hc based & au heavy. partnered with @devilsmouth. archived here.
01. 02. 03.
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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One Nice Bug Per Day
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@diedheroes
hc based & au heavy. partnered with @devilsmouth. archived here.
01. 02. 03.

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@devilsmouth never forget
devilsmouth:
Billy’s silence speaks volumes. He stares at her, jaw growing taut, then looks away. “ Think you’re funny? ” His nose crinkles with a sneer––the same kind Neil wears when his patience is running thin. “ Don’t bullshit me, Max. That the same little prick that hangs around all those freaks? ”
he always looks like his dad when he does that, and it always bothers her in more ways than she wants to count. then she thinks about nate. the broken arm. no more california friends. her chin lifts. “ yeah, so? what do you care? you hang out with eddie all the time. ”
devilsmouth:
“ I’d be less worried about what I’m doing and more worried about the guy who’s stalking you. Who is he? ”
“ big bad metalhead. total blasphemer. we’re going out to the woods later so we can perform a satanic blood sacrifice. ”
devilsmouth:
“ Right. ” He thinks back on California, the blistering heat of summer. The dead cat’s funeral pyre. At least, that’s what he’d called it back then. Harrington had changed his perspective on a lot of things. “ You hear the shitbird’s got a boyfriend now? Kid’s friends with the freak-show who moved in down the road from Munson. ”
“ oh, that’s great. that’s just what we need, right? ” it’s almost a snarky comment about the freaks growing in numbers, but that’s his high school bully brain talking. he dismisses the thought with an eye-roll. “ whatever, man, i’m sure it’s nothing. just kids’ stuff, y’know? holding hands, sharing sodas, all that innocent shit. i wouldn’t worry too much about it. ” not yet, anyway.

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@diedheroes asked: “is your brain even on?”
Arguing with his step-sister always left a rot in his mouth, a bad taste that almost never went away. Everyone that crossed his path after that wished they’d hadn’t––even Billy wished the same most days––because Max Mayfield had a terrible habit of burrowing under his skin like a sharp thorn.
His throat feels hot, words like spiced cider sliding down into the pit of his stomach. What he wants is to be vicious with them, to be cruel. The times he isn’t are few and far between.
“ What’d you just say? ”
Billy looks at her and watches as her expression changes, hardens, like she’s bracing for impact. Maybe she was. Max always knew before he did. She always knew the kind of mood he was in before he even opened his mouth, and if he’d really stopped to think about it, Billy probably would have noticed it.
The way they’re not so different. The way she stands there rigid, trying not to breathe hard when his steps draw slowly near.
The way she looks so much like him while looking nothing at all similar.
“ What’s wrong, Max? Cat got your tongue? ”
devilsmouth:
“ What’d those little shits need this time? ”
“ yeah, about that — henderson, he like totally freaked ‘cause his mom’s cat got out and the last time she lost a cat, he found it, like, all dead and torn up ‘n stuff, but — anyway, yeah, turned out the furry little dipshit was just hiding under a car, so. mystery solved. ”
devilsmouth:
“ What the hell are you looking at? ”
“ seriously? like you weren’t literally just giving me the stink eye? ”
devilsmouth:
[ criminal offensive side-eye ]
“ — sorry i’m late? ”
devilsmouth:
[ bombastic side-eye ]
[ two can play this game ]

