Latest Posts by magickizu - Page 4
they want you to make fried rice
Steve Harrington Jedi x Billy Hargrove Sith. And they’re making out. They’re straight swapping spit space style.
September’s Stobin Extravaganza day 1 - Scoops Ahoy 🍦
Credits to:
#Ready to fight🥊
#Share the same brain cell 🧠
@sept-stobin-extravaganza
"tbh we might have clowned on [aros & aces] a lil too harshly" bigotry. the term you're looking for is bigotry. denying communities their vocabulary and ability to safely exist because you think you're the personal arbiter of which identities are "valid" is bigotry. minimizing and infantilizing and harassing entire groups of people based on their orientation is bigotry. aphobia isn't some forgettable phase of being cringe as a teenager, it's bigotry that inflicted long term damage to these communities.
Now I can't stop imagining:
Steve, the hopeless romantic that he is, trying to woo over Billy with things he thinks Billy might like. Shit like, trying to compliment him through his car's colour or sporty remarks during training. Of course it doesn't work the way Steve wants. Robin, Jonathan maybe even Nancy trying to help him, getting information or trying to give advice on what may or may not work and that really just drives Steve crazy!
Billy slowly gets enamoured by Steve. Not because of these absolutely terrible ideas and horrific flirt attempts themselves, but by this sheer passion and dedication, that Steve has been trying for MONTHS at this point. He had chances alone with Billy, but he denied because he wanted it for the long run not short fun.
At some point Steve just says "fuck it, nothing else worked! I already embarrassed myself enough, what's a little more!" And then just reverts back to his hopeless romantic gestures. Robin tried to hold him back: don't do it Steve, it's too direct! It's way too cheesy! But He just went, fuck it! Then so be it! Writes a cheesy af poem, slides it into his locker, along with a single dark red rose tapped to the door, with which he invites him onto a date where Steve goes all out: compliments, chivalry, cheesy pick-up lines, he cooks, then a stroll through the forest behind his house at twilight hour and lastly movie night with some mean salted caramel popcorn! Steve never thought Billy would say yes so fast and Billy never thought someone could be this perfect.
BOOM!! Wrap it up!! *mic drop*
Maybe I'll write it
Billy Hargrove fandom doesn't talk enough about him being a secret romantic, as implied by Dacre in that one interview where he talked about Billy wanting a date under the stars. Like, I can't imagine he'd just pull that shit with some random hookup unless he REALLY wanted in their pants, but with someone he has genuine feelings for and felt like he could trust? I think he'd be very romantic, do all the sappy shit they might assume he'd hate.
“William-“
“Once more is all I ask, Steven”
(Literally obsessed with the idea of Royalty!Harringrove, wherein William the stable hand can’t help but take one last visit to Prince Steven’s chambers the night before his lover is wed to the princess of a nearby kingdom)
Steve isn’t prepared for how happy Billy is when he finally moves out of Cherry Lane.
Oh there are dark days. Days when the clouds have no lining, silver or otherwise. But there’s joy too, breathless joy.
Billy buys a new earring, giggling like a kid when he puts it on in the mirror. They make breakfast for dinner and he grins like a loon, eating with his mouth full and grossing Steve out. Billy laughs in bed, doesn’t take it all so serious anymore.
Billy reads comic books, it turns out. Or he always would have, if it wasn’t for babies. Steve finds him arguing with Dustin over the counter at the family video, throwing around words like power fantasy and Magneto, like he was born to be a nerd.
Billy grabs happiness with two hands, and it makes Steve want a little more of that joy in his own life. He starts running out to the ice cream truck. He kisses Billy sticky sweet by the pool, where he swims for the first time since that horrible night. Billy being happy makes him happier, makes him want happiness more.
“I love you, Blue,” He whispers at night when Billy finally uncurls from his tight spiral and sleeps starfish-style on their bed.
“Love you too, Bambi,” Billy grumbles. “Make me so fuckin’ happy.”
I think I've done the first one before but... come on.
Radioapple twitter goin thru a thing rn
LIKE AMIR????
