#tw; implied animal abuse

[solip-cide]

'Oh, my God. Why the fuck did you do that?'

Patrick's seafoam eyes shift in the direction of the screaming, seeing the brunette Kaspbrak kid not far from him. He knew he had to think fast—either lie to the kid or scare the shit out of him. Both options seemed pretty fun for Patrick in that moment.

 

"Oh, come on, Eddie. The damn thing was already dead before I got here...” He mocks, and a slight chuckle escapes his lips. And that was a damn lie.

"There's no need for all the yelling.. Just forget what you saw and run off to your loser friends and we can let bygones be bygones.." He spoke as he stood up with that creepy ass smile he always had on his face.

[chocobosdungeon2]

this is hands down the worst thing ive ever made but their similarities (and differences) have been rattling around in my head

[oblique-lane]

"Just a bunch more biblical paintings then I'll go back to drawing yaoi" Or you can do both, renaissance style, Michelangelo or Raphael I honestly forgot who drew those naked men on the Sistine Chapel's ceilings ok bad joke aside: I'd love hearing more about your headcannons, specifically about the childhoods of the characters (ranging from the mercs, to Miss pauling, the Administrator, hell anyone you have ideas about!)

Childhood headcanons... How did you know I've had something about that on my mind? Alright, let's talk about...

Little Sniper

(Lots of trigger warnings ahead, check tags!)

Mundy was obviously an unhappy child. When I imagine the surroundings he grew up in, I see miles and miles of empty landscapes, dry yellow grass, unkept barns destroyed by rust and a deep choking sense of loneliness.

The closest neighbour woul be so far away you better bring a bicycle with you if you want to visit. School and Church were the only places to go, which were also very far away. No kids his age nearby. And even if there were peers at school, no one wanted him anyway.

Mundy was "weird", he didn't quite understand other kids' jokes, didn't get what was so fun about what everyone else enjoying to do; he was weaker, always loosing in close fights; he didn't even look very local for whatever reason. Even if he tried to get along with someone, it either ended up with him being ostracized or with him experiencing the greatest boredom imaginable. And the kids quickly picked up on his "difference", making him an object of bullying.

It started making fun of everything Mundy does, his habits and speech patterns, his morals and ideas... Which wasn't anything too big for him but it was still very annoying and upsetting, he grew to hate school very quickly.

Coming home being exhausted from this kind of socializing, no one would really comfort him. Being very little, he used to tell on his bullies to his parents, telling how hurt he was by their words... And it would only made a mess in his family.

Overreactive mother: "Poor baby, I'm so sorry, I'll tell their parents to stop being mean, my little little baby, maybe we can go homeschooling..."

And a strict father: "Are you a man or what? Yeah, he will end up a bloody baby if you keep spoiling him like that! Suck it up! Of you can't stand for yourself, no one will. At this pace you'll end up a nobody, with no home nor respect from the world".

Mundy didn't want to be neither a baby nor a disappointment. He figured that sharing his feelings with parents wouldn't be that good of an idea, they won't understand anyway. And also that he must fight somehow.

If he can't win in close fights, he thought, he could hit them from a distance: throwing small rocks at the bullies from up the tree...

–He was punished for that. For some reason, every time Mundy fought back, he was scolded by the elders, who for some reason always believed the bullies that HE was the one starting the fights. They forbid him to fight back. He closed his feelings shut and stopped paying attention to almost everything around him.

Why was it like that? Why was he so different from other kids, why couldn't he understand them? Why couldn't he understand anyone in this world? The world was a mess of unspoken rules and suffering, overcoming oneself, pain; he couldn't fit in. He was always on the wrong even if he didn't do anything. He felt like an outsider everywhere he went.

Sometimes he wondered if he was born into a wrong family or that he wasn't a human at all. Looking at the night sky, he was thinking about aliens, maybe they would come to him someday and take him to the planet he truly belongs, being accidentally swapped at birth. Maybe then he will be happy, he will leave this sickening place and finally start living. He thought about dying, too.

