#Please heed the warnings

[honeyedmiller]

Angel

joel miller x f!reader drabble

warnings: this drabble has dark themes!! this is purely smut and it contains a knife kink and daddy kink. please heed these warnings! if you do not wish to consume this content, please do NOT read under the cut. smut contains unprotected piv, dirty talk, empty threat of using the knife!!!!! dark joel (? just in case) this relationship between joel and reader is consensual and joel was asked by reader to do this with reader. 18+, minors do not interact.

wc: 641

Joel was astonished when you’d first told him.

He was unsure. Hesitant. And oddly enough, the thought of you enjoying doing that with him turned him on, blinding him with a carnal desire that he knew was still deep inside of him.

He’d sworn up and down to himself that you’d softened him up, made him a better man after he’d met you one night at the Tipsy Bison. One smile from you—a smile that could end fucking wars—and it was over for him. You had him wrapped around your finger from that moment on.

So, when he’d asked you if there was anything in bed you wanted to give a try, something you two had never done before—he was completely taken aback at the proposal you offered: him holding a knife up to your throat as he fucked you relentlessly from behind.

And that’s how you two ended up here, with his switchblade pressed to your throat as your knees dug painfully into the mattress, him pistoning into you from behind.

Joel got a million dollar view of your ass and your arched back, his other hand engulfing your wrists as he pressed them against your tailbone. It was no use for you to struggle, even if your pleas were getting louder.

You and Joel had a safe word, and he’d yet to hear you say it, so he kept going.

“Daddy, please—”

“Wan’ me to fuckin’ press this blade into your throat baby? Hush up now n’ take what daddy gives ya.”

Your cunt gushes at his words, his empty threat sending you into a spiral of arousal. You couldn’t even think straight at this point, and Joel knew it. He also knew him being a little mean to you turned you on even more.

“Look at ya, getting fucked dumb on my cock. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Fuck, baby—god damnit. Gonna cum if you don’ stop squeezin’ me like that.”

You were numbly incoherent at this point, nothing but a strangled whine bubbling from your throat as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. The blade was dangerously close to digging into your skin, but a sick, twisted fucking part of you loved the thrill of it.

Joel’s thrusts were becoming sloppy and you knew he was close. He took the blade away from your throat and gripped your hips, flipping you around so his broad body covered yours.

He was pulsing inside of you and the wild desire in your eyes nearly sent him over the edge. A calloused hand dragged up your body and groped your breast, tweaking your nipple between his forefinger and thumb before he trailed his hand up to your jaw to open it. He pressed the blade of his knife onto your tongue as he fucked into you at such a rapid pace, you fucking swore the bed would break.

“Such a good girl. My angel. So fuckin’ pretty n’ good for daddy, baby. Come with me.”

And he didn’t have to say it twice. His wish was your command, and you cried out as you pulsed around him, gushing all over the base of his cock. He grunted as he collapsed and dropped his head onto your shoulder, pulling out just in time before he came all over your stomach.

You swiped a finger over his hot spend, plopping your finger into your mouth as you looked into his eyes and sucked. You moaned at the salty taste, eyes closing in pure ecstasy.

“Christ, baby. Y’don’t know what you do t’me.” He flops down onto his side and tosses his switchblade onto his nightstand, pulling you into him.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you traced patterns onto his warm chest, the feeling of his erratic heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

“I have a pretty good idea.”

[plushibo]

You Experience Homophobia

Characters included: Diluc, Itto, Childe (Part 1, lmk who else you wanna see)

Total word count: 3.8k

He/Him Reader (In Childe's, it's teacher! reader)

Warnings: extreme homophobia (all of them), threats (all of them), mentions to homosexuality being against the archons (all of them), the statement "i would rather d/e before [act of homosexuality]" (Itto), prison (Itto), breaking bones (Itto), mention of past bullying (Itto), ooc (Itto), references to "executing" homosexuals (Childe), Horrible children (Childe), use of Childe's real name,

A/N: I used to experience homophobia constantly in high school, even by the people i trusted and considered to be my greatest friends :[ so I wrote this to comfort myself and I hope it comforts you as well! Please be aware that all of these scenarios have actually happened to me (except for one small part of a situation, which happened to a cishet friend of mine that I connected to homophobia because that's why she was called that).

For the first time in a while, you had the free time to visit your boyfriend at his manor. For once, you were off work the next two days, as well as an empty schedule. You wanted nothing more than to lay beside Diluc and hug him for hours, profiting off his warmth as he held you in his arms.

With a pep in your step, you walked your way to the Dawn Winery, humming a song that had been running in your head for the last few days. You admired the rows of designations as you approached the vineyard. You sneakily plucked one of the fruits and popped it into your mouth as you finally reached the cobbled path. You practically skipped all the way to the door. 

The door opened and you peaked in quietly, entering and shrugging off your coat to hang by the door. There didn’t seem to be anyone nearby, but that didn’t mean very much. You continued your trek through the huge manor, making your way towards Diluc’s office. On the way, you heard a little noise behind you before you were stopped.

“Sir?” You spun around with a kind smile, greeting the woman who stood there. You didn’t recognise her; she must be a newer employee. “You aren’t supposed to be here. Allow me to escort you out.”

You smiled graciously, shaking your head, “Ah, no thank you. Sorry, I have permission to be here.”

She stepped closer, placing the tray she was holding on a nearby surface. “No, I was told we weren’t to have any visitors today. I’m sorry; Master Diluc made that very clear.”

“But I’m not a visitor?” You mentioned. “Well, I mean, I am, but not that kind of visitor. I’m Y/N. Diluc’s boyfriend.”

The maid girl’s brows furrowed and she shook her head, “No need to spew such lewd lies.”

You frowned, taken aback, “Lewd Lies? What about that was lewd or a lie?”

“Master Diluc does not have a boyfriend.” She said the word with… was that disgust? “He wouldn’t stoop so low as such a high ranking official.”

You hummed, eyes narrowed slightly. “Oh, uhm… Okay. Wow. Well, I can wait outside and you can tell him that I’m here, how about that?”

Despite the perfectly reasonable response (which you should have thought about earlier, would have saved this trouble), she shook her head,” I think it’s best if you just leave, Master Diluc was quite adamant about no guests today. I don’t think he would want to meet with someone… like you, anyway.”

You visually reacted, leaning back with wide eyes, “What?” You were surprised. You hadn’t been spoken to like this for years. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I can get you fired in ten seconds. Now, go get Diluc for me.”

She looked aghast, “Do not refer to Master Diluc so casually. He is more powerful than you ever will be. Now, this is the last time I will ask politely. Please exit the premises.” 

You coughed out a laugh, completely shocked at her blatant disrespect. “Do you treat all of Diluc’s guests like this? It’s highly inappropriate and out of line.”

“You have no place to comment on my work ethic. I deal with people with respect. Unless they are unnatural.” She gave you a very disgusted look and appeared to almost gag. Was she being serious or was this one fucked up prank that she was trying to pull on you? How did she not know that you were actually Diluc’s boyfriend?

With a scoff, you turned back towards the stairs, climbing it quickly as you heard her scrambling behind you, urging you to stop. You found Diluc’s office quickly and entered, leaving the door open for the maid to enter behind you.

“Master Diluc! I am so sorry! I tried to keep this creature out of the house, but he just barged in!” The maid said, fearful of Diluc’s power.

Diluc glanced up for a moment before doing a double take. He completely ignored you for a moment when his gaze noticed you standing there. “Did you just call him a creature?” He repeated, disbelief coating his honeyed words.

You nodded, “And that’s not even the worst of what she called me! She said  I was unnatural and that she refused to let people ‘like me’ enter this house.”

He glanced at you with furrowed brows, standing up. The maid took this as her time to speak.

“Well, this man was trying to convince me that you were dating him! And- And that’s just so wrong! Why would you stoop as low as to date a male when you are surrounded by beautiful women!”

Diluc’s eyes flashed to hers, unmistakable fury in his eyes. “What?” He said, scarily quiet. “What did you just say about him?” You stared at her with a pointed expression, urging her to realize that you were never lying and that her precious boss was, in fact, dating a male. “He is my boyfriend.”

The woman was gobsmacked. She looked between the two of you before her eyes widened in fear. “I- I didn’t mean-” She tried to reconcile.

Diluc took a step forward menacingly. He narrowed his eyes harshly. “I expect you have a very, very good apology to him.”

She was quiet before shaking her head. “I- I won’t apologize because I was right. It’s unnatural and, frankly, disgusting.”

You stared in pure shock as she said that, spitting at you after she finished speaking. Diluc grabbed her arm. You could see the smoke billowing off of her clothing.

“You are not welcome on this property. You’ll be lucky if anyone in Mondstadt allows you to enter their establishment.” Diluc said. “You deserve the worst of the world, and I will be delighted to begin.”

She stuttered and tried to pry her arm from him. “I- You’re hurting me!”

“Good.” Despite his words, he let her arm go harshly, turning and waving her off. “Get out of my sight. I shall hope to never see you again. If I do, I am not sure if I would be able to contain myself as I have done now.” She cradled her arm (which was barely touched, honestly) and rushed from the room. Diluc walked towards you, placing a hand on your cheek. It was still warm from the heat he had conducted.

He wordlessly scanned your eyes, which held a certain sense of conflict. “Are you alright, my dove?”

You frowned, nodding slowly, “Yeah, I’m okay. I just- I was not expecting that.” You leaned into his palm. “We’re natural, right? This isn’t against anyone’s greater plans?”

He raised an eyebrow, “And who’s greater plans would that be? Barbatos?” He chuckled, “As if he would care about two boys dating each other.” He spoke as if he knew the god himself, but you had to admit it sounded silly. “There is nothing unnatural about us, darling.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “Some people are just disrespectful and like to shove their noses in things that do not concern them in any way. They love to be angry when it has nothing to do with them.”

You nodded in agreement, laughing quietly. “Yeah. They do, don’t they?” He smiled softly, leaning in to kiss you gently. “I love you, Di.”

“I love you, my dove.”

Once again, you had gotten a letter from your jailed boyfriend. Once again, he found himself locked up and needing a bail. You shook your head with an amused sigh. You never knew how he continuously got in trouble for the silliest of things. Nonetheless, you grabbed your sack of mora and began to travel the distance to the Tenryou Commission.

