#old pawn jewelry

[cheyisagirlkisser]

what if reader is a cat burglar and breaks into pitfighter vi’s apartment one night and vi catches her and at first she thinks it’s kinda funny and says “are you dumb? there’s nothing in here worth stealing.” but then she sees how cute and scared reader is and decides to punish her for her actions

CONTENT: Vi x fem! reader, spanking (r! receiving), fingering & oral sex (r! receiving), spit play, hair-pulling, impact play, overstimulation, rough sex, degradation & some praise, dom / sub roles (dom vi, submissive reader), punishment, aftercare in the end

WORD COUNT: 3.1K

A/N: Thank you for the request I loved this one! Also if it's unclear because I only hinted to it, Vi comes back early because she forgot her bandages!! Enjoy<3

Your hands leisurely sift through the jewelry box, fingers brushing against a few rings and necklaces. Then, you feel it. Jackpot. A beautiful emerald, a real emerald necklace. You recall your friend telling you about how Pilties loved their jewels; frisking the accessory out of the box, you didn't expect to find such quality from an undercity home. Once again, another good snag. You smiled to yourself in pride though you were alone and slipped out the window you came out of, onto the night to bring your find to an.. 'old friend.'

The door jingled so comically and shut behind you. There, standing behind a tall desk and in front of shelves of treasures was Harlan: the pawn man of Zaun. He was intimidatingly tall and a snake if you ever did see one, but he was convenient, his building open at all hours of the night. Though most came to sell their own items, he didn't particularly need to know that yours were not technically.. well, yours. All he needed was something to sell up to the top-siders.

"Well, well, well. You've got something new for me today?" Voice so nasal, you'd think he was always in bouts of allergies, but no. Just a natural snake. "Show me what you've got for me, dear."

Your grin was as wide as the Cheshire cat's, "you'll never believe the haul, Harlan."

With raised brows, he bit. "How much?"

"One." Your hands found purchase at the front of his desk, amusingly starting up at his now impatient expression.

"You've come to me with only one item?" He sighed. "Fine, show me. What's so great about your find?"

Your toothy smile only widened, having lured him in for the catch. Then, your nimble hand fished through your pocket, pulling out the fish in question, the emerald shining as if to say, "I cost more than your Zaun home is worth by twice-over."

You had him hooked, and you were happily able to return back to your home with a bag of coins and a few heaps of gold stuffed into your pockets. Once your feet returned back to your humble apartment, you were quick to collapse onto your stiff mattress.

Your life mainly consisted of the routine of thievery. At night, you dressed to cover yourself and bade off to homes to snatch their possessions. From watches to even just coin itself, you were particularly good at going undetected. This was all you knew, and you didn't feel an ounce of empathy. What was fair was fair game, and what wasn't fair were the cards you were dealt with early into your childhood; why should anyone be offered what is simply 'fair', if you are not? You had rent to pay, your own mouth to feed, and everyone in Zaun in fact knew that money did equate to happiness. Everyone in Piltover may have been able to snuff those thoughts down as they mindlessly bought their way through life, leading more extravagance in a nanosecond than any person who'd lived in the undercity could see in a century-length lifetime.

Tomorrow, you thought, would be an even better haul. You usually did not plan through missions, for you were witty and able to go undetected. However, you knew what apartment to pick from tonight. You knew who to pick from, more precisely stated.

Her shoulders were broad, her hair dark. A glint of metal from her piercing flickered through visions, and her betters were smug. Vi was the name all undercity could ever think to talk about anymore. Vi was well-known for her abilities in the ring, and you knew she had a lot of money in her pockets from that. Little did you know that all of the cash went straight to brothels and beer, not to anything you could pick-pocket, though you did love a good quality drink or two.

You planned the perfect burglary: leave before Vi's first fight of the night starts so that she won't be in her apartment for a while, giving you enough time to find yourself her most valuable possessions. Every fight probably lasted under 15 minutes, but that did not include the time she spent at the bar with Loris or preparing for fights, so that added quite some extra time onto however many fights she'd be taking on that night. When you were satisfied with the haul, you would be careful not to leave a trace of yourself anywhere or make any noise that may pin you to the crime; you heard rumors that Vi was sweet on enforcers, and you wondered if that meant that she could possibly make it easier for you to be pinned to all of the robberies in the under-city if she were to ask for it. A trial like that? You'd be easily looking at decades.

You knew that without a doubt, this could go terribly wrong. Not only was Vi disgustingly connected to enforcers, but she was extremely strong. If you were to be caught, your life could be on the line. You weren't weak, but you were in no means fit to take on any pitfights, let alone Vi. However, you were quite foolish and the money from the emerald necklace would only get you so far. Plus, what's wrong with stealing from some enforcer suck-up?

So, you carried out your grand plan. At 8 p.m, the first fight began. Vi had not locked her front door, which surprised you but you were ironically grateful. Made it a lot easier than slipping through a window. Now, here you were, in Vi's apartment.

Taking it all in left you dumbfounded, to say the last. There was almost nothing in sight worth stealing. The room was tinier than you could even imagine; hell, it was smaller than your apartment and that was saying a lot. How in the world does a successful woman like Vi live in a place the size of a college dorm? The bed was hardly a mattress, and all of the valuable items you expected to see within the room were somewhat empty bottles of alcohol, dirty clothes all over the floor, and a few empty plates. Really the only thing worth stealing was the punching bag, but that would be difficult to carry, and you couldn't fit it in any bag you had on you. You momentarily noticed Vi's bandages on the mattress (if you could call it that), which was peculiar knowing that she was known for always fighting with those wrapped around her hands, but you were starting to panic over the fact that you plan was for naught. In a bit of a frenzy, you began sifting through her wooden nightstand's drawers for anything of importance. A flask, a small amount of coins, and a palette of black eye-shadow was all. And then, before you could get a chance to even take those items, you were caught.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" The door slammed. You whipped back around to see her standing a few feet away, looking cautious but not exactly furious.

"I-I..I was just..." Your words seemed to fail you. Everything you could think of, any possible explanation, it all vanished. You thought of coming clean, but she quickly caught you off guard with a burst of laughter.

"Oh my god, are you that thief everyone's been complaining about?! It's you?" She didn't sound even irritated anymore, just purely entertained. You stood, defensiveness creeping into you.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" You shouted, fingers clenching into fists. Okay, so you did not appear to be thief material, to say the least. You didn't look like some big-time robber, only like a 20 year old girl. Still, you almost wished she would've just turned you in. This was humiliating.

"It's just that... you're visiting me of all people? Are you that stupid? There's not a single thing in here even worth taking. You could probably find a mouse who lives in the wall and sell it for more than this place is worth." She laughed once more, looking over your body in a way that made you both offended and somehow hot.

"Oh, please. Says the one who's soft on the top-siders." Your mouth was going to get you in a lot of trouble, it seemed.

Vi's laughed quickly died down, and she began walking towards you. There was nowhere to go but backwards until your back hit the wall. "You wanna say that again, thief? I could have you rot in Stillwater, you know." That threat caused you to begin to panic. You'd heard countless stories of what the guards do to their prisoners, and you didn't think you could even survive an hour in one of those cells.

"I'm sorry, please don't...please don't tell anybody. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Vi raised a brow at that.

"Yes! I'll do anything, I'll give you all the cash on me, I'll never break into another house again, just..." You were starting to sound desperate, and Vi seeing some cute thief begging, offering her anything at all for her troubles... a wicked idea popped into her brain.

"I wanna fuck you."

"What...?"

"You heard me. I was planning on spending tonight's earnings on the brothel, but you'll work, I guess."

Her demand was met with silence. For some reason, more heat spread through your face at the thought of getting fucked by Vi than you'd care to admit. You knew that if you agreed, she probably wouldn't go easy. Then again, you didn't exactly have a choice. You were in her apartment after trying to take all of her shit. Before you could protest any further, Vi had you pinned against her wall, a hand gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. Her next words were quiet and low.

"Thieves deserve to get punished, am I right?" She let out a small hum at the way your breath hitched, "I mean, 'specially the pretty ones. So what'll it be, sweetheart?"

Your eyes widened at her words. "W-What will...what be?"

Vi laughed, a soft sound. "What'll it be? The enforcer's idea of punishment or mine?"

Your body was already betraying you, heat fluttering in your lower stomach at her words. This was the last thing you were expecting at the previous worries of getting caught, but you had to admit that Vi was hot. She had experience, too. You swallowed and tried to keep a steady voice with her.

"You."

Vi was a fucking maniac, you concluded.

She had you laid naked across her lap, your ass red with her handprint. Her hand spent what felt like hours slamming down onto your ass-cheeks, hitting both with an amount of force you knew that she contained, but didn't expect to feel. Each smack required a number. She forced you to count each and every spank, and if you hesitated for too long or lost count, she would start over. You didn't even remember how many times you were forced to restart because each blow on your rear left you a mess. All the while, she'd throw filthy words at you, somehow causing your pussy to grow wet and drip onto her mattress.

"Whores get punished when they get greedy. You'd know all about that, wouldn't you baby?"

SMACK!

"Every time I spank you, you seem to get even more soaked. A damn mess all over my bed. It's okay, baby. You'll make up for it."

SMACK!

When you were thinking about getting punished sexually, you imagined just a rough fuck. Maybe some heavy kissing and the usual lesbian stuff, not to be bent over this girl's lap and spanked like it was discipline, forced to count and basically stripped of any ounce of dignity your soul had. You had to admit that you loved it, though. The more her hand met your skin, the louder you got. It was absolutely hell, and you looked like it, too. Your hair that was once tied back was frizzy and tangled from the amount of times she'd gripped it to lift your head up. Your eyes were watery, rimmed with tears that reached your cheeks. Your bottom lip was sore and swollen from you biting down onto it to brace yourself for her punishment. Each moment was absolute torture.

And just when you thought it was over, Vi's fingers slipped inside of you, giving you no time to adjust before fucking you senseless. You cried out at the mix of pleasure and pain, trying to squirm away but Vi's hand on your hip kept you right in your place on across her lap.

"O-Oh, fuck!! Vi, please, take it easy on me-" You didn't even sound like yourself now, your voice broken from all of the crying and your words muffled from your face in the mattress. You were so fucking embarrassed, naked on top of this woman's thighs with her fingers thrusting into your pussy like she hated you. You were convinced she did.

"Why should I take it easy on you? You're just a filthy thief who's desperate enough to steal from anyone, and apparently desperate to get fucked." She berated you, voice so unlike what you'd heard before when she was lightheartedly laughing at you for breaking in.

"It's too much, please!! I can't take it.." You pleaded, crying into her pillow. It was too much, that much was true. Each hit to your g-spot wasn't like a brush but instead like a punch to it, and it felt like overstimulation before you were even able to cum yet.

Vi seemed to take mercy on you, at least that was what you assumed.

Her digits slipped out of you, but before you could sigh in relief, she had you flipped over and onto your back, laid out on top of her mattress with your legs spread in a matter of seconds. Soon, one hand returned to your pussy, three fingers pumping into you at a relentless pace as her other hand gripped your chin. Her eyes were dark with something you weren't used to seeing in anyone, and you began to realize why she was so good at fighting - she was fucking insane.

"Open that fuckin' mouth of yours. Right now." You didn't even wait to oblige, quickly parting your lips which were spilling out whines and cries for mercy. Vi spit into your mouth and used her own hand to close your jaw. "Now, swallow."

You swallowed graciously, and a flutter went through you at her taste. She hadn't even kissed you yet, and you now wanted her to. Her saliva was thick with alcohol and iron, perhaps from blood from a previous fight, but you needed more.

"V-Vi, need a kiss.." You begged breathlessly, expecting her to cave.

"You think you deserve a kiss?" You nodded eagerly, trying your best to even maintain the conversation with her fingers picking up in speed. "Yeah? You're getting a kiss after you've learned your goddamn lesson."

Before you could even whine in protest, Vi's head was between your legs, making out with your sopping cunt while three fingers curled to meet your g-spot. "You wanna complain about me fucking you like this, but you're soaking wet enough to take it and this sweet pussy's just clenching around my fingers like she never wants me to leave," she pulled away to remark before diving back in, tongue circling around your swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!! Vi, no- You're gonna make me cum, Vi!!"

