#susan's hell sprint

[madphantom]

Came back wrong

(and nonbinary but that's unrelated)

#personal post #my art #art #sarah the novel #susan's hell sprint

[childofbloodandstarlight]

Finished up some fan art of @madphantom 's OC The Storyteller, who features in her book series. It's genuinely brilliant, so atmospheric, beautifully written and has haunted me since.

#madphantom #storyteller #gore #eye gore #fanart #watercolour painting #susan's hell sprint #sarahthenovel

[yikesharringrove]

steve being absolutely whipped for steve is my favorite thing ever. like ok what if they were friends and billy likes steve, and steve's oblivious to it but billy will drop whatever he's doing to make steve's like a the tiniest bit easier and it's so cute

It all starts with homework.

Homework Steve dropped on the floor in the hallway, to be more specific.

He fucking tripped and his shit went everywhere, and he was scrambling to pick it all up, when he noticed another pair of hands shuffling with his papers.

“Thanks, Hargrove,” he muttered.

“Most of these are wrong.” Steve snatched the math worksheet out of his hands, his face hot as he stuffed it in his backpack.

He tried to push past the absolutely solid wall that was Billy Hargrove, but the other boy kept blocking him.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

It was a fucking lie. He knew he’d gotten most of the problems wrong. They were working on some weird formula that had to do with area, or volume, or something like that. And Steve really didn’t understand it.

But he didn’t want any help from fucking Hargrove, who would just spread it around the school that Steve Harrington is in remedial geometry as a senior.

But Hargrove had reached into Steve's backpack, and yanked out the assignment, using the pencil he had stored behind his ear to erase Steve’s shitty work.

“All you have to do is multiply the length by the width by the height. And that’s volume.”

Steve had added those three values and then cubed them. It had taken him hours.

“I know.”

Billy gave him a scathing look.

“Meet me in the library at lunch, and we’ll fix it.”

-

Steve wasn’t actually expecting Billy to be there, but he was. And they fixed Steve’s math.

And he got an A on the homework, his first one all year.

So it became a thing. They’d do Steve’s math homework at lunch together. And Billy would walk him through the tough problems, and clap him on the back when he got something by himself.

His teacher noticed his progress, and congratulated him on it.

“I got a tutor,” he told her.

They were studying on some random Thursday together, Billy with his nose in some worn-out novel, periodically peeking over the pages to take a look at Steve's math homework.

He was doing much better, and now Billy only had to silently point to an incorrect answer for Steve to go back and fix it.

Steve's stomach rumbled, breaking the silence,

"Jesus, Harrington. I think your stomach is trying to eat itself."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he smiled at Billy.

"Seriously, just eat lunch."

There technically was a rule against food in the library, but the librarian liked Billy, and tended to turn a blind eye to whatever he was doing at his usual back table.

Steve checked his watch.

"I'll just grab something later. I need to finish this."

He kept working on his math. His stomach growled again.

Billy sighed.

He dug into his bag, pulling out the crumpled brown paper bag Susan has passed him in the morning. She always made him lunch after a rough night with his dad.

Consolation prize, he guesses.

He pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, placing one half on Steve's open textbook.

Steve looked at him with round eyes.

"Nah dude, that's your lunch. I can get something after school."

"Like hell. Just eat the sandwich, Harrington."

Steve scarfed the first half like a small animal, and Billy glared at him until he had the second half.

He'll be okay, he can just sneak some food at home before his dad gets back from work.

-

"Harrington! How many times," Coach yelled from the sidelines. "You're leaving yourself too open!"

Steve was breathing hard, sprinting down the court after being bowled over by one of the guys on the other team.

It was deafening in the gym, the stands packed full.

Steve was playing like shit. The other team was dogging him, stealing the ball from him, blocking his every move.

He was point guard to Billy's shooting guard.

Billy yanked him by the back of the jersey, pulling him back to mutter in his ear.

Steve nodded once.

It was a good play, a simple pick and roll.

The other team scored, and Billy nodded at Steve.

They brought it down the court, and Billy made eye contact with Steve as he moved to set a pick on the asshole guard that kept knocking Steve down.

Steve moved, sprinting to the basket to finally make a fucking shot.

As he moved, the guard followed, but there was Billy.

They collided hard, and Billy got knocked flat on his ass.

His head cracked against the wooden floor, and he saw stars for a second.

He was fucking pleased as punch to see the other guard flat on his back, too. Looking as dazed as Billy felt.

There was a hand in front of his face, and he took it, allowing Steve to bring him to his feet, a look of concern in his big eyes.

"You okay, dude?"

"You score?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm fine." He clapped Steve on the shoulder, jogging back to get in the game, shaking off the dizzy spell.

-

Billy paid no mind to the phone ringing.

He was sat at the kitchen table, finishing up his chemistry homework.

Sometimes he and Max did homework at the kitchen table together. Neil would give approving looks when he walked by if he saw Billy helping her with something she pretended not to understand.

"Hargrove residence." Neil was the only one who answered the phone that way. The rest of them said Hargrove-Mayfield.

Billy tightened his grip on his pencil.

He could feel his dad's eyes on the back of his head, standing straight against the wall where the phone was mounted.

"Yes, he is here."

Fuck.

What could Billy have done now? He's been a model fucking citizen for the past week.

And no one can trace that fucking fire under the bleachers back to him. Besides, he put it out before anything could really get burned.

"Billy, the phone's for you."

At least if he was in trouble, the person wouldn't be asking to speak with him.

Billy stood up, ignoring Max's questioning look.

Billy took the phone, not making eye contact with his dad.

"Hey! Sorry, I know this is weird, but I got your phone number from Max a little while ago, and I know usually we just study during school, but I am so fucking confused on this assignment. And I'll pay you! I'll even order food if you want to come over to help me. Oh! This is Steve by the way."

As if Billy wouldn't recognize his rambling.

"Um, sure. I can help you." He looked at his dad. "And no need to pay me."

"Just try to get out of here without any money. I dare you. So, can you come over? Tonight? This is due tomorrow."

Billy wasn't supposed to leave on school nights.

"Can you give me a second? Please?" He didn't wait for Steve to respond, he just lowered the phone.

"Dad," he started.

"How long have you been tutoring that Harrington boy?" Neil's voice was unreadable.

"A few weeks. Mostly at school. He needs some help tonight, and uh, offered to pay me if I come by his place."

"And you said you didn't want to be paid?"

"Yes, sir."

Billy tried his very best not to flinch when his dad patted him on the shoulder.

"That's good. Rubbing elbows with the Harrigntons. I was wondering why they didn't press charges when you beat that boy to a pulp."

Billy fucking hated when Neil brought that shit up.

It wasn't his fault he has a hard time controlling his rage. If anything, it's Neil's fault for slapping him around before sending him on an errand.

Steve just happened to kinda get in the way.

But Billy apologized, and Steve said he got over it, and clearly he did, if he's inviting Billy over to his house to work on his homework.

He raised the phone back up to his ear.

"Sure, I can help you. But I can't be out late. It's a school night."

Neil nodded approvingly, and Billy flipped him the bird the second he turned his back.

"Yeah, whatever. The front door's unlocked, just come upstairs when you're here."

Steve didn't even wait for a reply before he ended the call, and Billy quietly placed the phone back on the receiver.

He cleaned up his own homework, and took his bag with him.

"Billy," his dad said as he was halfway out the back door. "Curfew's at 8:30. And I'll be locking the door."

"Yes, sir."

-

Harrington's house is fuckin' huge.

Billy should've expected it, with Steve's family being as well connected as they were.

He let himself into the house, as Steve had told him to do, and was immediately met with a slight woman, staring at him like he'd just walked uninvited into her home.

"Uh," he said. Why the fuck would Steve tell him to just come in? "I'm Billy? Billy Hargrove. Steve's tutor."

And then her face brightened, and holy shit, Steve looks exactly like his mom.

"He is upstairs, I'll show you." She waved him to follow behind her and she took off up the stairs.

Billy scrambled to kick his boots off and raced after her.

She was lean like Steve, with long legs and insanely thick,dark brown hair that went clear down to her ass.

(Steve even kinda has his mom's perfect ass.)

She knocked on the door to Steve's room, even though it was slightly ajar, and let herself in.

Steve was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, all curled up and sitting cross-legged on his chair.

"Tesoro, il tuo amico è qui."

Steve turned, and he fucking beamed at Billy.

"Grazie, Mamma." He waved Billy over in the same motion his mother had done downstairs.

Billy felt awkward in the room, and his face felt hot, and his palms were sweaty.

"Avete bisogno di qualcosa?" She asked, and holy shit, how has it taken Billy this long to realize that Steve and his mother were not even speaking fucking English to one another.

He knew he was staring.

"No, grazie."

She smiled again at Billy as she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Damn, your mom's hot," was all Billy could think to say.

Luckily, it worked. Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to his work and shaking his head. But Billy could see a tiny smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't start that shit and just help me with this, okay?"

Billy peered over his shoulder.

Steve was working on an English assignment, the same one Billy had completed last week.

It was a questionnaire about the Shakespeare play they had read in class, Othello.

Billy knew it was grueling, fifty multiple choice, ten matching, and three essay questions.

He had the book open text to him, and there had been lines and passages highlighted and annotated.

"This shit was nasty. I did it last week."

Steve scrunched his brows up at Billy.

"You're in English 12? How? You're a junior?"

Billy shrugged.

"That's just what I tested into when I moved here. I was on a fast track in California." Yeah, he would've probably gotten to graduate a semester early, if they had stayed.

"Okay, well, then you can help me. Because I can barely read as it is, and this stupid Shakespeare stuff just doesn't even make sense."

He put his head down on his desk, leaning his forehead against the questionnaire and groaning loudly.

"It's like another language. You have to learn to translate it. I mean, you and your mom were speakin' something, so you know how to do this."

"Yeah, and that's kinda the problem." Steve sat up, looking at Billy. Billy moved to sit on the corner of his desk. "My mom's from Italy, and I didn't even speak English until I was like, six. Regular English has never made sense to me, and then they give us this shit." He flipped the book closed harshly.

Billy had to bite his tongue, because the only thing he could think to say was you sure do talk a lot for someone who allegedly doesn't understand English. But he didn't really wanna be a dick right now.

"Okay. Here's what will do. We'll answer as many questions as you can. Once we get to the ones about specific passages, I'll read them in plain terms, and you'll be fine, okay?"

Steve nodded glumly, but he picked up his pencil.

"Okay, dude. You can definitely answer this first question."

Question one: Who wrote Othello.

Steve circled the correct answer and Billy pat him on the head. Steve glared at him playfully.

They went through the questions.

Some were easy, and clearly all Steve needed was a cheerleader, because he circled the correct ones right away.

But then, some were fucking difficult.

"Okay, question 36: What is the significance of Othello's handkerchief?"

Steve flipped through the book desperately.

"What fucking handkerchief?"

-

It was a little past eight, and Steve was just barely halfway through the packet.

He was clearly trying not to get frustrated, as he came across harder and harder questions, understanding less and less.

"So, in the passage, Iago is basically trying to turn Othello against Desdemona. He's saying that if she deceived her father, she would deceive Othello."

"But, I don't get why she lied to her dad. Like, what was the lie?"

"He didn't want her to get married to Othello, but she did anyway."

Steve just looked desperately at Billy.

"So, she did cheat on Othello? And Iago is telling him about it?"

"No, she didn't Iago is trying to fuck with Othello."

"Wait, so Desdemona did nothing wrong, and then Othello still kills her?" He looked incredulous.

"Yeah, man. It's Shakespeare. In the tragedies, everyone dies. In the comedies, everyone fucks."

"Why?"

"Because it was Elizabethan England, and everyone was fucking and dying, and half of these stories are based on the Greek plays that came before, in which everyone just fucked and died."

"I wish my life was like that. I just wanna fuck. And then die." Steve put his pencil down, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry, man. That I dragged you here to help me with this. I'm just fucking dumb."

Billy smacked Steve in the back of the head, and he yelped, glaring at Billy and rubbing the spot where Billy had merely tapped him.

"You're not stupid. This is hard. Now, let's keep going. This isn't gonna finish itself."

-

Billy ended up finally leaving Steve's close to ten.

His mom thanked him for helping Steve, and shoved a wad of cash in his hand that Billy felt too awkward to count until he had parked in his spot behind his house.

Jesus Christ, she gave him fifty bucks.

He put it with the rest of his stash, in the locked glove compartment, and wiggled into the back seat.

He doesn't doubt that his dad had locked the house promptly at curfew. He doesn't doubt that he was gonna get his shit rocked tomorrow after school when he showed up back at home.

But Steve had finished his assignment, and had flung his arms around Billy when it was finally over, and it's okay. Billy can take a few smacks.

-

"Hey!"

Billy turned to see Steve rushing towards him down the hall. His cheeks were pink and he was beaming.

He thrust the assignment from last night into Billy's hands, and there was a big red A- on the top.

"That's my best English grade, like, ever. Thank you! Seriously, Billy. Thank you so much. I'm taking you out for dinner this weekend, okay? To say thank you. I'll buy you a burger and a milkshake, and anything you want."

"Nah, man. Your mom paid me last night, it's okay."

Steve shook his head, his hair flopping onto his forehead, and he pushed it back, still grinning. Fuck, he's so pretty.

"Can it. We're going to the dinner and you're gonna eat fries until you puke, okay? We're going Friday."

Friday.

Billy's supposed to help Susan trim all the hedges on Friday.

