#i mean it could be?

[oceanbilly]

Sorrow's native son

hi, i've never posted a fic and what i wrote might seem strange and unusual, so i wanted to give an explanation beforehand. i happened to read that one page from the stranger things book, max's book to be exact, it was the scene where neil abused billy with a belt and something in me broke and what i wrote was like a knee-jerk reaction to that. it's not really a romantic setting, i think it ended up being gender neutral too (but not 100% sure), i just needed to find a way to make billy less lonely. anyways, i hope there's at least one person who will enjoy it and relate to it.

My finger slid across the different boxes on the shelf. My eyes eventually landed on the one with the sale sign hanging below it. The store was quiet except for the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights. It was getting late.

I heard a bell announcing someone’s arrival. The cold air wrapped around my body like a blanket and I shivered. As I entered another aisle, my eyes fell on Billy Hargrove.

Our paths rarely crossed, yet his sight was uncomfortably familiar. Back in high school, he always made sure to be obnoxious enough to be noticed by everyone. He was loud and bold. Liked showing off his body even in the most inappropriate places and despite the dreadful weather, as if he was rebelling against Hawkins for the sake of it. He liked being intimidating and feared. He liked being admired.

All of that used to make an impression, until the thin veil of bullshit dropped and I saw the nasty truth.

Not long after graduation, when I was walking down Cherry Lane, I saw him carrying a big box out of the back door of his house. I wouldn’t pay much attention if it wasn’t for his father, who was walking closely behind him, pushing him to go faster. When Billy tripped and the box fell with a loud clash, I stopped. I wasn’t planning on helping – it was sheer curiosity more than anything else.

Before even a thought could pass my mind, his father’s booming voice rang in my ears. His mouth danced around the word ‘useless’ like he was used to it, like it was his favorite word and saying it caused him great pleasure. I wanted to scowl and move on, telling myself that it was none of my business, but a pained noise made me freeze. A heavy boot collided with Billy’s ribs once, twice, three times and I felt every kick in my own body. His father spat on him, yelled a few more offensive words and left. I saw Billy push himself up until he was on his hands and knees. His head hung low as he took a few deep breaths. I didn’t know what I should do, or if I should even do anything at all. Billy, however, decided for me, because when he raised his head, his cold eyes pierced through mine and I knew I shouldn’t get close.

In that position on the ground, he seemed like a wounded animal, glaring at me silently. I felt like an intruder. I looked away and forced my feet to start moving again. I walked, but it was harder now, slower, because of the heavy guilt that kept weighing on my shoulders.

After that day, I saw him everywhere. It was like I was being punished for what I did. Or didn’t do. His sight alone always brought back the shame and the guilt.

Right now he was browsing the medicine shelf. He picked up the aspirin and then put it back down. He pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket and looked at it like it was offending him. He also looked different. His hair was gathered in a bun, and instead of his usual showy outfit, he was clothed in sweatpants, a plain t-shirt and a red plaid shirt thrown on top of it. It hung loose on him, too, and it was dripping wet. I looked outside the window, where the heavy November rain was wreaking havoc. He eventually stuffed the money back into his pocket and put the bottle down. He huffed, irritated, and stormed out of the store.

I bit my lip nervously. I quickly grabbed the aspirin and made my way to the checkout. When I went outside, I saw him walking slowly down the street. He wasn’t in a hurry, like there was nowhere he was supposed to be in this nasty weather. His figure illuminated by the street lamps seemed small.

I chased him down and stopped in front of him, successfully cutting him off. I pushed the bottle of aspirin into his hand. He furrowed his brow and looked confused for a second, before his features were clouded by anger.

‘I don’t need fucking charity,’ he spat.

‘Take it or don’t, I don’t give a shit.’ Lies.

Billy has been all I could think about. Every time I saw him in public with his father, my heart sank. It was easy to miss – the light shoves, the way Billy never really looked him in the eye. Whenever I saw him, my mind immediately recalled the image of Billy on his lawn. It was burned into my brain and it paired well with the pang of guilt somewhere in my chest.

He also seemed to remember this moment well, because whenever he spotted me in town, his body tensed and he turned his head away. We never actually talked, but his posture was a warning in itself.