He started to spend a lot of time in the forest any chance he got. He was alone here, unwatched, somewhat free. It was easier to breathe here. He was alone but it didn't feel worse than being with those people. He played by himself. He started to believe that he actually likes loneliness.

As Mundy and his peers grew older, the kids started to become more and more savage, thanks to the hormones and age crisis. Bullying intensified as those kids started to feel the need to assert themselves. Mundy was maliciously beaten (he fought back as much as he could and even win sometimes, but the beating only got worse each time). They used any chance to humiliate him.

And each time after that Mundy would take the knife or his father's shotgun and go to the forest to take his anger on animals, "hunting", since he couldn't do anything to fix the root of the problem.

He would hunt for something small, like birds or feral rabbits so he could butcher them and cook on fire to eat. At moments like this he felt like a beast, and somehow it was the most pleasant state for him to be in.

There were no words available to form his pain into, so the pain came through violence. The more violent his abusers became, the more violent he was at his "hunting". The more he felt his father's gaze piercing him with disappointment, the sharper his knife movements would get. Sometimes he would let the bodies to just rot like that, completely butchered in a very non-culinary way.

(Maybe someday he would lure one of those bastards to the forest and kill him the same way and blame it on an animal attack)

And at some point... His classmates would came up with something that would cross all the lines if forgivable. Somewhere there was the peak of what they could do. Something beyond.

There wasn't a known way to him to deal with that. No known words. Everyone would be so grossed out of him if they knew. He was beyond disgusted with himself, too. What was the point of living now?

That day he would shot a wild boar, take his machete out and cut it open, butcher it the way his father would when they wanted a pork dinner for the night... And reached to the its heart.

The heart is where the love is stored, right? That's what people say when referring to this "love" he'd never seem to know. A dark read bloody organ that feels like sponge inside of thin rubber. There's something about this that Mundy lacks. He has a heart too, it's pulsating inside him, but for some reason it was unable to produce the "love", a very necessary fluid for a human body. He wondered if it's sweet. He wondered if he was even able to taste it.

He took a bite... And realized what he was doing.

He was, indeed, a monster.

When he went back home, later than usual, he would be met with his father's gaze. He was always throwing gazes, for every occasion, Mundy was used to feel small and guilty under them. But this time... It felt somehow more personal. More disturbing.

His father looked at him as if he was a dirty little creature, a rat, a maggot. He looked at him the way one would look at a criminal who wronged their whole family. He looked at him like he knew.

His father didn't say anything that day and it wasn't brought up ever again.

Mundy was indeed a monster who was utterly terrified of this though. He didn't want to be one. He made a promise to himself that everything he does will be morally justified, he promised himself to become a good... decent person. He would earn his place in the world, even if his father, everyone else denies it.

It gets blurry at this point. Sniper doesn't really remember his life before about 17, when he was finishing school and starting to work on his sniper licence. For some reason he always knew he would be good at shooting and killing. When remembering his home, Sniper would recall the smell of grass, mother's cooking, the warm sun, and a steady life he had. He knew it was boring, but it still somehow felt like home. Home he felt was lost somewhere he didn't remember.

Either way, he was always a loner.

[c0ckedgun]

guardian angel

[ofishialy]

Vaguely inspired off of Crime and Punishment by DECO*27

[symbioticsimplicity]

Of all the things he'd imagined doing over the weekend, being drug around the pound by an overly excited Maxine hadn’t been high on his list.

Sure, he'd told her his therapist had advised getting himself a dog, but he hadn’t expected that to translate into "We're going dog shopping right now." He supposes he should have seen it coming, but he was always kind of out of it after therapy.

The lady at the counter had given him the stink eye at first, but relented when Max had bopped up to her instead. Not that his sister had any better manners than he did (worse, he'd argue), but she was small and she was excited and it was hard to say no to those big green eyes.

Which was how he ended up being pulled around to every kennel at the shelter.