Okay, if he wakes up early, he can do the front before school, and if he comes home during his free period, he could-

"Sure, Pretty Boy. Friday."

-

He was up before the sun, cutting hedges.

He had to shower before school, which he fucking hates doing, because he doesn't have enough time to properly do his hair in the mornings.

But he finished them.

He finished them all.

And he told Susan such when she handed him his pity packed lunch that morning.

She thanked him, and his dad narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" He barked.

Billy tried to act casual.

"Couldn't sleep, thought I'd just get it out of the way."

Neil didn't stop staring suspiciously at Billy until he and Max had closed the backdoor behind them.

"Why did you really do all that this morning?" Max asked when they were safe in the car.

"Jus' have plans after school."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that's rich. You're going on a date."

Well, he hopes so.

But that's never gonna happen.

The school day seemed to pass as slowly as fucking possible. He was anxious all day, fidgety and nervous, and a tiny bit sweaty.

Steve was leaning against his car outside when Billy finally stomped away from the school, and he smiled brightly at Billy.

"Should we just meet at the diner?"

"Yeah. I gotta drive Max, so." He gestured lamely.

"Okay. See you in a bit." Steve tapped the hood of the Camaro, and normally Billy would've threatened to bite anyone that knocked into his car like that, but Steve can kinda do whatever he wants as far as Billy is concerned.

Billy made sure to idle in front of the house, making sure Max got inside alright, and making sure his dad watched him drop her off.

He'd be in worse shit if Neil thought Billy made Max walk home by herself.

But he sped back into town the second the screen door slammed closed behind her.

Steve already had a booth when Billy arrived, and he waved Billy down enthusiastically, as if Billy didn't hone in on him the second he walked through the door.

"Hey, man! Glad you could make it," he said, as if he didn't insist that Billy make it.

Billy grunted at him, shuffling into the booth on the other side of Steve.

"Thanks again, dude. My grades have never been so good. My dad even said I've been doing alright, which is, I think, the nicest thing he's ever said to me."

"Yeah. It's no problem."

"Why don't people know you're smart?" Steve's question took Billy off guard a little bit. "You act like you're a dumb jock, like me."

"You're not dumb. And it's just self-preservation, I guess. I don't need every pretty boy in this school to know I'm a good tutor. Already got my hands full."

Steve's cheeks went the faintest bit pink, and if Billy didn't know better, he'd say that Steve's casual shifting of position was more like a little squirm.

"I guess that makes sense," Steve mumbled, picking at the edge of the menu in front of him.

Their waiter came at that moment, and Steve ordered right away, rattling off what he wanted like it was second nature.

"So the usual, then?" The waiter winked at Steve, and Steve flushed a little deeper, looking shyly at Billy.

"I'll have the same." The waiter nodded, and swept off with their menus.

"So, you're here a lot?" Billy didn't want to look too far into it, but he was ravenous for little scraps of information about Steve. A little peek into his life.

"Yeah. I come here for dinner when I'm home alone a lot. Cooking for one person is kinda lame, and I like being somewhere that's not so. Quiet."

"How often you home alone?"

"Every few weeks. My mom travels around with my dad a lot, but she feels bad about leaving me on my own. Doesn't really stop her, thought." And Steve looked positively glum, like a pouty little cat caught outside in the rain.

"Well, next time you're alone let me know. I don't have too much going on. Usually."

Steve brightened, looking at Billy with a tiny mile on his face.

"Yeah? You don't have better friends then some dumbass you tutor?"

"I don't tutor a dumbass. And in case you hadn't noticed, I don't have many friends. Only been in town for a few months."

"I've been here my whole life, and I don't have many friends, either."

"That's their problem, then."

Steve beamed at him.

#Billy just absolutely getting his bell rung but being like 'its ok bc steve scored 🥺' is my love language #I've been working on this for such a long time and idk how to end it so it's jsut kinda......open #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #i haven't written anything in a million years

[gravegroves]

"steve kills neil" hell yeah, now we're talking

Lol, you wanna read it? Here ya go:

The newspaper article never mentions why Steve Harrington drove to Old Cherry Lane one early December morning and caved Neil Hargrove’s skull in with a nail studded bat. Though there are... rumours.

It doesn’t mention Neil's son -- well, it does, but it doesn't mention how the day before, Billy had limped and later crawled his way to Loch Nora, half frozen, barely conscious and almost unrecognisable to his boyfriend when he answered the scrambled knocking on the door.

(It doesn't mention how unsteady Billy was on his feet for weeks after, how the hearing in his right ear was almost completely gone and never really improved much in the years since or the seven -- seven -- broken ribs, the dislocated shoulder or the fractured collarbone.)

It doesn't mention how Steve had held Billy until he passed out from pain and exhaustion, barely able to breathe, but still able to make Steve swear not to take him to a hospital.

It doesn't mention Steve panicking for two hours. Listening to Billy's rasping breaths and not knowing what to do. Or Steve picking Billy up and, in a feat of pure desperation, carried him to his car. How he drove like a bat out of hell to a clinic two towns over and hoping to Christ that they'd be able to help.

It doesn't mention the one nurse who takes one look at Steve clutching Billy's limp hand and understands. Who calls her brother doing his residency at the local hospital and tells him to sneak out an IV bag and to come check out a patient. Or the other nurse who keeps the clinic open and stays with them all night, checking on Billy's concussion every few hours and squeezes Steve's shoulder whenever he looks seconds from breaking apart.

It doesn't mention Steve driving Billy home in the early hours of the morning -- taking him up to his room and laying him on the bed where Billy had laid many times before. How Steve had tried to touch Billy, to comfort him, but there isn't a patch of skin left unmarked or uninjured for him to run his fingers over. How he runs from the room to scream into his fist.

It doesn't mention Steve sprinting to his car, driving in silence -- so carefully. Wanting to get to his destination unfollowed and unbothered.

It doesn't mention Max answering the door, how she watches him standing on the porch with the nail bat clutched in his hand, or how she silently lets Steve move past her into the house and gently push her outside before he closes the door. Or how she walks down to sit on the curb beside their driveway. Refusing to cry.

---

It does mention the screams that startle a neighbour. 

It does mention Susan Hargrove being shoved and locked into Billy's room after the first swing incapacitates her husband.

It does mention that Neil Hargrove's head had resembled more of a pulpy soup by the time Steve hits hard enough to embed the nails into the floor and leaves it there, poking up from the mess like a tombstone.

It does mention Steve walking calmly out onto the lawn, covered in blood and bits of brain to tell Max to go to the Sinclair's and to stay there.

It does mention Steve going home to change before turning up at the bank, draining his account and as much from his parents' as he can manage before he and Billy disappear.

It does mention the last place they were rumoured to have been seen: five states away, sitting in a diner and holding hands across the table.

It does mention the fact that the boys have yet to be found, some four years later.

---

It doesn't mention the people they left behind.

It doesn't mention that Nancy Wheeler chooses to abandon her dreams of becoming a journalist. That publishers are only ever interested in her stories if she's willing to talk about Steve Harrington. Her ex boyfriend. The Killer King of Hawkins High.

It doesn't mention how Steve's parents sell the house and leave Hawkins for good. How his father loses his job and his mother her bankroll. How they get divorced and never speak again and it's like their little charade of a family had never existed at all.

It doesn't mention that Tommy and Carol never regain any significant social standing at Hawkins High or that they leave the town not long after graduation. They are the couple that hung out with a killer and his suspected accomplice, possible gay lover, and in Hawkins, that's all they'll ever be.

It doesn't mention how Jim Hopper spends sleepless nights talking himself out of tampering with evidence. How one day, in desperation, he asks El to find either of the boys, but only gets a shake of her head in response and a firm: "Better like this."

It doesn't mention how Susan Hargrove, soon to be Mayfield once again, moves herself and her daughter to a different house. How she tries to repair the relationship with her daughter as best as she can, but the damage is mostly done. 

It doesn't mention that Claudia Henderson cries herself to sleep for many nights after, thinking of all the times she let that boy near her precious Dusty.

It doesn't mention how Dustin still talks into his walkie talkie at night, tuned to a private frequency that never answers him back. How he buys a bottle of Farrah Fawcett hair spray and uses it religiously despite varied results. How sometimes, when the party meets up, he and Max will lock eyes and share a private moment of pain that neither of them can talk about out loud.

It doesn't mention the envelope Max receives two days before her graduation and three weeks before she moves out for good. It contains a photograph of two young men kissing in front of a huge ornate building, holding up their hands with matching rings.

It doesn't mention how Max smiles at the writing on the back, tucks it away for safekeeping and wonders if she can save enough to go to Europe before her first summer break at college. How Max already knows Dustin will join her.

---

It doesn't mention that Billy and Steve live happily ever after.

But they do.

#gravegroves writes #anon ask #tw: murder

[moonlitwings1]

HC/ficlet for Billy and Max setting off fireworks please.

It’s New Year’s eve.

He would’ve been spending it at Steve’s place if Neil didn’t insist that New Year’s was a time for family to reflect on the past year and a time to celebrate the new one together. Bullshit.

Max would’ve been at Mike’s house with the rest of her little buddies, but Neil put a stop to that too. She wouldn’t stop going on and on about the fireworks the Wheelers were going to put out that she’s going to miss. Apparently, they’ve got the fancy ones that make shapes in the sky. When she complained to Neil, he told her that if she wanted to have fireworks. She can buy them herself. Having spent all of her allowance, guess who she goes to? Yup.

He originally refused to buy fireworks, but she promised if he did, that she’d cover for him the next time he sneaks out, and damn if that didn’t sound like a good deal. That is, until he realized that fireworks were fucking expensive. Max had gone with him to the mall to pick some up and when he looked at the price and glanced back at Max, she had plastered on the biggest shit-eating grin. It took everything in him in that moment not to smack her upside the head. Bitch.

But they shook on it, so there was no going back. A Hargrove’s promise. Besides, it’ll be worth it in the end when Billy makes up for lost time with Steve. He’s got some ideas in mind.

But now they’re standing in their front yard trying to figure out how to light this shit up. It’s twenty minutes before twelve. And Princess Maxine wants to light them exactly when it hits midnight. It has to be on time!

“It says we should wear protective eyewear,” Max reads, holding out the instructions in front of her face. Billy snatches it from her and throws it to the side. He meant for it to be an aggressive move, but the paper just pathetically flutters to the ground.

“We don’t need that shit. I’ve done this before,” he says, squatting on the floor, putting the fireworks on a board.

Max squints her eyes at him, doubtful. He has done it before with his friends back in Cali. Sure, they might’ve aimed wrong and almost shot someone’s eye out, but it was fine in the end. How hard can it be to do it with your little sister?

Turns out pretty hard. With Max peering over his shoulder at every second trying to correct him with those damn instructions, he nearly threw her back into the house. He probably should’ve. She’s a pain in the ass.

He elbows her in the stomach, shoving her back and making her flinch hard at the impact. He almost turns around to make sure she’s ok. He doesn’t.

“Stop standing over me,” he says instead. “It’s fucking weird.”

Thankfully, she shoves him right back just as hard. “You’re doing it wrong, asshole. Why don’t you get off your high horse and read the instructions for once.”

He ignores her, bringing his focus back to fireworks in front of him. The hell does she know? He brings the lighter to one of the fireworks.

“Wait! Don’t light it now,” Max says, turning to run back inside. “Let me get my mom.”

Just as she’s about to sprint back inside, Billy grabs her by the back of the shirt, bringing her to a halt.

“Chill the fuck out. I’m just gonna test it out.”

“It’s not even midnight yet,” she pouts as she wrestles his arm off her shirt.

“I said I’m testing it out, dumbass. Calm down.” He lets her go with a final tug and squats back down with the board of fireworks. Now he just needs to bring the lighter a little closer--

“Wait, maybe we should-” he doesn’t wait for her to finish before bringing the lighter to one of the fireworks, watching the flame catch on.

He’s quick to his feet, walking backwards, bringing Max with him. She doesn’t fight him, her eyes wide and focused on the flame, watching it get closer and closer, until-BAM. The firework shoots up in the sky bursting and letting out a hail of red sparks. He doesn’t hear her at first, the sound of the burst deafening him for a second. He forgot how loud they were up close.

“Billy! Billy!”

“The hell do you want!,” he shouts, patience finally wearing thin with her constant nagging.

She’s panicking, waving her hand frantically in the direction of---shit.

Their fucking bush caught on fire. He almost faceplants running toward it. Probably would’ve deserved it too, but he reaches the bush in a split second and stamps the fire out quick enough. Why does shit always go down when he’s around? All things considered, it’s not the worst thing that could’ve caught on fire, but still.

“How the fuck--”

“I KNEW THIS WAS GONNA HAPPEN”

Oh for fucks sake. He spins around to glare at Max. “Well, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Like you’ve been bothering to listen to anything I’ve been saying for the past fifteen fucking minutes!” she shrieks, stamping her foot. She looks like she’s imitating a toddler, but Billy figures now’s not the time to point that out. “I literally told you that we should bring the extinguisher just in case!”

She did say something like that now that he thinks about it. Probably mentioned it sometime between the rant about the Wheelers and the droning on about the instructions. He internally curses himself for not paying attention to her for once.

“Well, we didn't end up needing one, did we?”

Her jaw drops slightly and she just gapes at him. “You’re a fucking psycho.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now help me--”

“The hell are you two making a racket about?”

Fucking great. Perfect.

“Nothing, dad,” Billy bit out. “I just lit a firework to test it out. Max helped me.”