Only, Violet didn't seem to care. In fact, she wanted you to. She wanted you to so that she could do it again, and again, and again.

Vi coaxed the first orgasm out of you with the flat of her tongue and a deep plunge into your stretched-out hole. Each flick of her tongue sent you both squirming away and bucking up into her mouth. Every hit your sweet insides endured had you only gripping at her stained mattress harder. You cried, pleaded, and begged her for more. You could feel her smile against your pussy. She'd give you more, alright.

You were starting to regret your word when her mouth stayed latched to your clit and her fingertips abused your spongey, tender insides. You were practically fucked raw now, ass still red and sore, cries sounding more like a wounded animal than a real girl, and all you could even process was the sensations. You forgot what you came here for, forgot about wanting a kiss. You wanted mercy.

The second orgasm was a brutal paradise. Ecstasy flowed throughout your body in waves until once again, your pussy was feeling the raw overload of pleasure she was dealing you. You didn't remember how many more times this cycle continued, only that by the end of it, your lower half was numb and you recalled through teary vision, her chin coated in your juices and her lips parting to suck the taste off of her own fingers.

When she was finally done with you, she pulled you into her lap and held you tightly. Sure you were a little thief, but a cute one. Vi wasn't a monster. Her hands traced patterned over your back and squeezed you tightly. You sniffled, still coming down from the intensity of it all.

"Shh, you were a good girl 'f me...took it all and now you're here in my lap.." she comforted you, planting her lips onto your hair.

Then, you remembered what you really wanted to feel before you had to leave.

"Can I please get a kiss?" Your head pulled from her shoulder so that you could see her. Vi nearly melted at your eyes staring up at her, so vulnerable and in need of her care.

Of course she leaned in, pressing her lips onto yours with a gentle warmth just for you to have. She didn't rush it or invade your mouth, only spoiling you with her tender affection you craved after her harsh lesson. Her lips made soft smacking sounds against yours, causing you to softly hum against her mouth and lean in closer for more. You needed this stranger's care more than you needed anything else in that moment. When you pulled away, you placed your head onto her bandaged chest, letting her heart beat and sweet coos lull you to slumber. You ended up falling asleep in her arms, and you hoped to come back to her apartment, but rather for her than for stealing. Your body ached with the previous events, but Vi's hold on you didn't leave you throughout the night, squeezing you so softly to hear those sweet, sleepy squeaks.

[yanderenightmare]

All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure. 

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[goldjewellerybuyeringurgaon]

Sell gold online

If you are worry about your old jewelry. When you come to sell gold online with us, our experts will analyze metals by testing machine, and offer the best quote.

[queers-gambit]

Talk Shit, Get Hit

prompt: ( requested ) your high school bully picks the wrong day to taunt you and it's up to an equally hotheaded Billy to calm you down. call it irony.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader characters are ALL aged 18 years old

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

word count: 5.4k+

note: the reader is aggressive. the reader is violent. the reader’s hands are rated ‘E’ for Everyone.

warnings: you know the drill: author projects instead of going to therapy and uses personal experience as details. there's physical violence, aggressive reader, depiction of shitty home life / toxic family, (somewhat severe) abusive alcoholic parent, parental abandonment, cursing, bullying, Jason Carver's sister is the bully, injury and blood. cursing, threats, brief cigarette and illicit material use (marijuana / weed), i guess this is hurt and comfort, angst, we talk about Billy's abuse with Neil, too, and kinda abrupt ending.

PLEASE NOTE -

this fic will depict parental abuse, both emotional and physical. this fic will discuss an alcoholic parent. this fic will detail physical violence BY the reader.

DO NOT engage if any of these topics potentially trigger you. you will miss nothing if you decide to skip. author implores readers to value and prioritize their own comfort and mental health.

Of all the days Brittany Carver could've chosen, she picked the worst day imaginable to bully you - being akin to a ticking time bomb. To your immense surprise, she'd laid off that entire week, focused on the "big" cheerleading competition she was leading Hawkins High to victory in. It left her no energy to engage in her favorite past time of tormenting you; figuring that after 6 years of her brutal behavior, she had grown up and lost interest. You weren't someone who people bullied easily, but this thing with Brittany, it was some kind of twisted pissing contest; competition brewing in elementary school that boiled over during middle school and now lasted into high school.

However, God seemed to have a sick sense of humor because on the week your bully had temporarily forgotten your existence, things at home had escalated to a new height not previously known. It was true what they said: if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

The entire week, your mother had only been sober for - well - none of it. She was found morning, noon, and night slumped over in various locations around your home with different bottles of liquor in her grip. The house grew messier each day, a direct result of a checked-out parent refusing to do any chore and destructive little monsters that took form as your twin little brothers. You couldn't keep up, playing mother, sister, housewife, personal maid, and full-time student all at once; pushing your stress levels higher, making you bitter and short tempered. The times your mother was conscious, which was typically to find a new bottle of alcohol, she was a right nasty fuck.

Her bark matched her bite; not only yelling at you, belittling you, and gaslighting you - but also using physical aggression to "teach you a lesson" for being "disorderly" or "a waste of semen" - and yes, that is a direct quote. Her hands were dainty from malnourishment, bulging veins prominent, and despite your father abandoning the family ages go, she still wore her diamond wedding ring that left small cuts wherever she struck you. The times she wasn't sober enough to really "get" you, she put out cigarettes on your arms and thighs; leaving tiny, circular burn scars you coated in Neosporin. She’s been known to break a few wooden cooking spoons over your head, steal the money made from babysitting, even cashed-in your inheritance - pawning all of your dead grandmother’s jewelry. There were plenty of other examples, but dwelling on those instances wouldn't change the past or alter your future, so you stuffed them way deep down in your soul.

Naturally, you didn't say a Goddamn thing; under the impression that everyone had shitty family members they tolerated and that your home life was normal enough to not report to the police. You didn't know any better, you didn't know that your mother downing fifths of alcohol daily was cause for concern. You didn't know that abuse wasn't the standard - emotional or physical. It took years for you to learn that love wasn't supposed to hurt, that love wasn't supposed to scare you, that love wasn't selfish, that your mother didn't actually love you. It took years to convince yourself that you were worthy of love and acceptance, never receiving it from your mother - not knowing you could get it from anyone else.

And then, William fucking Hargrove - or Billy - breezed into your small hometown with a sweet denim-clad ass, golden, curly mullet, and a bad fucking attitude that rivaled your own.

It was a match made in heaven. Or hell.

You both suffered at the hands of your parental figures, turning abrasive and foul-mouthed as defense mechanisms. You and Billy developed hardened exteriors in an effort to protect your soft insides, and when you met officially, it was as if you two could see past that hard shell - straight through the bullshit. You recognized much of the same in one another - like looking in a mirror - and grew impossibly close in an incredibly short amount of time; grateful to have a second half who understood without ever needing explanation.

He just got you. Able to identify common threads between you. Billy understood you, having more empathy than you thought he could muster. He protected you. He loved you. He took care of you - and you did the exact same, considering you two were cut from the same cloth; wanting to assure him he was just as worthy of love as you.

Billy was known around Hawkins for being a womanizing jock with anger issues, and yet, when you finally agreed to go on a date with him, he never even looked at another girl twice. He felt as if dating his best friend, understanding that nobody else would truly understand him the way you do - so he did what he could to keep you.

He did his best to defend you, but there was only so many tangible things the star basketball player could protect you from. Gossip and petty cheerleaders, prime examples. Yet Billy still tried, even taking the liberty to confront Brittany's brother, Jason Carver, about leaving you alone. Unfortunately, it was as if Billy's concern spurred on the cheerleader's bullying, calling you pathetic for hiding behind a man and sending him to fight your battles. You told Billy to stay out of it, that you could handle the situation by yourself, that he would just make the situation much more sticky.

So he did. Billy backed off, letting you deal with the situation as best you deemed; offering his support in return, being a shoulder to cry on for the days your frustration peaked.

That entire week Brittany didn't bully you had been extraordinarily tiresome due to your mother's abuse, wanting to confide in Billy but refraining when you rationalized not bringing him into your bullshit. He had enough of his own. So, while, yes, it was a comfort to have him on your side, you never indulged Billy on the woes of your life. He was meant to be your escape, not your savior; the burden of shouldering your abuse while enduring his own feeling terribly unfair.

You kept quiet, even though you were silently begging for someone to save you. Yet you weren't a damsel, there was no Prince Charming, brave knight, chosen champion to slay the dragons terrorizing you.

However, your boyfriend was much more intuitive than you realized. You always prided yourself on your acting skills, convincing everyone around you that you were indifferent to your mother's temperament, even when showing up at school with a casted wrist, black eye, and split bottom lip. Turns out, parents in Hawkins gossiped much more than the kids, and soon, it felt like the entire town knew about your abusive alcoholic mother and runaway father. Nobody did anything to help you, they just tiptoed around the knowledge and stared at your injuries. Brittany Carver was the only person stupid enough to make the mistake of weaponizing your home situation.

It was a tepid spring afternoon, the sun peaking through the clouds and the first flowers sprouting from the thawing ground. The bell rang to dismiss for lunch, the hallways filled with mingling and milling students all grateful for the midday break. Some gathered in gaggles of friends, some headed directly for the cafeteria, and others, like you, utilized the time to exchange morning class books for afternoon materials. Your fractured wrist had long since healed, but there was a long, straight scar present as a result from the surgery you required; currently, a scabbing cut over your eyebrow, lips stinging from where the flesh split, with a collection of bruises turning different colors to represent various healing stages.

Today simply hadn't been your day.

After a week of constant alcohol-fueled battery, you felt your frustrations finally crescendo after being assigned 3 separate essays; doubling your stress, shortening your fuse, and creating heavy leaded dread as the minutes ticked by. Everyone else felt giddy for the spring-tastic weekend, wanting time to go faster so they could go home - but not you. You might've been the one teenager in the city - no, no, the county - no, wait! The state - WAIT, NO... The country, who didn't want to leave school. You didn't want the day to end and be forced out of your safety zone; anxiety twisting your stomach and prickling your skin at the thought of returning home.

Truthfully, you spent several nights a week at Billy's, being snuck in through his window; feeling unsafe in your own home and wanting to remain close without voicing your need for his proximity. You felt stronger with Billy, as if you could take on the world; as if your safety and wellbeing were (finally) a real priority. He took great pride in being that safe haven for you, thinking it a nice change of pace as he often never seized opportunities to prove himself compassionate and caring. Billy was known for being a brute, someone aggressive and commandeering; nobody associating "safety" with him - except you.

However, this wasn't one of those weekends you'd be able to sneak out, being forced into caring for your two wee brothers; them needing you, dependent on you, relying on the care and love you provide them.

As a result of your shitty week, you had been a right, foul bitch to those unfortunate enough to engage you. Being well aware of your attitude, you tried to avoid everyone, not wanting to lash out at innocent peers - labeling yourself a bitch because of your impeccable self-awareness. Though, no matter the labels you assigned, you simply couldn't rein your emotions into check given your anxiety over returning home overpowered your brain.

Knowing you'd be forced to defend yourself against your own mother set your teeth on edge, projecting your horrible mood onto anyone in your vicinity - making most keep their distance.

Keyword: most.

Much like her brother, captain of the basketball team, Jason Carver, Brittany Carver wasn't the brightest bulb of the bunch. She never picked up hints, she didn't bother reading the room or in-between any lines; she held little to no regard for those around her or their emotional state. Brittany just wanted to assert herself as Queen Bee and thought the best way to achieve that was by bullying those she deemed lesser then she. It gave her a power trip, made her feel swollen with importance, boosting her ego because in her mind, she'd rather be feared than loved.

Brittany was dressed in her pretty, pressed, and bright cheer uniform; her obnoxiously blonde hair tied in a high ponytail that swished dramatically with each step. She wore cherry flavored lip gloss, her make-up caked, skirt hiked higher than school regulation permitted because she suckled at the teat for attention - good or bad.

You heard the second bell ring and finished shoving books in your locker, trying to stuff notebooks in your bag when your locker was suddenly violently slammed shut. Flinching at the quick movement and aggressive bang, you glared at whoever dared interrupt you; a manicured hand flat on the metal to keep the locker closed.

