#especially anons who only prove their lack of spine

[thissmycomingofage]

That's so weird how I do not care at this point. I do not care if he cheated, I do not care if she cheated, I would even dare to say I do not care if she's happy. Because we're at a point where all that I can bring myself to care about is that she's, you know, dating a racist, antisemitic, sexist and so on and so on kind of person. She made me not care about her happiness, she made me resent her for proclaiming her happiness. She doesn't seem to care so why should I?

[stickyy]

I loved what you wrote about student! college! aizawa,if it's not too much trouble,I would like to read a second part but it contains a sub!aizawa,dom!reader,mommy kink and pegging please. I have to take advantage of the fact that you are the first blog with dark content that I see that accepts pegging,an opportunity that I will not miss,but if it gets complicated for you oh you don't like it,you can reject my request.

DISCLAIMER: always ask for consent first!

warnings: DUBCON, sub!aizawa, edging, verbal abuse, bondage, pegging, gn!reader but light mommy kink is used in reference to, praise kink if you squint?, slightly unrealistic depictions of pegging, reader is fed up but that doesnt excuse their actions :P

word count: 3489

notes: sorry for the delay, i hope u like anon! :D there should always be more pegging fic out there

part 1 here

EXAM SEASON

Finals season is quickly approaching, sending the entire campus into a frenzy, students scrambling like displaced ants trying to finish last minute assignments, novel-esque essays, merciful extra credit projects. The workload takes its toll on everyone, even the star students. You found Aizawa in even worse moods more frequently; a schedule consisting of all nighters spent studying old material followed by early classes and a job on the side, he was absolutely exhausted. You sometimes sneak a peek over at him during class to see his head bobbing slightly, bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open as he fights sleep. A small part of you feels bad for him; he’s a diligent student, and you were sympathetic to his exhaustion.

You still hate the asshole, though.

You found yourself snagged in a twisted sort of arrangement with Aizawa after midterms. There was always a half-assed attempt at tutoring you before giving up and cramming his cock down your throat or deep inside your cunt, leaving you sore and dripping with his cum, all the while spewing insults targeted at your intelligence (or lack thereof). In exchange, he’d complete your assignments and allow you to copy his answers on exam days. Ignoring the situation is where you make peace with yourself; you feel used, but you also have no other option if you want to pass this class.

What you hate the most is the way you roll over and take it. You’re more than just a hole to fuck, you know that, but you’re helpless against his searing abuse and venomous scowls. Even when you try to be nice, it only makes him crueler, your soft pleas and offers of peace an invitation to tear you down and make you cry. You want to fight, to claw and tear into him out of spite. You don’t want to feel so weak anymore.

So, you decide to do something about it.

It’s late, campus illuminated by street lamps and headlights of cars passing by as you make your way into the dorms. After your first encounter, Aizawa began inviting you back to his room instead of the library, deciding to “study” in his personal space as opposed to possibly getting caught in the library with his cock down your throat. You didn’t complain, but it’s especially convenient today, with what you have planned. Knocking on the door softly, you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, anxious for what’s to come.

“Open,” he calls out from inside, prompting you to enter. You pass through the messy common room he shares with his roommate and enter his bedroom, opening the door quietly. Aizawa’s room is tidy compared to the outside, bed made, tousled only where he sits with his laptop, typing.

“You’re late,” he squints at you from behind the screen, shutting the device. “Not surprising.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, placing your book bag on the floor and taking out the very heavy law textbook (that you hadn’t bothered to open since midterms). You take your seat next to him and open to the most recent chapter you read over. He’s silent, only speaking to answer your questions as you focus on the text. You can tell he’s sleepy, his responses slurred and delayed, and you glance over to see him dozing off. Late study sessions and Aizawa’s recent exhaustion meant more often than not that he fell asleep before tormenting you. The first time was startling, but you learned that it was a regular occurrence. 

You prefer Aizawa when he’s drowsy. His usually hard features were softened, quiet snores rumbling from his chest. His dark hair messily framing his face as he leans back against the headboard of his bed, arms folded over his chest. He’s good-looking, no doubt. If his personality matched, you could see yourself falling for him.

His eyes open, shooting you a questioning look, and you duck your head back into your textbook, embarrassed at being caught staring.

You keep quiet for another 20 or so minutes, waiting until he’s truthfully asleep and not just resting. You have to be careful not to wake him, as you aren’t keen on being reprimanded for what you're about to do.

Once you’ve deemed it safe, you stealthily open your bag and retrieve the small plastic bag stored inside. With the help of online shopping, you bought some handcuffs, lube, a dildo, and a harness. You aren’t all into pegging, but this was less about the sex and more about proving yourself, forcing him to respect you, in some perverse way. You retrieve the cuffs, gripping them carefully as to not make any sounds. This is the most crucial part; as long as you could get him restrained, you’d could dish out any revenge you desire. You slip off of the bed and tip-toe, almost comically, around the other side of the bed. You test the waters, snapping your fingers near Aizawa. He doesn’t stir, chest rising and falling with his deep breathing.

You steel yourself with a deep breath; this was your chance. You make quick work with the handcuffs, gently yet hastily clicking the metal around one wrist and looping the cuffs through the headboard before securing his other wrist. A grin spreads across your face; you’re thankful he’s such a deep sleeper.

Now that you had him where you wanted him, you were paralyzed by the sheer amount of possibilities. You climb over him apprehensively, hovering over the unconscious man, who only shifts minutely. The peaceful look on his face puts a small pit in your stomach; this was wrong… right? Technically, this was assault. You frown, a small chill running down your spine. Is this what you had become? It was almost enough to convince you to stop, but you force yourself to remember the first time Aizawa had his way with you, the way you choked and gagged and had to hide your face until you could find a bathroom to wipe off the dried cum that adhered to your skin.

This was his fault; he made you like this.

“Fuck it,” you say aloud, bracing yourself before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking, hard. He awakes with a surprised gasp, wrenching his head away from the assault.

“The fuck?” He bites, eyes drowsily scouring the situation. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just waking you up,” you smile, releasing your grip. “It’s kind of boring watching you sleep. I thought we were supposed to be studying.”

Aizawa gives you an agitated look, disoriented as he tries to move, only to find his range of motion limited. “You fucking handcuffed me?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t wake up,” you chuckle, sliding your hands under his shirt and running your hands over his taut stomach. He keeps his eyes on you with an expectant expression, waiting for an explanation.

“You know, I like you so much more when you're asleep,” you continue, idly tracing patterns on the skin of his abdomen. “No insults, no curses, no glaring. You’re pretty handsome when you’re not being a total douchebag.”

“Let me go,” he ignores you, yanking the handcuffs. “This isn’t funny.”

“I think it’s pretty funny, actually. You’ve spent all semester treating me like shit, and for what? All I’ve done is be nice to you, even after you call me names and abuse me. It hurts my feelings, you know? It’s not like I’m trying to fail this class, I just needed a little extra help, and you take advantage of that every week. So I do think this is pretty fucking hilarious. Maybe you’ll see just how great I feel when you bully me.”

