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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Blood and Gore, Non-Graphic Violence, Restraints, Anal Sex, Overstimulation, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers Summary:

“We could have had it all, you and I.” he says, sliding the flat of the blade against his jeans. It smears red on light blue denim.

“I gave you everything.” his footsteps fall heavily, the old wooden boards creaking loudly. It gets louder as he approaches and Billy twists his hands in their bonds once more, rubbing his wrists raw against the plastic zip ties. “But you didn’t appreciate it.”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Billy grits, uselessly yanking at the ties. They cut into his wrists but it doesn’t hurt, not anymore, not when it’s 10 degrees outside the cabin is barely a cabin.

“I wouldn’t’ve-” he bites his lip as he looks up at his captor. Somehow the brunet’s betrayed expression hurts more than the cold biting his skin. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have said anything. You know that, Steve.”

hyphier

🔪🔪🔪

#harringroveweek #hwrites

maru6

#zosan

belimah

You know when cats take a fat nap and wake up all scraggly art by chucklenuts

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #ryoumen sukuna #sukuna

nealashitposts

I recently found out why my mom would never sleep around me when I was a kid. Like she’d never let herself take naps or sleep if I was awake, ever. Or if she did, she would lock her bedroom door. So when I was 6, I was asleep in my bed in the middle of the night when I hear a loud bang, like a pot being dropped and come out to the living room to see my mom standing by the window, with just a huge pile of spaghetti all over the sill, and a pot on the ground, and I ’m like “Are you gonna eat all that?” And ya’ll she get’s BIG MAD and yells at me and chases me to my room but then a little while later a bunch of cops show up and ask me a bunch of random ass questions about my art? Like this one cop lady keeps asking me to draw dragons for her?! And they seem mad as hell

I didn’t want to get arrested so I just never asked my mom for spaghettis after that. Lesson, learned. Don’t ask mom for spaghettis or she’ll call the damn police on you.

So I have this memory in my head, and it goes unquestioned until I say it outload for the first time a few months back and as soon as I say the words “When I was six, my mom called the cops on me for asking for spaghettis” My adult logic slams into place and is like “Hang on. Your mother definatly did not call the police on a 6 year old for asking for spaghetti.”

So obviously that’s not what really went down. I call up my mom to tell her how I remember it and on top of her figuring out why her kid has always been really cagey around spaghettis for the last 3 decades she tells me what really happened.

So on that night, a man tried to break into our house through the front window. It was just my mom, and her kids so she did what she felt she had too and shot him in the head. He’d been wearing a helmet, which landed on the floor under the window.

Now I just want ya’ll to put yourselves in my moms shoes for a minute here. This woman has just taken a human life. The trauma of that- the instant agony, the panic, the guilt, the fear- all of it hitting her at once, her only solace the knowledge that her children are safe. She protected her daughters. No matter the cost to her soul- her children are safe.

Then she looks up and sees her six year old staring at the inside of this mans head before saying “Are you gonna eat all that?”

nealashitposts