#except Billy has a tail

[tac-the-unseen]

How would bubba, micheal and hannibal react tk a reader who is extremely shy and has social anxiety . They rarely speak louder than a whisper, are easily scared or intimidated, they struggle to stand up for themself and need to wear headphones in public so they don’t get panic attacks

( if you don’t feel comfortable with the social anxiety you can just remove it and just make them shy, i really don’t mind)

Slashers x Socially Anxious! Reader

Micheal Myers:

•Micheal wholeheartedly doesn't care what you do or what you say

•If you never want to speak again, cool

•If you never want to speak to a human again, great

•If you never want to leave the house again, even better

•And that's totally not his possessiveness talking

•He has no problem going out and stealing groceries from neighbors if you're not feeling up for the task

•Stay home as long as you need

•He really likes to just have you around

•He would love to have you stay in all day and watch old cartoons

•in conclusion: do what you want

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•It's fair to say Billy and Stu have enough voice for the three of you

•If they know you well enough, they'll fill in the blanks for you

•Do you whisper when you talk? Cool, They practically scream (eh? Eh? :D)

•You originally thought that your party animal partners wouldn't like you ditching their parties

•But that's both true and false

•Yes they would love to have you there, But if you don't feel comfortable you can just stay in Stu’s room

•Also there is less of a chance of you being hit on

•(totally not because they're possessive everything)

•If you need to wear headphones in public, Stu will ask if he can decorate them with stickers

Thomas Hewitt:

•He’s not anxious so to say, he just can't say anything and his appearance often frightens people

•It's almost perfect that you don't want to leave the house, that means you can focus on cleaning and general house maintenance with him!

•He has brothers to go outside

•Don't want to talk? He doesn't talk at all, perfect!

•He is perfectly content with you Just existing!

•He wholeheartedly believes your perfect and made for him

•Luda mae accepts you into the family immediately

•She shows you the ropes and has enough chatter in her for the both of you!

•shows you how to knit and crochet if you don't already know

Bubba Sawyer:

•When he first met you he was a little confused on why you weren't talking

•But then he finally came to the conclusion that you're just like him!

•He too is shy and has a hard time communicating

•safe to say he gets very excited to find out there's someone else like him

•despite how anxious you are he introduces you to all the family immediately

•You quickly become his new obsession

•He wants to know everything about you, do you share similar interests? Do you share the same family values? Were you raised similarly?

•everything

•His brothers are very pushy and if you struggle to stand up for yourself, He'll do it for you

•Bubba didn't come to play!

•Chop acting too aggressive? He gets runs away with his tail in between his legs When he sees Big Bubba making a beeline in his direction

Sinclair Brothers:

(Putting them all together because the response is basically the same)

•there's no one in Ambrosia except the three of them and the occasional tourist

•And they'll be damned before they let you go near randos

•Don't feel like talking? They live with Vincent, who doesn't speak at all. You'll fit right in

•want to go outside, but not really? Go to Bo’s Shop or take a ride in Lester's truck!

•All the boys are just happy you're giving them some ounce of attention

Billy Lenz:

•Omg! He gets anxious too! You guys have so much in common!!

•Don't want to leave the house?

•Fabulous, stay up in the attic forever

•You can steal food from the shared pantry and never have to talk to anyone ever again

•While he does offer to have sex multiple times, he is content with you just being there (just remember how clingy he is)

•teaches you how to sneak through walls and hallways to go unnoticed by the sorority sisters

Brahms Heelshire:

•Perfect

•His absolute dream

•Please don't ever leave

•Really, who's out there that you need to be talking to?

•Everything you need is right here

•Let the grocery boy leave the bags at the door, he'll get them once the guy leaves

•Therapy? If you need someone to talk to he's always available! Why on earth would you need to go and talk to somebody else, A stranger even!?

•No no no! You're all his!

•You're his best friend, you can't go! He won't let you!

Hannibal Lecter:

•Two ways this could go

1) He tries to help you overcome your anxiety

2) He wants to make it so bad you never leave your room

•If he decides to help you that would include him taking you to all his parties, Operas, running errands, and walks around the town

•If He decides to make it worse He'll telling lies about people's reactions, lie about people not liking you, tell you that you should just stay home so he (The only one that loves you) can take care of you

•Hannibal is not below manipulating conversation to make it sound like you're unlovable

•He'll make an elaborate birthday party for you just to invite no one and say that they all didn't show up because they don't like you

•Hope you're ready to spend every day being reminded that you're so unlovable and unwanted!

•God, aren't you so lucky to have found the one person in the world willing to be around you!?

Will Graham:

•He's antisocial, He wants to stay home too

•He has no problem playing ‘provider’ While you handle the dogs

•He'll bring over the leftovers from Hannibal's dinner parties

•He does suggest you see Hannibal to work out some of your problems, But leaves that up to you

•He will occasionally try to pull you outside and take a nice walk or go fishing

•Don't feel like talking? Don't, problem solved

•He doesn't want to talk either

•Need headphones in public? Cool, whatever

The Lost Boys:

•with everyone in Santa Carla having big and bold personalities, finding someone that will really just wants to be left unnoticed makes them even more noticeable

•The four of them spotted you immediately

•Once they get to know you They offer you a ‘tour’ of the cave

•by tour they mean, “It's really so cozy and comforting! Do you want to stay for the day? Perfect”

•They immediately rope you into living with them, And because of how anxious you are there's no one else for you to talk to

•David loves to think of himself as a provider

•If you do end up wondering outside, You have scary dog privileges x4 (Paul and Marko have both barked as a joke)

•You always have at least one big scary vamp at your hip

•want to just sit with the bikes while they run around? Okay, No one touches their bikes anyway.

Thanks for reading <3

[jd07201990]

“Oh, come on Chuck! This’ll be my second time! You can’t keep forcing me to work another 40 years, just to make it to retirement and do it all again! It’s not yours or my fault that there aren’t enough young folk to take over our jobs! Hell, maybe if we paid a bit more, the few of them out there would apply!”

“It’s Lieutenant Roth, Billy. Now go change out of that equipment and take a shower. Whatever this remote does to strip away all those years, it sure does leave a young man ripe!”

“Don’t call me Billy! I haven’t been Billy in 30 years! Its Bill Damn it! And how am I supposed to explain this, again! to David?! You know he’s not into, well… this!”

“Put your shirt down Billy and quit your complaining. We’re doing something different this time, changing things up, trying something new. See, we couldn’t afford to pay higher wages all these years, because we’ve been stashing extra money away, for a new program. This remote can do a lot more than just wipe away years, Billy. The company has a whole app-store full of features, but they cost a hell of a lot. We only had enough for 2 new features, and we think it’ll really help solve this town’s aging population issue.”

“Wha… what the hell are you saying? What do you mean, something new?! Chuck, dude… you’re seriously starting to crack! What the fuck does any of this have to do with David?! And who is, “We”?!”

“I’m only going to tell you this once, son. It’s Lieutenant Roth. Now, I guess there’s no beating around the bush with you young-bloods. So I’ll get right to it. “We” is me, the Governor, and the Town Board. We investigated every possible fix, and it comes down to this. All the youth are moving out in droves, going to college, or fleeing to the city for excitement, leaving us aging folk to do the hard work around town. With the remote able to take years off a person, we’ve decided that all our current retirees, in every department, will be regressed, and the new feature we purchased will ensure you all follow your new, youthful instincts, providing us with a full generational bump in population.

You will be the hot-blooded virile stud you were way back in the day; you remember? Except this time, just as David isn’t attracted to this prime of your life look, YOU won’t be attracted to David, or any man for that matter. You see, we need all the help we can get, so with this little app, you’ll be chasing pretty women, and will certainly end up settling down, once one of them catches. Ah, by the look on your face, you know exactly what I mean.

Good, because you and the rest of the retirees are going to have your hands full, working these jobs getting paid just enough for a double-wide and a truck, leaving a trail of gals before you settle in with one, and have a whole mess of kids. "

“Ch… Lieutenant, sir… Wha… you’re insane dude! Fuckin’ totally cracked! You hear yourself! You can’t do this! I can’t be… I can’t chase… I don’t… don’t like…. Fuck… fuck dude… what the fuck are you doing?! Quit pointin’ that shit at me bro! My.. my head!”

“Don’t worry son, I’ll let you off the hook for all that mouthing off. It’s got to be rough having your brain completely flipped inside out, dumped out and filled with everything you need to be a, productive, member of society. Isn’t that right Billy?”

“Wha.. Oh, hey Lieutenant! So uh, is it ok if I head off to the showers and hit the road? Kind of a slow night huh sir? If it’d be alright, I want to go down to the Strip and hit the bar. The dudes and I figured we’d start the weekend early, ya know? Gotta get get some tail on lock before the storms hit. Thinkin’ I might run into Becka too, you know, from Thornton Stables? God she’d look real pretty, all knocked up good n’ proper!”

“Oh alright son. Go ahead, take the night off. But you’re on call. Got it! One or two beers, maybe a shot, take some cash and buy the lass one of those fruity drinks, and you treat her like a lady, young man. Got it?”

“Got it Dude! I mean Lieutenant! I’ll make a lady outa her yet! Thanks for the money too! Ya know how rough it is on the town’s wages! Although you and the Board seem to be doin’ alright. I hope I can get to where you are, Sir!”

“Don’t worry Billy, you’ve got a good 40 years or so to work your way up! Go have fun tonight!”

[shellbilee]

Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 6

A Glen Powell RPF series

Thank you for all the love on this story! x

Glen

Glen is turning the heat on the stove down when he hears the doorbell ring, Brisket’s shrill bark ringing out throughout the house. He jogs down the hallway, scooping up Brisket on the way, aware that he’s already smiling even before he reaches the door. He lets out a breath and opens the door, feeling his whole body heat when he sees her standing there.

Billie.

She’s still dressed in her jeans and shirt from earlier, though her hair is now loose and flowing, framing her face in long soft waves. She looks beautiful.

Nugget is wagging his tail excitedly, happily panting from his spot at Billie’s legs, Brisket immediately scrambling in his arms to meet his new friend again.

“Hi again”

“Hey gorgeous” he says, loving the way Billie’s smile grows even bigger.

She steps inside and Brisket launches from his arms, Glen immediately reaching for Billie's waist and pressing his mouth to hers. He kisses her tenderly, his mouth firm but gentle against hers, her lips soft and plush and exactly as he remembers from only hours ago. His hands grab at her waist and her arms reach up to wrap around his neck, Glen only pulling away when he feels his lungs start to burn.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that again since the moment we left the restaurant” he whispers after a moment, smiling down at her breathlessly before bending and kissing her again.

It’s like he can’t get enough of her.

Billie bites her lip when they part - her perfect, plush lips, and Glen has to stop himself from groaning out loud, his grip on her waist momentarily tightening. 

“Me too” she replies with a shy smile, her cheeks now flushed a lovely pink, her fingers unclasping and sliding down his chest.

They smile at each other and eventually separate, Glen closing the door behind them as the dogs take off down the hallway.

“Your house is incredible” Billie breathes, looking around when they step into the expansive open plan living area, Glen watching as she scans the room around her, “This makes my place look like a studio apartment”.

She looks back up at him with a smile and Glen feels his chest tighten at the sight.

He chuckles, his hand brushing the small of her back.

“Drink?”

Billie raises one eyebrow and tilts her head as she looks at him, “Only if you’re having one?”

He smiles as he walks into the kitchen and sets about pouring them both a glass of pinot, Billie walking over and running her hand over the black marble benchtop.

“Smells amazing too. What’s for dinner?”

Glen winks conspiratorially. “It’s a surprise. My specialty”.

Billie grins adorably as she sets down her bag. “I’m excited”

He walks around the bench and hands her the glass of red, tapping his glass against her in a cheers. 

“Want a tour?”

Billie nods enthusiastically. 

“Of this mansion? With that view?” she says gesturing dramatically over to the glass doors that line the whole side of the house - the outdoor deck and luxury pool sit in view just outside, an expansive, stunning view of the Hollywood Hills just beyond it, “Absolutely I do”.

Glen laughs and takes her hand, leading her down the hallway to show her the rest of the house.

Ten minutes later, awe is etched all over Billie’s face. 

Glen is in awe too, except it’s got nothing to do with his house and absolutely everything to do with Billie.

How can anyone be so utterly adorable and so God damn sexy at the same time?

He can't think of anything he wants to do more than pull her to him and kiss her until his lips are sore, to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, to taste her on his tongue. 

The house tour is basically torture - it’s even worse than their workout this morning, something Glen would have previously believed was impossible until just now. He can’t stop his brain from picturing himself taking Billie on every available surface in his home.

The way she’d look bent over the back of his black leather couch, his hands running over every stunning curve of her naked body. 

Or the way she’d look lying spread open in the middle of his bed with her head thrown back, as he licked between her thighs like a man starved. 

Or the way she’d look pressed up against the stone wall of his luxury shower, water dripping down her luscious frame as he drove into her again and again and again.

Billie is all but oblivious to the sinful thoughts running through his brain, Glen struggling to listen and respond appropriately to her comments about each new room he takes her through.

Fuck.

Every part of him is already hoping she'll stay the night, but he knows he's being forward. After all, he's only known her for forty-eight hours.

But still.

The way her ass looks in those jeans? The way her ass would look out of those jeans and instead spread in his hands as he bent her over?

My God.

Glen manages to hold himself together and eventually they finish at his favourite spot in his house - the lounge on the outdoor deck that overlooks the pool and the rest of the expansive yard. 

Glen instructs Billie to take a seat while he goes to check on dinner, Brisket and Nugget full of seemingly boundless energy as they run chaotic laps of the grass chasing one another. 

When Glen returns outside minutes later, he can't help his smile at the sight he’s greeted with. Brisket is standing on Billie’s lap, his little tail wagging furiously as he looks down at Nugget in front of them, while Nugget stands on the floor barking at his tiny friend to come down and play. 

Before Glen can open his mouth to comment on the scene in front of him, Brisket launches himself from Billie’s lap and sprints down the deck, Nugget tearing off after him and giving chase onto the manicured lawns below.

“Dinner should be ready in about forty-five” Glen says when he walks over to Billie and sits down on the lounge beside her, stretching one arm out along the back of the couch. 

“Can I help in any way?”

Glen scoffs and Billie laughs and shakes her head, clearly knowing her answer without him even saying anything.

She shifts on the lounge to face Glen, tucking her now bare feet underneath herself, her phone slipping off her lap in the process.

It's then that Glen notices there’s a video playing on her phone, his brow furrowing as he picks it up and inspects the screen.

“I didn't know there was a game on today?” Glen comments, instantly recognising the video as a sports channel.

Billie laughs and shakes her head, reaching up to tuck one side of her long hair behind her ear.

“There isn’t. It’s Aussie rules, from back home” she explains, taking her phone from Glen and looking down at it almost wistfully, “Football. My team is playing”.

“Do you want to put it on the TV?” Glen asks, gesturing to the enormous TV mounted on the wall of the outdoor deck area.

Billie frowns and looks at him oddly, causing Glen to let out a laugh.

“I have every sports channel available Billie”.

Her face softens then, her teeth flashing in a gentle smile.

“Of course you do” she says with a chuckle, shaking her head in amusement, “But no, it’s ok, I don’t want to force you to watch a sport you know nothing about”.

Glen scoffs for the second time in two minutes. 

“Don’t be silly. I love sports” he says as he suddenly sits forward and reaches for his own phone, unlocking it and scrolling through to the TV app, “Besides, I wouldn’t say I know nothing about it. I got to stand on the Sydney stadium when I was in Australia. The SCG I think it was called?”.

Billie laughs as the TV starts up, Glen leaning over to double check the channel from the video on her phone, “I wouldn’t exactly call that knowledge of the game”.