AMIR???? CHAT???? AMIR WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR?????
Haters be like
“It’s totally possible to make a path that goes through every door exactly once”
Give yourself kindness when things are a mess! Whether it's physically in your space, or more abstractly in your life, we all need time to sort things out and get the right processes in place.
Chibird store | Positive pin club | Instagram
people thinking robin used this whiteboard as some weird way to flirt with steve at the start of season three when in actuality she was a lesbian with no interest and did it solely to be an asshole and point out how bitchless he is
Oh my gods and stars thank you!!
Yo, can someone write me a fanfiction, maybe just a one shot, of Billy joining the group in season 2, that exact night? Like:
No fight between Steve and Billy, because Steve "promised to keep you shitheads safe, and that is exactly what I'm doing to do." And honestly? What could be safer for max in that moment: staying in the house this mind flyer thing knows where they are OR at her home, with her brother who should have a decent punch seen from the basketball court.
So instead of being like "Max? What's a Max? A ginger, like the roots?" He just straight up goes; "you know what, yeah, they've been playing and she definitely should go home, NOW. Just drive, mister 2. place, drive and don't ever look back. Got it Hargrove?" Suddenly screaming and Steve is back in the house immediately- the Demodog wasn't as dead as they thought...
Yo, can someone write me a fanfiction, maybe just a one shot, of Billy joining the group in season 2, that exact night? Like:
No fight between Steve and Billy, because Steve "promised to keep you shitheads safe, and that is exactly what I'm doing to do." And honestly? What could be safer for max in that moment: staying in the house this mind flyer thing knows where they are OR at her home, with her brother who should have a decent punch seen from the basketball court.
So instead of being like "Max? What's a Max? A ginger, like the roots?" He just straight up goes; "you know what, yeah, they've been playing and she definitely should go home, NOW. Just drive, mister 2. place, drive and don't ever look back. Got it Hargrove?" Suddenly screaming and Steve is back in the house immediately- the Demodog wasn't as dead as they thought...
billy isn't a character.
hes a plot point. an object used for max's development. but he could've been. but the duffer brothers were too lazy to actually put the effort in to redeem him properly. so they took the easy way out and hoped it'd work to kill him off in a hero's sacrifice. which feels hollow and unemotional as he was literally a puppet for 95% of the season.
but they dropped all these hints to deeper shit they could've used to make an actual character-an interesting one too. that they did absolutely nothing with and is never mentioned again.
billy being abandoned by his mother and left with his abusive dad who punishes him for his stepsister's perceived bad behavior. that same father ridiculing him over his perceived masculinity, and calling him slurs when he doesn't perform. a step mom who sees it but doesn't intervene. moved from his hometown against his will. hes alone in a town he hates. no friends, no freedom. he cant even surf any more.
the animosity betweeen billy and max being about the move to hawkins. something mentioned several times but never explained. they both blame each other for it. billys performative masculinity, yet his clear obsession with steve harrington. calling steve pretty boy, the one earring, the very specific slur his father uses against him.
ALL of that is just canon.
now, billy is an asshole straight up. he threatened to run over a bunch of kids for no reason and broke max's skateboard. like yeah. hes such an ass. but theres a lot of complex shit packed in there.
he was screaming for help when he gets possessed, watching himself kill people. he's literally screaming. and nobody gives a single fuck (except for max) and that makes sense for the characters as they've been treated pretty horribly by billy. but he was 17 years old. he never got a chance to change or to even realize he wanted to. thats fucking depressing. him being an abuse victim (and nowhere near a perfect one) means he never got to grow outside of the box hed been shoved in. he never got to be anything else.
he's not a character. not with any motivations or anything. he existed to be in the way and then to die to further max's development. and i can't just be okay with that.
Max, slamming the Ouija board down on her bedroom floor: Listen up, asshole; I come bearing gifts.
Billy/Planchet: W H A T I S I T?
Max, pulling several polaroids out of her hoodie pocket and setting them on the floor: Steve took his shirt off at the pool and El took a bunch of sneaky pictures. I snagged a few of the good ones while she was busy. You’re so fucking welcome.
