#and like actually i’m gonna be so dead serious this is the last post i’m making about this

[pixiesnooze]

nothing is real everything is fanon there’s no basis of comparison there’s no i don’t like what the author did to you so you are mine now because the author did NOTHING y’all are so funny 😭😭😭

[puckinghischier]

Dogtooth

jack hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT!!! minors, DNI. 18+. oral!female receiving, face riding

summary: just a lil jack thot inspired by the song dogtooth by tyler, the creator

notes: this is just a repost of the little jack blurb i posted last night, i just wanted to reformat it so it’d fit in my masterlist better. but!! this is probably my favorite jack thing i’ve ever written and i’m obsessed with this song so, hope you enjoy!! 🫶🏼🫶🏼

[2.3k]

dogtooth by tyler, the creator?? that song is soooooo jack coded.

it’s the right kind of cocky but also the perfect amount of loving his woman, which is exactly how i picture jack to be in a relationship.

he’s a pretty private guy, not enjoying being in the media too much and revealing a ton about his personal life. he hates media because he doesn’t like the feeling of people assuming they know everything about him. but his girl? she knows everything about this man and he basks in the fact she knows him better than anyone else.

and when he’s down for someone? oh he’s down baddddd. i mean, pining level shit. he always wants to be around her. always calling her. always texting her. he just wants her attention 24/7, no matter what he has to do to get it.

he loves to pleasure his girl. and that’s it, really. he loves any second he can spend making her feel good, any way she wants. he doesn’t even care about the reciprocation (though he does love when she returns the favor) because knowing he’s the one to satisfy her needs is enough to put him on cloud nine all by itself.

and the second jack hears this song for the first time? oh he’s got big plans for it. (and you)

you’d be sitting on the couch, waiting on jack to get home from a mid-day skate. he sent you a text telling you he was leaving the rink around thirty minutes ago, expecting him to walk through the door any second.

no sooner than the thought entered your mind, you heard the lock click, signaling his arrival. calling out a greeting, you’re met with silence. you turn your body to see why he’s ignoring you, noticing the small white ear buds stuck in each ear.

he sets his bag down at the door, no doubt filled with his sweat soiled clothes he wants you to wash. waiting on him to look up and acknowledge you, you lay your head on the plush cushions resting against the back of the couch. you watch him, never missing an opportunity to admire how pretty he is.

finally, he looks up and meets your gaze, smiling at your love-filled eyes. he pops one headphone out while walking towards you, rolling it around in his hand.

“hey, sweets,” he leans down to place a small kiss on your waiting lips.

you savor the taste of his lips, always loving their soft feel.

“tried to say hi when you walked in, but guess you couldn’t hear me,” you gesture to the one earbud still lodged in one of his ears.

he gives you a small, apologetic look. “sorry, found a new song i really like. think you will too, actually. made me think about you.”

grabbing his phone from his pocket with his free hand, the one that’s holding the small bluetooth device brushes your hair away from your own ear, comfortably resting the earbud there.

“here’s the thing though….i want you to ride my face while we listen,” he just casually tells you, not even looking up at your face, still fiddling with his phone.

you perk up, surprised at his casualness. “i- what?”

“you heard me, before i press play i want you to ride my face.”

said face in question is dead serious, not an ounce of mischief to be found.

“you…literally just walked through the front door. what happened to asking each other about our days? or discussing what we’re gonna eat for dinner?” you ask him, not knowing how to react to the sudden proposal.

he rolls his eyes playfully. “is this your way of telling me you don’t want to? because you don’t have to. just think it’d really add to the experience, s’all” he shrugs.

you still don’t know how to react to the pure casualness of it all. by the way he’s acting you’d think he’s suggesting watching a movie, not having you ride his face in the middle of the living room.

“i didn’t say i didn’t want to. it’s just a little wild for that to be one of the first things out of your mouth when you get home.”

jack snickers at your words, walking around the large sectional to occupy the spot next to you.

“not really. not for me, at least. been thinking about it all day,” he plops down beside of you, making himself comfortable.

his words shoot excitement down to your core. he’s been thinking about it all day?

before you can think of a response, you feel shuffling next to you on the plush couch. you look over to see jack laying flat on his back, head only slightly raised to look over at you expectantly.

“so, you gonna get rid of those shorts or what?” he asks, referencing your thin, cotton pajama bottoms.

“i swear to god, if i wasn’t turned on right now i’d slap you,” you grumble, standing and removing all clothing below your waist.

jack laughs a real, out loud, laugh this time, prideful in the fact that you’ve never really been able to (or wanted to) resist any of his offers.

he burrows his body further into the couch, making sure he’s in the middle of the large surface, ensuring there’s room for your knees to rest on either side of his head.

you climb to hover over his body, looking down at his hungry eyes that are glued to your bare pussy, following every movement of your body from that landmark.

“shirt off or on?” you ask him, sitting on his toned abdomen.

“off. wanna be able to play with your boobs, please,” he flicks his eyes up to your face, an innocent smile on his own as he bats his eyelashes.

“of course you do,” you remove your (his) t-shirt from your body, now completely bare as you sit on top of him.

“swear they get bigger every time i see them,” he says in awe, bringing a hand up to massage one of your full breasts. you moan as he kneads the flesh, stomach turning flips in anticipation of what’s about to take place.

“gonna press play so we can get started or you just gonna play with my tits all night?” you huff out, loving the feeling but growing needier by the second.

it takes jack a second to register what you’re saying, too lost in the feeling of the heavy skin in his hand.

“oh! yeah, almost forgot,” he reaches up to the back of the couch where he left his phone, picking it up long enough to press play.

you scoot yourself farther up his body, resting your eager core right above his chin. all you’d have to do is relax your thighs the slightest amount to make contact with his mouth. 

suddenly you hear a smooth beat ring out in one ear, assuming jack’s hearing the same.

the second you hear the lyrics “she could ride my face i don’t want nothing in return” pour out of the earbud, jack inched his face up, licking a long, deep stripe through your folds.

you allow yourself to relax, sliding your slick pussy back and forth gently, not wanting to rush.

jack’s nose brushes your clit with every movement. you sigh at the feeling, not realizing how much you needed the friction until now.

the melody in your ear continues, but none of the lyrics are registering anymore. the feeling of jack’s tongue working through you takes every ounce of your attention.

“god, fuck! jack, best idea ever,” you moan out, picking up your pace slightly.

jack groans, letting his tongue still for a moment, allowing you to work yourself over it as you please.

fighting through the bliss radiating throughout your body, you try to focus on the lyrics at least a little bit. the chorus starts repeating, but the lyrics that follow make your head fuzzy in the best way.

“she could ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, except for some her time and all her love, that’s my concern” is what you focus on, the words squeezing your heart and your cunt.

jack smirks into your pussy when he hears you moan, knowing exactly which lyrics elicited the reaction from your body. you’ve always been the type to get off on the sweet nothings he whispers in your ear while he fucks into you, so he knew that line in particular would be especially helpful while his mouth is otherwise occupied.

your pace increases again as the song continues on, already halfway to your release.

jack brings his hands up to hold you still, your hole mere centimeters from his waiting tongue. he guides you to lower yourself onto the muscle, encouraging a slight bobbing motion of your body.

with every depression of your cunt onto his tongue, your clit bumps onto the tip of his nose. the pressure is a delicious form of teasing, the sensation gone nearly as soon as it’s felt each time.

“please, touch me. need you to touch me, jack. so so close,” you pant out, feeling the familiar swirl of your climax forming already.

jack grunts in response, the vibrations sending waves all throughout your body and you’re convinced you can feel it in your toes.

his hands leave your hips, traveling up your body until they find your sensitive buds, pinching and playing with each pink, taut nipple.

you jolt a bit, the motion causing your clit to slam against his nose this time. you cry out at all of the various sensations all at once. full with his tongue, rough hands on your tits, and round nose scraping against your clit.

the pure stimulation of it all forces your orgasm out of you, slamming into your body with the force of a train.

“fuck!” you scream, quickly shooting a hand out to grip the back of the couch, trying to stop yourself from collapsing on jack’s face completely.

you can barely hear the words “she can ride my face i don’t want nothin’ in return, and will i ever fall in love again? i can’t confirm,” ring through your ear, the soundtrack to your release, literally.

jack continues to work his tongue in and out of your hole while you shake and convulse above him, having to chase your entrance as you move. he continues to knead your sensitive breasts, each squeeze sending small volts through your already spent nerves.

he can feel your release dripping onto his cheeks, chin, and nose. he tries to lap up as much as he can, not wanting to miss a drop of your liquid pleasure.

your taste alone was enough to form the wet spot on his grey sweats, not embarrassed in the slightest he’s literally leaking from how turned on he is. but when he looks up at you above him, skin damp and eyes half rolled into the back of your head, mixed with the feeling of your body tightening around his tongue so harshly he can’t even pull it out, he blows his load right then and there.

he can feel the last flutters of your walls around his tongue, not stopping his movements until you pull back, having half a mind to keep going and work another orgasm out of your sensitive state. he moans through his own unprompted release, the only thing keeping him from following his sudden impulse to overstimulate you.

once the tired muscles in your thighs stop shaking, and your breath evens out, you can hear the fading of the music in your ear, signaling the end of the song. you push up slightly on your knees, detaching yourself from jack’s mouth as he chases your now swollen cunt, a small whine escaping him at the action.

“jack…the song’s over,” you manage the words somehow, in awe that he made you come in only a single song’s length.

“i can hit replay,” he rushes out, already reaching to grab his phone again.

you squeak out a slightly panicked “no,” while shaking your head, worried if he started again you might actually explode. you let yourself relax fully, scooting back so you can rest yourself on his lower abdomen once again, but the feeling of something wet stops you.

jerking back up, you turn and look down, spotting the large, wet stain on his sweatpants. you can’t stop staring at it, wondering if you’re really looking at what you think you’re looking at.

“jack…did you…” you trail off, turning back around to look at him.

he smirks as he leans himself up on his elbows. “sure did, sweets. you have no clue how much i enjoyed that.”

you laugh at his pride filled face. “pretty sure i do, seeing as i just sat on the evidence.”

he simply shrugs, patting your bare ass lightly to signal you to stand. you swing your legs over his body, standing and bending over to pick up your discarded underwear and slide it back up your legs.

“so….about that dinner conversation,” you ask him as he stands, suddenly way hungrier than you were when he first got home.

it’s his turn to laugh at you, walking over and removing the now silent earbud from your ear.

“whatever you want is fine with me. i already ate,” he gives you a kiss on the forehead then turns to walk towards the bedroom.

“oh…not even right, you dick,” you huff, following it with telling him you’re ordering his least favorite take out, a punishment for his sass.

making your way to the kitchen to dig through the different take out menus, you hear jack shout your name once again.

“i was thinking, how do you feel about that being our wedding song?” he asks, poking his now shirtless, but clean sweats clad, figure out of the bedroom door.

“jack!” you shout, scolding him as his loud cackle rings out around you, causing your own amused smile to break out on your face.

[no-droids]

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long).  As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

---

You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession.  You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets.  The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it.  The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to.  You don’t even really feel like a person right now.  The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life.  It feels sick.  Wrong in your bones.  Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop.  Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops.  Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago.  Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground.  It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception.  What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all.  You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now.  No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams.  No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move.  The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again.  It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence.  Silence.  You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement.  You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are.  You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder.  You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something.  Reality, maybe.  A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands.  “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows.  Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying?  They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat.  Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy.  It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be.  Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately.  It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances.  Oshua Ryler.  Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened.  A stormtrooper?  His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense.  What is he doing here?  Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them.  They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers.  “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.”  You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done.  You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet.  You hate looking at his face.  It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust.  His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat.  He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby.  You know what needs to be done.  Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over.  It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.”  You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears.  “They hold no power anymore.  Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!”  The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green.  “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…”  He stares wide eyed at you and gulps.  “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now.  “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?”  He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?”  You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side.  “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?”  The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around.  “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!”  You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him.  Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about.  “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!”  He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight.  “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty!  They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling.  You could still kill him.  You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit.  “Who put the bounty out on you?”  You ask sharply.  It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder.  “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!”  Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it.  You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask.  Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something.  Din was cut off before he finished.  Help?  Know what to do?  You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by.  The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice.  The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.  Get to Nevarro.  Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry.  “How many of you are there?”

“At the base?  Around three hundred,” he immediately spills.  “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours.  There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,”  You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker.  “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground.  “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of.  In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence.  That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector.  If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon.  And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel.  “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…”  He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands.  “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally?  Sure.  Realistically?  You don’t say anything in response.  Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do.  The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it.  They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip.  Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you.  Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease.  It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression.  Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood.  Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color.  Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?”  You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder.  Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again.  “I need as much information as possible about the base.”  You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm.  Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard.  It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest.  While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking.  Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now.  Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission.  Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides.  What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just��� not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors.  Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger.  Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next.  His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears.  When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much.  He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread.  If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces.  He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind.  Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers.  Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base.  He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man.  If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go.  With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get.  He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat.  Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range.  Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind.  He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl.  Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard.  Not far from here, three minutes or less.  The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers.  It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers.  “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask.  Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible.  Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed.  The turrets, then.  “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old.  Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel.  “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport.  TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?”  You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got.  You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?  

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here.  Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here.  The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here.  Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not.  He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul.  If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator.  “Mando?”  You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway.  Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it.  That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to.  Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction.  Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose.  Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily.  It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?”  Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls.  “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit.  “You cover your face like one.  You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”  Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now.  “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he?  He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan.  All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge.  You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood.  This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby.  In a sense, it still feels that way.  The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family.  The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch.  He’d know, you tell yourself.  If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow.  Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore.  The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response.  In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet.  These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back.  Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms.  The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes.  Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?”  Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter.  The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh.  “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add.  “How were you able to find us?”

Silence.  The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now.  He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red.  Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality.  The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead.  Useless, then.  Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor.  Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention.  “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon.  The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite.  It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened.  But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it.  The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what?  This Mandalorian?”  The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms.  “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.”  The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head.  “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees.  “He must want the beskar.  I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive.  He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!”  A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed.  There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury.  It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues.  “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth.  He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize.  Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible.  You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety.  Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually.  It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive.  Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk.  They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost.  You’re both long gone by now.  They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest.  Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response.  His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it.  How the fuck did he know?  He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile.  Who’s this, Mando?  She’s just darling, isn’t she?  Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods.  “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides.  Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man.  The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul.  His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun.  He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?”  The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet.  “I’m coming to get you.  Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside.  If you can’t, I’ll just… uh.  Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember.  He’s panicked before.  He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time.  This is different.  This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection.  There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now.  The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat.  You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it.  Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you.  Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out.  His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision.  For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground.  There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about.  Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed.  It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground.  Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him.  Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up.  Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?”  You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on.  Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them.  If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways.  The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge.  Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!”  You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull.  You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door.  “Now!  We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up.  Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel.  Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears.  The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping.  You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense.  Deadly tense.  Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once.  One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life.  It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it.  All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking.  You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before.  Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear.  Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship.  But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap.  Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared.  They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is.  You can’t seem to breathe like he is.  It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand.  Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh.  A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now.  Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing.  You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you.  When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain.    You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment.  You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through.  You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now.  However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest.  Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.  Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you.  His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time.  It’s… cold.  A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin.  Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood.  You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word.  You can’t find a single word to say.  The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones.  It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet.  There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden.  Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement.  He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip.  It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features.  His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to.  You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there.  He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor.  You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves.  Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly.  Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself.  “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly.  Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t.  Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult.  You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive.  There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment.  One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty.  There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t.  “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it.  Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones.  You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands.  He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from.  It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you.  The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood.  Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face.  The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground.  It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet.  Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back.  Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand.  It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang.  You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground.  The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead.  So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state.  He doesn’t move.   His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last.  If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else.  Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying.  You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him.  You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing.  Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor.  Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes.  Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done.  Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown.  Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain.  The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert.  You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy.  If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him.  It was… isolating.  Lonely by yourself.  The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp.  Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner.  Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath.  One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet.  You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What?  At least what?  Comfort you?  Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions?  What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him?  You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically.  He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you.  You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do.  If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself.  At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment.  Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul.  Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover.  You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on.  You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again.  You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand.  After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone.  After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in.  The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings.  It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent.  You don’t feel anything as you do it.  You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm.  Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster.  The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything.  They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower.  Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy.  Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent.  When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls.  Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today.  You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep.  You don’t even try, it’s pointless.  The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself.  You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking.  You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago.  You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong…  They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation.  You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point.  In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this.  You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure.  How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices?  Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t.  You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him.  You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance.  You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course.  Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been.  Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you.  A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone.  Multiple people, this time.  He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done.  The end result won’t change.  You own this now.  You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice.  He wouldn’t argue with you.  He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them.  It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount.  You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned.  You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive.  You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him.  If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it.  Focus on them both, alive and well together.  Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness.  It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself.  Hours, maybe.  Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are.  You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways.  After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair.  He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet.  “Don’t say anything.  Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes.  You did save him.  You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent.  “I tried.  Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself.  I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul.  Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you.  It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up.  “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat.  They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses.  “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out.  The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body.  “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself.  The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking.  You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.”  Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes.  “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold.  Again, everything turns numb.  It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today.  It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it.  For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks.  “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me.  I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger.  I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe.  And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II.  Do you know why I did that?”  The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart.  “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand.  You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up.  Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away.  But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you.  Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying.  It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die.  You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t.  “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones.  Especially the trained ones.  Anything else was meant to be your last resort.  Not your choice.  Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself.  The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him.  Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried.  You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen.  “I couldn’t do it.  It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you.  He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words.  “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?”  You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster.  Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care.  “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.”  It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless.  Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against.  It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively.  “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean.  Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.”  The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child.  Never.  You’ll die before that happens.  “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that.  Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing.  Not even you.”