Glen grins and shrugs, clearly unphased, putting his phone down on the coffee table in front of them when the game starts playing on the screen. He leans back on the couch and stretches his arm along the back, this time his hand finding Billie and pulling her back into him.

“You’ll just have to teach me the rules then”

She smiles gorgeously up at him - that same fucking smile that's blessed his nearly every thought for the last two days, and Glen feels himself melt.

“Thank you” Billie breathes, shifting beneath his arm, reaching up to cup his cheek and pulling his face down to hers in a gentle kiss.

He smiles when Billie cuddles into him, the sweet scent of her peachy perfume filling his nose, his arm draped across her front giving her a soft squeeze.

Billie's fingers wrap around his and Glen looks down at their intertwined hands, feeling a wave of contentment wash over him at the sight.

He lets out a silent sigh and relaxes back into the couch, holding Billie's body against his as they watch the screen together.

---

“He’s holding him!” Billie nearly screams at the TV, throwing her arms up into the air in exasperation, “How do you not call that umpire!?”

The play continues without intervention from the referee and Billie drops her arms dramatically, muttering curses under her breath and running her fingers through her hair.

Glen can't help the way he's grinning at Billie, loving how fired up and passionate she is about her team. She's exactly like he is with his Texas Longhorns. 

“Holding him?”

Billie turns back to look at Glen, her previously angered expression instantly softening. 

“You can't hold another player and block their attempt at getting the ball” she explains, making quotation mark signs with her fingers when she says hold, “So like if the ball was coming to you, I could try and bump and contest with you, but I couldn't say, hold your arm down and stop you from trying to mark the ball”.

Glen shakes his head and laughs.

“This sport has so many insane rules” he says, taking a drink of his wine, “And I still can't believe the players don't wear any protective gear”.

Billie laughs, sitting forward on the lounge and reaching for her own glass of wine on the coffee table.

“The tackles aren't nearly as rough as they are in NFL though”

“Are you kidding? That guy almost took that other guy's head off before”.

Billie chuckles and taps her fingers against her wine glass before taking a sip. “Yeah but that wasn't allowed either. I'd almost guarantee that he'll be written up for that and get at least a one week suspension from playing”.

“They should at least wear helmets to protect their heads”

“They can wear helmets, but they're not a full on one like the NFL players would wear. They're not hard, they're made of a moulded foam material so I'd call them more of a head guard than a helmet”.

“Crazy”

Billie laughs again. “They wear mouth guards though. Gotta protect the teeth you know”.

Glen shakes his head. “I swear you Australian’s are just on another level”.

Billie chuckles and slides back on the couch again, sitting back beside Glen. He wraps his arm around her as she does so, pulling her back into him and giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

“I wouldn't say another level” Billie replies with a soft chuckle that makes Glen's insides warm, “Perhaps just tough?”.

She grins and winks one gorgeous eye at him, Glen grinning back in response.

“My worst injury when I used to play, back when I was in my early twenties” Billie says suddenly, sitting up and turning to Glen, pulling aside the collar of her shirt and exposing her golden collarbone, “I got tackled by this girl and she just crunched me underneath her. Dislocated my shoulder and snapped my collarbone in half”.

She points at a long white spidery scar on her collarbone and Glen does his best to pay attention, trying his hardest not to notice that she's just given him a now near uninterrupted view of her cleavage. His brain almost short circuits as he eyes the swell of her left breast, the hand that was previously holding Billie now gripping at the soft material of the outdoor lounge.

“Part of it came through my skin. Honestly it was the most sickening sound, I still get shivers thinking about it” Billie explains, looking down at her shoulder and back at Glen.

“The sound? Not the pain?”.

Billie shrugs. “I remember it hurting, but the sound is what really haunts me”.

Glen just shakes his head.

“See? Another level”.

Billie drops her head back and laughs, her eyes crinkling and her cheeks bouncing in a way that Glen finds adorable. He smiles at her, his eyes dropping back to her scar.

He reaches out and runs his fingers over it, feeling the thickened, bumpy ridges that are still somehow soft beneath his touch. He swears he sees Billie shiver then, and all at once he has to fight the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss along her scar, to run his tongue across her collarbone.

Before he can actually do it though, the beeping of the kitchen timer stirs him from his thoughts. His hand drops from Billie and she readjusts her shirt, Glen instead putting down his wine glass and hauling himself to his feet.

“Are you sure there's nothing I can do?”

Glen nods.

“I'm sure darlin’. You stay out here with the boys” he says looking down at Billie, gesturing to the lawn where Brisket and Nugget are still chaotically chasing one another.

“You can let me kiss you though” he adds with a mischievous smile, loving the way she grins back up at him.

“That I can definitely do”

His own grin grows and he bends to kiss her, cupping her cheek and pressing a gentle kiss to her waiting lips. He winks at her when he pulls away, making his way into the kitchen and leaving Billie outside with the dogs.

—

Billie

“You don’t need to help me with dishes Billie”.

Billie ignores his words and pushes past him in the expansive kitchen, earning a deep chuckle from Glen.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Billie laughs this time, unable to help her grin.

“Nope, I’m just a good dinner guest” she fires back as she bends to put her plate in the dishwasher, looking up in time to see Glen’s face split into a wide grin.

They’d just finished dinner - an amazing dinner of Glen’s apparently famous Texan pulled pork tacos, sitting down outside on the outdoor lounges as the sun had set over the valley in front of them. Billie had been in love from her first bite, almost moaning out loud when the spicy smoky flavours hit her tongue, both Nugget and Brisket sitting close by on guard for any dropped pieces of food. 

She stands up and holds out her hand, Glen reluctantly passing her his empty plate for her to stack next, along with their dinner cutlery. He steps around her and moves to the sink, setting about cleaning the dirty stove pot. For a moment Billie can’t help but smile at the domestic-ness of the moment, of something as small and simple as doing the dishes together.

“On another note though, that was amazing” she says when she stands back up again, moving to lean against the marble bench, her front facing Glen beside her,  “You really are a man of many talents. Acting, running, cooking. Is there anything you can’t do?”.

Glen chuckles, his hands soapy with dishwater bubbles, the overhead lights of the kitchen highlighting the planes of his face covered in the smallest amount of stubble. For a second, Billie finds herself wondering how his face would feel beneath her fingertips. Beneath her fingertips, and against her skin.

God.

“I can’t touch my toes”

Billie can’t stop the bubble of laughter that escapes her throat then, covering her mouth with her hand to suppress the sound.

“Really?”

Glen nods his head earnestly. “Really”.

“I stand corrected then. Acting, running, cooking, but most definitely not a gymnast”.

They both laugh and Billie grins happily, looking up when Nugget and Brisket come bounding into the kitchen. She bends to pat Nugget, smiling at his goofy, golden smile, standing up again and turning to Glen as he rinses the pot and rests it on the drying rack beside the sink. She rests her hip against the marble bench top, folding her arms across her chest as she looks at him.

“Seriously though, dinner was incredible Glen. Thank you so much for inviting me tonight” Billie says, watching as dries his hands on the dish towel.

The smile he gives Billie then makes her want to melt into a puddle on the floor, right there on the luxurious kitchen tiles.

“You’re welcome Billie”.

Her name in his voice makes her stomach flip flop, just like his stupidly handsome smile. Never mind her heart rate that suddenly goes through the roof when Glen steps towards her, her breath catching in her throat when his hands find her waist.

Billie can’t help it when her eyes flicker to his lips, his stubble covered jawline, his soft, sandy hair that’s messily slicked back. She feels his eyes search her face, soft and pale green, the colour making her want to stare at them forever.

All at once her mind is empty except for how much she wants to lose herself in Glen, and then as if he can hear exactly what she's thinking, his hand is snaking up her back and coming to rest on the side of her jaw. His eyes move to her mouth and she feels herself exhale, and all of a sudden Glen's lips are on hers, tender and wanting, and delicately coaxing hers apart. 

Billie lets him take the lead, lets him deepen their kiss, feeling like putty in his hands as he all but steals the breath from her throat. His lips move against hers, a delicate dance of push and pull, his fingers moving to her hair and holding her head in place. She feels his free hand slide down her back and then finds leverage on her ass, her feet suddenly leaving the ground as she's lifted onto the bench.

The marble is cold against her thighs, even through the denim on her jeans, but she barely registers the feeling as Glen's tongue suddenly finds hers. She can't help the soft moan that falls from her then, the sound having a clear effect on Glen - his fingers tightening their hold and his hips pushing her legs apart so that his front is pressed against hers.

Billie feels herself slipping. She's losing herself, feeling almost entirely consumed by Glen and his mouth. His kiss feels like heaven, a delicious, intoxicating feeling that she just wants to drown in, his scent, his taste, his feel, completely overwhelming her. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her fingers gripping desperately at the nape of his neck as he kisses her over and over.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. And all they’d done is kiss.

Just when she thinks she can’t possibly slip any deeper, any further into the blurred fog of hedonistic want, Brisket’s shrill barking pierces her ears and she feels Glen’s lips suddenly slow. She’s instantly aware that her chest is heaving, lungs burning from being temporarily oxygen starved, Glen’s own breath heavy as he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. 

Her lips tug into a smile at his tender action, her hands slipping down to cup his face. He smiles back at her with that soft, handsome grin that she’s quickly learning is classically Glen, bending and kissing her once more before pulling away and turning to look at Brisket at his feet.

He’s wagging his tail furiously, looking up at his owner standing beside him, letting out another high-pitched bark that’s almost insistent and tapping his two front paws.

Billie grins and raises one eyebrow, tilting her head as she looks at Glen, now standing with his hands on his hips and looking down at Brisket.

“I assume that means it’s dinner time?”.

Glen clicks his tongue, shaking his head in an almost annoyed amusement. 

“You’d assume right. God forbid it gets past seven-thirty and he hasn’t eaten yet”.

Billie laughs and jumps down off the bench, bending to pat Nugget - who’d since taken a seat beside Brisket, and was watching his new friend with curious interest.

“I suppose that means you’re hungry too then hey?” Billie asks, smiling when Nugget’s head snaps to face her at the word ‘hungry’. 

Billie grins down at her golden fur-child and chuckles. “C’mon bud”.

She walks over to her bag and pulls out the kibble mix she’d packed earlier, Nugget following happily behind her, drool already starting to form on his jowls.

“Another wine?” Glen asks when Billie’s walking back inside, having taken both the boys outside to feed them on the backyard deck.

She notes that there’s a soft country music song playing in the background now, a candle burning on the wooden coffee table in the centre of the room. The lights are dimmed, shadows thrown across the space and broken by a soft glow from the lamp in the corner.

Billie smiles, reaching up to run her fingers through her long hair. 

“I shouldn’t. I have to work tomorrow”.

Glen laughs. “That doesn’t sound like a no darlin’”.

She exhales heavily, grinning as she flops down onto Glen’s luxurious black leather living room couch.

“Okay but this has to be my last one or I won’t be able to drive home”.

Glen chuckles, low and deep, the sound making Billie’s muscles squeeze. She can’t help but think for the thousandth time how handsome he is, watching his muscles ripple beneath his tight shirt as he walks over to the couch, two red wines in his hand.

“Maybe that’s my plan”.

Billie shoves him playfully as he sits down beside her, causing Glen to chuckle again.

“You know you can stay if you want to” he adds, passing her a glass.

Billie shoots him a look and Glen lifts his hands innocently. “No no, not for that reason, I’m just saying, you’re welcome to stay”.

Billie smiles inwardly, taking a sip of red and feeling her chest flush. She wonders idly if it’s to do with the wine, or the fact that her brain suddenly can’t help but imagine what would undoubtedly happen if she stayed the night. Either way, she struggles to keep her thoughts in line for a moment.

She tips her head back against the couch and sighs softly, turning to look at Glen beside her. 

“As much as I’d love to, I know I have a crazy day tomorrow since I took Friday off for Rufus” she explains, swearing she can actually feel the fibres in her body protesting the moment she says that.

“Do you have a busy rest of week?” Glen asks, shifting closer to her on the couch and making Billie smile when he picks up her legs and drapes them over his lap.

She nods, explaining that she has a couple of athletes doing qualifiers this week, so it won’t necessarily be busy, but it will certainly be a full on week. She tells him about Hayley, one of her favourite clients, a seventeen year old junior getting back to her first gymnastics meet following a dislocated shoulder.

“Do you always go to their events?”

“It would be impossible for me to do it for all of them, but for the ones that I can, I try my best” Billie says, taking another sip of her wine, “ But I've been working with Hayley for the better part of a year, so I definitely don't want to miss hers”.

“When is it?”

“Thursday lunch-time” Billie explains, already looking forward to her late morning start.

She looks over at the dogs, the two apparently having run out of their seemingly endless energy, now snoozing peacefully on the grey living room rug.

“Do you have set hours at work or is it all over the place?” Glen asks, his free hand falling to Billie’s left knee.

She can’t answer him for a moment, too caught up in the way her skin is suddenly burning from his touch, even through the material of her jeans. She looks down at his hand and swallows, her brain conjuring the image of his hands on her skin without clothes and temporarily blanking her thoughts.

Fuck.

She clears her throat, gripping her wine glass tighter.

“Ah for the most part it's the same, but occasionally it's thrown around when there's games and events for me to go to” Billie answers, looking back at Glen and loving the way he’s watching her face so intently, “Generally Tuesdays and Fridays I start early and finish early, whereas Mondays and Wednesdays I start later and finish later. Thursday is usually my paperwork and mentoring day so they’re always a bit more low key”.

“What about you?” she asks after a beat, taking another sip of red, “I imagine you have absolutely no routine to your schedule and every week is different? I have no idea how you deal with that” she adds, shaking her head with a smile.

Glen laughs and says that he’s used to it after all this time, and that he has a relatively quiet week coming up - a couple of meetings with his agent and publicist, and a photo shoot later in the week. He adds that most of his projects have finished filming and that his next press tour isn’t for a few weeks yet.

It’s then that it dawns on Billie that this is the first time they’ve actually spoken about his work, and she can’t help but notice the gaping difference between their two lives.

“What project is the press tour for?”

“Twisters”

Billie tilts her head. “As in like Twister, the tornado movie from the nineties with Helen Hunt?”.

Glen nods, “That’s the one”.

“I used to love that movie. I didn't know they were re-making it” Billie says, eyebrows raised in surprise, looking down when Glen moves his hand to her foot.

“How’d you get this scar?” Glen asks suddenly, changing the subject, running his finger tip along her left ankle, “Another football injury?”.

Billie shakes her head and smirks. 

“Nope. Worse”

Glen looks back at her expectantly. “I'm not sure you can get worse than your collar bone coming through your skin darlin’”.

Billie chuckles, tilting her head as she looks back at him.

“Stung by a jellyfish when I was eight”.

Billie can't help the laugh that escapes her when Glen's eyebrows shoot up in shock.

“A jellyfish?”

“Specifically, a box jellyfish”

“Wait, can't you die from those?”

Billie laughs again. “You absolutely can”

Glen just stares for a moment, and Billie swears she can see his brain searching for an appropriate answer to say back to her.

Instead he just shakes his head and takes another sip of his wine, looking back at her with an expression that she can't help but grin at.

“Like I said earlier, you Australian’s are literally on another level”.

Billie just laughs and shrugs her shoulders, Glen looking back at her scar and running his fingers along the deep purple lines on her skin.

They settle into a comfortable silence then, the soft background music the only sounds in the room, and Billie realises how content she is. More content than she expects to be with a guy she's only known for forty-eight hours. A guy who happens to be absolutely gorgeous, and also just happens to be an A-list celebrity.