"The fuck you want, Brittany?"

"Awh, someone's already got their panties in a twist," she mocked, two of her cronies giggling their support. "C'mon, babe, I was just stopping by to say hello - missed you this week!"

"Oh, for sure," you sneered in a sickly-sweet tone, "of course you missed me, your life is so much more boring without me in it, huh? Wow, seriously, Brittany, I'm flattered to be the main character in your life, too."

Her eyes rolled and one of the other cheerleaders at her flank, Jennifer, popped flavorless gum. "I'm surprised you still have this level of spunk and cheek to talk like that, would've thought Mommy Dearest beat it out of you by now - she hits you often enough, right? Doesn't she? Hmm, well, maybe she needs to hit you a little harder."

"Excuse me?" You snapped.

"You heard me!" She laughed. "Obviously your mom isn't teaching you any lessons since you still have this whole emo-attitude going on. But I can't say I blame her, you're such a bitch - I'd smack the shit outta you, too."

You nodded slowly, not realizing several students had paused themselves to watch the exchange; knowing this was a longtime coming and didn't want to miss the inevitable drama. Dropping your backpack, you asked, "You sure? You really wanna hit me?"

"Is it that hard to believe? I mean," she smirked, "your own mother does - of course, I do, too. Like, seriously, it's not a secret why she hits you - just look at you! No wonder she hates you, you're just a waste of space, resources, and money. Damn shame Billy doesn't see it yet, but don't worry, he will." She laughed again, "He'll get tired of reopening your lip every time you kiss. It's so pathetic and ugly, he'll start to crave what you can't offer. I mean, seriously, what guy with any self-respect wants to date a girl as broken as you?"

"Know what, Brittany?" You growled, balling your fists at your side. "I'll give you one free hit."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Yeah," your head nodded, "go ahead. One free, clean shot. Hit me if you want to so bad, but you'll only get just this one shot."

Her eyes rolled, "I don't need to, your mom's got that covered."

"Free hit, Brit," you taunted, gesturing, "c'mon, go 'head, lemme have it. Since I'm so insufferable, go right ahead - get your clean hit."

Jennifer and Jasmine shared strange looks, the latter nudging, "Just do it, Brittany, shut this stupid bitch the hell up."

"Yeah, Brittany, shut me the hell up."

She looked to her little goons with a smirk, shrugged and handing over her backpack. When Brittany turned again, she dramatically wound her arm back and used her full strength to swing her fist into your cheek; only making your head turn a fraction from impact. You hummed and nodded, the cheerleader laughing with her girls as if she had "shown you" - but her amusement died when she noticed you barely reacted.

You smirked, cracking your neck, "My turn!"

Your knuckle cracked the bridge of the cheerleader's nose - sick sound of a snap ringing in your ears and jolting the girl's head backwards; momentum forcing her to stumble. Brittany shrieked in pain, holding her nose, unable to defend herself as you launched your attack; first slamming her back into the lockers before jabbing your fist into any vulnerable spot you could.

Similar to the movies, you held Brittany by her hair to keep her in place; wailing your punches repeatedly, each hit making Britt bang into the lockers. Jennifer and Jasmine tried to pull you away but both earned their own punches or elbows to the face for the interference. You focused on Brittany, instantly curating a flock of students all eager to watch.

"FIIIIIIGHT!"

"GIRL FIGHT!"

"BEAT HER ASS, Y/N!"

Brittany sobbed as blood dribbled down her front, staining her pretty uniform, but you were just getting started. The hallway turned noisy, a circle forming around you four as all three cheerleaders were staved off; you running on pure anger, adrenaline, and overflowing frustration that encouraged your foot to kick Britt's gut. You'd never admit it, but Brittany's mocking had hurt you past words, made you feel vulnerable, disarmed, as if you were damaged, undeserving goods. With each punch or kick or stomp, you remembered a different instance of your mother's abuse, seeing her face instead of Brittany's; spurring you on with unrestrained force.

In the parking lot, Billy was leaning on his car with a few teammates from the basketball team and enjoying a hearty nicotine-filled break. Though they'd never label it as such, the boys exchanged idle gossip; listening to Conrad Jones detail his latest conquest, sneering about how "easy" Kennedy Stephens was. They were interrupted when Kyle Lambert sprinted up to them, sneakers skidding over asphalt, panting dramatically, "Billy! Billy! Y-You gotta come see this, man! You gotta help!"

"What?" He asked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"I-It's your girl - it's Y/N!"

He pushed off his car that was supporting his weight, demanding, "What about her?"

"You gotta come quick, man, you gotta see this! It's fucking wild! Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine tried jumping her - "

Billy was surging across the carpark instantly, tossing his cigarette away before yanking the school doors open. He was instantly greeted by the chaotic sight and sounds of a fight, peers gathered in a large circle; screaming their support and hollering encouragement.

"Billy! Oh, thank God!!" Chrissy Cunningham cried, waving him closer. "You have to help! You have to do something, it's 3-on-1!"

He didn't acknowledge the strawberry blonde, just started instantly shoving through the crowd to reach the edge of the fight. It wasn't the sight he was anticipating - fearing the worst, now pleasantly surprised (and a little turned on).

Blood was splattered on the linoleum floors, a single streak smeared on the lockers. Jennifer was left on the ground with her back against the metal, sporting a busted lip as Jasmine was trying to coax her to her feet - sporting a ruddy face and disheveled look. Left in the center, to the entertainment of the crowd, was you on top of Brittany Carver, heaving your fist time and again into her face.

"Shit," he breathed, intending to step forward to stop the fight but needing to shove Tommy H. out of his way when he stepped forward.

"C'mon, man! It's a girl fight! Don't break it up!" Tommy begged, but Billy bullied through.

"All right, that's enough," he grunted, wrapping his arms around your middle and heaving you up and back a step - needing to engage his core and arms when you wriggled in an effort to free yourself. "Hey, hey, hey - "

"Lemme go! This bitch needs put in the ground!"

"Jesus Christ, when did you get this strong?" He grunted, your feet slipping on blood but still being restrained by your boyfriend's impressive strength.

"Talk your shit again, bitch!" You barked at Brittany, who was sobbing in pain and curling into herself. "Lemme hear you say another Goddamn word, you'll need more than another nose job! Fake ass, plastic bitch!"

Jason joined the center and knelt at his sister's side, helping her sit up, glaring at you and Billy. Your boyfriend grit his teeth when Jason snarled, "You need to muzzle your bitch, Billy!"

"I'll fuck you up for talkin' about her like that, Carver, don't provoke me. Watch yourself," Billy snapped in warning, successfully managing to get you behind him.

However, you dodged around him with only enough time to spit hatefully on Brittany, warning, "You wanna talk shit, you'll get hit! Don't let me hear you again - don't you ever dare say another word about my mama! I'll put you in the ground, bitch, fucking try me! I dare you! Try me again, say shit about my mama, and see what the fuck I do!"

"All right, all right, you made your point," Billy stiffly told you, pulling you away by force to avoid you actually killing Brittany. He got a look at her injuries, thinking there must've been more than a broken nose from the way her uniform was stained and her entire face bloodied. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here, come with me - c'mon, baby, you can't touch her anymore, you made your point, you'll end up killin' her or some shit," he panted, shoving through the crowd and effectively ending the fight.

Billy didn't let go of your form until finally outside - letting you rip yourself away as your blood boiled, adrenaline making you much stronger. He watched you pace; huffing, puffing, seething, all but gnashing your teeth hatefully. "That fucking bitch had it coming, Bee, it was self defense!" You finally explained.

"Oh, yeah, princess, totally looked like it," he scoffed, blocking the doors in case you tried to go back. He lit another cigarette.

"It was, you condescending asshole!" You snapped, eyes ablaze and anger tangible. "She approached me, she ran her mouth, and she hit me first!"

"Well," he sighed, "whatever the reason, it's not worth jail time for beating her to death."

"Might be."

"Ain't nothing worth throwing your life away," he offered you the cigarette, but you refused. "Why don't you just tell me what happened? What'd she say?"

"It doesn't matter, Billy."

"I think it matters when she looks like she's gonna need a blood transfusion to replenish what she's lost."

"Whatever - let it be a lesson that you shouldn't throw stones if you're scared of a boulder."

Billy sighed, smoke blown from his mouth, "C'mon, doll, tell me what happened?"

"Doesn't matter, it's done, it's over, it's in the past."

"Baby, I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"You can't help, period, Billy! There's nothing you can do!"

"Well, you're not even letting me try!"

"'Cause it's redundant!"

"Obviously not when you look like a raging bull!"

Your eyes rolled, head shaking, "I handled it."

"I saw," he scoffed. "So, 3-on-1? How'd that happen?"

"I told you, they approached me."

"Well, I'm gonna need a little more to go on. C'mon, pretty girl, the fuck just happened? You know you can get suspended!" This made you freeze, muscles clamming up, looking purely petrified as if the thought hadn't occurred to you. "I know you don't want that, but if you talk to me, maybe I can help lessen whatever punishment."

"Oh, whatever, like I care about being punished," you snipped, hands twisting together - telling Billy you were beginning to get anxious.

"I think you do, it'd put you in the house with your mom alone," he trailed, pushing away from the doors to approach you like a baby deer. "C'mon, I know you don't wanna get suspended, so just tell me what happened."

"I'm sure you'll hear all about it from your little basketball buddies."

"I don't fucking care!" He snapped with the cigarette trapped and bobbing between his lips, making you look at him in mild shock. "There's gonna be a hundred different rumors, whole fuckin' school watched you beat the shit outta those girls - but I only care about what you have to say."

"There's no point - "

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he growled, snatching the cig between his knuckles, "I just saw three bitches on the ground, all injured, beaten up, bleeding - so stop being so Goddamn stubborn and just tell me! I'm tryna help you!"

"You pulled me off of her, you've helped plenty."

"I'd like to understand how this happened."

"It won't change anything."

"No, it won't, but you have a side to the story. Tell me what went wrong? What happened?"

You sighed, no longer pacing, planting both hands on your hips. Your head shook as Billy tossed the filtered cigarette butt aside, muttering when he exhaled the last of the smoke, "It seems so stupid now."

"Hey," he soothed, crowding into your space and taking one of your hands in his. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wasn't stupid. You're forgetting, I know well enough to understand you wouldn't throw a punch unless absolutely necessary. Whatever got you riled up like that ain't stupid, sweetheart."

Like a glazed donut, your eyes turned glassy. Billy frowned and took your other hand off your hip, forcing your attention on him. "I swear, I didn't start it," you whispered.

"Only matters that you finished it," he smirked. "Tell me, what the fuck was all that?"

You sighed deeply, offering meekly, "Guess they had it comin'..."

"I know they did," Billy chuckled. "Nobody's that stupid to provoke you, except Brittany."

"I was at my locker... They approached and slammed it shut."

"Right, okay..."

"There were words exchanged, but Brittany, she - " You paused, swallowing thickly, "she started talkin' shit about my mom, about, you know, what she does..."

Billy understood instantly. "You fuckin' serious?" He growled, seeing you nod and fill him in on what was said - unable to look him in the eye as you relived your anger. By the end, you were trembling in emotion and adrenaline loss, Billy sighing deeply and yanking you into his chest for a tight embrace. "All right, yeah," he mumbled, "should've put them bitches in the ground."

"And now," you sniffled, "I'm gonna get suspended, forced to stay home with Ma all next week."

"We'll get you outta it."

"Can't, the school doesn't tolerate fighting on school grounds."

"You said she swung first?"

"Technically, yes. I might've - allegedly - prompted her into it."

"It's still selfdefense, toots, no matter what you or anyone said - if she swung first and hit you, you were only defending yourself."

You shrugged, resting on his chest, "You see the damage? Admin won't care who swung first - not when they're beat to shit."

"Yeah, there's my li'l hothead," he smirked, chuckling slightly before pecking the top of your head. "But you gotta admit, it's impressive how you took on all three."

"I guess, doesn't exactly feel like an accomplishment."

"Nah, princess, seriously," he pulled you back to look at him again, "that's fuckin' hot. I mean, they approached you and still got their asses handed to 'em. That's straight skill."