Din stares at you.  His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant.  It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become.  You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both.  He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet.  It happened.  What’s done is done, you can’t change the past.  He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so.  This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child.  You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them.  Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers.  It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak.  Broken.  “You wore mine once before, and it was…”  He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away.  “It wasn’t real.  It didn’t fit.  It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out.  I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?”  You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad.  You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but…  Not a Mandalorian, he’d said.  Of course not.  Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.”  Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again.  “It was you covered in blood.  It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger.  You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship.  And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too.  You…”  He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice.   “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you.  “You don’t fly into war zones.  You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me.  You said you tried to be brave… like me.”  His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand.  “I’ll never ask you to be brave.  I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight.  They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time.  Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again.  It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside.  You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?”  He murmurs to you.  You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?”  You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory.  “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that.  Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain.  You’ll never be able to change it, though.  This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else.  Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come.  You need to tell him.  You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?”  You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor.  “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat.  “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.”  He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time.  He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine.  You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before.  It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms.  His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing.  “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today.  All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty.  You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now.  If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer.  Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him.  “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

[leaawrites]

hii I saw your post about the short n sweet writing n I was wondering if you could do Logan huntzberger with one of them you can pick which one side I haven’t listened to the album yet x

Sharpest Tool

Logan Huntzberger x fem!reader

Summary: in which, the smart yale boy isn't the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to relationships.

Warnings: sexual references, rory is kind of a villian (but so is Logan), angst,

Wordcount: 0.7k

Masterlist, Short n'Sweet Series

She had been warned, by almost everyone. She should’ve known.

It was obvious, that somewhere in between promises and heartfelt laughter, somewhat a little less than something, but a little more than nothing was hidden. It was obvious, that whatever he said was nothing more than a line he said more than once that night. It was obvious, that the missed calls and lonely nights were signs enough. But they never talked about it, so she never understood what they were.

“You know, that Rory’s been over at his more often lately, right?” Paris asked, as both girls were occupied with the last papers for the Yale Daily News. The last story being put into it’s right place.

“It’s not like that,” she defended herself more than him. If Paris knew, that she wasn’t even aware of what they were, or that she knew that she wasn’t the only one, she wouldn’t gear the end of it. And she would never talk to Rory again, probably be kicked out of the Paper as well. “They are friends, that’s all.”

“They went out to dinner and Rory didn’t come back home that night,” Paris kept on pushing her closer to the edge.

“It’s nothing.”

“What is?” The brunette in the doorway asked, walking into the room as it feel deadly silent. “What were you talking about?”

God, why couldn’t she take a hint that she wasn’t appreciated here?

“Nothing,” Y/n answered once more, shooting a dirty look in Paris’ way to tell her to keep her mouth shut. “I need to go, I’m meeting Logan.”

“He’s out with the guys, he probably won’t be home,” Rory answered nonchalant, helping Paris with the Paper now.

The girl stopped dead in her tracks, leaving little space between her tears and skin, tearing one off with every blink of her eye. She couldn’t be serious, could she?

“I’ll find him,” she answered, before walking out and leaving Rory dumbfounded as to what she did wrong.

She should’ve known.

Of course, someone like Logan would never settle solely for her. Of course, she wouldn’t be the only one he whispered to in between his sheets.

She should’ve known.

Logan was busy talking to his friends to notice her walk near him, until her hand found his and he almost jumped back at the contact. Until his eyes met hers and he pulled her into a hug, kissing her head in greeting, instead of using his mouth and the words in his head. He was good at talking until it came to her - to them. Then he didn’t seem to know the definition of commitment or anything serious relationship related. It were always just kisses and smiles and hugs and flowers and chocolates and sex and whispers and moans and giggles, but never actual words.

“You’ve met Colin and Finn already, right?” Logan asked, keeping his hand on her waist as she shook both boys hands.

“Yes, we met at that one party. You introduced us,” she answered as if it was nothing. As if she was the only one he should remember, because there were no others.

“Oh, right. I forgot, sorry. The one at Halloween, right?”

No, one on a random Tuesday, where he seemed surprised to see her out of her dorm for once. Like she wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yeah,” she answered with a smile. “I’m gonna go now, just wanted to say hi. The day was really long and tiresome, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” She asked, turning to Logan to see the wheels turning in his head, searching in his brain for a free time for her.

“Yes, of course,” he answered, not turning around once as she walked away.

She wouldn’t see him tomorrow, she saw him and Rory, yes. But not him. The boy she started to love two weeks after meeting him because he gave her hope for meaning something. And when she was too eager for more than he was willing to give, he couldn’t understand why she stopped calling.

He really wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

[idkwhatimdoingbutslay]

… I can’t imagine that we actually watched the same show. Like I REALLY AISNSOSNWKMEJDND

hold on I’m gonna need to calm down.

Let me just make a list of why I disagree and at least organize my anger. Long post incoming.

Vander was friends and had a deal with Grayson. The sheriff. Idk what else to even add to that

Caitlyn is more than a cop and Arcane isn’t copaganda. Genuinely don’t know what kind of progress some of these people are looking for. Real allies are a necessity for real progress.

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR. HE FUNNELLED DRUGS INTO THE UNDERCITY AND PUT POOR KIDS IN FACTORIES FOR THAT DRUG FOR PROFIT!!! HE PAID THE ENFORCERS TO LET HIM DO IT WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE

Vi is not as much as an activist as you would like to believe

WHY IS EKKO NEVER EVER BROUGHT UP IN THESE CONVERSATIONS????

Silco was not good for the Undercity

Silco was not a great guy. Ekko had to build an entire separate hidden community for the people he hurt and stepped on for his own benefit

Caitlyn is ignorant and naive. That’s ok. That’s what character development is for.

Loving imperfect characters like Silco and Jinx then hating characters like Vi and Caitlyn is peak media illiteracy to me

FOR THE LAST TIME: VI DIDNT ABANDON POWDER!!!!! Silco literally wanted Vi DEAD for trying to stop him from killing Vander??? How could you possibly say silco was there for jinx when Vi refused to be???? SHE WAS IN PRISON BECAUSE OF HIM???

Silco’s manipulation is working wonders on y’all

Embracing all the outrage without at all looking out for the people harmed by bigotry is not activism

SILCO IS A CLASS TRAITOR x929282929394

Caitlyn was the first person in years to show Vi kindness and care. She listened and stuck by her and took care of her after Vi was locked up for years and beat up by cops (i wonder what led her to be thrown in there?). Cait being a cop stopped being a point of contention once Vi recognized her naivety and genuineness.

NUANCE NUANCE NUANCE. ITS NEVER EVER BLACK AND WHITE

The only way I can see Vi touching ‘class traitor’ in season one was the shimmer raid. Guess who the hell put those kids in there in the first place.

Just hanging out with Caitlyn isn’t being a class traitor if Vander’s allowed to be friends with Grayson.

Critical thinking is very necessary for watching shows like Arcane

What the hell did Silco really do for the Undercity???? What changed over the 7(ish) years he was basically in power of the place? All I’ve heard was he made the air cleaner, which would be great except for, you know, shimmer and the child factory workers

Jinx is unwell and feeding into it like this in a fully serious manor would not help Arcane as a show at all

What do you want Arcane’s message as a full show to be? ‘Screw cops’? That’s a little boring and unproductive isn’t it?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT EKKO AND HIS IMPACT PLEASE???? x9382728283

Caitlyn is trying to make Piltover and Zaun a better place. Is that not allowed? Am I missing something?

Caitlyn and Vi’s arcs have only just started. Season one is basically fully set up except for characters like silco and Jinx. This is far from the end.

Genuinely think Vander would appreciate Vi for being friends (using this term loosely because they are in love) with Caitlyn considering he was the one who was opposed to war and Vi wasn’t.

Silco should NOT be your idea of Undercity independence and respect. He oppressed the Undercity the same way the Council and the Enforcers did. He helped no one but himself, his team (barely) and Jinx.

You’re allowed to like and dislike any character you want but pretending like Silco is better for the Undercity than others is just so ridiculous to me. Everyone is of course completely allowed to like Silco, but we can’t pretend like he’s this stand up guy. If you have to pretend like he was, maybe you don’t like him as much as you think.

“Because Cait’s pretty” is also incredibly incorrect. Go check point #14.

Vi never stopped loving and caring for Powder. Powder’s mental health issues were amplified and utilized by Silco because he couldn’t even heal himself.

If all of your opinions of Caitlyn and Vi start and end with “cops suck” and “class traitor” then you genuinely don’t respect Arcane as a show enough to show you nuance.

The misinterpretation of characters is just so … it’s like you go out of your way to love and/or hate characters no matter how much they show you who you are.

Your closed mindedness is clouding your judgement and making you out to seem like you don’t actually want the Undercity’s triumph, you want Silco and Jinx’s, even if it means ruining the Undercity. And that would be fine because father/daughter evil duo but trying to say you’re all for this duo because you want what’s better for the Undercity when they continue to hurt it is simply not correct and very harmful (to fictional characters in a fictional universe 😭)

Only being able to understand how Silco and Jinx were oppressed and therefore should be able to not just destroy Piltover but also Zaun is not the eat you think it is

Why is Viktor never called a class traitor? I think he's great (I also think Silco and Jinx are wonderfully written) but we hardly saw him in the Undercity/ interact with people from the Undercity plus he killed someone (Sky) from there (accidentally)

EDIT TO ADD ANOTHER POINT: Caitlyn has shown little to NO malicious intent and has no real negative impacts other than Jinx’s attachment issues and insecurities being amplified by her mere existence. Again, this is her story and development. Throughout the season she is exposed to reality and recognizes her and her peers/ families wrongs. I have no idea what you want from this character. Should Piltover just be gotten rid of in the story? Then what? Should Caitlyn have just never gotten involved and continued to embrace her privilege? Should she have left Vi in prison and stay ignorant?

[count-geiger]

alright guys i got a surprise class cancellation so i can tell yall about the stb dress rehearsal show last night and how it went. this is gonna be a long one grab a drink

no JUICY DEETS if you were expecting that. i am not a leaker and will never be. more like a gushy review than anything

so if you wanna hear about how will wood now knows about my university’s garfield club, feel free to read.

first of all, i can’t actually say much about the content of the show itself. sorry if that’s what you were hoping for but, if you’re going to a show on the tour, YOU WILL THANK ME LATER.

however i can say some stuff

like first of all: it is very much a kind of theatrical performance. no shit sherlock, you may be saying. okay sure but what i mean by that is that it’s not JUST a concert.

it’s very narrative based, that’s the most i’m going to say on it.

additionally, based on stuff ww said after the show while everyone talking feedback and such…

after the tour starts, PLEASE DO NOT POST SPOILERS ON TUMBLR!!! this is the kind of thing you’re going to want to see without any idea going in.

like it’s also very much a comedy show and knowing all the jokes beforehand will kinda ruin it.

so if you wanna post about the show on tumblr after you’ve seen it, maybe like. tag it or something. or put under a cut.

anyways i digress

the show was absolutely fantastic

genuinely the most wonderful i’ve ever seen in my entire life

i laughed my ass off, i cried a little, i thought way too hard about my own life decisions

all the things you’d ever want

it was NOT what i expected it to be. but it was even better than whatever i was expecting

so PLEASE take my word that all of you are going to love it.

okay that train of thought is over anyways

the vending machine at the studio only took ones (LITERALLY FUCK OFF THATS SO DUMB) so i spent most of the show with the driest mouth known to man

i’d had a sprite from said vending machine when i first got there because they also don’t have any water in it (????????) but not even like a whole can it got warm super fast

that’s just a random aside

multiple people complimented both my button down shirt AND the oingo boingo shirt i had underneath

including will’s girlfriend!! who is very pretty and seems very very nice.

she took our phones at the doors and checked our IDs and such and she was fine with the fact that i do not own a piece of ID that confirms my date of birth so that was cool.

the phone pouches we had were handmade by her apparently! they were really cool and she did a great job

anyways

i met will after the show after trying to offer feedback while we were still doing that that and stumbling through my horrific brain fog to say nothing of value because i was terribly sleep deprived!

me and jay (@jayjamjary) went at the same time

now some background.

me and jay are friends IRL, we go to the same college. people who both A. follow me and B. consistently read my ramblings in the tags will know this. but there are like three of those people AND i’m putting tags on this post so yeah

anyways we are both members of the executive board of the (officially recognized) GARFIELD CLUB at our university.

i am dead serious

and because the garfield club’s primary demographic is gay/trans autistic people, there’s a huge population of will wood fans in that club.

so jay brought two excellent drawings he’d made for the club, originally to recruit members, for will to sign.

because we have garfield show and tell contest on wednesday and we wanted to fuckin win

ANYWAYS.

these drawings, by the way, just happened to be of garfield being crucified and of garfield as hatsune miku.

will’s reaction to seeing these drawings was, and i quote, “what the fuck”

his reaction to the existence of the garfield club was, and i quote, “what the fuck”

both like a very amused, bewildered what the fuck.

he then signed them with possibly the greatest thing he’s ever signed ANYTHING and i’ll have to force jay to post them.

anyways

i also showed him a drawing i made for him, because i wanted to make a drawing for him.

he said my drawing was really really cool and he was really happy that i got his nose right because he never sees that

i was SO happy to hear that i was like ready to cry i was scared that drawing sucked

cuz i just did in the course of like a few hours while sitting at a random table in a big room on campus and all that whatever

but like yeah he called his girlfriend over she complimented it too

he signed it!!!

we took a picture and it looked a million times better than the two other pictures i have with him so that’s great

anyways

i’m trying very pointedly to avoid saying anything about the actual show because i want people to be able to go in blind

because *i* did and it was amazing

and i’m so glad that the show i’m going to is going to be super different apparently so i’ll ALSO have no idea what to expect from that

also, for anyone curious, i’m going to asbury park/halloween show november 3rd (and im going as young ford pines, specifically that time in tbob when he was possessed by bill, so if you see that there, that’s me)

anyways

man take shot anytime i say anyways

you’ll be fuckin dead

i had a great night, it was a spectacular show, you’re all gonna love it when you see it

[ashleyh713fanfics]

Dazai X Odasaku!Sister CH13

Chapter 13: "Celebrating Life Is Stupid”

Summary: After reuniting and growing closer, Dazai and Oda’s sister truly realize the value of each other and the sad bandaged boy falls deeper into the dangerous fascination and infatuation that is Odasaku’s little sister.

Warnings: pm!sixteen year old Dazai, pm! sixteen year old chuuya, ginger is very angry, Suicide mentions, guns, manipulation on both sides, Odasaku death mentions, Dazai being a Simp, Dazai being the demon prodigy but also baby at the same time.

(This is chapter thirteen of my fanfic "Timeless" which is now on A03. It carries on from the three part intro I posted a couple days ago. I'll link it below to fully understand the story. Asagao's ability is to stop time for up to six seconds.)

Three Part Intro (Broken up because the first ch is so long)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A03 Version Here:

Word count: 6k total

—-

Tapping his feet in already brewing annoyance, Chuuya pushed his phone closer to his ear as each ear grating ring pissed him off by the second. And honestly, by the third one he debated throwing the entire object into the wall next to him in a fit of frustration.

He knew that little mackerel was doing this on purpose, sending his calls to voicemail over and over again. That guy never had anything notable going on and he knew the boss was gonna have his ass if he didn’t get in contact with that little shit.

But fortunately, or rather unfortunately for him, the line picked up on the fifth ring only to hear that same happy go lucky, irritating sing-song tone he alway seemed to use.

He hated that sound more than anything, mostly because the ginger he was about to be made fun of. “Oh Chuuuuuya, what an impatient little dog you are, blowing up my phone like this. Can't get enough of me I see.”

Gritting his teeth to hold his outburst, Chuuya simply scoffed. “Shut up, it's your own damn fault for not picking up. I know you are doing it on purpose, you shitty little mackerel.”

The voice on the other hands only hummed though, obviously unbothered. “So rude, Chuuuya, assuming such things. I am actually very busy right now. Which is why your interruption is way less pleasant than usual. And that’s saying something, considering your presence is never pleasant.”

Chuuya knew better though. “Bullshit, you’re never busy. You’re probably just fucking around somewhere.”

Just then, he heard a fake ass gasp on the side of the phone only for Dazai to answer straightforwardly. “If you call “fucking around” me currently pinning down a beautiful woman then I suppose you're right about that. Isn’t that right, love?”

Almost immediately, the ginger felt bile work its way into his throat, shoving the feeling down before shouting back roughly. “Ah, you’re so fucking disgusting! I don’t wanna know about that shit.”

Oh my god, why did he have to bring up that kind of stuff?! The last thing he wanted to do was picture shitty stupid Dazai like that, especially with some nonamed whore or brain dead manipulated bitch.

That poor soul that was with him right now, the one Dazai just called love, he pitied her, whoever she was.

Forcing the idea from his mind, Chuuya then shook his head before adding. “Listen, the boss gave us another mission in a couple days and I wanna make sure you don’t try to ditch again or else I’m gonna kill you for real, got that?!”

He knew the kid’s pattern after all, Chuuya knew how flighty and unreliable that stupid mackerel really was and he wanted to make sure that he wasn’t going to get dragged into that again. The first time he flaked was bad enough.

But as expected, Dazai didn’t sound serious, he didn’t even sound remotely interested in his threats as the boy simply waved the question away. “Don’t worry slug, I’ll be there. Can’t have my dog getting lonely, now can I?”

At that name, Chuuya felt his anger spike, the boy unable to stop his outburst. What was his damn problem?! “You fuckin…I’m not a dog!!’