If someone had told her last week that she’d be on a couch with Glen Powell, drinking wine with her feet in his lap, she’d have flat out laughed in their face. Billie smiles to herself, letting out a silent breath, looking down at her almost empty wine glass.

“I suppose I should probably go. I need to get my ass into gear for tomorrow”

Glen bends forward to put his now-empty wine glass on the coffee table in front of them, turning to look at her with a gentle smile.

“Again, you know you are more than welcome to stay”

Billie chuckles. 

“As tempting as your offer is Mr Powell, respectfully, I must decline your sleepover proposal” she says, finishing her own wine and nodding her thanks when Glen takes her empty glass and puts it with his, “This time anyway”.

Glen looks at her with one eyebrow raised, the sudden mischievous glint in his sage green eyes nearly making her moan out loud.

“This time?”

Billie shrugs her shoulders innocently.

“This time” she answers quickly, offering her own mischievous grin and loving the way he looks back at her.

Billie swings her feet out of Glen’s lap and stands up from the couch, fully aware of the way he’s suddenly staring at her ass as she stands in front of him. She walks over to grab her bag, the movement stirring the dogs, Nugget suddenly standing and stretching out his front legs.

“So when can I see you again?” Glen asks when she’s finished putting on her shoes, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush to him. 

For a split second Billie wonders if her breath will ever stop catching in her throat every time she feels his hands on her body.

She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, bending to press a quick kiss to his waiting lips.

“How about Wednesday? We can grab a drink? Or, you and Brisket can come to mine for dinner?” she suggests, her gaze flickering back to his lips when he wets them quickly with his tongue, “I finish a little later on Wednesday but… I don’t have to go in until midday the next day”.

She knows the insinuation hits Glen immediately, feeling his grip on her waist momentarily tighten. Her own muscles squeeze deliciously and suddenly she has no idea how she’s possibly going to wait until Wednesday.

“Wednesday’s perfect”

Glen grins down at Billie and for a second she forgets how to breathe, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as he bends down to kiss her. His mouth is insistent, his tongue quickly finding hers, their kiss tender and heated as if they both know what’s inevitable at their next meeting. 

Eventually they part, and Billie silently sucks air into now her starved lungs, feeling her chest heave as she gazes up at Glen. His lips are parted and his eyes are almost glossy as he looks down at her, and in that moment Billie's almost certain that his thoughts mirror her own.

She bites her lip, her fingers gripping tighter in his hair, the corner of her now swollen lips tugging into a salacious grin.

Wednesday cannot come quick enough. 

---

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TAGLIST:

@angclvings @auntiegigi @friedchips94 @memories-in-bw @maeleelee @jessicab1991 @bellaireland1981 @queenslandlover-93 @itsjustkhaos @kneelforloki @djs8891 @lovemesomevesey @entertainmentgirl80 @buckysteveloki-me @stankface

[lucygxybaird]

billy & his mermaid lover have an important conversation.

Living here in San Diego is the first time in his life Billy has seen the ocean, and even after living here all these months, he still finds himself marveling at it. 

It seems almost like a living thing. It rages, it sighs, it lingers like a lover reluctant to leave. It is different from one day to the next, from one moment to the next, colors shifting from deep blue to slate gray, sparkling in the sun like a veil sewn with countless diamonds. He especially loves the way the moon will lay a path of ivory over the waves, reminding him of the snow in New Mexico, when it was freshly fallen and unblemished. 

Of course, the most miraculous, beautiful thing about the ocean is you. 

He’s waiting for you with his trousers rolled up to his knees, his feet in the water. Months ago, he found this little cove, sheltered by cliffs and conifers. He’d just been walking aimlessly, restless now that he didn’t need to run anymore. 

It might sound strange to some, to anyone who had never lived walking the knife’s edge of danger like a tightrope, but it’s difficult to get used to living any other way. The absence of adrenaline, of purpose — even if it’s just the jagged uncertainty of wondering where his next meal was coming from, or when he would have a roof over his head again — feels oddly like grief. There’s an emptiness, a vague sense of being lost, of drifting aimlessly like a leaf caught by the eddy of a breeze. And so he had just let the breeze carry him, pushing him across the country until he hit water.

Even once he was here, with nowhere else to go except across the Pacific Ocean, he didn’t stop moving. He changed lodging just about every month, if not simply for a different view. And he took walks nearly every night, when the cool ocean breeze reminded him of his mother’s gentle touch, teasing at his hair and fussing with his collar. Once, he’d never taken the same path twice, but that was before he met you. 

It’s different now, though. He thinks he could walk the way to meet you blindfolded, having memorized the particular whisper of sand beneath his boots, the barely audible murmur of the grass brushing against his legs, the call of the ocean getting louder with every step he takes. Each moment is so important to him, preserved in his mind like a photograph; he’s learned to appreciate beauty wherever he can find it, for as long as he has it, because it’s impossible to know when it will be taken away. 

In his experience, it’s always taken away. Illness, murder, demons of the mind or in the shape of men — one way or another, anything sweet and lovely in his life is stolen from him. 

As he spots a ripple in the water, getting closer and closer to shore, he hopes that this time is going to be different. 

Your head breaks the surface, your smile shining more brightly than the moon. Your hair is swept back, plastered to your neck and shoulders, but as you make your way closer to him, he watches as it flutters as if in a breeze, falling around your face in soft chestnut curls. 

It’s little things like that which remind him, even more so than the glimmering tail below your waist, that you’re a creature entirely apart from him. He’s seen you take a handful of sand, press it between your palms, and pull them apart to show him a pearl — seen you purse your lips and blow sea-foam into fantastic shapes, which firm up until they’re as solid as bone — seen you swim miles in a moment, jumping up from the water and arcing so high into the air that it seems you could catch the stars in your hands. 

You’re magical, that’s for sure, but the most magical thing about you is that somehow you’ve seen something in him worth coming back for, over and over. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, reaching out for you as soon as you’re close enough, pulling you into his lap. His feet remain in the water and so do your fins, and you lean back against his chest, turning in his arms to smile at him again. 

You wiggle your fingers. Hi. 

Of all the things you can do, the one thing you can’t is talk to him. He doesn’t know why, and you can’t explain it to him, but he supposes it’s something about your vocal cords. Maybe they only work beneath the waves, because something about the air ruins them. Or maybe you don’t even have vocal cords, the way he does. You’ve shown him so many times how special you are, it just stands to reason that the way you speak — or whether you can speak above the waves at all — would be different, too. 

The fact that it makes sense doesn’t mean it stings any less, though. 

“How was your day?” he asks, and you scrunch up your nose, holding out your hand and see-sawing it from side to side.

It was okay. 

You reach up and pat his cheek, gifting him with another smile, which he takes to mean: Better now. 

Billy smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and hooking his chin ever your shoulder, breathing you in. You smell absolutely intoxicating — the sweetest, freshest breeze off the ocean, mixed with notes he can’t quite identify but bring to mind lavender and citrus, hydrangea and rosemary. 

You look at him, raising an eyebrow inquisitively. You?

“Better now,” he agrees. He presses a kiss against your cheek. “I’m always happy to see you, honey, you know that.”

You smile, nuzzling your nose against his. Billy leans down and presses his lips to yours, melting as you respond. You manage to turn completely in his arms, until you’re kneeling — for lack of a better word — between his legs, and you wind your arms around his neck, kissing him again. 

And then again, again, again, until Billy is pleasantly dizzy.

When you finally break apart, you rest your forehead against his, your arms tightening around his neck. Billy keeps his hands on your hips, closing his eyes for a moment. 

No one in the world is more important to him than you are, and all he wants is to tell you he loves you. The words nearly escape him every time he sees you, like a firefly managing to find a chink between a child’s fingers to flutter up into the night sky. And he thinks — he hopes, more like — that you feel the same way, just by the way you look at him. 

He’s been thinking about saying it for so long, but he just keeps losing his nerve. What if he’s wrong? What if someone like you — so extraordinary, so rare, so beautiful — could never actually love someone like him?

Not for the first time, he wishes he could hear your voice. It might be pathetic of him — childish, at best — but he just needs your reassurances, spoken out-loud like an oath, rather than gestures that are up to his interpretation. He doesn’t think he’s been wrong about figuring out what your little looks and gestures mean, exactly, but he’s always been (no pun intended) a straight shooter. Sometimes, he just wants to know for sure.

He feels your cool fingertips against his cheek, and he looks at you, managing a smile. “Sorry, honey, I was just lost in thought. What do ya need?” 

You tap his temple, before touching his lower lip. Tell me what you’re thinking. 

He smiles again, shaking his head. “I was just…”

Your brow furrows impatiently, which makes him chuckle despite the rainclouds staining his thoughts in shadow. “I just wish…I wish you could talk to me.”

Before you can react, he rushes on, “I don’t wanna change anything about you. I love you just the way you are, but—”

A moment later, his voice sticks in his throat as he realizes that what he actually said. You’re staring at him, and he feels his heart climb into his throat, heat rushing over his cheeks so powerfully that he’s surprised he doesn’t just burst into flames like a tree struck by lightning. “I…I…”

You frame his face between your hands and you give him a resounding, smacking kiss on the lips. His heart starts a descent back into its normal spot, and when he sees the way you’re smiling at him, it gives a pleasant flutter. 

Emboldened, he goes on: “I love you just the way you are, but sometimes I wanna…I wanna know what you sound like. I bet you have the prettiest voice in the world.” He reaches up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Sometimes I dream about you sayin’ my name, and then I think about how sweet it would be all day.”

You lean in, nuzzling against him. Billy closes his eyes, breathing in your intoxicating scent again. “My sweet girl,” he murmurs, and you snuggle closer.

After a moment or two like this, you pull back and look at him, nibbling at your lower lip. “What?” he asks, his forehead wrinkling with worry. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate, and then point toward the water, before holding your hand at the level of your chin and raising it slowly until it’s above your head. Then you point to the ocean again, repeating the gesture. It takes a second to click, and then Billy blanches. 

“I…honey, I don’t…I don’t know if I can.”

Ever since that terrible day when the wagon collapsed as his family crossed the river — Billy swallows, his skin going clammy just thinking about it, as if he’s submerged in that greedy current all over again. Watching his mother lean over his father, desperate, white-faced, pleading with him to wake up, saying his name over and over like it could weave a spell to save him. Ever since then, Billy has hated being in water, especially being in over his head. He loves you, so much, but — 

You take his face in your hands again. Your eyes are wide and earnest, your touch gentle, and you take one hand to put it over your heart. He knows what you’re trying to say: I’ll keep you safe. I promise.

“I can’t,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, baby, I just — I just can’t.” 

You smile at him, but it’s not the same smile as before. It’s tinged with sadness, with — his throat tightens — disappointment, but you just kiss his forehead and nod. I understand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his voice rough, but you just shake your head and offer him another smile.

Don’t be.

Billy feels his eyes sting. He knows you were trying to say that you can speak to him underwater, which means he could hear you say you love him back. He can hear you, period. But the thought of the water closing over his head, his eyes seeing nothing but swirling blue-gray depths, his lungs begging for air…he doesn’t think he could stand it. The mere idea has his chest tightening as if someone is standing with a boot-heel pressed over his heart. 

The two of you stay on the beach for a few more hours. You dive in and out of the water, bringing him seashells, ropes of seaweed that you weave together and place on his head like a crown; you cup your hands full of seawater and pull your palms apart, countless water droplets sparkling in the space between like stars. You summon a dolphin and race with it (you win). 

Billy manages a genuine smile or two, but in the back of his head, a voice that sounds awfully like his stepfather’s keeps saying: Coward, coward, coward.

Eventually, you’ve tuckered yourself out, and you crawl back into his lap, curling up comfortably and dozing against his shoulder. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, leaning his cheek against the top of your head. He closes his eyes for a minute, steeling himself. “Honey, I…I don’t — I don’t think we should see each other anym—!”

Before he can finish his sentence, you’ve jackknifed upright in his arms, putting your hand over his mouth. You shake your head fervently, brows furrowed in a firm line. You flatten your mouth and shake your head again. No! Stop that! 

Billy gently peels your hand away from his mouth. “Baby, I — I’m crazy about you, but I’m not…”

You put your hand back over his mouth. Your frown deepens. Your eyes narrow dangerously. Stop. 

He lifts his chin, freeing himself from your palm against his lips. “Listen to me, please,” he says. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me — ever, ever — but how can you say I’m deserving of you when I’m too chicken-shit to be a part of your world? Eventually you’re gonna get sick of always makin’ the sacrifices, always comin’ to me, when I can’t even spend a second in the ocean.” 

You lean back and splash at his foot, which is extended out into the surf. He chuckles despite himself. “You know what I mean.”

You shrug, casting your eyes down and back up. And so? 

“And so, you deserve better.” 

You slap your tail against the wet sand, hard. He isn’t sure precisely what that might mean, but it’s clear you disagree. You fold your arms over your chest and glare at him. 

“You deserve better,” he repeats softly. “You should just leave me behind.”

He earns another tail-slap for this. This time, he supposes you mean, I’m not going anywhere. 

Billy sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I…I want to,” he says, and you nod, knowing what he means. He wants to go underwater, so he can finally hear your voice. He’s just so damn afraid. “I…how long would I have to be…?”

You hold your thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart, indicating it won’t be for very long. And then you wrap your arms tightly around him, looking at him earnestly. I won’t let you go. 

He knows you mean that in more ways than one. Billy presses his lips against yours, and your kiss gives him a small drop of courage. He knows you well enough to understand that you’re not just going to give up on him, that you don’t believe him when he says he’s not good enough for you. He can’t help but smile to himself. You’re so sweet and gentle that he never really noticed how stubborn you are before.

With this possibility out in the open between the two of you, he can’t just ignore it, and you can’t take the knowledge away. It will eat at him, being too afraid to do this for you, with you, and your tenacity can only hold out for so long. Eventually, he’ll push you away, even if that’s the last thing he wants to do — just because he’ll be so damn ashamed of himself.

He’s far too familiar with shame not to realize that’s the truth. 

Living this more settled life hasn’t always been perfect, hasn’t always felt like it fits, but he’s finally started to feel tall again. To push away the shame he’s felt about all the things he’s done, all the things he had to do, in order to do the right thing — or just in order to survive. You’ve been a big part of that, listening to him talk for hours; and no matter what he’s told you, you keep coming back. It helps him to understand that maybe he’s not such a lost soul after all. 

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay.”

You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He disentangles you gently and nods toward the water, and you dive back in, waiting for him a few feet offshore. He strips his shirt off and rolls his pants up to the knees, wading in. His heart starts to pound as the water reaches his waist, and by the time it’s up to his shoulders, he already feels like he can’t breathe.

But then you put your arms around him again, stroking his hair away from his face. You widen your eyes slightly, questioning. Ready?

He nods. “Yeah,” he croaks. 

With your arms still tight around him, you dive down. Billy has just enough time to suck in a deep breath, holding it, before he’s underwater. 

He looks at you, and he feels his heart trip.

Somehow, you’re even more beautiful down here. The shifting light dances over your skin, illuminating it as though from the inside out; you shine like a pearl, like a star, like a whole fucking constellation. Your tail catches the light, too, looking like a thousand tiny brilliant jewels. Your hair shifts and flows around you, but it doesn’t obscure your eyes, the way you’re looking at him. You lean in, pressing your lips against the shell of his ear. “I love you, Billy,” you say. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Your voice is far lovelier than he imagined it would be, which is saying something, because he has spent hours and hours wondering. It’s warm and shimmering, full of music, ringing like a bell, yet somehow soft, gentle, intimate. He doesn’t think he could do justice describing it even if he spent the rest of his life trying. 