If looks could kill, your heart would have stopped right then and there. Rage burns behind his glare when he meets your eyes, still struggling to break the cuffs. You’d never seen him like this; at his worst, he seems moderately annoyed in your day to day. Despite being an insufferable asshole, he always manages to keep a cool air about him. Never giving anyone much of a reaction, he’s only nasty when he desires. Watching his face take a red tint and his eyes narrow in frustration send waves of satisfaction rippling through your chest. 

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grits out, “If you let me go now, I’ll forget all about this. I promise that you don’t want what’s coming for you once I get out of these cuffs.”

He did have a point; you had no idea what you were doing. That wasn’t going to stop you, though.

“Aw, it’s not so fun now, isn’t it?” You coo at him in a demeaning tone, pouting dramatically. Your wandering hands slid to his crotch, where you could feel his length stirring curiously. You bark out a laugh.

Pulling down his sweats and boxers, your mouth waters at his hardening length. Normally, your stomach would drop at the sight in anticipation for physical abuse you were about to receive. But this? This was different; knowing that you’re the one in control is absolutely captivating. You take his cock in your hands, slowly working your hand up and down. He stays silent in defiance, steady in his glare in an attempt to intimidate you. It would work, usually, but with his hands bound there was nothing he could do to you. He’s betrayed by a pleased noise that slips from his throat.

“Don’t tell me you like this? You want to be taken advantage of, is that it?” you taunt, basking in his agitation as you speed your hand up, thumbing the pre gathering on the slit.

“Watch it,” is his only response, voice dangerously low. He keeps quiet, not willing to surrender to the reactions you’re trying to draw from him. It’s a challenge, if anything, and you weren’t going to back down..

He’s fully erect in no time- you’ve spent enough time as his cocksleeve to know exactly what he likes and responds to. His eyes fall shut as you squeeze tighter, hips canting up into your hand, chasing his own release. You keep it up until he gets a little louder, close to release, and you pull your hand away, watching his dick twitch helplessly.

“Fuck- why’d you stop?” he asks groggily, opening his eyes.

“You didn’t think that I was just going to let you cum that easily, did you? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” you shuffle off of the bed, smiling over your shoulder as you hook your thumbs in the band of your leggings. You make a show of sliding the material down over your ass, purposefully leaning over and arching your back. You hear a pleased growl from the bed, causing you to giggle as you pull your underwear down as well.

“You could still let me go,” he offers, giving you a once over as you climb back over him, “I could forget about this if you let me fuck you.”

“Nice try, but I’ll be the one doing the fucking tonight,” you grab your bag from the floor, retrieving the lube but leaving the dildo and harness obscured in the bag. You squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers, causing Aizawa to give you a puzzled look.

“You don’t need lube, you’re always so wet for me,” it’s more of a question than an observation, since your previous trysts never included anything but his spit and your own juices. You just give him a smile before nudging his thighs open with your own, trailing your hand slowly beneath his balls, settling in between his ass and your lubed fingers circle the muscle there. The look on his face is priceless, absolutely shocked at the prospect of you inside of him. He thrashes in protest but you’re steadfast, pinning his hips down with your other hand.

“You can’t be serious,” his voice is alarmed, almost erring on the side of anxious, “you’re dumber than I thought if you think you’re just going to get away with any of this shit.”

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you sing-song, using your dry hand to tug playfully on the cuffs, “You’re a little tied up at the moment.”

“I’m going to beat your cunt up when I get out of these,” it’s a threat, and you ignore the way your stomach flutters at the words, eyes trained on his as you push two fingers inside.

He grunts, his face scrunching up, almost cutely, at the burn of the stretch. You expected him to be tight, but given how tense he is, it’s difficult to push all the way inside. You take it slow, savoring the pained expression on his face; it’s a stark contrast to his cocky demeanor when you’re being subjugated to his abuse. His chest is heaving, a lovely red flush spreading across his skin, eyebrows knit tight, lips bitten red- you’re obsessed. You move your fingers in and out slowly, scissoring just gently enough not to seriously hurt him, but enough to watch him writhe. His dick twitches despite (or maybe due to?) the pain, still red and dripping.

“This is priceless,” you laugh, “if you wanted to get fucked so badly, all you had to do was ask, you know? Mommy would’ve taken care of it for you.”

“Mommy?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “you’re insane.”

Any further insult is cut off with a sharp gasp, eyes shooting open in shock, and you know you’ve found it.

You stroke his prostate with a heavy hand, grinding your fingers into the spongy spot inside of him as he struggles to breathe, back arching deliciously. You can’t help but smirk; you kind of get it now. If this is how tormenting you makes Aizawa feel, then you understand why he was so cruel.

“Fuck,” he chokes on a whine that sends heat down your spine, . Your wrist is beginning to strain, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s cute; he’s writhing, his hips seeking the stimulation he was previously avoiding as he moans openly, loudly. His cock is an angry purple, pre pooling on his stomach from where it’s leaking. He looks like he’s close, eyes beginning to roll back when you pull your fingers out, laughing as you ruin his orgasm for the second time.

“Please,” he’s breathless, a betrayed look on his face as his hips rock on nothing, desperate to cum.

“Begging already? We haven’t even gotten started yet!”

You reach over into the plastic bag, pulling out the dildo and harness. You can clearly see the fear on his face this time as he moves to sit up, the fog of pleasure clearing quickly.

“Wait,” panic sets in his voice yet again. If you were him, you would be scared too; the toy is thicker than the two fingers you used, something you chose purposefully. You stand and slip on the harness, ignoring his attempts to reason with you.

“What’s wrong? I thought I didn’t know what I was doing?” you ask innocently, forcing your hips between his legs and drizzling some lube on the toy, warming it up with your palm.

“That’s the fucking problem, you idiot, you don’t,” he seethes, pulling on the restraints again, “It won’t fit, and you’re not sending me to the hospital.”

“Exactly, I won’t send you to the hospital. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you,” you coo, settling between his legs.

“Just let me go,” it’s the first genuine plea you’ve heard from him, the sincerity pulling your attention to his eyes where you see a look you can’t quite place. He looks… afraid? Remorseful? It’s enough to give you pause, equal parts consideration and schadenfreude. You settle for leaning forward and placing an uncharacteristically saccharine kiss on his forehead, your humanity getting the best of you.

“All you have to do is relax, okay?” you whisper, resting the tip of the toy against his entrance. He shuts his eyes in anticipation, resigned to his fate, and you push in gently, watching his hole swallow the silicone. The way Aizawa contorts, back bowed to scoot away from the pressure of the toy is salacious, drawing a moan from deep within your chest. He can’t get far due to the restraints, and he lets out a soft sob at the stretch of the toy, face scrunched tight. You push slowly until you bottom out, your hips pressed firmly against his, grinding in small circles to alleviate your own ache. He exhales shakily, unaware that he was holding his breath.

“See, it’s not so bad right?” you soothe, rubbing your thumb against his hip soothingly. “You should be grateful; I’m so much nicer than you are.”

“Fuck you,” it comes out weaker than intended, his voice strained as he tries to adjust to the girth of the toy. 

