enjoy the way she crafts engaging plots that are suspenseful and adventurous, all while featuring heroines that I find genuinely interesting - just the thing I like in my fantasy. The things I didn’t like about this book were all personal preferences, so any criticism I have is going to be tinged with bias. All in all, this book was a fun romance that indulged in a lot of fantasies while also giving readers characters that didn’t quite feel like archetypes, so it was a refreshing read.

Trigger Warnings: sexual content, abuse

Evaluation

Writing: Milan’s writing is descriptive without being oppressively literary. She effectively describes the setting without weighting readers down with details, but isn’t so “fluffy” that there’s no mood at all to her prose. Milan also does a good job of balancing telling with showing, so I never get the feeling that I’m receiving a lot of information all at once.

Plot: While the romance is entangled with the main action, there’s plenty of things going on in this book that don’t center on romance. I understand that some readers want the romance to be the main plot, but for me, I like when romance is supplemented by an adventure with real, human stakes. I felt like I got that in Unraveled, as I did with The Suffragette Scandal and The Duchess War. Smite Turner’s and Miranda Darling’s problems kept me interested in their stories, both as a couple and as independent characters. I very much enjoyed the book’s focus on class, criminality, and the justice system, as I felt it was light-hearted enough to not be depressing, but grounded enough to not idealize the real problems within these structures. Milan’s pacing is pretty good overall. She wastes no time at the beginning of the book introducing readers to characters, but lets the reader form an impression themselves by giving us a scene that sets the tone for the rest of the story. As a result, the plot kicks off right away, and it keeps moving until the end without feeling rushed. The only thing I didn’t like about the plot was the part when Miranda became Smite’s kept mistress. It’s not a knock against Milan - I just personally feel weirded out when a male character has financial power over a woman, even if she’s consenting and thwarts that power with her wit. Milan handles the situation well - I never felt like Smite was manipulating Miranda for sex or criticizing the sex industry. I just personally find those scenarios uncomfortable.

Characters: Of the romances I’ve read by Milan, all their heroines feel unique and three-dimensional. Miranda is no exception - she’s down-on-her-luck, economically, and has to navigate the criminal underbelly of Bristol, but I didn’t feel like she was an archetype. She was assertive without being brash, kind when I would expect her to be defensive, and had meaningful relationships with people other than her love interest. Smite was also interesting in that, as a magistrate, he didn’t quite fit the mold of the rich, aristocratic love interest that I see a lot in the romances I’ve read so far. He’s solidly upper middle class, so the fantasy isn’t totally abandoned, but it was nice to have a hero who wasn’t a lord or someone with a title. I also liked that he was stern without being cruel - I can’t stand possessive, mean-spirited, asshole love interests. There are some reviews out there who say he has Asperger’s, and while that’s never confirmed in the book and I’m not the one to say whether he is or is not good representation, I will say that if there are people who feel represented by him, that’s great. I didn’t quite find the Patron convincing, however. The Patron is the type of villain that operates from the shadows and has motives that I didn’t think were original or strong. But that’s just my opinion. Personally, I could have done with a plot more centered on power, so there’s a power struggle between the Patron’s law and governmental law (and thus, we could have a meditation on how governmental law is flawed and imperfect, but why we ultimately need it).

Other Romance: Since this book is a romance, and I didn’t cover the love story in my plot section, I suppose I should say a few words about it. While I didn’t like that Miranda became Smite’s kept mistress, I did find their love story to still be engaging. Smite is pretty stern, and while I would expect a love interest to come in like a whirlwind and totally upturn his world and break down his barriers by force, I rather liked that Miranda didn’t do that. Sure, she challenged him in many ways, but not by forcing him into anything. For example, there’s a part when Smite makes clear that he doesn’t like to be fussed over, and Miranda not only stops her fussing, but doesn’t do it again. That’s not to say she acquiesces to his every whim, but I liked that there were boundaries and respect for them when appropriate.

Moving on to Other Books in the Series? Probably.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re a romance reader, but especially if you’re looking for romances with atypical heroes and heroines. You might also like this book if you like reading about the criminal underbelly of Victorian England.

#book reviews

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clown-bait · 6 years

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Paranormal Journeys Part 7 (Monster Roommate AU)

WOW I FINALLY DID IT. So I started a new job and things have been NUTS but this fic is not dead and I am determined to finish it. And dont you worry folks I’m a stubborn ass who does not quit. So here it is the next chapter. Leech gets tortured a bit and Penny visits an old friend. Hope you guys like it!

Ch 7 Mike Hanlon gets a Visitor

A screech echoed though the old barn of the former Hanlon sheep farm. Leech glanced furiously around the stall she was in. A moment ago she was full and happy then suddenly a cloth was pressed to her mouth and a bag over her head.

“WHO THE FUCK IS THE IDIOT THAT CHLOROFORMED ME!!” The vampire roared “CAUSE I’D LIKE TO KNOW WHO’S HEAD IM RIPPING OFF FIRST!”

Her head snapped in the direction of footsteps and she tried to charge with supernatural speed but felt a short chain attached to her neck snap tight. The nosferatu snapped her jaws in frustration.

“Ok guys get everything ready make sure the cameras are rolling and somebody wake up Chris.” Zander shouted as he approached the struggling vampire.

“Don't worry we’re going to help you.”

“BITCH THE ONLY HELP I NEED IS FINDING SPACE TO STORE YOUR LEFTOVERS!!” She snapped.

The ghost hunter pulled a cross from his coat and held it out at the nosferatu who began to hiss loud and sweat. He quickly put it away at her reaction.

“She's possessed all right, did you see how much she recoiled in terror? this is definitely a powerful demon were dealing with here”

“Demon?! Motherfucker I'm friends with demons, you wouldn't know a demon if it came up and bit you in the ass.” Leech spat and pulled on her chain.

“Note the foul language and denial. The creature that has ahold of her is definitely scared and trying to protect its self.”

“Protect myself from what? This shit show excuse of a reality tv exorcism? Tell ya what, if you free my hands i’ll spew pea soup at big boy over there and speak latin backwards. These shackles are tight as fuck can’t a girl get a little comfort?”

“Gosh its foul mouthed.” the bigger ghost hunter said to the team.

“Yeah thats how they are bro it's definitely going to try to provoke us. Whatever you do don't engage.” Zander said to his team mate while placing different items on a table

“You started it.” Leech mumbled. “What are those?”

“We're going to force you out of this poor girl.”

“AH! So its to be torture! I can cope with torture.” Leech flashed a cocky grin and wiggled her eyebrows expectantly.

“Did you…. steal that line from Princess Bride?” the bigger ghost hunter Rick asked her.

“Eeeyyy! Someone finally gets my references! And to think I was gonna eat this guy first!”

“RICK don't engage it!” Zander hissed

“Found our villain! Now tell me do you have six fingers on your left hand or am I gonna be calling you Humperdink”

“I think it was the right hand” Rick interjected

“Huh no shi-OW FUCK JESUS CHRIST!!!” Leech screamed as holy water was flung at her face by the lead ghost hunter. A cluster of painful burns began to bubble on her skin where the water had landed. “RUDE!”

“Silence demon!”

“I’M NOT A DEMON! GOD you are like the biggest edge lord! What’s next? You gonna start shouting bible verses too like they do in the movies?” she snarled as Chris walked in the room.

“Z I had the weirdest fucking dream.”

“Not now bro we’re doing the exorcism.”

“Yeah poorly. Bet you dickbags got all your training from bad horror movies and porn parodies.”

“Sheesh that thing is nasty” Chris winced

“Demon Dick 5?” the Rick asked as his companions glared at him in shock and annoyance.

“One of my favorites Rick. I like this guy have him do the exorcism!”

“We've already wasted enough time!” Zander shouted and picked up a book from the table he began to read a passage and Leech dramatically pretended to hiss and writhe her tongue lolling out of her mouth. “Hahaha Man oh man if Phil could hear you guys talking about him like this he'd be laughing with me just as hard! Shit wait somebody text him for me!”

“Why would we do that? Also who's phil?”

“Oh right, Phil is Satan we used to play poker together before my boyfriend banned it from the house. Not my doing for once lets get that clear.”

“Don't listen to a word its saying guys”

“Aw come on Humperdink let me just text my buddy once” her eyes flashed white over in Rick’s direction before being splashed with holy water once again. The nosferatu’s skin sizzled and steam rose from her burns. “J-just….text…LOL getting… a half assed….exorcism…hit send…. mph there.”

Chris glanced over to Rick who’s eyes had rolled up into his head he was holding her cellphone which just buzzed with a notification. “RICK SNAP OUT OF IT!” he shouted and turned to the grinning vampire pelting a rock at her face. “LET HIM GO”

Leech spat as the stone broke her nose and looked back up sticking her tongue out through the black ichor dripping down her face.

“CHRIS! Control yourself!” Zander shouted and Leech winked back at the two.

“Read it Ricky!” she smirked.

“I-it says R-O-F-L cant be there, at yoga getting this ass….its a picture of a goat and a woman’s back side” Rick’s eyes rolled back down and Leech vomited a small amount of black goo onto the barn floor. “Phew that took more out of me than I thought” she muttered and panted.

“RICK!”

“I'm sorry she did something to my head!”

“Ok but can you at least show the picture though?” the vampire asked looking up from her now bruising eye and nose.

“NO!” the other two ghost hunters turned and shouted.

“OH COME ON! I wanna see that booty”

“WOW this thing is terrible!” Chris glanced over at Zander who was prepping to try another round of bible verses.

“I know bro this is one of the nastiest ones we've dealt with! This is pure evil we’re dealing with here.” The lead ghost hunter clapped his friend on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Aww I'm blushing! you really mean it?!” the vampire shouted to them

“Bro hand me my rosary.”

“What are those? Anal beads? So you HAVE seen Demon Dick 5!”

Zander got close and began to shout “IN THE NAME OF JESUS CHRIST I COMMAND YOU TO GET OUT OF THIS WOMANS BODY”

“Hahaha that was totally a direct quote.” Leech laughed again but was cut short when the silver cross dangled in front of her face “FUCK GET IT AWAY!” She hissed and the ghost hunter dangled it closer to her. Leech could feel her skin burn with heat where it drew close. The ghost hunter threw another wave of holy water at her and she hissed in pain face turning skeletal for a second as her skin sizzled. “A-all right if were gonna get straight into the kinky stuff we should at least have a safe word. Mine’s usually Float.” she tried to joke through the pain. Her skin was on fire with the crucifix being so close.