A moment later, you start to swim up again, and he manages to find his feet and wade back to the beach, despite the fact his legs feel weak. You follow him, smiling as you nestle yourself in his lap again. He puts his arms around you, holding you tight. 

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your hair. “Thank you.”

You look up at him, drawing your fingertips along his cheek. Gently, you ruffle his wet hair, getting it to stand up on end, making the both of you smile. You lean your forehead against his, looking earnestly into his eyes. Are you okay?

He nods, offering you another smile. “More than okay,” he says. “I think I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

[spaceofentropy]

Thank you, @ihni , for the baton! Without further ado, here's my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race!

It's a little fic (that I'll post on ao3 later, when I'm awake and cosplaying as a functioning human) and that is very cleverly (not really) titled...

A Pirate's Life For Me

Billy's always known he wasn't lucky in life and this, right here, is the culmination of it all.

Not even two months at sea, working his ass off for a meager pay in the hopes of earning enough to exstinguish the debts his father and Chrissy's father put on their shoulders before dying, and his ship gets captured by pirates.

Worse: captured by the Dread Pirate Roberts, who has a reputation as a great swordman and a ruthless bastard who doesn't leave survivors.

Billy did his best in the fight, but he's just a farm boy turned deck swabber, his swordmanship goes very little further than "the handle goes into your hand, the pointy part goes inside the enemy". So now he's kneeling, hands raised, on the deck of the Panthaira, along with the rest of the surviving crew and passengers.

Well, with all the survivors except Captain Loman, who's huddled against the main mast. The Dread Pirate Roberts is crouched in front of the captain and talking to him in a low voice while the captain clearly draws his last breaths, shirt painted a vivid red with the blood gushing from the puncture wounds in his chest. Loman was a petty tyrant, so Billy is not exactly bawling his eyes out at the prospect of the captain being gone soon. It's just the principle of the thing that counts. The Panthaira has been captured, and, to put it mildly, Billy is fucked.

There are too many pirates keeping them under threat of more stabbing, and also no damn place to go even if he were able to escape the ship. They're in the middle of the ocean, nothing but water in every direction for hundred if not thousands of miles.

So Billy stays where he is.

And looks either at the back of the Dread Pirate Roberts or at the slow rising and falling of Loman's chest.

He waits and hates how his arms are getting heavier and heavier by the second. Soon, he'll be dead and, back home, Chrissy will have to mourn her best friend too, not just her parents.

Captain Loman's chest at last goes still and Roberts extends a careful, gloved hand to close the man's unseeing eyes, before turning towards his prisoners in one swift, elegant movement.

Robert's dressed all in black and wearing a mask, just like the stories say. He has long brown hair tied in a low pony tail, and dark eyes that sweep the crew and passengers of the Panthaira like he can weigh the wort of each of them with just one look.

Billy lets his hands fall down, tired of this charade. If he's gonna die anyway, what good comes from obeying? Might as well die with some feeling left in his arms.

Someone shouts at Billy to raise his hands again and he just ignores him. Roberts is walking their way, his steps slow and his attention pointedly fixed on cleaning blood off the blade of his sword.

Somewhere behind Billy, a woman starts weeping. One of the crew members pleads for his life. Another offers all the money he's got to be spared.

Bunch of cowards.

Roberts stops in front of Billy, ignores everyone else.

"You're not pleading," he says in such a voice and cold tone that the people around them fall silent, too scared of what's happening.

"I don't plead."

"Aren't you scared, boy?"

"To death."

Roberts grins. It makes the moles on his cheek dance.

"Should I bestow on you the sweet mercy of death, then, or not?"

Billy licks his lips and grins back.

"You should let me live, sir."

"And why should I make an exception?"

That's the true problem. Both Billy and Roberts know it, judging by the predatory look in his eyes.

Why, indeed.

"True love?" Billy tries.

Roberts laughs.

"She must be an exceptional lay, to make you believe someone will let you live only so that you'll be able to bed her again!"

"Wouldn't know, I've never wanted to fuck my best friend. Is there truest, purest love than the one that's never been tainted by lust or carnal needs?"

The Dread Pirate Roberts laughs even more and then shakes his head.

"Unbelievable," he says in a stage whisper. "What's your name, boy?"

"Billy."

"Well, Billy, I find myself in sudden need of a personal attendant." Roberts pauses for a beat, cocks his head to the side. Predatory is now an understatement for the look in those dark eyes. "Do a good job and one day you'll be able to return home to your best friend. Do a bad job, and your friend will never see you again. Are you interested in the position?"

Billy grits his teeth and never lets his gaze waver from Roberts.

The decision is so simple he doesn't even need to think about it. He nods and Roberts smiles.

Billy doesn't know what's in his future, but he'll do all he can to survive whatever Roberts throws his way and then return home. His best friend is waiting for him.

And with this, my installment of the race is done and it's time to head over to @liverditty in an hour for his contribution! I can't wait to see what he created for this beautiful event! In the mean time, thank you for reading, fair tumblr users, and thanks for organizing this, @harringrove-relay-race ! ❤️

[rigginsstreet]

Random idea that hit me out of nowhere but listen:

Billy still on the outs with the group, still doesn’t know about the upside down etc etc

Meanwhile Steve’s kind of opened his house up for the group to use because it’s bigger than the Byers’ and his parents are seldom home anyway so it’s just more convenient to host a big group of people there

But with that comes his house being a storage space for any news or information they come across, and Steve’s not exactly … subtle. So it doesn’t take long for secret government agents to catch onto the fact that some shit is going down at that house and Steve’s harboring more information than the government is comfortable with him and his friends possessing and it’s a problem that needs to be dealt with

So one night a mysterious fire breaks out while Steve’s asleep. And by the time he catches on to the fact his home is going up in smoke he also realizes he’s kinda trapped and is panicking and has no idea how to get out

Luckily for him billy happened to be driving by the area, sees all the smoke, follows it. Realizes whose house it is from the times he’s dropped max off. And listen, despite popular belief, billys not an evil guy alright. He sees a house in flames and Steve’s car still in the yard with no sign of Steve he’s gonna start to worry. Especially when he hears the cries for help

And maybe it’s stupid to run into a burning building but billys never exactly made smart choices when it comes to self preservation and he’s running on pure adrenaline at this point

Billy Hargrove is pretty much the absolute last person Steve expects to see come crashing through a door to save him, thinks maybe he’s inhaled too much smoke or something and is hallucinating, but billys yelling at him to follow him and grabbing at him and well what other choice does Steve have at this point really

They make it out into Steve’s yard just as the firetrucks come blaring through. Billy and Steve are on the grass watching the house burn down right in front of their eyes, both in shock that they were ever in that

Billys like “should I even ask how this happened”

To which Steve replies “dude, I don’t even know”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

And then Steve’s gotta awkwardly thank Billy for “saving his life or whatever”

And they don’t become friends or anything after but…they are weirdly bonded. Can’t shake that night every time they cross paths around town. It lingers over them.

And eventually Steve fills billy in on what happened when clues start coming together (maybe agents start tracking Billy except he’s hyper aware of his surroundings so he actually notices when random people are tailing him and he casually brings it up to Steve one day in passing outside the arcade waiting for the kids and that triggers alarm bells in Steve’s head so now he’s gotta tell billy about shit)

And together they do some investigating with the help of Jonathan Nancy and Robin

And then cut to billy getting to beat up some agents and he and Steve catching feelings etc etc you know how it goes

[lilliesofinspirationvalley]

Cunning Hares Headcanons

First of many posts sharing my personal interpretations on ZZZ characters and their dynamics!

Nicole Demara - 27-28, Mexican/Indian, trans woman, sapphic

Anby Demara - 19, Filipino, demigirl (enby Anby rights), aroace spectrum, definitely has autism.

Billy Kid - 27-28 (at least with physical/mental age… there’s a very reasonable chance he’s been active for a long or short period of time), Argentenian (idc if he’s a robot, he’s latino in my heart), bisexual, inherently got some genderqueerness by being a robot but primarily male/masc, and sentience gave him adhd /hj

Nekomata (Nekomiya Mana) - 15, Black/Japanese, sapphic, potentially has adhd and/or autism (she hasn’t really looked into it much)

Billy doesn’t like rock music (that much anymore) because it was all the Sons of Calydon played on the road. All the time. So he (understandably) needs a break from it.

While we’re on the subject, I’m so curious about classical music putting him to sleep. Does he mean standard “lullaby songs” like Clair de Lune or Sugarplum Fairy? Or would this guy conk out to a Dies Irae? Classical/orchestral music has. A very very wide range.

This is technically more related to Sons of Calydon, and we can’t really say who he does/doesn’t know in the gang yet (Caeser for sure, most likely Piper— Burnice and Lighter are kinda up in the air, but they probably know our silly android man too… and I’m betting Lucy is the newest member? There’s a chance they could know each other— like she joined and he left a little after). But!!! He was often sent out to get booze for the gang because everyone mistakes Piper for a high schooler. Even with a proper ID.

So far the only instance of Billy’s guns “talking” a la Liz and Patty Thompson is from his combat promo video and that’s it… I really really hope we get more elaboration on that at some point. But for now! He totally named them: Annie (the more demure personality) and Jane (the less enthused one)

Unless canon reveals something that makes this completely go out the window… Nicole used to be a defense attorney. Because a briefcase as a weapon is a very lawyer coded trait, you need to have a pretty solid understanding of laws to run a business— especially more legally ambiguous ones like an odd job agency, and y’know. Law school debt.

It’s a big part of why she involves herself in representing Canvas Street against Vision as well!! Though she’s not an attorney again by a long shot— for one, she’s on the prosecuting side against Vision, and she lost her attorney license years before starting Gentle House. But the point still stands that Elle Woods, Mia Fey, and Phoenix Wright walked so Nicole Demara could run

Most humanoid/half(?) thirens are born with animal ears and tails— but there are several genetic exceptions to this standard. Nekomata, for example, has cat ears… and cat feet. Without her special boots and mechanical tails to keep her balanced, it’s incredibly difficult for her to even stand up. In other words, she’s a disabled icon.

Understandably, it takes her a long time to feel comfortable/safe enough in places to keep bare feet. Fortunately (or unfortunately, if you’re an embarrassed little teenage thiren), all of the Cunning Hares can pick up Nekomata and carry her around no problem! They’re more than happy to do this (and/or just get stuff for her) if she doesn’t have her boots on at home.

Nekomata gets very snuggly and affectionate when she’s asleep. She likes to lay with all her teammates at different times, but the most frequent victim is Billy. I mean c’mon, he’s a walking heater.

Billy: We had a bonding moment! I cradled you in my arms!

Nekomata: Nope!!! Don’t remember!!! Didn’t happen!!

Anby occasionally gets ptsd nightmares from her days in the defense force. It used to be a lot more severe when she just joined Nicole… and by force of habit, Anby sneaks into her room the most. Billy and Nekomata catch her drinking tea in the middle of the night sometimes though, and promptly set up a pillow fort on the couch for everyone to hang out in so Anby doesn’t feel so alone.

Nicole: What are you guys doing making so much noise????

Billy: Shut your mouth and get in the pillow fort, Boss.

Nekomata has a collection of fidget items. It’s got every thing from puzzle cubes to random pieces of string. Honestly I could see her picking up crochet, kumihimo (cord weaving), and/or other textile hobbies to keep her hands busy.

The other three have all tried the flashlight thing™️ with her. It works a little too well (Like “Duke do you want the ball?” too well— she just flies across the room).

Anby, much like her interest in movies, has a very wide range of music she likes. It’s anybody’s guess as to what she’s listening to at a given time.

Nicole: Wow, Anby’s really focused right now… I wonder what she’s listening to?

Anby’s headphones: 🎶 Life is like a hurricaaaane here in! Duckberg! 🎶

Nicole has so much rabbit themed stuff. Plushies, little figures, definitely some scarves and hats, etc. Most of them are gifts from people she’s known in the past, along with the other CH of course.

Nicole and Nekomata would play Animal Crossing together, Billy would freaking love the Kirby series, and I think Anby would really enjoy Miitopia/Tomodachi Life

Billy’s definitely the most proficient gamer of the team. Fighting games, racing games, what have you… he’s won most matches, sometimes without even meaning to. Nicole and Nekomata argue he’s “cheating” because he’s literally got a computer for a brain… and if Billy responds with something akin to “git gud,” his ass is getting tackled.

We know from when Billy appears at the arcade after you played a little, he supposedly has moments where he’s “cursed” and doesn’t play as well with the CH— I don’t know if performance anxiety has anything to do with it (he’s really not the type)— but given Nicole’s association with divination, Nekomata’s inherent connection to yokai and Japanese supernatural, and the CH’s luck motif in general… it’s very funny to think that they “manifest” periods where they can beat him at games. I think if Billy found out, he’d be a little miffed they were trying to nerf him but… honestly it’s really funny and he’s a good sport. They’ll probably stop once he actually knows, though. Anby has literally no part in this, she just finds it entertaining /hj

Anby has to try a burger from literally every restaurant she goes to if it serves them. Practically a connoisseur at this point, though it’s rare for her to find a burger she doesn’t like (unless it’s like. Raw meat or something).

Forgive me for the Soul Eater coming out again, but I’m so fascinated by Nekomata’s socks saying tsubaki on them. And the flower buttons and stuff in her design in general. The flower in general representing devotion. Red camellias (tsubaki in Japanese) represent being in love, or perishing with grace. Yellow represent longing. White represent waiting. “A flower without fragrance. When the petals fall, it is silent and tragic.” There’s so much we can unpack about all of this with our catgirl.

Anby and Billy do it the most, but they all have silly quips of quoting different movie/tv show/internet media lines. They all kinda learn about different stuff through this osmosis.

Nekomata was the most hesitant to warm up to Billy because he reminds her a lot of Miguel Silver. I know we don’t have much about Silver in canon, but… Very competent and can be genuinely threatening, but also a lot more emotional and sentimental than most people would probably expect. I was surprised and kinda endeared when Silver was introduced sobbing and all dramatic as he spoke lmao.

I don’t think she fears a fallout like RFG happening again (at least, it’s not a major anxiety). The fact the CH committed to helping Canvas Street without a second thought is enough proof to her that they’re really not the types to be morally corrupted and all that. But… running into someone who reminds you of a past relationship— but who’s like. Better morals or more well-adjusted or whatever. That feels. So weird. It makes Nekomata think about what could’ve been. Why did her adoptive father become such a hypocrite— how is a robot more sincere about values than he was?

She definitely warms up to Billy a lot more by Ch 3/Ballet Twins stuff. I think it’d be sweet if she talked about her grief with him— Nicole and Anby too, tbh. Even if she separated herself once things weren’t sitting right with her (which takes so much internal strength), Silver was still her dad. She probably found out about his fate in the news broadcast at the very beginning of the game…

Yeah that's definitely also another reason why she clings to Billy the most in her sleep too. She misses her papa,,, and you tend to go towards the familiar and all that.

Anby keeps a small journal of letters to Soldier 11 (or Eleven, as I like to call her). Movie reviews/analysis, reports on commissions, snippets of her domestic life with the others… it acts more like a diary than actual letters she’ll send out. But Anby truly wishes she can share all of the joy and freedom she’s found with Eleven someday. Both in all the stories and helping her experience it too,

I’m a firm believer Anby and Eleven are twins— Burnice definitely has a connection to them too given her own little pack thing… but she also has more blondish hair and looks/acts a little older than them??? So probably not exact triplets or maybe not even biological sisters. But some sort of Huey, Dewey, and Louie grouping would be hilarious

I feel like Nicole is. Very into astrology, horoscopes, tarot cards... online quizzes. We know from one of Anton's trust events that she dabbles in fortune telling for quick cash, but honestly I feel like the others gotta hold her back from doing that more often because it drives them nuts. She's tried to get them in on it but... they're not very good at it. Anby's descriptions are just movie tropes, Nekomata gets distracted by the cards and other trinkets used, and Billy can't keep all the symbolism straight for the life of him.