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devilsmouth:
Billy knows how to tend and treat his own injuries. That’s what he had learned after years of living with Neil Hargrove, and the last thing he needed––the last thing he wanted––was the shitbird’s help. The last time Max tried, Billy had been crumpled in a heap on the kitchen floor with the coppery taste of pennies in his mouth and his face red with tears, blood, cuts and bruises. His voice had been no more than a rasp when he told her, ‘get away from me’, and pushed himself to his feet so that he could lick his wounds in private.
The reflexive impulse to tell her that now is overpowering, but he bites down on his tongue until it aches in his mouth and breathes deep, leveling her with a look that’s an impossible read.
“ Whatever, ” The shirt is pulled over his head and thrown into a pile at the foot of his bed. The bites look worse when they’re exposed like this, full impressions that went deeper than surface level; he notices while examining them in the mirror, cursing under his breath with a pinch between his brows. “ It didn’t look that bad when I left. Didn’t hurt this goddamn bad, either. Looks like I got attacked by a zombie, huh? ”
get away from me, max. fragments of forget - me - not blue on the floor around his knees. leather doubled over in neil’s hand and coming down on his back with that ugly smacking sound, dull resignation in his eyes mixed with the fear and fury of a captured dog in an animal control van. she hadn’t approached him since then, not while he was hurt. but this wasn’t neil, so it’s different, right? he didn’t snarl in the same way this time. didn’t use the ice pack right away, either, but while he’d bared his teeth at first, he didn’t bite. not really. so it's different. right?
“ ... i guess it does look sort of badass. still really gross, though. at least she didn’t bite anything off like the little psycho in ‘ burial ground. ’ ”
STRANGER THINGS REWATCH: 1.01 | THE VANISHING OF WILL BYERS
not to be controversial on main but are the duffers ever gonna let steve have an emotional response to something that doesn’t relate to his romantic endeavors
helltapestry:
“that midget? yeh, guess you can call him that,” she shoots back without missing a beat. she doesn’t stop because she recognizes max’s voice based on a brief conversation they shared ( and honestly, she has so many that they all blur ), but the shock of red hair and the flat tone itself. she’s gone to bat over less where her little brother is concerned and it’s only catching for fact the source of the question that the instinctive tension is knocked loose. what follows after is a delayed broad grin. deanna adjusts the too-big-for-her jacket draped over her shoulders and lifts her chin in a nod of acknowledgement. “nice headphones.” it’s a guess, a shot in the dark, but: “your brother as hella nerdy lookin’ as mine?”
nerdy - looking. a while ago, a handful of months that feel like a whole lifetime and no time at all, she might’ve laughed at that. not like it was funny, but the kind of laugh billy would’ve given. dry. derisive. like it was ironic or something. worthy of scorn. ( she’s noticed a lot of that since last year. his harder edges showing up in the line of her mouth or the cut of her jaw, in questions with no upswing, no interest, dull and cold. ) her arms cross over her stomach. nerdy - lookin’. billy’s dead. he doesn’t look like anything. “ no. he’s —— he already graduated, so. ” so, he’s not around. so she still doesn’t know how to talk about it. a glance across the throng of students and she can see miss kelley, smiling big and fake like guidance counselors always do. without preamble, she steps closer to the car. “ can we, like. do a lap or something. ”
@helltapestry.
she’s seen the car. talked to the owner, as much as she really talks to anybody these days. what she hadn’t seen was the younger kid with the huge backpack, hunching out of the passenger seat and slouching off towards the main doors, like by trying so hard to blend in he’s just making himself more visible. she slips a headphone off of one ear, expression as flat as her tone because otherwise, it could almost sound like an accusation. “ you have a brother? ”

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@devilsmouth sent: “ you know i’m not good at saying no to you. ”
“ yeah, i know, and it’s not even like a yes or no question, it’s like — multiple choice. there’s no wrong answer. ”
that’s not how multiple choice works, and billy looks like he’s about to tell him so. like he’s annoyed and amused and turned on all at once, like steve’s the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s got plenty to say on the subject either way. a moment ago, steve was straddling him. billy had flipped him onto his back ( he’s supposed to be pinned, but he’s got an arm pillowed languidly behind his head and he keeps shifting his hips just enough to be irritating ) when the talk turned. skated into a potential danger zone with ‘ thin ice ’ written all over it. which is great, because it isn’t about what he thinks it’s about.
“ spit it out, harrington. ”
he releases an oof of an exhale. “ little late for that, man. ”
“ oh, you think this is funny? ”
“ no, i mean — i, like, literally already swallowed it, so. ”
billy makes a noise, like a snort and a scoff in the same breath, and rolls off of him to drop back down onto the mattress. “ jesus, princess. if you’ve got somethin’ to say, just say it. ”
lazily, so billy has the opportunity to resist even though steve knows he won’t, he straddles his hips a second time and then takes his hands. fingers laced, guiding them up above his head and leaning forward in the same motion.
“ you call this multiple choice? ”
“ yeah, ” steve says, tonguing the corner of his mouth, “ yeah, hear me out. we’re gonna go to dinner, and then we’re gonna see a movie, but — ”
“ a date? ”
“ yes, a date. we’re dating. that’s how this works. but, ” steve mouths along his jawline, down the slope of his neck, “ we can either go on thursday, on friday, or on saturday. multiple choice. see — ? totally your call. ”
devilsmouth:
Except that he does, because all of his attempts at apologies so far have held no weight without words behind them. Billy’s wondered if he’ll ever find the right ones––the right way to convey what he wants and make it sound as meaningful as it should. He’s wondered if he’ll ever learn, or if he’ll turn out like his father instead: fractured, incapable of remorse, resistant to change. He drags in a breath and looks away when Harrington steps closer, reaching for his cigarettes instead. “ I’m going out for a smoke. I can’t talk about all this shit right now. ”
“ hey, c’mon. don’t — ” goddamnit. talk about a misfire. he only gives it about six seconds, dragging his palms down his face, before he’s following billy out the sliding door to the backyard. the pool is lit up and the crickets are loud. summer air that smells like chlorine and freshly mown grass, smoke from the cigarette. chewing his bottom lip, he moves to stand close again with folded arms and another doe eyed apology. “ hey, ” he repeats. “ then let’s not talk about it right now. let’s not talk about it at all, alright? i told you, man, none of that shit matters anymore. c’mon, let’s just — let’s go swimming, or somethin’. bust open my dad’s liquor cabinet and get totally plastered, screw all night, sleep in tomorrow. perfect, right? ”