“Z I don't think she's a demon” Rick said tugging on his leaders arm

“Rick I’ve been at this way longer than you I know a demon when I see one”

“Bullshit you're doing this all wrong. Plus Im not a demon I can prove it too if you hand me that orange.” Leech panted.

“I don't know Z this could be a trick” Chris said with worry.

“Look have you ever seen one do some of the shit she just did? Just hand her the orange”

“Fine Rick. Fine. We’ll humor you but if nothing happens we’re getting right back to the exorcism.”

Zander rolled the fruit over to the vampire who glared up at him from her knees “You gonna undo my hands so I can eat this?”

“No.”

“Weeeelllll fuck you then! So much for what’s left of my dignity.” she grumbled and bent down to the floor biting into the fruit as best she could to suck out the juice. “Ahm hoing to rerhet hiss ho huch…” she said while her fangs sunk in. Leech came up with a weak expression on her battered and burnt face looking nauseous and dizzy. “You're all gonna wanna stand back when I- HURK!” the vampire suddenly lurched forward and spewed out blood and guts onto the barn floor in an inhuman amount. She kept going for a solid five minutes until Leech was slumped over supported by the chain around her neck. “Huh, is that an engagement ring? Shit I need to chew my food.” she wheezed before emptying the rest of her stomach contents.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!” all three ghost hunters screamed in unison.

“Yeah lets see Pazuzu pull that shit!” Leech grinned declaring victory before shouting at some unknown force in the ground “YOU HERE THAT ZUZU I JUST OUT WEIRDED YOU! WHATCHA GONNA DO NOW BITCH!? PEA SOUP GOT NOTHING ON ME!”

“Zander! If this is not a demon then what the hell is she bro?” Chris turned to his leader in a panic

“Nosferatu.” a vaguely familiar female voice said walking into the barn “What you're dealing with is a nosferatu.”

leech sniffed the air and snarled in disgust.

“Fuck.”

———————————————————————-

Somewhere in the town of Derry, Mike Hanlon was laying in his bed coming down from another high. It was time to turn in for the night but with all that had been going on the last couple days the librarian needed a fix…. just a quick one to calm the nerves. His night would be anything but calm when two glowing yellow eyes lit up his room like the obnoxious christmas lights his neighbors had set up.

“Mike” something whispered in the dark “Mike! Help us!” came another disembodied voice. He knew them all too well. The librarian sat up in his bed glancing around his room unaware of the creeping fingers clawing up his mattress. Burnt hands wrapped around the terrified man pinning him down while a disheveled looking monster from his childhood nightmares stepped into the moonlight.

“Thought you could trick me did ya Mikey? Thought you could fool Ol’Pennywise by taking what he loves most. Stupid boy! Stupid, stupid, stupid! No one fools me. no one.” the clown began his voice shaky and dangerous trying to mask the obvious panic behind it as he paced. The creature’s posture and gait reminded him of a nervous caged animal unpredictable and dangerous. Something was very wrong with IT.

“Y-you? W-hy are you here?” the librarian asked cautiously.

“TELL ME where she is SHEEP BOY. Tell Penny where his peachy is and he’ll make it much much quicker for you. Yes! A quick death or a slow one pick your path!” he snarled as Mike was trying to decide if he was still high.

“A-are you real?”

“REAL? Real THIS ISNT REAL ENOUGH FOR YOU MIKEY?”

Mike’s stomach flip flopped in realization of the little reminder of all those years ago. IT had to be real and now IT was in his bedroom.

“Penny knows you need time, yes iIknow you haven't figured out that stupid reptile’s riddles. Don't you fret sheep boy I am just here for her this time. Bring her to me, bring me my mate and you can go back to trying to understand what mortals cannot.” IT was frantically babbling around his room pacing like a tiger in a small cage looking almost fearful its self. Mike remembered that look well the last emotion he saw on ITs face before it vanished down that hole. Something was very, very wrong.

“A mate? …You?!” he asked trying to keep the creature talking to piece the situation together as best he could.

The clown shot him an unamused look as if this was far from the first time someone has asked that. “Where is my Leechie!? I am the questioner here!”

“You're talking about Lucy right? Something’s happened to her?”

“Lucy… Lucy yes, yes her human name. Don’t play games sheep boy release her to me!” Pennywise snarled while he stalked beginning to impatiently kick things over and sniff items of clothing desperate for that sweet smell of blood and ashes.

“Even if I did know where she is, why would I help you?”

The clown roared and charged forward coming in close to the trapped man on the bed fangs bared long and needle like. IT spat in Mike’s face drool and bits of flesh hitting his skin as it spoke. Something was very off with IT more so than usual, as if possessed by some sort of ancient instinct overriding its usual demeanor.

“You want to stop me don't you? I’ll let you live Mikey! Yesss I’ll let you try! One free shot! Just give me my Peachy!” IT was bargaining now just like it did in the cistern 27 years ago. The clown must be desperate.

“I don't have her” the librarian spat back at the clown who snarled and grabbed his throat. Suddenly Mike felt searing pain in his mind as IT forcibly invaded his thoughts its eyes blackened on the edges pupils drifting off into different directions till he found what he was looking for and returned them to focus. IT’s face changed again from rage, to shock and finally to embarrassment. In IT’s hate fueled assault on its enemy IT had made a grave mistake. Mike had nothing to do with his precious mate. In fact all Pennywise had done was just reveal his greatest weakness to his greatest enemy. IT had messed up and it had messed up bad.

The clown released the librarian and awkwardly backed up off the bed eyes large and wide. Wordlessly, IT glanced over to Mike’s bedroom door and without breaking eye contact opened it while silently slinking out like a dog with its tail between its legs. The hands around the librarian vanished into smoke and everything became calm and quiet around him. “What the hell just happened?” he asked the empty void not expecting to get a response and not sure if he wanted one either.

———————————

Pennywise returned to his home to find his…..friends? Seated on his couch awaiting the result of his hasty impromptu rescue mission. That, and they were probably mad that he tore Freddy’s head back off in rage. Even his cat seemed a bit upset with him.

“Well? Did you embarrass yourself?” Chucky asked him taking a drag from one of Leech’s joints.

“It…..it wasn't the librarian…” the clown muttered.

“Oh yeah he embarrassed himself.” Freddy laughed still applying a few more staples to his neck.

“Hey if Fangs doesn't come back can I use her room? Thinkin’ about making it into a nice man cave” Chucky boldly asked earning him a death glare from the distressed clown.

Penny snarled and shooed everyone away from his couch snatching up Church to absentmindedly pet as if the cat was a coping mechanism for his current state. What if she doesn't come back? There were emotions he was feeling he didn't think were possible. His new strange instinct to protect driving him to near insanity as he was currently in a constant war with himself to drive the feeling back. Nature and ego raged war inside the eldritch being.

His inner thoughts were interrupted when the door to Neibolt House creaked open the residents all took their leave except the owner who still sat on his couch stroking his cat not wanting to put any effort into this one.

“H-Hello?” a voice called out. “Uh clown? Pennywise?” Mike had never actually called the clown by name before it felt weird on his tongue.

Something appeared behind the librarian blocking his exit.

“What do you want” IT hissed low and in a whisper. Mike turned to see the god of fear its self looming behind him with a plump dirty grey cat tucked under its arm. The two stared at each other in hatred and confusion. The librarian looked at Church and back to the clown.

“Is that a cat?”

“Possibly..”

“Are you going to explain why you have it?”

“No.”

“….what the hell happened to you?” Mike whispered half to the clown half to himself.

“Why are you here?” pennywise snarled growing impatient.

“I cant believe I'm saying this but I'm here to….help.”

“YOU WHAT?!” the house shook with the inhuman roar released from Pennywise’s throat.

“LET ME EXPLAIN HOLD ON!” the librarian put his hands out in an attempt to calm the savage beast who had nearly thrown the animal in its arms.

“You have five seconds human before I tear out your eyes.”

“Look you want your…uh girlfriend or whatever she is back. I need more time to figure out how to kill you.”

“Is this a bargain?” the clown raised his eyebrow suspiciously.

“Whoever has her is most likely trying to get to you and will try to harm you as well. We both know all they will do is send you back to sleep and if that happens I can’t stop you and you lose the girl. I can help you get her back. I have a way into the farm, and I can distract whoever has her as a friendly face. Then we can go back to trying to kill each other, business as usual.”

The clown glared at mike with a fury that made the librarian tremble with fear. This had been a mistake he was going to die and everything will be ruined on this stupid risk.

“You dare assume I cannot solve my own problems sheep boy?? What’s to stop me from tearing you apart right now.”

“That.” Mike pointed behind the clown. Pennywise slowly turned to see a box with a balloon tied to it specifically just to mock him. The clowns eyes grew wide as he sniffed the air and saw the black ooze leaking out of the corner of the cardboard. With careful claws he opened the lid and peered inside letting out one of the most horrifying sounds Mike Hanlon had ever heard in his life. The box was thrown to the floor and an object rolled out of it. It was a cold pale finger tipped with a sharp feminine nail and the blood that leaked from it was black.

-------------------

Uh oh what did Leechie do this time? Poor clown be going NUTS over all this. Im so excited to do some frenemy shit with Pen and Mike like Ive been DYING to get here. Also its Leech’s turn to meet an old enemy. Wonder who it is?

#monster roommate au #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise x oc #horror fanfiction #slasher fanfiction #it fanfiction #losers club #mike hanlon #nosferatu oc #vampire oc #leech needs to stop antagonizing people

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socialmediamarketingbd · 4 years

Text

5 Key Considerations for a Compelling Social Media Marketing Approach

A brief clap-back is what sparked the "hen sandwich battle" of 2019. Complying with the launch of Popeyes' chicken sandwich, Chick-fil-A made an indirect jab at the firm on Twitter, and much less than three hours later obtained a snarky reply.

Popeyes' amusing feedback brought about prevalent support for the brand name and even more sustained a nationwide discussion about which sandwich was much better. The resulting 265,662 Twitter states, insurance coverage on the radio, cord news, as well as across the majority of primary online and print information electrical outlets made Popeyes $65 million in media worth. The burger itself sold out two weeks after launch, bring about a 10.2% renovation in same-store sales - the brand name's most nuanced performance on that statistics in the last five years.

Popeyes maintained this momentum, passing reacting to one more tweet from Wendy's, responding to client tweets, announcing details of the restock, and taking extra digs at Chick-fil-A.