Nekomata clearly has some education, likely from the RFG/potentially her orphanage... but given she's a street kid, even now (more lowkey) with the CH, it might be a minute until she gets into high school. I don't know if she'd even be that interested in school... probably curious to try it but she'd get so bored so fast lmao. Regardless, Nicole and the others would probably want to help her enroll.

Nekomata when socializing and learning stuff in class: Ok yeah! I can get used to this! Nekomata when she has to do homework: WTF THIS SUCKS

But she more or less gets straight As like the smart lil kitty she is. She asks the others for help/overview fairly often, though.

“Billyyyyyy” 

“I’m not an generative AI, I can’t do your homework for you. Besides that’ll get you into loads of trouble for. Several reasons.” 

“I’m not asking that!! You know more about Outer Ring than I do— can you check if my research for this project is accurate so far?” 

“… Oh yeah, sure!”

Anby is usually the first person to be ready to leave, while Nicole is… the last. You can tell these two are sisters because they always bicker about it /lhj. (Note to myself to make an animatic of these two to this very fun song)

While the CH all share a tv and gotta chart out times for it, they also have group movie nights! Usually they’ll watch really bad movies they can all laugh at and make fun of together. This is where a good chunk of their inside jokes come from. 

Nicole loves to give Anby and Nekomata manicures! She would give them to Billy too, but whatever polish she tries will come off immediately. Anby and Nekomata tend to have theirs chip off fairly quickly too rip

Nekomata moved into Anby’s room when she joined the CH— they’re the youngest and Anby had the most space. While the two had a lot of tension in Ch 1, and some of that can still carry over sometimes, they’re actually pretty good roommates! 

Her whole scene with Billy in the prologue was her attempt at humor to cope with stress (plus finding Billy probably relieved her a lot)… but she struggles with knowing appropriate times. Given Anby has also joked about becoming a monster and tried to nom Billy’s hand (“Rawwwwr”), I don’t think this is too out there lol.

[ladykailitha]

Remember how I said I had too many AUs. Well, another one just dropped. I've been working on this one off and on all week not really sure I was going to do anything with it, but last night it became a full -fledged story and not just a plot bunny.

So to prepare you for that, I wrote down the world building so that I don't have to go into detail in the story.

So here you go:

Werewolf Steve and Vampire Eddie (actual title TBA).

The city of Hawkins is one of the few cities in the country that was the home to both a vampire coven and a werewolf pack. It is a safe haven for all supernatural and hunters are forbidden from entering its city limits.

The coven is run by Billy Hargrove. He swept into town with his small vampire family and killed the previous Dominus (leader), taking over the coven. Billy is born vampire, meaning both his parents were vampires who sired him. Max is also born.

Even though it’s called Harrington Pack, the pack leader isn’t hereditary. The leader is always who the strongest male wolf is. The alpha female usually the male’s bondmate but not always. Nancy is the alpha female because of how strong she is and not because she dated Steve in high school. When Hopper was alpha, Joyce was alpha female for example.

This is the largest the pack has been in years. It includes the Hoppers (originally his wife and daughter before his daughter died and his first bondmate left the pack, now him and adopted Jane), the Byers, the Wheelers, the Sinclairs, the Harringtons, and Hendersons. With the Byers and the Hendersons, the dads were banished when it came out they were abusing their family.

Banishment is a mark on the back of the former pack member’s neck that prevents other packs from taking them in or forming a pack of their own. People can willing leave a pack to join another (like getting married or joining a temporary pack when they’re at college away from home), but banishment is a raw deal and used rarely. Hop banished both Lonnie and Mr Henderson, when he came out of his drunken stupor when he adopted Jane.

The Buckleys, Hagens, and Perkins have been long time keepers of the Harrington pack. A keeper is a kind of werewolf version of a vampire’s thrall. Someone who takes care of them when they are in wolf form or can touch silver if they get hurt.

For the most part the wolf form of the pack is like their hair color. Nancy, Mike, and Dustin all have curly fur in wolf form, Mike’s isn’t has bad as the other two though. The exception being the Sinclairs, (their fur isn’t wiry or curly like the other three, it’s just longer and jet black), and Steve. He’s a two-tone wolf. He has warm brown fur on top, but his legs, belly, and tip of his tail are honey colored.

Steve is made head of the Hawkins pack after Hopper was kidnapped by hunters and was reported MPD (missing, presumed dead). He won it through combat a couple of the older wolves tried for the role, but nineteen year old Steve beat them all.

ETA: Full Story here.

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[falling-star-cygnus]

HI HIII HELLO!!! -> your request has been moved over here, and i sincerely hope you enjoy!!

and i really like these ideas!! so thank you ever so much for the request, dear anonymous

i toyed with an idea like this before in my head, but i couldn't quite figure out how to articulate it ~so~ hopefully this'll help me out with Nekomata's characterization more

Spending so much time in Hollows, it's easy to forget that Billy can be harmed by things that aren't Ethereals.

Badly harmed.

Nekomata hadn't been a member of the Cunning Hares' for long, hardly long enough to be allowed into the tightly knit circle shared between the two Demara's and the android, but it's almost like that didn't matter. Especially not to Billy.

Even before she was a member, it was like he had already decided she deserved his kindness. It was a sort of bright-eyed, literally, brand of naivete that infuriated her. How dare he be so nice to her? How dare he show such kindness to the thiren that was leading them to their deaths.

How dare he make her feel so guilty, when he- when the Hares'-

Except it wasn't really the Hares' that had killed Miguel in the end, was it?

It was PubSec. And every drop of guilt Nekomata had felt was well deserved.

"Nekomata-!"

Back in the present, nowhere near a Hollow this time, she remembers being bodily shoved aside. Remembers clearly the choked down sound of pain and the crunch of metal that happened all in the blink of an eye.

Billy stood tall in front of Nekomata, stance squared as the jaws of this- yellow mutilated construction vehicle clamped around his left arm. It shook with the effort of keeping the thing from throwing him around like a chew toy- but he didn't falter.

"Kitty- you okay?" the android calls over his shoulder, his voice tight with strain and worry, "I didn't push you too hard, did I?"

"M-Me? What about you-?"

At worst her palms were a bit scraped up from hitting the asphalt, but that was more a result of the thiren's instinctual flailing than his protective insert. And he was the one in the jaws of the beast! Literally!

Care about yourself first, dummy-! Nekomata thinks venomously, shooting up to her paws as the mechanical thingamajig nearly throws her new teammate to the ground. She doesn't know what she was planning on doing, exactly, but Billy takes the decision out of her hands anyway.

He lines up a shot, somewhere between the shoulder and the armpit, and fires!

The bullet pierces the joint in a clean arc, and removes the limb with a sharp 'ting!' and a 'thud!' as it hits the concrete! It's jaws- is it the jaws? It looks more like a hand now that Nekomata isn't fearing for her life- they don't release Billy's arm until he's been nearly dragged to the floor with it.

Foolishly, the thiren had been hoping that the crunch of metal she heard was the teeth breaking on the android's build.

It wasn't.

It most definitely wasn't.

The plates of the android's arm tear like butter under the drag- ripping his red sleeve to ribbons and causing sparks to fly in firework-esque bursts. Billy brings his other hand up to one of the deeply bit teeth and tries to wrench it out without causing more damage.

Nekomata leaps to help, finally shaken out of her stupor by a startled mip of pain that Billy looses when one of the clamps catches on some wiring.

"Wait- Nekomata, your hands-"

Ah- right, the scrapes. She'd honestly forgotten about them, her gloves had absorbed most of the damage, after all- even if they'd been torn to shreds in the process.

The android tries to gently guide her hands away by the wrists, but Nekomata bullies her way closer with a hiss.

A familiar rush of anger clouds her head. His damn- friendliness. Why couldn't he just be mean?

"Billy, your arm," the thiren snaps back, tails lashing to better show her infuriation, "What're you worrying about me for, huh!? Look at you!"

"Wh- huh? But I'm fine," he exclaims, like a liar, "This can be fixed no problem! You can't!"

"That's not the point, dummy!"

Seriously! Not! The! Point! Nekomata punctuates each thought with a bap to his fluffy hair. How dare he! How. Dare. He! How dare he imply his injuries mattered any less! The nerve!

...huh. It was surprisingly soft.

Before she even realizes what she's doing, her hand simply- ruffles it from side to side. The android sputters in confusion under her ministrations.

"Nekomata!?"

"Shut up!"

Billy shuts up.

The two stay there in silence for a few more minutes, and eventually the thiren moves back to help him free what's left of his arm. He doesn't push her away this time, even though he's clearly not happy with the agitation of her scrapes.

He could be missing a limb- and he's worried about her. Her, who hasn't even been a member of the Hares' a full three months!

Stupid, big hearted, stupid android.

"You know," Nekomata starts, even though she doesn't really know where she's going with this, she just wants him to get it already, "it doesn't matter that you can be put together again. It still happened."

Billy stills under her hands with a surprised little noise, but she just tightens her grip and barrels on.

"You'll still remember it happened."

The last clamp finally gets pulled free, but it snips right through a wire on it's way out, and the android bites back a yelp as he stumbles forward. Nekomata is quick to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hold tight- half to keep him upright and half to keep him close.

"So please," she begs, burying her face into his jacket collar, "Please don't pretend that it didn't."

She can feel him jolt in her impromptu hug, and for a terrifying moment she's scared he might pull away and brush it all off again, the thiren couldn't really stop him if he truly wanted to- but Billy just brings his arm up to hug Nekomata back.

His grip is so unbelievably soft- feeble.

"...okay." he says, not a promise but an acknowledgement, "okay."

[theyluvlyss]

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 !

today, I figured I'd make a list of all of my DRs/places I'm shifting to :). I do actually have quite a bit, and while most of them aren't really all that fleshed out (I'll indicate which ones I have the most info on with a key), I figured it'd still be nice to share.

plus, who knows, maybe you'll find that we have a common DR that we can bond over🤷🏽‍♀️. you guys can even ask me whatever questions you want on any of the DRs you see listed below, and I'll be happy to answer them (it gives me an excuse to run my mouth💀). Also, I listed them in alphabetical order!

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐤𝐞𝐲 :

♡ - fully scripted out/main DR

° - tons of lose ideas/thoughts

* - some lose ideas/thoughts

if there's no symbol, that means I have literally nothing on it to tell lmao (but I do welcome suggestions of any kind pertaining to literally anything, idc, I just want shifters to engage plz😭🙏🏽).

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 :

- avatar (the blue ppl lol)

- blue beetle

- avatar: the last airbender

- °darby and the dead

- *descendants

- °fairy tail

- *henry danger

- *insatiable

- *jessie

- *kick-ass

- marvel cinematic universe (mcu)

- °nope

- once upon a time

- *rise of the guardians

- ♡shazam!

- *shazam! (but it's a fairy shapeshifter(?) princess based one that has nothing to do with the plot of either of the previous movies, I'm just super in love with Billy lol)

- *spider-verse

- °speed racer

- *stranger things

- °super sons

- teen titans

- °the black phone (the grabber doesn't exist, nobody dies, but Max is the loveable local ‼️RECOVERING‼️ crackhead)

- *the imperfects

- *the walking dead game (except there's a cure for the zombies so that's cool)

──────────────

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥/"𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐮𝐩" 𝐃𝐑𝐬 :

- *(teen/20s) actress

- (2000s) actress

- boarding/prep school

- *coven/witchcraft-popstars

- girl group/pop stars

- indie band

- *"last" person on earth

- metal band/rockstar

- *nepotism baby

- *rapper

- *reality tv show

- *runaway (with possible alien and/or power-having elements? idkidk-)

- *travel/vlogger

───────── 《 .°•♡•°. 》 ──────────

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐩...

those are all my desired realities that I wanna shift to lmao😭. I know, it's quite a bit, but you've gotta understand, I was/am the type of person who - has not only constantly wanting a way out/knew there had to be more than, yk...THIS (if that makes sense) - but has always, always, always wanted to be apart of so many of the cool dynamics and whatnot I've seen in all of my fave medias. like, I'd give anything to live any one of these lives at least once, so ofc I have a lot😭✨️.

but anyways, yeah, like I said, feel free to just engage however you want, I truly just felt like showing them off and will definitely be expanding more on each one later in separate posts :)!

𝐜𝐲𝐚/ᐠ•˕•マ~!

[cannotgiveafuck]

Have a 2am surprise snippet!

.

Billy's staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror again, and he can't seem to stop.

Not in the Narcissus way, of course. He's heard that story before from Diana. No, it's in the way that he can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It's in the way that he sees himself and he feels a deja vu, like he's seen a ghost. And Billy has experience with ghosts.

The bruises under his eyes are worse, he thinks, or maybe it's because of the rough couple of nights he couldn't quite fall asleep. Particularly sensitive to the touch. Even if his finger tips weren't slightly calloused. And his eyes are blue, like always, but maybe a dimmer sort of blue? Not as bright as he thought they were, but deeper. There's specks in them, if he looks close enough, but not too close. Doesn't want to be a snake biting it's own tail, forever falling into depths that are a part of him.

He's played out that story before, too. Barely stood a chance.

His teeth aren't quite blinding white and straight, and smiling with his whole face comes easy, but it hurts his cheeks after a long minute. The deep blue doesn't shine as much as he expected, either. And as he rubs his face he can feel the uneven hair starting to come in like patchwork. That beard he's been trying for never quite growing out right, so Billy shaves it clean when he can. And that, too, feels wrong.

Billy stares at himself, expression lax, and he looks wrong, somehow.

He thinks, 'Cause you're not supposed to be like this, and it startles him to blink away from the mirror. Down his hands, fingers a little too boney, palms a little too rough, he thinks again, you're supposed to be more.

His reflection stares back at him now, wonderment gone and replaced with furrowed brows, with mused hair that never sits right.

Nothing about you sits right.

Thin skin tightens over clenched knuckles.

Nostrils flare and his mouth twitches, and it's not at all like the marble stone look Captain Marvel can do. A glance that stops most in their tracks. Billy can't do that. Maybe his jaw isn't hard enough? Or his chest puffed out? Shoulders back, chin up?

Oh Gods, he looks like a fuckin dweeb. Billy, stop that. Ugh.

He doesn't remember if his dad was as big as Marvel, but Billy knows he's much scrawnier than both. Shorter, too. Clark would say something about early childhood development, but Clark is one hundred percent farm raised beef, so what does he know about nothing but day old bread for three days?

Clark looks more like your dad than you ever will.

And that thought burns bright and hot across his brain, sears itself behind his retinas, and he hates it more than he knows he should. He hates it so much. Which is stupid because he likes Clark, but Billy looks at himself with his skinny arms and short legs and crooked smile and just...

There's nothing marvelous there.

He's just plain ol Billy Batson, twenty-three and barely looks it if not for the weight of Magic perpetually on his shoulders, the ghosts lingering in his eyes. Young and old all at once.

And yet, not young enough, not old enough.

Everything and nothing, and ain't that just his life? Gods, he never stood a chance.

Once, when he asked Teth how old Champions got to, Billy did not expect to see the age lines on Teth's face to be so deep, nor his eyes to get so dark. It wasn't a new expression, but Billy knew that Teth Adam tried not to show such sadness in front of him. Toward him.

"Champions outlived their loved ones," he had said, solemn and serious. "Except for the children chosen to bear the mantle. They never had a chance."

Teth's hand had gently clasped his shoulder, and Billy wondered for a moment at it not completely dwarfing him anymore. The squeeze no longer bruising.