Neil glanced at Max, eyeing her as if that was gonna reveal anything. “Did she? Not banging up anything are we?”

“No, sir,” Billy replies, hands in his pockets. Subtly moving in front of the bush so that maybe, just maybe, Neil won’t see the burn marks. Thankfully, the entire bush wasn’t burnt, just the edge. He could probably hide it or maybe break it off. Neil won’t notice it just yet.

They stare at each other for a moment. Neil doesn’t say anything aloud, but Billy can see the threat behind the eyes. After a minute, Neil gives him a nod of approval and saunters back inside. He breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he just didn’t want to give Billy too much shit for New Year’s sake. He’s just grateful he won’t have to show up to Steve’s house bruised up again.

“That was a close one,” Max mumbles.

“No shit.”

Five minutes ‘till midnight.

Billy squats down in front of the fireworks again. “Hand me the instructions,” he says, sticking a hand out towards Max who beamed at him, glad he’s finally listening to her.

He snatches them out of her hand and gets back to work, fidgeting around with the set before standing back up.

“Well Maxine? Do I finally have your approval?”

“Firstly, don’t call me that. Secondly,” she says, making a big show of inspecting the fireworks, circling around them, “Yes.”

“If this shit lights a bush on fire, I’m coming for your head.”

She looks a little hesitant at that, but he ruffles her hair and she gives him a soft smile in return.

“Should we ask if they’re coming out to watch?”

Billy checks his watch. “Nah. One minute ‘till midnight. They’re probably watching the ball drop. I don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah,” Max shrugs. “I don’t really care either. Let's just light them ourselves.” Lies. He can tell by the way she keeps looking over her shoulder for her mom that she does care. Susan won’t join them. He knows that much. Wherever Neil is, she is. She won’t watch fireworks with them unless Neil does, and there’s no way he’s going to want to do that despite his claim of today being a time for family. Billy knows better. Max will too one day.

15 seconds until midnight.

“You wanna light them?”

Her head snaps up to look at him. “Really?”

“Don’t blow shit up, though,” he says, handing the lighter to her. Neil would most definitely blow a gasket if he found out his 13 year old daughter was the one lighting fireworks. But what’s life without a little risk?

She grins. “So basically don’t do what you did.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “You know how to light it?”

“I think so.”

“Have at it,” he says, letting her go but staying close in case she screws shit up.

Five seconds ‘till midnight.

Four

Three

Two

Max quickly lights the fireworks in a swift motion, and turns to run back. She covers her ears as the fireworks all fly up, bursting in the sky with a multitude of colors. From a distance, Billy sees other fireworks bursting, neighbors shouting. He even spots a yellow one shaped like a star right above their house that Max points excitedly to. He might have snuck one in the cart when he saw Max looking longingly at it. Probably not as cool as it would’ve been at the Wheeler’s, but it’s something. She’s still a whiny little bitch.

Turning back towards the door, he sees Susan peeking through the window, a soft smile, strikingly similar to Max’s on her face.

Happy New Year.

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #maxine mayfield #billy and max #neil hargrove #stranger things #susan hargrove #steve harrington #mentioned #this was rushed lmaooo #happy new years!! #jkjk happy july 4th #my works #also sorry for completing this request way too late lmao

[psychdelia]

season 3 but instead of billy, neil was flayed.

he had been acting... off the last couple of weeks. distant and withdrawn, completely the opposite of how he usually is with billy.

he first notices the difference in behavior when the abuse stops. maybe he gets home late for dinner and instead of the usual stern look he gets before a smack when max and susan go to bed, neil just smiles all big and wide, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before he welcomes his son home.

then neil starts coming home later and later, giving susan some bullshit excuse about work and overtime and she eats it right up. chooses to believe that he’s somehow morphed into the perfect husband and father overnight. on top of that, he smells like bleach and chemicals and his eyes seem so dead. billy can tell what the guy is thinking or feeling through one look at his expression, but now he’s just eerily blank.

so billy follows him on 4th of july, surprised to find himself in the starcourt parking lot for the second time that day - he dropped max off earlier to hang out with her shithead friends, but it’s past closing hours so she shouldn’t still be inside unless she’s at the movies, the only part of the mall that remains open late. he watches as neil marches into the mall, fists clenched at his side. billy has no idea why neil is even at the mall so late when he should be at work or wherever he’s been going and lying to susan about. so, he follows him in.

he doesn’t know what to expect, but seeing his little sister and her gaggle of friends screaming as neil gets closer and closer to them. squinting, billy can see black veins crawling their way up neil’s neck, discoloring his face and eyes. he jumps when he hears the first bang, the sound of a firework exploding way too close for comfort.

then he spots it. the huge slimey alien being that screeches when the first firework hits it, then second, third, and so on.

and like. what the fuck.

his eyes must be as wide as saucers as he stares at the thing, gangly and screeching with every hit, trying to swing at anyone it can reach. he doesn’t have time to process what the actual fuck he’s looking at when he hears someone yell his name. max.

“billy! BILLY!” she screams, absolutely terrified. “DO SOMETHING!” she demands.

immediately, his eyes search for fireworks. looking up, he finds harrington on the second floor in matching work uniforms with a girl - buckley, his brain distantly provides. they had the same ap literature class. the fireworks get louder and louder along with the monster. he eventually finds a small kiosk set up for the 4th, so he follows suit and grabs his lighter, blindly throwing at the monster as he watches the scene unfold in front of him. his father approaching a girl around max’s age with a maniacal expression on his face, eyes about to burst out of his goddamn head. he hears the kids screaming in protest to no avail. pretty soon, they run out of fireworks and his dad’s got this girl beneath him on the floor.

he’s about to intervene when the girl lets out this piercing scream, almost louder than the shadow, and suddenly his father is thrown up in the air then launched right at the monster. he’s caught mid-air by a tentacle - wait a goddamn second are those human body parts??? and teeth????? - right in the center of his chest. billy flinches, watching in horror as his father screams in pain before he’s dropped onto the floor, head smacking the tile before he goes limp.

it feels like the world goes still for a second, everyone standing still, eyes wide and mouths open in shock at the scene before them. distantly, he hears the monster screeching, but his eyes are locked on his father’s body - torn open and bleeding out. what eventually brings them all out of their stupor and back to the real world is the same girl standing and screaming at the monster, merely feet away from the thing. her hand is shaking in the air, nose dripping with blood as the monster’s screeches grow quieter, its body shrinking. soon enough, it hits the ground just like his father. limp and silent.

billy just watches the scene unfold, his mind racing yet completely blank. he knows he should move, grab as many little shits as he can and run, but he’s stock still, unable to process what he just witnessed. ironically, it ends up being the kids who run to him first.

“billy,” max calls as she reaches him. “billy!” she grabs his shoulders, shaking him until he acknowledges her. “billy we have to go. now! come on billy let’s go!” her hands are shaking as she grips his shoulders.

he blinks a couple of times before he nods once, then again.

“shit!” he hears harrington yell, footsteps approaching them as the two teenagers run down from the top floor right before it comes crashing to the ground. soon enough, the mall is falling apart, the ceiling caving in.

billy finally kicks into action, wild eyes and expressions matching everyone else’s as the teens drag the kids out of there, the group sprinting outside in time to watch the mall crumble to the ground with his dad’s body trapped in it.

he doesn’t know how much time has gone by when ambulances, fire trucks and police cars appear. he’s stuck in place as parents reunite with their children while paramedics check on everyone, wrapping heavy blankets around them. billy manages to sneak off to the side, hiding behind an ambulance. he spots max with sinclair and susan, harrington with buckley, girl and boy wheeler close to the three byers, accompanied by the police chief.

billy’s alone, he realizes. he looks back at the mall, now in flames and taking his father down with it. his hands and legs begin to tremble and he’s sliding down the side of the ambulance, unable to breathe as he hits the floor. hugging his knees to his chest and holding his head low, he takes in short breaths and ends up wheezing, unable to get enough air into his lungs. he doesn’t realize he’s crying until his vision is blurred and cheeks are wet. he’s hyperventilating and is pretty sure he’s about to black out.

billy’s alone.

everyone here has someone and he doesn’t.

his mother left and now his father is gone and he doesn’t, can’t understand why. yeah, neil was abusive and cruel but he was all billy had left. he lost his friends, the ocean, his life the second neil ripped him away from california and dragged him to a state where he knew he’d get hurt if neil caught him with a boy again like in cali, except this time he knew it wouldn’t be just neil pounding on him for his “sickness.”

billy misses his mom. wants nothing more than to be held and comforted by her. to hear her soft voice as she sings or hums or shushes him as she rubs his back and plays with his hair and kisses his head and tells him everything’s going to be alright.

except everything’s not going to be alright and now he’s sobbing silently, soft whimpers and harsh wheezing being the only noise leaving his body.

with the rest of the world tuned out and only hearing his own choked sobs and sharp breaths, he flinches when he feels the hand on his shoulder, trying to scramble away from it.

“hey,” the soft voice says. “its okay. hey, kid, it’s okay. it’s just me.” she immediately pulls her hand away, holding both up to prove herself as unthreatening. “just me.” she repeats gently.

billy slowly raises his head, eyes and cheeks red and blotchy and puffy and wet. he finds exhausted, sad brown eyes looking over him.

“oh, kiddo, you look like you’ve seen hell.” she sounds motherly. “c’mon, breathe with me. take deep breaths, okay? count with me.” she encourages as she kneels down to his level. “deep breaths. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, breathe. in and out, just like that. you’re doing good.”

pretty soon, his wheezes and rushed breaths even out. he takes his first deep breath of fresh air, releasing a shaky relieved sigh.

“you must be billy, max’s brother. i’m joyce, jonathan’s mom.” she introduces, except neither of them are in the mood for small talk. “i, uh,” she sighs. “there’s a lot we all have to talk to you about,” she sits down beside him. “but that can wait,” she assures. “until you’re ready.” she adds on quietly.

he stares at her a couple seconds before he breaks again, a strangled loud sob ripping its way through his chest and out of his mouth. he doesn’t even think about it before he launches himself at her, fully prepared to cry to this woman he’s barely met yet spent hours knocked out cold on her ground only after breaking one of her nice plates.

she - joyce - seems to have the same idea because as soon as he starts crying again she’s opening her arms and reaching for him. they meet halfway in the middle.

��it’s not fair.” billy chokes out, trembling in joyce’s surprisingly strong arms as she holds him upright. “it’s not fair.” he repeats, louder yet more broken.

“i know, sweetheart.” she nods, rubbing circles on his back with one hand, the other gently running through his hair. “god i know.” she sighs and, poor woman, it sounds like she’s been through it. he vaguely remembers hearing about her sons - zombie boy and creepy byers. his brain isn’t processing enough to connect any dots just yet.

“she-she just left,” he holds onto joyce tightly. “she left and now he’s gone.” he cries. “he’s gone.” he repeats, again and again. “they all leave. why do they all leave?” he asks weakly.

joyce’s heart breaks for the boy shaking apart in her arms, using her last remaining strength to hold him upright and provide any comfort she can. she can’t help but look around, searching the crowd for anyone who might be there for him. she frowns when she finds everyone’s eyes on them yet no one making any moves to approach. she wishes she could hate them all a little bit for it, for leaving him alone. letting him feel alone and unwanted. unlovable. she knows the feeling and it’s the worst.

“well, blondie, looks like you’re stuck with me now.” her attempt to make him feel less lonesome seems to work, just a little, if the way he squeezes her for a second is anything to go by. “i don’t give up. i don’t leave. i promise.” she kisses the top of his head, gets the scent of hairspray, cigarettes and ash.

over the top of his head she finds steve harrington still watching them, a distant look in his eyes. he seems conflicted, staring at billy with wariness as he bounces nervously from foot to foot, holding the blanket hanging loosely around his torso.

he seems to make a decision when billy releases another sob at her promise, striding over and draping his blanket over billy’s shoulders. he goes out of his way to tighten it around him, making sure it’s comforting and cozy around his trembling figure. he hesitates once again as he goes to walk away, fist clenching and unclenching at his side before he looks back to billy with sad, tired eyes and rests his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, squeezing just once before he walks away. the same hand is nervously flexing at his side once again.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #this is not good nor accurate by any means do not expect much pls #crybaby billiam rights #i love love love joyce and billy #and i hate neil hargrove so this works out lol #fuck u neil #rip neil but i’m built different #anyways i had a bad day and cried so i projected and made billy cry 😌☺️ #this hc has also been in my mind for a while and i knew i wouldn’t write it for ao3 so here it is hdjsjsj #joyce byers #my writing

[mediocre--writing]

this hc is sad but whenever neil gets too rough and billy’s injuries are too severe to heal on their own, neil will do his own version of “first aid” since he can’t risk a hospital. stuff like holding billy down while doing stitches, stuffing a belt in his mouth and telling him to shut up and stop crying like a pussy. maybe billy views it as a form of love in some warped way, all “he wouldn’t patch me up himself if he didn’t love me, right? he could have left me or had me do it myself but he didn’t” and he doesn’t realise for a long time how not OK it is until he either causally mentions it to someone or someone witnesses it and tells him how fucked up it is

the first time it happens is when neil yanks on billy’s arm when he tries to walk away. dislodges his shoulder from its socket.

billy is already crying and neil huffs like it’s some inconvenience. grabs two wash clothes from a kitchen drawer and tells billy to bite down.

has him lay on the floor and shoves his arm back in (it took three tries). billy swears that he’s never felt pain that bad.

neil goes to the corner store and grabs a cheap sling for billy, just so the shoulder heals right and doesn’t get overextended or anything.