Billy/Planchet: B E S T S I S T E R E V E R!
Max: I know.
Billy/Planchet: N O W G O A W A Y
Max: What, why? There was swimsuit clingage, dude. Don’t you want the rest of the details?
Billy/Planchet: N O I W A N T S O M E P R I V A C Y
Max, flipping the board over and gagging: Oh, gross! Ugh, you’re so nasty. Jesus fuck, Billy, even in the afterlife? That’s so- ewwwww.
Chrissy: Oh, there Steve is. Do you mind if I slyly mention you’re single?
Billy: Do not do that, Chris
Chrissy: You won’t even notice!
Steve: Hey, you guys needed to see me again?
Chrissy: Billy’s single!
Billy: Chrissy!
Overtime
insp: Overtime - Rainbow Kitten Surprise
Overtime (5874 words) by flayedintheUSA Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Getting Together, together but not together, and then they are, they're working it out, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, slight mentions of explicit content but not really, Steve Harrington is Not Stupid Summary: Steve’s willing to cross well-defined lines, willing to take what he can get waiting for Billy to realize they’re not as well-defined as he thinks.
When Steve had called him, he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say yet. It felt stupid, but he was good at stupid; somehow always able to play it off as some goofy charming charisma when he was actually brashly unthinking and a bit dense. Thinking caused overthinking, caused inaction, and he needed action. And that’s what Billy promises: action.
Whenever this thing started, he doesn’t really know. Granted, he doesn’t think about it. He’s pretty sure they were both beyond tipsy and unaware of the others’ preferences. Steve wasn’t even completely aware of his own, until Billy. A denim-on-denim, shirts-versus-skins dream that haunted his synapses, the way he lingered in his imagination. The things he thought in his daydreams. They never would’ve come to fruition if it weren’t for that night. Shots, touch, body, feeling, blazing and burning from the inside out. His imagination fell way short.
It was purely situational. Nothing special. The equivalent of a favor it seemed, sometimes. Steve was lonely and hiding and Billy was hidden away and alone and they were both lacking much options in the podunk town they were stuck in. (Steve wouldn’t ever admit that he’d somehow hit the jackpot of that lack of options. Of all people to also be keen to suck dick in Hawkins, he’d found Billy Hargrove. Denim-on-denim, shirts-versus-skins dream. What a powerhouse; fucks like he’s built to.)
“What?” Billy’s voice comes gruffly over the phone, slightly irritated. He must’ve been pumping.
“What’s up?”
There’s a pause. Steve surveys his mental arsenal of lines. They never have the desired effect with Billy, yet the desired outcome always ensues. For that he can’t claim inefficiency.
“I was thinking about you,” he says with a small smile. There’s the sound of rustling and quick movements. He hears a door slam shut.
“What’s wrong with you?” Billy snaps, all riled. “Talkin’ faggy on my goddamn landline, Harrington?”
Steve snorts, leans back against the wood paneling of the kitchen wall. “When we were at the lake,” he continues as if Billy hadn’t said anything, “and you had your fingers so far up in me your rings were pullin’ at my ri—“
“Jesus fucking Christ, Harrington,” he hisses. He sounds winded. Steve wants to hear it’s because of him.
“You should come over,” he says boldly. If he can be anything, it’s bold. “I’m all alone in my big empty house. Thinking about you.”
It’s like the phone goes dead, it’s so quiet. He’s stubborn enough to say ‘fuck off’ and leave Steve hanging for three days before showing up unannounced at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday night. He’s like that. He would, just to prove he can. Because he can; Steve lets him, every time. In the time this strange dynamic has developed, he’s become a bit of a pushover for Billy. A bit desperate for any time he can steal. Any touches he can assuredly say are solely his. Because Billy could have anyone, and he definitely has Steve. Steve wants to call him ‘baby’, call him ‘love’, just to see what happens. But he knows what would happen. Knows it would come back to bite him. Because Billy can’t give himself like that, can’t take the leap, can’t let himself. Won’t. Steve can only hold on while he’s on the ride, and Billy is a wild ride. He can only hope it doesn’t end too soon. Hope that, when it does, the crashing and burning is something he can handle.