You pull out slowly, experimentally, watching his stomach clench from the sensation of silicone caressing his insides. His dick gives an interested twitch, despite his demeanor, and that’s the invitation you need to start moving. It’s a little awkward at first, but your enthusiasm combined with the size of the toy more than makes up for your inexperience. He’s breathless, still uncomfortable, but you can see his body slowly relax as he tries to make sense of the sensations coursing through his body.

“You like this, don’t you?” you dig, eyes transfixed on his face, “Is that why you're so mean to me? You strut around like an asshole, just to hide the fact that you’re just a little bitch?”

You focus on angling your hips, searching for his prostate again, and when you find it, you commit to fucking him. He’s loud, stray tears sliding down his face as his body struggles to comprehend both the pain of the stretch and pleasure of the abuse.

“Fuck, you’re cute like this,” you sigh, “you’re meant for this, aren’t you? Meant to get your ass bred by your Mommy? You’d be so much more tolerable if you were sweet like this all of the time.”

His dick jerks violently but he shakes his head with a weak ‘no’, too lost in the sensation to retort any further. You’re soaked by now, the pressure of the toy on your end combined with the power trip pushing you to the edge. It takes all of your self-control, but you suddenly stop, unwilling to let yourself finish so quickly; there’s still unfinished business here.

“Tell me I’m pretty,” it comes out before you can even really think about it, but the words hang heavily in the air.

“Huh?”

“You’re never nice to me, so if you want me to even consider letting you cum, you better start kissing up.”

He hesitates, but when you shift slightly and the blunt head of the toy rubs against his prostate, he changes his tune very quickly.

“Fuck- you’re cute, ‘s the reason why I’m mean to you. So cute when you’re about to cry-” you give him a particularly hard slap on his ass and he winces, muttering a quick apology.

“You’re pretty even when I’m not fucking you, too,” is all you get, but it’s the first genuine compliment you’ve gotten out of the asshole since you’ve met him, and your heart soars. He’s awful and mean and evil but the simple statement is enough for you.

“I’ll let you cum if you beg for it,” you grunt, rutting your hips enthusiastically. You’re close, but you refuse to finish first. He’s needy, thanks to being edged twice, and he’s unable to resist your promise.

“Please, fuck, please let me cum,” he whimpers, voice wet and eyes watery.

“Please what?”

“Mommy! Fuck, please mommy, just let me cum, it hurts, fuck, please,” he babbles, and it’s enough for you. You wrap your hand around his cock and stroke it firmly, hips speeding up as you chase your own release. It’s quick- he finishes almost embarrassingly fast, and the whorish wail that rips from his throat sends you right over the edge, your vision blurring at the corners as you stay trained on his face, obscene and submissive.

It’s quiet after you stop, both of you catching your breath. You pull out slowly, watching the way his hole flutters and you giggle, your body and ego fully satiated. You look back to his face; he looks more fucked out than you’ve ever seen him, almost like he’s about to fall back asleep.

“Can we call it a truce?” You break the silence, grinning as he cracks open an eye to give you a scalding look.

“Fuck. You.”

[xsailormobian]

how would you rank Sonic girls in terms of power levels?

Hi Anon, sorry for taking a while! For this one I’ll proceed with categories, because many of the Sonic ladies are tied to the same rank and/or have fundamental differences between them that need to be acknowledged. This will be mainly about physical strength and won’t be an indicator of the girls’ character or general abilities outside of this criteria.

(Note: this is a subjective ranking, and not all of the girls are part of this list because there are a lot of female characters, some of which I don’t know enough about to include. Enjoy!)

1) Magical strength ✨

There are characters that, while not necessarily physically strong, can wield some form of magic and thus prove more deadly than someone with raw strength. Blaze with her fire power is a good example of that! Without them I’d probably put her in the fourth category, but her pyrokinesis coupled with her stamina and agility firmly place her as the leader of this category.

Other contenders include Merlina and Shahra, as they can both use magic as well. However we don’t know the full extent of Merlina’s powers, so her relative strength compared to other characters is debatable (though we should note the ease with which she beat Sonic to a pulp in SATBK). As for Shahra, her powers seem to be mostly tied to wish-granting, some of which she isn’t able to grant as a Ring Genie; which would create a lot of limitations to what she can do. And it’s also debatable how much their powers could work outside of their storybook worlds sooo... Blaze basically reigns supreme.

Number one in this category: Blaze the Cat

2) Raw physical strength + regular training 🔥

This is probably what you meant by “power levels” and, if we’re excluding magic users, the characters in this category are the true powerhouses of the Sonic franchise. And uuuh I could only think of two!

Bunnie and Amy are two of the physically strongest female characters, way beyond even the contenders of the third category due to the fact that their strength is one of their defining abilities. Bunnie is a Robian and has been shown to be able to lift people, trees, and many other heavy stuff with relative ease. And obviously she needs her whole body to be as strong as her robotic arm and legs otherwise she might, uh, break her spine trying to lift stuff. As for Amy, she has a giant hammer she can lift without any problems and use in fights, and she also trains a lot to get stronger if Sonic Battle is any indication.

On the whole, they’re pretty equal. If we’re excluding the cartoonish displays of Amy’s strength (Sonic X and co.) I’d say Bunnie is realistically the strongest because she has mastered her own strength. Amy, while really strong, is still young and mostly gets her bouts of energy from powerful emotions: while they temporarily make her surpass Bunnie in terms of raw power, they aren’t a constant and can get her into trouble/exhaust her needlessly. She will definitely surpass Bunnie at some point however because the latter’s cybernetic limbs have their limits, meaning that her strength is pretty much set for life. If Amy keeps on training and gaining discipline, she’ll definitely become the leading character in this category by the time she reaches Bunnie’s age.

Number one in this category: as of now, Bunnie Rabbot

3) Professionally trained and/or often on the field ⚔️

These characters would be the second physically strongest due to them being trained to fight, and thus having more discipline, knowledge, and control over their strength and weaknesses than characters from later categories.

One example would be Rouge since, as a government spy and G.U.N agent, she’d have to be pretty well trained to carry her missions to completion. Plus she tends to attack a lot with her legs, so I’d imagine most of her physical power would be there. Other professionally trained agents include Topaz and Madonna Garnet.

Then we have characters who aren’t exactly professionally trained but who still do train due to spending a lot of time on the battlefield. You’d have (I assume) Julie-Su, who is a melee kind of girl; Sally, who fights with swords and is pretty agile all around (though she’s more of a strategist and doesn’t have as much physical strength as, again I assume, Julie-Su would); and Whisper, who would be last because she’s a long-range fighter and thus tends to fight from a distance, though she’s familiar enough with battlefields to intervene if needed.

Note that while all of them have training and experience, how self-taught they are is up for us to guess. For this reason I would put Rouge as the leading character because she has shown a good display of physical strength and seems to be both the most mature and experienced of the bunch. Coupled with her flying abilities and craftiness, I think she could go toe-to-toe with someone much stronger than her like Bunnie (and defeat Amy pretty easily due to her aforementioned lack of discipline), which I wouldn’t say of the other trained ladies here.