"Or just a lot of anger with nowhere to go," you frowned. "Think I should go find admin?"

"Nah, they'll probably find you - "

The doors opened and your name was called, the principal's secretary waving you to her. "Fuck," you whispered, releasing Billy.

"I'll come with you," he promised, lacing your fingers together when he took your hand. Billy had to admit, it was a little weird being in the principal's office but not being the one in trouble; waiting without patience in a fraying chair, picking at the exposed stuffing with his leg bouncing. He'd been there 45 minutes, skipping the last half of classes, just waiting as you were behind a closed door with the principal, vice principal, and the disciplinary officer.

He looked up when the school nurse lead Brittany, Jennifer, and Jasmine inside - glaring at them but admiring the scattering of cuts and bruises with dried blood on their precious uniforms. A few minutes later, you were exiting the office with a passive and neutral expression settled on your face. Your lip curled only slightly when you clocked the cheerleaders - hating how smug they all looked - approaching Billy instantly.

"You all right?" He checked, standing and adjusting his jeans.

"Mhm," you nodded, keeping your voice low as the principal called the three cheerleaders into his office. You waited until the door was closed, then informed with a smirk, "I'm not suspended."

"No?"

"Nope," you confirmed. "Apparently, they asked a couple other kids what happened and my story matches theirs. I was minding my business, they came up to me, they started mouthing off, and Brittany was the one who hit me first. So," you shrugged, "guess your idea of selfdefense held strong."

"See? That's good, huh?"

"Yeah," you sighed, nodding absently, "but he said the girls were gonna lose their spot on the cheer squad for this. Listen, I don't think I feel like goin' back to class - kinda just wanna take a nap."

Billy hiked up his jean jacket sleeve, consulting his watch for a moment. "Wanna head to mine? Neil's got the evening shift and Susan has bridge club for a few more hours - we'd be alone."

Your eyes rolled, "No offense, Bee, I don't feel like fucking right now."

"I'm not sayin' that, I'm sayin' let's go nap at mine," he chuckled, picking up your backpack that you forgot about. "We can come back to get your brothers but you know you're not gonna rest if you go home."

You gulped, sighing sadly, "Yeah, well, about that..."

"Something else happen?"

"Apparently... The school has an obligation to call the police if a student reports abuse."

"You reported your mom?"

"Not on purpose," you rushed in defense, "just that... I had to explain what Brittany said to me - so I had to admit what Ma did - or does."

Billy frowned, "Jesus."

"Yeah, so... Maybe going home isn't the smartest idea right now. I wouldn't wanna be there when they conduct their wellness check."

"You wanna stay at mine?" He offered.

"What about Neil?"

"He's a lot nicer with you around," he admitted. "Won't care too much if you stay the night. Plus Max has that club thing after school, then she's going to the arcade; so, she won't need a ride, we can just go."

"You know what? Sure, all right, I'll come to yours," you accepted, your lover boy whisking you away without a second thought. "Thank you, baby."

Your hands were stiff, and when you looked at them, noted split skin and stained blood as a reminder of your aggression... Wondering why the fuck people pushed you to these limits and acted surprised when you reacted? If they wanted a punching bag, they picked the wrong one - but you were willing to remind them.

When you got to the Hargrove residence, you were silent as the grave; stewing in your anger that rolled off you in projected waves. Billy was terribly disarmed, unsure how to properly comfort you - wondering how he would want to be comforted, realizing he'd want to be alone, not subject to anyone's bullshit advice. So, he did what he knew and after handing you a bag of frozen peas for your split knuckles, comfortably stripped and crashed in bed with the window cracked and a rolled joint between his fingers.

You rested on his bare chest, sighing deeply while watching the end of the spliff come to life in a smoldering ember. Billy took the first inhale to make sure it was lit and instantly handed it to you, his arm snug around you and the silence hanging in the air like the swirls of stale, exhaled smoke.

"I'm sorry it got to this point, pretty girl," He offered awkwardly, his other arm bending to prop under his head. Both of you stared off aimlessly, stereo filling the space dully in the background.

"Not your fault," You inhaled and held your breath, handing him the joint. He casually flicked the end in an ashtray resting on the window sill.

"No, but I could've done more."

You chuckled, smoke seeping through your lips and teeth, "Oh, yeah? How? You gonna beat up three girls?"

"Nah but I could beat the shit outta Jason."

"What good would that do?"

"If he didn't want a weekly black eye, Jason would control his sister."

"It's always about control with you, isn't it?"

"I'm just saying," he handed the joint back, lungs pinched to hold the smoke, "I could protect you."

"You already do, baby."

"Let me do more, princess."

"You can't fight every battle for me."

"You could let me try."

"You'd be fighting on two fronts," you frowned, exhaling slowly. "Can't fight for me when you're defending yourself against Neil."

"Might be easier to deal with your shit than my own," he chuckled without humor, accepting the spliff. "Look, I know you don't want me involved, but that's kinda what a boyfriend's supposed to do, right? Protect their woman?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Never had a boyfriend before?"

"Nobody was worth dating until you. Nobody could understand me the way you do so effortlessly."

"'Cause we're one and the same, baby girl. You don't have to do everything by yourself," he inhaled, handing the spliff over again, "don't always have t'be strong."

"Ain't no other choice."

"You could let me in more..."

"You're one to talk."

He sighed, smoke billowing. "You're right. Can't expect you to open up if I don't, so why don't we both try to let the other in more? Yeah, I get it, the shit we deal with ain't pretty but at least we understand each other, right? We're the best for each other to lean on."

"I don't wanna drag you into my bullshit, baby."

"I want you to drag me in, princess. I wanna help you."

You sighed, "Well, Brittany and her cronies are getting suspended and kicked off the cheer squad - they'll be looking for reason to take it out on me."

"Say the word, baby, and I'll beat Jason black-and-blue."

"You're so romantic."

"Only for you - so don't tell anyone. I got a reputation to protect."

You both snickered as the weed you indulged in took effect, lulling you two into a state of ease. Your knuckles had stopped burning, resting your injured hand under the frozen peas, reminding yourself to remain grateful in this turbulent period of life because now, you had someone on your team. Someone who wanted to help carry your baggage. Someone without alternate motives. Someone who was willing to withstand the storm in the hope of feeling the warmth of the sun again.

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[threepandas]

Bad End: No Question

The republic fell slowly, then all at once. Rot building like a creeping cancer, in all the places the shining lights of luxury did not touch. Festering and untreated, all while I could do nothing to stop it. I knew it was coming, could see the story unfolding, yet? Was powerless to stop it.

No one listened.

Why would they? I was just a naive child, spouting nonsense. After all, they all said, they all believed... the Republic Was Forever.

Until it was not. Until it all died. And from the bleeding, screaming, ruin? The Empire came, swallowing everything whole. Right up to the end. While in my head, I knew how the story would unfold. Had tried and tried, to no avail, helpless and small as only children can be, as the tidal wave finally hit.

Believed, even as they lay dying. Even as I watch as the people cheer, as blood ran thick in the streets, clogging the gutters. The luxurites dead. Both guilty and innocent alike. The boot heels, upon the necks of the poor, no longer. Or so their leaders proclaimed...

Easy scapegoats. Obvious targets. The villians for their narrative, pay no mind to what happens next. The money and power, the land. We are HEROS! For the PEOPLE! You can TRUST US.

Ha.

Of course.

All hail the Emperor. Wealthier then any man has ever been. Truely, we are Free.

Yes, when the revolution came, I wasn't with them, my family. My "proper" social circles. That's probably all that spared me. I would have been hunted down, otherwise. Innocent or not. Can't have any of the old power bases lingering about, after all. People might get the idea to rally. Might miss the Old, when the New loses it's shine. Child or not, we can't have THAT, now can we?

The staff and volunteers of the soup kitchen, hid me with the other children as the adults boarded up the windows and doors. I held a young mother's child, looked her in the terrified eyes and swore, on my life, that I would gaurd her daughter with my life. I remember expecting to raise that child. To never see her again. Not alive.

Remember wondering, how far I could stretch the coin, if I pawned the pretty little bits of jewelry my parents gave me. Assuming they weren't ripped right off me, the second we got out. I had plans to hide them. Begun calculations. So many little mouths to feed. We had to stick together. We MUST stick together.

Then it was over.

My "disgrace" of an uncle came for me. Found me in the near ruins of my "silly little project". He was the one who had wanted to work. Had a stable worker lover everyone knew about but no one talked about. He was covered in bit of hay. Smelled strongly of horses. His lover had grabbed him and dragged him to safety, hidden him, desperately, among the stalls.

Out of our entire House...

An entire House, once noble, now wealthy. Out of HUNDREDS of people? Built over centuries, branches upon branches, marriages and adoptions. Wards and in-laws. Newborns to lovers to elders on their deathbeds? Of them all, so few remained. And yet... I could not even blame the servants who abandoned us. Who turned on their Slave Masters in all but technicality. They had been treated so cruely, for so long.

.....but the children? What crime did they commit?

I stood in the ruins of Manor after Manor, great house after great house, and wondered. Would I let this make me a monster too? Was this anger or grief I felt? Would any of us ever be free, from the sickening rot that had crept so slowly into the hearts of these people? Both, the ones I had called kin, and the very people who killed them. But oh... there were so many bodies to bury. So, so many bodies.

Some of them... so very, terribly, small.

But as we put out embers and buried the dead? The oh so glorious empire was rising. A fat and lumberous beast, settling with already groaning bones into the still smoking pit, where the Republic lay dead. And, benevolently, the Emperor saw no reason to kill us. We were informed by pristine letter, hand delivered, as we stood smoke stained and filthy, among the pyres.

At least... thank the gods. At least my Uncle remembered.

He and I, fellow outcasts and trouble makers, he recalled my "nonsense". How it had very much come true. So he took the Emperor's letter. Smiled benignly, with the bland promise of nothing. And gently corralled us few who remained into the only remaining dining hall, to pour over the letters as a House. A Clan. Together.

He looked to me with haunted eyes... and wanted to know.

I phrased it as a vision. It would be easier to swallow that way. Not unheard of, in legend. Not out of the realm of possibility. Just absurdly, absurdly rare. But... did we not live in world shaking times? It would make sense, it felt, that the gods would at least MENTION such things...

A novel, a lifetime ago. We were hardly the Protagonists. Not related in any way. Dramatics and death would surround them. A dark age followed, supposedly, by light. But... was the real world ever so simple? I didn't know. I could name all the players. What would occur.

It would be up to US to protect ourselves.

And we WOULD need to protect ourselves. For the Empire was not a kind place. Nor fair. It was the rot of the Republic laid bare. Without pretense. And soon... the purges would begin.

I was, of course, right. The people's blood soaked victory soon gave way to dismay, as they became targets. Divided. Conquered. Inquisitors, hand chosen by his most graciousness, the Emperor himself. I held my tounge, kept my piece... and hated it. Undermined what I could. Rebuilt my soup kitchen.

Attended court.

Because, of course, all we loyal subjects MUST attend court. Don't we love our Emperor so? See how we fawn! We simper and bask in his greatness! Oh we hang on your every WORD, most royal Majesty! We are entranced! Loyal, loyal subjects, all. Such decadent parties as the people starve.

Didn't my family perish for such similar actions? But, ah, they deserved it. Of course. And THIS is for MORALE!

I sip wine looted from the Redcrest family's cellars. They were dead now. Were proud of their wines. They made them for centuries. There shall never be more bottles, yet frivolous, we drink them away. What crime did they commit? Their workers? I close my eyes and keep my smile fixed.

A pleasant expression, because everything is Fine. Remember who you fight for, survive for, you are the canary in the mine. If you go silent, they know to run. The longer you live, the more people you can help, you can do this. Remember... sometimes rebellion is refusing to die. Refusing to let them pull hope from your desperate, bleeding, claws.

Just smile.

Everything is Fine! See? We're Smiling!

"Such a lonely seat. Not going to dance? Mingle? One might think you're not having fun." Comes from behind me, the voice an almost silibant rasp, rumbling thunder and the whispered hiss of a blade. If ever there was a voice made for threats and the confession of terrible things, it was this. "But how could that be? Such a loyal servant of his Majesty would never be so divisive and disrespectful. You must surely be ill. So, tell me then, your excuse?"