“You’re fucking pathetic, Harrington,” Billy says sharply, and hangs up.
The Camaro is in his driveway by 10:48.
The hum of the television, abandoned of attention and blearily playing Johnny Carson, starts to reach his ears again. He can hardly hear it over his own breath as he tries to catch it, huffs a bit indignantly when Billy’s weight settles on top of him on the too-small couch. His hand falls to rest on the taut muscles of the slightly shorter boy’s back, the other unfurling from the bottom lip of the sewed cushion armrest.
They don’t often fuck in the living room. And Steve doesn’t often top. Billy was eager. Or maybe eager for a distraction; whatever Steve might be to him isn’t his business.
He learned quickly it would never be his business. Billy was good at laying clear lines. And Steve tripped toward them almost every time, every time shoved back, never to cross. Because you know what this is, Harrington. And don’t make this something it’s not. It’s better, this way; once graduation date hits the top of the morning paper, Hargrove’s peeling out with his fixed-up Camaro and hard earned-and-hidden cash stash and leaving Hawkins in the rearview. Never to be seen again.
It’s shit.
Because Steve is a softy, and it sucks. People call him golden-boy like that’s something to be proud of. He wishes he were steely, hardened and rusted at the edges, so he could do things like watch Billy take him to the hilt and moan like he’s starved and not want to tell him how fucking beautiful he is and how lucky he’s made Steve feel.
He slips out of the other boy when he stands on semi-shaky legs, and Steve leans up onto his elbows to watch as he pulls his jeans back on.
“Hot date or something?” Steve says with a shallow smirk. Can’t quite make it all the way.
Billy doesn’t look at him. “That’s your business because…?”
The warm, sedate feeling of his high turns sour about his nerves. Nerves that were just peaked because of the boy who no one can hold. Won’t let anyone close enough to try. Steve is getting tired of trying.
“It could be my business,” he shrugs. No big deal.
Billy laughs, harsh and loud, one quick bark. Still doesn’t look at him. “Right,” he drawls. “And we could cuddle up and get all cozy and be the head-honcho homos of Hawkins. Gimme a break.”
“Calm down, man, it’s just a night,” Steve sighs, feeling distinctly rejected. Again and again. Always all over again.
Billy turns to him, his features dark. He’s always more touchy when he’s the one that gets fucked. Steve has tried to learn the proper way to handle his lashes, the right way to ease them. There isn’t one. “It’s not shit, Harrington. I’m not your bitch, stop calling me.”
As if when he calls is the only time he ends up with a bed full of Hargrove.
“You want me to stop calling you?”
He pulls on his boots. He doesn’t answer. He’s lying, always so good about how he lies. How he thinks it’s just the truth and the truth hurts other people because other people are pussies. And Steve Harrington is his bitch, and he likes it that way. He doesn’t want him to stop calling. But he won’t be Steve’s, and that’s not a lie, and that’s what Steve’s afraid of.
He leaves, quietly. His presence was so loud it made Steve forget how lonely it is here. Just for a moment.
The line is hauntingly quiet when it clicks, as if someone had picked up. Steve’s ear rings with the buzz of electricity powering it, straining to hear for something, anything.
It took him too long to get the guts to dial. Started thinking. Overthinking. There wasn’t time to overthink, to create inaction, not after what he’d seen. His grip makes the plastic squeak in protest and he takes a quick, gathering breath.
“Billy?”
Quiet. He waits for it to go dead, like a timed-out answering machine. Only the sound of his own name to be heard if Billy checks it. Something rustles softly. Steve’s ears catch it, fine-tuned as they are to his line.
“Harrington.”
It’s hollow. Like the emptiness of the quiet. Like they came from the same lineage, carrying nothing and still bating Steve’s breath.
Steve’s eyes shift around the bare fridge, traces magnets that hold nothing up. “What happened?”