Dazai’s voice only came back confused though, his voice just as annoying, cheerful and mocking as usual. “How strange, all I can hear is woof woof woof so I’m gonna hang up now! See ya, Chibi.”

And just like that, the line turned dead, causing the ginger’s eye to twitch before tightening his hold on his phone before giving into the impulse and throwing the object against the wall next to him.

Watching the phone shatter to prices before his eyes, Chuuya then shook his head before grumbling out his frustrations to absolutely no one.

“I’m gonna kill him..”

——-

Closing his flip phone absentmindedly, Dazai simply smiled to himself before placing the object back into his pants pocket only to hear the voice underneath him speak out hopefully. “Was that Chuuya?”

The boy only shook his head though, pushing his foot further into the speakers chest in order to shove his enemy further into the ground roughly. “Don’t sound so happy about it. That slug shouldn’t gain such a reaction.”

His opponent only put her hands out in defense though, turning her head curiously to the side with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

Dazai expected that kind of response though, his eyes moving up in order to glance around the familiar port mafia owned warehouse that they had spent the last hour or so before she spoke again.

And this time, it was far more pushy than before. “Sooo, what did he say?”

Already feeling his lips twist into a bitter smirk, Dazai’s foot then pushed deeper into her chest, exulting double the amount of force in order for her to stop speaking. “Those aren’t the kinds of things you should be worried about, Asa-chan, considering the position you're in right now..”

Which was something that Asagao seemed to be missing in her tiny little brain considering he was currently pinning her down to the dirty and dusty warehouse floor by his foot. He clearly had the upper hand here so there was no reason for her to speak so casually.

That, and the fact that she was asking about Chuuya of all people in this sort of dangerous position caused Dazai’s sick and twisted port mafia heart to darken with malice. He was the one she was supposed to be focusing on, not that glorified hat rack.

She was at the mercy of the demon prodigy and she was acting like they were talking about the weather. He wanted her to regret ever asking about that hat rack in the first place, to apologize between his fingers for not taking his presence seriously and speaking of another so foolishly.

Then to prove his point, the boy reached into his pocket before taking out his gun in order to point the barrel straight at her head with silent warning.

It was a move that would make any one shutter and cower immediately. In fact, it was something he used a million times before to intimate each and everyone of his enemies.

But he had already learned that Asagao didn’t play by the rules of his other opponents.

Turning her head in confusion, the girl simply looked at the foot that was constricting her breathing before returning to the demon with a gentle smile of unbothered idiocy. “Oh, I’m not worried.”

And for a moment, Dazai paused, playing her game. “And why’s that, love?”

He wanted to see what she’d say, how she would justify her calm and collected behavior even though she was staring down the barrel of his gun. Yes, Asagao had outwardly said that she wasn’t afraid of dying by his hand but she wasn’t even trying to get out of it.

And he knew she could, he knew that the hellhound could fight back him if she so chose, so the fact that she was allowing Dazai to pin her down like this was interesting to say the least.

This girl, she was seconds from death and still her eyes held not one bit of urgency.

A moment later, Asagao spoke, her voice full of nostalgic memory as she reached forward in order to pull the barrel closer to her chest. “Because this is how we met, remember?”

Almost immediately, Dazai’s mind seemed to snap back to their first encounter almost an entire year ago. Huh, she was right. They had been in this position before, hadn’t they?

Back when the boy was drowning in his grief, back when he found an intruder in his friend's old place and threatened them in the same exact manner.

If only he knew how utterly life changing that little meeting had been, what kind of storm erupted from the moment he tore that hoodie off her head and looked into her Odasaku eyes.

And it was the same now, the boy looking down at her glasses free expression in order to catalog and trace the iris silently to himself. He seemed to do that a lot lately, getting lost in the emptiness as it swallowed him whole each and every time.

He was grateful for it also, knowing that the dullness of her eyes was way more welcoming then the darkness of his own soul, that by having her here he had switched the method of his demise.

Yes, drowning in Asagao was much more tolerant than drowning in his grief.

A sweeter way to die indeed, a more pleasant experience than what he ever deserved, and yet Dazai couldn’t stop himself from staring even so.

So much so, Dazai felt his lips twist upwards in familiar memory before his finger carefully cocked the gun with a dark chuckle. “Oops. You’re right, how silly of me. Let’s continue where we left off then, hmm?”

Then without a second thought, the executive pulled the trigger as a loud shot echoed through the warehouse. And most people would’ve been horrified by such a reaction, they would have regretted aiming at something he just so clearly said that he admired.

But you see, Dazai didn’t underestimate his girlfriend, not one bit.

Casually putting his hand down on his side, the mafioso then smirked to himself before turning around only to find his enemy a couple feet away, her hands on her hips. “Damn, you really tried to shoot me. I’m surprised and a little impressed, demon prodigy.”

Dazai only shrugged his shoulders though, unbothered. “Well, you told me to look at you as a threat, did you not, Asa-chan?”

It was conversation that was very prevalent in his mind, even today. Sure, the boy should’ve taken their fights easy, he should’ve sparred in a way that made sure Oda’s sister was safe but that wasn’t his style, and neither was hers.

No, Dazai treated her like a real threat, just like she deserved, he trusted that she was smart enough to anticipate his moves and counteract, like just right now.

And the fact that she had done just that also proved his theory that she could’ve gotten out his hold at any time.

What a sneaky shady little hellhound she was. He was onto her big time.

Then as if to prove his internal analysis, he watched Asagao’s face twist into that same twisted, psychotic and giddy smile that enticed him time and time again before watching her fingers twitch in unkept adrenaline just by that simple phrase.

And Dazai would never understand the power his acknowledgment had on her. That just by giving her his entire strength she was already antsy to match it. The hellhound training that had been embedded into her since she was a child, it coated and clouded every other single thought in her brain.

Pushing her fingers up to the ponytail that held her unruly crimson mane in place, Asagao then chuckled darkly before practically ripping the restraint in order to let her hair free.

And with that simple move, she had also ripped down the chains that held the monstrous creature beneath the surface, unafraid of the response it would give. “Oh Samu, you know just how to rile a girl up, don’t you? You’re right about that one, I am a threat. Now allow me to live up to your potential of me and show you how..”

And Dazai loved it, he loved that crazed beast-like look more than anything, his stance grounding itself immediately only to find that his enemy had disappeared in front of his eyes. Ah, she was using her time stopping ability. How cute.

Turning the safety off his gun, the boy then narrowed his eyes before sensing a change of wind to the right in order to let off three more shots just as Asagao reappeared millimeters from his face.

She seemed to register the bullets just in time, her body rolling to the ground in order to just miss the dangerous attacks as Dazai smirked in admiration.

And let’s be honest, should he have been pointing that gun at her like this? No. Should he have been directing his shots with the intent to kill. Also no. It was insanely risky and if she was even second too late then he would have the blood of another Oda on his hands.

Which was something the boy wrestled with internally but it seemed like his port mafia blood craved the opposite, to see just what amazing and enticing ways she could get out each deadly situation he threw at her.

And that desire, that allure was stronger than his fear to keep her locked away forever. No, she had a power, and it was too enticing to ignore, especially for the twisted mafioso who was looking for something entertaining.

He was then taken out of his thoughts as a rough hand wrapped around the barrel of his gun in order to pull it forward without fear as Asagao smirked in victory.

It didn’t matter that the chamber was loaded, it didn’t matter that his fingers were on the trigger and any slight movement could cause the end of her life.

Asa’s grip remained firm, her leg barreling into his side in order for Dazai's muscles to jump and his finger to loosen from the trigger just as she pulled it into her line of sight.

And once the cool metal was in her hands, Dazai wondered what she’d do with it, his senses on high alert only to watch the girl simply empty out the chamber of bullets with one hand, the quiet clinking of metal catching his attention immediately.

How dare she, she had the shot and didn’t take it.

Unsatisfied by her actions, the mafioso then darkened before the boy predicted her next strike in order to grab onto her fist roughly and twist it unnaturally behind her back with a huff.

No, she needed to know that she wasn’t as sly as she thought. That he was onto her little game. “Since you’re all riled up, does that mean you’ll stop holding back now too?”

He wondered how she would react to that, if she would lie about his little discovery or own up to her hypocrisy wholeheartedly? Either could be possible, considering she hadn’t disclosed to him outwardly about her watered down battles.

Asagao told him herself back in Bar Lupin that she was a prodigy just like him, that she could murder like a high level assassin and kill with the quickest of hands.

But if that was true then why hadn’t she tried that with him yet? Why hadn’t Asa displayed intent to kill with Dazai if she was so strongly in favor for believable fights?

It didn’t make sense, and he wanted to know why.

And for a moment, she felt her body still underneath his rough touch, as if she really had to think about his words. He seemed to have broken into something personal for her.

Interesting, she wasn’t denying it. But hold on, was she saying that he couldn’t handle her full hellhound side? That he was some kind of fragile little boy who wouldn't stand a chance? Did she forget that he was in the mafia, the youngest executive in the history of the organization?

She didn’t need to worry about such a thing, besides if that was the result Dazai knew he wouldn’t have opposed. So instead, he coaxed her some more. “Come on, Asa-channn. You’re no fair. I wanna die, remember?”

But even still, Asagao didn’t seem convinced, her body unmoving and eyes closing before he felt her physically shiver underneath his touch, almost like she was reliving some kind of unpleasant memory.

Something scared her, enough to cause such a visceral reaction.

Then Dazai watched as Asagao’s head slumped down into herself, her voice strained and bitter, a tone that the boy had never heard from her before. “I don’t kill anymore, I don’t want to be that person again..

Those words, they felt big, like a massive weight had just fallen on both of their shoulders. But why? What did they mean? What kind of person was she when she killed? What was she like when she truly allowed the hellhound side to fully overtake her? He wanted to ask her.

Yet before he could process that sentence, Asa used his apprehension in order to kick his shin and shift her body around, grabbing onto his forearm before flipping the skinny thin boy backwards over her shoulder.

Feeling his body slam against the ground, the girl then moved on top of him, reversing their previous position with a wave of her finger. “Besides that would be a pretty painful way to go, don’t you think?.”

His entire head began to spin instantly, both from the hit and from her change in attitude. Now she was happy, playful and just as carefree as before. There was no sign of that bitter suffocation that he had heard at all.

Which meant only one thing, she was covering it up.

But to be completely honest, every single thought he had seemed to drown out completely as he looked up at the towering force above him.

Her long messy hair was blanketed over her, shielding the two of them in a cave of her own design as she stared down with that same alluring dead eyed stare that he had admired before.

And not only that, the dim, dingy warehouse lights behind her seemed to melt around her head, bathing her in an ethereal light of some kind, something that made the boy’s heart flip unexpectedly and without warning.

God, she looked like an angel like this, so perfect, so heavenly.

Yet whether she resembled an angel of life or death was to be decided. Perhaps this was a sign from some unknown force, telling him that Oda Asagao would either be the beginning or the end of him.

Perhaps she would be the last thing he would see before leaving this world peacefully or perhaps she would carry him to the afterlife and into the pits of hell with her siren song and her dangerous words. He didn’t know.

He was playing with fire after all, selfish by staying by her side even though he shouldn’t have been allowed to. He was clouding her white light, binding her wings and making her fall to meet his level just because he couldn’t bear to be lonely.

How cruel he truly was, to not have the heart to set her free. It was too late now, the demon and the fallen angel, their fates had been sealed whether he liked it or not.

Reaching his fingers up, Dazai then ghosted across a strand of her falling hair before turning his head in curiosity. “Touché. Well, since you know so much let me ask you, love. What do you think is the most beautiful way to die?”

He wanted to know her answer, more than anyone before. Because he knew that she would answer honestly. She wouldn’t brush it off or disregard the meaning like everyone else.

Dying was a touchy subject it seemed, because although the boy craved it more than anything, it seemed whenever he brought up his little sad goal, no one ever gave him the answer he was looking for.

He didn’t want to be comforted or to hear that there was no beautiful way of death. No, he wanted perspective, real and true perspective. To see what constituted beauty for others, what that meant in terms of what he was searching for.

Because as much as he wished for peace and beauty in death, the boy didn’t know exactly what that meant. How strange it always was, searching for something so desperately even though he didn’t know the true extent of the meaning.

Waiting with bated breath, Dazai allowed her to silently think before the girl put a finger with a quiet and pensive hum. ““Hmmm, that’s a tough one..”

Then she closed her eyes before her lips curved into a confident beam of light. “I guess I would have to say a lovers suicide!”

And that light was blinding, mixing in with the makeshift halo behind her in order for Dazai to turn his head in confusion.He had never thought about that before. Hell, he didn’t even know the term. How curious. “Lovers suicide?”

Nodding to herself, Asa then lifted her pinky finger out in explanation. “Yeah, like a double suicide, you know? Because even if you deemed that the world was awful, you would still have to admit that there was at least one person that made the experience worth it, enough to want to follow them all the way to the afterlife.”

Then to prove her point, the girl simply reached down before interlocked Dazai’s pinky finger with her own, a small smile of her lips as the boy gazed at the sight in awestruck wonder.

Of course she would say something like that. Only Asagao could answer a question about death so hopefully and tragically captivating. Her desire to see the good, to twist the narrative into a positive one, they were extremely prevalent here.

But for once, Dazai didn’t mind it, he liked the idea of having someone to die with. The thought had never crossed his mind before, to have someone to treasure you enough to want to follow you until the very end. It sounded nice. Almost beautiful even, just like he wanted.

Testing out the words on his tongue, the boy whispered. “A double suicide..”

Nodding once, Asa pulled their interlocked pinkies towards her heart in reply. “Yeah! It’s romantically tragic in its own right, don’t you think?”

It was, it really was. In fact, it was so tragically perfect that Dazai knew he would’ve never had thought of such a thing himself. Simply because he wouldn't have allowed himself to think of something so nice and positive.

But now that it was spoken into the world, it couldn’t be forgotten. “I’ve never thought about that before. Do you really think someone would want to do that with me?”

Could it be, could someone really dedicate themselves to him to that extent, enough to give up everything, to walk hand and hand with him to the end of the line? No, that was impossible, no one wanted him, especially in that way.

Asa only shrugged her shoulders though. “You never know! Doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Then all at once, clarity seemed to flash in his eyes. “You’re right..”

That’s it, he just had to ask every woman he saw, then maybe one day he’d get lucky.

Reaching forward, Dazai then shifted his hands in order to grasp onto her wrist before meeting her eyes with a hopeful smile. “Hey Asa-chan! Do you wanna..”

Yet Asagao seemed to already know where he was going with his question, her hand immediately unlatching from his in order to playfully shove her palm into his face and push him back onto the ground. “Sorry Osu, I would do a lot of things for you but killing myself won’t bring me closer to my brother. The only death I’ll accept is one by your hand.”

Damn it, she had said that before, hadn’t she? Ah well, worth a shot.

Throwing his arms out with a child-ish whine, Dazai then pouted his lips at the rejection. “Boo, you give me such a good idea and then turn me down? That’s not very nice. I’m sad now.”

Asagao only laughed though, her tiny giggles taking up the space of his question before pointing a finger out in an offer of her own. “Well, we can’t have that. Oh, I know. How about we stop by the shop on the way home and I’ll buy you some canned crab to make up for it?”

And although it wasn’t what he wanted, her offer enticed him just as much, the boy’s eyes sparkling with pure joy in order to nod his head excitedly.

“Deal!”

——

Stepping through the door of Odasaku’s apartment, Asagao happily turned on the light, the plastic bag full of canned crab clinking together as she moved, only for Dazai to quickly take off his black mafia jacket and throw it on the ground.

And in the past couple weeks of them reuniting, the girl noticed Osamu's childish traits more and more, an action that made her strangely happy. Sure, she still wasn’t sure if he was being completely authentic but she couldn't deny that he at least looked more free when he did them.

In fact, their relationship had grown exponentially since the night Asa cared for him and took off his bandages. She was worried that by pushing that much she would’ve scared him away but it seemed to be the opposite, and for that she was grateful.

Now he came over whenever he pleased, without excuse, and without worry. She would make sure he ate and they would watch TV together and sometimes they would go out to spar like tonight. If anything, the two had definitely moved past the term strangers and into more of a friendship based relationship.

They understood each other, most of the time without words, and that was refreshing to both of them, considering no one else could do such an impossible thing. They were alike and yet so different depending on the circumstance. It was almost fascinating to think about.

She had never had that before, someone that understood so much with so little.

And where most people would call it invasive, Asagao saw his nosey and deductive attitude as a marvel. Although, she wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, considering she stepped out of boundaries before.

But those days seemed long gone as the girl turned back to Osamu only to pause when she noticed discolored tan stains on the bandages around his arms. Well, that was weird.

Reaching her hand up, Asagao then lightly touched his forearm, careful to keep her touch on the gauze as she inspected the source. “What is this?”

Although all she received was a boy-ish smile, filled with fake innocence. “Coffee?”

Almost immediately, something about his sentence seemed off, causing Asa to cock an eye with suspicion. “I didn’t even know you drank coffee..”

Then all at once, the boy nodded his head erratically, his lips moving at a mile a minute in order to give an over the top laugh. “Oh, yeah! I love it, I can’t get enough of it. That’s why I spilled some on me this morning. Oops, I’m so clumsy, aren’t I? Didn’t even notice it till now.”

Pouting his lips all at once, Dazai then whined to himself dramatically. “But now that you mention it, it feels really gross, like super uncomfortable. Asa-chan, you gotta save me! I don't know how I can go on like this..!”

His story was strange, considering she had never heard him speak about liking coffee before, nor did he ever choose that as his drink of choice. Usually it was just whiskey and any other alcohol he could get his hands on.

And what Asagao didn’t know was that she was completely right. In fact, Dazai had never touched the stuff before this morning. He didn’t love coffee, but the reason he had bathed himself in it was purposeful.