billy’s grateful that neil cared to help him. even gave him ice packs to make sure it didn’t ache too bad.

billy was 11.

it gets worse after that, if you can believe it.

neils a mans man. he expects billy to be as well.

neil knows when a cut is just a scrape and when a cut needs stitches.

he’s neared the line many times, but it’s never reached the stitches level yet.

but it does now.

neil had shoved billy into a wall, right under a cross that was hanging there (can you sense the irony?) and the cross fell and slammed onto billy’s face.

didn’t break his nose or anything, but there’s a deep deep deep cut right by his eye.

there’s blood in his face, but what freaks out billy the most is that there’s blood in his eye, and he fears that’s where the edge of the cross hit him.

neil, again, grabs two wash clothes and tells billy to hush, grabbing an ice cube to ‘numb’ the area (though it does nothing) and sticks the needle into billy’s cheek.

once too scared to open his eyes, billy is now writhing away because there’s a needle in his face and neil looks way too calm to be doing this. shouldn’t a parent be worried?

but neil forces billy back where he was before, holding down on his arm. says something along the lines of “do you wanna bleed out? i’m trying to help you, boy.” and billy just waits it out.

he cries like a baby.

neil let’s him take the day off of school the next day. let’s billy lay with an ice pack on his swollen face and bruised eye for most of the day. even apologizes, in his own, twisted way.

billy was 13.

once, when billy’s being whipped with neils belt for whatever godforsaken reason neil pulled out of his ass, he hits the same spot too much.

then the belt buckle grabs the skin and pulls.

billy’s screaming in pain. can’t describe how unbearable it was to have the raw skin of his back yanked by a dull belt buckle.

but, it turns out, he needs stitches. not wasting a clean washcloth, neil just shoves the belt into billy’s mouth, going to grab the first aid kit.

billy is laying on his stomach, holding his hands in front of his face so he doesn’t lash out and he bites onto the belt as neil stitches the skin back.

but neil doesn’t reprimand billy for leaving teethmarks on his nice leather belt, so billy thinks it could have been worse.

billy was 15.

the first time susan has to witness one of their bad arguments, billy had snuck a boy into his room.

they weren’t even doing anything. barely even flirting. and they were alone.

billy leaned in, but so did the boy, and they met in the middle and billy felt like an inexperienced virgin while kissing his first boy.

it was a life altering experience.

on many levels.

neil comes home early. or maybe not, maybe billy wasn’t watching the clock. either way, billy’s got a boy in top of him, though fully clothed, but making out nonetheless, when neil slams in.

billy’s life flashes before his eyes that night.

he barely even remembers what neil did. what he said.

billy knows at one point he thought about how much he missed his mom. and, apparently, he said it out loud. spurring his dad on with maximum fury.

it was past 3am when billy woke up from his unconscious state to unbearable pain. neil was stitching him up, had already done so on his face and neck. had moved on to his leg (a line of stitches worked all the way up the back of his calf).

billy could feel the bruising on his torso (from numerous kicks and pushes that rolled him into furniture and walls) and around the crown of his head (the result of a plate being smashed over his head).

he didn’t move. he didn’t have the energy.

but he could hear susan. she was yelling at neil, whispering, but scolding him.

“the hell is wrong with you!? he could have died? this is too far, neil, he’s your son! you should love hi—“

“i’m doing this because i love him, su, you know that! you want a faggot in this house? huh? no, you don’t! and do you really think i’d let my son bleed out on the floor? you think that little of me?”

and billy gets it. gets his dads side. because neil could just leave him to bleed all over the carpet. but he didn’t. he helped.

he had good intentions and only did what was best for billy. who was billy to say what his life should be when he wasn’t even smart enough to learn from his mistakes?

that was the reason for their move to hawkins.

billy, during their first week there, didn’t attend school on behalf of all the still healing stitches and bruises, though he was spotted around town a time or two (already instilling his bad reputation)

and once he gets there rumors fly around the school.

apparently, billy had to move from cali because he beat up a biker gang and they kicked him out of the state.

but, then, the night happens. the one where billy beats up steve and comes out looking pretty clean.

hopper drives his half unconscious body home, along with max, so he can ‘explain the situation.’

that night, for many reasons, is a night max will never forget. ever.

she’s seen demo dogs and tunnels from other dimensions, a possessed kid, and a girl who can move things with her mind.

but she also got her first taste of what it looks like when billy gets beat by his father.

it’s like a car crash, you know you should look away, but you just can’t.

and billy, still drowsy from the sedative, is getting in thrown around the living room and kitchen like a rag doll, being shoved into shelves and cabinets, even dislocated his left elbow and there was a loud crack from billy’s ankle.

and, though she’d wanted billy dead mere hours before, this seemed more torturous.

at least when it was billy and steve, they were both conscious. this was just twisted.

neil, for whatever strange reason his mind came up with, made max and susan watch the lesson: this is what happens when you don’t follow rules.

max could barely make out the rising and falling of billy’s chest at the end.

there was blood splattered on billy’s chest and neck, on his jeans and in his hair, on neils hands.

“grab me the first aid kit and a towel, su,” she scurried to the bathroom and back and max wanted to bolt. run. sprint. just get away from whatever was happening.

neil bent down and used the towel to press down on billy’s bleeding wounds, stopping the blood flow. he then disinfected and wrapped what he could, bandaged everything else.

then he rolled billy on his side, grabbed his forearm and upper arm then snapped them together, fixing the dislocation with practiced ease.

this was also when billy woke up. screaming.

“hush,” is was quiet, but stern, and billy knew to listen.

the towel, one side inked in blood splatters, had the other side shoved into billy’s mouth before neil got out the needle and thread, stitching billy’s larger wounds.

if max thought the most scarring part of her night was going to be anything that happened before this, she was wrong.

she knew. she knew that billy got smacked around sometimes. and he kinda deserved it. he was a jackass.

but this. this was a whole new thing. this was downright madness and max didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep peacefully in her own bed again.

the tears were rolling down her face when she made eye contact with billy, who had equally red and teary eyes, but his held more pain. more suffering. more knowledge.

“see what you did? you made your sister cry,” neil told billy as he pulled especially hard on a stitch on billy’s tender stomach, making billy scream in agony, in more pain than before.

after that night, max listens to billy more. blames herself for being out and getting billy into trouble.

billy is just glad he was able to find the old sling he had years ago and that it still fit. he’s grateful that his dad stitched him up and made sure nothing would get infected.

knew he should have kept a closer eye on max and this is what needed to happen for him to see that. he knew that now.

a week later, the boys were talking about how some guy named (ronnie? maybe lonnie?) had called the byers asking about will. they talked about how joyce chased him out of the house with his own shotgun.

will told her, when they were leaving lunch, that joyce was so mad because lonnie, his dad, had hit his bother, jonathan.

max thinks about that. thinks about how susan would never, not in a million years, chase neil off with his shotgun for hitting billy.

she stood and watched when neil almost killed billy.

she didn’t know what to think. she wondered if billy knew what was happening wasn’t right. wondered if he’d ever tried to run away or was too scared of getting found if he did.

wondered if there was any scenario in which billy would take her harsh criticism of his dad well.

and it takes years.

billy moves out for college, somewhere good where he can focus on being smart, like he’s always been, and gets out from under neils thumb.

he discovers who he is a little better and still comes to hawkins every holiday and break, gets closer with jonathan and steve and robin and even nancy.

the first person he tells about it is jonathan. he hears the lonnie stories for himself and chimes in with his own anecdote. apparently, it’s not as light hearted as jonathan’s.

but he opens up. it takes the night and a little alcohol and weed, but billy has successfully told jonathan everything his dad has done to him. every stitch and relocation.

jonathan tells nancy and nancy tells steve. steve coddles billy and (because they were already close and in that ‘talking stage’) eventually gets some of the truth out.

jonathan, even though he told people, never exposed everything. there’s some things steve will never know about because they’re just too much and billy found comfort and a commonality in jon that he didn’t know he needed.

(joyce would also totally from that point on have adopted billy, doesn’t matter if he’s already like 22, he’s now her child)

#idk i like the idea of jon and billy being friends #but like not close/hang out every day friends #more like know too much about each other and bonded on accident friends #also their characters are very similar #they just had different types of parental situations #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw blood #tw injury #tw stitches #tw abusive parent #stranger things #billy hargrove #neil hargrove #harringrove #mediocre—writing

[bagelboys-withcreamcheese]

Red Dead Redemption x modern!reader (Part 6)

This is the last one (for now)

•Arthur and reader upon stumbling across Charlotte Balfour’s stalker:

•Arthur: “Now lets not jump to any conclusions-“

•Reader: “I’m jumping, I’ve jumped, I’ve landed!” *cocks shotgun*

——

•Arthur buys reader a journal like him:

•Reader, can draw actually really well: *secretly draws Arthur*

•Arthur: *secretly draws reader*

•Sean, watching them in the distance: *clutches chest* too soft, too pure *wipes away tear*

——

•Arthur: “Here.”

•Reader: “What is it?”

•Arthur, confused: “Cocaine gum?”

•Reader: “Cocaine gUM??” *takes piece* “that’s so fucking metal.”

——

•Arthur, mounting up to leave Van Horn: “lets get back to- (y/n)??”

•Reader, sneaking up on an oblivious citizen whose sitting on the dock:

•Arthur, knowing damn well what’s about to happen: “nononononono-“

•Reader: *kicks person into the water, turns and bolts* “rUN!”

——

•Arthur, Dutch, Bill, John, reader, and Charles, riding their horses through Emerald Ranch:

•Reader, sees dog: *skids to a stop*

•Dutch: “We’re just gonna check things out so stay close and with me, do you understand tha- (y/n)? (Y/n)?!”

•Everyone stops to see reader far behind, petting a dog:

•Dutch: *sigh* “Arthur-“

•Arthur, already riding back to get reader: “yeah yeah...”

~Bonus~

•Arthur: “(y/n), we’ve tALKED about this!”

•Reader, offended: “it’s a puPPY Arthur, we HAVE to stop!”

——

•Arthur & Reader, hunting legendary wolf:

•Reader, sees it: *gasp* “doggie!” *walks towards it*

•Arthur: “(Y/N) NO!”

•Wolf: *rolls over to get belly scratches*

•Reader: *petting it* “soo cute and fluffy!” *turns to Arthur* “Can we keep him??”

•Arthur, very confused:

~Bonus~

•Arthur & reader, riding back to camp with legendary wolf following them:

•John, shooketh: “whAT THE HELL IS THAT?!”

•Reader, cuddling it: “My baby.”

——

•Reader: “Rainbow! *gasp* Double Rainbow?!” *running full sprint to Dutch’s tent* “DUTCH! HOSEA! loOK, YOUR CALLING CARD!”

——

•Reader, staring intently at the chickens: *whispers* “I want chicken nuggets.”

——

•Sadie: *finishes telling a story of her being badass*

•Arthur: *closes readers mouth that was hanging open*

~Bonus~

•Reader @ Sadie: “Marry me.”

——

•Reader, sitting up against a tree with Arthur while he draws:

•Butterfly: *lands on readers nose*

•Arthur: *Aggressively draws reader w/ butterfly on nose*

——

•Reader: “Miss Grimshaw!”

•Miss Grimshaw, preoccupied: “Susan’s fine, dear.”

•Reader, freezes and squints: “.......Miss Grimshaw,” *continues w/ question*

——

•Reader, chasing after Micah with a gun: “it’s doesn’t hurt that much it’s a REVOLVER, for real- Micah, can we- can we just tALK?”

——

•Arthur, Dutch, & Hosea, on the boat coming back from fishing:

•Charles: “How was the fishing?”

•Arthur: “hey help us bring it in!”

•Reader, sprinting towards Arthur: *tackles him into the water*

——

•Reader, pissed at the gang: *turning to leave* “y’all can go suck a caterpillar dick!”

——

•Reader @ Arthur: “Whatchu doing out here with all this ass? Double cheeked up on a Thursday afternoon, hella ass-“

——

•Reader, drunk & quietly talking to Lenny & Sean who are also drunk: “Don’t freak out, but someone here is possessed by an owl.”

•Sean: “who?”

•Reader: “That’s the thing, we don’t-“ *does double take*

——

•Mary Linton: “Please Arthur, will you help me?”

•Arthur: *sigh* “Where is he?”

•Reader, angrily muttering: “fucking simp”

——

•Reader, drunk af singing to the gang: “he’s a goOD TIME cOwBOY CASANOVA-“

#Red Dead Redemption 2 #rdr2 #Arthur Morgan #Dutch Van Der Linde #Hosea Matthews #Sean #Lenny #Mary Linton #Bill Williamson #Charles #John Marston #Charlotte Balfour #Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural #vine #@have-at-thee-boy

[nebula-jazz]

Fictober prompt 1

Hawks x reader

You had been dating Hawks for nearly three years now. He was your best friend when you went to highschool and you watched him grow into a pro.

Your dating life went to hell though when he became number two and now always have some sort of fan hanging off of his shoulder when you two went to dates. It had now put a massive strain on your relationship. He would also have to cancel dates that you both would be planning for months last minute because of an emergency call.

You felt like you were being selfish as you would stop talking to him for a little bit. It only hurt you more when he would get affectionate for a while to make you happy then go back to normal.

It wasn’t until early fall when you two were on a date at the harvest festival in a kingdom on the far side of Japan that he had realized that it had gotten to far. You both were in the Fire and Ice kingdom on one of the coasts of Japan that had a huge legend when on of his fans attacks. She kept mentioning something about him being her alpha. Uncomfortable you spoke up.