How Online Retailers Can Turn come back Into a Competitive Advantage

Explore precisely how to leverage an excellent returns plan to tackle typical issues and improve the client trip proactively.

" We just desired to do our best not to kill the vibe," says Bruno Cardinali, a marketing executive at Popeyes, that states that each decision to sign up with the discussion was intentional and also educated by their method.

Cardinali also keeps in mind that combining a top-quality product, a distinctive brand name voice, and an incorporated method to social media marketing sites is what led to enduring outcomes.

Achieving those viral success levels is what every social media marketer dreams of - however, exactly how can you do it? Exactly how can you re-create the success of a project such as this within your process?

Right here are some pointers, based on this and also various other social project success stories.

Lead with an engaging item or service

Having unique products or services worth promoting is a need for any efficient social networks project, as the quality of your offerings is what causes a conversation.

" It's important to invest the proper time to create something that's actually impressive and actually impressive that drives individuals to react," says Cardinali.

Cardinali claims that Popeyes' chicken sandwich was in production for four years before its launch in 2019, with a process that involved producing the sandwich, performing item tests, sourcing the best providers, as well as training their 2,400+ places on how to prepare the sandwich.

For your company, the procedure for establishing a worthwhile product may be surpassing market quality criteria, running extensive top quality control screening, or adapting to customer responses regarding a product group.

It's similarly essential for marketers to impact the cues that influence the "understanding of product quality" - like an organization's track record, referral rates, third-party testimonials, and product discussion.

Improving an item's discussion is what the advertising and marketing team at BarkBox, a membership service for canine items, has the ability to do when it works together with the design team behind the company's canine playthings. The developers will undoubtedly ask "whether we think something has the capacity to go viral, or just how much of a picture moment we assume people are mosting likely to have with a certain toy," says Alexis Nelson, the manager of the social network at BarkBox.

Obtain social network information such as this in your inbox daily. Sign Up For Social Media Today:

Email: Sign up

These suggestions can vary from modifying an upcoming product's look to enhance its efficiency on social networks, to tips on what to introduce next. The listed below photo of their popular cactus toy earned 1,700 remarks and 125,000+ upvotes on Reddit, which is the kind of response BarkBox makes use of to inform future products.

" If you do not have something that's sharable concerning [your items], you're going to be stuck at the will of paid advertising permanently," includes Nelson.

Express your brand name

Establishing a technique that specifies your brand's perspective, consumer identities, and intonation is vital for market positioning and attaching with your target market. A brand name functions as a referral of what customers can get out of a business, which is particularly relevant for customer packaged items, with a 25% gross-margin benefit.

Establishing these guidelines aids Popeyes to recognize how they ought to communicate as a brand name, and where they fit into the social minutes on social media, claims Cardinali. This requires interacting in a kicked back tone with a southern twang on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook for the fast-food chain.

With their very own viewpoint, it's much easier for Popeyes to evaluate which discussions deserve joining, what subjects should be resolved, as well as exactly how to connect with certainty.

For BarkBox, humor goes to the core of their messaging on social networks as they aim to replicate how canines can be ridiculous, tongue-in-cheek, as well as a little lively sometimes, claims Nelson. "We use our social media to express that we don't take ourselves extremely seriously," she adds, it's the "distinction in between us and a great deal of various other rivals in the animal market."

Their amusing technique is best seen in their campaign around National Squirrel Appreciation Day, which is the type of social media occasion that typically gets disregarded. The effort was focused around squirrels taking control of BarkBox's social network accounts to seek vengeance, considering that the brand name sells a variety of squirrel playthings.

Each social account published squirrel driven web content, while e-mails sent out during the campaign featured zany duplicate and also weird visuals of the squirrels taking over.

While such a campaign wouldn't benefit much business, it lined up with the BarkBox brand name because of its funny tone and also out of the box imaginative choices targeted at dog proprietors.

Many firms do not provide their strategy to a specific target market on social networks as well as try to get to everybody - and obtain largely overlooked at the same time. You can help to avoid this end result by developing a memorable brand with committing the moment and also sources to developing a detailed technique, then staying with it.

Set apart by focusing on a typical worry

Communicating regarding a typical issue is a reliable means of making use of social networks to highlight exactly how your offerings are the much better option, though this does require an eager understanding of your clients as well as what's available in the market.

For example, Bud Light shared exactly how their beer isn't brewed with corn syrup in their Super Bowl ad, YouTube videos, and also across Instagram, Twitter, and also Facebook. Attempting to appeal to health-conscious beer enthusiasts, the brand intended to identify itself by calling out Miller Lite and Coors Light to make use of corn syrup in their drinks.

Social media site is the ideal medium to promote such comparisons, as spectators, competitors, as well as customers can help include presence to the discussion. Miller Lite, as well as the National Corn Growers Association, rapidly responded on Twitter by pressing back on their cases, while Heineken, Samuel Adams, Bacardi, Perrier, and others included in the discussion.

Comparing their competitors straight by appealing to a typical issue resulted in 47,000 discusses of the Bud Light advertisement on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, as well as Reddit. In this instance, an adverse was that the campaign did result in legal difficulties for the firm, highlighting another concern to note. But the initiative successfully enhanced word-of-mouth and connected a one-of-a-kind element of the brand name's items.

Select a common concern to concentrate on by investigating what your consumers appreciate and determining what's genuinely special concerning your items as contrasted to others (see to it you keep those cases within legal bounds).

Encourage fans to run conversations.

A seemingly innocuous Facebook ad from BarkBox led commenters to contrast among the featured pet dog playthings to a grown-up item, which could have hurt the brand name's reputation. Instead, then conceal the risque commentary or take down the ad, their group decided to leave funny replies, possessing it, rather than hesitating.

Their efforts created 1,200 sales of their six and twelve-month registrations by responding with the wit to the unforeseen comments. Urging a discussion such as this is just one of the ideal uses social media sites, as a popular conversation can introduce more potential consumers to your business via their trusted network.

" We saw a possibility to be very silly in such a way also we aren't commonly allowed to, simply due to the fact that of the nature of the situation," adds Nelson. This resulted in more conversation from fans, a round-up of the craziest back and forth moments making a grip on Facebook, and numerous media electrical outlets covering the event.

BarkBox transformed a possibly harmful layout mistake right into a chance to make fun of themselves, earn word-of-mouth, and boost sales by 200% above average.

There's a selection of methods which to encourage discussion on social media, past discussing a controversial topic. You could consider producing an ambassador program - the Know Your Lemons Foundation, a charity that educates women on the indicators of bust cancer, developed a plan for volunteers to help spread their message.

" They act as our boots on the ground to aid people to connect to regional health solutions online and offline," claims Corrine Ellsworth-Beaumont, the founder of the charitable. After finishing an online training course, each volunteer is given a kit of academic materials to aid them in instructing family and pals concerning detecting bust cancer cells early. The set offers a PowerPoint deck, the "Know Your Lemons" application, digital games to play with learners, and visuals illustrating bust cancer indicators.

According to reporting from Mention, these images have been widely shared on Facebook and Twitter, causing over ten billion perceptions of the campaign.

This qualification ensures that each volunteer is outfitted with current details and recognizes just how to share this info in-person and on social media properly. An ambassadors program like this one can make it simpler for individuals to share precise information and make promotion for the organization through social networks.

And also, while these volunteers participate in the program in order to impact individuals' lives, there's a variety of means firms can incentivize engagement for even more promotional functions.

One strategy is to continually feature your clients in your social media sites marketing, which signals to them that their participation might result in being highlighted.

To enhance the visibility for the appreciation of their poultry sandwich, Popeyes periodically retweets the favorable as well as funny tweets from clients commending food selection things.

Consisting of customers in your messaging matters - research performed by Ling Tung University in 2018 located that an individual's sense of subscription on social networks can have a favorable result on their brand loyalty.

Individuals appreciate the chance to be acknowledged by their favored companies, as belonging to the discussion shows that their content was interesting enough to share. Furthermore, these discussions on social networks are genuine, natural, and organic, and extra persuading recommendation than a brand name can provide Cardinali.

Likewise, BarkBox releases memes, pictures, and videos on their accounts from consumers, giving them credit rating in the subtitle of each message. The #BarkBoxDay hashtag has been made use of over 235,000 on Instagram and also is prominently included on the inserts in each bundle, as well as on the hang tags of every toy, in order to urge use.

To generate discussion about your brand name, don't shy away from hard discussions, consider an ambassadors program, and also seek to feature your clients whenever feasible.

Incorporate social media throughout the company

A WhatsApp group chat is where Popeyes' advertising and marketing, legal, and firm groups all connect about their recent social networks strategy, says Cardinali. They are focusing on one resource of communication for all appropriate stakeholders at Popeyes aids to ensure that they have an integrated approach to social networks throughout divisions.

A place for sharing their most recent press protection, notable web content, and pertinent pop-culture moments, the conversation is a space to explore possibilities to be involved on social media and keep track of the conversation. This chat is one of the reasons their team was able to generate an enlightened action to the notorious Chick-fil-A tweet in under three hours.

"Once we determine to participate in a conversation, innovative options are produced, everybody gives the essential approvals, as well as from there we can quickly react," includes Cardinali.

A fast reaction from BarkBox is likewise what caused the success of their action to the dilemma over the unexpected item comparison - the customer support group observed repeated inappropriate discussion their Facebook ad, including the item, and quickly alerted the social team for their input on the following steps. Open up communication between both departments aided the firm rapidly make the most of the minute to attain a favorable outcome.

Brands ought to seek to facilitate cross-departmental collaboration by outlining straight-forward communication practices and also picking simple tools. It's these critical options that make each clap-back, discussion, and project on social media job - profiting your company at the same time.

These are a few of the key aspects that have actually helped these significant brand names in tapping right into rising fads and creating cultural, impactful social media sites moments for their campaigns. The crucial lies in keeping a pulse on the most recent happenings, as well as responding promptly when a chance emerges. And also, those changes will not constantly be apparent, which is why it's worth assuming outside the box, as well as taking into consideration the manner ins which each incident can be made use of as a brand name possibility.