Number one in this category: Rouge the Bat

4) Not trained, but have enhanced abilities putting them above average 👟

The title is pretty uninspired, but it says it all! These characters are rookies in some ways, either because they just started training to fight of simply because they aren’t fighters, but they have special abilities and/or potential putting them above the “average” category. Think Tangle with her tail, Cream with her ability to fly, Mina with her speed, and Honey with her wings.

Of the bunch, I’d say Honey and Mina are the weakest simply because they aren’t interested in fighting. Mina was (and I say it with love) a pretty lame Freedom Fighter and hasn’t used her speed all that much since becoming a pop star; as for Honey, while she can stand her ground in a fight, she’s ultimately a fashion designer above all.

Cream meanwhile wants to grow up and become a hero like the people she admires (mainly Sonic and Amy). This intent, coupled with her being able to fly and carry people, show that she has the potential to one day become leader of this category. Maybe more if she decides to pursue it further, but since she still has seeds of being a pacifist, I can also imagine her deciding to do something else when she’s older (exploring the world, taking care of animals and chao, etc.) For now I’d say Tangle takes the win because... well to start with, she isn’t six anymore haha; but also because she has shown physical strength and has started training herself seriously to become a hero. While still a rookie, she could definitely become an honorable member of the third category in the future.

Number one in this category: Tangle the Lemur

5) Average Jane 🍵

In a world full of fighters and overpowered characters, it’s not that surprising that the “average” category would come second to last. But here it is! Here you’ll find girls that aren’t fighters and don’t have any particular abilities, such as Elise (since she can’t control Iblis, and especially since Solaris has been erased from existence), Vanilla, Tekno and Sonia (who would have some knowledge about fighting but nothing more), Zooey, Perci and Staci, Jewel, and basically every female civilian you can think of.

I’ll also add Marine because although she has shown some kind of aqua powers at the end of Sonic Rush Adventure... I don’t exactly know what it is? She’s complicated haha. If it is really what it is then she’d probably be part of the fourth category alongside Cream.

Otherwise it’s pretty hard to choose a leading character because, well, this is the “average” category. I’ll go with Vanilla because she has mom energy and could intimidate anyone, which is a pretty impressive strength in itself.

Number one in this category: Vanilla the Rabbit

6) Not physically strong 🎐

And lastly, we have the female characters who are physically weaker than average. The most notorious example would be Maria, whose health was very fragile due to contracting NIDS at a young age. I would also include Cosmo by virtue of her being both a “plant” prone to dizziness and having very few offensive abilities, making her one of the weakest characters in the series; as well as Tikal because she’s... literally a spirit, as well as a pacifist (when alive she’d probably be on the weaker side of the fifth category).

And finally I would include Nicole as she is physically a hand-held computer and only has real powers in the digital world. On a physical plane, she can at most simulate a Mobian form for a while; but since she isn’t corporeal, she’d probably have really low physical strength. I would say she is the strongest of this category by virtue of her being versatile and able to carry a fight at the very least in the digital world, and still having a few abilities to defend herself and others in the physical world. (I debated making her part of the fourth category but since she mostly exists either as a computer or as an hologram, I felt it wouldn’t be fair to make her compete with Tangle or Honey).

Number one in this category: Nicole the Lynx

TL;DR: My final classment would be Blaze as the strongest thanks to her powers and her mastery over them, followed by Bunnie (who will one day be surpassed by Amy once she gains discipline), and then Rouge due to her experience as an agent. Thanks for reading!

[land-of-classpects-and-analysis]

Hiya! I have an oc who happens to be a rogue of blood and I've been looking for some ideas to help flesh em out, anh chance you can give your inside to RoB?

Ohoh Anon, as someone with their own Rogue of Blood OC, this Classpect is most definitely one of the more interesting Classpects out of the bunch!

Rogues are those who, at first, invite theft of their Aspect, point-blank. There is no option to invite theft through their Aspect, as the Rogue is extremely lacking in their Aspect to the point where there is nothing to steal through. At least, not yet. Later on in their journey, they will learn that what they are truly meant to do is typically passively steal their Aspect or steal through it. In order to get to that point, though, the Rogue will have to go through quite the long and strenuous journey.

One of the most defining features of those connected to the Rogue Class is their personalities, or rather, the personalities they put on to hide their insecurities. Surprisingly enough, it is not only the Knight Class who has a facade, especially in regards to their identity and insecurities related to it. However, while the Knights often hide behind a facade for the sake of seeming either stoic and strong, or vicious and unbeatable, the Rogues are those who put on a facade to hide that they don’t actually have any real connection to their Aspect.

Rogues will talk a big game of how awesome and badass they are, often boasting about how cool their Aspect is and how they totally have a real connection to it. Whenever they are asked further questions on it, though, they’ll most likely click their tongue and remark how, well, they could do it, they just don’t want to in that moment. A Rogue will do anything if it means keeping up that facade - even if it means digging themself into a hole so immeasurably deep that they may not even be able to see all of the eyes looking down on them, waiting to see the Rogue in action. What the Rogue is trying to hide is that, not only do they lack a connection to their Aspect, but that they don’t know how to even use their powers or approach it. A Rogue will be as confident as a can be until they are finally faced with a situation that calls for them to rush into action, face their Aspect, and hone in on their powers. That is when the Rogue will often inadvertently shrink away, allowing that theft of their Aspect to take place.

The Rogue of Blood is one who would most likely brag about all of the friendships they have, all the bonds they have made, how powerful and capable of leading a group they really are. However, if they were to ever be asked to show proof of these friendships, these notches in their belt, all the people they have met, led, and bonded with, the Rogue would begin to fluster and flounder, making as many excuses as they could as to why they can’t prove this. The friends they have don’t send selfies, or they’re online, they don’t want to out someone’s love life, so on and so forth. However, due to the charismatic nature of Rogues, people would often believe and fall for these lies more often than not. Deep down in the Rogue of Blood, though, all of these lies would continue to weigh on them, even to the point of feeling as though they are drowning in a pool of their own lies.

Not only that, but because of the sly-dog the Rogue of Blood sets themself up to be, any social outings with the few friends the Rogue actually has would be extreme sources of stress for them. A friend may make a remark or comment about a nearby stranger, urging the Rogue of Blood to do their thing, even if the Rogue of Blood were to make a real attempt at talking with this person, using their charisma to the best of their ability, chances are the Rogue would get cold feet and instead scitter back to their established friend group. If they were to be asked what happened, they would most likely shrug and try to play it off as the stranger being at fault, not themself. They weren’t my type, they had lettuce in their teeth, they didn’t have a good vibe, excuses, excuses, and lies, if only so they can continue being seen as this cool and irresistible person.

Eventually, though, all of these lies would catch up to the Rogue, until one day they would be faced with a problem that would force them to make a decision: be the Rogue they are meant to be, and learn how to steal their Aspect or steal through it, or continue to live a lie until everyone finds out who they really are?

For the Rogues who step forth and accept the challenge of facing their Aspect, there will be the ones who will, of course, steal their Aspect - or rather, steal Blood. This is the route where it could become a little chaotic and perhaps even downright chaotic neutral, depending on the Rogue of Blood and their moral compass. To put it simply, they would be the ones capable of stealing away someone’s relationship with another person. However, due to the nature of Rogues and them being more drawn towards helping others than themselves, this stealing would often happen as a means of getting someone out of a rather horrible relationship. That being said, if the Rogue did want to be selfish, especially if they themself have feelings for a person already in another relationship, then they most definitely could steal that relationship away for themself.