Steve knows what happened. Maybe not the full extent, but he can infer. Things like yelling and screaming and crashing, followed by as dramatic an exit one can make while obviously limping with blood staining their front, are easy to draw conclusions from.
And Billy had seen his car, parked on the other side of the road from the False-Smile he lived in on Cherry Lane. His shoulders drew high and his fists clenched, probably wondering why problems weren’t legislatively constrained to being dealt one at a time. He burnt rubber on the driveway as he peeled out, and Steve let him. Didn’t chase him. No matter how badly he wanted to. Because just as he runs from his dad, he’s running from Steve, too.
After the last time, in Billy’s car parked at a shady corner of the quarry, Steve was reminded that not planning— that being brash— could also be a horrible, terribly bad thing.
He hadn’t meant to say it. It slipped out. Steve was leaned over the other boy, hands in his hair, lost in the curl of it and the curl of his tongue and the cut of his jaw. His knees dug painfully into the tight sides of the crammed Camaro, driver’s seat not designed to make straddling hot Californians and making out until he was hot and breathless comfortable. He pressed all of his weight into him to readjust his knees, Billy had groaned— a spectacular, wonderful sound— and held his hips down. And Steve felt him— felt buzzed on the taste of his mouth and the soundtrack of his arousal and the feeling of them pressing together between layers of clothes— and, well, kind of whined. Billy’s face morphed like the sound pained him, hips jolting up against Steve’s hardness, and clenched his teeth on the words. “Fuck, love it when you make that sound— love—“
And he froze like there was a gun pressed to the window. Because Steve knows Billy’s never let himself claim to love anything, not after finding out it was always a lie. Always a lie for him. Would never, ever get close enough to Steve to even let him try to prove otherwise.
Steve, unfortunately, felt ignited. Felt alight. Felt hope. Which is terrible. Awful.
So when he said, “You can love it. You’re allowed. I love yours, too.” he should have known the solution would be to open the driver side door and shove Steve out onto his ass, pain shooting up his spine as Billy gunned it out of there.
And, obviously, after that, he didn’t want to see Steve. Didn’t want Steve to see him, especially like that. Hurt and wounded and fleeing. Always hurt and wounded. Always fleeing.
“Nothing,” he says after too long. He sounds tired. Like he’s taken something for sleep and is fighting it.
“Are you ok?”
Another sigh, heavier. “Man, what the fuck do you want?”
Steve shifts against the wall. He hates this. Hates how he feels right now. Hates how he feels for Billy and hates that he won’t ever not be pushing him away, like it’s a waste of time.
“I dunno, man, I wanted to know if you’re ok. That’s like, why I asked.”
“Well I’m just great, pr— Harrington.”
He wants to know what it was going to be. Pretty boy? Princess?
“I know you’re not, and that’s ok,” Steve insists, sliding down the wall a bit. “You can talk to m—“
“You don’t know shit, and it’s not ok,” he hisses suddenly. “Get your head outta your ass Harrington. This is pathetic.”
“Sure,” Steve sighs, waving his hand a bit and sliding a bit further. “This is pathetic.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re saying?” he growls into the receiver. Out of the speaker, it sounds just as hollow. Hollow threats from a hollow boy Steve thought he could fill. You can’t fill other people. You can only help people fill themselves. And Billy is determined to remove himself by the shovel full and all Steve has is his hands. He’s ill-equipped.
“You can say it. That you like things, love things. Even me. I know what you wanted to say.”
“Fuck you, Harrington.” Billy’s rage is evident. Steve hopes he’s safe. But safe people don’t have such unsafe coping mechanisms.
“I’m not it,” Steve continues, slides even further and his tailbone hits the cold tile of his empty kitchen. Empty save for the presence of a hollow boy, of Billy, even just his voice. “I’m not the one, that’s fine. But one day you’re going to make it out and you’re going to be ok and you’re going to let yourself love things and maybe you’ll realize what this was.”
It’s quiet again. The empty silence pierces him further. He’ll realize too late, and that’s what he’s afraid of.
“You done?”
Steve’s head tilts back against the wall. He lets the phone drop and bounce on its cord.