#social media #social #social media marketing #marketing #facebook #twitter #linkedin #youtube #tumblr #instagram #mix #gab

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infjingontheroad · 7 years

Text

The Types as People I Know (by an INFJ)

INTP

N e r d

doesn’t know what’s going on 90% of the time

literally one of the most learned people I know but always acts like they don’t know even the simplest thing

cinnamon roll

also incredibly humble and always willing to learn more

surprisingly good at sports

conversations either die in 2 seconds or go on for 21 hours, there is no in between

only wants everybody to get along but doesn’t know how

INFP

F I

not everything in your life wants to challenge your Fi or attack your values, relax mate

super reserved, like, needs a 8-year friendship, two empty bottles of wine, a broken heart and for it to be either 2 or 3 am to finally open up a little

that weird friend with the weird interests™

impossibly unease with feelings, especially other people’s

has very strong opinions about everything

devoted crack shipper

loyal af, they will die before stabbing you in the back

ENFP

never runs out of conversation topics

head in the clouds 24/7

their Si will remember everything you did wrong forever so think twice before pissing them off

seems random but give them a second and the’ll show you that they were actually on topic the whole time

Your Fi-Te will hurt someone some day, speaking your mind about everything is not always the right choice

a child, a literal child: hold their hand when you hang out because they could literally get lost in a 5 feet room

ENFJ

thinks they know everything about you even if you never exchanged a word with them

secretly judging you

the definition of rushing to conclusions cause no, it’s not INFJs: we have been wrong the whole time

will try to save you somehow

you don’t know it yet, but you definitely need saving. just accept it

cute and caring on the outside, shrewd mastermind on the inside

currently tending to 12347876 humanitarian projects but still looking for more

ESFJ

too cute asdfghjkl

always clueless but gets away with it because cute

could befriend a rock

children, they are always surrounded by children

secretly santa

if they haven’t lost every single one of their possessions yet is only because they surround themselves with Te users

transparent and pure in a scary way like, holy shit, how can you wear your heart on your sleeve all the time like that???

will cry because other people are crying

ISFJ

the mom friend™

their Si is scary

soft on the outside, more organized than an obsessive compulsive ESTJ on the inside

most stubborn person I know like, try to change their mind, just try, you won’t succeed, you cannot succeed

would cut off their own hand rather than hurt your feelings

master of small talk

cares for you by micromanaging your life with a smile

Ne will not kill you, if you dye your walls a different color for the first time in 34 years it will not be the end of the world, I promise

ISFP

sugar and spice and everything nice

also long walks in the woods and exercising at first light

restless and peaceful at the same time, they are what I believe nirvana must feel like

you never know what goes on inside their head: mass murder? the cure for cancer? recipes for creative pasta sauces? beats me

cute and genuine, only wants to have a good time but extremely chill about it

has 4.0 gpa but still dismisses it as ‘nothing important’

ISTP

too cool for you™

chill and detached

world war iii and nuclear explosions could be raging outside but they would still have their breakfast, shower, and wear comfy clothes like nothing’s happening

feelings? what feelings?

their Ti’s laziness saved their life more times than they know

occasionally prone to philosophical conversations

likes to be obnoxious just to be obnoxious but actually cares v deeply about you and your feelings

ESTP

chill, so chill all the time, give me some of your chill please

how can you trust the moment like that??? how can you rush into things without a second thought?

poker face master

busy all the time, a free second is a lost second

has no idea what they’re doing but still looks like they’ve got this 100%

likes to muse about abstract concepts but loses interest pretty soon

“relax. everything’s fine” they said before everything started being NOT fine

never listens to elders

procrastinates life changing decisions like a pro

ESFP

the friend you need

will rationalize all of your problems and then take you out for shopping and dinner to cheer you up

outspoken and blunt like o m g you are hurting other people’s feelings!

makes life changing decisions in 2.0 seconds

“i’m bored, let’s do something”

name a tv series. they’ve watched it. name a film. they’ve watched it. name a book. they’ve read it. they do nothing but engage in media consumption

will always pretend they’re fine

works only on Te induced panic

ESTJ

wants you to go straight to the point

could socialize with a rock

meets people they know wherever they go, has probably acquaintances on the moon too

why do i always feel like I did something wrong when I’m with you?

so organized, so reliable, so strong, so emotionally repressed

will panic if things don’t go as planned, Ne is a bitch

surprisingly creative and a very very good listener, also humble

will never ever tell you how they feel

always gets your shit together for you. you are welcome

ENTJ

kinda scary

always wants more, perfection can be perfectioned

takes everything as a competition

they’ve played all the videogames you can think of. name one. they played it, they owned it, they established the new national record

probably a serial killer

so smart asdfghhjkl

are they serious? are they joking? are they secretly planning your murder? you will never know

every time they smile, a puppy dies

i admire your hold on Se, like yes tell that bitch who’s boss

INTJ

social situation? what social situation?

they know, they always know. they’ve known it all along. listen to them or have them tell you they knew for the next 46 years. up to you

sexually attracted to calendars and planners

they probably own a death note but are too lazy to use it. for now.

systematical nerd

a w k w a r d a s h e l l

can’t handle conversations with more than one person at a time

has 74 different tumblr blogs, one for each of their various interests. either tags everything or tags nothing

INFJ

everything must have a deeper meaning, things are always a metaphor for something else

probably knows everything about your life dreams and secret fears and ambitions but forgot about your birthday 3 seconds after you told them the date

clumsy af, never leave them alone, they can’t care for themselves

will make people happy at any cost but in their own way with their own time

ends up making people AND themselves unhappy in the process

cannot talk for the life of them but writes beautifully

craves deep connections and tea

wants to save the world someday but is content with just imagining it for now

ISTJ

knows what they wanted to do with their life since they were 4

is slowly getting there

bitter and sarcastic like a grumpy Victorian old lady

hardcore shipper

created 15 power point presentations to prove that JohnLock is canon

gravitates toward chocolate and mechanical pencils

that one fanwriter you adore

has vintage but amazing fashion sense, their hair and makeup is always on point

ENTP

chaotic tsundere

had a feeling, once

has currently 459 open tabs and it’s not even the most they’ve ever had

let’s spend the next ten years discussing science together please

always knows the best way to make fun of someone but use themselves as favorite target

played devil’s advocate just to piss people off so many times they can no longer tell when they’re playing devil’s advocate but people still get pissed so everything’s good i guess

“yes but what if-”

doesn’t know where whores go

#mbti #intj #intp #infp #infj #entp #enfp #entj #enfj #istj #estj #isfp #istp #esfj #isfj #estp #esfp

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arazialotis · 7 years

Text

Austin Nights - Part 4

Pairing: Single!Jensen × Reader

Word Count: About 3000

Summary: The reader lives in Austin and unknowingly runs into Jensen at a bonfire and sparks fly. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: Language, Implied Smut? (not sure if that’s a warning or not)

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.

----

When morning finally came, you had found yourself in the clean crisp white sheets of Jensen’s hotel room. Although last night was a blur of which time was lost, you clearly remembered every moment. The anticipation, the rush, the car ride to the hotel when hands couldn’t be kept off each other, hardly being able to make it to the elevator where your lips met passionately again, and eventually having so much of him that you passed into sleep in a state of ecstatic exhaustion.

You reached over for Jensen but didn’t find him there. You sat up pulling up the sheets to cover your bare chest as you looked around the room. Last night had you focused on other things than the details of the room. Seeing it now, it was essentially the same size of your apartment if not bigger. The bedroom led to an entryway and to the other side a marbled bathroom. A half wall separated the bedroom from what appeared at first glance to be a living room with huge gaping windows flooding with natural light. From the building outside the window, you presumed you were downtown and high up.

You slide towards the edge of the bed wanting to explore more and to find Jensen. As you stood, the pleasant ache in your thighs was undeniable. If you weren’t planning to soak up every moment you had with Jensen, you could have spent all day in bed recovering. You wrapped the sheets around you leaving only your back exposed. The sun’s warmth increased as you made your way closer. The living room consisted of a white couch and two matching love seats surrounding a TV bigger than yours. You curiously made your way to the window and gulped from the height.

A voice cleared their throat and when you looked you jumped in fear seeing that it was not Jay. The man appeared to be in a hotel uniform. You tightened the sheets around your body. He was in another extension of the room which appeared to be a kitchen and dining room.

“I’m sorry to intrude ma’am, your evening dress has been dry cleaned and pressed and is waiting for you in the bathroom.” He stated.

You were shocked by his intrusiveness and formality. “Uh, where’s Jensen?”

“Mr. Ackles had a scheduled engagement this morning and wishes I pass along his regrets. He ordered ahead breakfast and will join you shortly.” He explained.

“Um, okay.” You murmured.

He continued setting the table as you stood frozen unsure of what to do.

“I’ll step out for now, if you require any further assistance, simply buzz.” He pointed to the wall and left through a side door from the dining area.

“Any further assistance ma’am...” You mocked him silently under your breath.

Despite your sour attitude, you couldn’t resist the smell of what breakfast await for you at the table. You gathered the half of the sheet that was dragging on the floor in your hand and wandered over there. The hotel room only expanded when you noticed a set of hidden stairs that lead up to an open loft which contained an office space. You swore under your breath only imagining what it must have cost. The fanciest place you had ever stayed was a Comfort Inn..

As you looked at the spread on the glass table, it was clear it wasn’t complimentary. Jensen, it seemed, must have ordered one of everything. You sat in front of a chair that had pancakes with berries and a sprig of something green probably just to make it look fancier. After tossing the green to another plate, you took a piece of pancake. You had to admit, it was one of the best pancakes you had ever had. It tasted healthy yet it was so light and fluffy. Taking a sip of orange juice, you realized it was actually a mimosa. You brought your knees up to your chest still sitting in the chair overwhelmed by such unfamiliar surroundings and extravagance. If only you had your spray paint cans, so you could graffiti ‘Keep Austin Weird’ across the two story windows.

Jensen came up behind you and lightly kissed you on your head while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Mornin’.” He said softly and sat down next to you and made himself a plate. “Sorry, I had an early appointment and didn’t want to wake you.”

You raised your eyebrows acknowledging you heard him. You analyzed him in the surroundings realizing you have never been with him in a setting like this. It had only just been outdoors and through Skype. But he seemed to fit perfectly here.

“Are you not hungry?” He asked concerned.

“Oh, no, I mean yes. I only just started before you got here.” You stammered and took another small bite. “How long are you here for?”

“I’m all yours today but I have to get back. My flight leaves Monday afternoon.” He said.

“Then I am calling in sick Monday to see you off.” You decided.

“You don’t have to do that, it was just the earliest flight I could get.” He explained.