In truth, Billy had hardly been paying attention. He figured whatever dog they'd land on would be fine. He'd never had a dog but how different could it be from having a sister?

It wasn't until they passed a seemingly empty kennel that his attention was snagged.

"The card on the door says there's a dog in here." Max gestured to said card, containing a little information on the supposed dog, "Daisy, five years old, red nosed pitbull, recent rescue. Huh."

Billy peeked around her, first at the card, then at the seemingly empty kennel before a though occurred to him.

He dropped down into a crouch, a little too quickly for his knees, and checked under the little doggy cot set up in there. Sure enough, there was a little ball of short fur tucked away in the very corner.

She was almost as red as Max's hair, though there were patches missing. Billy had had more than enough cigarette burns to recognize them on sight. It made his stomach turn, the idea of someone using an animal as a punching bag like that.

"Daisy?" He called, keeping his voice as soft as he could, with limited success. Gentle was still new to him.

To his surprise, a head perked up. Just a little bit, just two floppy ears twitching towards the sound of her name. Both ears were notched, and one didn't sit at the same angle as the other one.

"Hey there, Daisy." He spoke again, "You picked the best hiding spot in the house."

The only one really, one Billy himself had tried a time or two before he realized hiding only made things worse.

To his surprise her tail thumped against the ground in an aborted wag. Like she was happy to be spoke to, but so nervous at the same time. He knew that feeling all too well too.

He sat himself down on the floor since crouching was making his legs go numb, making sure he did it slowly so as not to spook Daisy.

"It looks kinda small for you though." He continued, "But I guess that's kind of nice sometimes too."

Billy loved small spaces. No one ever expected him to be able to fit into them, so no one ever looked for him there. Plus the tightness almost felt like a hug. There had been plenty of times he slipped himself into a crawl space or an overfilled closet and just let himself daydream he was somewhere else.

Daisy's tail thumped again, twice this time, and Billy found himself smiling a little.

"Well," Max said, just as quietly as Billy was, "I think we found the right fit."

[hectorthedoggo]

i share my vision with you

TW: HEAVILY IMPLIED ANIMAL ABUSE, PIXELLATED MEDICAL TOOLS (it's that one scene from omori) UNDER CUT

THIS. THIS WITH ES. JAKALOPE'S THE CAT BUTLER. THE ONLY WAY TO WIN IS TO NOT PLAY, BUT IT SEEMS TO BE YOUR ONLY PURPOSE. ONCE THE PURPOSE IS FUFILLED, NOTHING COMES OF IT.

(maintagging this to share my vision with the world) (the cat is idk amane or something)

[starryartist512]

Looney Tunes is in the background at my house so here’s some Indigo Park origin hcs.

The Indigo brand was founded in 1940. At this point, it was more like 1930’s-1950’s Looney Tunes, 1930’s-1950’s Disney and 1970’s Nickelodeon (which was called Pinwheel at the time, btw). Very similar to how Snow White gave people a lot of hope during the depression, the cartoons gave people a lot of hope during World War 2, mostly because of the themes of friendship, humor and subtle (VERY subtle) inclusivity. It started out with random original characters, but then Isaac got the idea to make the main group!

Mollie was based off of Amelia Earhart. Lloyd was based off of a famous actor Isaac met, and Salem was based off of a butch lesbian that Indigo had no problem with being lesbian, but was pissed off at them because she scammed him/stole from him at some point.

Isaac may or may not have had Autism and projected his symptoms onto Rambley. Speaking of, he also, like Walt Disney, loved trains so much and had a mini one in his backyard.

The main group didn’t become popular or used as much until the late 1970’s. From there, they became more like old Disney shorts, Little Bear, The Moomins anime and Franklin.

The park was founded in 1979, when its success was at its peak.

Animatronics were installed in the dawn of the 80’s. This is also when a ton of merch was founded.

During the 90’s, things became unethical to say the least. Basically the company became like Hameln from ATA, except instead of dabbling in the occult, they dabbled in science experiments. Specifically, on caught wild animals, trying to make them like the characters they were meant to portray. But these “mascots” weren’t used just yet.