Once you arrived at the doors, you stated your business. Despite a roll of the eyes, you were led into the waiting room. One of the guards came up to you and offered you a seat in front of his desk.

“Right, what are you here for?” He asked, giving a friendly smile despite the drab surroundings. “Do I need to get my reports ready to be filled out?” You laughed at his little joke to be polite. “No, no, I’m just here to pay a bail.”

He hummed, pulling out a folder. “Right, who for?”

“Arataki Itto.”

The guard coughed, hiding a scoff that you noticed. You tilted your head in confusion. “The oni?” You nodded with a blank face. This could go a few different ways. “Why are you here for him?”

You shrugged, “I ask myself the same thing sometimes.” You attempted to joke. The guard didn’t laugh. Rude, considering you had laughed at his lame attempt at a joke. “He’s my boyfriend. I always end up being the one to bail him out.”

You noticed the way the man rolled his eyes and watched with narrowed eyes as he closed the folder, leaning forward to rest his chin on one of his fists. “Boyfriend, eh? I thought you were a boy.”

“I am. But is that any of your concern?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, “I suppose not, though you may want to listen to me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because maybe you’ll realize the path you’re going down is going to send you straight to hell.”

You blinked, glaring at him angrily, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He replied calmly, flipping the folder open again and slowly going through each page. “Not only are you being a horny animal, you’re being a disgrace to Her Majesty the Shogun.”

You stared at him. You swore you could feel your eye twitching in pure unadulterated rage. “A horny animal? What is that supposed to mean?”

He rolled his eyes, “That’s all you type of people are. Horny creatures who do nothing but frolic with each other.” You leaned forward angrily and he scoffed, scrunching his face in disgust, “Don’t get any ideas. I would rather die than allow a man to kiss me.”

“I would rather kiss a hog than kiss you.” You retaliated, leaning back again, glaring at him as if he was a hog. “Go get my boyfriend. Let me pay his bail so I never have to see you again.”

He huffed, crossing his arms, “I don’t take orders from the likes of you.” You swore you would have jumped at him if another soldier hadn’t entered the room. She glanced between the two of you with a raised eyebrow.

“Ma’am, can you help me? This man here is being very very disrespectful to me.” You asked, shoving a snarky comment at the man.

She nodded, walking over, “Of course, sir, what seems to be the issue?” 

“I would like to pay the bail for my boyfriend, Arataki Itto.”

She hummed, “Alright.” She reached over and took the folder from the man, flipping through it. “The oni? You have your work cut out for you.” She laughed before grabbing a ringed set of keys from the man’s desk. “The bail is set at 15,000 mora.” 

Your eyes widened slightly at the price. What had Itto done this time? Regardless, you nodded, shuffling through your small coin sack to find the correct amount of mora. As you did, the male soldier spoke again.

“You just heard that he has a boyfriend and you’re cracking jokes with him?” He asked incredulously.

The woman shrugged, “Why not? There’s nothing different between him and anyone else in a relationship.”

“It’s unnatural.” 

She rolled her eyes, “So are your teeth, but you don’t see anyone complaining about that.”

You stifled a laugh as you passed her the mora. She nodded at you, turning to put it up before returning. “Alright, he’s in cell 232, come this way.”

You followed and the male soldier followed you, for some reason you couldn’t fathom. You soon found yourself standing outside Itto’s cell. You grinned at him and, once he heard the rattling of keys, he sat up with an even larger grin.

“Baby!” He yelled excitedly. The door swung open and he barreled towards you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. “I just knew you were gonna come and set me free. My knight in shining armor.” Itto teased.

Though he earned a warning look from his coworker, the male soldier scoffed loudly. Itto glanced over, questioningly. His eyes were slightly wide as he wondered what he did.

“Can you not be so gross in public?” He asked snobbily.

You nearly growled, “We barely even hugged. His arm is sitting on my shoulders and that is it.” Itto glanced between you two, slowly removing his arm. “Why do you care about our happiness so much?”

“It’s immoral and wrong and you are on the wrong side of everything.” He replied, crossing his arms and sticking up his nose. “Clearly, you need some sort of psych evaluation.”

Itto immediately stepped up, “Woah, woah, man, don’t go saying that about my boy.” He warned. 

His coworker grabbed his arm gently, “Stop being such a bad person.” She hissed, trying to pull him away. “You’re going to get suspended again.”

The soldier didn’t budge. He tore his arm from her grasp and stepped closer, raising a finger and pushing it into your face. “You are such a freak and-” Before he could finish his sentence, he screamed. Itto glared at him intensely as he turned the pointed finger upwards- a direction it should not have been pointing.

“Don’t talk to him like that.” He growled animalistically. The woman’s eyes widened and pushed her coworker out of the way, pushing him towards the exit of the cells. The man took the chance to run out of the hall of cells. She turned back.

“As much as he deserved it, you do know I have to arrest you, right?”

“Hah, yeah. Figured as much.” He laughed, quickly coming down from his earlier anger. He turned to you, noticing your wide, surprised eyes. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly, “yeah, I just- That was faster than it usually is to get you angry. What happened?”

His cheeks flushed a bit and he scratched the back of his neck, “Aha, uh, yeah, you mentioned how when you were younger you were bullied relentlessly for being queer, so I would not let some bastard talk to you like that.” He said casually, shrugging. “You know nothing he says even matters?” His eyes sparkled, “And I’m Arataki Itto! The one and Oni, so you have to trust what I say.”

You laughed, leaning over and kissing his cheek, “I know, silly. It just caught me off guard mostly. I’ve worked through a lot of the homophobic trauma regarding my early years.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at you before deeming you truthful and nodding. He turned and walked into the cell he was just released from.

“I’m all ready, chief.” He said, grinning at the guard as she locked him in again. “I’ll see you in a few days, baby! I love youuuu.” He sang as you walked off. You laughed, waving your hand in the air.

“Love you too, Itto.” You responded. You and the woman made your way outside of the hall and she held your arm for a moment.

“Are you willing to help me report him?” She asked, nodding to the man who was still holding his extremely broken finger as someone else accessed the damage. “I might be able to pull this off as self-defense.” She mentioned. “Mr Itto will still get in trouble simply because he’s an oni, but it’ll be less severe.”

You nodded, “Of course. That bastard needs to be suspended or even fired.” She smiled kindly, offering you a chair in front of the desk you were at earlier.

You grinned at your class as they slowly trickled into the room. “Morning!” You said chipperly. Some of the middle schoolers hummed in response, most not even acknowledging your greeting. It didn’t affect your mood, though. You were thrilled. Today was the day the kids would begin giving their group presentations.

The assignment was not too difficult, but it was a long one. In groups of four, the four students would work together to create their own version of a utopia. Transportation, housing, laws, repercussions, etc. were all to be decided as a group for the happiest and best world they could imagine. It was a little assignment you had learned about from a teacher on vacation that her class did after reading The Giver.

“Alright, class! So, you all should have finished your presentation boards on your utopia.” The class groaned, knowing what was coming. “Well, it seems you’re prepared.” YOu laughed. “Does anyone want to go first, or shall I spin the wheel?”

Everyone lit up slightly, “Spin the wheel!” You grinned, heading to a little wheel on the edge of your desk. You had already prepped it for today’s lesson. Everyone waited as you spun the wheel, watching the colours spin until it landed on a kid’s name.

“Hmm, alright, Marcus’ group, you’re up first.” You announced. Marcus and his three partners groaned but stood up and quickly prepared the presentation boards. You listened happily as he and his teammates discussed their perfect utopia until they reached the laws and repercussions board.

“Our most important law is no gay people.” Marcus stated, showing a picture of a pride flag with a huge red X on it. “If someone is gay, they are to be executed immediately.” You stared dumbfounded. None of the kids knew you were gay, but they knew you were at least an ally. Why would their utopia- their supposed perfect world- want to execute all gay people?

You were a bit distracted as they finished up. They called your name a few times before waving a hand in your face. You blinked. You swallowed and nodded with a fake smile. “That was great! Thank you so much.” You spun the wheel again and let the next group go.

You prayed that this time it would go differently, but it didn’t. Once again, at the laws and repercussions slide, there was a rainbow flag with a big red circle with a line through it. Each group had something similar. Your smile became more and more fake as each group presented their assignment. By the end of the day, you were holding back your despair. These kids that you treated as well as you could, these kids that you saw every single day and treated them the best that you could- they wished you were dead? 

Inadvertently, since they didn’t know. But it didn’t reassure you much.

When the day was over, you felt exhausted from hiding your true feelings. You were usually fairly open with the kids. You walked home as you normally did, ready to collapse into bed and curl into yourself. Maybe you’d cry, maybe you’d take a shower instead. Something to make you feel better.

To your relief (or perhaps disdain?), you entered your house to be met with your lovely boyfriend. Ajax stood with a grin, holding his arms out for you to hug him. You did so instantly, hurrying over to bury yourself in his scent. His comforting hug almost made you break and you could feel your despair tipping over the edge.

When he pulled back to peck your lips, he stopped with a frown, his brows furrowing. “Is something wrong, sólnyshka(Sunshine)?” He cupped your cheek with his hand.

You leaned into it, closing your eyes. Your thoughts had been ruminating for far too long and you felt horrible- both from the students and from your own mind running rampant. “Not really.” You admitted.

His eyes held sympathy, “Did something happen at school? Or was it just a long day?”

You were silent for a moment before the dam broke. Your tears filled your eyes and slipped down your cheeks. He caught a few of them with his thumb, concern filling his expression. “I just- Is it wrong to be happy?”

Ajax blinked in surprise, “What do you mean, my love?”

“Is it wrong to be happy with who you are and who you’re dating?”

He thought for a second before a darker look appeared on his face, “Did someone say something about us? About us both being boys?”

“Not directly.” You replied, sniffling. “Remember the assignment I was really excited to see finished today? The kids did their presentations today.” He nodded along, listening closely even though he was a bit confused as to how this pertained. “And every single one of them, Ajax. Every single group had one of their laws as no gay people. And that gay people would be put to death.”