Billy clenched his jaw, but his hand tightened on the bottle. The dim orange light couldn’t hide his swollen eye and a bruised cheekbone. He opened the bottle and took out three pills. I dug in my shopping bag for a water bottle, which I passed it to him. This time he accepted it without any biting remarks. My gaze flickered down to his hands and one look at his clean knuckles told me everything I needed to know. He swallowed the pills.

‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift,’ I said and pushed past him to go get into my car.

I half expected him to just leave and not look back, maybe flip me off as a goodbye, but to my surprise he slipped into the passenger seat next to me. I took in his face which scrunched up in pain for a second, but he schooled it very fast. The raindrops slid down his cheek.

Billy didn’t seem like the person who could simply accept help. It wasn’t taught to him. His pride got in the way too. His whole body was stiff, like he was ready to bolt any second. Like he was still on the verge of making his final decision. However, these last gruelling months have taught me that he also had a strong survival instinct. If he did something uncharacteristic – he did it out of pure need.

‘So what, you just pity me? Is that it?’ His voice was low and quiet. There was a layer of anger to it. This situation was taking away his control and he didn’t like that.

‘No,’ I replied, starting the engine and pulling out onto the road. ‘I pity your dad.’

‘For having a useless son?’ He asked louder now. The cool mask of anger was cracking, allowing the anxiety to seep through. From the corner of my eye I could see the end of his sleeve gripped tightly in his hand. I flinched at the word. It was now my least favorite word.

‘For being a braindead pissbucket.’ I spat. ‘I believe it’s incurable.’

I risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at me like I grew a second head. He snorted loudly and turned towards the window, a smile playing on his lips. I felt a bit lighter now that he was slightly less tense.

‘Do you want me to…’ I hesitated, knowing I was about to bring his mood down, ‘drop you off at home?’

He didn’t reply, but he shook his head, still looking out the window. I clenched my jaw, eyes fixed firmly on the road. He was out late in the pouring rain in the middle of November wearing these damn rags. He clearly walked for a while and he didn’t have his car. I wondered briefly if his father would be above kicking him out of the house for the night. I didn’t ask where to take him, because I had a feeling he didn’t have anywhere to go.

After ten minutes of silence I pulled up to my driveway.

I got out of the car and leaned down to look at Billy. ’C’mon.’ There was no point in asking. I let him make his decision based on what he really needed right now. He followed me without a word.

I opened the door and pushed him inside first. The pleasant warmth of the house made me sigh in relief. I took off my jacket and shoes, and looked at Billy, who was currently leaving a small puddle on the floor. I walked up to him and gently slid the dripping plaid shirt off of his shoulders. I was going to put it on the radiator in the kitchen, but something caught my eye. His white shirt had splashes of red all over his back. My heart stopped and the shirt slipped out of my hands. No. No, no, no.

‘Billy?’ My voice sounded weak and uncertain.

‘Yeah?’

‘You’re… You’re hurt,’ I said, eyes glued to the blood stains.

He tensed immediately. He didn’t reply and I was worried I saw too much. The most he had hoped for was probably just the painkillers and a place to crash. He didn’t actually plan on letting me in and now I accidentally stepped into his personal space. I was too close to the issue and I knew it scared him.

‘It’s fine,’ he said in a defensive tone. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

I could just let it go. In fact that’s what I should’ve done.

But then I felt it again. It creeped upon my shoulders slowly just to crush me all at once. The guilt. It didn’t let me move. It didn’t let me breathe. After that the panic started to set in. I let him suffer for so long.

I grabbed his hand, led him into the kitchen and made him sit in a chair. I pulled the first aid kit out of the cabinet and I saw it in his eyes. The flash of anger and betrayal, but I have already made my decision.

‘Take your shirt off,’ I said in a serious tone. ‘Please,’ I added quietly.

I expected him to put up a fight or at least make a suggestive joke, but he didn’t. He knew there was no use. The curtain was ripped away a long time ago and he had to accept that. But it was clear that he had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that someone knew the truth.