The only reason I do not jump, and splash on more reminder of tragedy right down my front, in a display I can not afford, is that I freeze up. Jumping would look guilty of something. It would not matter that he walks all but silently. That I did not notice him and was startled. That it is a simple, human, reaction. Why am I so JUMPY? Guilty conscious? Perhaps an Inquisitor and I should... Talk.

And dropping my wine? Making a SCENE? Am I seeking to undermine his Majesty?

That's ON TOP of the fact, that... frankly? My House can not AFFORD to replace a wine stained dress. With his Majesty's demands for constant decadence yet performative humility, his hoarding of wealth and demands of tribute? We are barely scrapping by. Most "graciously spared" survivors are.

Not ALLOWED to become lower class. Disappear into the masses and work or live quiet, modest lives. No. We must PROVE our LOYALTY to his Majesty. Constantly. Forever. Right up until we fail and are punished for it. In a sick game, no one can ever hope to win but him.

We are to continue on, as though he did not burn the world down. Yet in revamped parody of what was. Like a social outcast, holding towns hostage, to play out "high school prom" as the MOST popular kid, forever and ever and always more. Or ELSE. Because he never grew up and never got over it. Because people didn't like him. So he'll MAKE them. Kill them if they refuse.

The fifteenth version of this dress. Lace carefully taken off and redone elsewhere, I cycle through "new dresses" and trade with allies who are about my size. Who could possibly afford to meet the man's mad demands? When we are barely feeding are own? When he has seized our assets yet will not let us work?

We are dying.

Painted in what inherited gold, silks, and jewels remain. Terrified. We are dying.

"Nothing to say? How quiet. One might think you are... afraid. But how could that be? You would know, as a loyal servant of his Majesty, that you have nothing to fear from us. No Inquisitor would harm one of the loyal subjects, of our beloved ruler. You are perfectly safe... that is, of course, assuming... you are, in fact, Loyal."

The near shifting of heavy cloth against heavy cloth, the sigh as it slid against armor, markes a deadly presence behind me. Light, almost silent, steps are nearly lost under the music, as he moves. Circling me like a hunter. I force myself to turn towards him instead of shying away. Claw control back of my instinct frozen limbs, with desperate hands. I cannot, CANNOT afford this.

"Ah, but you are sick. Headache, perhaps? The drink too strong?"

Red eyes bore into me from a silver mask. Infamous claws, on hands that have done so much, are tucked behind his back like gentleman, out on a stroll. Bone white robes, over armored black under robes. Monochromatic, blood red, and silver steel.

The Grand Inquisitor.

"Perhaps you've tired yourself. With all that dancing you did not do. So many questions. So few answers. But then, ah, I've been speaking so rudely, my dear. Talking over you. How has your evening been, hmm? Pleasant, I take it?" His voice was as light and almost charming, as a gentle hand; wrapped delicately around the throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just a simple remind that it could. If he did not like, what you had or were about to say. "Come, sit, I insist."

The smile on my face felt like it was a dam under pressure. Like my teeth could only barely held back the screaming in my head. The mask of my expression, covered in hair line fractures, only just holding together as I nodded. Followed along. Hysterical comparisons to the march before firing squads, danced in the back of my head. I shoved them back. Down and far away. I... I had to be present. Alert.

The chandelier's light caught with terrible beauty, on the brutal points of his claws. As he gestured, almost a mockery of the polite gentleman. He would be one, if not for the unspeakable things he had done. He was certainly polite. His etiquette immaculate.

Social dances. A mockery of comfort. Mock, mock, mock. His mere presence, his brutality, desecrated it all. Made profane the familiar. For who? WHO? Could break bread with the butcher of men? Could smile politely and serve them thoughtful bits of nothing? Treat them as your own? Yet... yet we were all to afraid to resist. To refuse.

Did they delight? Forcing us to welcome them, where they clearly were not wanted? Where we could not refuse them? Perverting the purpose of our traditions and our ways? Was... was it funny? Or just another tool to use against us?

Smile, dip your head, a small curtsy or bow. The guest invited sits first, serve drinks, time appropriate food if you have it. In my head I knew each step. The etiquette of the classes and why each was the way it was. He did not reach for the pitcher on the table. Merely settled back into his chair, like a throne.

Was he deliberately breaking the social norm? To create discomfort and pressure me to talk? Did he not know? His past was shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he simply did not feel like it. Who, here, could insist? Shun him for his rudeness?

I tried not to sweat, under his heavy gaze. Did not partake. Sat, back straight, my gentle mask-like smile fixed, as I stared over his shoulder. A pretty doll. Ragged and worn around the edges. Trying desperately to appear The Good And Loyal Citizen, least something... Unfortunate, happen.

"What a lovely dress." He mused into the tense silence, breaking it to brutal shards. "Yet, I can not help but notice the shade. The cut and design. Madame Signe's work, isn't it? It suits you." Everything inside me went cold. It was. But if he recognized it...

"Yet? I can not help but wonder, my dear. Why the lace is in the wrong place? You wouldn't happen to be trying to pass off that dress as something new, would you? Trying to subvert and undermine his Majesty's very clear command? That would be treasonous. And you, such a loyal subject, would never."

He knew.

I didn't know how much he knew, but he DID.

Struggling not to shake, not to give everything away, I lied. Of course, I did. Right through my teeth. I would, I had, and I promised. Straight to the end. Lie and lie, until I had nothing left in me. I know nothing, I know no one, there is nothing here to find. Lies upon lies, all while those I love flee for their lives. Praying to gods I don't think can even hear me, that it will be enough.

The slight tilt of his head somehow projected a sense of mocking indulgence. One long leg crossed the other, lounging like a warlord. The clawed gauntlets on full, gruesome display. Every part of him, from the set of his shoulders to the angle he sat, radiated amusement. As though he were watching a silly little child, playing foolish little games. Getting into mischief, then trying to hide the obvious evidence.

Was I quite done? His silence seem to say. He can wait.

I tilted my chin up with a strength and defiance I did not feel. Yes, I was done. Let come what may. I... I tried.

"So afraid, dear citizen. Acting as though I'm some sort of monster in the night, out to butcher and hunt the innocent. One might get the wrong impression. You might even hurt my feelings." He laughs, a sound that seems to roll and fall dangerously, past grinning teeth. Sharp and deadly. "But of course... I understand, I do. About your dress. You can not help it."

"After all, you have not changed a bit."

....what?

"Still compelled, against all rhyme and reason, to tend to the wretched under classes. The filth and wastrels. Beggars and whores. Instead of purchasing dresses for parties? You, oh loyal Citizen, are of course, exemplifying his Majesty's great Mercy."

That's not what... He KNOWS it's not... Where is he GOING with this?

"Yes, we must make exceptions, perhaps. Have mercy. After all... you had nothing but the best of intentions. And how can I hold that against you? When you can not help what you are? Soft and foolish. So very merciful and giving. Humane."

He dropped the word like it was a joke. Almost snide, laughter haunting the edges of it like a pack of hunting hounds. As though humanity to others, itself, was laughable. What a joke, he seemed to suggest, the mere concept of mercy. Of compassion for the sake of it.

So, why? What game was he playing? If he had to mercy to give me? Why even suggest...?

"Do you remember, the Revolution? That glorious rise, as the old fell away. As shackles were broken. As class lines no longer bound us. As we, both children, sat in the dark?"

Impossible.

No... no it... please, God, it can't....

The music was very far away. Muted, as though through blankets. Conversations becoming indistinct. Memories of stale air and dust. Packed earth beneath me and cold stone pressing against my back. The terrible, uncertain creek, of cheap woods from both the crates and ceiling above us. Everything that COULD be stacked against the doors, was.

Wondering if we would survive fire. If they, in their anger and hate, would think of it. Oh god, oh god, we were just kids-!

White hair, like bone, forever silent and staring. Never came close but showed up every time I did, they noted. A crush. Local boy, they mused. He was too thin. Bruises where there shouldn't be. Scars on skin too young. He didn't run when I went to him, but never came to me. I tried to feed him. Just one more story. So many tragedies, that I could do so little to change. All I had was soup.

"Ah~ there it is. You recognize me now. It's been so long, hasn't it, my dear?" Something pleased and horrifying, curled like spreading poison through his tone. "I am a man, grown, now. Have become quite accomplished, if I do say so myself. Wealthy, influential, well connected. Powerful. No longer weak and unworthy of your time."

"In fact," He leaned forward, as though telling a secret. Almost playful, despite the horror of his words. "It's my turn to control you. To be the powerful one. To have everything while you have nothing."

"I will admit... I have been waiting for this for a very long time. You were so beautiful. Trapped in you wretched blood bought finery, chained to the House that would keep us apart. I knew even then, that I would have you, that I was the ONLY one that could be allowed to have you. No one else. And oh, his Majesty has been so very, very obliging."

Folded papers were withdrawn from his robes. Offered almost carelessly. If it weren't for the intensity of his stare? I would believe he didn't care, how I reacted. With shaking hands. I smooth the pages as I open it. From the desk of the Emperor himself... a... a marriage contract.

"Exactly as I wanted. You'll never escape me again. Smile, my dear."

"We're getting married."

[breakdownsbuttlights]

What style of clothes do drift and ratchet wear?

I've written before about Drift's weaponized athleisure, and it is true that for a good long while, he tended to look like he was travelling to or from the gym with a sword on his back because, well, he was. And besides, he could make a wardrobe of sweats and ankle socks work in a way that only extremely pulchritudinous people can.

However, if we expand our frame of temporal reference beyond his Lost Light years, our vision of Drift's style changes. As Deadlock, he favoured black tactical gear accentuated with copious gold jewelry, as if a waterproof ninja had robbed a pawn shop. In his later years, as his punishing athletic routine gave way to teaching and writing, and his natural eccentricity braided with his aversion to cold, heavy capes and cloaks became de rigeur. His love of jewelry returned at this time in the form of intricate beads and amulets, and thus adorned, he entered his wizard phase,* which would last until his death.

*Sadly, Ratchet did not live to see the wizard phase in full effect.

Were it not for Drift, Ratchet would inhabit the same pair of jeans with the same brown leather belt and the same denim work shirt every day of his life. Thankfully, Drift buys his clothes, so he has several identical pairs of jeans to wear with his belt, as well as a few flannel shirts to mix in with the denim, and some cozy cardigans for Drift to steal when he takes a chill. The only suit he owns is the one he got married in, and he has worn it exactly once. Far from appearing slovenly, Ratchet's Levis uniform has a lived-in sexiness that suggests James Dean, if James Dean had been allowed to get old, develop love handles, and build cabinets in his spare time.

[heartfullofleeches]

dude abby is so fire can we get more hcs or a snippet i beg

It's been a hot minute since I've done HCs and they give me excuse to flesh out my characters so we'll do with that-

Abby [Rental Zombie Spouse HC]

Warnings: Dismemberment, Mentions of death

-

Abby doesn't remember much about himself before he died. Everything predating the night he woke up in the back alley behind a restaurant witu a hole in his head is a blur to him. All he had to his person was a wallet, his phone, and the keys to an apartment - none of which helped jog his memory as the man the ID inside the wallet couldn't possibly be him.

As recently established, Abby earns money by hosting services where he will be the customer's partner- There are a handful of male options, but he prefers to pose as females in his disguises because those usually pay more and he likes the dress up.

While Abby doesn't require human flesh as his only food source, he can eat chunks of it to repair rotting or damaged tissue. He can also swap out parts that are no longer useful with fresh ones which is a major factor to how successful his business is since changing a few features makes him a completely new person. He has a deep freezer in his apartment where he keeps his "accessories" until they expire.

When it comes to what he likes in a Darling not even Abby knows. He's very easily distracted by things and an encounter with him trying to cut out a part of you he likes can instantly switch to yout first date of many just by him seeing you like that peeks his interest as well.

"Hey, You! Cute eyes you got... Mind if I borrow them?.... Oh! What are you listening to?... I love this band! I think.... Maybe the old me did. Let's listening to more songs together and find out!"