His breath stopped for a moment before resuming, pulling you into his chest. He wanted to take away all of the pain and make the people who caused it suffer, but, in this situation, he couldn’t. “Darling, some kids are raised with the belief that other people shouldn’t be happy if it isn’t the same happiness that is normalized.” He said softly, stroking your hair. “I know it hurts a lot to hear them say that when you care about them so much, and I’m not sure if I can make it hurt less.” He pulled back a moment to place both hands on your shoulders. “But just know, I will always be here for you to talk to. You can talk about how hard it is being queer, you can talk about how you feel betrayed, you can talk to me about anything.”

You gave a wobbly smile, “Ajax… I don’t think you’ll ever know how much that means to me. I’m sorry I made our evening sad.”

His supportive smile fell into a small frown, “Sólnyshka, never apologize for being upset. Or for telling me that you’re upset. You are allowed to be upset and I want to be able to help you. It’s always you and me.” You stared at him for a moment before pulling him into another hug.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me either.” Ajax hugged you tightly. “Now, come on, dinner’s done.”

As you pulled back from the hug to follow him into the kitchen, you raised an eyebrow, wiping the remnants of your tears, “You cooked?”

He gave you a goofy grin, “I wanted to surprise you and you mentioned before that you didn’t like going out on school nights because of the early mornings.” You could hardly believe you had such a genuine man to be your boyfriend. 

“I love you.”

He winked at you over his shoulder, his tell-tale grin on his face, “I know.” He laughed as you swatted at his shoulder, “Fine, fine. I love you.” He kissed the air in your direction as he plated the two meals.

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar the last of us au snippet

warnings: past character death, descriptions of the infected, descriptions of use of weapons and violence

What Carlos wants to say, in a way fashioned entirely after his father: That grave is about as deep as it needs to be. No one has the luxury to mourn. Stop fucking around and move on or die standing still.

What he actually says: “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oscar says, curt. “I should be the one to lay him to rest.”

“Okay,” Carlos says.

Maybe it’ll help Oscar, and Carlos shouldn’t begrudge him that. Help him avoid the scenario in which every infected thereafter shared facial characteristics with Charles. Max. A pretty mouth, a strong jaw. It’s his fault, after all. Carlos should have taken the time to bury all of that under the dirt. But all he could do was run.

There’s an almost relaxing rhythmic sound to the ground being hacked up, and a different kind of tanginess to the smell of fresh earth that lets him forget about blood for a moment.

He could be kind, sit at the foot of the grave and listen to Oscar talk about Logan. Why he thought coming back to where they grew up was a good idea. All these good ideas crumbling to dust, at every town they've witnessed that has eaten itself from the inside out.

Carlos closes his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what to do with another faceless loss, can’t add another number to his collection.

And anyway, Oscar's seen his fair share. He’s too good with the shovel for this to be his first.

Carlos clears his throat, when Oscar's finally done placing some leafy branch at the head of the grave. Flowers. On a grave. That’s some doe-eyed rose-tinted bullshit. There’s a strangled bird, caged somewhere to the left of Carlos’ chest. He doesn’t allow that bird any food or warmth or hope, for fear of softness. Can’t be soft if you want to survive.  

“We should move,” he says.

“We?” Oscar reels his head up. The loss carving its way down his cheeks haven’t fully dried, but he looks hopeful, almost like a lost dog. With how Carlos acts, he probably hadn't expected an offer like this. It should've been cut and dry. Getting you to your city, in exchange for a car battery.

“It’s a simple question,” Carlos says. “Are you coming?”

If he wasn’t already fucked all ways to Sunday, making his way along this forsaken earth with two rounds of ammunition and less than a quart tank of gas left, he’s definitely fucked now, adding a bleeding heart to their journey. But Carlos imagines Charles’ face if he were to leave a kid behind and—damn him for that. For being a ghost and still demanding good of him.

“Yes,” Oscar says.

Arguments and energy spent on arguments should be saved for the important things. Carlos throws what’s left of their shit into the back of the trunk, and wordlessly, gets into the driver’s seat.

--

“I’m just saying.” Oscar’s insistent. He’s spent the first half an hour of the journey staring vacantly out the window, but apparently, country music’s where he draws the line. “If for some reason this car caught on fire—”

“Don’t you even dare,” Carlos says. The thought of losing the Sienna makes him want to shrivel up and die. With luck, they managed to jack a vehicle with a working CD player. Tunes are a necessity in what is essentially a never-ending road trip. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“If it did,” Oscar says, “and I only had time to save one album—”

“Zach Bryan,” Carlos says.

“No,” Oscar says flatly.

“Dios mio. I should have left you back there.”

“You nearly did,” Oscar points out, but it doesn’t sound accusing. At Carlos’ furtive glance, he shrugs. “No hard feelings. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that, gets his back all up. Ten and two on the wheel, lest he reaches for Oscar’s shirt to shake him until his teeth rattle. “What am I doing?”

“Self-defense,” Oscar says.

“I really should have left you.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Seemingly chastised, Oscar digs his teeth into his lower lip. Charles used to do that too, before he acquired the ability to unhinge his jaw and take larger bites. “You look out for your own, right?”

Carlos wonders if Oscar can see his trauma for what it is. The way Carlos has been tuned toward Oscar in the passenger seat, as if an infected would crash through the windscreen at any second. The way he’d swerve right, driver’s seat to the road, without a second thought, if it meant his neck would be exposed instead of Oscar’s.

He’s got nothing to offer but his own body.

“I’m doing such a great job of it.”

“Mate,” Oscar says warily. If he could hedgehog his way any further into the car’s upholstery, he would be so far back he’d be invisible by now. Zach croons in the staticky background, There ain’t no world in which I am good for you. Ain’t no world, now or ever. “I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“No, really,” Carlos says, a little hysterically, “I’m doing such a great job—”

--

There were things in the world that should not have applied to Charles. Spend upwards of two months to four years with him and you’d start to imagine that his fingernails never got dirty, or that his smile never got ugly, or that his face never got bloodied.

But he turned like everyone else.

His skin bleached itself until every single vein was visible, and his eyes lost all recognition. He could still speak, for the first bit. Said their names in what was almost a parody. Cahlos. Cahhhlos.

“We have to,” Max couldn’t finish his sentence, though he kept trying. “We have to—”

Charles lunged for them like a rabid animal. They cringed, but the tire chains wound around Charles hold fast, and he shrunk back. Before lunging again, and again. If Carlos were a better man, he’d put Charles out of his misery. Too bad he was a big fucking coward.

“Don’t,” Carlos hissed, absolutely feral, when Max squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “Don’t touch him.”

Max’s chest rose and fall in rapid succession. His eyes were glassy and hollow. Max, who Carlos had never seen shed a tear once, who they all joked would survive them all. He looked a gentle tap away from breaking. “This isn’t about our stupid feelings, it’s about what Charles would have wanted.”

“Fuck you,” Carlos said, to nobody in particular. To maybe himself. Charles was his responsibility when they went on the raid for food, and Charles was still his responsibility now. Till the end. He’d shown Carlos the bite on his calf, almost guiltily, and remained docile and quiet when Carlos wrapped him in chains, while Carlos breathed through what was most definitely a panic attack.

Easy, Carlos. You’ve got to care of Max now. Easy, come on, breathe Carlos. It doesn’t hurt much, not now anyway. Just. Do me a favour. Make it quick, alright?

Cahhhhlos.

“I’ll take care of it,” Carlos said, because all of this was his fault. In the chaos at the grocery store, he got separated from Charles for a harrowing two and half minutes. That was all it took. “Just. Just give me a moment. Just give me a second, alright?”

Charles snarled, snapping his teeth against the metal biting into his skin. This couldn’t be how Carlos remembered him.

“I’ll do it in the morning,”Carlos promised. I’ll do it after sunrise, so he gets to see it one last time.

In the morning, this is what he found:

Charles, chest cavity open, lying still like he was peacefully asleep.

And Max, bleeding out from a bite wound in his forearm, the gun used to lay Charles to rest tucked at his feet. His skin was paper white, but his eyes were still bright.

“I fucked up,” Max said. It was the way he said it. Completely accepting and calm. It made Carlos drop to his knees and hack out the nothing he had left in his stomach. Bile burned his throat raw. “I thought I could do it, so you wouldn’t have to. Sorry.”

Carlos trembled, pushed his forehead into the ground. The entire world was bearing down on him like a magnifying glass on an ant. He didn’t want to look up. If he didn’t look up, then this didn’t have to be real.

“Carlos,” Max said, more gently than Carlos had ever heard him. By some magnetic, supernatural force, it lifted Carlos’ head from the dirt. Max had enough in him to kick the gun over to Carlos, and life in him yet for the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “You can do it.”

Carlos shook his head mutely.

The expression on Max’s face morphed into something unfamiliar. Pleading. It would carry itself into Carlos’ nightmares and every single infected running after him after. “You can. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

--

“I’m,” Oscar says. He sounds heartbroken for people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You didn’t know,” Carlos says. He never should have said anything. Maybe it’s the kid, snapping, I should be the one to do it. Mirrors are a relic of the past, but Carlos looks at Oscar and sees the same jagged stubbornness lining all his edges. “I’m sorry about Logan.”

They pass the rest of the drive in silence.

[elnavegador]

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)

Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)

Characters: Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)

Additional tags: Vox is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Non-Consensual Touching, Rape/Non-con Elements, Hypnotism, Victim Blaming, Gaslighting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Unreliable Narrator.

Summary:

The first and only time Vox hypnotizes Alastor they’re eight years into this almost-something, into this dancing-around-it.

The opportunity presents itself when Alastor pops in his department, a hurricane of energy and movement, giddy about some deal he made, about this other-overlord Vox stopped paying attention to, the moment Alastor reached out to trace a finger over his screen, demanding attention when he turned to look for the nice whiskey he knows Alastor likes.

So, Vox says:

“You want me.”

[knifeforkspooncup]

Hm, well I didn't want to make another post about this Neil stuff but I really can't help myself after seeing a trend today. Please note under the cut I will be discussing triggering topics and exercise due caution.