“I want to, I have plenty of sick days left. Besides, it will be an empowering opportunity for the school to deal with a crisis on their own.” You explained.

“Spoken like a true social worker.” He softly laughed. “In that case, why don’t you call in sick for the week and come up with me.”

“I probably can’t this week, but I have enough saved up for the plane tickets and started on hotel funds, so maybe in two months or so.” You proposed.

“You know you can just stay with me.” He said.

“You could’ve just stayed with me…” You argued.

“I wanted to give Angie her privacy.” Jensen explained.

“Oh, trust me, Ang would have flipped her lid with joy if you had stayed with us.” You continued to debate.

“Then let me rephrase. I wanted to give us some privacy.”

You huffed and looked out the window knowing you couldn’t argue back. You knew fully well you were being unreasonable and that you needed to let the past be the past.

“What’s wrong?” Jay pried.

“Nothing.” You huffed again.

“Come here.” He motioned playfully and threw you over his shoulder, his hand wandering up your thigh.

You squealed and laughed in delight as he threw you down on the bed. Jay jumped on the bed as well, straddling your waist. He kissed the nape of your neck as his hands pinned your arms down as you tried to get away.

“I thought I had warned you about the consequences of stubbornness.” He said before deeply kissing you on the lips.

“If this is the consequence, I am afraid you’re only encouraging it, Mr. Ackles.” You remarked smiling into another kiss.

“Then you leave me no choice.” He said flopping down on the bed beside you, all allure and desire faded from his eyes.

“Oh my god, are you pouting?” You asked laughing. He cracked a smile but didn’t answer.

You straddled him and let the sheet fall exposing your chest. You watched as his focused shifted and eyes moved back and forth, fire immediately coming back to his dazzling green eyes.

“Say I was willing to compromise...” You said as you rubbed your hands under his shirt. “If you let me pay for my flight up,” You ran finger underneath his jeans and popped the button, his eyes grew big. “I’ll stay with you.” You finished by undoing his zipper.

“Your negotiating tactics are cruel.” He panted.

You leaned over to kiss him but hovered just above his mouth as your chest almost met his. “I’ll also need at least two weeks to properly request time off from work.”

“I’ll take what I can get.” He settled scanning your eyes.

“Alright then.” You jumped off him satisfied with your deal. “I’ll come.”

“Yes.. you will,” He growled hungrily and pinned you once again.

----

Once the two of you finally made your way into reality, you dragged him up and down South Congress, particularly wanting to stop in Uncommon Objects. You goofed around there for a while, giving backstories to the taxidermy, modeling hats or glasses, Jensen swearing certain items were possessed. Eventually, you felt bad for spending time there but not spending any money and started to look more seriously at what was for sale. Jensen took that as a cue to push you out afraid if you were separated from any of your money it would delay your travel further. He got you as far as Home Slice where you convinced him to sit down and split a pizza with you.

“Eggplant, really?” Jensen asked in disgust after the waiter took your order.

“It’s life changing. Trust me.” You assured.

“I’m not convinced.” He said.

“You will be.” You smiled. “So, what’s on the agenda for this evening?”

He thought a bit. “Well, I did tell Angie that I would pay her back for helping me out last night.’

“How’d that go by the way?” You asked curious how she reacted.

“At first she thought I was some random creep, then she thought she was being punked, and then she started crying when she realized it was real.” He explained. “I had to stop her from running straight to you.”

“She’s a good friend. I feel guilty for never telling her.” You explained.

“I don’t think she’ll hold it against you.” He thought. “And aside for inviting her out to drinks tonight, I also gave her permission to be the first to make us public.”

“Public?” You asked confused.

“Yeah, like letting my fans know, certain press agencies, facebook official kinda stuff.” He explained. “Only if you are ready though.”

“Oh.” It was all you could really get out. You had never really thought about it for yourself and what it would mean. You had always been content just keeping it between you and him at his request. “Well, if Angie knows, we don’t really get a choice.” You laughed.

“Of course we do.” Jensen stated confused. “I just want you to think about it. It would be big for you, people digging into your life and past, trying to get pictures of and with you, letters good and some bad.”

“Listen. I get what you are saying and I love Angie to a fault, but if she knows, everyone knows.” You tried to convince him which must have worked by the look on his face and pulled out his phone quickly searching through Twitter and then writer some memos. “Um, probably not yet. She’ll want to stage it. You said we were meeting up with her?”

“Yeah, Jared’s bar… San Jac something…” He said still distracted by writing down a few things.

“Jared? I’m not giving that scoundrel any of my money.” You teased.

“Jokes on him, we drink free.” Jensen played back.

“In that case, we should have been drinking an hour ago.” You started to get up out of the seat. Jensen called your bluff and you sat down still waiting on the pizza.

When the pizza finally arrived you dug in, folding it like a true New York style. “You know this is our first like sit down actual date.” You pondered while chewing, Jensen watching you with amusement.

He mimicked you folding the pizza, “That’s weird, you’re right.” He thought about it too

“It’s weird that I'm right?” You asked jokingly.

“You know what I mean...” He said before taking his first bite.

Eventually, after the hilariousness of watching Jay try the eggplant pizza and relaxing back at the hotel. You made your way to the San Jac Saloon. It was definitely more ‘honky tonk’ than you expected but it seemed reasonably fun.

I high pitched scream broke your observation of the place and brought everyone's attention to you. You saw Ang running to you in full force and embracing you nearly lifting you off the ground.

She continued to squeal. “Oooh, I am so happy for you!!! I could barely hold it in.” She set you back down on the ground. “How'd you manage to hide it so long? I knew something was up. I knew it.” You laughed nervously tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you doing wearing the same dress? I packed you a weekend bag?” She continued to ramble not giving you a gap to answer.

She quieted when Jensen got closer to the conversation. “I'm afraid that would be my fault... you could say I got distracted and left it in the rental.”

Angie still looking star struck, mouth gaping and all, still getting used to the idea of him around. “Can I give you a hug too?” She asked shyly.

To which he replied “Of course.” And wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she quietly squeaked with delight.

She ran back to the bar grabbing your arm dragging you there as well. “I already got shots lined up for us.”

Jensen calmly followed behind and shook the bar tenders hand.

“Okay, so it's lick, sip, suck.” She explained to Jay who was shockingly already setting himself up. She looked at you surprised. “Alright then, 3, 2, 1!” She exclaimed and you finished a bit behind the two of them.

“Ah shit, I’m not in college anymore Ang.” You cursed.

“I think I can feel the hangover already.” Jensen playfully moaned.

“We’re just getting started. ‘Nother round, ‘nother round.” Angie chanted until new glasses were filled.

“If you hadn’t figured it out, Ang somehow survives solely off of this stuff.” You commented to Jay.

“I don’t always party, but when I do I party hard.” She stated trying to impersonate the Dos Equis man while sipping one down in between shots.

“BS! When are you not partying?” You hit her blissfully.

“8 to 5, Monday through Friday.” She laughed.

“Excluding lunch hour.” You nudged her.

“You know it!” She exclaimed. “Here we go again, 3, 2 1!”

You hissed away the second shot. “Okay, no more tequila.”

“Agreed,” Jensen said handing you a beer.

“So where’s Jare Bear?” Angie asked loudly her inhibitions quickly leaving her.

Jensen forced a laugh. “Still up filming, even for me to take the weekend was nearly impossible… you'll probably hear more about him down here in May.”

“Then I'll just have to steal Y/N as my dance partner.” Angie yelled before grabbing your arm and taking you to the dance floor.

“What? Angie, no.” You softly protested but immediately gave in to have fun with her.

She was throwing out moves never seen before while you took a more conservative approach. After about two songs she started getting handsy and took you by the waist spinning you around. You laughed and tried to search for Jensen in the crowd. When you finally caught his eye you mouthed ‘save me’. He chuckled but waved your pleas away. You continued to dance and eventually took Angie’s hand and twirled her around to make your escape.

Jensen, however, had appeared right behind you, taking your hands after placing the infamous cowboy hat on your head.

“Howdy.” He said all sultry.

“Hey there cowboy.” You answered. “What changed your mind?”

“Your contagious smile.” He flirted. “Or maybe the tequila.”

“It will take more than flattery to work on me.” You played hard to get.

“Then perhaps my dancing will do the trick.” He joked and spun you around.

“Perhaps.” You smirked after you returned to him and started swaying your hips against his.

You followed his lead around the dance floor in some type of uncoordinated and improvised waltz. Once he and the room stopped spinning, you grabbed onto the cowboy hat and tiptoed up to kiss him. He ran his hand behind your neck pushing further into the kiss. It was only until later that night you realized Angie had captured the moment and tweeted it saying: My heart can’t handle these two. @JensenAckles consider yourself a lucky man to have her.

The tweet slowly gained momentum throughout the night. People retweeted telling Jensen congratulations, speculating if it was real, asking for confirmation, and who the girl was. The picture of you wasn’t clear and Angie hadn’t used your screenname but you noticed a few unknown users starting to follow your account, probably attempting to make a connection off of who Angie was following.

Things started to explode in the morning when Jensen retweeted it, simply responding: I do. More info to come… and Jared picked it up: @JensenAckles Have you been holding out on me? At least there is a reason you’ve been skipping out on sets. Can’t wait to meet her.

Angie was completely eating up all the attention. You however were focused on your last morning with Jensen. You drove him to the airport and waited for the last possible moment to let go of him at the security. You buried your face in his shoulder as he gently stroked your back.

“It’ll get easier, I promise. Soon you’ll be booking flights for me to get back up there.” He tried to joke to lighten the mood. You didn’t find it very funny and kept your face buried. “And I am holding you to your word. Two weeks right?”

You nodded your head up and down. “Two weeks.” You confirmed.

“I’ll stay in touch until then.” He gave you one final squeeze.

You watched him pass through security and he didn’t glance back before finding his terminal. You brushed your foot against the floor trying to smother any insecurities rising up in you. You reminded yourself of the amazing time you had and were going to have soon.

While driving back you received a text from him. “Taking off shortly. I couldn’t look back otherwise I don’t think I could have walked away. I’ll let you know when I arrive in VC.”

Part 5 Click Here!

Tag List:

@jensen-gal @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @be-amaziing @mizzzpink @smoothdogsgirl @iamnotsaneatall @nanie5

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x you #supernatural #spn #spn fandom #spn fanfic

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leahazel · 8 years

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Hello~ For your meme~~ Prepare yourself, I'm dropping a bunch of asks: 1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 12. Feel free to do some or all. Thank you for putting the meme together! It's been so fun to see people gush about their characters~

Wo-o-ow, this is gonna take a while to answer, hah.