Since you would probably like to keep all your limbs, Abby steals physical objects that belong to you to feel closer to you. He would insist on something like matching tattoos or piercings since if you can't share the same flesh - you can at least have the same branding. Do not leave any jewelry or clothing that may fit him unattended.

Any body part that was at one tethered to him will still be usable even if it's separate from him as long as it's functional. There's a reason he always knows what you're thinking- he's got eyes and ears everywhere. Please don't throw them out if you happen to find any. :(

You'll almost never meet him when he isn't "Abby". When he doesn't care about his appearance or how bad the state of his decay is and just slaps on a hoodie and a face mask to get around. It's how he keeps watch on you without use of his spare eyes and sorta feels like how some people without their makeup.

He/him, but doesn't care about whatever pronouns his clients use for him.

Spends his money on brand new items for you, but goes broke buying second hand goods from yard sales and thrift stores because he loves older furniture and giving things a new home... Will pawn his junk off on you when he has strength in your relationship that you won't leave or make fun of him for his odd purchases.

"Why do you mean "why did I buy twenty cassette players"?? If you use the one I bought you already are a diary, I wouldn't have to stalk you as frequently!"

[aluraveil]

What Goes Around, Comes Around

Sypnosis: Pantalone gets back at his childhood bully (aka you, the Reader).

TW: Massive warning for bullying, talks of poverty, forced relationships, abuse of power, unhealthy power dynamics, etc.

Pairing: Yandere Pantalone x Reader

-

There’s an old saying that what goes around, comes back around eventually.

You on the other hand, never cared too much about that saying.

Growing up a child from an extremely wealthy family meant that you had no worries about the consequences of your actions. If you ever messed up badly, it could all be erased with just one snap of your finger with the power of mora. Mora was everything in the world of Teyvat, there was nothing you couldn’t achieve without it.

You also never had to worry about when your next meal would be coming from, or if you would even eat at all the next day. In fact, you were so carefree in your life and you did what normal children would do. You would love to play outside and especially at a local playground near the town park.

However, you couldn’t say the same for a certain boy you would often run into on the playground.

The boy liked so malnourished that you could practically see his bones. His clothes were nothing but old, dirty rags. His hair was extremely disheveled and his skin was covered in scratches and dirt. The boy looks like he hadn’t eaten in days. You’d often notice the boy sitting on a wooden log staring at the ground.

Naturally the boy was an easy target for you and your two other playground friends to pick on. He didn’t have anything, while your family could give you the whole world if you simply asked. The three of you would torment that boy every single day. You all would often make fun of the way he dressed. One day, you actually learned the kids name which was Pantalone. Of course, you picked on his name as well.

“Your names Pantalone? It sounds like Pants! How funny considering the fact that you can’t even afford a pair of pants.”

It was the same torment every single day for the boy named Pantalone. He was destitute and living in poverty. He didn’t have anywhere else to go. He was suffering so many hardships and your friends picking on him didn’t make his situation any better.

When Pantalone managed to find a meal for himself to eat, he would often sit on the same wooden log to enjoy the food. He made sure to come to the playground at a time when you and your friends weren’t nearby. But oh boy, that’s what you and your friends were waiting for.

One of your friends decided to go up to the boy and immediately snatched his food out of his hands. In one swift motion, it was tossed into the trash can nearby. The look on Pantalone’s face was absolutely princely as he was shocked and he looked incredibly sad. You and your group found this hilarious as you both were hunched over on the grass snickering uncontrollably.

“Did you see the look on his face?”

“Yes, it was absolutely hilarious!” You replied gasping for air.

Everyday was the same torment for Pantalone. He would sit on the wooden log because he had no where else to go. And each and every single day, he would be ridiculed by your friend group. It was a whole routine for you guys. You would wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, play at the park with your friends, and relentlessly bully the poor kid.

However, your daily routine would eventually come to a close. Over the course of the next few months, you watched as your family’s business did worse and worse and gradually was close to being bankrupt. Your parents were exposed for fraud and their shady dealings. You watched as your lavish empire crumbled slowly and slowly, until there was nothing left. You could only sit in silence whenever your parents would have loud arguments about money troubles. You were a spoiled kid who was finally being shown the true reality of this world.

All of your expensive clothes and jewelry had to be pawned or sold off to scrap every last bit of mora they could get. Soon, your family was forced to sell their large house to move to an extremely cramped one with barely any space. You no longer could afford the once extravagant lifestyle you once knew. You were beyond sad, and most of all, you stopped visiting the playground out of embarrassment of the way that things in your life had turned out. Over the next few years, you lived in extreme poverty and most of the times, your family couldn’t afford a meal. Pantalone’s destitute reality was slowly becoming yours, and it was ironic how you picked on him for being poor while you were now living in the same conditions. You spent every last day feeling tormented over your immature behavior for bullying an innocent kid. You felt embarrassed and extremely ashamed of your actions.

You would soon spend the rest of your childhood living in poverty. Your family’s business never healed from the damage to their reputation and it was way too hard to recover from a drastic downfall like that one. It was also difficult to find work as well because most jobs weren’t even hiring, and they barely paid enough to buy your family a meal.

You head out to town one day searching for job applications when you notice a listing looking for maids to work for the Fatui.

Wait the fatui? You dig deep back into your memories as you’ve heard many things about the fatui from passing about the 11 fatui harbingers and how they’re notorious for being extremely dangerous criminals. Trying to work as a maid for them is equivalent to asking for a death sentence. But you checked the yearly pay and it was almost double the previous job posting you saw. It wasn’t quite enough to buy your family a meal everyday, but you could at least guarantee that you’d eat every other day. But your life could be in danger. What’s the point of even eating a meal every other day when you’re constantly fearing for your life in the fatui? But what other choice did you have? At the very least, you could guarantee that if you somehow died, you’d be one less mouth to feed and one less burden to your family.

And like the desperate person you were, you mailed your application to the mailing address and showed up for the job interview once you were accepted.

-

You didn’t expect the location to be a giant mansion. You stared in awe as you saw the beautiful fountain in the front lawn and the numerous gardeners taking care of the plants. It reminded you of your past life, and you couldn’t help but feel an eerily empty feeling in your heart. You were staring at your past life while wearing the dirty rags of your new life and you wanted to know if this would still be your life if things hadn’t gone south with your family business.

”A mansion..” You whispered quietly with your mouth wide open.

Suddenly, a woman walks up next to you, startling you a bit. “Hello Miss. Are you here for the job interview?” She asked politely but with a monotone voice.

“If so, please let me lead the way.” You nodded your head and you began to follow her inside the mansion.

You passed by many long hallways and you saw the hundreds of other maids all working, cleaning, sweeping, and tidying the mansion. None of the other maids even spared you a single glance as they were so involved in their work. You couldn’t help but think about how you used to be the one in charge of these maids back in your old life. You couldn’t help but shed a tear from these painful memories.

“The Lord Regrator’s office is right here. Please knock before entering. Best of luck to you.” The woman explained with a cold voice, you could tell she didn’t mean the last part. She sounded as if she said it out of habit and didn’t mean it. Nonetheless you shrugged it off because hey? Why should it bother you.

You knocked. The next couple of seconds that followed felt like an eternity. You don’t hear anything.

You knock for the second time, and finally you hear a “come in”.

You were instantly greeted with a man sitting at his desk surrounded by a lit candle and paperwork. You had to admit, the man was pretty attractive and you could tell that he was dressed in the latest fashion trends. He had long black hair, a signature white harbinger coat, and his glasses remained perched on top of his nose.

The Regrator looked up from his papers and smiled at you, “please take a seat.”

You felt extremely uneasy as you felt his gaze in you as you walked over. It felt pretty awkward and the atmosphere was uncomfortable. You could tell that things were pretty tense.

“I’m not going to waste your time by boring you, but to simply put it, I can’t hire you.” The Regrator said sternly and his warm expression turned into that of a dull one.

“..Huh? Why?” You stammered out confused. You came all the way here just for him to tell you that?

“Simply put, your clothes look filthy and you don’t quite deserve to work under me.” He said sternly.

What the actual fuck? Did he just.. say that to you? You were quite shocked and it took you a minute to even say something in reply.

“Please! I really need this job. I’ll do anything!” You desperately begged, “I don’t have a job and I need one badly.”

“You are so adorable begging me like that.” The Regrator looked at you with a dark look in his eye. “Oh how the tables have turned.”

Geez what a creep. What’s he’s even talking about now?

“I can tell by your expression you’re very confused by what I mean by the last part.” He continued,

“Say, do you remember a place known as Liyuen Park?”

You froze. The mention of that playground was enough to bring back all the horrible memories. You instantly thought of the boy you bullied and your old friends. Time seemed to stop for a moment as you replayed the memories over and over again in your head. Wait.. could it be?..

“Pantalone?”

“Right on the jackpot sweetheart.”

Oh Archons. The embarrassment that you feel right now got even worse. You wanted to dig a deep hole and crawl into it.

The power gap between you and Pantalone couldn’t get any bigger. You, the one living in poverty while Pantalone lived in luxury.

You instantly knew that you were so fucked. You were not only messing with Pantalone, but a fatui harbinger too.

“I’m so sorry-“ You were interrupted before you could finish your rambling.

“I don’t need your apologies darling,” Pantalone replied sweetly. “I hope you realize the dangerous situation you are in right now. I’m gonna make your life a living hell, and that’s a promise.” He said with a crazy glint in his eyes.

“Anyways, I was only playing with you. You’re officially hired and you start tomorrow.” Pantalone said with a smile, “Oh and we’re gonna have a lot of fun together too.”

“You’re dismissed.” He went back to his paperwork indicating that the conversation was over.

You gulped and walked out of the office. You couldn’t believe what just happened. You met the boy you bullied and turns out he’s your new boss now?

You walked home in silence as fear creeped inside your veins and clouded your mind.

Now you were really starting to understand the inevitable consequences of your actions and how your past deeds eventually caught up to you.

Afterall, what goes around comes around.

-

[not-that-dillinger]

"We're married"

《 from Raye Penber @first-frost-fallen-snow because that would be the funniest route to me also sorry for like disappearing I was focusing on moving out and now my fatigue is killing me 》

Ed awoke for once not slumped over his keyboard, yet also not in the empty apartment he'd moved into when he first moved to Japan. Though he supposed technically, the apartment he was in belonged to him, as did the bed he lay in, though both truly belonged to the man laying next to him. He squinted at the clock on his nightstand, at red LED numbers so blurry, only years of practice allowed him to decipher the time without having to put his glasses on. He still had time before he had to get up, a couple of hours before he had to get to work.

A flash of gold on the nightstand drew his eyes from the clock to the ring next to his glasses. It was the only piece of jewelry he owned, and far more expensive than anything he would ever purchase for himself. There was a similar ring on the other nightstand on the opposite side of the bed that belonged to the other occupant--Raye Penber.

Ed... still didn't know what to make of his new situation, let alone the man he was now legally bound to. He didn't hate him, certainly, though whether he trusted him was yet to be decided. Their marriage hadn't been Ed's idea, nor had it been Raye's. A necessity to facilitate the Kira investigation, it had been called, and Ed had only begrudgingly agreed to it for fear of opposition somehow being used against him as evidence and landing him in prison.

Thought of their marriage left an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He'd sworn when he got his job at Encom, and finally escaped his father's control that he would never put himself in any sort relationship where there was a power imbalance and they were not equals. He wouldn't put himself in a situation where he could be abused again. And yet here he was, a foreigner, far from anyone he could call a friendly face, barely understanding the language and culture, and though their partnership was supposed to be one of equals, it didn't feel that way.

Not that he had anyone on the other side of the Pacific he could call for help if he was able, anyway. His therapist, maybe. Though he didn't trust that the call wouldn't be monitored. Or an old rival, if he was desperate.

He felt trapped. He was relying on a man he barely knew to keep him from being falsely accused of mass murder. He was at risk, not just from his partner, but from the people in charge of the investigation as well, People he felt like were treating the investigation as nothing more than a game, where both his and his partner's lives were nothing more than disposable pawns.

How strange it was, that such a tiny band of metal could hold so much meaning. To others, it would have been a symbol of joy as bright as it's polished surface, but to Ed it had just replaced the physical handcuffs that had bound him to his legal partner to with a symbolic one.