Understandably people are combing through the available information. I've seen multiple posts breaking down the podcast etc and digging up information on the sources. I see no problem with looking into the information with an open mind, do what you gotta do to sleep at night or whatever.

But something to bear in mind as you do your research is this:

The perfect victim does not exist.

And I'm watching a lot of you analyze the available information and brush it off as false or "iffy" because it doesn't fit the mythical narrative of a perfect victim of SA.

There are so many reasons why someone may appear to consent to something, or even openly consent to something, and still be experiencing SA.

The power dynamics in both these allegations are red flags at the very least. The age gaps, the situations reported, Neil's status as a celebrity and an employer in some instances, and a more experienced person overall than either of the victims, coupled with "BDSM" elements (air quotes because actual BDSM culture is a very consent oriented culture.) It's so easy for things to spiral into coercion and manipulation and ultimately non-consensual acts if the more advantaged party isn't very careful, very knowledgeable about consent, and ruthlessly responsible.

Even if the answer was yes on paper, or even in the moment, true, actual, moral consent is contextual and fluid and requires a lot of work when there's a large power imbalance.

So internet sleuth away, dig up more information, all that jazz. Ultimately you looking into the allegations has no bearings on any legal proceedings.

But don't think for a second that just because the allegations don't fit a narrative of perfect victimhood, that someone wasn't experiencing SA.

And if you're clinging to the hope you can soothe your way out of feeling guilty for liking Neil's work by solving the mystery of these allegations and looking for all the reasons they can't be true, I really urge you to go read my other post about decoupling fandom from celebrity worship (ie: fandom is morally neutral.)

Just remember that as you pick this information apart, the things you say about it are being heard by people in your fandom who may not have been "the perfect victim" themselves (ahem me, for instance.)

[butterymangowrites]

masterlist

updated 08/10/24

miya atsumu

permanent fix

miya osamu

right at home

sakusa kiyoomi

a few pushes

kageyama tobio

distribution system

kibutsuji muzan

little singing bird

eren yeager

strange progression

dabi / todoroki touya

dad thief

bakugou katsuki

ten years in the making

[jtl-fics]

WIP Wednesday

So here is a brief bit of Future!Andrew in my Math Nerd AU. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO ANY OF THE TRIGGER WARNINGS. Andrew's in a dark place.

Trigger Warnings: Depression / Grief, Planning Suicide, suicidal thoughts, and suicide

Andrew holds the urn in his arms and regrets.

Neil had died alone in that hospital room. Died alone because Andrew had never had the courage to get down on one knee and propose properly. Died alone and in pain because Andrew had never gotten the POAs he’d considered multiple times for both of them, but he hadn’t because it felt like admitting too much. Died alone, in pain, and…

Andrew could only ever tell Neil that he hated him.

Andrew knows that Neil knew he didn’t hate him. Neil had understood that Andrew would never live with someone he actually hated. Neil had understood that Andrew wouldn’t have adopted pets with someone he hated. Neil had understood that Andrew wouldn’t let someone he hated touch him the way that Neil had been allowed to touch him.

Andrew doesn’t know if Neil understood that Andrew loved him.

Andrew isn’t even sure if he had fully understood until it was too late and Neil had died alone, in pain, and unsure of Andrew’s love because Andrew had never said it.

He looks down at the urn and the list of ‘options’ Neil had given him and knows that Neil had not understood that Andrew could not and would not continue to live their future alone.

His friends and family had seem to accept that this was only the first funeral.

Neil’s will was short and sweet. He had left everything to Andrew Joseph Minyard and Andrew spent the month after Neil’s funeral sorting out his own arrangements.

He left large amounts to both of his Nieces and felt faintly bad that he was never going to see them grow up but he had almost puked when Lilly had asked him where Uncle Neil was.

He couldn’t answer her.

He’s going to where Uncle Neil is.

He’ll claw his way to wherever Neil had gone in the great beyond and he’ll tell him this time. Even an eternity in hellfire being tortured next to Neil was better than a single moment without Neil.

He gives Kevin their cats.

Kevin takes Duchess and Lady (King’s daughters) and he looks at Andrew with watery eyes, “He wouldn’t want-“

“I want Neil.” Andrew had said and Kevin’s jaw clenches so hard that Andrew wonders if he cracks a tooth.

Kevin takes a large number of their pictures. More than even Matt, Aaron or Nicky had taken. Andrew watches as Kevin puts them up among the three pictures of pride of the Day household. The large framed photos of Kevin, Jean, Jeremy, Neil, and Andrew through their years winning Olympic Gold for America.

Neil’s smile is so beautiful in each photo that Andrew leaves early.

He wants Neil.

He can’t sleep right without Neil.

He had never once held Neil and slept but they’d shared a bed for years and years. Andrew can’t sleep without that precious weight on the other side of the bed. Neil’s scent is fading from the linens and Andrew struggles to find one of Neil’s shirts that still smells like him.

Renee tries the hardest to change his mind.

Her beliefs are strong as ever but when she had showed up in person to talk to him and had seen how he looked she must have realized that there was nothing she could say to convince him.

She holds him tight and she prays for him.

Then she lets him go.

Neil had been surprisingly thorough in his instructions for his funeral.

Andrew knows that Neil had often planned it out as a way to manage the stress of the whole situation with the Moriyamas. Neil had lived a decade with the threat of his own demise should he fail to give Ichirou the profits the man desired. It had been better after Neil’s accident and subsequent year spent in PT and as Ichirou’s accountant.

Ichirou had released Neil from his deal after the man had gotten his first ever tax return and had even promised to release Jean and Kevin if Neil agreed to become his full-time accountant after he retired from Exy.

Neil had agreed.

The years afterwards had been bliss and Neil had retired when his old injury made it too painful to play. Andrew had been mystified that he would have a longer professional career than Neil but Andrew had come to tolerate Exy and the money he was paid to stand in the goal and do something he was naturally good at was too good to turn away from.

He and Neil had lived comfortably, had traveled, were going to see Australia in two months to enjoy the off season.

But now Neil was gone.

Andrew laid down in the bed he had shared with Neil. He had one of Neil’s favorite shirts under his cheek and held Neil’s urn in his arms.

Neil had been very clear that he wanted to be cremated and that he wanted his ashes to be with Andrew.

Neil had left him numerous ideas on what Andrew could do with them. He could imagine Neil smiling as he found out about some of them. He wonders if Neil had smiled over his top suggestion which was a link to a website that would forge weapons, knives, out of ashes.

Andrew has not used Neil’s body.

The thought of turning any part of Neil into the the weapon that had hurt him so many times was agonizing.

Still, he knows that Neil likely put it down as an option because Neil would never believe that Andrew would actually keep Neil’s ashes close if he couldn’t be useful to Andrew in some practical way.

Neil never would have imagined that his urn was a relic that Andrew would cherish and hold onto. The ashes inside were the only thing that made it possible for him to keep going as he set all of his affairs in order.

Neil was so stupid and Andrew missed him like he would miss both of his lungs.

The drugs were kicking in.

Ichirou had reached out and expressed his sincere condolences. The man who had killed the Moriyama accountant would pay dearly but Andrew had hardly cared. A drunken man’s death would not bring Neil back to him.

Ichirou had offered him something else.

“For a nominal fee and as an act of my respect for Neil’s efforts for my family I can get you what you seek.” Ichirou had said cryptically but Andrew had understood.

He paid Ichirou and Ichirou had delivered Andrew what he needed to go and see Neil.

He wouldn’t cut himself. Neil had been so proud when he’d reached 10 years without a relapse.

The world is growing darker. Neil’s scent growing fainter no matter how he presses his face into the shirt.

He holds on to Neil’s urn.

He’ll see him soon.

***

Andrew wakes up.

He’s going to fucking murder Ichirou Moriyama.

For that insane ‘nominal fee’ Andrew should not be waking up.

His head aches and his mouth is like sandpaper, “Andrew, are you okay?” A voice that is familiar but wrong comes from his side and when Andrew cracks his eye open (blurry, is that blood) he sees Aaron, except it can’t be Aaron because he looks like he’s 20 again.

What the fuck.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boy Detectives Victor AU: Amnesia Sequel Chapter 2! (aka: Monty and Charles are Going Through It)

So, this one, once again, is brutal. Please heed the tags on the author's note because Monty, Charles, and Edwin are not coping well. They are coping badly and have never been good at communicating in the first place so add a dash of amnesia, Thomas King handing over a recording, and a metric shitton of misunderstandings/assumptions and things get brutal.

To be a Victor's child is to inherit a legacy of violence, but more importantly, it is to inherit a legacy of loneliness. Of a life trapped, caged, stuck in a basement under the hand of the very person who was supposed to care for you but only ever shoved you under their boot.

It is about reaching for kindness and finding none save what you scrape up for yourself. It is about love, and the place where love meets pain, and the place where pain becomes love because that's all you know. It is about punishing yourself, even after your parents are gone, because someone has to do it, right?

But most importantly, it is about reaching the place where you finally understand that you have to step out of the basement in order to see the stars.

It's a terrifying idea. The basement, the cane, the belt, is all you've known. How could you ever let it go?

So you find yourself switching a basement for an underground District, an Arena for a Capitol for a marriage that collapses around your shaking fingers. You collect reminders: a ring, iron, like your mother's cane; a set of rocks, hard, like your father's wedding rock.

You will have to Remake them into something your own.

Or you're not going to survive.

@deadboy-edwin @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @icecreambrownies @anonymousbooknerd-universe @magpiemarten

@hartigays @tragedy-machine @just-existing-as-you-do-blog @orpheusetude @mj-irvine-selby

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@tiredghostby @sethlost @catboy-cabin

[0rganwe8]

drops link to Ao3 post on my account and runs

[pearl-blue-musings]

Hi

Before I get into this I need to lay some warnings and where this came from. This piece is incredibly personal and therapeutic for me. It’s also incredibly self indulgent and directly takes from my life currently. I’m 30, struggling with finding steady income, lots of sexual trauma, relationship trauma, PTSD, PCOS, depression, anxiety, and just a slew of other things. I’ve been questioning why I’m struggling to date and why I have a hard time with intimacy. And it is because I have been SA’d and r*p*ed. Opening up is very difficult and it’s something I’ve been coming to terms with. I’ve been really having a hard time just being alive so please read this carefully. I definitely have this for the 25+ crowd but if you relate to this at all please know you’re not alone. I love you and I’m here for you and hope you get the help you need.