1. Siblings - Arland - Constance.

A thing about Constance: it’s not that Felicity isn’t pretty, because she is. But Constance has that silken locks, baby blue eyes thing going on that makes her look a little like a collector porcelain doll. Felicity, as I mentioned, was fourteen when they parted, and so she has a much exaggerated view of the differences in their appearance stuck in her head. Probably if she had blue eyes and straight hair she would complain bitterly that curly hair is sophisticated and gray eyes are mysterious, but that’s just Felicity dramatizing herself as usual.

Another thing about Constance: in Marguerite’s continuity, the two of them had a very torrid affair. Much to Constance’s misfortune, since though Marguerite was fond of her, she’s otherwise perfectly ruthless and unfeeling in her ambition.

3. Siblings - Jiyel - free for all.

Periwinkle has one younger sister, sixteen to her eighteen. Magnolia is far more self-possessed than you might expect a girl like her to be. Very sociable, excellent at picking up subtext and subtle clues, tuned in to important gossip lines… everything Peri is not. If only she’d been eighteen, or even seventeen, they could have sent her to Vail Isle instead of her sister. She’d have done a much more creditable job of it, no doubt, although it would have moved her a category up from “too smart for her own good” to “a creditable threat”. It’s not likely Jiyel would agree to accept the sibling of a former delegate to the examinations, especially considering Peri’s circumstances. Magnolia will just have to sow havoc, break hearts, and take no prisoners on her home turf, so to speak.

My second scholar doesn’t even have a set name of her own, yet, but she does have a few bratty younger half-brothers. They don’t get on (much, or well).

5. Siblings - other - A/U.

Jack (TC) and Bel (pirate) both have sibling A/Us. The former, when Leopold bites the metaphorical bullet and remarries, and her step-mother acts as regent while her younger half-siblings are growing up. The Count of Holt wouldn’t marry just anyone, though, so in this scenario the step-mom is far from wicked, and content to let Jack run wild and be single and pretty damn gay, more or less indefinitely.

Bel’s story is complicated in a different way, because it involves Kendra Blackthorn, and pregnancy is the sort of thing that would put even her out of commission as a captain, for a longer time than she’s pleased with. There’s a reason she and Gabriel only had one kid, and even that had to do with him missing her when she was away, and needing to have someone close by. Supposing, though, that Kendra agreed (some years later, and partly because of her daughter begging for a baby brother or sister) to have one, possibly even two more children. But this would have changed the trajectory of her later career a lot, not just because of all the raids she wouldn’t have gone on. There’s also the kids and their education, and the deals she would have made with other captains to get each of them a position. And with more than one kid around, Christabel might have decided not even to go into piracy at all. So you see, there’s a ripple effect.

7. Parents - Corval - mother.

Marguerite’s mother is named Solange. She’s… rather older than people expect, judging from her daughter’s age. She married late and only had one child, a good few years into her marriage. Her position with the (previous) Empress effectively estranged her from her siblings and the rest of her family, but they have a number of very successful shipping enterprises and a great deal of land, and she grew up very wealthy. She wanted to be closer to the heart of things, though. Her parents, her father especially, were as close as Corval nobles can come to being politically uninvolved. The greater family line has a remarkably high life expectancy for this very reason (also, good genes).

They didn’t intend to push her away, but being so close to the Empress and tending to her caprice and her tempers is… pretty much a full-time job, plus overtime. Solange was always charming, though, and she excelled at the popular court game of appearing to be all sweetness and light, while hiding a dagger in one hand and a passive-aggressive jab in the other. The Empress adored her, and would have married her into the Imperial line, if she could have figured out a way to do it. Instead Solange remained more-or-less happily single, and at her beck and call. Until she selected a minor noble from the Revaire ambassador’s service to marry her off to, ostensibly to create stronger international ties.

Solange knows her duty, and Marguerite has always been her consolation. Not sure how she’s gonna feel about her daughter attempting to marry into the new Revaire royalty. Ambition, she can understand, for sure. But she sent her daughter away because she wanted her to go someplace safer, not to the one royal court in all the lands that’s actually worse than the pit of vipers she calls home.

11. Parents - Jiyel.

Periwinkle and Magnolia’s mother does not come from a noble line. She was a scholar at the royal university. Her mother was a scribe, and worked fifteen hours a day taking letters at the marketplace before she got a fixed position working at the university’s post office. Her mother made ink for a living. So, classic social climbers, and no one has better cause than them to believe in the mythical Jiyel meritocracy. Fern reared her daughters on the belief that if they worked hard and applied themselves, they would be rewarded for it. Their father is still waiting on his name, but most of what’s important about him has to do with his wife and his daughters. His family is noble, sure, but not large or old or influential enough to cause a proper scandal when he essentially married the secretary’s daughter. He adores Fern, in his own weird and understated way. He loves his studies and his garden, and he’s incredibly proud of both his daughters.

12. Parents - Revaire.

I write a great deal about Oswald and Flora in the opening part of Allegra’s story, which I’ve been working on lately. The long and short of it is, Flora was not only a beautiful girl and a great flirt, but also an exceptionally vibrant personality. Oswald met her when he was away from home, and his mother wasn’t around to curb him, so he fell hard and fast and they were quickly engaged. The early years of their marriage were quite a whirlwind, and even Allegra has a few good memories from then, before the other kids were born. Oswald is very clever, but impulsive and totally unrealistic. Flora is vain and capricious. The relationship between her and Allegra was often strained, firstly because of their violently opposed natures, and second because Allegra takes strongly after Katherine, Oswald’s mother. Who detested Flora from day one. Their mother-daughter relationship is pretty much a lost cause, by now. But the kids either raised themselves or were raised by Allegra, and Allegra herself benefited from the patronage of both her grandmother and her Aunt Geraldine (the nun).

On her good days, though, Flora can be soft and warm and kind. Deep down in her gooey center there is a very small seed of the only positive legacy Allegra got from her mother. That, and the curly hair. Chases all have straight dark hair, and dark eyes. Allegra has the Chase nose and chin, which is rather awkward on a lady. The most obvious family resemblance, other than her father, is with Ursa (fourth sister) and Nicky (fifth overall, first son). She doesn’t look a thing like Katherine, though, because Katherine didn’t come from an old blood Revaire family.

#7kpp #allegra the invincible #memes #assorted problem princesses #7kpp spam #ellebeebee #asks #long post for ts #whoops

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jillmckenzie1 · 5 years

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The Thanksgiving Play

I went to see The Thanksgiving Play at the Curious Theatre this past week and I’m having a hard time writing about it. Not because it wasn’t well-produced (it was) or beautifully played (it was indeed), but because I walked out of the venue feeling like yet another clueless white person who should probably just shut up for a while. That’s a weird thing to write and it makes the play seems like kind of a downer, which it both totally is and completely isn’t. It was simultaneously both one of the most uncomfortable and one of the funniest things I’ve seen in 2019.

The premise is this: the drama teachers at a school (it seemed to me that it bounced back and forth between being an elementary school and a high school—maybe I was missing something?) got a grant to put on a Thanksgiving play—including funding for a Native American actress to lend authenticity to the production. Mayhem and misunderstanding ensue as the overly-well-intentioned white folks at the helm struggle to honor the Native American experience and incorporate it into a holiday that celebrates European dominance over the continent. Suffice to say, it doesn’t go so well.

The characters in Larissa FastHorse’s play are pitch-perfect. They’re a bunch of totally white people who genuinely want to do the right thing, but who equally-genuinely have no idea how to do it. These well-intentioned white people (WIWPs?) are the type of folks who went on a “humanitarian trip” and now their Facebook profile pic is a snapshot of them with a small, brown child in a hot, sweaty country. The kind of people worry about the carbon footprint of their grass-fed beef but drink a lot of LaCroix because they don’t think about cans of water having a carbon footprint.

The play’s structure reminded me a lot of the classic improv structure called the Harold, with narrative scenes interspersed with “games,” where the characters sing, dance, and otherwise engage in non-scenic interludes. The play opened with one of these musical games that reached a fever pitch of saccharine annoyance and, as the show progresses, they grew darker and darker, until, by the end, there’s some truly terrible depictions going on. It’s hard to watch, but it’s a great metaphor for the experience of looking past the commercial depictions and realizing what the history of this continent really entails. Yeah, lots of fun, but, you know, real. And really necessary.

FastHorse’s dialogue is spot-on throughout the entire work. I have several notes that just reference fantastic quotes: “Do you know how hard it is for a straight, white man to feel less-than in this world?!”; “You’re too smart to be content; I’ve never met a smart person who was”; and, last, but certainly not least, “I need a Native American person in this play—I got a grant!” which is the primordial scream of all federal grant applicants across this great and not-so-great nation, including myself.

The four players in this production (Emily Ebertz, John Jurcheck, Adriane Leigh Robinson, and Matthew Schneck) made me forget that there were only four of them. They moved with energy and took up space (in a good way) to the extent that a small cast filled up the entire stage and storyline. I confess that I am deeply envious of musical people—all four of the cast displayed a musical aptitude that I will only ever wish I possessed. Ok, this play didn’t demand the vocal virtuosity of Anthony Roth Constanzo, but it was still beyond my reach, and I appreciate that others can do what I cannot.

I won’t spoil the ending by revealing the final conclusion of the WIWPs, but it’s spot-on for the characters and the lexical mastery of the playwright. The Curious troupe has a trademark of doing post-show discussions with the audience, which also happened the night that I attended. A few members of the audience, including a bunch of teenagers, clustered around the stage and discussed the piece with the director (Dee Covington). I applaud the idea of having in-depth discussion about the meaning and impact of the production. I also recognize that it’s a bit awkward to have twenty white people sitting around and discussing the impact of a play written by a Native woman to discuss the awkwardness (at the very best!) of white people discussing American history. It was a Facebook group come to life. To Curious’s credit, they had a Native woman, a member of their group, as a crucial leader of the discussion, but my comment is more about the rest of us. After a play that says that we just don’t get it…we gather to explain to each other how much we wish we got the thing that we don’t get. Oh, white people. We’re just not there, even yet.