Lloyd was eventually used to attract more fans up until Indigo died.

During the same time KinitoPET AI was announced in its canon timeline, a similar inventor went on to make the Rambley AI we all know and love. She used info from his past appearances to flesh out his character. By the 2010’s, he was an AI that was already becoming sentient. The inventor began to realize she had made something spectacular. But nobody believed her…except for a small few who wanted to make sure this AI, if he had developed a sense of morality and care for his fellow characters, never knew the truth.

At this time, the animatronics and costume mascots had been fully replaced. Employees were laid off. Kids were awed and amazed at these up close real animal mascots! The parents…not so much. And while these viewers were away, the “mascots” were mistreated horribly. One day, one of them snapped, and, well…

Officials got involved. They couldn’t be bought off, and the park was shut down. The company, too. Lawsuits were made and the park became abandoned.

[therealjackdsaf]

I found this video a couple weeks ago and downloaded it to show to my friends, but I can’t find the og link anymore. Have any of you guys seen this before??

[bambiraptorx]

I agree with the splinter as a rat stuff being pretty bad when compared to propaganda and stereotypes and just. General racism. (It’s actually why my iteration has splinter as a different animal (maybe a turtle or maybe a raccoon or an opossum, not sure yet- just an animal that can be easily found in New York-) instead- because even if the design leaned away from visual stereotypes, there is still a problem with him being a rat in general- (due to him being asian and stereotypes- there can be rat characters without these associations that are quite fun- but him being asian makes the racist associations. Very clear)

But anyways. Is there a specific reason why you picked a ferret? Or was it just vibes? :D

I just think ferrets are neat honestly lol. (It helps that they aren't rodents, but that wasn't technically fully necessary as the negative stereotype ties to rats specifically.) But since this was specifically a redesign that I wanted to fit into Splinter's existing backstory, I wanted to use some kind of animal that he could reasonably have as a pet while held captive in the Battle Nexus, given that in canon he was mutated because of his pet rat.

A ferret seemed to fit the bill, either as a pet that he could hide from Big Mama (in which case it was probably someone else's escaped pet or something) or something that she allowed him to have. Because getting him a pet and then threatening to take it away or hurt it if he doesn't comply seems like a tactic Big Mama would use, let's be real. Ferrets are technically bigger than rats, but they're still reasonably small I think, so it seemed like a pet that he could hide if necessary.

[aftgficrec]

anonymous said: I’d like to rec you ought to give me wedding rings by absolutelithops on ao3 to anyone whose looking for a good andreil proposal! Here’s a link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30371577/chapters/74874351

Sure, friend, here you go! - S

you ought to give me wedding rings by absolutelithops [Not Rated, 11398 words, complete, 2022]

Andrew has the damn thing for a year before he makes any use of it.

or

Three times Andrew almost asks a very dangerous question, and the one time he does.

tw: implied/referenced suicide attempt, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: animal death, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping

[lovenpeace-pkmn]

While I am trapped here by my dog, I might as well provide an update on the rescued Pokémon we have spent the past ten days or so tending.

All the Pokémon are physically in good health, except for a Scraggy whose trainer reassured us his chronic joint problems were an old problem and a Patrat with a partially-healed broken leg that seems to predate Plasma involvement. (She is currently in ranger custody while they determine whether her original home is a safe place to send her back to.) They were all very stressed about being taken from their homes and handled by so many strangers, but they seem as though they will recover quickly once they are in a stable environment again.

All the Pokémon who were still in their original Pokéballs have been returned to their trainers (except Patrat, see above). A decent many of those who had been jailbroken and recaptured have also been returned, although this is a slower process, involving searching through recent reports of missing or stolen Pokémon and, often, meeting with the trainer in-person so they can verify that the Pokémon is truly theirs before we transfer it to them. The--aww Ginger left. :(

The Pokémon who still remain have been stored in a police-owned PC box for the time being. (I know N does not like the Pokémon Storage System much, but we cannot really keep them all in our house anymore.) They will stay there while Lord Rood and our volunteers search the past several months of missing Pokémon reports. We've grown fairly efficient at this, so most of these Pokémon should be sent home soon, and if any are not, we will bring in N to see if they can give us any information that might help track down their trainers.