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x fem!reader

Warnings: post time skip, female reader, implied mention of previous SA, struggle with trauma, very self indulgent, depression, anxiety, mental health problems

Word count: 1.3K

The credits roll on the screen in front of you, the music becoming less exciting as the font and names get smaller. Your eyes are glued to the jumble of letters in front of you, trying your hardest to avoid the jumble of words stuck in your throat. You twiddle your thumbs as the man next to you sighs again and lowers the volume.

“I know you didn’t invite me over to watch “Clue” in revered silence.”

You mumble and circle in on yourself. “I said some of my favorite quotes when they happened…”

Your best friend rolls his eyes before turning you around gently to face him. He runs a hand through his blond tufts before attempting to get up. “Well pipsqueak, I’m glad I got to watch this movie but I have practice tomorrow morning so-“

You feel your stomach drop and you instinctively reach out for his wrist. Your eyebrows furrow in worry as your mouth dries up as the words flutter away. “I… please don’t go.”

Tsukishima eases his stance and sits back down on the couch with you and rests his chin in his hand. A call knowing yet gentle smirk adorns his face as he relaxes again. “Again I ask, why did you invite me over? I know it wasn’t to just watch this movie with me. You’ve got plenty of other options.” He sits back with another sigh, resting his head against the top of the sofa. With a slight disgruntled scoff, he softly asks, “what about that guy who gave you his number? I’m sure he’d wanna spend time with you.” You miss the way his body language shifts beside you, his arms crossed tighter than usual as your mind floods with racing thoughts.

You rub at your shoulders before resting your feet back on the cold floor. “I, I can’t do it. I can’t go out with him.”

Tsukishima tilts his head toward you, maneuvering to face you. “He wasn’t a creep was he? I always thought your taste in men was disturbing.”

“It’s not that!”

The words roar out of your mouth faster than your brain can catch up. Your hands grip the fabric of the couch, your fingers digging into it as a means to stabilize yourself. “It’s, it’s me okay? I’m the problem!” You find yourself standing up with all the energy bubbling through you. “I want intimacy, I crave it! But the minute it’s brought up to me as an option…I panic!” Your voice raises in volume and pitch as you begin to pace back and forth in front of the television. Tsukishima watches you with bated breath as he watches your expression change as your thoughts run amuck.

“I can’t,” you huff, “I can’t open up all those wounds of m-my past, a-and the trauma I’ve endured! I have to reintroduce myself all over again! And so what if they’re nice? I don’t know them, I don’t trust them. They could hurt me and I wouldn’t know because I don’t know them!

“What if they’re just like every other guy I’ve been with or loved, huh? What if, what if they just tell me all of these things to get to my body. What then, Kei?” Your shoulders begin to shake as sobs rack your form. Warm tears cascade down your cheeks as you haphazardly rub at them. Your best friend watches you carefully, his hands molded together to hold in his own feelings. As much as he enjoys being the one you vent to, he’s unsure how to care for you. All he wants to do at this moment is hug you and take away your fears and anxieties. But he knows too well that you don’t need someone to fix things for you. He quickly blinks away tears that threaten to leave the corner of his eyes.

“How am I supposed to put myself out there when I’ve done that and have been hurt, and rejected, and lied to at every turn? They’ll say everything I want to hear and then say I just wanna fuck you. Is that all I’m good for? A good fuck and no commitments? I’m not good enough to be committed to.”

Tsukishima grinds his teeth and digs his nails into his knees.

“And then! And then, the idea that I have to constantly keep working on myself to be ready to date…but how long will that take? And I can’t say I want to fall in love because I’m seen as desperate. It’s worse cause I’m over 25 and you know that. If no one wants me now then who will? I just wanna fall in love and be taken care of and take care of someone. Am I too traumatized for that? Am I-“

“Enough!”

You’re interrupted from your tirade as your stomach drops. You hear flesh slap against the couch and the sound of your best friend stomping over to you. He takes your hands in his, lifting them over your head and walks you back to an empty patch of wall and presses you against it. His breathing is ragged as he stares down at you, his golden hues dilated as he takes in all of you.

“If they do that to you, then fuck those guys. They don’t deserve you.” He takes a second to catch his breath as his grip on you loosens for him to fix his glasses. “I know you’re scared. And it’s okay to be scared. Your feelings,” a free hand traces your face before cupping it gently, “are valid. How long have you known me?” He waits for your response and finds you struggling with your words. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

You finally look up at him teary-eyed and find yourself getting butterflies in your stomach. “If you don’t want to open up and go on a date then don’t. Don’t force yourself to do something just because you think you should. You’re as bad as Tadashi.”

You pout at his accusation that shockingly lifts your spirits a bit. You don’t let go of his hand and continue to gaze into his eyes. “But I’m a hypocrite,” you whine, “how can I crave intimacy but be scared of it?”

“Because assholes decided to take advantage of you and violated you. That has nothing to do with you. That’s all on them. What happened to you, what those guys did:

“It’s not your fault.”

You start to cry again, understanding the deeper meaning behind his words as your back relaxes against the wall. You feel his rough yet gentle finger wipe away your tears. Tsukishima then brings you into a comforting hug, rubbing at your back to calm your crying. “I wish,” he starts, “I wish I could have done something to help. I’m here now, but pipsqueak,” his voice shakes with a tremor, “fuck I’m here, okay?”

You nod against his chest as your breathing has calmed down a bit more. “I,” you say muffled, “I don’t wanna…”

“You don’t have to, alright?”

You look up from the hug at his unsaid confession and are met with his flushed cheeks. “Kei, what do you…?”

Tsukishima bites his lip as he releases you from his embrace. “Stupid, I’m saying you don’t have to open up to anyone else. Because you have me. And no more going on dates, that’s what I’m here for.” You hurriedly wipe away at your face as your jaw remains open. Is he saying what you think he’s saying?

You cough a bit at his unsaid confession and you suddenly feel way more nervous. “Can we,” you shyly begin, “keep cuddling? I, uh, like when you hug me…”

Tsukishima calmly kisses your cheek before leading you to the couch.

“Anything my girlfriend wants, she gets.”

[antimonyandthyme]

1k, prosenna

warnings: references to character death, grief/mourning

There were hands smoothing down the wrinkles in the sheets by his legs.

“Go away,” he said. “You are dead.”

Ayrton rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he said, and went back to adjusting the blanket.

Ludicrous. Ghost Ayrton was trying to tuck him in. Alain was losing his mind.

“So even in death, you seek to drive me mad.”

Ayrton pulled back, like that stung. Actually stung, physically. Which made no sense. Alain was talking to a shade his mind had cobbled up, in rejection of the reality. Some people had no business lying still. So, his imagination made them move.

“I’m trying to make you comfortable.”

“I am quite comfortable, thank you.”

“Then why can’t you sleep?” Ayrton said softly.

Alain stared down at his hands, tangled in the sheets by his waist. He had lost faith in the veins running along his body to carry blood. If he looked in the mirror, he knew what he’d find. Haunted eyes, and a tiredness that stuck to flesh like wet film. Why couldn’t he sleep?

“Because you left,” Alain said. “Without so much as a goodbye.”

Ayrton’s face seemed whiter than before, if that were even possible. Even now, when nothing between them mattered any more—even now, they hurt each other.

“I am trying,” Ayrton said, “to right this wrong, can you understand that?”

“Then let me sleep,” Alain said.

It was close to eleven when Alain awoke. His alarm had been switched off. He did not remember doing that. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. Ayrton had not left.

“Now, to the shops,” Ayrton announced, sounding so much like it was the tallest order of the day. “Get dressed, Alain.”

“No,” Alain said. He had not left the house in—weeks. Since Imola.

Ayrton pursed his lips and squinted. It was all so familiar. He used to make that expression right before they argued. Alain could close his eyes and conjure it up, every frown line etched in its precise position. He supposed he was getting exceedingly good at recreating Ayrton from memory.

“Get dressed,” Ayrton said menacingly, “or I will dress you.”

Alain barked out a laugh. It grated against his ears like metal on metal, a crash on the track. He hadn’t heard himself in what seemed like eons. Fine, fine. He could humour Ayrton, if only because he had made him laugh.

Ayrton watched with satisfaction as Alain drew clean clothes on. It didn’t seem strange that Ayrton watched him while he changed, with something in his eyes Alain couldn’t quite place. Or rather, something Alain couldn’t bear to place, now that the something was no longer within reach.

They went to the market.

“Why can't they see you?”

Ayrton scoffed. “Why would I choose to appear to them?”

Alain shook his head. “Why would you choose to appear to me?”

Ayrton looked at him as if Alain were deliberately being obtuse. Which was just typical. And comforting enough for the crack in his heart to tear open and bleed freely.

The shopkeepers must certainly think him mad. He was holding up produce for Ayrton to inspect. He was holding them up to thin air.

“Pah,” Ayrton said. “You call those oranges?”

Alain inspected the offending fruit. “What would you call them?”

“Those are yellows at best. This is what you’ve been eating? No wonder you’ve grown so thin.”

The weather was crisp, and Alain’s lips cracked when he smiled. He poked his tongue out to get at the blood, and let himself be bullied into purchasing grapefruit instead.

There was a light drizzle when they were finally done. Alain kept his walking pace while Ayrton seethed behind him. By the grace of the universe, Alain had been spared an apparition that could touch. If Alain could imagine the feel of Ayrton against him, then. Well. He wouldn’t survive this.

“Walk faster,” Ayrton demanded. Every time he tried to push at Alain, his hands went clean through. “You are getting soaked.”

“I don’t mind,” Alain said. The chill of the air was refreshing, actually.

“I do,” Ayrton said. “Come on, your house is just around the corner.”

But Alain would not listen. He stood under the clouds as the sky opened up and mourned for Senna.

“Come in from the rain,” Ayrton pleaded with him.