Yeah. He’s done.
Billy’s angry. Always angry, seems like.
The air around him is suffocating, everywhere. At home. At school. On the court. In Hawkins. It’s all fucking terrible. And now, his favorite pass-time (driving too fast on roads too small) is even tainted. The air of his car is suffocating, thinking about the last time Steve was here. Snuffing out the suffocation and making him feel like he could breathe. Straddling his lap like an all-American dream. Making those sounds that make him feel like the furnace constantly swallowing him whole is suddenly in him, lighting him up everywhere.
He pushes the pedal down harder. His engine roars. So does he.
Because he fucking snapped. It finally happened. He knew it would— knew it was a fluke that pretty boy, King Steve, Hawkins High’s very own royal princess, would stoop to Billy’s level. He knew the whole time it was doomed to fail, but from the first moment he was drunk on the blip of that suffocation. It was like gasping for breath, breathing in Steve. It was made to break, but it was only a matter of time before he wasn’t hooked on feeling like he could breathe, feeling like he was unrestrained, feeling like he was himself again. No, he was hooked on Steve. And that’s much, much worse.
His teeth slam together as he thinks about the floppy-haired brunette. The fucking dork. He drives kids around for fun. Likes The Goonies and Bryan Adams. He’s got a complex out the ass. Thinks he’s better than everyone. Always so brash with his words. Acts like everything is always going to be ok. Has this stupid need to make Billy feel good and safe. Has these dimples that suck him in like the beach break. Has these stupid moles decorating his skin like constellations. Has this voice that shatters his nerves when he’s falling apart in, around, on top of him.
And, for some god forsaken reason, Steve was up for it all. Up for everything he knew Billy was going to do to him. Because Billy made it clear— made it painstaking obvious that Shoot to Thrill was all this was. And still— still— Steve Harrington has the audacity to make him feel like Billy was worth it.
He should hate Billy’s guts; he should be punching him in the face. He knows Steve is hurting, can feel it in the way he avoids his eyes, in the way he stays far off, in the way he takes the long way to class, in the way he walks to his car like no one’s watching when Billy’s pretending he isn’t, in he way he doesn’t call.
He takes a curve too sharp, the furnace he exists in burning his skin.
He deserves this.
He doesn’t deserve whatever Steve said: getting out, getting ok with himself, loving things. He doesn’t love things. Things don’t love him. People don’t love him. Love is lies. Even the ones who are supposed to, don’t. They lie. They leave. The ones that don’t, they’re the ones that stick around. Make you pay for being a fool.
His heart kicks at the starting drum of the next song from the local radio station. He’d left in a fervor, his throat closing on feelings he said— he promised— wouldn’t happen. He’d swiped his tapes from the car to drown out the sound of memories, of feelings. When buzzing ears didn’t feel enough like buzzing gravel through speeding floorboards, he jerked his jacket off the hook and left before Neil could say shit about him going out so late. He’ll bare the consequences he deserves later; pretend they’re the fists of the person who’s supposed to be beating him to a pulp to justify it.
And the sound of that drum is engrained in his memory. He could name the song off the first .5 seconds. Because it’s Bryan Adams. It’s Steve’s favorite right now— his number one top pick of the best song out. Which is just disrespectful and Billy doesn’t know how he said it with a straight face. And then he’d sung along to it, eating drive-thru burgers on the hood at the quarry. Mumbled lyrics as it played through his bedroom stereo in the Harrington Castle as he sunk down onto Billy, brow tight and neck strained, chest struck red and cheeks flushed. God he was fucking pretty—
Billy slams the radio off. The vibrating interior and the hum of the road swallows him whole. He thinks of Steve’s face, pouting as he mocked the soloist for posing to get into the Top 10, for being a trashy girly-pop idol, for being Canadian. He’d crossed his arms and muttered about how he played the guitar since he was ten and had a good voice. And Billy sighed and slapped the radio on again and pretended not to find Steve’s obvious feeling of victory cute as he smiled around softly singing along.