You see, ever since the first night Asagao changed his bandages, Dazai couldn’t get enough. He wanted that feeling back, the one that made him feel so safe and cared for. He couldn’t get it out of his head, and trust me, he had tried.

Which led him to taking matters into his own hands, aka finding ways to dirty his bandages so that he would have an excuse to give Asagao the next time he saw her.

At first it started with blood, making sure to purposely hurt his enemies in the most messy way possible in order to soil the white gauze, but then it moved to other things such as alcohol, and rolling around in dirt or dunking himself in nearby rivers.

And today’s plan involved coffee. He had gotten the idea when he saw one of his subordinates walk around the corner with one. So naturally, he ordered the guy to give it up in order to pour the lukewarm liquid on his arms with delightful glee.

Anything to get Asa to touch him like that again, to feel so important and special again. Was it underhanded? Possibly, but the boy knew he couldn’t just come out and ask for such an embarrassing thing.

Staying silent for a moment, he then watched as Asagao seemed to turn his wrist, examining the sight before she let him go with a smile. “I’ll go get the bandages. Meet you on the couch.”

And just like that, he had won yet again, causing the boy to practically skip to the plush cushions of the sofa, unable to hide his delight in song as he watched her go into Oda’s bedroom to receive the first aid kit. “Yay! Asa-chan is gonna help me, she’s gonna help me, yeah! Asa-chan is the best, she’s the very best, yeah!”

Once she turned the corner though, Asagao couldn’t help but close her eyes, already sensing his deceptive demeanor. No one spilled things that clumsily, especially Dazai. Which meant that it was for a purpose.

But because his actions didn’t seem self destructive, the girl chose to ignore them. It’s not like she minded changing out his bandages time and time again. In fact, she loved doing it, it made her feel closer to him.

Returning to the sofa, Asagao then placed herself beside him before placing the gauze on the table only for Dazai to immediately loosen his port mafia tie from his neck with one hand. “Lean closer, darling.”

So she did, the girl pushed her head closer to him so that he could slip off her glasses before unraveling the tie as she averted her gaze from his in silent wait.

Back in the warehouse she may have been able to look at him without her blurry barriers but now that she wasn’t distracted by the fight everything seemed way harder. She still couldn’t look at him head on like this, no matter how much she tried.

Dazai didn’t seem to mind though, his fingers only focused on securing the black tie around her eyes and into a firm knot as Asagao felt herself let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

So much better.

Then once her view was obstructed, Dazai couldn’t help but soften at the sight of her instant compliance each and every time.

He loved how she never protested to such a strange request, how she never judged him for not being able to do this without the blindfold. No, she knew that he needed this to continue and Dazai was grateful for that.

Once it was done, Asagao moved her fingers towards the coffee stained coverings before slowly undoing each bind as Dazai felt his breath hitch inside his throat at the emotionally intimate contact.

And even though they had done this exchange about a dozen times, each one felt like the very first. It never got easier, it never made his ears stop ringing and his skin stop shivering.

But like some psychotic masochistic man, Dazai never pulled away, his eyes always entranced with her careful and respectful moves, each calculated, each with a certain intent.

He didn’t think he’d ever get sick of it, the way she cherished him.

Because as scary as it was, her gentle non judgemental fingers gave him a sense of calm along with the chaos. They terrified him and yet they always soothed him in every kind of mitch matched way.

They reached down to the deepest part of his soul, the one he didn’t know existed and embraced it in a warm and welcoming hug. And though the warmth was uncomfortable and foreign, he didn’t outright hate it anymore.

In fact it was quite the opposite, the boy wanted to run to it, he wanted to jump head first into that dangerous and vulnerable place and never return. He was addicted in every possible way, addicted to the idea of being held by her forever.

This was all her fault, how could she? Making him experience such a life changing feeling, he knew this would happen, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to resist this once he had it. How dare she, how dare she make him feel such weak and fragile emotions again.

How dare she coax him into thinking he deserved such a wonderful experience like this?

Those thoughts made him want to be protected by her hands forever, and with the low murmur of the TV in the background and the sickeningly sweet sound of Asagao’s hum to break through the noise, Osamu did feel exactly that.

Protected.

Slowly and without words, Asagao then hummed to herself in order to wrap the fresh clean bandages around his arms before securing the sight and pulling down her blindfold. “Do you feel better now?”

He simply nodded, still in a daze as Asagao smiled softly in return before replacing her glasses. “Good, I’m glad.”

A soft silence appeared then as the two kids allowed it to fill the room in order to turn their attention to the screen that was playing the latest anime episode of the show that they had been interested in lately.

This was nice, just being with him, relaxing without a care in the world. It made the foreign walls of her brother’s apartment feel more personal and belonging. Hopefully it was the same for Osamu also.

Just then, the sounds from the TV snapped her back to reality, watching as the the main character clapped excitedly as the room around her revealed her friends and family, all of them wishing her a happy birthday in joyish surprise. Aw, how cute. They planned all that out for her.

The sight couldn’t help make Asagao pause though, realizing something almost immediately. “Hey, Samu. Now that I think about it, when is your birthday? My brother never said in his letters and I’ve always been curious.”

Yet that’s when she watched Dazai pause, his voice rather dead and monotone, as if he was mentally waving the question away. “Oh, it was five months ago.”

Feeling her face fell in horror, Asa shook her head in denial. “W-Wait..I missed it..?”

No, that couldn’t be. That meant that during the time they were apart he celebrated his birthday by himself? How sad. No one even knew and he just let it pass like nothing, didn’t he?

Wait. That meant that Dazai was now sixteen, didn't it? She didn’t even realize.

It didn’t matter that he never mentioned it until now, how could possibly let such a thing pass so quietly without a word? Now she felt awful. “Oh no, I’m so sorry Samu! What kind of fake girlfriend am I? I didn’t even say happy birthday to you. What is wrong with me, I should've asked sooner, I should’ve..”

Yet the boy only cut her off though, his tone clearly dismissive. “Don’t worry about it. Celebrating life is stupid anyways.”

But how could she not worry about it? That was an impossible task, one that she knew she couldn't complete “B-But..I..”

Dazai only pushed a finger to her lips though, stopping any sense of self hatred she was about to utter before shaking his head.“I already said don’t worry your pretty little head, love. Now, stop that frown or else you’ll turn ugly like Chuuya.”

Then the boy simply smiled before flopping his head onto her lap comfortably in order to turn towards the TV and ignore the conversation completely. “Now, shush, pillows aren’t supposed to be noisy.”

And when the air turned silent once more, it was far more solemn as Asagao absently moved her hand to his hair with an unsatisfied sigh.

But for Dazai, the topic had already left his mind as the soothing feeling of her hand on his hair caused his eyes to grow heavier and heavier with bliss, immediately getting lost in the soft caresses and lulling touch.

How could he think about anything when her magic had already utterly captivated him?

Feeling Osamu’s head sink further into the safety of her lap, Asagao felt her eyes soften at the sleeping boy before thinking back to her previous question.

And though Dazai seemed to forget about it, she could not, his sad little words consuming her mind all at once.

Celebrating life is stupid anyways

Closing her eyes with dissatisfaction, Asagao then shook her head, not liking the implications of his words as she wished to change them even so.

And she would change them, she had to.

“But it’s not just any life, it’s your life. ”

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hi! This is my first time requesting so if you're not up for writing this please just ignore it.

Dragon reader whose species is almost completely extinct , Dragons are always known as big and dangerous creatures so when the murders start happening (canon murders.) Ironically during the same time she enrolls in the school everyone immediately starts blaming the reader (Because dragon bad blah blah blah.) This includes Wednesday and Enid who posts on her blog about how dangerous and murderous the reader is and how everyone should shun them. (The police don't have enough evidence to even hold the reader in a cell.) The reader is constantly beaten and considers taking her life at this point until she meets Marilyn who sees a chance to have a servant bigger , smarter and faster than the hide. So she manipulates the reader into being her lover/servant and tells the reader that actually she and Tyler are behind the murders but the reader is so deep in subspace by this point that they don't care. So Marilyn who now has no need for Tyler outs him (But doesn't out herself.) And Tyler goes to jail.

But now that everyone knows Tyler was the murderer they also know that the reader is innocent and are constantly harassing her about forgiving them and telling her that she's being Dramatic, they end up doing this so much that the reader snaps and tells everyone about how she almost ended her life and also snaps on principal Weems about how the reader reported everything to her and how nothing was ever done about it and how their racism almost cost her her life. Marilyn steps in and clams the reader down who was 2 seconds away from transforming into dragon form and afterwards a smut where Marilyn tells the reader that they are all gonna be dead soon anyways so there's no point in wasting energy on them.

That is all.

Yesss!!! Here it is!!! Sorry about the delay!!! Maybe it's too long, but no one can stop me when I'm inspired ;) I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :))))))

Scales of hate

Pairing: Marilyn Thornhill/Laurel Gates x Fem, Student, Dragon! Reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of suicide, implied slightly smut, dark themes, bad choices, bullying, depression…

Word count: 10,054

Summary: You were one of the last dragons, and when your family sent you to Nevermore, things got worse to your dangerous depression…

N/A: Requests are open!!! Sorry about the delays, I’m working hard on your requests. I love you all!!!

When you crossed the common patio, what your new classmates called "the quad", the eyes turned towards you, all of them.

You arrived at what would be your new home, Nevermore, the most important school for outcasts in the country. You knew that in a school like that, going unnoticed was complicated, but the news seemed to spread like wildfire.

“So it's true?” A blonde girl asked, touching your shoulder. She seemed cheerful, but her face also had a certain wary feeling. Next to her was another girl, more serious and dressed in black, like one of those old movies you enjoyed so much.

“What is true?” You asked, not wanting to be too abrupt. Socializing wasn't your strong suit, but you also didn't want to make a bad first impression.

“Well, that… That you are…” The blonde girl said, avoiding contact with your red eyes.

“A dragon,” the other girl finished. She seemed like she had no problem looking into your eyes, her appearance was perhaps a little arrogant.

You sighed and, seeing the zero need to lie, you nodded, crossing your arms.

“Well, yes I am, but people usually call me, (Y/N),” you responded ironically.

“Wow… You know? We had never had dragons in Nevermore, the teachers told us that they had been extinct for years,” the girl Said, sighing with some relief. Everyone acted that way when they knew your nature, with the passage of time, you stopped giving it importance.

Comically and with some sarcasm you looked at yourself, shaking your head.

“Well, here I am,” you said dryly. You looked at the other young woman, who seemed to be studying you thoroughly with her eyes.

“I see… I'm Enid, by the way,” she said, extending her hand towards you. You hesitated, but your senses immediately identified the particular scent of a werewolf, so you shook her hand briefly.

“Principal Weems puts a lot of things at risk in this school,” the other girl said, arms crossed, narrowing her eyes at you. You were used to hearing worse things.

“Wednesday…” Enid whispered, nudging her. “You shouldn't make her angry the first day… You know, teeth, claws… An enormous size…”

You smiled wryly, with the same defiant look with which she looked at you.

“That I'm here bothers you?” You asked with a soft tone. It was not easy for you to lose your temper, the consequences were terrifying.

“I don't know, it depends,” Wednesday said, tilting her head. “I have read many books about dragons, and none of them said good things.”

“Oh, the books, of course. Literature never did us justice,” you said, wanting to escape as quickly as possible.

“30 books that say the same thing can't be wrong.”

You frowned and noticed how your breathing began to quicken. Luckily at that moment the principal appeared, with a smile faker than a $15 bill.

“(Y/N), how lucky you are here…”She said, sighing with a strange relief. You could see prejudice everywhere, your life was always like this, people used to be nice, but only because they thought that at some point you would transform and slaughter everything in your path.

“Principal Weems…” Your two companions sighed.

You didn't say anything, you just took one last look at that dark, distrustful young woman and let yourself be guided by Weems, who seemed to almost push you offstage.

“I'm glad you're starting to get to know your classmates,” Larissa said, as you went up some stairs.

“They looked very enthusiastic about having me here,” you said ironically. The woman didn't say anything, she just gave you a fake smile while she handed you a set of keys in front of a door that was different from the others.

“This is your room,” she said. You nodded and looked at the three keys and then at the door. Three locks, of course.

“What about my roommate?” You asked, when Larissa told you which key went in which lock. “Shouldn't you introduce her to me?”

“Oh, well, I thought that perhaps you would be a little more comfortable if you were alone, your uncle told us that you didn't like the company too much,” she explained. You nodded passively and listlessly.

“And the thing about the armored bedroom is for my privacy, right?” You asked sarcastically as you opened the locks.

“It's a new system that we're testing, you know, to prevent students from "breaking the rules," you know what I mean,” she said, winking at you.

You widened your eyes at that pathetic excuse and made a sour face for the woman to get out of there.

“All your stuff is here, put things to your liking, tomorrow you'll start classes oh, and one last thing…” She said, making you look again through the door that you were already closing. “Put your uniform.”

You didn't say anything and frowned, giving that draconic look that you knew scared people, thus putting your theories to the test. Larissa stepped back and put on a bigger and more fake smile.

“Well, if, if you want to, of course,” She said with a broken voice. You rolled your eyes and closed the door in the middle of a standard formal parting sentence.

You took a look at your room. It was dark, with a small window. It was no longer just that the door had three locks, or that you were at the top of the school, cut off from the rest of the world. It seemed like you were in some kind of jail. You drew the curtains to find the next surprise.

“Bars? Really?” You asked to yourself, when you opened the window. “There is nothing like feeling at home...”

Sighing, you fell back on the bed and reflected on the last events of your life.

You didn't know much about your family, about your parents. They died when you were just a baby. You've lived with your father's brother since that. He told you lies about losing your parents, until one day, in one of your usual tantrums as a little girl, you wreaked havoc on your uncle's little farm. Then the truth came out.

You were a dragon, one of the last, if not the last. Your parents were too, but unfortunately in small towns people didn't have an open mind.

Centuries and centuries of bad fame, of series and movies where the dragon was the enemy, the terrifying being that came to end humanity, had made a dent in the population, causing them, after an incident that occurred in the town, to blame your parents.

The police did not have enough evidence, they were innocent. But people wanted revenge instead of a rational explanation. They died after a mob of people with pitchforks and torches. You survived thanks to being hidden.

The rest of your life was a concert of prejudices, prohibitions and punishments. Looks of fear and hatred from everyone, cruel advances from your former colleagues. Basically hell. Nevermore didn't seem like the solution and you didn't have to see it for yourself. You knew it well days before you arrived.

You were mired in a very serious depression and your problems did not seem to go away, not even with the treatments of the well-paid psychiatrist who used to treat you, or rather, prescribe you a bottle of painkillers every two weeks.

You left that bottle of pills on the table and you stared at it, as you did every day for a while. You always thought horrible things, give up, stop living in misery, stop living indeed.

You were a coward, you never dared to do it. You were also delusional, thinking that the next day would be better, that there was still some hope. Day after day, you were wrong.

Nevermore seemed to be a refuge for all the outcasts. It was sold as the only opportunity for those who had been rejected by society. Lies. You couldn't leave your room without seeing terrified looks towards you, without comments and stupid questions about how many cities you had razed, if you had ever killed, or if you were dangerous.

They were partly right. You had strength greater than any creature that resided there, you could outrun anyone, you could fly, you could spit fire. You were a terrifying creature, but harmless. Years of self-control by your family forced you to contain your abilities, not to respond to ridicule, to pretend to be a weak girl, without a soul, without the desire to defend yourself, without the desire to exist.

Being on your uncle's farm at least you were allowed to transform from time to time, fly around, feel free. You couldn't do it in Nevermore, Larissa made it very clear to you when you arrived.

Although apparently that girl Enid seemed somewhat closer than the others, she didn't usually get close to you either. In your first classes there was a great void around you, as if you were a carrier of some infectious disease. You could smell the fear, the hate, the rejection.

At least you had the woods. Every afternoon, you went out to vent among the trees. Roaring in rage, pulling out your claws and knocking down a tree along the way. No one saw you there, it was the closest thing to being free, the only thing that made you not look with desire at that bottle of pills.

“Twelve seconds, a new record…” You sighed, panting, stopping your watch.

It was a rainy afternoon, the perfect weather to run and unleash your destructive instincts. You leaned against a tree and looked up at the gray sky, while the raindrops fell on your face.

“Sheriff, honestly, I doubt it was a bear,” a voice that caught your attention said, making you automatically turn your head towards the source of the sound.

Stealthily, you approached what looked like a crime scene. There was a police car and two people examining something in the rain.

“Where is the right arm?” the man asked, who looked like the sheriff of the town.

“It's the only thing that's missing,” the woman who was next to him replied.

You hid behind a tree and had to hold back a scream when you saw what looked like body parts scattered around the area.

“Oh shit,” you whispered, listening carefully to the conversation.

“It's already the third, Donovan, what are we going to tell the press?”

 “What do I know…” The man replied, looking in your direction. “Tell them the bear is back.

“But sheriff…”

“I know, I know. I'm pretty sure this all has to do with that bloody school, but until I find out the truth, it's going to be a fucking bear.”

You listened carefully, trying not to be discovered, because they were looking around. Immediately all your alarms turned on. Several heinous crimes, a dragon, Nevermore. You just had to connect concepts.

You escaped from the place as fast as you could, being a bit unsettled by that information. It could be you, but you were sure it wasn't, it had been more than ten years since you lost control of your actions enough to forget about something like that, besides, the victim looked like a hiker, not a student of Nevermore, which would be your most likely target.

“Well, in today's class, we will talk about one of the most fearsome creatures that exist,” the teacher of "dangerous creatures" began to explain “Dragons.”

You looked up, noticing how the eyes of your companions immediately settled on you. You ignored them and frowned at the teacher.