Alain stayed, like a madman who would not be swayed. The immovable object to Ayrton’s now very stoppable force. The paper bag holding his groceries tore, and the grapefruit thudded to the ground, coming to rest in puddles. He was allowed to relish in the anguish he was inflicting upon Ayrton. In return for the sorrow that now bound his every waking moment.

“What would you have me do?” Ayrton was shouting now. The rain adhered to his cheeks like tears. “For you to come inside, Alain, what would you have me do?”

“Come back,” Alain said to the storm.

The rain kept falling. Alain did not know for how long. Could have been seconds. Or years. Alain was looking his grief right in the face. He was dimly aware that he was shivering wildly, that his teeth were chattering.

“I will never forgive you,” Ayrton said, his final attempt at moving Alain. “If you allowed this to break you, I will never forgive you. You will never see peace, Alain, for I will never leave you.”

“What if,” he said, sounding for all the world like a child, lost and pathetic, “I wanted that?”

“You are a fool,” Ayrton said harshly. His hands hovered a mere millimeter above Alain’s cheeks. He looked so much like he wanted to stroke Alain. It looked like pain, that he couldn’t. “Come in from the rain, Prost, and live.”

Alain looked up. The sky was clearing. The earth continued to spin, as she always did. Alain crouched down, and picked up his fallen fruit. He took his time. Dragged it out. Allowed himself the taste of longing. When he turned to go home, Ayrton was no longer there.

[statustemporary]

a work of art

SUMMARY: The swipes are precise. Hundreds litter her canvas with red streaks standing out against their pale background. Some are superficial while others gouge unsalvageable marks. Drips are unavoidable, Emma concedes, but the origin of these are the source of irritation.

Her job is not done. She has to work with these flaws to craft something he will be proud of. He is the experienced one, after all.

//

Emma and Killian are low-key serial killers but if you ask them, they're artists in love.

RATING: Mature

WORD COUNT: 1,686 words

TAGS: Modern AU, Serial Killers AU, Graphic Descriptions, Blood & Gore, Implied/Referenced Torture, Anti-Neal Cassidy, no magic, Dark Emma, Dark Killian, Toxic Relationship

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: got this idea from a whumptober prompt that was like "did i do good?" with a mentor/trainee and i misread the rest of the prompt and ended up turning it into a torture trainee wanting to please their mentor. and here we are. lol started out with dark ones but turned them into just serial killers.

this was a way for me to get into the head of someone twisted/evil. promise i'm mentally sane and emotionally okay, this was a writing exercise of sorts. pls dont worry hahaha

Please heed the warnings.

***

“I always have to clean up your messes,” she mutters to herself angrily, eyes glaring down at the red liquid on the floor. The deep color shines vibrantly in the candlelight as it pools together and grows larger as the seconds tick by. She snarls at the sound of labored breathing from the center of the room and slowly trails her eyes up to examine her work.

The swipes are precise. Hundreds litter her canvas with red streaks standing out against their pale background. Some are superficial while others gouge unsalvageable marks. Drips are unavoidable, Emma concedes, but the origin of these are the source of irritation.

Her job is not done. She has to work with these flaws to craft something he will be proud of. He is the experienced one, after all.

Anger fuels her as she moves, her arm sweeping this direction and that. The movements are practiced and learned though she’s used different tools in the past. For the first time, he lets her take the lead and she cannot disappoint him. Especially after all the work he went through to procure such a magnificent canvas. A gift for her.

Weak protests fight to reach her ears but her focus drowns them out, thriving on each new mark she adds, each swipe and each gut-wrenching twist expressing the hurt and the anger she’s held onto for so many years.

When she steps back, it is with a grin.

Neal’s body rests sprawled across a stone table in the center of the room. His lays bare but it goes unnoticed as he shows more blood than skin. His labored breathing is replaced by silence, brown eyes turning an empty black.

Blood drips down to the small puddle at her feet. It grows larger with each tick of the hall clock and she frowns as it pools around her new heeled boot.

Of fucking course. Neal can never let her have anything.

The room smells rancid, blood and sweat permeating the air. Darkness blankets the room like it does her soul, only scarcely lit by a few candles hanging on the walls. Moonlight struggles to shine through the cracks in the concrete to no avail. Emma prefers the darkness now. She thrives in it.

Wailing echoes fill the quiet.

The metal of her dagger is warm in her grip and she shakes her head at the blood that covers the blade. At least that’ll be easier to clean than her leather boot.

She sets to work washing her tools, leaving the rest of the room as it is. She wants him to see how long she kept Neal alive to suffer. How he was aware of every single way she tarnished his body until the very end. The way his nails scratched at the stone so hard until they fell off revealing bloody nailbeds. That even in death, his eyes remained open from his terror.

He still got off easy, in her opinion.

There’s a noise, the muffled sound of a door closing and Emma’s head pops up in delight.

Killian grins wide when he sees her emerge from the basement, sleeves rolled to her elbows and hair pulled back in tight bun. They come together in a messy kiss that’s more tongues and teeth than lips.

She loves the way he loves her with abandon. Every time their mouths meet, he practically devours her and she gives as good as she gets. Fingers wrap around the hair at the base of his neck and she pulls while his hook traces lightly on her skin enough to draw blood but not do any serious harm. It sends chills down her spine every time.

His hands are greedy and he makes an attempt to lift her shirt but she steps out of his arms instead.

“Swan?” he asks, voice gruff and hair mused. He glares at her even if there’s no heat to it and Emma smiles back, nearly giggles.

“I want you to show you something.”

Her hand reaches towards him and he leaves her hanging for a moment. They both love the push and pull of their relationship. To tetter on the edge of a decision builds anticipation. Rejection is just a split-second away but so is acceptance. Not knowing which one will be chosen sends their hearts racing. It’s an effect of their upbringing, she knows. She did take a psychology class in community college after all.

It only makes sense, really. His abusive childhood with a drunk father and a brother dead too young and her untethered young life moving from foster home to foster home without any roots or support. Pain has been something out of their control for so long. Something always inflicted onto them unwillingly. But meeting each other in the back of their Psych 101 class all those years ago gave them a mutual understanding.

Pain can be something they command.

Killian had fallen first. They both tried, for the first year or two, to be better than what they came from. They wanted to have the picturesque life so many promised was to come but they struggled. Depression and temptation waited around every corner and they felt themselves falling into a pit they couldn’t climb out of.

And then Graham kissed her.

Killian and she had been on a break at the time. He was spiraling and Emma was trying to stay on track. Their tempers rose and, for the first time in her life, she walked out on someone else. Graham had been kind, sweet, and unassuming. He worked as a campus security guard and was helping her find her shitty car when he kissed her. Killian had been leaving his class and had a full view of the moment it happened. Emma pushing Graham away only did so much to soothe the anger in his soul.

Then Graham showed up dead a week later in the woods by campus, bruises on his head, marks around his throat, and his chest clawed open with no heart taking up its specified space.

She’d been mad when she realized what Killian did. She threatened to go to the police, even. And then she saw the crazed look in Killian’s eyes, the way he pleaded for her to understand.

“Emma,” he begged. “He crossed a line. You don’t understand. You’re mine. He thought he could have what’s mine.”

Through his tears, she saw the love, the possession. It warmed her to her toes. The unwanted foster kid – wanted by him. She swore she fell in love even more that day.

Emma would lay in bed with him at night and asked how he did it. She requested details, wanted to know every step he took. He would hold her close, his fingers leaving permanent marks on her hips, and she floated as he shared exactly what he did to ensure she stayed his.

It was another two years before he struck again, her by his side this time. Arthur was full of himself, an asshole to anyone who didn’t make more money than him, and dead set on evicting the entirety of their apartment building so he could sell the property to a developer. No one shed any tears at the announcement of his death.

Nearly ten years had gone by and yet this is the most exciting one for Emma. Neal was her white whale, so they say. He’d taken advantage of her sixteen years of life when he’d been nearing thirty and split the moment she found out she was pregnant. Took all her cash and the food she bought the day beforehand for their motel stay. She was left alone as she let go of the child she so desperately wanted to have. Even after he left her, she was still cleaning up his messes.

But now she stands in the kitchen she shares with Killian and raises her eyebrows as she bites her lip in wait. Will he take it or ignore it? Her heart races. Her breath hitches just a moment before he takes her offered hand and she contemplates bypassing her art project to ride him in the kitchen instead.

Bringing him to the basement, she waits in the doorway as Killian steps over the threshold. His eyes scan the room in a slow, calculating fashion. Leaning over Neal’s body, he hums as he takes in her work. Fingers trace her cuts, one dipping into the gaping hole in his side. There’s little left of his genitalia, the ferocious way it was obliterated earning a cocked eyebrow from Killian before he looks over to her with a grin. She blushes at the pride in his eyes.

The squelch from stepping in blood draws his attention to the floor. He dips his hand in the liquid and lifts his fingers to his face. The puddle grew from when she was in there a few minutes ago and Killian takes a good moment to examine it.

“Did I do good?” she asks, hands in her back pockets. Eagerness is undeniable in her voice.

Killian stands suddenly and marches towards her. He grips her hips – the cold metal of his hook sending a chill down her spine as Neal’s blood from his fingers smear across her skin – and pulls her in for a filthy kiss. Their bodies are flush but it’s not enough and the way his tongue strokes against her own has her frantically clawing at his pants.

Wailing echoes in the silence again and they pull apart only slightly dismayed.

The crying brings a spark to Killian’s eyes and Emma is torn between where each of their thoughts are going, both outcomes bound to bring her pleasure.

Killian presses another firm kiss to her lips before he tilts his head towards the other end of the basement where their special project waits for their return. His own white whale he somehow conquered and takes pride in making submit to him.

She knows the question before he asks so she merely grins wide at him as he speaks.

“Shall we go skin a crocodile?”

[calibowrites]

he knows

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Rating: Teen & Up

Warnings: Miscommunication, talk of cheating, talk of sexual abuse/CSA, victim blaming

After your first trip back home since you started dating, you start acting strangely around your boyfriend. When he finally confronts you, you break down and confess.

Read it here on AO3!

[mandylynn4]

For those of you who have read Whispers in the past, just know that I appreciate your patience with me....I do have the ending mapped out for it and I will finish it.