Any Pokémon whose trainers we truly cannot find despite our best efforts will, as always, be sent to trusted shelters to be adopted out to good homes. We hope that it will not come to that, though!

[csaventing]

I hate most of all how a trauma response to csa can be seeking out sexual things that feel illegal just to remind you about your trauma its like you have to indulge in those things again, sex has to feel wrong and dirty because thats what it felt like when you where a child. It felt illegal and they made you like it and now you do. You dont. But it hurts so much and it makes you do things that make you repulsed with yourself. youve hurt things. not severely, and it was only on one occasion, it lasted for a second. I was 11 and didnt even know i had csa trauma. But that doesnt make the stain on my consciousness go away. I dryhumped a cat for a moment. Just once and then i felt horrible and let it go. I just can't forget it it makes me feel so sick i wish i could rip my skin off im a horrible fucking person i hate sexual intrusive thoughts with my entire soul i wish i could fucking sear them out of my mind forever i wish i could drown myself in bleach i hate it so much i dont want to be evil.

But even then you feel like no body would ever understand you, theyd hear that you used to only be able to masturbate to loli hentai bc you wanted your trauma to repeat itself and to be a child again so you can be raped again and theyll think your a fucked up demented psycho and theyll hate you no one ever wants to understand the much darker way csa can affect your brain. I hate sexual intrusive thoughts i wish a part of me never kept whispering how badly i want to be the victim of illegal sexual acts, because i dont i dont i know i dont i dont want to be stabbed and chopped up i dont want to do any of those horrible things i just want to be able to seperate what i really want from this fucked up sickness that they fucking infected me with. I was a child and i wish i couldve been a normal one. I wish i never turned out like this.

We relate heavily to this. I don’t know if it helps to hear but we have done something similar to our cat some years ago, just for a second there too. Still feel awful about it today and I think this is the first time ever admitting to that.

[riality-check]

how max becomes part of the gang in my little bootlegging universe. parts 1, 2, and 3, if you'd like to read those as well.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, descriptions of minor injuries, and a brief reference to hypothetical animal death

Dustin has a knack for finding things. If asked, he says it’s because his mother is forgetful and he always has to remind her where she put her glasses or her checkbook or her purse. If asked by people he actually likes, he says he got it from Eddie, since Eddie is the one who found him.

But in reality?

Dustin’s brain is constantly bored. It’s restless and fast-moving, on to point D when everyone else is still sorting through A. So, while Dustin waits, he searches. He counts the windows of buildings and strains his ears to hear chatter from a street over. He busies himself with combing through the unobtrusive to help quell the feeling of restless pressure that constantly fills his skull.

It’s this need to do that has him spot the flash of lilac that turns the street corner.

People here don’t wear those kinds of clothes. People here wear dark coats and deep colored dresses. People here keep to themselves and do anything to not stand out. And a girl in a lilac dress just turned the corner at breakneck speed amidst all the slow-moving onlookers in drab shades of brown and green.

Here, Dustin thinks, is a pretty crappy place to be.

It’s outside of their usual territory, which is ill-advised at best and dangerous at worst. It’s not controlled by a rival, thank god, but it’s not under Upside Down control, either. It’s a part of town where the buildings look like they’re leaning on each other for support, where kids play barefoot on cobblestone streets, where beggars grace the stoop of every building until they’re chased off by gnarled, formidable old ladies with brooms.

Truthfully, it doesn’t really matter what it is. What matters is the fact that Mike said he was going out, and Dustin wasn’t going to let him go alone, not when he knew there was no chance in hell he’d be able to stop him.