She had looked you up and down before laughing.

“You?! Being the Pro Hero Hawk’s partner? do not make me laugh! Who would want you?” You were appalled at their hateful words and looked to Hawks for help. But you only found him eating and scrolling through his phone.

Tears gathering in your eyes so softly said to him.

“Have fun with her.” before turning on your heel and walking away.

The girl literally purred in satisfaction and Hawks realized finally what happened. He shoved her off and went sprinting after you.

However you had wandered away from the festival and you sniffled and tried to clear your eyes so that you could see. You ended up stumbling upon an overgrown plot of land. Wild wheat, veggies, melons, pumpkins and other plants grew in somewhat neat rows. As you pushed passed all of the leaves and other plants you found a slightly burnt and broken down cabin. Looking around you realized that it was the cabin in the legend. Deciding to venture and find the larger house you did not realize that a tree was shifted with all of the movement of the plants.

Only when a massive storm of leaves fell did you realize you were in danger. You closed your eyes, covered your head, and waited for impact. But the only impact you felt was two arms and a solid cest lifting you from the ground.

You stared at Hawks surprised as colorful leaves swirled and followed him as he flew up.

“I’m sorry.” he starts “I should have realized what was going on sooner. I haven’t been a good boyfriend and I’m sorry.” 

You smiled softly at him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“We both need to work on this.” He lets out a joyous laugh and nods.

He takes a sharp dive and flies through the trees, making you laugh and watch in awe as you watch the leaves become colorful tornadoes.

Little do you two know there is a blond man watching you from the large house you didn’t find. He was smiling, as he turned away a blood red cape consumed him and he disappeared. Leaving a small patch of sunflowers, red dahlias, and black eyed susans in his wake.

#Prompts #hawks x reader #hawks #wing hero hawks #x reader

[technicolor--dreams]

The object of her affection - chapter 4

chapter 1 here

chapter 2 here

chapter 3 here

After two exhausting miles under the scorching july sun, Susan finally made it to the bus station. She dropped her luggage on the ground with a thump, and sat on a bench. Oscar woofed from inside the leather bag and stuck his little tongue out, his beady dark eyes begging for some refreshment. Susan pulled out a bottle of water and a bowl from one of the luggages. She took  Oscar out, and after she filled the bowl, he drank excitedly, wiggling his little tail left and right.

According to the schedule on the far wall the next bus from New Haven to New Bedford, where the ferry would sail to, would be in another hour, at around twelve-thirty. She sat Oscar back inside his bag, pondering what to do in the meantime. She looked over at the cafe next to the tickets office, but she decided she was too nervous to eat. Besides, she had her own ration of food and drinks already. Noticing a newspaper on the other side of the bench, she picked it up, and began flipping through it without much interest. After having quickly exhausted her favorites - the Arts and Leisure, comics, and Lifestlye sections, she moved to the World news and Economics pages. Somewhere between the Irish General election, and Hindenburg accident consipracies, though, she began losing focus, and between the summer heat and her own exhaustion, she started dozing off. She would have fallen asleep like a log, If she hadn't been roused quite suddenly by the sound of tinkling brass bells, followed by a high-pitched squeal.

Susan shook herself out of her reverie just in time to see a tan colored shadow running away in the distance, skirting between a befuddled elder lady's legs to follow a tall man carrying a travel bag.

"Oscar!" She shrieked, dropping the newspaper on her lap to chase after her beloved pet. "Somebody stop that dog!"

She zig-zagged through the crowd, yelling to no avail. Oscar wouldn't listen, and the crowd even less so, everybody too busy getting to their destination to pick up the stray dog.

"Hey, you, Sir! Tall man with the bag! Stop!"

Susan continued her chase for what felt like a lifetime, but was probably a little more than a minute, until the man reached the platforms area, stopping in front of a shiny, green bus.

"You!" Susan mustered all the breath she had left, resting one hand on her left hip, and pointing her finger his direction.

He turned around, knitting a pair of sandy blonde brows that matched his wavy hair.

Susan drew out a breath, getting closer. "You know how long I've been following you?"

"Well, I can't say that I'm not flattered -" the man began speaking, before realizing that Susan wasn't talking to him, but to somebody else. A Somebody that at the momently was most definitely chewing on his bag.

"Hey, get off my bag!" he pulled the dog by his sides, trying to get his grip off the leather, only to get bitten in the process.

"Ow!" he yelped, retreating in defeat.

"I'll take care of it." Susan said matter-of-factly, before crouching down. "Oscar, be a good boy now. Get off the gentleman's bag and I will give you a big, fat, cookie, uh?" she said in a soft-spoken manner.

Oscar didn't budge.

"Fine, two. Last offer."

Oscar growled, slowly letting go of his grip. Susan picked him up and cradled him in his arms.

"Cheeky! How many times have I told you not to run away!" she admonished him.

"You oughta put him on a leash. It's not safe." the man spoke up, rubbing his hand.

"I could never do that to him," Susan said, petting Oscar tenderly, "he's meant to be free. I would be no less animal than him if I restricted him like that."

"He's an animal alright. Look what he did to my hand!" he raised the offended appendage. "Not to mention the bag."

The bag in question now sat on the concrete pavement, slighlty slumped on the side, a couple of bite marks evident in a corner dripping with dog drool.

Susan raised her eyes from the bag, taking a better look at the man. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and at least six foot two, if her estimation was right. With sandy blonde hair and blue eyes, he had the homely appearance of your typical corn-fed, all-american male you would see on advertisements. He could pass for handsome, she supposed, If you squinted your eyes, though he had nothing on Joseph. His jaw was too squared, his nose not aristocratic enough, his figure too broad. He lacked any kind of sophistication, in short.

"I don't know what's gotten into him." she explained, "He never behaved like this before. It must have been that bell on your bag that set him off. He's very sensitive to noises."

"I suppose the biting is just a fun bonus." the man deadpanned.

Susan was about to retort, when something stopped her in her tracks.

"Mr. Murphy!" a male voice called from the bus.

Susan and the man turned around at the same time. An elderly gentleman sporting a bowler hat and monocle was peeking out of one of the bus' windows, a scowl on his face.

"Yes, sir?" Murphy replied.

"What's taking you so long? I don't have the whole day, young man! This bus is leaving in ten minutes."

"I'll be righ there, Mr. Sullivan." Murphy said, showing his pearly whites.

Mr. Sullivan retreated back into his seat, muttering to himself.

"So, that's not your bag." Susan winced.

Murphy shook his head. "No."

"Oh."

"You better hope Mr, Sullivan doesn't see that."

Susan tilted her head "It's not that visible."

"It's not not invisible, either."

Their conversation was interrupted once again by Mr. Sullivan, this time bangin out of the window with a cane.

"Hey! I'm not paying you to pick up dames! Let's go!"

"Yes, Mr. Sullivan." Murphy said, finally picking up the bag and stepping onto the bus.

Susan watched the window as the two men talked a bit inside the vehicle, before Murphy put the bag on the suitcase compartment.

"Did he notice?" she asked, once he was back.

"No, thank God, but he will soon. Let's go before he does." he took her by the arm and led her back inside the station. "By the way, where are your bags?"

Susan stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening in horror. "My bags! Oh, my God, I completely forgot about them! You don't suppose they got stolen while I was away?"

"I don't suppose. I know."

Susan sprinted away just as she did before, this time with Oscar safely tucked into her arms and Murphy following them in tow.

Just as she suspected, the bench where she had sat up until a few minutes before was now empty, save for the newspaper she had been reading and Oscar's tin bowl.

Susan dropped Oscar and sank on the bench, resting her elbows on her knees and holding her face with both hands. "This has to be the worst week of my life."

"Oh, cheer up." Murphy sat beside her ."Your life ain't half over yet. There might be worse weeks coming."

Susan turned around to face him, "You have a very twisted sense of humor, you know that?"

"But it keeps me going."

"You know, this is all your fault."

"Mine!?!"

"Yes," Susan poked him in the chest. "Yours. If you had just stopped the first time I called you -"

"Wait a minute! I though we already went over this! You left your dog without a leash. It's on you."

"But you held me up."

"Ever thought about getting a parakeet, or a nice goldfish?"

Susan arched an eyebrow in his direction."You like giving an awful lot of advice, for someone I don't even know."

"That's easily fixed." Murphy conceded, holding out his hand. "I'm Connor."

"Susan." she replied, but she didn't shake his hand. Instead she turned her head, looking around conspicously. "You think he's still here?"

"Who?"

"The gentleman who stole my bags."

"I'd hardly call him a gentleman. But, no. "

"That's just perfect. I got no money, no clothes. No dignity." Susan pouted.

"Say, where are you going?" Connor asked.

"Martha's Vineyard."

"I could give you a ride if you wanted."

Susan furrowed her brows. "Why?"

"I'm a taxi cab driver. I have to get the old clunker back in New Bedford – I can drop you at the port on my way."

"I could still go by bus, you know. I've got ..." she took out a few pennies out of her skirt pocket and began counting. "fifty cents."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but that will only cover you for the bus ride."

"Not if I can manage to pass myself off for a twelve years old."

Connor shook his head. "Would you really rather spend six hours on a smelly bus packed with sweaty European tourists, than spend three hours with me?"

"Three hours?"

"Hmm hmm. I can have you on that Ferry by four."

Susan pondered what do. The stakes were too high to hesitate. Oh, What the hell, If she had to hitch a ride to get to her destination as soon as possible, so be it. What was the worse that could have happened?

"We have a deal."

#novella #writing #ficiton

[madphantom]

Star-crossed lovers.

#personal post #my art #art #sarah the novel #susan's hell sprint #here's all the people who passed away in the valley until susan meets the storyteller

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E8; Chapter Eight, The Mind Flayer - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

An unlikely hero steps forward when a deadly development puts the Hawkins Lab on lockdown, trapping Will and several others inside.

A/n: This series has blown up so much, I don’t know how to thank you guys! I love you all!!

Warnings: Domestic violence, and a homophobic slur. Ugh, just Billy's dad in general. jc, this guy sucks. If you feel you need to skip this scene altogether, I completely understand. I will place the usual marker [●●●] at the beginning and end so you can scroll quickly. Safe reading, loves!

||3rd Person POV||

As Hopper gazes into the inky darkness, a great unending bellow erupts from within the pit. The elevator cables are struck by something below, indicated by their sudden whip that fell into a dull vibrating blur and soft twang. Immediately, a slender grey claw erupts from the shadows digging into the concrete edge. Emerging after it, was the figure attached, the beasts they could barely make out on the live feed. The same monster from the previous year, that thing this damn lab unleashed unto El and her poor friends. Hopper couldn't believe his eyes or his piss poor luck. Seemingly, neither could Dr. Owens who had numbly stepped closer to the window, next to Hop.

"Mother of God."

With stilled silence, everyone watches, eyes trained on the creature not knowing what to expect. And upon first glance, neither does the mutant. It stalks forward. It's eyeless bud-shaped head inspecting the glass before it rises to its hind legs, placing it's front claws on the glass. On the opposite side, Hopper leans closer to the pane, brows furrowed and ears perked as he takes advantage of seeing this unknown species up close.

The advantage doesn't last long, however, when the mutant takes one glance at Hopper and Owens individually - as if sizing them up, frighteningly enough - and it lets out a foggy huff before ramming its now open head into the glass. The two men jump back alarmed as it continues this, each strike against the glass is with more and more force and aggression.

"It's... It's polycarbonate. It can't get through." Dr. Owens utters, shuffling back despite his words.

On cue, the four-legged Demogorgan split it's head, and a bone-chilling shriek pierced the air. The shrill cry carried through the air, bouncing off the walls and deep within the caverns, continuously feeding into itself. The echo was enough to worry everyone, that was until they saw the elevator cables begin to move once more. It was then they realized, it had not been an echo, but the voices of dozens of its siblings. And they were all scrambling up the walls, out of the pit, and to its aid.

"Mother Mary and Joseph," murmured the man at the coms.

Another screech and they all fell in line taking orders. Not a single creature hesitated, and it was only a matter of moments before the pristine, spotless glass was near shattering. Hundreds of webbing cracks painted the glass to a point the creatures became harder to see.

"You sure about that glass?" Hopper piped.

His face flushed, Owens steps back to the panel, knowing what has to be done.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The shrill alarm has reached the rest of the lab, bouncing off the cold white walls and alerting Bob and Mike.

"What the hell?" Bob asks, his protective grip on Mike feigning.

"We're too late," Mike realizes, voice grave.

"What?"

"We're too late!"

Mike escapes Bob's grip with ease, sprinting for Will's room where Joyce rises from her seat beside Will.

"What's going on?"

"We're under attack." Mike pants, face flushed.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"What's going on down there? Does anybody copy?"

The officer's voice echoes out of the speakers in the control room, though stifled by their panicked cries and the scuffle of their shoes on the floor as they run. Hopper is the last to exit, assuring everyone has made it out safely. The steel door slams shut just in the nick of time, no sooner does the splintered glass windows shatter into a thousand pieces, and the swarm floods in.

In the hall, Hopper and Owens flee with the other workers. That is until Owens finds a shortcut.

"Stairs, stairs!" He pants, shoving Hopper for the door. "Come on,"

The two men are able to safely retreat to the next floor, returning to the main floor. The same could not be said for the remainder of the team, who found themselves cornered in the elevator as the army broke free.