Today, I made a better trailer for it, as the first one was pretty old. ;)

TRIGGER WARNINGS below for those who haven't read yet.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

Relationship(s): Murtagh/Orrin

Summary: Yearning makes him careless, but five lonely, numbing years since returning war-torn to his throne have made caution lose its luster. Not everything he risks losing matters to him the way it once did, and exhaustion has worn away his strength to deny his heart what it yearns for. So Orrin escapes to find comfort in the touch of a stranger.

-What should be a stranger.

Word Count: 10,427

Warnings: Mentions of su*cidal thoughts, Implied nsfw content

A/N: HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE give it a chance, I swear there's a method to my madness! This ship is pure gold and I'll prove it. This premise for their first meeting has been in my head for years and years and it felt so good to finally polish it write it out.

[hargrove-mayfields]

For my best friend, @eddie-munsons-guitar86!

Raven requested: Angela and her crew harassing el outside of highschool and billy stepping in

trigger warnings for: bullying, sexual harassment, ableism, and implied abuse.

In California, El is allowed to go to school.

In California, the people aren’t like the party. They aren’t her friends.

Max told her that when she and her brother moved into the duplex apartment next to the new house she shares with her family. It’s nice to have people so close who know their secret. Person.

Only Max ever visits for dinner. She’s not scared of Max’s big brother. Not even when she watches him burn their Christmas card from her window, or when she sees the big tears in his eyes that reflect in the first. He stopped burning them after she left a few dozen more in their mailbox.

If Will is her brother, and the party are her friends, then Max is more than all of that combined. But she isn’t here right now. She has classes in the other end of the building, for the program El isn’t allowed into. Joyce says it’s special, what Max learns, and it makes her jealous, but she’s happy.

They meet up at the end of every day outside, sometimes Max gives her a bracelet she made in class, or a sticker she found on her paper, and always a kiss on the cheek, and then they ride home in their cars.

But today…

“Hey snitch! Wait up.”

Angela. Her worst not-friend. Max says her voice sounds like chalkboard nails and vomit. Whatever that means, El agrees. It makes her feel a chill in her spine that makes her walk a little faster out of the front doors.

Her automatic response is to try to reject her, “School is over, Angela.”

There’s more of her friends than there is El though. Max is on the other side of the school, and El is closed in right outside the front door. Dread burns under her skin.

She’s reminded of the last time, when she tried to use her powers. Max wasn’t here in their new town yet, so nobody told her what to do. Nobody knew.

There’s three things. Walk away. Get help. Fight back, with fists. Until it’s that bad, she tries to just go fast.

But Angela catches her by the arm. “Hey, now. We just wanted to catch up.”

El sets her jaw, stays determined, “I'm going home.”

“Hm, you’re cute.” Angela sneers at her. El doesn’t understand what that has to do with anything. Will tried to teach her about ‘sarcasm.’ That must be what it is, but she doesn’t have time to work through it before Angela is laughing in her face.

The bully flicks the front of her shirt, where there's a patch by one of the buttons that ripped off. “Well, not really. I mean, just look at what you’re wearing. What is this, Cinderella?”

“Cinder-ella?” El can’t even tell if it’s mean. She’s just confused.

Until someone from Angela’s crowd shouts, clearing away any doubt, “It means you're ugly and poor.”

Her face turns red and warm. Embarrassed. They talk to her like a child. A stupid child. That’s what they call her. “That isn’t nice.”

It wasn’t the right thing to say. They say she’s slow. That she can’t keep up. It feels that way every time Angela speaks again. El doesn’t get any of it.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’ll help you. Just think of me like, your fairy godmother.”

It’s not hard to understand what happens next.

Angela grabs the sleeve of her patched-up shirt, and pulls. It knocks El off her balance and she falls. Her backpack is heavy, and it makes her tip over on her front. The sidewalk scrapes her hands and makes them burn.

Hunched over, there are people behind her. They look at her strangely. They say things.

“No wonder she hides under all those ugly clothes.”

”Looks like the freak grew up.”

El doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. Her body.

And then the touches start. One of the boys smacks her on the bottom. She falls forward again and they all laugh.

So they keep doing it.

Then their hands start to linger.

“Stop it!” El demands, with the most power she can manage in her voice.

But her powers are gone. And she’s scared.

“We just want to get to know you better, Jane.” Angela kneels down to address her to her face. While the boys who are her friends hurt El. She pouts. Fake. Like a snap, that face changes.

“So why don’t you open up!” She grabs the shirt El is wearing by the neck part, and pulls again. Laughs.

The shirt tears in half. It was broken when it got washed, before that it was Hoppers. Now there’s just one sleeve left on her. She’s just in a tank top and jeans and the scraps of her dad's shirt. Cold.

Cold tears on her face.

The bullies are laughing. Hurting her. Yelling.

“Everyone, come help poor Jane!”

“Tell her what you think of her new look!”

Across the parking lot, parked in the only blue painted space on campus, is the scariest person she’s not scared of.

For fifteen minutes every weekday, Billy smokes a cigarette while he waits to pick Max up. Just Max. He doesn’t have the time of day to chauffeur her little friends around. He spends enough time waiting around, like there’s shit else better he can do than waste his life away looking out for his shitty little sister.

Not that he believes that anymore.

But it keeps his mind busy from the ache in his chest and the faint taste of blood that accompanies every cigarette. Every day is the same damn thing. The most interesting thing that happens is a small crowd gathering right by the front entrance of the school.

Usually he just keeps an eye on the bus doors, since that’s where Max always leaves from, but he’s been extra high alert lately. Tipped off by the shitbird herself about some new bully chick that’d been bothering them all since they started up school this year.

Running with a gut feeling, he decides to check it out further for himself. The worst that could happen is it wasn’t Max or her friends, and he still helps some random kid out. Not ideal for the loner image he’s been going for since the accident, but better than standing by while some freshman gets the shit beat out of them or something. He’d done enough of that uncaring shit.

If there’s one thing Billy Hargrove is good at, it’s being intimidating. His name carries implications anymore, rumors and half-truths turning him into this figure shrouded in mystery and paranoia.

He can use that to his advantage.

He approaches the chaos, cigarette dangling from his lips, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. It’s not really intimidating, he looks like a fake cowboy from the westerns his dad used to watch with the volume turned up too loud to drown out the sound of some other violence, but to a bunch of freshmen, it will do.

“The hell’s going on over here?”

They clearly know who he is. Even here in their old home, the reputation of being Zombie boy number two followed him. Someone looked him up in the papers and found out some shit they weren’t supposed to know. It makes it too easy.

One of the brats, not the one that has her hands on the girl, rebuts, “We don’t have to answer to you, freak.”

How original.

Billy rolls his eyes. He’s too old for this.

Something those little shits aren’t expecting is for him to flick his cigarette away, and blow the last of the smoke in one of their nasty faces. It’s intimidation, it’s gross, it’s scandalous. The audacity!

The circle of them breaks into two halves, so he shoves past the stragglers to stand between them and El. She stands up behind him and turns the other way. Too embarrassed to even face the people who hurt her get put in their place. A little more fuel hits the rage fire burning in Billy’s brain.

They want a monster? A freak? He’ll give ‘em one.

First priority is giving the girl something to cover up with. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it down beside her to take when she wants it. She grabs it immediately and wraps it around herself, looking the most like a scared kid he’s ever seen her. That’s saying a lot.

There’s scars all over him. His arms, his chest, his face. Doctors did a number on him trying to fix what the shadow did. He’s weak. He hurts.

But these shitty kids don’t need to know that. All they need to know is that he’s got a past, and the nasty red and white bumps to prove it.

They look set off just from him removing his jacket. This is going to be easy.

“You know, in my last town. Population went down by a couple digits ‘fore I left. Shouldn’t be too hard to catch up now. Just need a match and a bottle of something strong. I’ll make quick work of it.”

Almost word for word what the tabloid papers said. He laughs bitterly at his own words.

“That’s all just a bunch of rumors though.”

You’d think nobody ever stood up to them before. Staring at him like a bunch of damn fish gasping for a last breath. Sheltered little fucks never had to deal with consequences. It gives Billy an idea.

He’s still no saint. Might as well use up that bitter rage pooling in his chest just waiting for a lit match to hit and engulf him in it again.

So he takes it up one more notch. Billy haunches over, so they seem smaller and he seems more capable of doing anything other than posing in a certain unsettling way.

He’s right in the face of the ringleader, watching her cocky confidence drain away into concern. Fear.

He’ll entertain that, “Don’t you want to know how I got my scars?”

“It was from a fire.” The preppy blonde chick doesn’t seem so brave now, suggesting that answer skeptically.

Billy laughs at her, for dramatic effect. He’s still got too much shit to work through about Starcourt to actually feel anything though. “No, that’s what they said.”

Angela, or whatever her name is, seems to get what he means. She also seems about five seconds away from pissing her pants in fear. Good.

These kids can assault girls they barely know, but can’t stand a little ghost story. Serves them damn right.

“Just remember that. If I ever see you kids near Jane again, there might just be a new rumor in our very own Lenora hills.” Billy threatens, letting his voice drop as rough and mean as he can.

“They’ll say it was a fire, alright. An accident. Just. Like. Last time.”

Maybe he meant that a little too much.

Maybe he still blames himself.

Maybe he had to save the girl again. To prove something to himself.

Before it becomes too real, he tells them, “Go.”

Worse than Hawkins, they run. Scattered across the flat parking lot like pillars of an overarching shadow. Billy feels sick.

After the last of them are out of his sight, He finally turns his attention to the little girl. Call it a favor for saving his life. Not that he’d need a reason. The poor girl’s been through a lot, but nothing like this. She looks so scared it makes him want to tear all those shitty little bastards apart.

Eyes still fixed to the front, Billy asks her, carrying too much tension and hurt in his voice for his own good, “You alright back there?”

She picks up her bag, the few things that spilled from it, and declares, like she’s unfazed, “Yes.”

Billy knows what that’s like. Pretending to be strong. He knows she knows too. He can’t pretend he’s not worried about the kid, after everything.

“They didn’t hurt you or anythin’? ‘Cause I could chase ‘em down and show them a thing or two about karma.” He offers. She’s seen the things he can do in his head, so she’ll know he means it.