The Curious company has a reputation for producing challenging, thoughtful, and courageous pieces and I have to hand it to them. The Thanksgiving Play is all three. Even as an audience member, I felt paralyzed by the awkwardness of being a white person watching these excruciating WIWPs trying to navigate the uglier side of American history; it’s an act of bravery for the performers and producers to tackle it in a far more active sense. To quote one of the play’s characters, “By doing nothing, we are part of the solution!” The Curious Theatre is roundly rejecting that idea and putting their actions behind their decision. I applaud the quality of their decision and their production.

The Thanksgiving Play runs through December 15 in the Curious Theatre, 1080 Acoma St. Denver, CO 80204.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/33006-2/

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recentanimenews · 5 years

Text

THE GREAT CRUNCHYROLL NARUTO REWATCH Goes Full-On Scooby-Doo with Episodes 162-168!

Welcome to the Great Crunchyroll Naruto Rewatch! I'm Joseph Luster and I'll be your host this week as we continue ninja-running through all 220 episodes of the original Naruto anime adaptation. After last week's spicy blend of the conclusion to the Curry of Life arc and a handful of one-offs in episodes 155 - 161, it's time to get downright spooky with the Land of Birds arc in episodes 162-168.

This time around we have a storyline that's almost beefy enough to take up the entire seven episode bundle. It's also one of the few times a filler story has focused on a baddie who isn't really connected to Orochimaru in anyway, but it still gives Naruto and his team the opportunity to evoke some of the emotions that run through the core of the show, reminding us that Sasuke is still out there somewhere.

Before Naruto can get to him, he's gonna have to solve a straight-up Scooby Doo mystery. Thus, without further ado… Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this Naruto filler arc… The Tale of the Phantom Samurai.

*sprinkles magical dust all over the post*

* *

The Cursed Warrior opener felt like a more natural and interesting introduction to a mission, with Naruto getting the opportunity to feel a personal connection to it and pushing to take it on. Let's start off with a State of the Filler report: How are you feeling about the structure of the series at this point?

Paul: The overall structure would be better without entire seasons' worth of filler, but to abuse the phrase that gives pro translators headaches, “it can't be helped.” The filler itself varies wildly in quality. Most of us found Raiga and Ranmaru and the Curry of Life insufferable, but I really enjoyed the Land of Birds, with its combination of low stakes, simple motives, a Scooby-Doo style mystery, and ninja actually acting like ninja.

Jared: It is what it is. We are stuck in the filler mines, but one day we will free ourselves from them. I think overall it’d be better if the longer filler arcs didn’t feel so formulaic at this point, but I doubt that’s going to change anytime soon.

Kara: With a couple of minimal gripes that don’t even really count as gripes, I really enjoyed this. It had ties back to our standard story and characterization but was content to be its own thing.

Noelle: It’s still not good; I’d rather not have any filler overall. Still, they are trying, and it is worth noting some more effort. In terms of filler, it’s pretty okay.

David: I think the structure of the series can be most cleanly explained by the whiplash between how the current opening sequence shows a highlight reel of all the coolest moments from the show so far, and the sinking feeling I get when the episode actually starts.

Carolyn: Yeah, I can’t necessarily get behind entire seasons of filler, either. That being said, I do like that we’re getting away from the Sasuke drama just a little bit and seeing a little bit more humor again.

Danni: I’m still very much dreading more seasons of pure filler, but this arc was actually... pretty good??? The Land of Birds arc stands pretty well on its own on account of not tying itself into the Sasuke plotline at all. It’s able to end on a satisfying conclusion without the caveat of “Well we didn’t come any closer to finding Sasuke.” On top of that it was a pretty interesting little side story in its own right, even if it did tip its hand a little too much with the twist. We also got a fun little absurd precursor to Food Wars which was justified entirely by seeing Naruto use Rasengan to make ramen.

Kevin: I like that they’re at least trying out new stuff. It adds a bit more to the world (even if that information later becomes contradictory) and allows for new stories. Hoki became more of a standard ninja enemy eventually, but when he was first revealed, he was using trickery to mimic more famous jutsu, which I don’t think we’ve seen as a main villain’s gimmick thus far.

We've encountered a few characters like Lady Toki in the past. The story of she and her brother Sagi—her unwavering need for revenge—adds another layer to the Sasuke parallels that drove Naruto to become invested in this mission in the first place. Did these characters work for you, and was the villain at the story’s core a suitable antagonist for a whopping six-episode arc?

Paul: I wasn't deeply emotionally invested in Ladi Toki's storyline, but her motives were clear, and so were the motives of Hoki, the opposing protagonist and the leader of the Wandering Ninja. I think Hoki works for me because he doesn't have a super-villain's goals: he just wants to take over a small, defenseless country and seize power so his clan can stop being homeless. Hoki and company also behave like actual ninja, complete with deception, thievery, dirty tricks, and subterfuge, and that's some of my favorite stuff in Naruto.

Jared: I think the character arc of Toki would have been better if it wasn’t so blatantly obvious what the twist was going to be. The villains could have been interesting with the idea of "here’s some folks that are just this mix of random jutsu." They’re unfortunately undercut from the start when they mention that while they steal their jutsu, it’s basically bad Genjutsu. So all the villains end up looking like jobbers. I mean, Kakashi literally tells one of the bigger ones that using the sharingan on him would have been a waste because of how much of a scrub this dude was.

Kara: Any villain without an upline to Orochimaru is already several points ahead in my book. I get that he’s the show’s Big Bad, but it’s easier to suspend disbelief for a world where sometimes bad things just happen and not all of it feeds back into The Ultimate Evil. As others have mentioned, the Twelfth Nightery of the whole thing is pretty heavily broadcast from the get-go, which meant I was largely distracted by wondering when the other characters were going to catch up. Even so, the story of Toki’s need for revenge and Naruto’s ability to speak to that intelligently from another POV was still good. That doesn’t change.

Noelle: Personally, I didn’t care too much for Toki, and the surprise was relatively predictable. It’s not up to the threat level of say, the Akatsuki or Orochimaru, but that’s fine—not everyone can be world-shattering cataclysmic villains. While not entirely engaging, it set out to do something and in that sense, I’ll say that it worked.

David: It absolutely didn’t have to be six whole episodes long, as evidenced by how much the plot drug its feet to get to the conclusion we all knew was coming in the first place. However, I did appreciate how Naruto himself actually seemed to be connected, at least thematically, to the story, which is the best part of the show proper and something most of the filler arcs forget to include.

Carolyn: I do agree with the previous points that I wasn’t really invested in the characters and the twist was not at all surprising. That being said, I do actually like the idea of stealing jutsu. We watch Naruto and Rock Lee and friends work so hard. Even if it’s just some lame, not very good jutsu, I like seeing the other side.

Danni: I found myself surprisingly satisfied by this arc’s cast of characters. None of them were really deeply characterized, but they were written well enough to justify the time devoted to them. It was like ninja Scooby-Doo with more political intrigue. And while I did see some of the twists coming, Moso being the real villain actually caught me pleasantly by surprise.

Kevin: In short: not really, but he could’ve been. There are several things that could’ve gotten me to like this arc more. A better twist would’ve been if Toki’s voice was always at least a bit feminine, rather than outright changing from a male voice to a female one when she is revealed. We also haven’t seen much in the way of political villains before, so Hoki being a corrupt advisor trying to gain power was actually more interesting than when his full intentions were revealed later. It wasn’t bad, it just had more interesting aspects that were ignored in favor of what ended up being a fairly standard “good guys fight single bad guy” fight.

The Land of Birds arc hinted at horror in the beginning, but it basically ended up being a beat-for-beat Scooby-Doo saga. How did your expectations of this arc pan out, and is there a particular type of direction you wish they had taken instead?

Paul: While the mystery wasn't extremely intricate—I knew as soon as they mentioned that Sagi had a twin sister that she had already disguised herself and taken her elder brother's place—the presentation sold me on this story arc. I liked how it kept creating scenarios that seemed spooky and supernatural, only to reveal them to be nothing more than smoke and mirrors. I prefer that to everyone having X-Men level mutant powers.

Jared: If they didn’t keep beating home the point of Sagi and Toki being twins, it probably would’ve been better for the twist. I liked the idea of Naruto being grounded in the sense that ghosts are the one thing he just wants to nope out on. Maybe the arc as a whole would’ve been better if it leaned more into the supernatural element and have that be the big baddie.

Kara: I actually think there’s a lot of merit to playing out Scooby-Doo stories in settings that already accept at least some degree of the supernatural. Like, we’ve got people who go to school to learn to turn into snakes and possess other people. It’s entertaining to see not only a subversion of that, but also where the “spooky” line is for characters whose entire lives are pretty darn weird already.

Noelle: I live off horror, I want fully horror! But in all seriousness, having the ghosts not necessarily be truth is fine. That being said… I wouldn’t mind more horror, considering that we know spirits and souls do exist.

David: I honestly didn’t even consider that it wouldn’t technically be out of place in-universe for there to be a ghost. Now I wish that had actually happened.

Carolyn: First off, I’m so glad I wasn’t the only one who saw a Scooby-Doo parallel here. I even wrote a meddling kids joke in my notes. This arc was ridiculous and I loved it. I’m a big horror nerd, too. But when I was little, Scooby-Doo was as close as I could get to ghosts and demons, so I’m here for it.

Danni: Literally as soon as I saw it was about unmasking a ghost, I made a Scooby-Doo joke in our Slack channel, so that was exactly what I expected and honestly hoped for. We even got a talking dog at one point!

Kevin: I direct you to my previous answer. For those that don’t want to scroll back up, the basic version is that the arc had a lot of promise in the beginning, with a character reveal that could’ve been foreshadowed more interestingly and a type of villain we haven’t really seen in the show before… and then decided to not develop any of the interesting aspects and instead go for filler that isn’t outright bad, but just didn’t live up to what it could’ve been.

Naruto's afraid of spirits, but what about you? Are ghosts real? Regale us with your own spiritual encounters if you've had any!

Paul: When I was younger, I dabbled in occultism: seances, automatic writing, Tarot cards, transcendental meditation, etc. I used to believe in ghosts and was at one point convinced that I had actually seen and interacted with a few, but that was just the prelude to a full-on psychotic episode brought on by a combination of not eating, not sleeping, and intense grieving over the death of a close friend. Not a fun time. TL;DR version: sometimes my mind plays tricks on me, and ghosts aren't real.

Jared: I can’t say I’ve ever really had any experiences with ghosts, spirits, or what have you. So, I’m not going to sit here and say they aren’t real, but I just don’t know. Plus, I try not to mess around with things that are spooky in general, so ghosts, if you’re out there, we don’t have to cross paths if necessary.