In Will's room, Mike spots the bottle of anesthesia and quickly snatches it up in his hands, turning to Joyce.

"We need to make Will sleep," He orders.

"What?"

"He's a spy! If he knows where we are, so does the Mind Flayer!"

Will sits up, his actions are suddenly frightened and hasty. He's furious. His once hazel eyes are almost completely black now. He quickly turns to Joyce and cries out.

"He's lying!"

"He killed those soldiers and he'll kill us, too!" Mike warned.

This only angered Will more, he shot up in his bed now fighting against Joyce's efforts to hold him down. He is screeching now, utterly infuriated and desperate as he fights against Joyce.

"He's lying! He's lying! HE'S LYING! HE'S LYING! HE'S LYING!"

The elevator has arrived on their floor, and when the designated guards arrive, the doors open revealing the several torn up bodies of the extraction team. The army of Demogorgan mutants don't hesitate on their newest targets, they stalk forward, their speed quickly climbing. In a flurry they scramble for their guns, shooting the evermoving targets as they pounce.

The gunfire echoes throughout the entire floor, including Will's room. Bob is at Will's bedside, aiding Joyce in restraining him, and he is the first to hear them.

"Those are gunshots!"

Everyone looks to the door, but their attention is quickly pulled back to Will who is still fighting.

"He's lying! HE'S LYING!"

Frightened, and short-fused, Joyce grips Will's arms.

"Okay, Will, Will, listen, listen. Do you know who I am?"

Will only looks dumbstruck, he looks at the woman before him, his body still half attempting to escape. At that moment, she knows Will is in there, but he has to fight for control.

"Do you know who I am?" She yells.

"You're..."

He falters, sending another crack through her heart as he searches his mind for her identity. And every moment seems to last an eternity, but when he finally spoke, she knew Will was losing his battle.

"You're... You're Mom."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looks to Bob with a determination in her eyes. Her pain is turning to anger.

"Hold him down."

Bob complies as she retrieves the needle and vial from Mike. Will comes alive, his anger - the mind flayer's anger - erupts from his frame and he is kicking and screaming with every ounce of energy he can muster.

"No! NO! LET GO! NO! NO! LET ME GO! LET GO!"

She steps forward, needle in hand, and quickly pins his arm down. She knows it is the mind flayer's doing, but she can't help but see the look of terror in Will's eyes and feels a wave of guilt. But she does not stop.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO-!"

"I'm sorry," she cooed, fighting to keep his arm down. "I'm so sorry."

"LET ME GO!"

Mike tries to cover his ears, Will's frightful and all-too frightening shrieks pierce his skull and heart. And he can't help but think, he knew now more than ever it was the Mind Flayer, not his best friend. The only other time he had seen him this angry - this threatened - was with Y/n.

The needle breaks his skin and not a moment sooner does his cries begin to die down, and from there, it is only seconds before he is completely subdued by unconsciousness. At that same moment, Hopper and Owens burst through to the door, to find an unconscious Will, and Joyce, needle in hand. They manage to put the pieces together when without warning, a thunderous crash and inhuman howl grab everyone's attention. Everyone turns to see the pair of oak doors at the end of the hall begin to crack and splinter, piece by piece falls to the floor with each forceful strike. The creatures have reached the main floor.

Hopper pales. "We gotta go. We gotta go,"

He spins on his heel, racing for Will's bed and he swiftly sweeps the boy's small frame up with ease. Joyce, Bob, and Mike follow, not without making off with more morphine before their haste escape. The new group makes it to the outer rim before they witness a pack of these creatures take down several lab employees just up ahead. Before they can flee from where they came, the sound of rapid gunfire comes first. They are forced to pilot away and out of the hall through a narrow doorway where they find themselves in one of the labs' surveillance rooms.

Owens is the last to enter, closing the door behind him and Bob is the first to take note of the chaos unfolding on the many screens.

"Oh, my god," he gasps, drawing everyone's attention to the screens.

Everyone stops to gape at the many images of scattered bodies sprinkled throughout the labs' otherwise empty halls. Every monitor displays the contorted figures of the otherworldly creatures stalking the halls, prowling. Hunting. The lab is overrun.

The fluorescence lights above their heads begin to flicker, and just as quickly, all power has been lost, the monitors first to go. Amidst the pitch back, the group huddles close as the strident battle cry of the swarm echoes through the darkness making one simple fact abundantly clear;

Hawkins Lab has officially become the hunting ground for the army of the Upside Down.

[●●●]

On the other side of town, Neil and Susan Hargrove pull into their driveway in a rusty '71 pickup. Stepping inside, placing her shopping bags onto the dining room, Susan calls out to her daughter and step-son.

"Hey, guys, we're home." Receiving no reply, she wanders down the hall in search of any sign of life. "Guys? Hello? Max?"

She reaches Max's room first, opening the door to find the room empty, save for the abandoned taped up skateboard, and the open window. The drapes dance in the wind, reflecting the soft yellow light from the girl's bedside lamp, and it was clear to her that the room had not been touched all evening. Attempting to stifle her growing concern, she steps forward and closes the sliding window shut disregarding the chill the autumn night brought.

Inside his room, heavy rock music blaring from his stereo, Billy takes a long and deep breath, letting the smoke of his third cigarette of the day fills his lungs. He bounces on the balls of his heels to the rhythm of the beat before his mirror as he preps himself for his night out. The moment is almost perfect had it not been for the persistent knocking on his door and the sound of his stepmother.

"Billy?"

"Yeah, I'm a little busy in here, Susan," He calls.

"Open the door," Bellows his father. "Right now."

Now his night was completely ruined.

Stuffing down his fear and anger, Billy marches across his room and throws open his door. As it always seemed to go, he found his father looking down on him, seething, and a troubled and anxious Susan at his side.

"What's wrong?"

"Why don't you tell us?" His father spits.

Billy shrugs, perturbed. "Because I don't know."

"We can't find Maxine," Susan says.

"And her window's open."

Billy looks away, hiding his inward sigh. Getting on his father's bad side was never a good thing. It was rare to come out on the other side without a welt or bruise or two. And Billy was always his favorite target. That is after his mother left the picture. Whatever hell Max had just cooked up, was more shit he'd have to pay.

"Where is she?"

Biting the bullet, Billy shrugs.

"I don't know,"

"You don't know?" Neil scoffs, rage quickly rising to the surface.

All Billy can do now is throw water on the fire, but he knows he's only buying moments.

"Look, I'm sure she just, I don't know, went to the arcade or something." He says, retreating into his room. "I'm sure she's fine."

Neil follows, swiping at his mouth, a habit of anger as he follows his son to his closet.

"You were supposed to watch her," He growls.

"I know, Dad. I was," Billy sighs, throwing on his coat. "It's just you guys were three hours late, and, well, I have a date."

Pulling his mullet out from under his coat, straightening out he shrugs. "I'm sorry, okay?"

His father crosses his arms, glaring at him as he gestures to his mirror. "So that's why you've been staring at yourself in the mirror-like some faggot instead of watching your sister?"

"I have been looking after her all week, Dad." Billy snaps. "Okay? She wants to run off, then that's her problem all right? She's thirteen years old. She shouldn't need a full-time babysitter. And she's not my sister!"

Billy steps forward, slamming the off button on his stereo. The music stops just as he feels the force of his father shoving him into the wall. Neil steps closer, his grip on Billy's jacket tightening.

"What did we talk about?" He growls.

His son does not answer, and his fist swings up to meet Billy's cheek. Susan looks away fearfully, unable to witness his beatings yet neglects to step in. Neil brings his hand near Billy's throat in an act to threaten him, his sign of warning.

"What did we... talk about?"

Billy swallows the urge to fight back, no matter how demanding and he has to spit out the words his father wants to hear.

"Respect and responsibility," He repeats, hating himself for the waver in his voice that his father always seemed to bring out in him.

His father nods. "That is right,"

He shoves Billy further into the bookshelf, the boy fights a wince as his spine digs further against the wood.

"Now, apologize to Susan,"

Billy takes a deep, shaky breath. The only thing keeping him from any act - any sign - of defiance is the fiery, hostile glare he is held under.

"I'm sorry, Susan," He says.

The woman shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. Fearful of anything she says, less it inflict more pain on Billy, or herself.

"It's okay, Neil," she eases. "really, I-"

"No," he roars, jostling his son once more. "it's not okay. Nothing about his behavior is okay."

He waves a stubby finger in Billy's face, reluctantly letting him go and stepping back once he felt assured the lesson had been instilled.

"But he's going to make up for it," He turns around to look in her frightened eyes. "He's gonna call whatever whore he's seeing tonight and cancel their date. And then he's gonna go find his sister. Like the good, kind, respecting brother that he is."

He returns his attention to his son, who stands frozen, tears misting his eyes.

"Isn't that right, Billy?" He steps forward at the boy once more, voice rising when he receives no reply. "ISN'T THAT RIGHT?!"

To the best of his ability, Billy swallows the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse. "Yes, sir."

The man sighs heavily, inching closer, head turned. "I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, sir."

Somewhat satisfied with Billy's response, his dark eyes return to Billy's, drilling holes with his threatening glare.

"Find Max." He orders.

Finally, he falls back, marching past his wife - who quickly steps out of his way - leaving a vulnerable and broken Billy behind. The door closes and only then does he let his tears fall in heavy streaks down his cheek. Expressing his emotions the only way he knows how, he chucks the nearest object - in this case, a cologne bottle - and it shatters at his feet. Another broken mess.

[●●●]

Max kicks yet another chunk of gravel in her path as she walks, trying as best as she can to keep up with Y/n's tale. How Max found herself in the middle of this confusing shitstorm, she would never know.

Steve, on the other hand, having known only half the story from the previous year, was gaining new information himself. About Eleven, Y/n, the experiments, everything. Just when he thought he knew everything about his hometown.

"You mean, he actually, like, yelled at you?" Lucas gaped. "Will?"

Y/n nods, eyes trained on the tracks below her feet. After a confusing roundup, the group found themselves walking the path the swarm had disappeared on. Having no choice but to answer their many questions, Y/n was recounting to them - without mentioning El or her trip to Chicago to the best of her ability - the events in the past 48 hours. It was proving a very difficult feat.

"'Get the hell out of my house', does not sound like Will. Like, at all."

"Exactly," Y/n insists. "I'm telling you, he's not himself."

"Clearly," scoffed Dustin.

"So I left. He didn't want me there, he made that clear enough."

"That still doesn't explain why you're dressed like that, or the fact that you came in, hands blazing, and fought off an army of Demogorgons,"

"It's complicated, alright?" She snapped defensively, rubbing a hand over her eyes. "I..."

The words died on her tongue, not even knowing what they were. She had no idea how or where to even begin. All she could do was choose her words carefully.

"I had to clear my head," she paused briefly when she saw the worried look in her brother's eyes, and sighed. "I had to get away, so...I did. Long story short-"

"Too late," Steve quipped.

"-I ran into some trouble. My clothes got trashed, so I got my hands on some spares, and I made my way home."

Satisfied with her careful recount of the events, she continued.

"And on my way, I-" she sighed once more. "Well, I figured out how to use my... powers."

The word still felt foreign on her tongue, still felt silly to say.

"Turns out, facing your shit helps."

"Wait, what does that mean exactly?" Max asked.

Y/n shrugged. "I was hurt, and angry, and confused. Apparently, that helps me control it."

An uneasy quiet falls over the group and she looks around to see her friends staring at her with intrigue. Even Steve stole a few glances at her hands, but she merely stuffed them in her oversized pockets.

"No," she scoffs, hiding a small smile. "You were all there at the junkyard, you already got a glimpse. Besides, I need to save my energy for those things."

Confusion flashes across her face and she looks between the four. "What about you guys? Why the hell are we fighting these things?"

Lucas looked past Y/n, gesturing to Dustin who had grown awfully quiet. "It's all thanks to Dustin, and his little 'pet'."

Y/n frowned. "You're sure that thing was Dart?"

"Yes," Dustin nods. "He had the exact same yellow pattern on his butt."

"He was tiny two days ago," Max pointed out.

"Well, he's molted three times already."

"Wait, m-malted?" Steve asks.

"Molted," Dustin corrects. "Shed his skin to make room for growth like hornworms."

"Well, when's he gonna molt again?" Max asks.

"It's gotta be soon. When he does, he'll be fully grown, or close to it. So will his friends."

Y/n grows more and more concerned by the moment. "Like, actual Demogorgan size?"

"Possibly."

"Yeah," Steve cuts in, scoffing. "and he's gonna eat a lot more than just cats."

Everyone halted immediately, Y/n's eyes grew wide and Lucas throws a hand out at Dustin.

"Wait, a cat?"

Dustin freezes, his eyes as wide as saucers they flick nervously in Y/n's direction and Lucas gives him a firm push.

"Dart ate a cat?"

Y/n steps forward, advancing slowly. "Dustin, what is he talking about?"

He scoffs nervously, shaking his head.

"No, what? No,"

"Dustin-"

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks, clearly confused. "He ate Mews."

"WHAT?"

Max looks feverishly between everyone, once more completely lost. "Mews? Who's Mews?"

"You let that thing eat our cat?!" Y/n shrieked, now stomping closer to her brother.

Max gapes, having gotten her answer.

"I knew it!" Exclaims Lucas, joining Y/n's side. "I knew it! You kept him!"

He jabs an angry finger in Dustin's chest

"No!" Dustin shot back, albeit a bit weakly. "No. No, I... No, I... He missed me. He wanted to come home."

"Bullshit!" Lucas spits.