[ellohcee]

Had a thought??

You know the red string of fate? What if someone like... Tricked their thread. You can't cut it unless one or the other person at either end dies, but some people manage to get it to bind to something else. Maybe it has to be something of great sentimental value, or something really personal, something with a little bit of soul to get the string to bind to it.

What about a ring? Convenient, just slip it onto the finger where the thread is attached and forget about it for a little. What if this someone got it to wind around the ring instead, and then simply took it off with the ring. And dropped it at a pawn shop, or a thrift store.

And just like that your thread is disconnected.

What happens to it? Maybe it stays connected to the object for a while, as the little bit of soul hangs on, keeping it alive. But eventually it would start to weaken and fade, sitting forgotten in some box of random cheap jewelry wherever it was dropped off.

No one sees the thread, no one would except the person at the other end. What if they're none the wiser until they notice that it's looking a little dull, faded, even flickering like a candle thats starting to go out. Whereas before this person wasn't in a hurry to meet their soulmate, now there is an urgency. Why is it fading? Are they sick? Hurt? Dying?

So they follow the thread!

Meanwhile, someone at the other end happens upon this ring in the forgotten pile of jewelry. And they see the thread. Maybe as a thread is flickering out, it becomes visible to certain few people.

When this person sees, realizes what's happened, that someone tricked and disconnected their thread and left it to be picked up unknowingly by some stranger, or even just forgotten about in some junk.

Maybe this person can't stand the idea of the stranger on the other end just being thrown away like that. Surely they don't deserve it. And why can they see the thread? Is it because they've never had a thread of their own? Not that they can remember, anyway. Maybe their soulmate died a long time ago, maybe they never had one.

They've both been abandoned

They buy the ring

Walking out of the store, turning the old tarnished ring over in their hands, they put it on.

Over the next few days, the thread stops flickering, the color starting to come back but... Slightly off.

The thread moves to the new person's finger.

Just a thought!

[slobber-teeth]

hi!!! your art amazes me. I wanted to ask, is your scarecrow design just a design or a developed OC? I would love to know more about the story if there is one! :)

HI THERE YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD <3 you are very sweet for saying so!!

yes he is an oc!! or like, as much of an 'original character' as he can be, having been based off of the comics (mostly scarecrow: year one!!), but i've given him so much more lore and attention than dc has in years, so. y'know. mine now <3 i've been working on his story for abouutt a decade now?

MASSIVE loredump under the cut that i've copypasted from my still unfinished toyhouse page for him, alongside some gifted/traded/commissioned artwork of him!! cw: slavery, antiblack racism, child abuse, drug abuse, harm to children

artwork by @ emeraldfox11 !! (i love u emmyyyyy)

Jonathan Keeny Crane was born to a seventeen year-old Karen Keeny, daughter of the wealthy Keeny family, and Gerald Crane, a slave working on the Keeny’s plantation, in Arlen, Georgia. She abandoned Jon with her mother (Marion Keeny) and grandmother (Mary Keeny) before skipping town to seek a new life elsewhere. Gerald was drafted in the Vietnam War shortly after Jon was born, and died in the line of service. Jon shouldered a lot of hate from his grandmother and great-grandmother, who took their anger with Karen out on him from the day he was born. Great Granny Keeny was a bitter widow who abused everyone around her, most of all Jon for the circumstance of his conception, and held lofty standards for Jon despite believing he would never accomplish her idealized version of him. When Marion had finally had enough of Mary’s abuse she also fled the state, and Great Granny Keeny’s malice narrowed down to the only member of her family left, Jon.

Due to his upbringing, Jon developed a passion for psychology, specifically the psychology of fear and child psychology. In his mind he considered fear to be the root of all psychological ailments, and figured that if he could conquer fear, he would be able to help himself– and more importantly to him, other children who had gone through experiences similar to his. He had in some form already decided by the age of fourteen that he was a lost cause; that the damage that had been done to him was irreparable. Still, this feeling of hopelessness would be much lesser compared to what was to come.

While his childhood was terrible, adolescence brought a few good things into Jon’s life. At age fourteen he had already learned to drive the old family truck, and the freedom this granted him was a solace. He was too terrified by his Great Granny to ever defy her (which would be all too easy considering the frailty of age) but between running errands for her he would take two hour drives to the nearest city– Atlanta. There Jon developed a greater sense of self at late-night discotheques, finally able to socialize with other Black people, especially gay Black men like himself.

At age seventeen Great Granny Keeny finally bites the dust. Jon is listless, unsure what to do as he still feels the weight of her abuse on his psyche, but eventually he makes up his mind. He applies to Gotham University, writes essays for scholarships, and after days has summoned up the courage to bury his great grandmother. With her in the dirt, it’s hard to be afraid anymore– but Jon is superstitious and has nightmares for the rest of his life about her ghost. He buries the deed to the house (and the land) with her and only takes a few heirloom jewelry pieces before burning the degrading mansion down. With cash from the pawned jewelry, he takes his truck on a fourteen hour road trip to Gotham.

Jon is much more accustomed to city life. Gotham is a shit-hole, of course, but he carries the courage of knowing that he has most likely gone through the worst of his life, and nothing that might happen to him could compare to that. He studies chemistry and psychology while in University, working at the campus library in what little free time he had left after studying, and graduates magna cum laude in both his preferred subjects. After that is medical school, and with his sights now set on becoming a child psychologist, he takes a residency at Arkham Asylum’s children’s ward. It’s there he meets and bonds with a young Tommy Elliot, who was on a seventy-two hour hold after his mother admitted him on the account of the eight year-old boy refusing to eat, sleep, or clean himself because he claimed he was ‘dead.’ With therapy it’s revealed Tommy is experiencing symptoms of Cotard’s Delusion, triggered by the murder of his mob-affiliated family (his mother and him being the only two spared.) Jon also learns Tommy had been abused by his father, and his mother took no action to protect him from said abuse. Seeing himself and his traumatic childhood in Tommy, Jon works hard to not only help Tommy get better, but also put together a document requesting Tommy be placed in a foster home and his mother denied custody.

Despite the best of Jon’s efforts, Tommy is discharged and placed back in his mother’s custody. Jon feels like a failure for not being able to save the child from further abuse, as well as feeling enlightened to how poorly the government works. This failure increases Jon’s fixation on the psychology of fear, and he transfers out of the children’s ward staff to the general population of Arkham, where he begins studying and experimenting on how far fear controls the mind.

By the time Jon’s residency is done he’s concocted the idea for Fear Toxin, a liquid (and later, gaseous) drug that inspires pure terror in those injected with it. Thoughts of pursuing a career as a child psychologist are pushed aside in favor of perfecting his new drug and experimenting on himself, subjecting himself to nightmarish hallucinations just to mentally conquer the experience. He believes that injecting folks with certain mental illnesses will grant them the opportunity to conquer their ailments, too. The absurdity of this idea is lost on him between his severe depression after failing Tommy, and the hard drugs he has been abusing in order to alleviate himself from the psychological pain.

Paying for the equipment and raw chemicals to make Fear Toxin (not to mention his own recreational drug habits) takes a toll on Jon’s funds, so when Gotham U reaches out to offer him a position as professor of their psychology department, he agrees. Jon teaches for around four years while he continues his personal downward spiral. It all comes to a point when he brings a loaded gun into the classroom and fires it into the air to teach his students a thing or two about real terror. He’s promptly fired, and without tenure, Jon resorts to petty robbery in order to fund his work– thus, the Scarecrow is born. Stealing from ATMs becomes large-scale heists against pharmaceutical plants, and along the way Jon begins to use Fear Toxin to incapacitate his opponents in lieu of experimenting only on himself. Jon spends years creating different variations of Fear Toxin and torturing the public with his mad science– some blends are subtle enough that any hallucinations experienced seem completely unprompted, while others are created specifically to kill, causing so much shock to the system that victims literally die of fright.

Every variation has been personally tested by Jon, and that paired with his trauma, depression, and drug abuse results in a severe degradation of emotions. At age forty-five, Jon now suffers from alexithymia and apathy. He injects or huffs Fear Toxin almost all of the time in order to encourage his battered mind and body into function, as well as to try and coax some emotional response out of his body. What emotions he does feel, he feels weakly, and in the years to come he will have become completely immune to fear (which is no longer the great boon he had once imagined.) His morals erode alongside his mind and body to the point where he’s morally accepting of harming children, a line he formerly refused to cross. ....there is still like so much i could say about him relating to his relationships with the other rogues, his gender identity, his experiences growing up, his taste in music... feel free to ask specific questions!!

[jadeshifting]

— THINGS THAT REMIND ME OF MY HOGWARTS DR

AKA 25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS … DAY 7

Candy Canes — What gives you DR euphoria? (like gender euphoria but for your DR…)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

the more dissimilar your DR is to your OR, the harder it may seem to find things to connect between them. but for me, even the most mundane things can form a rock solid connection between the two. it’s all how you look at it

— SPARKLING CHAMPAGNE . it only takes one sip for you to feel like you’re at a pureblood party, probably dodging some elderly wizard politician trying to hit on you

— EMERALD-CUT JEWELRY . a ring or pendant with a sharp emerald-cut stone feels like old money, Slytherin pride, and the kind of elegance that whispers rather than shouts

— A TAILORED SUIT/FITTED GOWN . so much like those worn at every high-society wizarding world event, you can practically hear the chatter and orchestral music when you look at them

— A LOUD THUNDERSTORM . (especially at night) if you close your eyes, you’re feeling the rumble of the thunder from your cozy bed in your dorm, or hearing the lightning crack from overhead at the quidditch pitch during a stormy match

— BOOKS WITH WORN COVERS . (specifically, a faded hardcover with gold lettering) bonus points if it smells a little musty, just like the Hogwarts textbooks

— SNAKE MOTIFS . seeing a snake engraved on jewelry or printed on fabric feels like carrying your house emblem with the same pride you would at Hogwarts

— SILK ROBES . just like the ones you’d use to fight off the chill of the Slytherin common room dungeons, quietly luxurious

— OLD KEYS . ornate, slightly rusted, just like the ones to every cupboard and door in Hogwarts

— FIREFLIES IN THE SUMMER . dreamily imagining little Lumos charms were cast all around

— A MIRRORED VANITY . sitting at a mirror, surrounded by soft lighting, it feels like getting ready with the other girls for a ball. equal parts excitement and anxiety knowing appearances are everything

— YELLOWED STREET LAMPS . at night, the yellow light glows through the dark, like you’re walking through Diagonal Alley

— GREEN VELVET ANYTHING . a sofa, a curtain, a coat. the rich texture and color is pure Slytherin decadence

— THE SMELL OF WOODSMOKE . like you’re sitting in front of the common room hearth, letting it warm you after coming inside

— GOLD-TIPPED CIGARETTES . this might remind some people of their grandfathers, the aged decadence of it all, but you know that’s the exact type that the Slytherin boys smoke, and it takes you right back to them

— AN OWL/CROW CALL . it feels like a message is on its way, straight from the Owlery

— A LEATHER JOURNAL . (bonus points if it’s frayed or embossed with something) just like all the grimoires and spellbooks you’ve studied at Hogwarts, the feel of the leather is too familiar

— COLD METAL RINGS AGAINST YOUR SKIN . heavy, a weight and chill that’s comforting and familiar

— TREES RUSTLING IN THE WIND . close your eyes and you’re in the Forbidden Forest, and it’s crackling with life (NOTE: when you’re actually in the Forbidden Forest, please do NOT stand around with your eyes closed, that is NOT safe)

— VINTAGE TEA SETS . sipping from a delicate porcelain teacup feels like you’re in Professor Trelawney’s class, reading the future in the tea leaves (my friend bought me a set for cheap from an antique store, i strongly recommend)

— ANTIQUE SILVER CUTLERY . running your fingers over intricate silver patterns, it’s easy to remember dining in the ancestral dining hall of a noble family

— SMELL OF FRESHLY BAKED BREAD . smells like a sneaky trip to the Hogwarts kitchens, with the house elves getting ready for the next meal to be served

— A SET OF CHESS PIECES . the favorite game of practically everyone in Slytherin, one you’ve played countless times in the common room. running your fingers over cool marble pawns and queens is all too familiar