As if to say, You never had a chance.

[dynamoe]

Boy Genius wrapped up Feb 2023, but I got this nice review 10 days ago.

Maybe it was someone from Tumblr? If so and you're reading this, it has been the one light in a deeply hopeless two weeks— sincerely, thank you.

As I responded on AO3, I promise I will attempt to make all future backstory adventures more Eurocentric.

→ back to the Billy & White index

↓ more details ↓

Now, me, as a vulgar Ugly American— what do I know about European pop culture in the 1990s? What would have broken through to unambitious, uncultured suburban American teens?

Hmmmm... Barcelona '92 Olympics? The mascot was a scribbly dog thing. That's all I remember.

Ace of Base (Swedish) dominated 1994 with The Sign. They had another hit with All That She Wants (Is Another Baby) from the same year. Urban legends immediately started that they were Nazis and "the sign" was a swastika (an Ankh in the music video). Various levels of confirmation on that.

Do we count Björk as European?

I'm trying to think of European movies that broke through— the 1990s is the era of independent film but that was mostly focused on American auteurs. The big international hits were for an older audience— teens weren't into Lars von Trier or Three Colors Trilogy.

La Femme Nikita and Léon: The Professional (French-Italian) appealed big-time to the guys already into Tarantino and Hong Kong Action. At the end of the decade you get Run Lola Run (German), very big with teens and college students.

Billy and his date go see Jeunet-et-Caro's Delicatessen (French) in Tomorrow's Just Another Day. (Their City of Lost Children already referenced in VB for the design of Watch and Ward.)

Note, I'm excluding British pop culture, which I've already included a lot of in the fiction. The UK is still in the EU in the mid-90s, obvs, but American pop culture has a far different relationship with the British than with the rest of Europe. Even before the Beatles. "Cool Britannia" had a major hold in the US after 1997. A Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Tony Blair was on The Simpsons, before he became a war criminal. Trainspotting, Britpop and Elisabeth Hurley— God Save the Queen. As a British Comedy obsessive, I can write endlessly about the UK in the '90s—music, politics, TV, actors, comedians etc. Ask me anything about Spitting Image or all the stock jokes associated with Deputy PM John Prescott from Have I Got News for You. Except you shouldn't, it will be very boring for you.

Now the big European backstory story I have notes for would be a 1990-1991-set road trip through the Eastern Bloc and newly independent ex-Soviet Commonwealth of Independent States as Billy and White try to pick up abandoned super-science research from former state-sponsored labs for pennies on the dollar.

Starting in East Berlin, they stumble through Poland, Hungary, Yugoslavia into the Federation of Former Soviet States, heading east. White tries to trade Levis blue jeans for death ray plans. Billy mangles translating a dozen languages he barely understands (he's only 16).

They cause international incidents and nearly get killed over and over, running away to the next country. They are tailed by EuroPol, accidentally become oligarchs and have to be airlifted out of the US Embassy in Tashkent.

Tetris would be key. A Trojan Horse— it was actually a coded super-weapon meant to destabilize the west. Billy and White somehow figure it out and neuter its power while fucking everything else up.

I dunno. I might never write it but it's fun to think about.

→ back to the index

[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 6

Chokehold Masterlist

Accepting taglist requests!

Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii  @123passwort​ @sanscas​ @lulzbrokenbyfantasy​ @icantevenchoose​

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,784

Warning: Swearing, mild violence and injury, nightmares, typical side effects of hangover, choking, biting, and our favorite - Butcher.

A/N: Once again, it’s too damn long. Thank you all so much for being patient. I have mixed feelings about this one, and I can only hope you find it worth the wait. Hopefully, I can get out of this PTSD funk and churn out the next ones much faster. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy.

It's all a black void except the sidewalk pounding under your bare feet. It looks nothing like the neighborhood from months ago but you know you're running from the warehouse. You escaped this time. Or are you running to something? It's all too vague…

You're tripping up to your door, fumbling the lock. Your jiu jitsu belt is in your hand. There's a faint mist of red on one of its tails. Is it your blood? One of the crew? Your attacker? You don't know, you don't know, the door finally opens…

But it's not your place. It's granny's house, has to be, all rustic and moonlight carving through the dark like knives. It's the bedroom, yours but not yours, and you know this bed…

There's a loud boom, it makes the house shiver, and you shiver with it. You know that sound, and that voice calling out "come out, come out wherever you are!", like smiling snakes pressed against glass. Now your nose brushes against a windowpane, and he's there, eyes glowing amongst the trees, Prince Homelander…

A hand wraps round your wrist, tugs and you swim among sheets before the hand becomes an arm around your waist. "He won't find you, Red. Not with me." You shiver again but it's from the relief of warmth radiating behind you…

Then it's above you, Butcher's beard tickling your face as he kisses you, but there's something off with his lips. He travels down, down, hot wet kisses and scraping teeth - something off there - and when you go to reach for him you find he's tied your belt around your wrists, held fast above your head. They cannot move, you can feel your pulse bounding between your thighs when he reaches your hip, you're so eager but there's something off. "Butcher"...

He stops. And he's still. Too still. Something is wrong. "Oi…," a growl against your hip bone. And finally he lifts his eyes, gold and glaring in the dark, and you feel more than hear a growl not human at all. Then teeth, too many teeth, razors as he smiles, snarls, points glistening, too sharp. "Wait-!" He snaps them, hard into tender flesh-!

"Oi! Wake up!"

Your gasp is shrill as your eyes snap open, your brain scrambling to reorient. Butcher is there but there's no golden eyes. And it's not teeth bloodying your hip, but his grip is there. There is no red-eyed supe here. It's the motel. And it's day, sunlight instead of moonlight cutting through the curtains, over your eyes…

And then the pounding in your head begins.

Butcher smirks as you groan long into the pillow. "Morning, sunshine! 'Fraid you can't run from that hangover any longer."

"You woke me to torment me?"

"As amusing as it is, no. You were about to go ass over tits out of the sheets. Not dealing with you having a hangover and a concussion, thanks." He gives a little nod with a wink. "Must have been a helluva wet dream."

The images, still fresh and too raw for your pounding head, flash across your eyes and your bitten/not-bitten hip twitches under his fingers. "More like drunken nightmare," you mumble into the sheets, slowly rising on one arm.

You instantly regret the movement. You place a hand over your mouth, and thank god Butcher sees it in your face, because your hand will have to move. He kicks a trashcan in place under your head just in the nick of time. You're grateful when you feel fingers just brushing your hair back. Then it turns to ire at his expression. "Stop smiling, you jerk," you pant between waves.

He smirks more instead. "Oh c'mon now," he jeers. "You survived the night, didn't ya? You should celebrate. Drink up the spoils of your little plan -"

"I'll puke on your fucking boots," you spit into the trash.

Butcher only laughs, giving you a couple firm pats on the back that make you groan again. He sits down on his bed, arms resting on his knees as you wait for the last wave to pass. Thankfully, there wasn't much in your stomach to begin with and you slowly rise up from the trashcan, fumbling a tissue off the nightstand. You're surprised when he holds out a bottle of Gatorade with a shake to you. "Don't bitch about the flavor. The less dye and more bland, the better."

You give a slight grimace as you let him slip the bottle into your hand. But you sigh a thank you before cracking the top and take a tentative, minuscule sip. As you wait for your stomach's judgment, your eyes roam over him. He's in a fresh shirt, one nearly black with a far more subdued print, same dark jeans. But then you notice his old clothes in a heap behind him along with his coat, and there's red. His hair is slightly damp, and his hands -

"What happened?" Part of you chides yourself for the concern coloring your tone. Butcher has paraded bruised knuckles and bloody clothes like a peacock fans his feathers. But you can't help it.

"Well…" His gaze settles on your face as you take another cautious sip. Even though he appears unfazed, you know he's gauging you, reading you for any micro tells. He shrugs. "What's the last you remember?"

"I remember-" You stop. It's hazy around the edges. But you remember pretty much everything. You sacked out but didn't blackout. And you definitely remember Butcher putting you, flustered and slurring, to bed. You're not sure but by the way he's waiting too nonchalantly for your answer, he's not just thinking about the stake out.

The memory of your dream and the image of him looking up at you, fingers sliding up the back of your leg, collide in your mind's eye. You swallow hard as your stomach twitches at that and you fight the small wave of nausea that follows. It hits you that, whatever the hell happened last night, it should stay right where it was, dead at sunrise on the motel floor. You still had the day before you, and the drive back to the city, back to the others. And of course there was still the matter of Walsh, Vought in general, and your ongoing arrangement with Butcher. You didn't know how you could admit your full memory and just act normal after, especially during lessons. Not to mention, what if it had only been a weird moment for him, a split second of randy fueled by loneliness and grief? And if not, what if there was any of that heavy, heated look left in him? Something more? 

You could find out, a little voice whispers.

No. Absolutely not. That's way more messy than you're willing to deal with right now, hungover or otherwise.

"I remember going to the bar," you say slowly. "And talking to Frank. You were hustling pool. I planted a bug, he ran off. And then there was some asshole, um…And then you were there and…" You dare a sheepish look at him. "...I think you walked me back to the motel. It's really fuzzy after the bar. At least, I hope that was you?"

Butcher stares at you for a long moment and you wonder if he sees through your lie. If he does, he doesn't acknowledge it and slowly nods instead. "Yeah, that was me. Lucky I have any toes left the way you was stumblin'," he mutters. "The bug was still snug in his collar when I made a little house call. You sure you remember what you two chatted on about?"

After a braver swallow of your drink, you give a thumbs up. "Yeah, uh, got some info, even with all of that god awful flirting he was spewing. He confirmed there's a Vought lab here. Not sure about coordinates but it's somewhere just south of town. He was trying to puff himself up, said he was working on some serious developments for the company. Something about broadening the market?"

"Got all that while he was trying to cop a feel, did ya? Anything else while he was drooling sweet nothings in your ear?"

His snide tone takes you aback. You had accomplished what you had set out to do. You got Frank to talk. For the life of you, you can't figure out why he's such a grump about it. "Wait…" You rub at your throbbing temples, confused. "I thought you found him? Didn't you get some intel, too?"

"You bet your ass I did," Butcher grins. "Turns out, Frank is quite the chatter once he's missing a few teeth and a couple fingernails. Including…" He slides a hand under his coat and pulls out a small folder with a little wave. "...Being so kind as to loan me some of his personal records."

He slaps the folder back onto his bed and stands. "C'mon," he barks, shrugging on his coat. "Scurry in there, wash last night off ya, and pop a couple tylenol. We're moving out in twenty."

"What if I puke in your car for rushing me?," you grumble, shuffling through your clean clothes as he starts packing his duffel. He pauses long enough to peg you with a hard look.

"You'll clean it up, of course. And your hangover will be a reprieve compared to what I'll do to you."

^^^

Despite feeling like utter dogshit, you did manage to freshen up, keep down a couple tylenol, and cram your stuff back into your bag in a timely manner. You had sunk into the car, ignoring his comment of taking five minutes too long, trying to keep the sun from stabbing in your eyes. But Butcher kept the ride silent, to your relief, and surprisingly short. You had expected him to peel out of the parking lot straight back to the city. Instead, he drove just a few miles down the road before swerving into a small diner before nudging you to follow him in.

Reluctantly leaving what comfort you found in the car, you scuffed behind him into the far back corner of the diner. Butcher claimed the seat opposite you - where he could overlook the whole place, you realized - and you slid into the snug booth. The diner was actually a little cozy, maybe in need of a decor update from the 90's, but clean. With only two or three other patrons about, the waitress was quick to get your orders and left the two of you in the quiet ambience of the morning bustle. If it weren't for the distinct company you were keeping, you'd say it felt damn near domestic.

Once the waitress had made her brief return with your drinks, you asked over the rim of your coffee, "Alright, Mr. Secrets. You've been smug nearly since we left. Spill it."

Butcher casts a quick glance about before sliding the folder across the table. "Hughie was right. They're cooking up some variations of V. After Sage Grove, though, they were supposed to be more hush-hush about it. Lazzell has been one of their busiest worker bees the last few months."

"Variations? You mean the temp stuff?"

Butcher shakes his head as you slowly thumb through the papers. "Originally, Lazzell and his other poncy lab buddies were supposed to make just the temp stuff. But what Vought don't know is they made some discoveries along the way." 

He taps on one of the pages. It takes a minute with your impaired concentration but you finally start catching onto some keywords in the text. Subjects. Side effects. Heightened senses with lack of muscle load progression. Twilight sedation. Prototypes. Suggestions for alternative demographics in market.

Something scratches at the back of your brain but nothing more, and you sigh in frustration. "Help me out, Butcher. I'm a bit slow today. What is this exactly?"

He spots the waitress heading to your booth and snaps the folder shut, pushing it towards you to tuck away. Once your plates are before you and she leaves, he leans in with a grin. "Ol' Frankie was supposed to dispose of anything they brewed up that wasn't the temp shit the company wanted. But one of the cocktails had some results that he felt could be exploited. Now, you read those side effects for that batch again and tell me what that sounds like."

You take a small bite of toast - still taking it slow and easy on your stomach - and glance back over the words. "Well…Heightened senses. Dilated pupils. Elevated heart rate. Looks like the test group was split in half; either they had severe, even painful side effects coming down or experienced states of euphoria and -" You look up at him. "Is…is this a hallucinogen?"

"Yes and no," he slurs around a bite of eggs. You shake your head when he offers the greasy or butter soaked food on his plate with a teasing smile, knowing too well it's why you pause before braving your own food. "Read again."

You skim over the file. You almost sip on your coffee then stop. "They're all supes, no names. What is this?"

"He called it Persuasion," Butcher said in a hushed tone as he leaned in. "At first it was a flop, supe senses but no powers. Some had a nice little trip on it, others obviously not once the high wore off. They were gonna scrap it until a certain PR swung by. Said it could be tweaked."

"Tweaked how? For what?"

"When the world found out about compound V, what was one of the biggest selling points Vought lost?" When you come up at a blank, he says, "The world knows they're not God's chosen few. They're made in a fucking lab. Now, they can't shove that back in the box. But what if they do what those cunts do best and spin it in their favor? Say, for example…start making designer supes?"

You stare at him confused at first. Then it clicks. "Are you telling me this is a fucking aphrodisiac? For supes?"

The smile lends a sharper edge, cruel on his lips when your eyes widen. His voice is barely above a whisper. "Y/N, they've pumped that blue shit in babes since the 70's. They kidnapped two terrorists for their build-a-cunt supervillain idea. And Vogelbaum locked up my wife so that one day he could replace that test-tube fuckup with her son. He was all about genetics. Fucking breeding. What makes you think they wouldn't try it again with two supes, and a roster of over three hundred to cherry pick?"

You run a hand over your face. Then try to relax into your seat, remembering you're in public still. Picking at your egg and toast with a fork, you clear your throat. "So what about Walsh? Does the company know since they were supposed to throw this out? Did Frank know where we could get samples?"

Butcher's response is on the tip of his tongue when a vehicle catches his eye in the window. When you turn your head, you just glance a police cruiser before he snaps under his breath, "Eyes on me."

Tension seeps into your frame despite your best efforts. You take a quick bite of toast then mutter just aloud enough, "What is it?" You want to press but then realize one little detail; your FBSA status only gives you immunity in the field if you're on the books. And this is not on the books. When he takes too long to chew, you swallow thickly. "Butcher…Were you seen last night?"

"Don't think so," he mutters into his coffee.

"Don't think or don't know?!," you hiss.

His fingers suddenly clasp your hand across the table. You hear the door open behind you across the diner as his eyes lock on yours. "Keep your fucking voice down," he rumbles calmly. But the edge in it is laced with as much warning as his grip. 