Kara: Oh, fine, I’ll pop the seal, I guess. I went to a very old college. Declared majors could use their student IDs to get into the main building for their major 24 hours a day, so I’d abuse the privilege to take my gaming group into the English building for game night. The college has about 75 ghost stories, with the English department’s concerning a student who threw herself out the window of the third-floor study lounge (now classrooms and offices) after an especially bad year. You know the kind of story—she’d allegedly haunt happy students with good grades because she resented them. One night we’re in a second floor classroom playing whatever it was we were playing at the time. Something cracked us up enough that all of us started laughing, and a few seconds later every door on the floor above us slammed one after the other in rapid succession. I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation for it (wind, other students playing a prank), but we started gaming elsewhere regardless.

Noelle: I’m a little conflicted, because I haven’t had any supernatural experiences myself, but considering that I’ve been raised on a mix of Shinto-Buddhist and Christian beliefs, I do somewhat believe that supernatural phenomena is out there. It’s just normal to me to think that maybe there is something beyond science, that something spiritual could actually exist (also denying it and denying that many people take comfort in the existence of the supernatural feels kind of like overstepping my boundaries). Even if I’ve never seen a ghost, it would be pretty cool to see one.

David: My grandfather has had a life-sized harlequin doll for as long as I can remember, and it has always creeped me out. It’s placed in his room in such a way that when I go up the stairs to my room, I am forced to see it every single time, even at night because he leaves the TV on when he sleeps. Last week it was about 3 in the morning and I was coming upstairs with a late night snack, and as soon as I got to the top of the stairs and looked at the doll the TV flashed a bright white and I couldn’t see the doll anymore, but the sound on the TV was still going. I’m sure there’s a real explanation for this but some part of me believes the doll turned off the TV so I couldn’t see it moving.

Carolyn: Yes. They are real. Really-real real. I had one friend who was part of a Rocky Horror cast that just about everyone had a story about some weird encounter connected to him in some way. I didn’t believe it for a second, but one day I was showering and a wind-up baby doll I had as a kid started playing music. It had stringy yarn hair, which was the part that made me rethink my skepticism of everyone else’s stories. A yarn wig had spawned a kind of inside joke between him and I. That being said, I have a lot of reasons I personally believe that witchcraft/spiritualism/religion are a psychological means of coping with stress and trauma. But ghosts are totally real.

Danni: Nah.

Kevin: I’ve never encountered a ghost, and if pressed into picking a side, would probably say that they don’t exist. If definitive scientific evidence comes out though, I’ll switch sides in a heartbeat.

Enough about the supernatural, because this set of episodes ended with a mission starring Naruto and Choji, AKA The Hungry Boiz™ (feat. Sakura). Did this need the tired “Are you a bad enough dude to rescue my daughter?” setup, or would you have been perfectly happy with The Hungry Boiz™ Ramen Roundup Noodle Spectacular®?

Paul: Ayame being kidnapped felt like a superfluous detail, and the concluding fat-phobic joke (complete with piggy squealing sound effects) dampened my enjoyment of the episode. Naruto and Choji don't need a reason to get worked up over ramen, and a Ninja Chef cooking competition is compelling enough without adding an abduction subplot. Naruto and company using their combat techniques to knead noodles is more than enough for me.

Jared: It absolutely didn’t need the setup of having to save Ayame. If you take that out and the weird fat shaming near the end and instead make this into basically a cooking reality show episode, it would’ve been great. Ninja Chef is a fun and dumb concept and you don’t need to make it so there’s a conflict in order to introduce them or give Naruto and company a reason to go after them. Just have the ramen place sponsor a cooking competition with the Ninja Chefs and split everyone into teams and have at it.

Kara: I don’t need a reason for Naruto to suddenly become a food reaction anime, and “ninja ramen making” came at least 150 episodes later than I was expecting. Also you know this entire episode came about solely because someone was proud of the “ryo-nin” pun. I was all in until the very end so basically that didn’t exist and Team Nart won, the end.

Noelle: Just stick to one plotline at a time, Naruto filler. I’d gladly watch a food cooking competition instead of oh no my random daughter is now the crux of an issue.

David: I had all but forgotten what the point of the whole competition was until the terrible ‘twist’ at the end, so overall it was entertaining and definitely didn’t need that bit of motivation.

Carolyn: Ha! You keep hitting my notes on the head with a ginormous hammer. I was very happy to see ramen front and center again.

Danni: This episode made me want to get ramen, and I can actually go get ramen for lunch as soon as I’m done here, so the episode has justified itself already in my opinion.

Kevin: This is the kind of insane setup that I honestly always forget I love about this show. Sure, the dramatic moments can be great and the combat can be downright spectacular, but seeing a team of ninjas use legendary and superhuman techniques to make ramen noodles is just fun. As for the setup itself, I can go either way. Just an in-shop “Naruto tries to help ramen guy make a new recipe” would’ve worked just as much as what the show actually ended up doing.

(SIDE NOTE: As evidenced below, Danni did indeed go get ramen after this)

And now it's highs and lows time! What was your favorite aspect of this set of episodes, and what was just the absolute paranormal pits?

Paul: My favorite element was how Hoki and the Wandering Ninja claimed to be stealing techniques from other clans, but really they were just using a combination of Genjutsu and sleight of hand to trick people into thinking they had replicated powerful Ninjutsu techniques. I really dug that every visually impressive move turned out to be a dime-store imitation. Honorable mention goes to Naruto hitting noodle dough with a Rasengan. My least favorite bit was “too fat / too skinny” gags at the end of Episode 168, and I wish there were a more elegant way to localize the “aku no recipe” joke as well.

Jared: Naruto coming up with the idea to just use everyone’s jutsu to make noodles was pretty good. I found it very funny that they titled an episode “The Death of Naruto” in the midst of this filler and expected people to buy that. Low points would be just how easy it was to deduce the twist in Land of Birds and how they kind of ruined the last episode we watched with bad jokes at the end, which they’ve done quite a bit on these one-off episodes.

Kara: High point was the ramen-making sequence itself, especially Naruto deliberately cheesing Sakura off to get her “cha” on for the dough-pounding. Low point was what came right after. Special honorable mention goes to the ED going from “smol ninja being happy” to “everyone’s a dog now.”

Noelle: The ramen-making scenes! It’s just fun to see how ninjutsu can work in doing relatively mundane things. Bad side, some of this humor is very deliberately dated. Come on.

David: My high point was actually Tenten and Neji getting some much needed screentime, even if it’s in filler. They’re good characters and it reminded me of the Rock Lee spinoff show that I highly recommend if you’re fond of the side characters in Naruto. As seems common, my low point was the very end of the otherwise pretty amusing food episode.

Carolyn: High point was definitely the Scooby Gang arc. Low point, I’m not sure anything necessarily stands out this time other than generally not being interested in many of the new characters. Also, I was very confused by the dog ED and some of those poses were … interesting. Actually, I take that back, the pig noises were my low point.

Danni: My high point was most of the Land of Birds arc. It wasn’t spectacular, but it was surprisingly compelling as far as Naruto filler goes. The low point was the sudden cacophony of fat jokes and “women love to diet” jokes shoved into the ramen episode at the end. Ramen’s good, yo. Eat as much as you want. If you’ll excuse me I’m about to go have some now.

Kevin:

High - Naruto fighting in a straightjacket. One of the best ways to make fight scenes more interesting is to throw in some new variable for either side to deal with, be it terrain, a handicap or a new powerup or some kind. Seeing Naruto need to fight while essentially being unable to fight back or use jutsu was probably the most engaged I was throughout the majority of the arc.

Low - Chishima in the last act of the arc. He gets hit once or twice by shuriken (thrown by the ninja equivalent of Storm Troopers, given how many they threw at him), and he is so egregiously injured that he’s on a medical bed with IVs giving him blood. Why is he so hurt?! Give him a bandage and maybe some pain killers and he shouldn't be having any problems at all! And if he’s more seriously injured, show it as more than a shoulder cut!

COUNTERS: Bowls of Ramen: 121 bowls “I'm Gonna be Hokage!”: 0 Shadow Clones Created: 26 + 2 uncountable scenes Total so far: Bowls of Ramen: 171 bowls, 9 cups “I'm Gonna be Hokage!”: 55 Shadow Clones Created: 661

And that’s it for this week! Remember that you’re always welcome to watch along with the Rewatch, especially if you’ve never seen the original Naruto! Watch Naruto today!

Here’s our upcoming schedule: - Next week, DANNI WILMOTH gets nautical in the Land of the Seas! - July 12th, JARED CLEMONS leads us to the Hidden Village of Star! - July 18th, JOSEPH LUSTER is back to continue the Star Guard mission!

CATCH UP ON THE REWATCH!

Episodes 155 - 161: Quickfire Curry

Epsiodes 148 - 154: The Forest is Abuzz With Ninjas

Episodes 141-147: Mizuki Strikes Back!

Episodes 134-140: The Climactic Clash

Episodes 127-133: Naruto vs Sasuke

Episodes 120-126: The Sand Siblings Return

Episodes 113-119: Operation Rescue Sasuke

Episodes 106-112: Sasuke Goes Rogue

Episodes 99-105: Trouble in the Land of Tea

Episodes 92-98: Clash of the Sannin

Episodes 85-91: A Life-Changing Decision

Episodes 78-84: The Fall of a Legend

Episodes 71-77: Sands of Sorrow

Episodes 64-70: Crashing the Chunin Exam

Episodes 57-63: Family Feud

Episodes 50-56: Rock Lee Rally

Episodes 43-49: The Gate

Episodes 36-42: Through the Woods

Episodes 29-35: Sakura Unleashed

Episodes 22-28: Chunin Exams Kickoff

Episodes 15-21: Leaving the Land of Waves

Episodes 8-14: Beginners' Battle

Episodes 1-7: I'm Gonna Be the Hokage!

Thank you for joining us for the Great Crunchyroll Naruto Rewatch! Have a great weekend, and we'll see you all next time!

Have anything to say about our thoughts on Episodes 162-168? Let us know in the comments! Don't forget, we're also accepting questions and comments for next week, so don't be shy and feel free to ask away!

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Joseph Luster is the Games and Web editor at Otaku USA Magazine. You can read his webcomic, BIG DUMB FIGHTING IDIOTS at subhumanzoids. Follow him on Twitter @Moldilox.

By: [email protected]

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