The kid must be better than he is though, because she just shakes her head, highlighting the fact that those assholes roughed up her hair into tangles.

“No. Just.. upset.”

Billy takes her word for it. He’s distanced himself since July. There’s no need to push it. “I hear you. Your brother drive you today?”

“He’s at home ill. Will and me are going to ride on the bus.” She explains it so carefully, like that’s the right answer. Those assholes will be on the bus though. He’s not leaving two kids to fend for themselves out there.

He shakes his keys, and acts casual about it. Whether it’s to act cool or just to make sure he doesn’t upset El more, he’s not sure yet, but he does know he’s going to do the right thing, “Come on. I’ll give you shits a ride then.”

Billy lets her go at her pace. He’s on guard already, she’ll be safe behind her while they walk back to his car.

Max already made it there, the Byers kid is with her too, probably looking for his sister. Billy almost feels bad to step out of the way and let them see the shape she’s in.

The second they see El, her face red with tears, her hair in knots and wearing Billy’s jacket, Max gasps, rushing to her side across the space that’s left between them. She touches her face, looking her over, “Oh my god, El! What happened?”

Billy remembers when Max was rushing to him like that, screaming his name as his whole world went black. He shivers, and leans against his Firebird, the replacement for his Camaro.

“I-“ El opens her mouth to explain, but she shakes her head. All the emotions hit her all over again and she’s overwhelmed.

She looks to Billy. Those watery brown puppy dog eyes tell him everything he needs to know. He gets it, but he doesn’t understand, “You want me to tell them?”

El nods, and hides her face in his sister's shoulder. Great.

That means it’s up to him now.

“Some bratty blond and her crew were harassing her. Just some asshole bullies. They won’t do it again though.”

Max’s face falls. To clarify, she hadn’t told him about the bullies necessarily. He overheard through conversations with Joyce and phone calls to Max’s mom. It’s none of his business.

He has legal custody though, so. He’ll listen as carefully as he can without invading her little world. It’s the best he can do when she barely talks to him anymore.

Her tone sounds almost panicked, as she holds Els' shoulders and scans her over, one, twice. Just to make sure she’s real. All these kids have been through too damn much. Makes Billy’s mouth taste more bitter than the cigarettes he burned through on the way here.

“What did they do to her?”

“Were assholes. But I took care of it, alright?” Billy answers shortly, not in the chatting mood, but Max presses on with her questions.

“Was it Angela?”

Billy gets it, her concern. She’s still a shitbird though, and he’s still an asshole. Or he’s just trying to protect El, “Hell if I know. She was a coward and a bitch, if that helps.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her..” Max rolls her eyes at Billy’s lack of helpfulness and turns back to her friend, “Are you okay El?”

Finally a question that isn’t for Billy, like he ever knew a damn thing about these kids and caring about people and shit. He’ll say that’s not why he did it. He doesn’t care. He’s just doing the right thing. To serve himself and earn his place somewhere other than in the dirt with the shadows in his head.

It wouldn’t be true, but he’d say it, if somebody cared to ask.

El stays quiet, but she nods again. That’s their cue to pile into the Firebird, the girls first so they can take up the backseat.

Nobody talks. They hadn’t pretended to like Billy since he was giving rides to the arcade. It’s a tense ride, but it’s also one which lasts twenty minutes; Max caves after three and a half.

“Thanks for helping her. I guess.”

Billy scoffs, annoyed that she’s still so weird around him more than anything, “What was I s’posed to do, leave her there? I’m an asshole, but I’m not evil.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Max grumbles under her breath.

Billy’s instinct is to snap at her, like a hurt animal, “Watch your mouth.”

“I’m just joking, god.” She doesn’t back down like she used to. She doesn’t let him bother her at all.

Max smiles, and she holds her friend's hand, rests it on her lap in a gesture that’s certainly more than friendly, “All that matters is that El is okay.”

Billy’s aware that his sister is bad at self-preservation and worse at social cues, but she’s got to know better than this. Schmoozing it up in front of just anybody. The Byers kid is right there. Just being in the same car as that is making his anxiety spike.

Because Billy can see it for what it is, and he glares at her in the rearview mirror, before looking at the kid in his passenger seat and back at the girls, “Didn’t even know you and the Hopper girl were that close, Maxine.”

How could the shitbird forget all he went through when he was caught the same way with his ‘friend?’ How could she, when she’s the one who told? He thought they were over that.

Max agrees, because she rolls her eyes hard. Apparently he’s out of the loop, “Will knows, Billy.“

“Oh.” Right. Fourteen years old is too old to come to him with dating shit anymore apparently. He’s not sure if that’s a relief or not.

“How come I didn’t know?”

“You don’t have to know all my business.”

“When you’re getting bullied, I kinda do.”

Max hesitates. He knows as well as she does how hard it is to admit that. Took him eighteen years to tell anybody about the bully that was Neil Hargrove. But she doesn’t let it get to her the same way he always had.

Good.

Max argues, “Well nobody else knows, so.. It’s fine.”

Despite himself, Billy decides to argue back. Just like old times, “Is it? After what just happened, don’t need to give the bullies more fuel.”

Shouldn’t have tried to keep up the tradition. Just like old times, Max knows exactly how to cut into his soul.

“I’m not going to change just because someone might be mean to me for something I am.”

She wants to play that way, he’ll give her a reality check. Joyce would kill him if he sped up the car with her kids in it, so he settles for raising his voice, “It’s not a fucking question Max! It’s a goddamn reality.

Before she can argue, El interrupts, in a voice that’s controlled and even, powerful but quiet. “Friends don’t lie.”

The anger melts away instantly. Reveals the frozen, unstable version of himself at his core. “Who’s lying?”

He can’t hide from the girl who’s been in his head, “You lie. You’re hiding a friend.”

Nobody says a word for the rest of the drive. Billy’s too busy turning shit over in his head. About Max having a girlfriend. About having an ex-boyfriend he left behind in Hawkins.

About wishing he was as confident as his sister to make a big move before it was too late and he’s already sacrificed their relationship.

Maybe that’s why he intervened today. To fill some part of himself that’s been empty since he had to leave his love behind. A different kind of love.

Nope. Not him. Not Billy Hargrove, covered in scars. He doesn’t get love.

“Alright you shits, outta my car.”

Billy pulled into their own driveway. He’s not risking getting caught up by Joyce again when their houses are so close. They can walk the distance between.

… As long as they’re close enough that Billy can keep an eye on them.

As they’re climbing out, he promises gruffly, “Next time, I’m charging you nerds a fee.”

“Fee?” El tilts her head, sometimes he forgets how little the poor girl knows.

She and him both. It always feels like he’s doing something wrong with these kids. With himself. His mind was split in two, along with his body, and now he can’t make it up.

Max glares daggers at him, at the same time tucking a messy strand of Els's hair away behind her ear. Too gentle for a little brat. Shitbird’s growing up.

They all are.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just being a stupid boy.” In simply put terms, El understands. She laughs, and Billy maybe gets why he’s doing all this. Maybe, feels a little less like a monster, when he’s looking out for his two little sisters.

He stares at the ground, doesn’t see it when Max pulls her into a full hug and kisses her cheek, “I’ll see you guys later. Bye El.”

He’s not worried about them yet. They’ve missed out on being kids. They’ve seen the worst of what happens when you grow up when they saw him get basically torn in half. It’s harmless puppy love, just the kind of thing he never got to experience, and would never think to take away from Max.

One thing about Max, she still isn’t much better at realizing all the shit Billy does for her. It’s not the life she wanted. How can he be mad at her for that when he lashed out for a whole year about the same?

Maybe it’s not just intuition though that tells Billy he said something wrong.

Max avoids him for the rest of the day. It’s not until way after the sun goes down and they’re both waiting for the right time to take their pills and get the hell to sleep that he decides to bring it up.

She’s curled up in the corner of the couch, the opposite side of the rickety chair he sits in. She doesn’t look up at first when he speaks.

“Kinda distant there, shitbird.”

“Wow. I wonder why that could be.” Every word of Max’s drips with sarcasm.

Billy rolls his eyes at her. Maybe he should be a better example.

“What’d I even do? Thought you’d be grateful I helped your girlfriend.”

“I can be grateful and also be pissed that you’re mean to them. I’m multifaceted like that.” Okay, she definitely didn’t know that word before she started hanging out with her dorks. The influence isn’t all his.

He’ll fight back, but he’ll go easy about it. Let some of the thought process out into the open air, “Yeah, and I can make fun of my sister's friends and want to help someone getting bullied too.”

Finally, finally, that gets her to talk to him, “You’ve always been the bully. You never cared before. You only helped El because you thought it would make me like you more.”

Ironic that it’s all bullshit coming out of her mouth.

“Says who? I don’t give a shit what you think, this is between me and the universe.” Billy tries not to make this too deep, but it is. This is eight years of conversations they haven’t had yet forced into one scapegoat topic, “I’m making up for what I did, and you can hate me for all time, but my karma is evening out.”

“What’s that even mean?” She’s not sarcastic. She’s curious. Letting him in.

He’ll let her see the things her girlfriend saw last year. Forge the brother and sister bond they’d never quite mastered between them, but had come so easy with El.

Billy’s not a hero.

“Means I almost died. But I didn’t. And now I’m using my second chance for good.” He’s a human. He’s her brother. He’s crying, just a little, “I’m still not very good at this whole, being nice thing.”

Max shrugs, and she laughs. A wet sounding laugh. She’s crying too, “Yeah. Me neither.”

It sits, but there’s no tension. Just coexisting. Their thoughts fill the silence, but the few things they said provoke it. It’s not a quiet silence, and that’s alright. They’re alright. Everything’s alright now.

“Guess we got a long way to go, shitbird.”

“Not.. that long though. Right?”

Billy just shrugs, so Max takes that as her invitation to let go of the serious stuff.

She waggles her eyebrows, nosy little sister shit she hasn’t done since she was fresh out of elementary, “Soooo. El said you had somebody?”

“Don’t even start.” Billy complains, covering his face with his hands.

But he’s happy.

In California, Billy lives alone with Max and hides from the world.

In California, Billy learns how to smile again.