There's a long moment as you listen to two officers exchange familiar greetings with the waitress, then shuffle after her to another table somewhere on the other end of the diner. After forcing a few more bites of food, Butcher grabs your attention, sliding the car keys into your hand. He bears the mask of having a normal, morning chat, but his voice is eerily even-keeled.

"Could just be stuffing their faces but we're not gonna risk it. Take the file and walk out to my car, real mellow like. Keep your head down. Put the keys in, get it ready. If I'm not out in ten, you drive the hell outta here. Do not fucking wait. Switched the plates this morning, so that should buy you some time."

"How am I going to get you out?," you whisper.

"You don't. If I'm not back by nightfall, you go straight to the Boys." Before you can fight back the sudden aftertaste of Gatorade and breakfast to form words, he throws a charming smile at the waitress as she strolls back to you. "You've been a doll, but I'm ‘fraid I need the check. You're too kind."

When she walks away, Butcher's boot on your shin rudely jolts you into action. You sweep up the file and your things, prying yourself out of the booth. You use your phone as an excuse to duck your eyes down and keep yourself from running for the exit. It takes a lot of your nerve to not look up and see whose eyes you feel on you, Butcher's or the cops'. But you swing out the front and wince through the sunlight to the car, doing your best not to scratch the paint as you fumble with the keys.

Sitting in the driver's seat of Butcher's car feels wrong, though you can't put your finger on why. It's a long, uncomfortable several minutes of flexing your sweaty grip on the steering wheel. The idea of driving his car back alone, without him, somehow makes you think of a hearse. But the morbid image dissipates with a sigh of relief when he swaggers out of the diner and yanks open the driver door.

"Scoot the fuck outta my captain seat," he snaps, but the shove he gives your shoulder is almost playful, as is the the corner of his lip. You scramble awkwardly into the passenger side, and in moments he swings the car past the cruiser, out of the lot, and down the road.

The pain in and around your head is a drumbeat that calls up your irritation, replacing the frayed nerves from the diner. When you can no longer see it in the rear view, you turn to him. "You never answered me, Butcher. Were you seen? Are we wanted?"

"I already answered that and I don't like repeating myself."

"Bullshit," you scowl.

"Look," he sighs, eyes tight with annoyance. "I checked Frank's place for cameras, bugs, the works. But it's leased under Vought, so there's always a slight chance they could come snooping around. And he's not exactly gonna be calling into work anytime soon. So there's that."

"So that back there was just…precaution?"

Butcher nods. "You could say that. Besides, when it comes to wanted, I would have an APB. Not you. You were snoring it off last night."

"Butcher, he still saw my face. He…"

You stop, feeling both stupid and startled as he casts you a look across the seat. Asking him if he had been seen when he had interrogated Frank was clearly a pointless question. Frank had seen you both. Which -.

"You had a little problem. I took care of it. And we got the job done."

"Right," you nod. "Right…" You trail off, his flat, ambiguous tone leaving you dry of words. You try to get comfortable as Butcher guides the car onto I-87 south, and you nurse your hangover instead of further conversation. 

You know far too well the man next to you is a killer. You've seen him bloody his hands and face to save you, even just months ago at the warehouse. It's part of the job and certainly part of him. It's not a pleasant truth, but it's settled in your mind over time. But what bothers you is that it doesn't bother you. And you're not sure what that means for you, now.

^^^

By the time you had reached the edges of the city, you had wrangled your hangover into a mild headache and a bit of dehydration. While the Cadillac had swallowed up the miles, you two had come to the consensus to stop at your place instead of the flatiron and go back through Frank's files one more time. MM or Hughie could be at the office, and it was best to keep the pretense that you were sick and Butcher wouldn't be back till the next day or so.

Evening had wrapped around your apartment by the time you slipped through your front door. After dropping your bag in your bedroom to unpack later, you stepped into your living room to find Butcher on the couch, one arm draped across the back. The file sits on your coffee table, his coat crumpled in your loveseat. Something catches the light between his fingers in his other hand.

"What's that?"

"What I was gonna show you earlier. You were asking about samples?" Butcher tosses the item and you narrowly catch it between your palms. Plopping down beside him, you inspect it. It's a small vial. At first, the contents appear clear like water. But as you roll it between your fingers the light catches again, revealing the hint of swirling silver inside.

"This it? That Persuasion stuff?"

Butcher nods. "There were four in his office. Mine for safekeeping, now. Walsh has been buying batches of that supe viagra off Frank for a pretty penny, but not for Vought."

"That doesn't make any sense. If Frank made this for Vought for their genetics experiment, why isn't Walsh sending it to them? The company might give them a slap on the wrist for making it in the first place, sure. But if the company isn't aware of it -"

"Then who's using it," Butcher finishes. "And what the fuck for. Yeah, that's what I wanna know, too."

You place the vial back in Butcher's palm, mentally shaking off the feel of his calluses as your fingertips brush across them. Clearly, I'm near back to my normal if those thoughts are resurfacing, you thought dryly.

But it's not normal anymore. He caught you last night. He knows, the little voice hisses.

Butcher doesn't know shit! You were drunk, that's what he knows.

Your mental debate is there and gone in less than a second. Shaking your head, you refocus on the file before you on the table. "Do we have any more leads? Anything specifically on our PR friend?"

"Not in here," Butcher replies, scratching his beard. "Unless you got better eyes than me. Lazzell made sure not to leave any receipts on their little personal transactions. But there might be something." 

He pushes the papers out across your table for you two to pour over them. You skim over the papers for any sign of a direct connection to Walsh or Vought other than the lab. But you have no such luck, even after several minutes. Just more recordings, data of what you assume is the quicksilver junk in the vial. Despite your best efforts, you end up fixing on the results of a less than successful batch.

"This crap is really iffy," you mutter. "This round here they compared with regular people, no supes. Lazzell's personal notes are kinda hard to read in places but…It sounds like supes metabolize this stuff differently. It's more of a trippy sedative for the rest of us. And the coming down is a coin toss. Either you just end up groggy for a couple days, or you go through hell."

"What? Have a bad trip, did they?," Butcher grunts, dropping the papers in his hands on the piles to stand.

"Apparently they experienced physical and psychosomatic symptoms. Nerve pain exacerbated by stress? Hallucinations? He quotes one of the test subjects as describing the pain of being split in two in their soul. If you don't call that a bad trip, I don't know what else you call it."

"A night at Coachella?," Butcher quirks as he bends down by your loveseat.

"Whoa, Butcher! What the hell are you doing with my furniture?," you ask, scrambling up from the couch as he suddenly starts dragging the loveseat across the floor.

"Looks like we'll have to see what the rest of the crew dig up. And for Hughie to pull his head out of his ass. Not much else we can do with this until then, or I find something else myself."

You sweep in between him when he turns to the arm of your defenseless couch. "I guessed that much. But what does that have to do with my furniture?"

"Well we can't sneak up to the office tonight, now can we? So unless your bedroom is big enough to roll in-"

"Wait. Roll?" One of your eyebrows pitches up at him before you let out a laugh. "Oh, I get it. Very funny. I'm sure you and I both have had enough the last-"

"Am I laughing?"

Your smile fades as he pitches an eyebrow back. "Oh c'mon. It's been a long twenty-four hours or so. I'm not completely with it yet, and you've got to be getting tired, Butcher. Have you even slept yet?" You shift to sidestep him for the loveseat. "Lets-"

His fingers clutch tight and jolt you back by the arm before you can pass him. His eyes flash sharp as flint. "Less than twenty-four hours ago, some bastard had your wrist just like this. You forgot what I taught ya, and I had to swoop in and save your ass like a fucking supe. I may have told you I wouldn't let you drown. But I'm not fixing to start wearing a fucking cape and tights!"

You spread your fingers wide and use the escape he'd taught you the week prior. But Butcher seizes the other wrist in a flash, and takes one long stride, pinning your knees against the arm of the couch. He cuts you off when you go to object. "Remembering now, are we? We had a deal. I let you tag along up north and you show me that you could use your training properly. Bullocks'd that up, didn't you?"

"I was drunk-!"

"I don't. Fucking. Care. You want me to put you in Hughie's good graces? Huh?" When you just scowl in response, he pulls back and turns you both out to the living room. "Then you better start warming up."

You glare at his back as he starts dragging the couch to make room. Biting back suggestions for him to get his mood swings checked, you take a deep breath and turn to your coffee table. Frank's papers back in their folder and tucked away in the corner with your table, you begin to stretch on the floor, much to your muscles chagrin.

"Yesterday," Butcher calls as he rolls his neck and shoulders, "You pointed out that we haven't covered a whole lot of offense. And we'll get there. But last night clearly demonstrated that you need to work on a little more defense this week."

"Maybe if I had a little more offense that wouldn't have happened…," you muttered into the carpet as you stretched your hips.

"You say something?"

"What do you have in mind, sensei?"

"I thought that's what you said." 

Before you can blink, Butcher yanks on the back of your pants and flips you onto your back. He shifts quickly to straddle your waist but you scramble and wrap him into closed guard on instinct. Sitting back on his heels, he begins to move his elbows down to meet the tender targets by your knees. But you squeeze tight and pull him forward. When he posts an arm out to catch his balance, he nods.

"Well, I guess you didn't forget everything after all. And you're getting better at maintaining closed guard. Maybe you'd done just fine on your back," he mutters.

Annoyance quickly floods into anger at his implication. And patience quickly flees the room. You lock your thighs even tighter, shove his bracing hand out while yanking on his shirt with your other hand. When he catches himself mere inches from your face you snap, "I don't know what your issue is with me today, or the deal with these snide remarks. But you can tell me what it is, or you can keep your bullshit to yourself and actually teach me something."

Butcher glares at you and the little chill on the back of your neck tells you that that may have been unwise. He pries your fingers from his lapel and sits up slowly, bracing himself with palms on either side of your head.

"You are my fucking issue," he rumbles through tight lips. "I've been generous giving you these lessons, hours I coulda put on cases, or used on bringing down the Seven. Hours I can't get back! And sloshed or not, you couldn't even use what I fucking gave ya!"

"Yes, hours neither of us can get back!," you snap up at him. "Hours that amount to what? Was I supposed to be a master with two, maybe three months of training?"

Butcher leans up to the full extent of his arms, eyes moving to bore a hole somewhere far past your head. He won't say it out loud, but you can feel him concede to your point with gritted teeth. Even with a knack for it, lack of experience is still lack of experience. After a beat, he gives a tight exhale and looks down at you.

"You really wanna bump this up, do ya? Alright. If you're so keen on offense, show me one choke you can do from right here."

With a suspicious squint, you look him over, assessing for an approach to attack. But you shake your head. "I didn't get very far before you so generously took over my lessons."

"Come off it," Butcher squints back. "You were rolling, weren't ya? With my arms straight out, I'm practically giving you two or three!" When you shake your head, his face withers with exasperation. "Christ, I can't believe I'm gonna let you do this…You know what a triangle choke is, don't ya?"

You can't help the surprise look that takes over you. Of all the chokes in the world, why did he have to pick that one? "I kind of know the mechanics," you mutter. "Never done it though."

Butcher nods and sits back on his heels, moving his hands to rest on your abdomen. "A lot of times I'm going to push right here in your guts or against your hips to post up, keep you from grabbing for my head and neck. If I'm not careful though, I'm giving you something to tug on. Grab one of my wrists."

You pick his right, still eyeing him for any sudden movements. Just don't think too hard about this, you tell yourself. It's just a self-defense technique. Don't make it weird. It's just-

That little voice giggles from the back of your mind. Just Butcher's head about to be clamped between your-

"Take your other hand and pin my left as tight against my hip as you can," Butcher continues, unaware of your inner dialogue. "You're trying to get my left arm out. Now you're gonna let your guard open just enough that you can swing your right leg over my shoulder. Once it's there, plant your left foot on my hip."

It's uncomfortable letting your guard open after teaching yourself to keep it tight all the times previous. And you ignore the different level of uncomfortable swinging your leg over his broad shoulder. With just a slight shift, you're able to plant your other foot on his belt.

"If I sit up straight, you're gonna lose me. So keep in mind that this has to be done fast. Keep that grip on my wrist, grab the tricep of that same side and pull it as tight across your hip as you can. Point is to keep me off-center and where you can reach me."

You do as prompted and Butcher's weight slips fully between your hips and lower abdomen. It's just a triangle, it's just a triangle, it's just a triangle. Don't make it weird.

"You kept hold of my wrist, that's good. You don't want me to take my arm back. I take my arm back, you're in serious trouble. Pushing with that foot on my hip, you're gonna pivot so you can move this leg from my shoulder to go right across the back of my neck. Then lock it in by clamping your left knee over your ankle. Understand?"

"I think so. Push, pivot, calf behind neck, lock it down with other knee."

"Yes. Now it's important that once your legs are locked, you pull down on the back of my head with your free hand. Cinches it in." He takes a deep breath. "Alright. Let's see you do it."

With a deep breath of your own, you push on his hip, shifting, pulling. It takes a second but you finally get your leg behind his head, and with a little effort you move from his hip to locking it in. You squeeze, trying to pull your legs back into yourself as if he isn't there. His face quickly flushes, and when Butcher gasps a guttural "fuck!" before tapping, you can't help a snicker.

"Sorry," you rasp as he catches his breath. "I just wasn't expecting that reaction."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you done it!," he snaps. "I know you ladies tend to have better lower body strength but fucking hell! And you still messed up!"

"What?! You were about to turn into a tomato! How did I mess up?"

"I told you. You got to pull on the back of my head! Do not let me have me head!"

"But that-"

He hooks your knees and slides you back into closed guard. "Again," he barks. "Do it faster. And do it right this time."

You glare at him for a moment and finally move when he starts pushing his hands into your guts. You snatch his wrist, shoving his other arm out of the way. It's clunky, uncoordinated but you sling your leg behind his head again, locking in the triangle. Still irritated and the edge of your hangover lingering, you decide to squeeze your thighs tighter, ignoring his head to pull down your own leg. With petty satisfaction, you watch his face begin to rapidly change shades again. His eyes flare up at you. Then suddenly they give a wicked glint as he tries to twist in your hold and-

You let out a gasp bordering on a yelp, dropping your locking leg to kick hard against his shoulder. He flops back onto his elbows as you skitter across the carpet. When you stop just out of his reach, gripping your thigh, you realize the bastard is laughing. "I told you not to let me have me head."

"You bit me!" Your fingers rub across the faintest of teeth marks on the fabric across your inner thighs. "You bit me! The fuck, Butcher?!"

"You seem quick to forget that I'm not training you for sportsmanlike conduct, sweetheart," he calls after you from the floor as you jump to your feet, heading for better lighting. "Out in the real world, an attacker will do anything they can before they pass out. Which is why you gotta keep control."

You're only half listening at this point. You feel a dampness you're uncertain is from Butcher, sweat, or blood, and the little needles of panic prickle you like the burn of his teeth. Without any other thought you pull the top of your pants just low enough to inspect. To your short relief, the skin is unbroken. But there's no mistaking the curve of already darkening red on your thigh, feeling hot as a brand.

"See?" Butcher's drawl seizes your attention where he's still propped on his elbows. You catch his eyes moving from your exposed skin to your face with a lazy expression. "Not so bad…was it, love?"

It suddenly rushes over you - the night before, the wolf Butcher of your nightmare, the real one sprawled out on your floor with those damn eyes, the burning in your skin, the warmth you've been trying to deny pooling in you since you realized what he did - and the little voice comes dashing from the dark parts of your mind. As you stare wide-eyed back at him a most unholy thrill shoots through you and-!

"Get out."