He gripped the hem of his t-shirt and started pulling it up, but halfway through he made a pained noise and let out a frustrated sigh. I grabbed the shirt for him and gently pulled it off.

When my eyes landed on his back, I felt dizzy. His tan skin was littered with angry red welts. The bruises were slowly blooming all over his back and the skin was broken in places. My first instinct was to ask him if he was hit by a car, but I knew better. And then I saw a few deep red squares that made me sick. The belt buckle.

“Jesus,” I breathed, before I could stop myself. I reeled back horrified. I’ve never seen anyone hurt this badly. I tried not to overreact – I had a feeling he would just run if I did. I suppressed my rising panic and closed my eyes for a second. It didn’t help much, the image already burned behind my eyelids. “I’m gonna clean it up, is that okay?” I asked, full of hesitation. I wasn’t sure how to even approach this without making him upset or ashamed. He was in a very vulnerable position, which could trigger his fight or flight response.

He didn’t reply, but he did give me a quick nod.

Feeling slightly relieved, I took out a cloth, dampened it and gently pressed it against his skin, trying to clean the dried blood away to see the wounds clearly. He flinched, but stayed quiet. I had to resist the urge to just take my hand away, so that I wouldn’t cause him any more pain, but this had to be done.

I drenched a gauze in an antiseptic and with a light hand started to disinfect the injuries. That did get a hiss and a muted fuck out of him, which I tried my hardest to ignore. Looking at his massacred back up close was making me lightheaded.

How could someone do this to another person? To their own kid?

The shame I felt was shattering. I knew. I knew this whole time and I failed him. My mind was cruel enough to make me feel like I was the one holding the belt.

I tried to be quick with the antiseptic, because his body felt like a tightly wound up string, ready to snap at any moment. I looked at the pile of bloodied gauzes and felt nauseous.

I took a few clean ones and covered the wounds, and then secured them with some medical tape. It looked a bit ridiculous and not professional at all, but the aesthetics didn’t matter right now. After I was done, Billy didn’t say anything. He wasn’t really moving either. I could only imagine what was going through his head right now.

I sat down in front of him to check how he was doing and I was met with a very hard image to take. He wasn’t crying. His head was hanging low and he was staring at the floor. His eyes were eerily hollow. Emotionless. There was no dramatic reaction, no sobbing, no fighting. Just acceptance.

I put away the first aid kit and cleaned up the used supplies.

‘Any cracked ribs?’ I asked standing awkwardly next to him. He shook his head without looking at me.

I was conflicted. I didn’t feel like I had the right to act like his friend now, but leaving him alone was not even an option. I looked at him sitting there. His body wasn’t as muscular as it used to be, he looked thinner. When he was hunched over like that, his skin stretched over his ribs grotesquely. He seemed to be a shell of the Hawkins High king he once was. All of his friends who used to worship him left the town. He was alone.

I put the kettle on and prepared some hot tea to warm him up. He didn’t even move, didn’t speak. He was lost in thought. I put two mugs on the table and sat down in front of him.

I wasn’t certain if I should say anything, but when I looked at him my heart broke. I saw my hand reach out involuntarily and cover his. It was cold. His head snapped up and he looked at me surprised.

‘I… I’m sorry, Billy. I’m sorry for what I did.’

He seemed confused. ‘What did you do?’

‘I pretended like I didn’t see it. I acted like I didn’t know.’

He looked down again and shook his head. ‘It’s not your job to help. I manage on my own.’

I squeezed his hand lightly.

‘I know we’re not friends, but… I don’t want you to be on your own anymore. If you let me, I’ll be there for you. With you.’

The look he gave me was indescribable. His brows were drawn gently like he didn’t quite understand what I was saying.  The feeling of support was so alien to Billy he wasn’t sure how to react. I wanted him to know that if he shared this burden, it would get a bit lighter. He didn’t have carry it alone anymore.

He didn’t sob or open up immediately. He did not pour his feelings out to me. He sat there quietly for a long time, but I could see that there was no anger or fear darkening his beautiful face anymore. He was weighing his options, thinking carefully about the secret he has kept for so long. He was now forced to confront it, to look this monster in the eye and call it by its name. He had to acknowledge his pain, really feel it instead of burying it deep under his skin.