“Well, for centuries, humanity has feared these monstrous creatures, responsible for destroying several cities and killing and devouring millions of people.”

A raised hand caught your attention. It was Wednesday, the sinister girl who questioned you the day you arrived.

“Mrs. Frampton, what drives a dragon to destroy? Is its nature?” She asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye.

You knew how scared they were of you at school, but that question seemed a bit strange to you, but just to you. Everyone else was looking at the teacher curious to hear the answer.

“Very good question, Wednesday. Well, many experts have come to the conclusion that, regardless of having a human form or not, these creatures always have the instinct to kill, to destroy. It is said that every time a dragon is born, humanity loses a century of life expectancy. Fortunately, these specimens are practically a rarity.”

“Rarity? What about me?” You said, drawing the attention of the whole class.

“Ms. (Y/N), raise your hand to speak...” the teacher said, without looking at you.

“Excuse me, but I think I have the right to speak,” you said, getting up from the chair. “What you are telling is a pack of lies.”

“Sit down, (Y/N), don't make me have to call Weems,” the teacher said, taking several steps back, since you always sat in the front row.

“What you are saying is false,” you said, doing mental exercises as your uncle taught you. If you didn't, things could get ugly. “Dragons don't have destructive instincts, that's what petulant writers with their ass glued to their chairs who have no idea what they're talking about say.”

“Oh, and I suppose you have more information, don't you?” Frampton asked, her voice shaking.

“Dragons have always been defenders of peace and nature until some lords with spears and bows decided that they should slaughter them to the point of extinguishing them.”

“Of course, and those guardians of nature defended it by killing innocent people…” Wednesday said, from the back of the class.

“You have no idea what you're talking about…” You sighed, starting to feel too nervous.

A few knocks on the door interrupted this tense confrontation. Principal Weems peeked out sheepishly.

“Excuse me, Cynthia, can I take (Y/N) with me for a moment?” She asked. You looked at her scared, you didn't have a good feeling.

“Yes, please…” The unpleasant teacher sighed. You clenched your fists and walked through the aisle of desks, while you listened to how your classmates moved their chairs away from you as far as they could.

“What's wrong?” You asked when you left the class. Larissa shook her head, but she didn't answer, simply motioning for you to follow her to your office.

When you entered the eccentric office, you noticed something disturbing. The sheriff and his deputy were there.

“Is that her?” The man asked, looking at you suspiciously. You didn't say anything, looking at Larissa, who nodded with that fake smile that got on your nerves.

“Please, (Y/N), sit down,” Larissa told you kindly. “This is Sheriff Galpin and his deputy, Agent Santiago. They want to ask you some questions.”

“Me? Why?” You asked, while you sat down.

“Relax, it will only be a moment,” the assistant answered you, with a tone of false kindness.

“Well, (Y/N), your file is amazing…” The sheriff said, flipping through some papers. “I must admit that when they told me you were a dragon, I expected something more… Terrifying…”

You didn't respond to that comment and you noticed how your hands began to sweat, slightly showing your scales, something that embarrassed you.

“Well... tell me, miss, where were you yesterday at 4:30 in the afternoon approximately?” He asked, turning on a recorder. You immediately widened your eyes and looked everywhere, feeling cornered.

“This is an interrogation?” You asked annoyed, confused.

“It's just a few questions, (Y/N), it's okay,” Larissa told you, resting a trembling hand on your shoulder.

You snorted and after blinking several times, you cleared your throat.

“I was in the woods,” you said sincerely.

“What were you doing in the woods?”

“Running. I go running every afternoon,” you answered again. You had nothing to hide, although the image of that torn apart body was still very present in your head. That interrogation had something to do with it, you were convinced.

“Yesterday was a rainy day…” the sheriff said, with a suspicious look.

“I like the rain,” you answered.

“And this boy? Do you like him?” He asked you, handing you the photograph of a young boy. You looked at it well. You've seen it before, at least his head. It was the murdered boy. You shook your head, handing the photo back.

“I don't know who he is,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Are you sure?” Galpin insisted. “Because by chance this poor boy was seen entering the woods at 4 in the afternoon and half an hour later he was found dead. What a coincidence.”

“What are you insinuating?” You asked, noticing the sweat falling from your forehead.

“I'm insinuating that you were in the woods at the same time, and, well, given your nature, it's not unusual to think that…”

“Oh no, please…” You sighed, almost laughing. “You're not thinking that I was the one who…”

“The body was found brutally dismembered, obviously in a way impossible for a human being, but that fits a creature of your characteristics,” the sheriff interrupted. You shook your head, unable to properly respond to those accusations. You looked at Larissa, asking for help, some support, a presumption of innocence. You only found more prejudice in her look, concern.

You had heard how Weems seemed to want to defend Nevermore at all costs, but you saw how those rumors seemed not to be true, rather it seemed that she thought you were guilty. It would be useless to want to defend yourself. You were there, at the scene of the crime, you were a monster.

The only thing that could save you at that moment was the advice of your uncle, a lawyer before he became a farmer. They not were comfortable with your presence on the farm, but he respected family above all else, and he helped you whenever he could.

“I have not done anything. I was only there by chance,” you said, trying to appear sure, firm.

“We'll see about that, for now, come with me to the police station…” Galpin said, gesturing for you to get up. You looked back at Weems, who seemed to indicate with her eyes that you do as you were told.

The whole school saw you walk out with the sheriff, enough humiliation for that day.

There they took your fingerprints, a more official statement, but they let you go, they had no real evidence for their misfortune, but they warned you that they would be after you.

You walked around the quad, ready to go back to your room and sink into bed, crying. But the gazes of all the students were strangely riveted on their mobile phones and glanced at you from time to time.

You didn't understand anything, but you knew that something very bad was happening. Larissa told you that one of the students had a blog in which she shared things about Nevermore and other gossip things. As if by a premonition, thanks to the extraordinary abilities of your ancestors, you picked up your phone and took a look at the blog.

Your suspicions were fulfilled. There was a new article in it, talking about you, how dangerous you are, with information that the stupid Frampton must have told them, about your species, the danger people are in with you and how avoiding you could save their lives.

You were burning with rage and the scales were beginning to show on your skin. With your eyes, you looked for the author of that infamous blog, Enid, the cheerful and gossipy werewolf from Nevermore. You soon located her, chatting with her friends at one of the tables. Puffing, blowing smoke out of your nose, you moved closer to her.

“Hey, what are you up to? What the hell does this mean?” You asked abruptly, showing the phone to the young woman, who seemed scared when she saw you.

“Don't talk to Enid that way, you monster,” a girl with sunglasses said unpleasantly.

“Well, then she shouldn't talk like that about me,” you said. “Hey, why did you write that?” You asked the young woman, who seemed to be trembling with terror.

“Enid only does a public service,” Wednesday answered, appearing behind you. You shook your head with a desperate smile on your face.

“Look, you have fed me,” you said, taking a step closer to the blonde, who had hidden behind the vampire.

“Hey, don't come any closer.” A boy approached you. He was wearing a ridiculous wool cap for what you assumed was one of those disturbing gorgons. He was not alone, a gang of what looked like bodyguards accompanied him.

 “Ajax…” The blonde murmured.

You didn't understand what that attitude was about. You never hurt anyone, ever. Now you were seeing how a whole school of people who were supposed to be just as mistreated as you were terrified by your presence.

“I'm not going to do anything to her, I just want her to delete her last blog entry…” You explained, fed up.

“You shouldn't exist,” a boy said, hidden behind the gorgon boy.

Some murmurs proved that he was right and they began to approach you, you did not know with what intention.

“Leave me alone,” you said when everyone started pushing you. Your self-control exercises were not enough for such a threatening situation. It was absurd to think that any of them had any chance of scratching you, but getting angry was not the best of their options. You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the words that accused you of being a murderer while those who thought they were the bravest shoved you.

Your body was relaxed and in the end you were knocked to the ground. In your head you imagined calm hills, a sky full of clouds, while you felt the feet of your companions on your back. Your heart was beating fast and you were unable to concentrate. Anger began to rise through your body, your hands began to shake and you opened your eyes, screaming loudly.

All the people who were hitting you immediately shot away. Some came back for you, this time with the humiliation of having exposed their ridiculous strength. You got rid of them one by one, throwing them against the wooden tables.

When you realized what you had done, it was already too late. No one had proof that you were the one who murdered that boy in the woods, but now you just gave it to them. The bullies no longer approached and looked at you in terror.

“I'm sorry, I…” You stammered, looking at the girls that were still at the table, hallucinating. All except Wednesday, who looked at you with satisfaction.

“My God, (Y/N)…” A voice interrupted that tense moment of silence. One of your teachers, Marilyn Thornhill, came up to you with wide eyes.

She was not like the rest. It's not that she had a special attitude towards you or anything like that, but at least she didn't seem to act like the other teachers and she treated you well. You liked her from the first time you saw her, but your depression and the trouble you started to get into had made you to forget your feelings. Now she had seen you hit your mates and that would lead to Weems, and Weems, to the sheriff.

“I…” You said, watching all the guys you hit get up.

It was too much. There was no longer any doubt that you were the murderer. You had just demonstrated your outrageous strength in front of them and a teacher. It was only a matter of time before they came for you, that they took you to the police station, that they sent you to jail or a mental hospital for lack of a better guilty. It was a small town, and you knew how small towns worked.

You were cornered and you had no other options. You had to run away, run away forever. You escaped from the courtyard and quickly went up the stairs. Luckily no one seemed interested in chasing you. You closed the door from the inside and after several minutes crying non-stop you got up and took your hand to the bottle of pills.

Live a miserable life or end it all. At that time you were looking at the pills with trembling hands. A creature like you couldn't be locked up in a jail or a mental institution. You would die slowly.

“Better now…” You sighed, opening the bottle.

The minutes pass and with them, the hours. You were not brave. Not even in the horrible situation you were in you could act. There was no light in your room anymore, it was night. It was weird that no one had come looking for you by then. You didn't think about that anymore, you just debated between life and death with a lost look and your thoughts wandering, as if your own mind was trying to distract you so you wouldn't make that horrible decision.

Just when you finally seemed determined to end it all, someone knocked at your door. Too late, they were already coming for you. You could transform, break the bars and run out the window, it would be easy. But your body stopped. You did not move from your position and the knocks on the door were repeated.

“(Y/N)? Open the door, please, It’s Miss Thornhill…” It was heard behind the armored door. You didn't expect that. It wasn't Larissa, it wasn't the sheriff, it was your botany teacher. You shook your head and put the bottle down on the table again, while hesitatingly you went to the door, turning the keys.

The redhead surprisingly seemed to be alone. She was holding a tray like the ones in the dining room and on her face there was a smile with a tenderness that you had never seen in that school.

“Hi honey, can I come in?” She said softly. You still suspected it was a trap and hesitated, leaning on the door.

“What do you want? Are you coming alone?” You asked, getting nervous again. She looked at you pityingly and shook her head, still smiling.

“I come alone, (Y/N). I was thinking that you would be hungry...” She said, moving the tray.

Your stomach rumbled at the sight of the dinner you had forgotten about and you seriously meditated for a few seconds. Marilyn hadn't acted like the rest of the people in Nevermore, she didn't seem like someone to run away from. After a few seconds, you decided to open the door all the way and let her in.

The redhead walked into your room and she gestured for you to sit on the bed. She sat next to you and put the food on your lap.

“Tell me the truth. Weems sends you to take me with her, right?” You said, starting to eat dinner. “I’m arrested, punished, or both…” She laughed.

“No, honey, you're not arrested…” She said, staring at you as you wolfed down your dinner. You stopped eating and frowned. You were a bit confused. It is true that she was different, but in the time you had been in Nevermore, she did nothing to get close to you.

“I don't believe it, you were there when I hit those boys…” You whispered, setting the tray aside. Marilyn agreed.

“Yes, I saw everything, that's precisely why you're not punished,” she replied.

“Sorry, but I don't understand…” You murmured, shaking your head.

“I've seen how they messed with you, (Y/N), I can't say that this was the right action, but surely anyone in your place would have defended themselves. Don't worry, Weems knows it and she's not going to do anything.”

“What? Why not? Everyone here thinks I'm a dangerous killing machine,” you said, surprised. Marilyn laughed again. Her attitude was one of the strangest for you, but her tone of voice reassured you, she gave you peace.

“Not all of them, (Y/N), I don't think so,” she said tenderly, caressing your cheek. Your body began to burn at the strange sensation of her hand against your skin. Surely your cheeks would have already given you away and would be red.

“Do you... Do you think I'm innocent?” You asked, astonished. You knew that she was normi, that she had no power. If there was anyone with real reason to fear you, it was her, someone who was completely unaware of this world of outcasts in which you lived. But quite the opposite, she seemed like she was the only one who believed you. Little by little the idea of the bottle of pills faded away.

“I don't think so, (Y/N), I'm sure,” the redhead said, removing her hand from your cheek and looking at you now with a melancholic air. “You will find it incredible, but I know what you feel, despite not being a creature as magnificent as you.”

You couldn't help but smile. No one had ever told you that dragons were magnificent. You were so moved that even tears came back to your eyes.

“Wow, you're the first to think that way,” you said in a whisper. She smiled again, but she took a breath to continue speaking.

“I know what it's like to feel alone, (Y/N). I lost my family when I was very young, and I have always lived between two worlds. I was always too odd for normies and not odd enough for outcasts. I have lived all my life in an isolated limbo.”

You listened to her story carefully. It had quite a few things in common with yours, even if it wasn't a scaly, fiery creature.

“I, I'm sorry,” you said feeling sorry for that woman, who seemed like the kindest person in Nevermore.

“Don't worry, I've gotten used to it. Listen to me, (Y/N), don't waste time with those wretches,” she told you, now looking at you fixedly, with a slightly darker tone. “They don't deserve your attention.”

“I don't want their attention, I want them to leave me alone, I haven't done anything to them…” You said, crossing her arms. Marilyn sighed and nodded.

“They, their nature is to hate the different ones and make an excuse that they are the ones who suffer hate. They are like that, honey.”

“So why am I not like that? Well, I mean, I'm one of them too,” you said, thinking of those words. You couldn't find a way to not agree with her.

“You have nothing to do with them. You are unique, they are hundreds. They are cowards, arrogant... But you shouldn't worry about them, do you hear me? They don't deserve you to cry for them... “ Marilyn said, a little closer, almost in a whisper.

You agreed. Perhaps you expected another type of speech, someone who told you that you were all the same or something like that. However, she also seemed to have been teased by Nevemore. How such a kind and innocent woman could feel this way made you realize that she was right. They were arrogant, they did not share they world, they did not let anyone who was different enter it, a different outcast and a normi seemed to be the cause of their problems. Old stories that your uncle used to tell came to your mind. How hate was able to transform people.

“In any case, (Y/N), even if it doesn't help, maybe you could stop by the conservatory some afternoon, and so you can talk to me about your problems and I'll talk to you about mine, is that okay with you?”

You smiled at the proposition. You were no longer alone and you were beginning to realize it. You could not fix everything, at least you could escape the black hole in which you lived for a moment.

The following weeks were somewhat different. Everyone in Nevemore continued to hate you, but little by little you began to ignore them, to contain your rage when someone pushed you or insulted you. It was partly thanks to Marilyn. You listened to her and after classes you began to visit her in the conservatory. You both talked, you laughed... It was a somewhat strange relationship, but it was a relationship. She wasn't afraid of you, she always told you so.

The small attraction you felt towards her intensified. You didn't know if it was because of the pity she showed you, out of pity, but she treated you well, she caressed you from time to time, she listened to you, she understood you...

“Blue moon?” You asked, while you watered the plants.

“Yes, it happens every many years and it sure is a sight worth seeing, don't you think?” Marilyn said, leaning on her desk.

“Maybe it is…” You said joking. She smiled.

“So? Shall we meet tonight in the woods? I promise you won't regret it,” the redhead said, getting a little closer to you.

You turned red, a night meeting, in the middle of nowhere. You knew there was chemistry between you, but your fantasies always stayed inside your room, they never came out. At that time many images were going through your head. Did she feel the same way about you? Or were you just two outcasts in a outcasts’ school? If you wanted to resolve those doubts, you should go to the woods that night.

“Um, okay… Tonight in the woods…” You said with a smile. She laughed and without expecting it, she gently kissed your cheek, leaving you paralyzed.

You left school when the moon shone with all its splendor. Somewhere howling was heard. Your stomach turned at the thought of your companions. Having someone to talk to, managed to bring out some hatred that you had generated towards all your classmates. You might think that hate was wrong, that it's the opposite of love, but Marilyn never said that. She always agreed with you. At first you found the way she talked about them shocking, but soon you enjoyed her cruel comments, always with that innocent smile.

There was no need for light in the woods, the moon was more than enough. You hadn't seen Marilyn, but you were very confident, you were convinced that she would show up.

The lake reflected the moon while you waited for… Your date? You had left early, so you were not in a hurry, you dedicated yourself to throwing stones and making them bounce in the water. Time passed little by little and your nerves began to send you warning signs. There was no sign of the redhead.

You sat on the cool grass, looking at your phone from time to time. No one showed up for an hour. Perhaps something had happened, but it seemed unlikely to you. That she would consider meeting you alone for the night as inappropriate was much more likely.

Sighing with great disappointment, you got up and brushed the grass off your clothes, heading back. A creak behind you stopped your steps. You looked up at the trees, which swayed in the wind.

“Marilyn?” You asked the air, without getting an answer. You weren't scared, you were always the one who scared others, but a chill ran down your back and your senses focused on a dark figure that, thanks to your vision, you could distinguish between the trees.

The wind sent signals to your fine ears. Unfamiliar growls could be made out in that same direction. You had no reason to run, but curiosity made you go closer to the trees. A black shadow pounced on you.