"Easy, darlin'. Just had to teach you a lesson, eh? We still got-"

"I don't care what you think we have to cover!," you bite out, yanking your pants back into place. "I am done tonight! Done!"

"Alright, alright. Settle down," he rolls his eyes, slowly shifting up from the floor. But when his jacket slaps him hard in the face, he's suddenly on his feet.

"Take Lazzell's shit with you. And get out," you snarl. You feel the air shift about him as he rips on his jacket and knowing he'll be on you, you spin on your heel and storm to the front door. You snatch it open and turn just in time to push your back against the wall as he invades your space.

"You wanted to up the ante, but you can't handle when it gets a little rough?," he grits down at you.

"I asked you to teach me what you promised! Not fucking bite me like-!"

"Like what? Hmm?" Butcher's glare pins you to the wall just as thoroughly as the hands fisted at his sides. When you only mirror it back at him, he sneers, "Go on. Say it."

"Like that," you spit.

"That's not what you were gonna say. Fucking say it."

An animal, the little voice purrs. A wolf, all the better to eat you with…

But you don't. You won't. You should have known he didn't believe your lie that morning. And now he's calling you on it. But you'd be damned if you'd say it. You can't because if you do, if you say it sober, admit your lie to him right now…you're done for. And the aftermath is daunting.

Butcher huffs, still sneering as you remain stubbornly tight-lipped. "What's your real issue with me today, hm?"

Any sense of caution you have left evaporates and you snatch your fingers into his collar. His reflexes are quicker and he prevents you from getting a proper choke. But you hook one foot behind his ankle and manage to throw him off balance just enough. You throw all your weight towards the doorway and he stumbles backwards through. The second you release his collar you leap back with a "fuck you!". You slam the door as he lunges and if he doesn't collide with it, he must have only narrowly avoided it. You just as narrowly slide the first lock home when he tries the handle, and your back slides down the door once the rest are in place.

You wait for the pounding of his fist, but it's almost as startling that it never comes. It's like you can feel it just hovering before your door. You think you hear Butcher on the other side, but it's hard to tell if the heavy breathing is his or yours.

I'll huff, and I'll puff…

After a long moment, you are certain you hear him curse. Then his heavy boots storming away. When your ears no longer hear anything but the hum of electricity in your apartment and city white noise, you rise to your feet again. Adrenaline and that damn thrill still fizzling in your blood makes you feel like you might be shaking, or on the verge of it. And your damn thigh burns the hottest.

Later, - after you finally find the appetite to muster an excuse of dinner, after you slide into bed with heavy eyes - like the tempting itch of a fresh tattoo, you have to fight your fingers from tracing and retracing Butcher's bite mark. You're uncertain if your last thought before drifting off is to him or yourself; 

What the hell have you done?

[neteyamb]

ashes to ashes: chapter one

pairing: loak x f!omatikaya reader

summary: as a healer, y/n had taken an oath to treat every patient with their best interests in mind. this hadn’t been a problem, until loak’s petty injuries become a routine. she has to swallow her pride and feign concern, feign kindness, and face the ugly hate that has been brewing between them for years. 

tags: enemies to lovers, best friend kiri because i love her, eventual angst

word count: 1.1k

notes: i’m desperate for more loak x reader slowburns on this app. this is my first fic! (i gotta use this english degree for something lmfao) i cant do summaries but i want him so bad you guys

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

billie bossa nova: love when it makes you lose your bearings / it might be more of an obsession / you better lock your phone / and look at me when you're alone / won't take a lot to get you goin' / i'm sorry if it's torture though / that heavy breathin' on the floor / i’m yours, i'm yours 

nova – a star that suddenly increases its light output tremendously and then fades away to its former obsurity

you had known loak since you were four years old. he would scoff at your small achievements and be quick to retort with one of his own. if you climbed a particularly intimidating tree, he’d climb higher. if you had perfect aim with your bow, he’d rush to shoot at your target first. he antagonized you at every corner, and you quickly grew to hate him in return. his taunting voice was acid in your ears as it ghosted down your spine. when the two of you were twelve, you had gotten into your first physical fight. he yanked at your tail, and you did the same to his queue. by the time jake had found you, you were both covered in dirt and had tumbleweeds for hair, leaves sticking out haphazardly. you had gotten chewed out good for that, all the while sharing scowls with eachother across the room. now, you weren’t an ungracious woman; it didn’t matter who started it, but you’ll be damned if he gets the last blow.

at nineteen, loak’s shoulders had filled out and his scrawny frame became a sinewy, looming presence. you two would orbit around eachother, clashing periodically–inevitably. it wasn’t pretty, it was rather captivating like a car crash; addicting to watch the insults bounce off eachother like sparks. it was jarring to others at first; the way your usually reserved and civil manner morphed rapidly into something unruly, uncontainable. you were sure he got satisfaction from this, sometimes catching the twitch of a mocking, almost-smile at the corner of his lips at the thought of you losing face infront of a crowd. you had attempted to reel yourself in on countless occasions, but his teasing, expectant gaze was all the more infuriating. one day, you swore to yourself, you’d wipe the gratification off his face and hold it hostage as your own. 

✶✶✶✶

you rose from your hammock in the early hours of the morning. healing the injured and unwell, waiting on their every ailment with eager and tender hands, didn’t necessarily strike you as a career path you wanted to go down, but the cards were dealt that way; the RDA was steadily seeping into the edges of omatikayan territory, and there was a pressing need for helping hands on the sidelines. as an apprentice healer, you mainly spent your time preparing various ointments for the warriors on the frontlines. this meant you first had to gather the ingredients, most of which grew deeper in the forest than most bothered to venture to. kiri was an exception, spending her early teenage years finding solace in branches far from hometree. it naturally became a routine for you to head out with her in search of plants with healing properties. she would watch you intently over your shoulder, smiling quietly to herself as you handled the flora with delicate, yet expert hands. as the dawn bled into the clouds above, you headed over to her hut, now knowing the path like the back of your hand. 

“y/n!” her face split into a grin when she saw you standing in the entrance. you felt your lips lilt to match the expression of your best friend. you notioned wordlessly to the gathering basket in your arms, taking care not to startle tuk from her sleep. as you walked the forest floor together, you easily slipped into animated conversation about your elders. “i actually think maiya’s got it out for me, she rarely lets me work with the wounded. i’ve gotta be on my best behaviour so she doesn’t rip me a new one.” kiri snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly. “keep your chin up, maybe she’s waiting for your prince charming to waltz in with a missing arm.” once you reached your destination, you crouched to your knees, resting on the balls of your feet to harvest the plants.

satisfied with your diverse collection of leaves and flowers, you return to hometree just before noon, making a beeline towards the healing hut. maiya greets you with her lips pressed into a thin line, humming while you begin to sort your pile on the counter. as you grind the juice from a large alocasia leaf with a wooden mortar and pestle, loak enters the hut with his ears low and hands at his side, clasping them repeatedly like he didn’t know what to do with them. you offer him a brief frown and peer over at your elder, who decidedly doesn’t pause her task for his unceremonious entrance. you place the pestle down and bite your tongue, begrudgingly motioning for him to sit on the mat. his shoulder carries a small gash, and you notice there is a bruise forming on his ribcage. “fell down a hill. fix it up.” he bristles, feeling your heavy gaze roam his body. you wanted to laugh in his face, jeer at his crude appearance, but without this position you’d be lost and unknown to the clan. loak, on the other hand, had his duties made clear from birth–handed to him. you envied the clarity of his future. 

loak watches as you gingerly apply the medicine, stomach knotting at the feeling of your slender hands on his shoulder. your eyes burn his skin, and he restlessly fidgets in his seat. “stop moving, jackass,” you snap quietly. he hates it, hates you. he hates that you hate him. when you first met, his eyes chased after your soft hair and his ears flicked at your melodic voice. all those years ago, he tried to impress you with his skills, and you took it as a competition. it was frustrating, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit to the initial intention behind his actions. had you not seen him as a worthy partner? was it not painfully obvious, you’d wait for him to say it? well, bullet dodged. he didn’t consider you someone to impress anymore. instead, he relished in the igniting glare you’d give him as he casually whispered provocations in your ear. loak wanted you to feel bothered, threatened by his effortless skill.

you feel his eyes crawling on your skin as you uncomfortably shift closer to apply the cream to his ribs. your fingers dance across his torso, and he grits his teeth in irritation. once you’ve finished, you’re quick to put space between yourself and him. his mouth twists as he looks up at you, about to say something, before he seems to change his mind. he abruptly stands with hands in fists, pivoting hard on his heel out of the hut without a word.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

notes: first chapter done, hope yall like it!

[gracegrove]

Elf au Harringrove (mostly Billy tho)

Where the plot is mostly the same as Elf except,

Billy grows up in the North Pole not believing that he's a cotton-headed-ninny-muggins but rather an exceptionally genetically gifted elf who is by far taller than all the other elves. He excels at winter sports and is a menace at ice hockey and polar bear polo. He is not talented with toy making but why would someone such as himself want to waste time on Litebrites and Mr. Potato Heads? No, Billy wanted more than an elf's life. He is often in trouble for racing the reindeer, swapping spit (and other things) with other elves, and passing out in the stables hiccuping with an empty bottle of maple bourbon from Santa's personal stores.

One day while sobering up in a pile of hay, Billy overhears the stable elves complain that Billy's behavior is human and no elf would act this way. Why did they ever take in a human? Billy then has an identity crisis.

Billy finds out from his adopted elf parent, that as an infant he was in a car accident in which his mother was driving. She died in the crash and Billy was taken to an orphanage. No one at the time came to claim him. Billy's name was known because he was found with a blanket that had his name embroidered on it. However, Santa knows who Billy's father is.

Santa tells Billy that his father is Neil Hargrove, a New York City police sergeant with a wife and daughter who live in Queens. Santa says that Neil is a good man who has been on his Nice List since 1973. Billy cannot believe it.

Blaming Neil for abandoning his mother to die and not claiming him at the orphanage, Billy sets out for New York City with the goal of putting Neil Hargrove back on the Naughty List.

Billy puts his plan in motion by going to Neil's precinct on his first day in NYC (still dressed as an elf) and introduces himself to Neil with the most vulgar Christmasgram complete with ass shaking. Neil arrests Billy and has his lieutenant, Hopper run fingerprints and DNA on this guy because he's gotta have priors for prostitution or distribution or something. No way that kid was telling the truth, even if he somehow knew his late girlfriend's name. The DNA comes back a familial match. Father and son.

What is he going to do? Hopper suggests taking Billy home and Billy musters his most innocent smile in agreement. As Billy worms his way into Neil's life he learns that his parents had a fight the night his mother died and that Neil and his new wife fight sometimes too. This fuels Billy's mission, as he decides to tail Neil during his day to catch Neil messing up.

After meeting Steve and growing closer with Neil's daughter, Maxine, Billy begins to realize that his efforts to put Neil on the Naughty List aren't worth it. He will never forget what happened to his mother and how it affected his life, but seeking out revenge will not fulfill him. Billy realizes that Neil does not need any help getting back in the Naughty List and that he should put his efforts into protecting the new relationships that he has found.

Elf au extras

The pennies from heaven montage but Billy style:

Billy sneaks into a peep show, kicks his feet up, and enjoys himself with a Christmas themed striptease. “Santa was sooooo elfing wrong… this is better (than peeking at presents early)”.

Goes into the WORLD'S BEST CUP OF COFFEE cafe to try it. He silently takes a sip. Says with a straight face, “This is gumdroppings.” [Insert elf equivalent of cussword to mean shit] Then he walks out of the cafe without paying.

A teenager on the street offers Billy a CD copy of their ‘demo’. Billy takes it because it looks like a shiny Christmas bauble, but doesn't pay for it.

Billy gets asked by a family from Des Moines if they can get their picture taken with him. He says no but gives in when their little girl starts crying.

Billy acts like he's cool but goes round and round in the carousel door until he can't walk straight and falls back out onto the sidewalk.

Billy farehops the subway.

Billy has done at least five different things without paying that the cops are now chasing him like a cartoon character and the only way he loses them is by blending in with the Christmas decor at the department store…. Where he meets Steve.

[magniloquent-raven]

i've seen a lot of AUs messing around with what happened between Billy and Steve at the end of s2, like, what if Billy had seen the demodog, what if they made out instead of beat the shit out of each other, what if Steve hadn't lied about Max, etc. etc.

and i mean, it's not like i've read every harringrove fanfic so maybe this has actually been written before, but it just occurred to me that i've never seen someone explore what might have happened if Billy had just showed up at the Byers' like twenty minutes earlier. before everyone else left.

i just think it would be interesting because Billy has a habit of keeping his attitude mostly in check around adults, and the fact that one of those adults is a cop might keep him even more in check, so the chances of him getting violent would be much lower. but despite him being less likely to lose his shit, there's also NO chance he'd actually listen if he was told to leave without Max. and i doubt Max would be cool with leaving, no matter how angry she knows Billy is getting (maybe in part BECAUSE she knows he's already pissed, the last thing she wants is to get into a car with him right now).

the whole thing would be SO sus, because everyone would be trying to stop him from going inside but he can see Max and her friends peeking through a broken window while the goddamn chief of police tries to run interference without actually telling him anything. he'd be so stubborn about the whole thing. pretending to be polite, but not blinking an eye when Hop starts implying he's going to arrest Billy for trespassing if he doesn't back down, and Joyce has to get involved, being a mom about it, trying to convince Billy that Max is safe and he doesn't have to worry and she can call Susan if that would help.

so when nothing they say to Billy actually makes a difference they start to wonder if they should just send Max home with him, and Mike has started to get snippy with her about it, saying she should just go because if her brother ruins everything it'll be her fault, but Lucas is adamant that letting Max leave with him would be a bad idea.

and somewhere in between all the arguing Billy shoves his way into the house, where there's still a demodog dead on the floor, and Will's art project on the walls, and Will himself, knocked out in the next room. which is all very weird, but Billy's kind of on a mission here. so him and Max get into it. he can't go after Lucas this time, not with a cop twenty feet away. they just argue. loudly. angrily.

until Billy has had enough, he can't keep pretending he isn't on pins and needles, hasn't been keyed up since his confrontation with Neil. and he has to hit something. anything. nearby. he punches a dent in the nearest wall.

and it freaks El out. and something explodes.

which is just one too many weird things for Billy to ignore.

Steve steps in at the same time Hopper does, both of them unsure how Billy is going to react. except he kind of. doesn't. he's freaked out, and confused, and still angry, but he also looks just as unsure as they are.

they don't really explain it to him. not all of it. he glares at everyone in the room while they give him the stilted cliffnotes version and he doesn't seem to believe any of it.

when Joyce and Hopper leave with their respective teams, Billy gets left behind with Steve and the kids. Steve's half sure he's going to grab Max and drive off the second they can't see tail-lights anymore, and given the way Max is bracing herself, she seems to think so too.

he doesn't. he lights up a cigarette and sits on the couch by himself, ignoring everyone's uneasy stares while they sweep up glass and wood splinters.

and i mean from there it would be both harder and easier to get the kids to the tunnels lmao. could go either way but i figure Billy volunteering to drive the children to their death just because Steve was so adamant it was a bad idea would not be entirely out of character for him. and he's still not convinced any of this is real, so maybe he wants to see it for himself. and maybe he's still itching for some action. if there is some crazy shit down there...well, if he's dead he won't have to explain to Neil how bad he fucked up, so there's that.

(and on a related note i kind of love the idea that Billy would be shit at fighting monsters. like they just freak him out and he can't do it. so he goes down there into the tunnels all sure of himself and confident because he knows he can fight but the second they run into trouble he freezes up and Steve has to save his ass. which totally doesn't turn him on at all, shut up)