Will has been missing for one day. If Dustin were to ask Mike, he’s sure the answer would be a hell of a lot more specific, but that’s all semantics he doesn’t really care for.

What he does care about is the lilac dress. It’s not like Will was wearing one, but, well Mom always did say Dustin’s curiosity would kill him one day.

“Hang on,” he says to Mike, who’s currently looking down an alleyway as if it’s not a surefire place to go in and not come out. He yanks him by the collar to a building ahead and puts his hands on Mike’s shoulders.

“What?” Mike grouches, and Dustin prays for a little bit of patience.

“I’m going a little bit ahead.”

“Why? Did you see him?”

“No, but I saw something out of the ordinary.”

“Not Will?”

Dustin resists the urge to sigh and shake Mike by the shoulders. “No, not Will. Just something curious.”

“Of course you did,” Mike mumbles without any of the usual humor in that comment.

Dustin wants to sock him in the face, but he says instead, “If I’m not back in five, come after me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mike says, but even that’s more acknowledgement than Dustin was expecting. He’ll take it.

Dustin lets go of Mike’s shoulders and starts heading in the direction of the girl, bypassing couples on the sidewalk and throwing a group of kids their baseball when it rolls toward him. They ask if he wants to play with them, and while that honestly sounds fun, he’s got other things to worry about.

She can’t have gone far. She was moving fast, sure, but Dustin is pretty sure she was moving unsteadily, too. That fast with a limp? She’s running, and she’s hurt.

Dustin isn’t exactly sure why he cares. Well, that’s objectively a lie. Dustin knows he has a habit of finding strays and making sure they’re alright on their own. He doesn’t bother with trying to keep them; he can’t afford to, and a lot of the time, they’re too flea-ridden for his mother to let in the house. So, he feeds them and cares for them as best as he can until they move on to bigger and better things.

(Steve suggested once that maybe they died instead. When he said that, Dustin smacked him so hard he spat out his drink and dropped the glass he was holding. The amount Hopper made him shell out for the glass was worth taking Steve down a peg. 

He might be their only consistent and best paying customer, but he can be such a prick sometimes, even if he is trying to get better.)

Dustin rounds the corner easy enough and looks for anything unusual in the alleyways. He makes his way through one block, then another, when finally he spots her.

She’s huddled, knees to her chest on top of a crate in an alley next to a grocer’s. She’s pale, real pale, with bright red hair that clashes with the lilac of her dress, which is stained black and slightly torn at the hem. Her limbs are small and skinny, and she’s not wearing shoes.

Her ankle is busted up pretty bad, and there’s bruises on her arms. When she straightens out her legs, Dustin sees blood crusted on her forehead and at the corner of her mouth.

Shit, he thinks to himself. This is the tuxedo cat on Maple all over again.

He takes his hat off and keeps his hands up, away from his body, as he enters the alley.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You alright?”

She flinches so subtly he would have missed it if it weren’t for his ever-cataloging brain. Her eyes, brilliant blue, flick toward him, and he isn’t sure if she relaxes or further tenses up, but the set of her shoulders changes.

“I don’t have time for this,” she says flatly, and she points a .22 straight at his chest.

“Woah, okay,” Dustin says, backing up a few steps. “I don’t think we need to do that.”

“I think we do.”

“Agree to disagree?” Dustin asks, trying for a smile.

He sees it, the moment she covers up her snort with a frown.

“Now, usually when someone asks if you’re alright, you answer with yes or no,” Dustin says.

“I’m fine,” the girl says.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Your ankle is probably sprained.”

“Agree to disagree?” she says to him. Same words, but significantly nastier.

Dustin sighs. “Okay, let’s try again. I’m Dustin. What’s your name?”

She frowns, and her eyes dart all over the alleyway. Dustin wants to follow her gaze, wants to see what she’s looking at, but she still has that .22 trained at his chest, and even he knows that curiosity is absolutely not worth it in this case.

“Max,” she says finally.

“Max?” Dustin says. “That’s a man’s name.”