It was a monster. A monster with disproportionate claws and eyes. You fell to the ground in fright, looking at how that creature roared with satisfaction, raising its claws to attack you. Your reflexes acted in your favor, causing you to roll on the ground, escaping the claw.

“Shit!” You yelled, leaping to your feet as the monster roared at having missed. You became defensive, surrounding that creature, which kept stalking you, hitting you with claws from which you could miraculously escape.

Failing to attack you, the monster went into a rage, rushing back at you. This time you were able to get your claws out, grabbing his, sinking into the grass by the force that that dark being did. You couldn't think straight, the fury of that thing was inexhaustible. The image of that devastated hiker passed through your mind. You didn't take long to relate concepts. Surely that would be the monster responsible for those crimes.

Now it was clear to you, if you managed to defeat him, you could clear your name and put the constant visits from the sheriff and the blatant interrogations behind you.

“Okay, you horrible thing, you're going to do me a big favor…” You sighed when you felt how one of his claws scratched your skin, making a wound and tearing your clothes. “You wanted it.”

You took off the trench coat you always wore and began to gasp, your eyes beginning to glow dangerously. It was a clear, lonely place. You could see the lights of the academy, but no one would notice.

The monster stopped mugging you, it just looked at you curiously, while your clothes were torn. Your teeth grew, the scales on your skin turned red, and your body grew and grew. With a roar, you jumped, when, under the blue moon, a majestic red dragon appeared. Feeling like this was a relief for you. It had been too long since you felt that way. Your wings moved, keeping you in the air.

Like a wolf howling at the moon, you roared. You looked down, seeing the monster now as if it were a mere puppy.

With just one claw, you knocked that creature down, smashing it against a tree, which snapped, causing an even more sinister rumble that night.

The monster didn't seem to want to give up, and he stood up, snarling in fury. You went down to the ground, approaching that strange being with a roar, ready to do justice. His claws reached your chest, but immediately after, you grabbed that monster by the neck, lifting it off the ground. The creature roared in fury, digging its claws into your arm. You were going to squeeze that thing until it burst, but before you could, a voice appeared in the woods.

“Tyler, stop it!” It was Marilyn, who appeared among the trees. The monster stopped moving, stopped resisting.

You looked at the woman, surprised. The situation had turned absurd in a matter of a second. Marilyn was talking to that monster, while she was looking at you with admiration.

“(Y/N), do you hear me?” She asked, looking at you curiously. The shock made you paralyze, but you soon nodded, implying that you understood her. You were unable to speak while transformed, but you still had full consciousness.

“Please, let it go,” she said to you, with a somewhat fearful voice, and it was not for less, she was talking to a dragon.

You looked at that monster, which was hanging from your claws. Now it seemed harmless and questions began to appear in your mind from all possible places. Wanting a million answers, you set the monster down gently and began to relax, shrinking in size, gradually returning to your human form.

When you were in your normal form, you ran for your trench coat and quickly covered yourself with it, your gaze fixed on that creature, who was waiting patiently next to the redhead.

“What's going on? What... What is that thing?” You said, shivering with cold. Marilyn didn't seem nervous being around that monster and that was very disturbing.

“Calm down, (Y/N), it's harmless,” she told you, not answering any of your questions. You looked at that creature and then at the redhead, who looked at you satisfied. “You are incredible, (Y/N), a magnificent creature, just as I thought…”

After those words you shook your head, feeling dizzy from the transformation, but above all from the confusion.

“I... I don't understand anything...” You said again, with a hand over your eyes, making an effort to understand.

“Soon you'll understand, honey. Tyler, become human again,” she told the monster, which agreed immediately, reducing its size and transforming into a boy, more or less your age. He was staring at you with a half smile. “Please go get dressed right now.”

The boy looked at Marilyn and nodded again and went into the trees. The fact that he was naked went completely unnoticed by you. Marilyn looked at you curiously and moved closer to you, placing a hand on the wound that protruded from your chest.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asked with a tender but disturbing voice.

“It's just a scratch…” You said nervously, moving away from her touch.

“Well, scratch or not, it has to be healed…” She said, ignoring your desire to back off.

The boy appeared again, now dressed. You, who were waiting for the redhead's caresses on your chest, looked over her shoulder, keeping an eye on that mysterious boy.

“Oh, don't worry about Tyler…” Marilyn said, covering yourself well with your trench coat. “He does what I tell him.”

“I... I don't understand anything...” You said, overwhelmed by the circumstances.

“It's very simple, (Y/N). Tyler, come here,” Marilyn said. The boy moved automatically, like he was some kind of robot, getting right in front of you. “Shake hands with (Y/N), she has been a formidable rival for you, don't you think?”

Tyler reached out his hand for yours. You were suspicious, you had seen what that boy was, despite his angelic face. You shyly shook his hand and he smiled.

“I've never seen anything like this, you're very strong, (Y/N),” he told you with a soft, innocent voice.

You shook your head, speechless. You winced as your wounds began to demand your attention.

“Come with me, honey… Let's heal you to a place where we can talk. Tyler, you drive.”

You got into a car with the boy and Marilyn and after five minutes of traveling in complete silence, you arrived at an apparently abandoned house.

You didn't understand anything, but you followed the redhead into the building. It was a dilapidated house, but well preserved, especially one of the bedrooms on the upper floor. Marilyn sat you on the bed and caressed your cheek, studying your reactions. You were almost in shock, with a lost look. Tyler was also standing there, expressionless, looking at you.

“What are you doing there like an idiot? Go get the first-aid kit,” Marilyn ordered, pointing to the door.

“Yes, Laurel.”

You blinked at the way the boy called your teacher and you were finally able to react.

“Laurel?” You asked. She looked at you with a mischievous smile and nodded, sitting down next to you.

“It's a long story, (Y/N), but don't worry, I'm going to tell you…” She said, uncovering your wounded chest. You instinctively covered yourself and she smiled amused.

“Are you ashamed?” She asked jokingly. You nodded, realizing there was nothing under that coat. “You mustn't honey, you can trust me… The question is… Can I trust you?”

You were going to babble nonsense, but Tyler came back into the room with a white box.

“Wait outside,” Marilyn told him. He nodded, and giving you a strange smile, he left the room.

When it was just her and you, avoiding your defensive movements, she managed to take off your coat, slipping it off your shoulders.

“Be nice, will you?” The redhead said, pulling your hands away. You stopped fighting. That was so strange that not even your shame was able to outshine it.

“I don't understand anything…” You whispered, hissing in pain as Marilyn began to heal your wounds.

“Tyler is a Hyde,” she said dryly, glancing at you briefly. “A powerful creature that obeys the commands of a master.”

“A Hyde? Mrs. Frampton never told us about…”

“Oh, of course,” Marilyn said, laughing. “Those idiots never see beyond themselves. There are more Hyde in the world than dragons, but they prefer to mess with you, typical of the outcasts, harass the weakest.”

“You… You say that he obeys a master… You….”

“Yes, it's me. I managed to unlock it shortly after arriving at Nevermore. It's easy to do it if you know how,” she said without giving importance to the fact that she had a terrible monster under her orders.

You thought of each of the revelations. Monster, hiker, deaths. Soon some dark areas began to lighten in your mind.

“The hiker… So it was Tyler who…”

She nodded impassively, while she passed some bandages over your chest, wrapping the wound well. When she finished, she sighed and unexpectedly placed a brief kiss on your lips. If you hadn't been so confused and scared, you would have trembled at that unexpected act. You opened your mouth to say something, but found no words. It was all so surreal that you thought it was a dream, or a nightmare, a nightmare-dream, or something like that.

“Why?” You asked. Not even you were able to know if you were asking about the monster or about the kiss.

“Because I like you…” She said, amused, putting your coat back on. “You are beautiful and very strong...”

You blushed, but before falling captivated by her words, you shook your head.

“No, I don't mean… I mean… why a Hyde? What do you want it for?”

“Oh, my sweet girl... You're so innocent... I need it to get rid of all those Nevermore outcasts. You see, my name is not Marilyn Thornhill. My name is Laurel Gates,” you nodded with wide eyes, ignoring the first part of her words.

“Laurel Gates…” You repeated with a small voice. The name was not at all familiar to you.

“Yes. I’m the daughter of what was the most important family in Jericho, I descend directly from Joseph Crackstone, the founder of the town and well... This is my house, by the way.”

“Um…” You stammered, desperate because that information seemed irrelevant to you.

“My family had been fighting for centuries to end this scourge of outcasts, to purify the place where their children grew up, but unfortunately, those soulless beasts ended their lives. Nevermore and all his spawns killed my family, I was left alone.”

You now began to understand, not only what had happened that night, but also all the strange phrases that she said from time to time in your talks in the conservatory. Things about how bad your peers were, about the supremacist nature of outcasts.

“Them?” You asked. She nodded, her expression hardening for a moment, before smirking.

“But, it will soon be over, (Y/N),” she said, patting your legs. “My family was always one step behind them, I have… Another way of doing things, a little more… Supernatural one… Tyler is just a pathetic simple tool to get everything I need. And now is when my proposal comes, (Y/N).”

You nodded, understanding where the conversation was going.

“Tyler is a good slave, but when I saw you giving those wretches what they deserved… When I saw what you were capable of, I realized that I was completely wrong. You are stronger, smarter, faster, more powerful... And above all, you also want them to pay for everything they have done to you, I see it in your eyes, you hate them, (Y/N), just like me.”

“I… Well…” You stammered. You were suffering contempt, plunged into a depression that your new companions only made worse.

“They do that, (Y/N), they steal the little happiness you have, they leave you alone, isolated, without hope. It's their specialty, (Y/N),” Laurel said, with a sweet voice, trying to convince you that this crusade was the right thing to do, that they should disappear.

You remembered that fateful afternoon, the one you said goodbye to your family with the bottle of pills in your hand, about to do something crazy precisely because your colleagues refused to give you a chance, to see you as if you weren't someone dangerous, a murderer.

You had no reason to think that they deserved to live, that if you had done what you wanted, they would have won, they would have claimed your life and they would not have cared. In your murky thoughts, you imagined some kind of banquet or celebration after your death, like those medieval songs in which the monster was defeated and the village held an ostentatious banquet together with the defeated beast.

You didn't want that, now you could change history, be the one who won. It was a tempting idea, revenge, make everyone pay for their prejudices. You weren't a bad person, you would never hurt anyone. Throughout your life you had suffered because of the people around you, your parents died because of those people, like Marilyn's, or Laurel's.

“I… I don't know…” You said stammering. “I have never wanted to hurt anyone...”

“I know, my love, you are a good girl, you are not like them, but tell me, what did they for you? Only to suffer at the hands of those monsters...” Laurel said, approaching you, sitting down next to you again.

“I… It's probably just that…” You said, getting very nervous, looking for some excuse to prevent the idea from sounding better and better in your head.

“What, my precious girl? Do you think they deserve to live longer than you? Wouldn't they do the same with another person?” Laurel said, pouting. You had no answer for that. You were good, you knew it, just imaging a person with hope, with a little more joy in living, suffer the same contempt, the same sinking, the same descent into hell made you burn with rage.

“You, you're right…” You said, raising your head. Laurel smiled at you, but she didn't say anything, she just kissed you again, like she was somehow sealing some kind of contract.

“My love… Of course. Together you and me, we will be invincible... Good will triumph, you'll see...”

You nodded, growing disturbingly sure of what you were doing. You could taste revenge, you could take pleasure imagining all these outcasts paying for what they did to you, what they did to Laurel. You secretly loved her, she secretly loved you. Still not sure she wasn't using you, you hugged her, crying uncontrollably into her shoulder.

“Shhh, don't cry my love… Calm down,” she told you, caressing your head gently.

“I don't know if I should…” You sobbed. “Everyone believes that I killed the hikers…”

“That's okay, calm down...” She told you, sounding a little impatient. “Calm down, (Y/N),” she said more roughly, shaking you.

You were scared by that almost aggressive attitude, but you made an effort to remain calm.

“What…? What are we going to do?” You asked, controlling your crying. Laurel smiled, seeing how you finally relaxed.

“To begin with, we are going to get rid of two problems at once. As you know, Tyler has been doing me… favors…”

You stood pensive, thinking about how the monster certainly looked like the mysterious hiker killer.

“He is the murderer… You, you ordered him to…” You said in a very low voice, beginning to being scared.

“My love, everything I do, I do it for the greater good, I hope you understand that…” The redhead told you, cupping your face in her hands.

“Why do you have to kill people?” You asked, looking into those dark eyes that didn't look like your sweet teacher's.

“That doesn't matter, darling, they're just pawns in a bigger game…” She whispered, very close to your lips. You nodded, somewhat puzzled. “For now, let's get rid of that suspicion, Tyler!” She yelled, making the boy appear in the room instantly.

He looked at you and nodded, waiting for his mistress's command.

“Tyler, my good Hyde, are you willing to do your mistress a big favor?” The redhead asked, with a childish voice.

“Of course, whatever you want…” Tyler murmured, puffing out his chest, feeling proud of what he did.

“Well, I like it that way,” the redhead said, getting up and lightly caressing Tyler's cheek, which made you feel a little angry. “Listen carefully, because this will be my last order. You're going to confess to everything you've done, of course, without mentioning me. You will go to your father's police station, drenched in blood and say how much you enjoy murdering poor hikers.”

You listened carefully to those words. The real culprit would finally confess, freeing you from suspicion.

“Okay, what do I do next?” Tyler asked, with that disturbing angelic look on his face.

“Oh, well, nothing, just spending a few decades locked up in jail.”

You looked at her immediately. You only knew about Hyde's nature from what Laurel told you. It seemed to you that such a request was crazy, that no matter how slave he was, it couldn't seem like a good idea. You were wrong, the boy smiled and nodded, leaving the mansion.

“Now, honey, you must return to Nevermore before they miss you. Tomorrow will be a new day, the beginning of our new life, together.”

You obeyed, a little dizzy. Everything had happened very quickly, you had made too important and dangerous decisions, but a smile marked your face, your eyes shone with a different, evil shine. The end of your suffering was finally approaching, and that made you happy.

That night you didn't need medicine, you slept calmly, in peace. In the morning you noticed the first consequences of what happened the night before.

The looks of hatred and fear that your companions directed at you changed. Now they seemed to avoid looking you in the eye. A hand on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Um… (Y/N)…” It was Enid Sinclair, the gossip who advised everyone to stay away from you. You looked at her with a frown. Her face was embarrassed, apologetic. “I, I would like to apologize for… Well, for all the blog stuff…”

You crossed your arms. You thought about everything they had said about you, students and teachers. You thought about that afternoon when you were about to end your life, you remembered why you wanted to do it.

“Perfect,” you said, turning. She grabbed your wrist, preventing you from escaping from her.

“Uh, seriously, (Y/N), everyone here was shocked when the sheriff's son confessed… No one knows what to tell you, but everyone is very sorry.”

You laughed cheekily, a mocking laugh. Yes, they were sorry, just as if you had decided the path of surrender. Surely they would cry, they would wonder if they were really the culprits. It was ridiculous, an apology that, if you hadn't met Marilyn, you wouldn't have been able to hear. An uncontrolled rage seized you, imagining what it would be like to have left this life knowing that in the end, the real culprit was not you, how they would have won.

“Come on, don't be so dramatic…” Enid said, pretending to be joking. “Everything is cleared up now.”

Those words completely unhinged you.

“I’m dramatic? You are the ones who made life miserable for me. Did it amuse you to see me suffer? No Enid, I do not accept your apologies, neither yours, nor those of any of you. You think that making value judgments is your strong point, that you are the victims, that the rest of us are the executioners, but you are wrong, you are only an elite of weirdos pretending to be the masters of the universe,” you said, breathing with increasing difficulty .

“Eh, don't go too far,” Wednesday said, who was next to her.

“I'll do whatever I want!” You yelled, drawing the attention of the entire school, including Principal Weems, who hurried over to where you were.

“Ms. (Y / N), is something wrong?” She asked with a softer tone than usual.

“No, nothing's wrong,” you muttered, looking at her with hatred.

“(Y/N), I am very sorry for everything that has happened these last few weeks. All your classmates are looking forward to apologizing to you, and you should be nice and accept their apology.”

You laughed again, feeling how your scales were beginning to appear on your skin. There were only two ways to transform yourself: by wishing, or in a very important stressful situation, like that one.

“I don't have to accept apologies from the people who almost made me end my life…” You growled, with an increasingly guttural and deep voice. Larissa looked at you, shaking her head, and she started to freak out. “And you are the worst of all, looking at things with your own magnifying glass, pretending to be the destroyer of walls and barriers, the principal who pretends to be the liberator, the unifier of normies and outcasts. But it really doesn't give a shit to you. You just care about continuing to put money into your checking account without worrying about the welfare of the students or staff.

!(Y/N), you're playing with fire, calm down right now or…”

“Or what? Hey? What are you going to do to me? Lock myself in a room with electrified bars, call my uncle and say that even the great Larissa Weems couldn't beat me? You are just another outcast, arrogant and petulant like the rest of the people who live here.”

Your voice was already practically unrecognizable, you felt how the clothes imprisoned you, they felt much tighter. You knew what would happen in just 10 seconds, but the anger you felt didn't matter to you. Al hands until two warm hands landed on your shoulders. You recognized that perfume. Laurel.

“Hey, (Y/N), calm down…” she told you softly. You looked at her and closed your eyes. You knew what was going to happen but thanks to that interruption, you were able to stop yourself in time. The clothes stopped squeezing you and the scales disappeared. You blinked and shook your head, looking around the huddle of students that had formed.

“(Y/N)…” A terrified Larissa said.

“Don't worry, Larissa, I'll make sure she calms down…” Laurel said, with her Marilyn tone. The principal narrowed her eyes, but seeing that she somehow acted as a relaxing balm for you, she let you go with her.