The yellow overhead light in my kitchen betrayed Billy and I caught the glimpse of how glassy his eyes were. He didn’t let the tears fall. He didn’t even let his voice break.

All he said was: ‘Okay.’

And I knew he was ready to let me in.

[somewhatsentientspellbook]

Crackpot C3/EXU theory time (hear me out)

According to the wiki, Imogen Temult is 28 years old. Liliana Temult left when Imogen was a baby/toddler - essentially before any real memories of her mother could stick.

Liliana goes off and travels the world in an attempt to understand herself. She changes her name, her presentation, and her identity in every new town in hopes that one of those identities will save her from the pull of Ruidus.

Eventually, around 20 years before Bells Hells met in Jrusar, Liliana finds herself in a town of merry people whose dialect sounds similar enough to her own. There, she takes the name Paloma and finds herself growing close with a man there - which leads to the unexpected discovery that she is once again, pregnant.

Lilana knew what happened the first time. The moon she had been drawn to her whole life flared and had doomed Imogen like it doomed her. Now it would doom her new child too. Except, that is, that one new child, was two new children - twins girls!

Time dragged on and Liliana couldn't stay in that loud, bustling town. The pull of Ruidus was too irresistible and once again, the mother abandoned her children to seek answers. Once again, she didn't bother to tell her lover about her abilities, or what her children may have inherited.

Look, the twins have a psychic connection to one another that their father couldn't explain. Even if they themselves were not Ruidusborn, perhaps their mother being one was enough to affect them.

If they had known that Paloma was actually Liliana Temult, perhaps things would have been different. If they had known that across the sea, their big sister, Imogen Temult, understood their struggle.

Perhaps things could have been different?

[anthrophobixx]

I had a dream where Brock was revealed to be a butch lesbian at the end of journeys and he thought that "ash and the others already knew" and the entire internet started losing their minds over it and after a couple hours the pokemon company tweeted "surprise faggots" with a picture of Brock holding a poorly edited lesbian flag

I tried to recreate it it looked smth like this

[astronomical-bagel]

[adyophene]

Husk's secret weapon

[flagellant]

i could not be trusted to make this game because my immediate thought is that the game advertises and markets itself as what op intended but steadily and then rapidly becomes very clear that instead of a cozy cute cottagecore "mystery" the story SHOULD be about the blatant corruption, cruelty, systemic oppression, and persecution and bigotry of her neighbors, but the main character is desperately clinging to the original genre of omg cozy cute and cottagecore because she feels overwhelmed by the potential responsibility to enact meaningful change rather than feel-good aesthetic positivity, thus becoming actively complicit in the town's crimes through her not mere inaction but in fact conscious choice to decide that she will be the protagonist of a cozy cute genre game rather than a story which might challenge her preconceptions of the world and the state of her own community.

[colaghost]

One of my favorite little details in Deadpool and Wolverine was when Logan asks Wade, “Have you been checked for ADHD?” because it shows that Logan knows the signs, PROBABLY, from teaching all the mutant kids at Xavier’s and I just think that’s really sweet.

[chloesimaginationthings]

The Afton kids deserved better in FNAF..

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[blorbosinmyheadcentral]

Supervised Machine Learning

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.

You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?

Click on their name. And look at their profile.

I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.

"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.

"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.

Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.

Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.

Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.

I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.

Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.

[mimefish]

nevermind everyone winner's symbolism cancelled. we cannot have another scar earth/mercury/comet situation again. I vote we all lay down our weapons and join hands in peace and accept that the one true symbol for Joel is the Car. wherever he goes whatever flavour of symbols you particularly enjoy. Car. Just Car. Because it would be really funny

[madscientistenthusiast]

Personally I think that Azula should have been redeemed simply so that she can become Zuko's horrible little advisor who whispers evil little plans to him so that he can do the exact opposite

[meziniart]

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves

[kimdokjas]

though the movie might be cancelled, yuri on ice will live forever in our hearts. thank you yoi fandom, it's been real ♡

[doubledudeski]

pics that make you go "oh I KNOW he eated a trash"