In another way, the Rogue of Blood could also steal leadership, making themself the top dog of the group by taking it away from whoever was already in charge. Once again, though, this typically would be done because those the Rogue cares about had voiced displeasure in the current leader of the group. By taking charge of the mission, the group, the Rogue has shown themself to be more than willing to take on the weight of such responsibility, if only so that their friends have a far better chance of flourishing and being amongst a group.

Also, if you wanted to take it in a more literal and gruesome way, the Rogue of Blood could just as easily steal the literal blood of an enemy. Why any Rogue of Blood would want to do this other than to show off and intimidate their enemies is partially beyond me, but also once the Month of the Rogue comes rolling around, I would be more than happy to explore.

Then, of course, there are the Rogues who steal through their Aspect. This is a more puzzling perspective for the Rogue of Blood, but it might also raise a few hairs and send a few shivers down one’s spine. Since this answer has already been too long, and not many people like spoilers, here are a few ways in which this power may be used:

#1: The Rogue of Blood manages to band all of their friends and teammates together to steal something together. Whether it is victory or a prized item may range from group to group, but either way, this is most definitely a power heavily focused around teamwork, planning, and cooperation.

#2: The Rogue of Blood steals through literal blood, whether it is their own or another person’s is left to be determined. They could reach through puddles of blood and gore if it meant swiping up whatever item they may want.

#3: The Rogue of Blood turns themself into literal blood, or makes them become cloaked in the heart and veins of another person, wearing them as a type of puppet so that they may, once again, retrieve whatever they so desire. Both this one and the second option are both horribly disgusting, but if the Rogue of Blood senses there is no other way, then they will most likely turn towards these other options.

[jokeringcutio]

Arthur with a chubbier/curvy S/O who is really soft? Like a contrast to Arthur’s frail and skinny build uwu

AN: Here’s a small drabble for you, Anon. Hope you enjoy. I kept it genderneutral. And why did my mind go to smut again? Whoops. 

Arthur Fleck was a skinny man. Not necessarily by nature but by lack of nutrition. He could have been rounder if he spent less of his money on cigarettes and used more of it to buy some proper food. But Arthur was known to be slender and he relished in his looks. This was him. This skin-over-bone man whose spine could be seen as he bent over and whose collarbones were on full display whenever he wore no shirt.

 And then there was you.

 He had chosen you. But you’d been very insecure especially about your weight. So for a thin man like him, with such a dazzling smile and such enchanting eyes, to choose for someone like you. It was a miracle.

 At first, it made you think that he had chosen you out of pity.

 What if he only wanted to see you because he was desperate to date someone? But then there’s was his lovely young new neighbour who he paid no heed. And slowly, you started to notice more and more little things that proved he was not interested in anyone else.

 Just you.

 As your relationship with him progressed, you started to realise that his affection for you was genuine. Nothing comforted him as much as standing behind you, wrapping his thin arms around your voluptuous frame as he buried his face in your neck to take in your scent.

 Nothing turned him on more but to see you, scantily dressed. His eyes would rove over your body, taking in all love rolls and each curve. You could see the hunger appear in his eyes, see the way he sensually licked his lips.

 You loved the feel of his hands on your skin. His rough fingertips would slide past each fold of skin. He would hold your handles, would gently squeeze in them, would slap your arse and watch as it wobbled. And he’d be aroused. God, he’d be hard as wood.

 Only you could do this to him.

[sunshinexlollipops]

Maybe it's just me, but I think Arthur would have been waaaaay more suitable and capable of leading the gang instead of Dutch. Arthur knows what's best for the gang, isn't selfish and didn't let Micah manipulate him, and is generally more good hearted than Dutch imo. Sorry for rambling, but I needed to share this and you understand Arthur so well 🙈

Oh, I totally share the same sentiment, anon. As for rambling, don't worry!

I'm about to do so myself, so rest assured you're alright!

I hope you're prepared, because I'mma 'bout to psychoanalyze the heck outta these two cowpokes.

Be warned: some feels lie ahead, alongside possible spoilers!

So, Arthur would've, without a doubt, made a better leader to the gang than Dutch.

One of the biggest differences between them is that Dutch is a self-driven man with no interest but his own driving him, and that he is willing to do whatever it takes to appease himself. 

For Dutch, he believes that everything he does is for the greater good, that he has a right to do what he goes forward with. He claims that his choices are that to an animal just trying to survive— that he is a patriot of sorts because he is willing to deny the confines of "law" and "government" to craft his own future and destiny. 

His refusal to comply with society is something he believes he should be idolized for, and he is consistently declaring that he is above those who follow into it blindly. He is "smarter," more aware than those who so willingly give up their freedom, as he sees it. The life on an outlaw for him is a statement and his identity, and he builds everything, especially his philosophies, upon that. 

His philosophy for it is one of only black or white— of direct right or wrong. 

There is no gray area with Dutch, as he includes it into just these two categories. He gives his crooked moral compass a wide berth, as what was once in that gray area is now given the leisure to be given a loose label of righteousness. 

This lack of moral specification makes Dutch as dangerous and twisted as he is, as he often will excuse actions or words that others abhor or find to be wrong. His insouciance is intended, as it is his go-to defense for writing off the callousness that begins to grow within him.

His ideation of being a sole rebel, of rejecting society and its supposed control has Dutch warped into the idea that he is a messiah, much like Agent Milton accuses him of being. 

Many have compared to how he runs the gang and treats its members to the likes of a cult— and it's true. The manipulation, brainwashing, guilt-tripping— he tries to keep everyone under his thumb, and where he wants them. Dutch only wants complete and utter faith, that those who follow him do so blindly and lose their conscience as they assume the man uses his. If you doubt him in any capacity, you're just as evil as what he detests. You are an enemy like everyone else who opposes him. 

Because Dutch is insane, to the very definition. It is not simply his descent into madness and corruption, but rather his belief that the life of an outlaw is one that can still work despite everything pointing to the opposite. I believe that, after years of failure after failure, of barely making it out of his own messes alive and finding it harder and harder to make ends meet, Dutch was driven to a breaking point as his deluded dreams were never realized. 

The lack of being sated soured the man to the point where he disillusions himself into believing that they can still continue on as they are, that all they need is "one more score." He could never walk away from this life— could never admit defeat or conform in any way, as he became so attached to his identity as an outlaw, and the pariah of his gang.

As for Arthur, he would've been drastically different had he taken on the helm as leader.

One of the bigger differences is that Arthur has always remained true to his own word, and that he is the most selfless out of the gang.

For Arthur, he constantly wages things on his conscience, wondering if he is making the right choices with both what he believes in, and what he knows is right. 

Much like Dutch, he is set in black and white, but for Arthur, he will ponder where his star lies once or before he hitches it. 