Once in her room, she sat you on her bed and sighed.

“Are you okay? She asked her affectionately. You shook your head and started to sob.

“No, I'm not feeling well. Now they pretend to apologize to me, to pretend that they haven't done anything to me... It's... It's unbearable...”

She growled affectionately, pulling you into a tender, understanding hug. You hung on to her clothes, letting off steam.

“Calm down, darling, you shouldn't waste time and strength with those people... It's not worth it... It's only you and me that matters, remember? You and me.”

“I, I know but…” You said, being interrupted by a passionate kiss from the redhead.

“Do not fear for them, soon they will disappear and you will not have to worry anymore, honey... It's a matter of time... In the meantime, the only thing we can do... Is to love each other...”

After those disconcerting words, the kisses returned, this time wilder. Little by little you left, forgetting about your little crisis and giving yourself over to everything Laurel tried to offer you. Kisses, caresses, gasps that turned into moans, in the rubbing of your naked bodies, in words of love and victory, in a new dawn.

Every time she caresses you, your skin burned. When her fingers entered you, you seemed to freeze, forgetting your problems, regretting wanting to leave this world without feeling what it was like to be loved. The decision you made was difficult, it wasn't morally correct, but you knew you couldn't live without it, that little act of unbridled passion proved it to you. You could be much better than Tyler, you would be her lover, her slave, without the need for forced servitude, knowing that the only thing she had to dominate you was your heart in her hands.

[asskickedbygirl]

Radio Bam - F!Reader Fic

Episode Four

ep one - ep two - ep three

Desc: You’re a regular on radio bam!!!! And you’re a whore !!!

A/n: thank you anons for inspiration <3 also gonna keep eps a little shorter so i have more to write for! feel free to send more ideas! 

warnings: strong language, explicit mentions of sex

⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒ ⭒

Y/n: It’s Radio fucking Bam everyone, Dico’s done enough intros for now I’m sick of him calling me a whore so I’m doing it tonight! Today we got minging ass Brandon DiCamillo, father of the year Brandon Novak, the dickhead that airs out everyone’s business Ryan Gee and the other dickhead Baaaaaaam Margera!!! Oh and me hot pants.

Dico: You’re calling yourself hot pants now?

Y/n: I’m embracing it, it’s kinda endearing. 

Dico: I wouldn't say that.

Novak: Y/n can’t call me a whore anymore after last night.

Bam: Ah man I’m still fucking thinking about that.

Y/n: We’re airing this out already huh?

Dico: Shocked Gee hasn’t posted about it on his website yet.

Bam: He’s typing it up right now.

Gee: I didn’t get a photo of it.

Y/n: Thank god.

Bam: Y/n you genuinely deserve the whore title for that I’m not kidding.

Dico: It’s up there with Novak’s worst.

Y/n: No it is not you guys are so fucking dramatic.

Gee: Dude it was pretty hardcore whoring.

Y/n: Let a girl live. 

Y/n: As if Novak’s never fucked in there either. 

Y/n: As if Novak’s never fucked in there either. 

Novak: Well I don’t bring home random haggard ass dudes from the bar.

Y/n: I was taking a page from your fucking book! Last week you assholes were yelling at me for hooking up with people I know so I brought home a random for once and now you’re all acting like I committed a crime.

Dico: Fucking on a couch is a crime.

Bam: This is not helping your ‘I don’t have an exhibitionist kink’ case.

Y/n: Wow big words from you Bam.

Bam: Frantz taught me that shit. 

Y/n: Well it’s not my fault you fuckers destroyed my god damn room so I have to sleep on the couch now. 

Gee: Yeah sleep on the couch not fuck on it.

Y/n: Where the fucks Jess he needs to defend my honour. 

Dico: Is he your next victim?

Y/n: Haha, very funny. No but seriously why were you guys barging in in the first place?!

Bam: BARGING INTO MY OWN LIVING ROOM??!!

Y/n: IT WAS LIKE FOUR FUCKING AM I THOUGHT YOU WERE ALL ASLEEP!

Novak: I never sleep babe.

Y/n: Yeah cause’ you were fucking someone too. 

Novak: On my own bed cause’ I’m not an animal.

Y/n: Dude you’ve fucked in dirty ass bathrooms you are one to talk.

Dico: That couch is fucking minging Y/n you’re gonna give everyone STDs. 

Bam: Can we tell the listeners what actually happened now?

Dico: Yeah Y/n I’d love to know what was going through your head.

Y/n: Well there’s nothing to tell, you guys just walked in on me fucking.

Dico: It was worse than that.

Bam: No let me tell it. So we were hanging out upstairs at my house and then we were like wait where the fuck is Y/n and that guy she brought home from the bar cause’ she wasn’t in her room. Anyways, it’s pretty late at this stage but we ran out of beers so we went downstairs and what do we fucking hear?!

Novak: *claps hands*

Dico: *dramatic moaning*

Y/n: Oh god shut up.

Bam: Y/n is full on humping this lanky green bean looking dude on the couch we hang out on every fucking day!

Novak: A sight for sore eyes baby. 

Y/n: I’m so fucking done with these double standards. I can’t even count on two hands the amount of times we’ve all seen Novak fucking everywhere but when I do it I’m the biggest whore?!

Bam: Are you actually pissed right now?

Y/n: You know what? Yeah! I am fucking pissed!

Dico: Well before Bam and Y/n slit each others throats Jessie Margera is here!

Jess: Did I come at the wrong time?

Y/n: Jess I’m dead fucking serious if one more person calls me a whore tonight I’m getting violent.

Novak: You gotta admit it babe, it was pretty whory.

Y/n: Alright yeah but being compared to you is where I draw the line.

Dico: Don’t get your panties in a twist.

Novak: I’ll untangle em for you aaayyooo.

Y/n: Fuck you guys.

Bam: We’ll stop slut shaming you for a minute before you fucking implode.

Y/n: Thank you.

Dico: We should read some hate mail.

Bam: Oh we’re absolutely reading hate mail I fucking love hate mail.

Y/n: I already know what this shits gonna be.

Bam: Oh my god this ones already off to a great start.

Y/n: Christ.

Bam: Bam, stop putting that little fucking slut on air. Her whorish endeavours are vomit-inducing I don’t wanna hear anymore stories about field fucking or I will cut off my ears and send them to you. 

Jess: Jesus.

Bam: It gets worse. Why the fuck do you hang out with the little brat, you’re hot shit and she’s fucking everything that walks except you and Novak. At least she’s not thick enough to catch an STD from his haggard ass but I’m sure she has a whole host of them anyways.

Novak: Hey man.

Y/n: This funny to you Bam?

Bam: Hysterical.

Y/n: I thought we were done slut shaming me for today.

Dico: It’s fine you can have your knight in shining armour Dunn to shield you from it.

Y/n: Oh god shut up asshole.

Gee: Ryan?

Bam: Oh yeah isn’t he picking you up after this?

Y/n: Don’t turn this into something, we’re just gonna see a movie.

Novak: You gonna fuck in the theatre again?

Y/n: I’ll break your legs Novak.

Dico: Awooooah she’s going back to her roots. 

Bam: Have you reached your quota for humping dudes and now have to go back to the ones you’ve already nailed?

Y/n: You guys are such pricks, I am single everyone! 

Novak: Available but still won’t bang me. 

Y/n: Yup.

Bam: Well anyways I think we should dedicate this next song to Y/n’s new and old boyfriend Mr Ryan Dunn who still won’t come on this fucking radio show.

Y/n: For good reason and he’s not my boyfriend. 

Bam: This is Bloodhound Gang, Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo or just FUCK which is what you guys will be doing later on Sirius 28 Faction!

Dico: They’re gonna fuck on air?

End.

@pontiusbikini @dxckfarmdunn @steve-osahottie @gnarkillknoxville @alex-abn0rmal @stratossphere @izzaaaaaa @jackassvivalabam03 @bambammargera @spoookyberry @lovexjoe @jackussy420

[emmabaginskyartwhimsy]

Dear creative humans,

Do you keep having fun and interesting ideas only to shove them aside? Are you stuck in the all-too-familiar trap of “maybe one day…”

NO MORE! I’m tired of doing that and this is how I’m going to do it.

The Project

An idea for a Silly Goose Themed Tarot deck popped into my head last week, and I was like, oh absolutely. Then I started sketching, and I knew it was over for me. I needed this thing to exist.

The only issue is I’ve never attempted a project this big. A tarot deck has 78 cards in it. That’s s e v e n t y - e i g h t individual drawings AND a booklet that describes each card. This would be a serious undertaking.

The first step in starting a project is figuring out: why?

The “why” is the most important step. People seem to forget that these creative projects are a lot of hard work. If you don’t have a satisfying enough “why”, your brain will throw every excuse at you as to why you should logically give up. A silly little defense mechanism our organic vessels came up with to protect us from anything painful. Even when it’s good for us.

The problem is that growth is painful. So if you ever want to grow, you’re gonna have to get used to being uncomfortable.

Your “why” should be (mostly) internally motivated. Remember, the only thing you can control is yourself. If the reason for your creative pursuit is external validation (e.i, Internet likes & money), you are giving away your power to forces you have no control over. So inevitably, when you only get a handful of likes, you are much more likely to give up and think “what’s the point?”

The point is creating something that never existed before! There are things in your soul that will never be made unless you take the leap.

Reasons why I am undertaking this project:

#1: This is a fun concept that needs to exist

I love tarot and think it is a helpful tool. Making my own deck will help me connect with the cards, especially because I have to research the card meanings.

I really want to hold the finished deck

Improve my digital painting skills

Starting and finishing a project like this will allow me to build skills that I need for future BIGGER projects.

I will have a cool product to sell at Art Fairs!

My mind, body, and soul are all on board 👍

“I am not afraid of a little hard work” (if you know, you know)*

Not only am I going to be making a tarot deck, I am also committing to documenting the process on social media. This adds another layer of difficulty.

Reason why I am posting on social media:

#1: Recording the process and writing everything down will help me process my thoughts. Which will hopefully make condensing my thoughts into the booklet easier.

Sharing my interest with others! I might get people interested in tarot & teach people a little bit about tarot cards.

Internet footprint: If my legacy in life is being the “Silly Goose Lady,” that's a win.

Documenting growth. A good way to visualize progress.

Grow an audience that vibes with me

People might like it and want to purchase it when it’s finished

Inspire others to make their own creative projects

Okay so, now what? Wanting to do something and actually doing something are two entirely different beasts. The only thing standing between me and my goal is me.

How to control chaos incarnate?

The chaos goblin inside me hates the idea of structure. Nobody can tell me what to do, especially me.

“What if all this planning stifles my creative energy?” Cries the goblin.

This is where self-awareness comes in handy. The goblin loves exploration, which is both a good and a bad thing. If you let the goblin take the lead, you’ll never know quite where you’ll end up. My goblin is easily distracted and, more often than not, has led me to a bunch of dead ends.

Creating structure is not something you should fear as an artist. Instead of ridgid unforgiving chains, think of the planning process like bumpers in a bowling lane. A good plan will contain the goblin to the task at hand while still having fun in the process.

Making a good plan in 5 Steps

Making a good plan is all about thinking ahead and making most of the decisions now so you don’t get decision fatigue later. Otherwise, things get messy and overwhelming pretty quickly.

1. Set a time frame

If you want to reach the finish line, you need to set a pace. Be realistic. Life comes with many responsibilities. How much time is this project going to take you?

I’m measuring this project by cards per week. I did the math on how long it would take me to finish 78 cards.

1 card/week = 78 weeks → October 2025 [1.5 years]

2 cards/week = 39 weeks → January 2025 [9 Months]

3 cards/week = 26 weeks → October 2024 [6 Months]

4 cards/week = 20 weeks → September 2024 [5 Months]

In the grand scheme of life, whether you achieve something in 5 months or 1.5 years doesn’t really matter. What matters is that you got it done. Aim for a pace that is sustainable for you. Burn out is a very real struggle. Life is all about balance.

As I continue the project, I will be able to readjust my expectations accordingly. I imagine that the rate of production will fluctuate but I’m aiming to complete 3 cards per week.

2. Set project constraints/parameters

Put down that pitchfork, Chaos Goblin, and let me explain.

Limiting yourself is actually good for creativity.

I need each illustration to feel like they are a part of the same world. I’m achieving that goal by limiting things like color palette, subject, and art style.

By choosing to keep the same parameters for each of the 78 illustrations, I am freeing myself from the overwhelming task of making a bunch of decisions over and over again. That’s when a project really gets messy and overwhelming.

When in doubt, simplify.

For my project, each tarot card has a well established meaning that acts like a prompt. The Fool card, for example, is about new beginnings and taking the first step. The creative goblin gets to “silly goose-ify” this prompt without having to deal with the infinite well of choices.

3. Make a process that makes sense for you

How are you actually doing the thing? This is where the consistency really comes to play. A bad system will feel redundant and full of friction. If you hate doing a part of your project, you’re more likely to never pick it up again.

This is why I decided to draw each card digitally. This solves a lot of efficiency issues and will save me a lot of time. Imagine having to drag a tripod and camera around with me anytime I wanted to draw. The logistics of that sounds like my absolute nightmare. I only have one camera battery that lasts for about 30 - 45 mins for filming videos. Then, when I’m done, I have to scan every drawing into the computer anyway. No thank you.

Instead, I have an editing-software that screen records me while I’m drawing on my laptop/tablet. Now that’s easy 👍

4. Make a schedule

If you want this goal to come into reality, you need to put time into it. How much time is up to you, everyone's life situation is different. Remember, small consistent blocks of time are all you need to make significant progress.

I am currently a stay at home parent to a very young child. This comes with its own set of advantages and drawbacks. I spend most days looking after my son but I’ve carved out a strategy that works well for my situation.

I broke down the different tasks of my projects and assigned them to each day of the work week. This way I know exactly what I should be working on each day.

My work day bounces from nap to nap but most of my free time is at night after the baby goes to sleep around 6:30pm.

5. Set Boundaries & Priorities

Now here’s where I fight back a little on “hustle culture.” Life is meant to be lived, not toiled away. Make sure you take time for yourself. Time spent taking care of your mind, body, and soul is not wasted. The well of creativity needs replenishing, so breaks are actually a very efficient use of your time.

And FOR PETE’S SAKE, GO TO BED. The work will wait for you. Your brain needs to sleep in order to process all the information it took in today. “Sleep on it” is indeed a real thing. You might wake up with a new idea on how to fix whatever ailed you yesterday.

For me, my family takes priority. My husband works during the week, so I try to keep the weekends open for fun family outings or cozy days inside.

Our children will only be young once. I am making it a point to enjoy the time we spend together instead of stressing about a “lack of free time.” For me, my children will always be my greatest work. On the hard days, I remind myself that there will be a time where I don’t have small hands clinging to me as I try to put the dishes away. They will be off on their own adventures and I will miss those small hands very dearly.

Some closing thoughts

Remember that your plan should be flexible. Just because you mess up doesn’t mean you need to give up entirely. Take a second to go back over the plan and change the things that aren’t working. Failure is only a temporary learning state. It is not something you need to carry with you.

So go forth and create some things we’re never seen before.

The only thing left to do is take the leap.

Good luck, I’m rooting for you.

Emma

*Guess that kid’s TV show. Of course it’s Bluey lol.

[jimmyandthegiraffes]

for the wip ask meme: "WIP sweet revenge" sounds like a more than good bet for being starsky & hutch fic, so i'd love to hear about that! 👀

helloooo tysm!!!! u r correct it is s&h!!

so i actually dont rly know where im going with this fic but it's set in the weeks and months following sweet revenge, based on an idea a friend of mine and i talked about many years ago of hutch getting sick while starsky is recovering. i'm sure it's been done to death haha but i'm a sucker for this shit.

“The world ain’t gonna end because you’re sick for a week, Hutchinson. Not if you’re sick for two weeks, a month.”

“You sure?” Hutch rasps. If he could sound flippant, he would, but he sounds deadly serious.

He also sounds awful, and Starsky tells him so, to his face, bluntly. “You look like crap, and you sound like crap. The world can take it.”

“I’m sorry,” says Hutch. “I didn’t mean to – ” When he tries to sit, Starsky pushes him back down. He’s grateful that Hutch doesn’t resist too much – if it came to a contest of strength, Hutch would still win, even as sick as he is. Starsky’s not up to wrestling, but Hutch has seen enough in the last few months to know the cardinal rule of this game: no engagement Starsky can't match.

There's a lil snippet! The fic focuses on Hutch's feelings of responsibility, and his fears of failure and inadequacy, and Starsky's feelings of frustration and exasperation - mostly good-natured (Hutch is silly).

bonus also from survival WIP which is my other s&h WIP from that list:

When he wakes, he’s not sure that he has. There’s blue sky and it’s fuzzy at the edges. His head throbs and he can feel his heart beating, fast and fevered, in every part of him. There are black spots dancing in his vision, and he blinks hard to try and clear them away, but instead they come into clearer focus. They’re buzzards, far off, high in the warm air-currents. Buzzards. Hutch lies still and tries not to feel fear. Struggling makes the claustrophobia and the heat and the pain and the dust and the thirst crush him downwards, like being buried alive. He breathes, in and out, over and over, and watches the buzzards. They’re a long way off, just specks in the sky, really. Just specks in the sky. He was going to think about death. He was going – Starsky is going to find a dead body. He can’t call anything much to mind. They didn’t know, you don’t know, nobody knows who he is or where he is or what he wants. Help me, I’m going to die here. I’m going to die. The buzzards are black spots, they’re specks in the sky. There were thousands of them. They were living in tents. Sonny is gone. The war is over.

idek what to say abt this, I wrote it I think winter 2021 and I keep trying to find the inspiration to finish it. it's rly just a thinly veiled excuse for me to write in my fave theme - characters who for whatever reason (in hutch's case dehydration and pain) experience a disruption or abstraction (permanent or temporary) in their normal thought patterns, which creates a perfect crucible to explore a scene on a deeper level through a character's distorted viewpoint. smth about looking at something sideways to see it more clearly - when a character is somehow in an altered state it can be easier to tease out interesting threads from them

but anyway i loveeeee the radio thing that hutch is listening to as he's driving at the beginning it rly stuck w me and i wanted to find a way to have it stick in hutch's mind too even if he's not paying attention to it consciously

pick a WIP from this list and send me an ask and I'll post a snippet or share smth about the fic!!

