Oliver McCartney

Oliver McCartney is the main protagonist in Arbitrary Slaughter, written by BlackfeatherWarriors.

Content Warning: mention of eating disorders, selfharm, substance, abusive relations

Story

He moved to Canada from his mansion in London England, escaping his manipulative ex boyfriend and best friends. His parents wanted to leave their business in better hands. His father was abusive and would hit him and call him slurs for being gay in a Christian household.

He met the boy, Axl Jackson, from "saving his life" when Axl wanted to commit suicide by jumping off a pier. He loved Axl from the moment they had met, deeming him cute, interesting, cocky, and "extremely hot".

His story is mostly described through Axl's page if you'd like checking that out for extra details; Axl's page

Here's a mini diologue that didn't make it to my story (so this page doesn't get taken down)

Olivers Point of view

Content warning

Axl crawled out my bedroom window onto the roof. He had convinced me to sit out there in the warm summer breeze while cars hastened by, splashing puddles onto passersby. I pushed my legs through first and Axl grabbed my shoulder as I caught my breath, shutting the window behind me. My roof was fairly flat which was good, so it was a less fraught situation. He grabbed a cigarette from his pocket and struggled looking for a lighter by patting his clothes down.

“I have one.” I hovered the light below his scraped hands as he cupped it from the wind.

Drawing it up to his lips, he glanced at me while I watched him. Axl pointed the cig at me and so I hesitantly took it. And started coughing immediately.

“I’m surprised you don’t smoke.” He mumbled.

I gave him a look. “What makes you think that?”

“That you don’t smoke or the surprising part?” He took the cigarette back.

I narrowed my eyes. “Both.” I couldn’t tell if he was making fun of me or something when he said I don’t smoke even though smoking isn’t a good thing. Axl is an addict and I don’t think he knows it no matter how smart he seems. That’s what’s frustrating about him, he’s so smart but so fucking stupid when it comes to himself it made me want to punch him in the face, but that’s where it’s frustrating because if you haven’t noticed it’s quite difficult to punch somebody who won’t stop punching themself.

“You have strict parents and strict parents raise sneaky ass kids.” He patted my back.

I didn’t know if I should ask about his parents and if his parents were strict since he lived with his brother. But I figured I should just find out now or never. Or at a really bad time. “What are your parents like?” I rubbed my hand up and down his bicep.

He breathed what sounded like a curt laugh and raised his eyebrows. “They’re like 6 feet under.” Clearly he didn’t care though.

I broke out laughing uncontrollably, bent with my face to the shingles on my roof. He rested a hand on my back. “What’s so funny, bitch?” He started laughing with me. “Eh, it is pretty funny. They seemed like assholes even though I couldn’t even tell you for certain which one was black. No pictures, nothing. It feels like they never happened. We don’t talk about them ever and it’s not like they left us anything so what’s to remember?” I looked up at him and rested my head on his shoulder, giving the cigarette another go.

I didn’t cough this time. “Hey we should get like fuckin’ friendship bracelets or something.”

“Are you high already?”

“No, no. Just so we never forget each other. Corny shit like that, you know? Or like prick each other's fingers.” I looked up at him and ran my hand through his hair with the cigarette between my fingers.

“Hey, why don’t we put out our cigarettes on each other.”

I started laughing again. “Holy shit, you’re batshit crazy.” I managed through breaths, falling back onto his lap.

He pulled his black t-shirt over his head. “My ex and I did the same.” He used his thumb to brush the hair from my eyes.

“Do you still have it?”

“I would if I hadn’t carved it out with a knife.” He smirked, raising his leg. I turned my head, rested on his abdomen. He had a circle of a scar on his lower thigh.