There is a constant weighing on a scale of personal reflection, and Arthur holds himself accountable and admits when he is wrong. Not once during the game did Arthur make a choice and not think about it in some way and wonder if it was the right one. He is not one for urges, or to not review over what he is doing or has done, and how he can do better in the future. His morals are what drive him, and he will stick to them, even if it means taking the harder route or having it cost himself something dear.

Which, Arthur has sacrificed so much for the gang.

Apart from being the spine of it all, Arthur has proved time and time again that he is the most loyal of all, and that he will always put the gang and its members first.

He could've had a family twice, but his decision to stick by Dutch's side cost him his engagement to Mary, and possibly saving Isaac and Eliza had he been there for them like he wanted. 

He could've earned the freedom and second chance he longed for when he was offered it by Milton in exchange for Dutch, but Arthur remained true and refused all of Milton's attempts even when he was doubting and clashing with Dutch. 

He also almost died multiple times during the game — from nearly being shot before Eagle Falls saved him, or being captured and tortured by the O'Driscolls for days without rescue or even being searched for — all of which were times made of Dutch's own design and refusal to come to his aid.

He even gave up his SECOND chance to be with Mary to make sure those he cared about were taken care of before the Saint Denis robbery. He intended to take his cut and leave afterward, but because of everything going completely wrong, as predicted by many in the gang, he ended up shipwrecked on Guarma, and lost the last chance to be with the woman he loved.

Dutch would not have considered half of what Arthur has done and given up for the gang, and it shows by just how far Arthur is broken and haggard by the time we pick up the controller.

His doubts of Dutch have been growing for some time— before the failed robbery in Blackwater. At what point his doubts truly began to manifest isn't given to us, but I believe it's something that has been happening for quite a while. Maybe even when Arthur was younger, but didn't want to admit that the man who saved him and gave him a better shot a life than that of a street orphan was less than stellar.

But Arthur comes across as obtuse— and as other gang members point out, he prefers to do so by "playing dumb." I feel like this is part of his denial of the situation, that not thinking is better than admitting that Dutch was rotting from the core and their lives were falling apart. It was easier, simpler. 

He could just pretend that he didn't understand the world and its situations when its obvious from his journal alone that in reality, he is just as smart or even smarter than Dutch. I would say more than likely one of the smartest men in the gang, if he actually applied to and allowed himself to do such a thing. It's more than likely why Arthur feels as guilty as he does for letting Dutch take the reigns as he did for so long— that he knew better, but feigned ignorance.

If it came down to it, I know that he would've been able to handle stepping up and becoming the leader, as he has 20+ years of experience under his belt, and the plans and busts that he overlooks and plans usually go very smoothly and tend to do the best. 

He isn't dumb as he purposefully tries to appear, and even then his unassuming nature plays out to his benefit in a lot of situations. He easily could've taken control of the gang and lead them to a much better conclusion than the one Dutch crashed them into.

I believe that Arthur would've kept a lot of what happened from becoming reality. I know for a fact that he never would've trusted Micah or let him into the gang, and I doubt that he would've allowed a lot of various behaviors from him if he did. Otherwise, he would've made different choices, and a lot that Micah and Dutch pushed for would've been left in the suggestive instead of becoming part of their story. 

Arthur also would've also tried to settle the gang, unlike Dutch, and there's not a doubt in my mind that Arthur would've gotten them their plot of land to live the rest of their lives on in peace.

Which brings me to the key difference between them: Arthur would know that it was time to quit.

His own desire aside, a lot of the gang wanted out. Even as far as Hosea. They all realized that their way of "life" wasn't working anymore. That the days of the outlaws and Wild West were numbered, and already dwindling fast. A lot of them weren't happy, and they longed for something different — something more — and unlike Dutch, they knew that robbing and stealing wasn't the way they could go about it anymore. 

He also would've seen the fissure in the gang from the others that wanted to continue, and he wouldn't have let it separate them as it did.

As for Bill, Dutch, and Micah— Arthur would've let them split off and continue on as they were, living and to die as savagely as Milton said, as that was their choice. 

As for Javier, I feel like he would be conflicted. He would more than likely side with Dutch as he did in the game simply because of his want for a revolution, but there is a slight chance that I could see him joining up the others on a homestead if Arthur was able to make him see reason. After all, Javier is loyal to those who are just, and while he became infatuated with Dutch and the way the man functioned, if Arthur were leader, I could easily see some of Javier's loyalty falling to him from the stock he puts into being true and just alone.

Otherwise, Arthur would've taken whoever wanted to join him, and he would send the others on their way. They all could've chosen their ending — their destiny — and none of them would've been forced into any corners by Arthur.

As for Dutch, he was incapable. And that was his biggest flaw of all. The ending we saw was one constructed by his own decisions and lack of forethought, of his narcissism and egotistical confidence. 

He pushed the gang until it fractured as it did, shattering it into irreparable, mangled pieces.

Dutch's ignorance and refusal cost everyone everything, even their lives.

And, in a futile attempt to try and fix it all, it cost Arthur his.

[golem-queen-ffxiv]

Dancing with Skulls II

There it was again, the scent of smoke. Of something burning about her, something that she couldn’t rightly shake off. Pushing from the cot that she laid upon, almost instinctively she reached for one of the few red gems she had kept nearby. Holding it betwixt two fingers, the Xaela’s icy gaze flicked left and right, trying to make sense of what she smelled. 

“It’s like the dream...” 

Chuluun muttered, coming to press a hand against her temple, and slid to stand fully. Stretching, a brief glance was paid to the other occupants of the yurt, noting that everyone there seemed to still be sleeping soundly. That was a good thing, especially considering that she didn’t even want to be bothered. Her mood was already tanking fast from waking up so soon. Stepping her feet into a pair of sandals and sweeping the curtain of the yurt aside, she paid little mind at first to what was about the Dotharl Khaa [the first sign that something was amiss], instead thinking that stopping by the pond in the center was a good idea. 

Lowering to her knees to splash a bit of water to her face, eyes blinking rapidly, she came face to face with the very thing that she had only saw in the dreams. 

A pristine white animal skull, with horns extending outwards and curving downwards. Eyes a white as ice against an endless void for what she could only consider its sclera. As the maw of it parted, showing her the sharp teeth, almost like that of a Land Shark greeted her. Stumbling back, her eyes wide, and hands clasped over her mouth in a mix of surprise and shock. 

It was gradual, the way the sanguine red had bubbled forth, spilling from its maw, dripping down and mixing with the pond’s water. The second sign that something was most definitely wrong. 

The smoke wafted, as if it were a part of the monster’s body, and what Chuluun could imagine was it’s hand, had raised up, stretching out towards her. Years upon years of being trained in the ways of dealing with spirits. Being taught how to steel herself and to never show fear. 

The Dotharl within her all but roared in its cage to stand her ground, but another part of the woman. Perhaps the side that had engrained itself within her due to the expansive amount of knowledge she craved and consumed, twisted about in grave warning.

Her Khatun and the other Udgan might be ashamed of her.

But no spirit whispered to her. 

No entity beyond the veil wove about her, offering guidance to impart her a valuable lesson for this.