“Fuck!” Billy swears, his foot easing off the gas. His hand falls over his face, drags roughly on his jaw. “Fuck.”
He stares out the windshield as the blur of the treetops start to ease back into steady forms. He presses the FM button again.
And that's when I met you, yeah
Standin' on your mama's porch
You told me that you'd wait forever
It’s awful, this suffocation. He’s felt it as long as he’s been alive, it feels like. It’s even worse now that he knows what it’s like to not suffocate. To take the burning and use it. To feel it inside instead of all around— instead of something that steals his oxygen.
It’s terribly, awfully bad. Because he’s good at fighting. He’s good at winning. And he can’t fight for this. He can’t win this.
Steve doesn’t know what he’s got, being saved from him.
Oh, and when you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never
Billy turns it up. Pretends he can’t hear Bryan Adams. Pretends he can hear Steve. Pretends he’s out of here. That he’s ok and he loves things and he wasn’t too late.
Those were the best days of my life
It might be his favorite, too.
He buries himself.
He doesn’t really have a choice; if he doesn’t step up his proverbial academic game, he doesn’t stand a chance at graduating. Nancy’s taken pity on him, helping out with his English and History assignments. He finally finished the conclusion to his English paper on The Catcher in the Rye and is moving swiftly to WWII flash cards with too many names and dates to stick.
He should have paid her for this, seriously. He knows she feels badly about how they ended, but pity won’t buy you and your boyfriend tickets to the drive in.
He jolts awake with the ‘Battle of the Bulge’ index card stuck to his face when the doorbell chimes through the house obnoxiously. It’s 10:32 at night. He hangs his head and contemplates not answering. It’s crash-course week. Cramming o’clock. Brain-hemorrhaging-knowledge integration time. He doesn’t need this.
Even still, he’s not strong enough to say no. Hasn’t been, for the past four days.
He walks down the stairs like it’s tedious, because it it. He’s busy. He runs a hand through his falling hair, the product in it having reached its life expectancy, and thinks maybe it was intentional that he didn’t pull a shirt on. It’s unusually hot in Hawkins for end of spring, and he’s wearing his loose grey sweats. He’s comfortable. It doesn’t matter.
He opens the door to Billy, his hand in one pocket and the other holding Steve’s anatomy notebook.
“What’d you find now?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know. He only looks at Billy’s face, and even that hurts. He knows he’s wearing that navy shirt, unbuttoned too far. His pendant is always framed by it perfectly. And he looks like he doesn’t care, like this is a chore, but the first night— Sunday— it had been a pair of shorts from his car. Last night it had been his Three Dog Night album Steve had him take because he’d ‘never heard of ‘em’ (yeah, ok. Sure).
Billy flips the notebook in front of him, between his palms. “Thought you’d need it since you’ve suddenly got a boner for learning.”
Steve huffs a bit at that. He’s not sure if Billy’s trying to torture him with this sudden, strange break in their routine. Not really sure what it’s about. He’s not going to hope for anything about it, because hope is dangerous and he hasn’t been given any warnings to ignore this time. At least last time, there were rules— rules he actively chose not to follow, but still rules. And entertaining a rule-less Hargrove is about as deadly as playing with a safety-less gun.
“Yeah, well,” he sighs, reaching a hand out for it. “Some of us also plan on leaving at some point. Most colleges like GEDs.”
Billy’s fingers play along the edge, run over the bound black spine holding the composition notebook together. His chin jerks up a bit. “Oh, yeah? Where you escapin’ to that you think daddy won’t pay for?”
Steve feels his jaw tense. He steps back a bit, hand tightening on the doorknob. Something swift and hardly noticeable flashes over Billy’s eyes. Steve likes to imagine he doesn’t see it. It’s hard not to, after having seen all the parts of him he hides away.
“Don’t know,” he says stiffly. “Don’t care as long as it’s not here, y’know.”
And Steve knows he does; Billy wrote that script. Steve bought it, plans on producing and staring in it all on his own without his fucking dad looming over him. He just has to get through next weekend to prove to the man that he’s serious about a future, whether or not it’s with the family business.