— RAIN-STREAKED WINDOWS . watching droplets slide down the glass feels like a quiet moment in the common room, safe while a storm rages outside

— VELVET CURTAINS . heavy, luxurious, just like the ones hung up around the common room windows

— POCKETWATCHES . the ticking is hypnotizing, identical to the ticking of the countless heirloom watches held by wealthy wizards

— FOUNTAIN PENS . writing with smooth, jet-black ink, just like the glide of writing out your homework on parchment (though a little less scratchy)

— A CAT STARING . it’s like it knows something you don’t. major McGonagall-in-Animagus-form vibes

— ORNATE SILVER SERVING TRAYS . just like the ones at the wizard gatherings, where they insist on the simplest items dripping with sophistication

— WAX-SEALED LETTERS . feels like you’re sending or receiving an owl post

— SPIRAL STAIRCASE . feels like you’re heading up to the Astronomy Tower, or to one of Hogwarts’ countless other turrets

— MARBLE/STONE TILES . walking across them, cold and smooth, feels like you’re walking through a Hogwarts corridor

— CHANDELIERS . you turn your face up to watch light refract through cut crystal, and it feels like you’re standing in the middle of a pureblooded gathering where everyone has something to prove

— A COOL UNDERGROUND ROOM . a basement, perhaps, with the chill in the air and the low, moody lighting that feels just like the Slytherin common room beneath the lake

— A FLICKERING FIREPLACE . the crackling warmth of a fire is one of the most ultimately comforting, familiar thing at Hogwarts

— DARK CHOCOLATE WITH GOLD WRAPPING . a typical Slytherin indulgence, dark and luxurious

— OLD-FASHIONED LANTERNS . seeing a flickering lantern feels like you’re about to follow it’s swinging glow down a secret passage

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[just-mary-ann]

Yes, i like "Thief working with Policeman" trope, so what?

Based on @thore-lb 's dream.

TADC fanfic

Human AU by me

Main ship: FlipCard

Support ship: Showtime

The Blue Pearl

Pearl Town, nestled on the ocean shore, was just beginning to awaken. A man in uniform stepped out of a car and headed toward the police station. He was tall and well-built, and despite his youthful appearance, gray strands peeked through his black hair.

"Good morning, Able," a colleague greeted him inside. The man resembled Able somewhat, but his red hair and radiant smile set them apart.

"Caine. Up and working at the crack of dawn, as always?" Able marked his arrival in the log and headed for the coffee machine.

"Trying to finish my hours early," Caine said, leaning against the doorframe. "By the way, brother, I’ve got some good news to share. Pomni and I are getting married."

Able tensed.

"You mean the ex-thief who helped you on your case two years ago?"

"The key word here is ex," Caine frowned for a moment but then smiled brightly again. "Will you be my best man?"

"It’s about time you settled down. Thirty years old, after all," Able teased, taking a sip of coffee.

"And what about you? Just a year younger than me," Caine laughed heartily.

"I’m the younger brother for a reason!" Able finally managed a small smile, albeit just a corner of his mouth. "By the way, how’s Scarlet? Seen him lately?"

"Stopped by his jewelry store last week. Our nephew is growing up fast. Only five, and he’s already so big."

Able stirred sugar into his coffee thoughtfully. Their younger brother Scarlet, a year younger than Able, already had a child and another on the way. While Scarlet focused on his family, Able and Caine had dedicated most of their time to work. But with Caine now getting married, Able would soon be the only one of the three still single. Not that it bothered him much—he was content on his own, and previous attempts at relationships had been unsuccessful. Maybe it wasn’t so bad; maybe he was just overthinking it.

"Able. Able!" Caine snapped his fingers in front of his brother’s face. "Time to get to work. Finish your coffee and let’s go."

Able took the folder for a new case from his brother's hands. It was about a theft of blue pearls from a local pawn shop. The thief hadn’t been caught on any security cameras entering the shop, but they were briefly seen exiting. The method was reminiscent of only one person’s work.

Reading the file, Able blindly pushed open the door to his office, only to hear a woman’s voice suddenly.

"And how long was I supposed to wait for you?"

The door slammed shut behind him. Able’s face twisted in annoyance. Sitting on his desk was the star of his recent investigations—Lilac, also known as the Violet Lady.

"The theft happened at midnight, and now the sun’s already up," Lilac scolded him as though he were a child.

"You realize I could arrest you for breaking into a police officer’s office, right?"

"Oh, please, I didn’t break in," Lilac jumped to her feet and sashayed toward him, her hips swaying. "The window was open."

"From now on, it’ll stay shut," Able said, glancing at the window handle.

The Violet Lady laughed melodiously. She sauntered up to the officer, adjusting his collar as she did.

"You look good in uniform," she whispered, tracing her fingernail over her lips. "But you’d look even better without it."

"You’d look great in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit," Able whispered back.

"Mmm. I prefer violet, or maybe white with lace," she teased, closing her eyes playfully.

Able was moments away from restraining her for all the crimes she had committed. But before he could, she stepped back and pulled a velvet pouch from her coat pocket, tossing it onto the desk. Out spilled the stolen blue pearls.

"They’re fake," Lilac said, crossing her arms. "Someone beat me to it."

"What do you mean, ‘fake’?" Able picked up one of the pearls and crushed it in his hand. The blue sphere crumbled under the pressure.

"I’m curious who got there before me," Lilac rested her head on his shoulder. "The pearls were delivered to the pawn shop only twelve hours before I took them. Let’s find the newcomer."

"Hold on," Able pushed her away. "What do you mean, let’s? You think I’m going to work with you?"

"Of course you will. I’m your favorite thief," Lilac made a heart shape with her fingers.

"Oh no, Violet Lady. You’re deeply mistaken. I’m not working with you on this case. Under any circumstances."

"Hmm. What if I told you I have information you can’t get?"

"Like what?"

"The forgery is skillful but fragile, meaning they didn’t bother with high-quality materials. What intrigues me is that the pearls were already fake when they arrived at the pawn shop, which means the thief was in a rush. I usually wait and assess the market value, but this time I decided to act quickly. Think about it, darling."

"Thanks for the insight. The police appreciate your cooperation. Now,” Able twirled his handcuffs on his finger, "march to jail."

"Oh, come on," Lilac grimaced.

"Hey, Able! Come here!" Caine called from the other room.

"Looks like you’re busy," Lilac leaned in and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. "See you tonight, my dear Able."

Before Able could react, she leapt out the window. By the time he looked out, she had vanished without a trace.

To be continued

[sangre]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

pawn and arisen edition!

TAGGED BY: no one i stole this from myself :}  TAGGING: @reides @the-lovely-lady-luck @interstices @ritens @soloavengers

@muracasardis @pawnguild @lepidopteralabyrinth @edgier-than-a-diamond

@ishgard @hit-tab @lesbianbreastmilk if you like!

name: adamaris solvesal nicknames: “ada” to her sister, only. “maris” with close friends. “ves” in a formal/informal sense, and obviously, pawn titles/endearments. age: thirty-three. race: human. gender: fluid, predominantly she/her but happy with he/him. Especially likes masculine titles – lord, king, sir. mx. and mistrex (acofaf reference). are also good. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: cancer. moral alignment: chaotic neutral. class/subclass: warfarer; mystic archer + sorcerer. briefly trained in spearhand, but she liked the on-hand brutality more than she wanted to deal with at the time and didn’t like it as an outlet. effectively “i’m not unpacking all that” and moving on. very proficient spellcaster, exceptional archer. the back definition hehe background: she and her younger sister (diantha) were taken in by their grandma, who was already rather old when she took them in. their grandmother was a fish and abalone/jewelry merchant who had adamaris take lessons at the apothecary so that she might be helpful in an emergency. diantha helped her grandmother with fishing and collecting things for the shop! (adamaris did this too of course, i think she just spent more time at lessons as elder sib.) interests/hobbies: mapmaking, navigating, astronomy, sailing, reading. spoken languages: dd2 equivalent of common as well as pseudospanish. also, the arisen's innate ability to understand the dragons after losing their heart. profession: the arisen, sovran-to-be. height: 5’7” colors: deep pink reds, pale red-browns, dark purple-red, almost black-red, wine red. the wine dark sea. fruits: raspberries, cherries, mango, lime, strawberry. drinks: ciders, guava and citrus juices, pulpy drinks like with aloe vera... alcoholic beverages: sweet/white wines, fruit sangrias, mango margarita with tajin, in theory... smokes: nope drugs: not really. just kind of hasn't had the time. drivers license: CAN drive a carriage. ever been arrested: almost and then she lifted the guard and threw him off the cliff in the inside of the jail. that's their fault for having cells that open up into cliffs of endlessness

pawn info under readmore:

name: yvaine nicknames: yve (adamaris), vaine. age: ??? race: pawn - yvaine is more draconic in NG+, admittedly. his pointed ears and fangs are from plague overexposure. and other things. :-) gender: transmasc, he/him. orientation: bisexual. zodiac: sagittarius somehow. moral alignment: neutral good in first run, but chaotic neutral later and then in NG+ class/subclass: he was a mage to begin with! he was also a fighter, but his steady class now is thief. i think he likes having his 2 big knives. background: a somewhat eccentric summoning. adamaris attempted to frankenstein a body prior to becoming an arisen (with parts from corpses) but could not bring it to life/reanimate it/give live to it as what would have been a homunculus/a familiar. however! adamaris' first rift summoning brought her face to face with the animate version of that body she built. except... this time, he's very much alive. so there's a sort of inexplicable tether to his coming to life and rift-traveling! he doesn't remember much of his life prior to being summoned, so he and adamaris are in the same boat to start with. but. much has happened since then. interests/hobbies: he's a bit of a history and the arts dweeb. i think he loves seeing where things come from and learning about the stories that make up people's lives. music makes him cry like all the time. so he has been studying how to play the lute! spoken languages: dd2 equivalent of comic, and the language of dragons as well. profession: effectively the sovran's 'seneschal'/advisor/right hand/assassin. before that point, he's just my party's sweetheart. :-) height: 5'9" colors: lavender! pale lilac/desaturated brown, silvery purples! like silk, moonlight, like opal and fluorescent purple. and crimson red. fruits: honeydew..! kiwis, passionfruit, plums :) and papayas drinks: mulch. just kidding umm. very strong things! like i just think he's weirdly fond of VERY strong flavors or bitterness! i can't think of anything to describe this outside of black coffee but you get the vibe alcoholic beverages: i don't think alcohol affects him much but i also think he doesn't like the way it does feel for him. smokes: no. drugs: no by happenstance but he would try some substances recreationally with maris if it ever came up haha. drivers license: NO! ever been arrested: no he's too fast.

[not-a-mongoose]

bc i'm obsessed with au ideas imma just start posting about some stuff i've came up with and promptly forgotten bc idk if i'll ever actually say them.

so this one is basically a fantasy au where scar is a vex adventurer who robs explores old/abandoned places and sells the loot, due to his vex heritage and a special charm from cub (also a vex), he is immune to most curses so he doesn't have to worry much about typical mortal curses so long as he doesn't keep cursed items on him for too long, and he can just get a magician to check them before he sells them (most pawnshops have a solid solution for checking for curses because otherwise it would be so easy to get cursed).

One day, he picks up a cursed amulet along with some of his other loot, which has no major negative effects, but the guy at the pawn shop lets him know it's like super magical, enough that they don't wanna hold onto it because it could get their business investigated if someone found it. Scar keeps it around while he figures out how to deal with it, since it could fetch a pretty penny if he can keep it out of sight from the magical guards (who would probably arrest scar on the spot if he got figured out bc he's vex)

anyways scar chills with it for a bit but then he gets haunted by the amulet's cursed resident, Grian! unfortunately this spooky figure has virtually no memory prior to his time in the amulet, so scar has to just deal with this spooky bird ghost in his jewelry.

anyways naturally he gets discovered by the guards and such and he has to get out of there and figure out a way to deal with this situation without prompting an 'international' incident (bc there's a high probability that scar getting arrested as a vex with a spooky evil gem would be a perfect prompt for the army to launch a xenophobic war against vex despite them having nothing to do with it).