Nothing was about her, save for this skull wearing monster. As the hand grew nearer, fingers thin and unnervingly long, she suddenly moved her arm outward, firing off a blast of flames to roast her sudden foe... At least that was her intention. For all of her connections to the land, to the aether that ran through her. Not even a simple lick of flames kicked out, and those beady eyes stared almost hungrily at her. It was now, that the fight or flight mechanism which was ingrained in all beings at long last kicking in for her. Only it was something that other Dotharl would probably have laughed at her for.

They have laughed at you before.

She didn’t have the time to question that, as the attempt to defend herself failed, and she twisted, kicking off into a run. She couldn’t go through the pond, that placed her practically in the clutches of the monster. Around it was. And hopefully without anything to impede her--she found herself suddenly against the ground, spinning about after pushing up some, and gasping. 

“M-Mergen..?” She wanted to push at the woman’s prone form, but the smoke. That smoke that was so smothering was growing more thick in the air, and she could feel that stare lingering on her, a sensation creeping along her skin that drove her to push, scrambling her way up and getting away from them. 

Chuluun...?

Breathing, she pushed onward, shaking her head, running as fast as her feet could carry her. It would’ve been no problem to put space between herself and the beast, had she the ability to augment her limbs. But she felt nothing. Like a stopper had been sealed upon her magical capabilities. The Khaa was behind her at last, and she almost fell to a knee, mind trying to piece together how no noise greeted her. 

There were no screams.

There were no battlecries.

Just the feeling of something pervasive clouding her. Hunching over to gather her breath, a hand pressed to her head, she took the few precious seconds she could to shake it, and stared ahead. Push on. Ever forward.

Nhaama.

The Dusk Throne rested just ahead. Perhaps someone from the Khaa had made it. Right? Someone there who could tell her what happened, and why she heard nothing? 

Look at you. Always acting this way.

Looking over her shoulder, the flight instilling eyes stared at her, the skull beast slinking its way towards her still. The bones that accompanied its frame only caused her to shudder and very swiftly pushed back into a run. She needed to get away. Needed to get to the Throne. 

Feet pummeling the ground beneath, she didn’t dare glance over her shoulder to see how close or how far the demon like creature was. Move. Her mind told her. Keep moving. Get herself away from the danger, and find out a way to fix it. Find a way to fight it.

As she neared the throne, finding herself growing closer at long last, she had found herself coming to a slow, eyes drinking in the sight that the skull bearing monster was waiting for her there. Looking back over her shoulder, it was there... she felt it behind her, growing nearer.

Y̞̻̝̞ͥ̔̐ͧou̓͛ ̙̼̲̺̩͓ͫͭ͆͒̀͑̚ͅca͉͉̟̿ͩ̇n̠̭̮̻ͧ̄̂ͮͦ̚ ̟̰̙̰͔͖ͤ̓ͫͪͬn̥͖̖̤̬ͭ͌͐̑̚e͍͓͍͗͛ͦ͂̌vͭ͊̄̍̔͌ͦȅ͙̲̞̦̼͇̈́͊̚̚̚r̳̞͉̔ͪ̐ ̬̠̻̱̝̎̔ͧ̿͆o͖̹̣̥̟̎̽͐u̫͗ͨͥ̅̎ͧ̈ͅt͇̭͓̘̑r̭̃̐ͯͤ͛ͯuͭ̄̌nͩ̉̒̀̚ͅ ͙̫͎̞̅ͧm̩͓̼̻̜̿̍ͪ̽ͤ̑̚e͐ͮ.͓͇̘̺̂ͮ̾ͫ͌̔͒

And yet, there it was. Was this all that awaited her at the end? Breathing out heavily, her hand reached out, until she found she was no longer moving. Slowly, the Xaela fell to her knees in the sand. The mockery of the Dotharl. The one who wished to prove her worth... and was seen lacking.

As Chuluun’s head hung, her shoulders lowered in desperation, a shiver raced up her spine. It was there, she could feel it once more, ilms to her back, and closing in. She didn’t even know if she cared that it was standing upon the broken throne of her deity. 

She wasn’t certain if she could find it in herself to pray to Nhaama. No. That wasn’t right. She prayed. But she didn’t know what answer there was left for her to be given. As spiny clawed digits came to rest on her shoulders, digging in, and in, until they pierced the skin, an inky black beginning to drip into her very being, the maw rested above her, blood beginning to drip about her.

Ỷ̬̩͔̝̗̹̑̓̆ͨo̼̪͕̥͗̎ͣ̽̓̉̎u̼̠̮̅͆ͥ̂ͦ ͔̳̝̱̱̼͙c͎͔̺ä́̂͌͑n͋̏͆̑ ͙̄ͫn̖ͬ͒̆ĕ̤̘̉̓v̭̣̤̦͑̀̑̊̉ȇ͚ṙ̩͂ ̜̖̼̣̩ͅó̦̼͖̞̇͂ǔ̮̰̯̠̳̘̋͌ͨt̿͆̾ͬȓ̰u͈͖͎̻̽̇́̊͑̆ͩn͑ͥ ̺̗͈̦̼ͫ̉y̳̘͙̯̪̞̑ͭ̌̈̚o̞̺̜͍̘̯͙̍u͍͕͕̔r̤͚͕̦s͓͎̝͛e͕̙̬͉͚̻͛͐ͅl̼̠̬f̜̄ͫͅͅ.̩̏ͩ͋ͧ

An elderly woman lowered to her knees, time taken to make sure she didn’t pop anything out of place while she stared at the still prone body of the Xaela. “And how long did you say she’d been like this?” The Shamaness asked while reaching out to touch at the set in place Dotharl’s cheek. 

“What I could gather, Udgan, it’s been perhaps two suns, now.” Her attendant informed, hand resting on the hilt of his blade, and gripping it tightly. But at her head shake, he relaxed somewhat.

“As I feared. The curse has been re-ignited in this one too. It seems that we are doomed to watch this repeat, and repeat anon. Head to the Khaa. Find her traveling partner. The sooner we get them both out. The less risk she will pose to her tribe.” 

“As you wish, Udgan.” He bowed his head, the Xaela’s tail flicking behind him as he made way.

The elder looked back, clicked her tongue and smoothed a thumb over the kneeling Dotharl’s cheek. 

“Find yourself. Or find yourself at the end of the sword.”

[ohmytheon]

Until the Very End (Rebelcaptain, Pushing Daises AU)

Okay, so I accidentally posted the very much unfinished product of this Rebelcaptain Pushing Daises AU, so I had to delete it because my desire for minimal organization is there. So...sorry, anon. BUT you just reminded me of how much I miss that show and how long it’s been since I’ve seen it. (This also strangely makes me want to write a Dead Like Me AU, but that’s because I love Bryan Fuller’s weird brain.)

give me a pairing and an au and i’ll write a drabble

Jyn did not ask to be born with this strange gift and often considered it a curse. She could not anything other than begrudging since it had done little in the ways of helping her. The ability to bring back the dead with a single touch was too much power for one person to have, in her opinion, and the side effect of being able to take back that life with a second touch was cruel.