“Well, I’m a woman, and it’s my name, so I think that makes it a woman’s name,” she snaps.

Dustin shrugs. “I won’t argue with you on that.”

At that, she definitely relaxes. Strange.

“Who sent you?” she asks, changing the subject.

“No one,” Dustin says.

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not polite to swear.”

“It’s not right to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Dustin says. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Max shrugs and leans back against the gray brick of the wall behind her, still keeping the gun trained on Dustin’s chest. “Can’t be me, then. I don’t even know your last name, Dustin.”

“It’s Henderson,” he says, even though that was probably a very stupid move, telling a girl he doesn’t know his full name when all his family and friends work for a speakeasy.

He’s starting to wish he nicked a pistol from behind the bar before they left, like Mike did.

Max, to her credit, seems just as stunned that Dustin said that as he is.

“Mayfield,” she says, lowering the gun an inch.

“Max Mayfield?” Dustin asks.

She nods and keeps lowering the gun. Dustin tries not to let the relief show on his face.

“It suits you,” he says, and he means it.

And there it is, ladies and gentlemen, the first smile he’s gotten out of her this entire time. It’s tiny, and it’s tense, but it’s there, and Dustin finds himself smiling because of it. The gun is almost down when-

“Dustin!” Mike calls and oh, shit.

“Mike, you son of a bitch,” Dustin swears because he looks over, and Mike has his pistol trained on Max.

“I knew you were pulling my leg,” Max says, bringing her gun back up to point at the center of Dustin’s chest.

“Curiosity? Really?” Mike says, annoyed. “Do I need to keep you on a leash?”

“No, but you need to learn how to time your entrances better,” Dustin mumbles, and Max snorts.

Good. Good. If she finds him funny, she’s less likely to pump him full of lead.

“Where’s Will?” Mike asks, keeping his pistol trained on Max.

Dustin fights the urge to roll his eyes. Mike doesn’t even have the hammer cocked.

“Who’s Will?” Max asks, swinging her gun over to Mike.

“Okay!” Dustin says, hopping between them. It does no good, not when Max is up on the crate and Mike is on the street and they both can just aim around him. He does, however, comfort himself with the fact that this will make Mike a lot less likely to shoot.

He’s hoping it’ll do the same for Max.

“Will’s our friend,” Mike says. “He’s missing, and we’re looking for him.”

“I don’t know a Will,” Max says moving her arms up to point the gun at the center of Mike’s forehead. “And I don’t care to. I’m gonna ask again: Who sent you?”

“No one sent us,” Dustin says again. “Why do you keep thinking that?”

“Because one of them always sends someone,” Max says. “They always do. But they can’t make me go back now. I’m eighteen, I’m an adult, and they can’t make me go back.”

Dustin gets the feeling that Max isn’t really talking about Mike and him anymore.

“So if you’re trying to bring me back, you’re gonna be shit out of luck and pumped full of lead.”

“I don’t care where you came from, I just want you to put your gun down and let us go back to finding our friend!” Mike says.

“And I want you to leave me the hell alone!” Max snaps.

“No,” Dustin says, and both of their heads whip toward him.

“What do you mean no?” they say in unison before they glare at each other again.

“Mike,” Dustin says slowly. “She’s hurt.”

“I have eyes.”

“So, let’s take her back to Joyce.”

“Who’s Joyce?” Max asks. Her voice is laced with suspicion, but she’s starting to lower the gun again.

“Our aunt,” Dustin says because it’s easier to say that than to explain everything to a random stranger.

Easier, and also a lot smarter, since he already gave her his last name. Then again, she gave him hers.

“And,” Dustin continues, “she can help us look for Will. If she wants.”

“She is right here,” Max says.

“Then what does she think?” Dustin asks.

Max shuts her mouth so fast her teeth click. She lowers her gun completely, and Mike, a full thirty seconds after he should have gotten the goddamn hint, does, too.

“I think,” Max says slowly, “that they don’t know a Joyce.”

Dustin nods and turns to Mike. “Well?”