Dustin sees at the pointed looks of his friends, more importantly, the hurt in his sister's eyes and it is hit with a wave of guilt.

"I- I didn't know he was a Demogorgan, okay?" He looks to Y/n, reaching out for her. "Y/n-,"

He only manages to graze her shoulder, and he notes she is hot to the touch, proof that her powers were bubbling to the surface. She flinches, shoving his hand away and he winces at her scalding hands.

"Don't touch me," she huffs, avoiding his gaze. "You knew! You knew this whole time, and you kept him! We talked about this, Dustin! As a group. We agreed he was from the upside down-"

"He was my responsibility-"

"and you kept him and it murdered out cat! And, to top it all off you sent mom on a wild goose chase-"

Steve groans, knowing the fight will only intensify.

But the siblings did not hear, the fight-turned-screaming match.

"Like you're one to talk, you went off on some idiot side quest playing dress-up while the rest of us-"

"Excuse me?!" She turned on him, her fist bunch up at her sides and several waves of heat radiated off them. "That's some sexist hunk of bullshit! While the rest of you what, Dustin-?"

She gestures wildly around her.

"Yeah, 'the rest of you' are cleaning up your mess-!"

"Guys," Max tried. "It doesn't matter. Who cares, let's just-"

"It does matter!" Lucas retorts. "It does! You put the party in jeopardy! You broke the rule of law!"

"So did you!" Dustin shot back, pointing his flashlight at Max, gesturing to her. "You told a stranger the truth!"

Max guffawed, now just as invested and just as furious. "Stranger?!"

By now, Steve contemplates whether or not to leave the herd of bickering children and continuing on the path, seeing if they'd follow or even notice. But something in the distance catches his ear.

"Real nice, Dustin. Don't try and blame anyone else-"

He creeps forward, flashlight in hand, and aimed into the darkness of the trees. All the while, the screaming match continuing uninterrupted behind him.

"You wanted to tell her too!"

"But I didn't, Lucas, okay?" Dustin shrieks. "I didn't tell her!"

Steve hears the sound once more, the sound of distant cries - the same cries he heard at the junkyard. The swarm was close.

"We both broke the rule of law, okay? So we're even we're even!"

"-No, no! We're not even. Don't even try that!"

"You're so not even Dustin!" Y/n fires back. "At least when he broke the rules, it didn't end with a dead cat!"

"Oh, you're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Let it go? Let it go? I just found out!"

"Jesus, is that what really matters right now?" Max shouts.

The broken party was now at war with one another, no one individual member speaking at once. They all continue to shout at one another, besides Steve, who is now completely on edge, wary of their surroundings.

"Hey, guys?" Steve calls.

"You're dumb pet could have eaten us for dinner!"

"He wasn't gonna eat us!"

"Oh, so he was just coming to say hello?"

"GUYS!"

The children stop finally, looking up at Steve and his angered - and frightened expression. They have only seconds to question his worry until another screech echoes through the trees. Everyone pales, and Steve's spiked bat comes to rest over his shoulder as he marches off into the woods, the founding members of the party following. Leaving an exasperated new member behind; Max.

She is suddenly filled with dread, and she shakes her head along after them.

"No, no, no. Hey, guys, why are you headed towards the sound?" She asks, getting no answer. "Hello?"

She watches dumbstruck as they disappear over the small dirt hill, and into the trees.

"Hello?!"

She huffs, her head practically rolling off her shoulders and cursing herself for what she is about to do.

"Shit,"

She breaks out into a light jog, begrudgingly joining the rest of the group.

They follow the unending calls to the top of a hill, overlooking a small portion of Hawkins. Fog covers the lands, and the only other noise filling their ears are the croaks and ribbits of the marshy lands nearby.

"I don't see him," Dustin says, defeated.

A small click brings everyone's attention to Lucas as he takes out his binoculars, unfolding them. The lenses scan the town below until they stop on a darkened building Lucas recognizes all too well.

"It's the lab,"

His voice is grave, and it infects the others who all quickly dawn a similar, horrified expression.

"They were going back home."

+++

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[rankdisasster]

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[splat-dragon]

Run boy run ~Run Boy Run, Woodkid

Whumptober 2020, #5: Where Do You Think You're Going?: "On The Run" Whumptober 2020, #16: Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops: "Hunting Season" Whumptober 2020, #28: A Terrible, Horrible, No Good Very Bad Day: "Hallucinations"

And then he was being cut loose.

‘What?’

and that didn’t bode well for him.

Colm grinned, patted his shoulder again before shoving him forward, “You’ve got five minutes Arthur, I’d get goin’.”

@whumptober2020

Colm had visited him eight times when something changed.

 He hadn’t any way to measure time in the basement. There were no windows, no light sources to judge day and night. They didn’t bring him food, and his stomach screamed - sometimes Colm had food, sometimes he didn’t, and when he did he’d force some of it down Arthur’s throat.

 So he counted time in ‘visits from Colm’. His shoulder started to burn after three ‘visits from Colm’. He stopped seeing the grey haired bastard after four ‘visits from Colm’.

 Everything changed on the ninth ‘visit from Colm’.

They cut him down, laughing when he hit the ground and couldn’t stand, hauling him to his feet and dragging him up the stairs that had been so close, taunting him for every one of those visits from Colm, the light at the top blinding him.

 He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed the sun, missed fresh air, even the smell of horse shit in the air, until that moment. He wasn’t able to enjoy it though, as he was thrown to his knees at Colm’s feet, the man’s face twisted into incandescent rage. “Where are they, Arthur Morgan?”

 a boot flicked out, slamming into his stomach, and he bent double,

 “Not here. They were supposed to come, remember? Come to save you. But no. They didn’t, and old Dutch ruined everything. I had a plan, Morgan. Milton… you don’t know the trouble you’ve caused me..”

 “I’m so sorry,” he gasped once he’d managed to catch his breath, though managed to make it sound more like ‘well fuck you,’ more than a bit alarmed when he was dragged up onto his feet.

“Now,” he smacked him on the back like they were old drinking buddies, “you have to understand Arthur, my boys are furious with you. We were gonna use that money to get outta here. And now… well, now we’re gonna have t’ run,” his hand came up, pinched his cheek like a little child, “and they’re mad at you for… well, everythin’. You’ve taken friends from them. Brothers. Can you blame ‘em?”

 And then he was being cut loose.

  ‘What?’

 and that didn’t bode well for him.

 Colm grinned, patted his shoulder again before shoving him forward, “You’ve got five minutes Arthur, I’d get goin’.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he booked it.

 Colm’s word held as much weight as a soaked piece of paper, and if he gave him the full five minutes he’d eat his hat.

God, he hurt but he wanted to get as far away as he could. Each step sent agony thrumming through his body, his heartbeat rattling through his bones. His shoulder screamed and oh god just cut it off he wanted to clutch at it and curl up and scream and scream and scream but he needed to get as far away as quickly as he could, and were those eyes in the bushes? A person behind that tree? But no, he staggered passed and it was just an oddly shaped shadow, god he was losing his mind.

 He spun - Colm? - but no, just a clump of horse hair caught on a branch - and he staggered down the hill, struggling to keep his balance, finally losing it and falling, tumbling ass over head and ending up laying on his back in the bank of a river.

  ‘Shiit.’

There was whooping and damn Colm there was no way he’d gotten the whole five minutes, he wanted nothing more than to lay in the water and die, let it wash over his wound and try to wash out some of the infection he could feel eating away at him even then, but he dreaded what would happen if he were to be caught, could already feel their boots slamming into his ribs, their knives digging into his flesh, their cigarettes sizzling against his skin.

 He tried to stand, got to his knees; his elbows buckled and he collapsed to his stomach, choked and inhaled the water, tried to cough it out but each attempt at a breath only brought in more until he finally managed to sit back on his heels, shoulder screaming at the motion, retching and vomiting up a stomachful of pink-tinged water.

“There he is!”

 Shit! He scrambled to his feet, vision going white, and ran blind across the stream.

 Bark exploded besides his head as he cleared the treeline.

‘Where am I?’

 He had the vaguest idea of where he was - that bridge had looked familiar, and from what little he remembered of being dragged along by Colm’s men they couldn’t have moved him too far, but he was well and truly turned around.

 Arthur froze - footsteps were growing near, how had someone snuck up on him? He stepped back, fumbled around, managed to grasp a branch in his hand and brandished it like Jack would in play - 

 and a buck stepped out in front of him. It seemed thoroughly unthreatened, eyeing him almost as though bored, giving a low grunt before plodding passed.

 Even still, the shadows that it had walked out of danced, rippled, and he’d swear there was Colm - no, Dougal, no, the grey haired bastard - just out of sight.

 He picked a direction and, not dropping the stick, staggered on.

Arthur found a road.

 The sign pointed VALENTINE in one direction, and he oriented himself. There, he had to go that way to get to the Oilfields, right? They hadn’t taken him very far at all, though he hurt from walking so far while hurt, his legs felt as lead and his blood felt like sludge. His shoulder screamed, the pain worsening with each beat of his heart, and each step rattled agony throughout his body.

  ‘Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop.’

 Hoofbeats thudded loudly and he didn’t stop to look, didn’t wait to see if, maybe, they were someone willing to help, before breaking into a sprint for the treeline.

“Morgan!”

  “There he is!”

  “Get ‘em!”

 Whooping broke out behind him, loud and howling and he’d have sworn there were hounds on his heels if he hadn’t known there were O’Driscolls after him instead (but really, was there much of a difference?) and he cursed a blue-streak, looking back over his shoulders; the grey-haired bastard was bearing down on him on some horse fit to chase an escapee of hell - 

 a breeze ruffled the tree branches, moonlight broke the shadows, and a mossy tree waved amiably at him.

They got close - too close - more times than he could count; a lasso thudded to the ground at his feet more than once, and he lost count of the bullets that thudded into the dirt and the trees around him. Horses screamed after him, and his wounds screamed as he scrambled up and down every hill and ledge he could find, trying to throw them off. He hobbled, no longer able to run, wanting nothing more than to sprint straight for the path that led into camp that he knew was nearby but it had been ingrained in him since he was young to never lead anyone back to camp no matter what so he kept going, kept trying to get just that little bit of breathing room.

And then it was there.

 A pair of trees that curved naturally, making a fancy arch over a path that led into their camp.

 He didn’t dare run through the path. Didn’t dare risk giving them away more than he already was. But the camp was set back along the shore, deep inside a copse of trees. If he could just get into the trees then he could be home, he could be safe, and he wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.

 And god, but did he hurt. He could hardly breathe for it, for the agony that raged through him. He couldn’t tell where his wrenched ankle started and where his shot shoulder ended, where he’d been cigarette-burned and where he hadn’t been - he felt like one giant wound.

  “...the stew, Pearson?”

 but he could hear them, he could hear Susan, and oh god he was almost home. She was like a mother to him - to many of them, though they’d never admit it - she’d helped raise him for nearly twenty years, had taught him to tie a tie and how to wash behind his ears, had yanked the blade from Dutch’s hands and taught him how to shave proper. He could already feel her fussing over him, getting on him for being fool enough to run around as beat up as he was.

 He staggered towards them - he was so close - and a voice called out 

  “Who goes there?”

 and he tried, he did, tried to summon his voice to call out ‘it’s Arthur!’ but he was all screamed out, his voice had long given out and he was so thirsty even if he hadn’t said a word the whole time he didn’t think he could have, his tongue was dry as sand.

Arthur took a step, wanted to get their attention - who was that, Charles? Bill? - and a lasso cinched tight around his leg and took him to the ground.

“I’ve got Morgan!”

 A knife dug deep into his throat.

  “There it is!”

 As the knife cut across his throat, gunfire exploded in the air.

#splat #splatdragon #splatdragonff #whumptober #whumptober2020 #arthur whump #arthur morgan whump #hurt arthur #hurt arthur morgan #no 5 #no 16 #no 28 #no. 5 #no. 16 #no. 28 #no.5 #no.16 #no.28 #prompt 5 #prompt 16 #prompt 28 #day 5 #day 16 #day 28 #Where Do You Think You're Going? #On The Run #Such Wow. Many Normal. Very Oops #Hunting Season #A Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day #Hallucinations

[protectduffy]

When you’re hurt (F)

finally done the female version of when you’re hurt featuring the camp ladies along with charlotte!

Tilly

- lawmen were always trouble for your gang, but especially after a train robbery had left them on high alert

- you hadn’t meant to start trouble and were just passing by the local town when two of the lawmen on guard stiffened, glaring at you, whispering to each other that you looked awfully familiar to those ruffians who had committed a robbery nearby

- within seconds you were sprinting like a bat out of hell, zigzagging and darting between trees trying to get back to camp with a route that would shake the men from your tail

- branches whipped your face and snagged your hair as you pushed yourself to breaking point, your lungs wheezing every breath

- only when you were sure you had lost them did you burst into camp, your shoes kicking up dust

- you looked a mess, what with twigs and leaves all over you, dirt smeared on your pants and exhausted streaks of tears on your face

- Tilly is there immediately, before anyone can look at you twice

- in seconds she’s urging you to sit with her under a tree away from the curious camp onlookers

- she strokes your hair, gently pulling out the leaves and holding you

- you sit between her thighs, your back to her chest as she sits against the tree and wraps her arms around your middle

- with her head on your shoulder, she whispers soft reassurances and suggests a bath together where you can tell her what happened

Sadie

- O’Driscoll boys always managed to find Sadie, or perhaps the other way around

- she thought she’d killed all of them when you both encountered three of the gang camping at the side of the road you were both riding down

- it took a split second for the recognition to occur and immediately Sadie pushed you behind a tree as she skidded behind a log

- the shots fired were deafening as you attempted to return them

- after what felt like the longest shootout ever, silence descended

- Sadie turned to look at you, panting, and you peeked behind the tree, throwing her a nod to say that they were dead

- she wasted no time in running to you, grabbing your face in her hands and turning you slightly to check for bullet wounds

- “You okay? You sure? Did they getcha?”