[candyquokka]

: ̗̀➛salty | minho

pairing: lee minho/reader

word count: 607

prompt #20

genre: college au, humour, salty!lee know, best friends!lee know and seungmin, kinda cringe idk

summary:

“Minho, stop.”

“What? I can’t say anything?"

First ever imagine so just gonna throw this out and run away :(

warnings: cringe maybe

"What happened to you? Lee know asks uninterestedly, distracted by something on his phone. "Is showering with your clothes on some new trend I'm unaware of?"

You wordlessly wring out your shirt out over the chem lab sink. He was just salty that you had gone to a party hosted by the most popular frat group last weekend.

(last week)

Seungmin and I were cackling across the table at Lee know in the busy canteen.

"So that bitch Alice spilled her water all over my paper, and had the never to giggle and wink at me. SHE COULDN"T EVEN-" Lee know's rant was cut off with a dirty stare at the intruder who had slammed a mini carton of chocolate milk in front of me. I followed the arm up, being met with the face of Bangchan, the most sought out bachelor in our college ("But I'm a popular sought out bachelor as well!" Lee know had complained.).

"Hey, I'm Bangchan. So we're having a party this weekend, and I was kinda hoping you'd come? We have limited numbers, so you can let me know soon! My numbers on the milk." I look down at the milk carton, and sure enough there's a post-it stuck to the carton.

Seungmin and Lee know stare awestruck, all comical with their mouths open. I stifle a laugh.

"Sure Bangchan, I'd love to go."

He winks and walks back to his group, which erupted in woops and claps, but also a few loathful stares from some in my direction.

"You're not actually gonna go, are you?" I look at Lee know with a deadpan stare. "The most hottest guy in our year asked me, and I wouldn't go? He gave me chocolate milk, who am I to say no?" I laugh, taking out my phone to text the phone number on the post-it. Lee know gazes sulkily while Seungmin kicks his leg under the table.

(back to present)

Seungmin, sitting across from Lee know and actually working on the extra credit lab assignment, is the first one to see the hint of tears in your eyes. His pencil freezes.

“Minho, stop.”

“What? I can’t say anything? y/n ditched us for her special, better fraternity party. If you aren’t going to hold a grudge, I certainly can for the both of us. I’m double-grudging. Double-grudging hard,” Lee know says, and then he looks up just in time to see the first tear roll down your cheek.

There’s a screech of a lab stool suddenly being pushed back, and Lee know is standing in front of you, gently wiping your tears away. A dark look shadows his face.

“What happened. Who did it.”

You stifle with a scowl, shaking your head as more tears fall. “They-the girls who hated me wanted a viral video. They all know I can’t swim, but they thought it would be funny anyway, to — to push me — ”

“Sweetheart, I need names,” Lee know says sweetly, the dark undertone of their voice sharp and serrated.

“What the hell are you going to do?” You snort. “This is university, not our homebrew DnD campaign.”

Seungmin laughs. “We just want to talk to them.”

“And wreak only a little chaos,” Lee know says soothingly, a dreamy look in his eyes that tells you he's planning something sinister.

"Minho, Seungmin, no." I sigh.

"They can't just push you into a pool just because you're jealous that some guy likes you."

"I can bury the bodies. I know a guy." Seungmin and I stare at Lee know who looks dead serious (ignore the pun) (or don't), and all three of us burst laughing.

[wordymcnerdy]

Attn Warrior Nun fandom writers! I was fleshing out some post-season 2 headcanons for a one-shot last week and accidentally stumbled into the set up for a whole other fic I can’t stop thinking about but am never going to write myself, so Ima just go ahead and drop it here in the frailest hope that some lovely, talented soul might be inspired to run with it and make my dreams come true:

So here it goes. 

We begin with Lilith. By the end of the season she's effectively burned all of her bridges in service of a master who was eviscerated in front of her, and in the immediate aftermath she seems to be experiencing some capital R Remorse about that - helping Bea to save Ava, watching Avatrice say goodbye, hoping when she and Bea meet next they'll be back on the same side, etc. Where does she go from there? I like to imagine she goes full Angel (in the Buffyverse way, not in the religious way) and takes her penance to the streets. In a cruelly ironic twist, she's now effectively performing the duties of the halo-bearer - utilizing her truesight along with her OCS training to track down the remaining wraith demons and punch them out of the possessed and straight back to hell - except of course that it doesn't feel remotely like fulfilling a lifelong destiny. There's no honor in it, she's just flailing desperately to try and make up for some of what she's done, and to finally do right by Ava. So there she is, out punching the shit out of some wraith demons, when who should wander into her path all full of wraith demon in need of punching?

Bitch, you know it's ya girl SHOTGUN MOTHAFUCKIN MARYYYY!

(Come on, y'all, duh she's alive. Vincent told Lilith Mary's dead like 10 whole minutes after telling her she was alive to save his ass and manipulate her into a trap, and now we're gonna take the fucker at his word? Sure, Jan.) (Yes, I'm aware of the BTS stuff at play, and maybe Toya never wants to go back, I'm just saying, the WN team could not have left that door open wider for her in case she ever does. No body, no proof, no details, just the word of one lying, manipulative sack o' dicks? Be serious now.)

So Lilith frees Mary of her demon and then takes care of her while she recovers. Mary's done some shit while she was possessed and has some guilt of her own to work through, so they trauma-bond, and now it’s really on because we’ve got us a kick-ass demon-fighting duo. Neither of them feels right about returning to the church - especially not with Father Sack-o-Dicks back wandering the Cradle like he didn’t fully murder Shannon, spend the entire first season gaslighting them about it, and then proceed to spend the whole next season attacking, endangering and otherwise fucking with them - but they're sure as shit not gonna stop fighting.

Smash!Cut to that final shot in the epilogue of the finale. Beatrice smiles as she walks away from the OCS, presumably to do what Ava told her and go live her life. I've seen a lot of different theories on what flavor of fluffy lil Eat Pray Love travel/adventure/vacation she's headed off on, and those are all super fun, but for me, man... I feel like that's what Ava would do, not what Beatrice would do. Ava’s loosened her up at bit, sure, but she's still Bea, or at least I still want her to 😏 Bea. (I'm SO sorry about that, I swear it just snuck up on me) We clearly see Beatrice struggling internally all season, and I actually don't think that has anything to do with her feelings for Ava. I think Adriel and Vincent took a fucking wrecking ball to the whole foundation of this mission Beatrice had dedicated her life to. If anything, Ava coming along when she does makes things easier, because it gives Bea something clear and tangible to fight for, but now with her gone, she has to finally reckon with what it is she's doing with her life. Again, there are good arguments to be made for any number of directions that reckoning could take, but I'd like to believe that when the dust settles she's going to find that she hasn't actually lost any of her faith, or her dedication to the fight. She’s still our Bea. She just needs to break from the constraints of these institutions she's at best begun to question and perhaps even become disillusioned with. She needs autonomy, and a new path. And I mean, you’re starting to see where I'm going with this, right? Beatrice can't contain her smile as she exits the Cradle, not because of what she's leaving, but because of what she's running toward - freedom, and her sisters.

TL;DR - in the aftermath of season two, an elite team of tactical former-nuns comes together to fight against evil and for each other.

Lilith

Mary

Beatrice

They are

Birds of Pray

Please please please somebody write it I'm so serious about this!

PS How psyched is Ava gonna be to join them when she gets back?

PPS Obviously I want Camila in here too. But also I’m kind of into the potential for conflict with her taking on more responsibility within the OCS but also feeling hurt/abandoned when she find out everyone’s hanging out without her?

PPS Just spitballing here but hey maybe Jillian Salvius would be interested in employing their services to take down Kristian or undo some of the harm he did with her money or whatever, and ya know, if that were to lead to her joining the team in an Oracle-esque capacity? That could be cool. And if perhaps in time she wanted to work on getting field-trained as well... idunno, maybe Lilith specifically would be interested in training her... (hey! stop looking at me like that! those two had an *energy*, okay? I cannot be the only one who noticed!)

[this-acuteneurosis]

6 and 29 for ao3 wrapped questions?

6. Favorite title you used

Oh man. That's a tough one. I haven't posted a ton of new fic this last year (*frantically checks ao3 to confirm*), and I like most of my titles. I'm gonna go with Unsigned, Unspoken because actually that entire fic was so full of good imagery and double meanings, and the title just...worked. It's a tiny piece and I don't think I really advertised it, but I had fun with it and it's something I look back at sometimes and I'm like, "Damn, I wrote this?"

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

I really should have paid more attention to how many of these questions were about "favorites." Guys, I'm so bad at picking favorites.

Alright, I'm gonna give myself a break and do two. One posted line and one unposted.

Posted: I'm pulling two sections from Unsigned, Unspoken that go together, I know no one cares about this fic but I really loved them.

But Marinette had turned Chat Noir down and now all that’s left of that love is the pressed roses Marinette keeps—she kept them all—thin and fragile, and the pink tint from the petals on the pages where Marinette had forgotten to place paper to stop the color from seeping.

She tries not to think about how that love bled through onto those pages, how something in Marinette is permanently stained by it, even though the flower is dead and dry and there’s only the faint remains of rose scent, like a blurring, fading memory.

...

When he pulls her tighter even if he can’t bring her closer without fusing them, without pressing her until her love bleeds out, staining him pink and rose scented.

Unposted: Ugh, there were a lot of good bits I got drafted during November for Duty Bound. I shared one a week ago. There are a lot I love but can't share yet because too many spoilers. But!

“I’m serious,” Anakin said. “Is there anything you’ve really lost? Anything you’ve left behind?” There was a grim set to Leia’s mouth, her lips pressed into a bright white line. She looked at Anakin, really looked at him, weighing something. Something…dangerous, Padmé thought. Something heavy. Something…monumental. “Whatever was necessary,” Leia said, the words almost resonant in the air around her. Like they were a prayer. Or a promise. Anakin looked away, said nothing. For the rest of the meal, he didn’t look back at her.

[tentakilly]

So I’m struggling to write the lore post in a serious way so I’m just gonna shit post it

Enjoy your stay it’s gonna be a ride!(CW for several things).

So a long time ago a man made a deal with a fairy. If the fairy protected the family they wouldn’t fight each other any more. If they did end up fighting each other they would give up there last name and the first born of the next generation would have to marry a fairy. Sounds reasonable right? Ya it was pretty reasonable but at the start of ww2 one of his descendants(Sara, 11) tried to kill her sister(Evelyn, 13) and failed miserably and died. Evelyn ended up getting married to a man named Adam. They were happy until Adam cheated on Evelyn and had a son named Michael who Evelyn took in out of spite and pity (birth mom died). You think that would be the end of it right? WRONG!! TURNS OUT THAT SARA IS A FUCKIN LIER AND KILLED EVELYN AND TOOK HER PLACE BUT SHE HAD BEEN LIEING TO HERSELF FOR SO LONG SHE FORGOT SHE WAS SARA! Anyways Adam and “Evelyn” had one kid together(Jacklyn) and then “Evelyn” fucked another guy and had the twins(TJ and Clair). Years pass and Michael was left to take care of his siblings. While Adam and “Evelyn” worked at the foundation. The difference became that “Evelyn” cared for her children and Adam couldn’t care less. “Sara” actually began haunting “Evelyn” cause that bitch killed her and then took her place. I’d be mad to. The kids grew up and shit and are all anomalous(Michael can control light but he’s albino so he can’t see, Jackall can talk to the dead, TJ can heal wounds at the cost of his own body and Clair can predict the future but she can’t tell anyone it). At 15 Michael wandered into the nearby woods and met a guy his age. The guy told Michael that they shouldn’t share there names and they promised each other to meet there every Friday. Quickly Mikey and the guy fell in love and eventually the guy told him that he was a fairy. When he was 16 Michael made the mistake of going into the woods when Adam was home and so when Adam saw Michael on his little date he beat the living shit out of him and only stoped when the fairy killed him. Scared this might happen again the pair exchanged names(got married) in secret. “Michael” and “Violet” got married and there very happy together and shit don’t think for a second I’m going to bury my gays. So like “Michael” joins the foundations MTF/military to try and get away from what was supposed to be his home as soon as he turns 17 and leave Jackall(12) to take care of the twins(7). At the same time “Evelyn” has a mental brake down because “Sara” finally confronted her and now “Evelyn” realizes she’s Sara and then kills herself leaving the family with no parent unit and now the real trauma can begin. So like the twins are now freshly 16(yes Mikey and his husband showed up those are his siblings) and TJ gets caught helping another dude by a foundation operative and gets contained(scp-590). At the same time Jackall gets a job as a junior researcher at the foundation and both she and “Michael” try to get the foundation to release there younger brother. As “Michael” rises up the ranks(pretty quickly) to try and get TJ out of containment he goes home to take a brake and goes up the attic and just looks around and finds an amulet. It’s made of gold and a red gemstone(scp-963). He drops is a couple times on his way down and gives it to the foundation as a joke because it won’t brake. It became a contest to see if you could brake it and soon as possible and then they realized “Oh shit we can’t brake this bitch” and kept trying to find way to brake it(in a science way this time) and it eventually ends up in the hands of Jackall. Jackall was in charge of transporting the amulet to a different researcher and took it out of its lil bag because why the fuck not. Then boom a breach happens and Jackall fuckin dies. Like damn imagine being “Michael” in this situation, you give an amulet to the foundation as a joke and then your sister dies like damn. Like not even 2 days later a d-boi picks up the amulet and lo and behold he gets possessed by the amulet(this is the first and only time that the possession is is instant). I’m gonna reblog this and keep going.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s7e2 hello, cruel world (w. ben edlund)

HALLUCIFER Right. You think this fruit-bat fever dream is reality? You come back, I'm sorry, with no soul like some peppy American Psycho, till Saint Dean glues you back together again by buying you some magic amnesia. You’re real. I’m very real. Everything between is what we call set dressing.

heart is breaking for sam already

HALLUCIFER You’re still in my cell. You’re my bunkmate, buddy. You’re my little bitch, in every sense of the term.

in general i am overly literal and what i see is what i get when it comes to show canon but i'm trying so hard to hold tight to the illusion in my mind that hell-torture for sam and dean didn't involve rape but they're making it really fucking hard. there's been other references, i think one in the last ep no less. just keep thinking to myself "gloss over it, they're just being edgy, they don't actually mean it". i start to get real upset if i think about it so yeah.

i know i'm wearing the wincest goggles but again i feel like i am capable of picking up what a show is putting down regardless of a ship i might be invested in, but i feel like i'm losing it with cas and dean's relationship level. i feel like we have seen so little of cas in general, that they keep TALKING about how they're all close but we've seen so little of it?? i'd think with 22 episodes a season they'd have room to establish this onscreen 🥴 but here's dean crying over presumed-dead cas. i guess i'm just gonna have to go with it and stop complaining about sHoW doN't TeLL

god what is this weird music transition into the doobie brothers black water - just because the lyrics work does not mean the music does :P hard left turn after mushy dead cas scene. i fear i have slipped into overly critical mode

short and gruff version of hannibal tending will graham's wounded hands post-tier

i get that dean's freaked out and scared but he's being such an asshole to sam

what an exceptionally cruel hallucination they're giving sam. i might need to look up how long he deals with this before it gets fixed because.....

DEAN Yeah, well. I’m not Sam, okay? I keep my marbles in a lead friggin' box. I’m fine. Really.

big fat fuck you, dean. you can't out tough psychosis.

BOBBY Of course. Yeah. You just lost one of the best friends you ever had, your brother’s in the bell jar, and Purgatory’s most wanted are surfing the sewer lines, but yeah, yeah, I get it. You’re – you're fine.

one of the best friends you ever had. ok. O K. (nevermind how depressingly in-the-basement-low the bar is being the number of people he could call friends he's had)

looks like bobby's computer got an upgrade! seems untitled 1 and 2 desktop has made it to the actual desktop 😂

s6e4 weekend at bobby's his 3.1 desktop LOL

okay so hell politics, heaven politics, the clear next step is purgatory politics. who is the boss of the leviathans *pulls out the org chart* (god i just don't care)

sam's hallucinating dean now, great. do not like

DEAN This is real. Not a year ago, not in Hell, now. I was with you when you cut it, I sewed it up! Look!

little gift to wincest kink writers everywhere, dean helping sam by inflicting pain

DEAN Hey. I am your flesh-and-blood brother, okay? I’m the only one who can legitimately kick your ass in real time. You got away. We got you out, Sammy. DEAN Believe in that! Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You gotta make it stone number one and build on it. You understand? SAM Yeah. Yeah, okay.

dean looks like he might fall over he's so relieved.

DEAN (on phone) You cannot be in that crater back there. I can’t… If you’re gone, I swear, I am going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car and I’m gonna drive us off the pier. You asked me how I was doing? Well, not good! Now you said you’d be here. Where are you?

well this is awful. first hallucifer encouraging sam to kill himself repeatedly and now dean saying this. also do not like.

(also very serious things happening and then that cheesy ass special effects on the leviathan's face -_-)

the winchesters getting an ambulance and going to the hospital for an injury, wonders never cease.