Mike sighs and pockets his pistol. “It’s getting late, we should go back.”

It’s the answer Dustin expected, though not in the way he expected it. As good as he is at finding strays, Mike is a hell of a lot better at keeping them.

But before he can say anything, Mike walks away, leaving Dustin and Max alone in the alley.

He holds out a hand for her to take, but she pockets her handgun and jumps down off the crate, straight on to her sprained ankle.

“Don’t touch me,” she grits out, leaning on to the crate and breathing deeply.

“Do you want any help?” Dustin offers, holding out an arm to her.

“I’m fine.”

“I thought we agreed to disagree.”

She snorts and slowly stands up straight. Before Dustin can blink, she slings her arm around her shoulders.

“I can just carry you,” Dustin says, letting her start them off at a slow walk.

“You couldn’t carry a sack of potatoes half a block,” Max says. “And keep your hand above my waist and below my shoulder blades. If it moves, I’m using the handgun. I don’t care that we’re in the middle of the street.”

“First, rude. Second, we’re technically on the sidewalk. And third, I’m not gonna move my hand.”

“You better not,” Max mumbles, but she doesn’t reach for her gun.

Dustin leads her back to Joyce’s and lets her set the pace. It’s slow going, and by the time they get there, the stars have been out for half an hour.

Mike waits for them outside, smoking a cigarette.

“You good?” he asks, pointedly looking at Dustin.

“We’re fine,” Dustin says, ignoring the fact that as they walked, Max slowly slumped into him. She’s basically sideways now and hasn’t said anything for the past five minutes.

“Sorry,” Mike says, and Dustin appreciates that he actually means it. “I just wanted to check out a few more places before we had to be back.”

Dustin sighs. “Any luck?”

Mike shakes his head.

Dustin rests his free hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep. We’ll go out in the morning.”

Mike nods, and they both ignore the tears in his eyes, the way his shoulders scrunch all the way to his ears.

“Come on,” Dustin says to Max as he opens the door. “We’re gonna get you to Joyce and get you cleaned up.”

“I’m clean enough,” Max mumbles.

“I mean the blood,” Dustin says, leading them through the diner and to the back wall. He feels around for the switch and a little snick lets him know that he found it. He pushes the wall aside and lets it swing shut behind them once they’re in the back.

“I think it matches my hair,” Max says, eyes slipping shut.

“I think it clashes,” Dustin says, moving her to the stage. It’s Sunday, and while they’re never closed, they’re significantly less busy the one day of the week where most of the city likes to pretend they’re moral people.

It’s dead empty, save for Hopper at the bar.

“What-”

“Get Joyce,” Dustin tells him, and as much as he’ll grumble about it, he goes.

“I think it clashes just like that dress,” Dustin says, getting Max seated on the edge of the stage before hopping up after her. Where the band is, he doesn’t know.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” Max jokes.

“The dress? Kinda.”

“Dresses,” she says, picking at the hem of her skirt, “in general.”

Dustin looks at her, assessing. They’d need some alterations, but-

“What,” Max snaps, and that’s when he realizes he’s been staring at her waist.

“I just went through a growth spurt,” he says.

“Congratulations?”

“I’ve got some pants that don’t fit anymore. If you want them.”

Max drops her skirt where she was fiddling with it. Dustin smiles in answer to her piercing stare, not knowing what else to do.

“You’re strange, Dustin Henderson.”

“I think you’re even stranger, Max Mayfield,” Dustin says, and the smile they share?

That’s the beginning of history.

[gaspipegeoff]

What a hollow victory when you suffered every step.

(Full color versions under cut)

[jokerislandgirl32]

What’s Black, White, and Read All Over…

Zach: “A Zebra Newspaper!”

I just realized this joke was Zach’s thinking here….how he’d make a Zebra newspaper, well, I don’t wanna know.

And judging by the looks on Zach and the Zebra’s faces, I don’t think they wanna know either, lol. (It’s like they both know it’s going to be bad).