- only once she’s sure you’re okay does she mount up again, helping you jump on behind her

- you remind her that you’re happy to ride your own horse but she hushes you, puffing her chest

- “I’m gonna keep you safe, no matter what, so just stay close- okay?”

Karen

- with tensions running high in camp, Karen had persuaded you to take her for a light stroll through the forest

- the peace was actually very rewarding, the birdsong reminding you both of calmer times

- as she lead you by the hand to the river, talking about everything she could think of that had interested her that day, she failed to notice the sudden steep decline along the bank of the river

- one moment you were both strolling along, and the next you were rolling down the decline

- it wasn’t a long fall, but you were both thoroughly filthy and dishevelled at the bottom

- Karen stared at you with wide eyes and you returned the look for what felt like forever

- finally, you both burst into laughter

- she helps you to your feet and you brush the dirt from her, both still giggling like children despite the risk you had encountered

- however, she makes a big show of checking that you’re not hurt, kissing the little scrapes on your skin

- “How ‘bout we go wash off in the river?” she flashes you that coy smile you’ve come to adore and you scamper after her like a puppy, stripping off your dirtied clothes as the cool river water beckons you on

Mary-Beth

- Micah was annoying at the best of times, but add that to the fact that he was deep in his drink and you ended up with a giant pain in the ass

- Javier had already warned him about his racial comments and now you were sitting with your teeth grinding as he ranted about how he could have any woman in camp if they weren’t so stuck-up

- it was fine for a while, you could ignore him and continue to clean your weapons, but then he started talking about Mary-Beth

- sweet Mary-Beth, the very same who you were officially together with

- “Shut the hell up, okay!? You don’t know shit, so stop talking out of your ass! None of these women give a damn about you!” you could see red in your vision as you stood up to confront him

- thud

- you stumbled back and regained your balance, staring in bewilderment as Micah shook his hand from the sensation of having hit you across the face

- the whole of camp seemed to hold their breath as you sucked in yours and released an animal like growl, punching him so hard that he not only stumbled, but tripped over a bucket and fell on his back

- “Prick.” you spit and turn on your heel, ignoring the burning pain in your cheek

- “y/n! That was, it- wow!” Mary-Beth’s eyes are wide as she examines you, gently tugging you towards her bed where she can inspect your bruise

- “I really wish you wouldn’t get hurt for me, but I appreciate it anyway, you’re like one of them knights coming to help!” 

- her blush is obvious and she regards you with a warm smile, gently dabbing your cheek with a damp cloth before kissing the spot tenderly

Susan

- you weren’t a big fan of visiting saloons of late, mostly because of the chaos

- sure enough, when you were two drinks in, a couple of men started getting physical in their argument and the whole place erupted into chaos

- chairs were thrown, tables strewn about, glasses smashing

- you were almost at the door when the glass whistled over your head, obliterating on the door frame

- unfortunately, right where your hand was 

- the glass shattered on impact and shards scraped your skin, the worst being a small chunk which had managed to embed itself on the back of your hand

- the ride back was uneventful but very difficult, your injured hand cradled to your chest and staining your shirt with blood

- it took all your dignity not to fall out of the saddle with your one hand unusable

- you were hoping to sneak in to see Strauss and have him inspect it, but you weren’t so lucky

- “What is that? What happened?!”

- that voice is so familiar, soon accompanied by Susan hurriedly crossing the camp with a furrowed brow and thunderous look

- you try to brush her off but she snags your hand and gasps

- “I thought I told you to be careful on your own!”

- seeing your grimace, her anger recedes and is replaced by soft concern

- she makes sure to remove any glass in the wounds and cleans it, bandaging the hand and keeping a very close eye on you for the rest of the night with one hand locked on your good one

Abigail

- it was your idea to go fishing to stop Pearson from complaining about the lack of meat in the provisions

- thankfully, the warm weather was perfect for catching some lake fish and soon you had a bag half full of decent fish

- as you started to pack up your things, you noticed that the lure had snagged around the wire and fishing pole

- after a few minutes of cussing and trying to untangle it, you finaloly succumb to frustration and pull out your knife to cut the line free so you can fix it later

- trying to get the right angle to sever the fishing line was very difficult and with your frustration it became even harder

- annoyed, you yank the knife across the line and accidentally catch your palm with the blade, too

- the wound immediately begins to bleed but, as far as you can tell, it isn’t too deep

- you can’t keep anything from Abigail, either, and when you walk back into camp she’s on you like a dog catching the scent of blood

- you can already see the lecture forming on her tongue

- “Did the fish fight back? Dammit, y/n, come on!” she huffs and takes you to Strauss, who bandages you whilst Abigail impatiently crosses her arms

- after a light scolding, she sits beside you by the campfire and runs her fingers over the uninjured back of your bandaged hand, occasionally the two of you making playful jokes about the situation

- despite this, she’s very dutiful in making sure you clean and dress the wound every day until it heals, always asking if it hurts and helping you take care of it

Charlotte

- since learning to hunt for herself, Charlotte had been spending more time with you in the woods by her home, stalking that night’s dinner

- however, one evening she was too occupied with fixing up the stove to accompany you on the hunt

- seeing that meat had been running low, you were content to go and find something to bring home for the two of you

- an hour into your hunt and you had two rabbits strung to your belt

- spying a fat turkey in the clearing, you began to stalk towards it with your bow drawn

- however, the scent of blood had attracted a lone wolf, too

- his lip curled as he growled at you, standing between two trees to your left

- before you could pull back your arrow, the wolf lunged

- desperate to fight it off, you ditched the bow and reached for your knife, using your other arm to hold back the snapping jaws away from your face

- the putrid heat of the wolf’s breath hit you as you grasped the hilt of your knife and plunged upwards into the heart of the beast

- Charlotte was surprised to say the least when you stumble in through the door with one arm limp by your side

- mumbling something about a wolf, you all but collapse as she hurries towards you, keeping you upright

- when you awaken, you’re in bed with Charlotte curled up beside you, her hand tightly clutching yours, your injured arm strapped to your chest in bandages

- with a soft smile, you turn over and kiss her temple, careful not to disturb her as you find comfort in sleeping by her side

#tilly jackson x reader #sadie adler x reader #mary-beth gaskill x reader #susan grimshaw x reader #charlotte balfour x reader #karen jones x reader #abigail roberts x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rockstar game

[myjourneytoux]

Eyeing that Finish Line

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. I've actually been a designer for a while but even I didn't realize it until a few weeks ago.  The funny part is I consciously set out to learn more about design back in November of 2019, when trying to determine my next professional step.  As someone within HR, working as a recruiter and program manager, I have been drawn to individuals within the creative space for awhile now. Through my phone screens with candidates, I learned about the work they do and through those conversations, I got hooked. It was then, back in November of 2019, that I began investing time to learn more about the design world.  Through my findings, I realized I have been applying a lot of the design fundamentals in my work, whether I was a teacher, or higher education professional, or even now as a recruiter.  I have conducted research and empathy interviews, iterated designs of services and programs, created pilots and assessed them, re-worked designs and continued to evaluate, always striving for better user experiences.  I drove the project's vision and presented findings to stakeholders, many in the C-suite.  So yeah, I've been a designer and didn't know it! I've made career pivots before, so this isn't new to me. But what has been different is this time, I'm older. And I have insight now into what recruiting looks like for people in the UX space.  We set a high bar for people at my company who want to work in UX so that honestly slowed my roll for a bit this past summer.  I felt to be seen as credible, I'd need to get a formal certification. Naturally, I had to figure out if that was true.  I sought out answers by reaching out to people and just started asking questions. One endearing comment I continue to hear is that I don't need a formal certification.  Empathy is what matters most and that can't be taught.   As a recruiter, I actually have a LOT of empathy for those that I speak with; whether they get the job or not.  I put myself in their shoes as many are as vulnerable as I am right now, just trying to start something new. As I began investing time to learn more about this new world, I started listening to a podcast.  During one of my midday strolls, I tuned into the User Defenders podcast and heard the OG of UX designers, Jared Spool declare that everyone is a designer (which I later heard drew a lot of criticism from people).  But then Jared gave examples and mentioned that even recruiters are designers because essentially, the hires they bring into an organization can change the user's experience.  I mean, if Jared Spool thinks I'm a designer, then hell yes, I'm a designer! The balance of 2020 was filled with consuming information by reading books like General Assembly's The Practitioner's Guide to User Experience Design, UX Bites by Gabriel Kirkmeier, The Design of Everyday Things by Don Norman and Susan Weinschenk's 100 Things Every Designer Needs to Know about People. I also read a lot of UX-related blogs and completed UX related courses via LinkedIn learning.  I obtained a mentor and started putting some ideas down on paper.  I was even asked to serve as the UX Director for a non-profit.  Things were in full swing but I hadn't yet figured out how to climb that mountain -- taking this information and leveraging it to a new job within UX. Fast forward to December 2020 and I get a random request from someone at my company to speak about my interest in design as it relates to HR.  During my exploration phase, I realized, as with any job, there are a lot of different things you can do within design.  In looking at the double diamond of design, I'm more confident in my skills on the early side of design.  I can research and analyze and synthesize information into recommendations for a future iteration and create the prototypes for those designs.  I began focusing on design strategy and service design as potential easy career pivots.  But I wasn't sure if a place for someone with my interests existed at my current company. I was ecstatic when I heard there was a place, albeit new, and they were focused on the experience individuals have within different touchpoints in HR.  It was crazy to know that my many random conversations led me to an individual that was curious to know more about me and my journey. That conversation sparked yet another with a hiring manager who informed me about an opportunity and asked me if I'd be interested in an HR UX Strategist role.  After a two week courtship of learning more about the team she was building in HR and setting the stage for some huge goals, not to mention meeting a few individuals on her greater team, I was hooked. I went from, "you want me?" to "you want ME!"  I was on cloud nine.  So that's the end of the story, right? We lived happily ever after? Not quite. Unfortunately, right before I was to interview for the role, I learned I was not able to move forward due to strong business needs and some big wins this new group needed to make in a short period of time.  Being a new group with an even smaller team of 3, the opportunity of having me join was not feasible at this time.  Even though the director was happy to mentor me and saw my abilities, it was a no go. Of course, it was a hard pill to swallow.  To be approached by a director who saw my unique perspective being in HR and relentless effort to transition into design - it was the perfect role. But this setback just gave me time to hone my abilities through side projects; demonstrating my knowledge of the design process.  In the two weeks since receiving that unfortunate news, I have been on a passion-fueled binge of all things UX. For one, I needed to establish some big goals. I'm a junkie when it comes to setting goals and challenges that seem insurmountable. For example: I went from not being able to swim 20 meters in a pool to swimming 350 meters 6 weeks later in my first sprint triathlon.  But I wasn't finished there. Four months later I finished a one mile open water swim in a lake for a triathlon that was 50 total miles.  And 7 months from there, I completed my first half Ironman. And finally, 18 months after my first half Ironman, I had my fastest swim to date by swimming 2.4 miles in an ocean to compete in and finish my first Ironman.  But that wasn't enough. I traded the water for trails and 2.5 months later completed a 50 mile trail run in difficult terrain.  So setting a few professional goals? No problem.  My friends and family know when I set a goal, there's nothing that can stop me. In reading 100 Things Every Designer Needs to Know about People, I learned that people are more motivated as they get closer to a goal.  I know I certainly became more motivated after coming so close to achieving a dream job.  Therefore, I kickstarted this journey into high gear by establishing the following goals:

1) Pivot into UX by the end of 2021.  The short-term goal is to pivot mid-year, but I'm giving myself grace.  Again, I know how hard it is to get into design at my company. Giving myself ample time to accumulate more knowledge and apply them to various projects, will be a huge win.

2) Work on a side project through the non-profit group, "Teaching: A Path to Learning & Development."  I'll document this work separately in a follow-up blog as a lot of work I'm doing here is opening my eyes as I put theory into practice. 3) Obtain skills through an internal mobility project.  Remember those conversations I had during my two week courtship by this director for the HR UX Strategy role? Well my passion about internal mobility shined through and one of the people I spoke to asked if I'd be interested in assisting. I finally got the go ahead from my current supervisor to spend time helping; now I just need to lean in! 4) Finish the UX Design Learning Path via LinkedIn Learning. A lot of my strong abilities thus far have been on the first diamond within the double diamond design. I want to be more knowledgeable about the second diamond so that I can be a utility player in this space. Now that I've set these goals, I can see, in my head, the finish line. I'm literally applying the same training mentality as I had with my endurance races to my new career by dedicating at least an hour a day and 2-3 hours on the weekend, just chipping away at the larger goal ahead of me. My journey to UX will have its ups and downs; it's ah-ha's and OMG moments. And I want to document them all. I've been journaling since I was 10 so this isn't new to me. But what is new is sharing my inner thoughts and being raw. Perhaps I'll find others who are trying to make their way to UX. But for now, I want to share how this process has been for me. When I write, it helps cement my findings and it also helps me remember just how far I've come. Welcome to My UX Journey.