Like a child touching a hot stove top for the first time, she learned this the hard way. One second her mother was dead on the living room floor, shot and killed by an intruder; the next she was rocketing up into a sitting position after an eight year-old Jyn touched her face. Jyn could still remember the expression on her father's face: shock, awe, confusion, and horror. She hadn't been able to name that last one until many years later. Her mother had insisted she was fine and refused to go to the hospital, all the way until she tucked Jyn into bed and kissed her on the forehead goodnight and promptly dropped dead on Jyn's bedroom floor.

It took a while for Jyn to understand the implication. Her father, ever the scientist, had seen the correlation right away, but he hadn't told her about his suspicions over her, wanting to preserve what little childhood Jyn could gleam after watching her mother suddenly die twice in one day. But she had always been an inquisitive child, demanding answers to questions she didn't even know to ask, and she had learned on her own.

Bringing dead animals on the side of the road back to life, rotten food from her father's attempt at gardening blossoming into vibrant colors again -- all with a single touch. And then the bird that had been smashed against a car window hopped onto her hand so willingly, as if wanting to thank her for its returned life, and the life was sucked out of it again. A shiny red tomato she dropped in shock that she picked up again to taste fading to nothing before it reached her lips.

She robbed things from the grave and returned it just the same. It was not Death, per say, so much as Life, because all Life ended with Death. She didn't know why someone as irresponsible and reluctant to help others was given such a gift nor did she want or like it. Had she always had that gift and just never had the opportunity to touch a dead thing or was it awoken in her the second her mother died and she felt the pressing need to bring her back? It was a question that she was desperate to know, could never understand, and was too afraid to find out.

And so, like many things in her life (like her mother's death, her father's distance in his work, her lack of a focused path), she avoided it altogether. Jyn stayed away from Dead Things, no matter how many times they tried to cling to her in a desperate attempt to come back to life. She took out the obituaries section in newspapers; she only kept plastic plants in her apartment; she never adopted a pet; she didn't watch the news or crime show dramas; she stayed away from hospitals, hospices, and everything in between.

But in her attempt to avoid Death, she missed out on a lot of Life as well.

Unable to connect meaningfully with people when she knew that it would only end with some sort of death, Jyn became distant with others. She lived a very solidary life. It wasn't bad and she would never be one to complain of loneliness, but it wasn't fulfilling. There was something missing, something so obviously gaping in her life that it was laughable, and she couldn't even deny it. She wasn't living up to her full potential, according to her next door psychic neighbor, Mothma. The woman, always draped in white, would bear down on Jyn at least once a week to tell her that she was wasting her talents. It was annoying, but not enough to convince Jyn to move.

Of course, Life couldn't be avoided forever. It demanded to be known. Jyn was living in its world after all.

So when she walked to her apartment from a late night shift and found Mothma's door slightly ajar, something that never happened considered the woman had at least five locks, Jyn could not stop herself from stepping inside and calling out. When she found the apartment trashed, her heart beat warningly against her chest. And when she saw the older woman dead on the floor, head smashed in by one of her own bowls, of course Jyn called the police. Then she sat and she waited, not wanting to leave the woman alone even in Death.

Jyn sat there in silence for what felt like forever, staring at the dead body, watching as her blood dried on the carpet, wondering, hearing her voice, "You are so much more than you are," and she could not resist the pull. She crouched over the body and laid a hand against Mothma's cold dead cheek.

Two things happened at once: Mothma's eyes snapped open and connected with Jyn's just as Mothma announced, "Ah, I knew you would bring me back the second the first blow came," and a strangled, accented male voice from the front door gasped, "Holy shit." Jyn had been comfortable with Mothma knowing the truth about her gift, seeing as how she'd more or less guessed it already, but a stranger, especially a cop, she was not happy about.

"It's not what you think!" Jyn practically shouted as she leapt to stand straight.

"I didn't just see a very dead woman come back to life when you touched her?" the cop, a dark-haired man, demanded almost equally as frantically. "A woman that you -- if you are Jyn Erso from Apartment 9F -- reported killed just ten minutes ago?"

Well, Jyn didn't know what to say to that, considering they did have her on tape dialing 911 and reporting her neighbor's murder. Her no longer murdered neighbor who was currently standing up and straightening out her bloodied white robe.

"It was...a mistake," Jyn attempted. "I saw her lying on the ground and panicked, but clearly she'd just fainted."

"Oh no," Mothma said cheerfully, "I was very much dead. Murdered, in fact. I know the chap too." She picked up the bowl that had flakes of her blood and a patch of her hair on the lip and frowned. "I should've demanded payment up front. I don't like to get murdered for free."

Jyn's eyes were so wide that she thought they might just pop out of her head. The cop was wearing the same expression her father had worn all those years ago when she had accidentally brought her mother back to life. She didn't know what to do. All her brain kept saying was to run and never look back. Pack up her things and go. She could become someone else, rebuild her life, start over in which no one knew about this curse.

"I'll...uh, I'll have to call this in," the cop said.

"As what?" Jyn asked. "She's clearly not dead."

"But I was murdered," Mothma pointed out. "Assaulted at the least -- and ripped off."

Jyn stepped forward and tried to give her most winning smile. It was terrible; she had never been a charmer. "Listen, Officer..."

"Andor," he replied, "Cassian Andor."

"Right, Officer Andor." Jyn wrung her hands. "Cassian. Why don't we all just go home and pretend none of this ever happened? I think it'd be best for everyone involved to just...move on with their lives."

Even though Cassian looked close to agreeing, simply out of a lack of a better answer, Mothma harrumphed. "Or you can find the man that did this to me. I was hit over the head very many times. Who better to be a witness to a murder than the person murdered?"

Jyn groaned. "You aren't--"

"And I'll even pay," Mothma continued. "I can be your first customer and this kind gentleman can be your official police liaison."

"Excuse me?" Cassian queried right as Jyn asked, "First customer?"

Mothma pointed a finger at Jyn. "You need to use your gift to become who you're supposed to be. And you" -- she pointed at Cassian -- "are disillusioned by your colleagues and the job, but also have a genuinely good heart and want to help people." She folded her arms across her chest. "Both of you are lacking -- there is something missing in your lives -- but I believe you can find it in each other and your respective skills."

"I don't think..." Jyn began, even as she started to actually consider it. Her gift had never helped her, but she had never stopped to think about what it could do to help others. She could give a voice to the voiceless. Give back what was stolen. Also, people would definitely pay. She wouldn't be able to do it on her own though. She would need someone with proper credentials and official connections. Someone that knew the truth about her.

When Jyn turned to face Cassian, he was already looking at her and she knew by the determined look on his face that he had already made his decision. That good heart Mothma had mentioned was showing.

"How good are you at keeping secrets?" Jyn asked him.

"Well enough," Cassian responded.

Jyn held out a hand. "I suppose that will have to do for now." He took it and they shook hands. His skin was hot to the touch. Electricity seemed to run down her spine, like some sort of momentous, Fate-driven moment had just occurred. "Of course we'll have to set some boundaries."

"And you'll need to get an official PI license," Cassian added. Jyn fought the urge to roll her eyes. Great, she was working with a boy scout. But, as she watched him call the ambulance and back up off without even blinking, she had a feeling that he was going to be a good fit. He was already proving to be better at keeping secrets than just "well enough". She could deal with that.