“Yeah,” Billy says, eyes finally breaking from Steve’s. They rest somewhere around his chest before falling to the floor.
“Yeah,” Steve repeats. He lets go of his death grip on the doorknob, sliding his hands into his pockets. Whatever stockpile he has of Steve’s shit that he’s passing off one at a time, it’s not going to work. Maybe he didn’t make it clear enough. Maybe he needs to be upfront. Something about not having Billy come on his own volition, without incentive, just because, it’s hard to give up. The past couple days, he’s found himself wondering, waiting, for this exact moment. When Billy might show up. Might linger, like he wants Steve to invite him in. Like he wants to know he wants Billy to stay. He does. He won’t. They’re out of time. Time to escape the hollow, instead of finding a way to bare it.
He clears his throat, watching as Billy still holds his notebook too close to his abdomen. Like he’s not ready to offer it. Not ready to have no reason to stay. “Listen, if you find any more of my stuff, you can leave it with Nance or in the mailbox,” he shrugs. Hargrove’s knuckles tighten around the cover. “I’ll be outta town tomorrow night ‘til Saturday. Gotta get the grand tour of the New York office before I can tell ‘im to stick it, y’know,” he chuckles. It’s empty. He overshared.
He had before, to take the obvious overhang of Neil off of Billy’s mind. He talked about his own dad, how sometimes absence and expectations held a different kind of pain, different kind of trauma. He can see it in the way Billy’s arms tense, the way his jaw firms around words he won’t say, floating around a brain Steve always wants to pick, always not allowed to. His eyes fall to the floor, he mumbles ‘So…’ and tries not to feel so fucking small. “I’ll be back on the first, if you wanna drop anything off then, too,” he says, just trying to fill the silence. His heart feels too big. Like he’s burning with the secrets he’d shared that he shouldn’t have. If he keeps lingering, Steve might actually give him what he wants just to make this feeling stop.
“You good?”
It’s tight. Too many words crammed only into two. Steve shrugs, doesn’t look at him.
“Yeah,” he answers. “Whatever.”
He wants him to touch him. To put his always too-hot hands, like he caries California sun in his skin, on him and loosen his muscles. To look at him with those unmasked blue eyes, like he takes the ocean wherever he goes, and make him feel stagnant. To kiss him with those lips, always seemingly shifting like beach sand but really as sure as redwoods, and make him feel steady again. Like he can hope for this. Like there’s more than the hollow.
“Ok,” he says suddenly. It comes out heavy. He can’t hold the door open any more; it feels like staring through the veil of desire— death to the touch. Billy doesn’t want this. He wants to know that he was wanted— that he still is. That’s what Steve reminds himself. He holds out his hand for the notebook. “Thanks.”
God forbid, Billy put the stack of notes in his palm.
No, higher powers always make Steve eat his words.
Billy’s hand is in his before he can really register it; is pulling him through the veil before he knows what’s happening. His notebook is on the floor, his lips on Billy’s, before he even finds his footing.
And it’s terrible. Awful. Bad. Because he’s tried so hard. Done so good. And it’s all for nothing. The second he gets the contact he pretends not to crave, he’s melting into the kiss.
He’s said it before, and it rings true: he’s ill-equipped. Steve’s not capable of thinking properly with Billy invading all his senses, and he bares down with a goddamn platoon, this invasion. Like all those words he can’t say are being spoken through his frantic lips, every word pushed right into Steve’s mouth. The smell of his cologne, of quick wind from fast driving and bad-habit cigarette smoke floods his olfactory. A smell that’s trained him like a dog to let in the intruder. His hands find Steve’s bare skin like they’re hungry for it, starving from the absence of touch, and move over his body with selfish, greedy palms.
Steve’s helpless. He’s weak for it. He lets Billy back him up, back into the house, and turns him to press into the wall beside the door. It slams shut when he kicks it closed. He should have known the thing that would get Billy back into his house would be force, not request.
Steve’s never been one to back down, especially in the wake of Billy. He pushes back against his lips, teeth clicking together, sucks Billy’s tongue into his mouth as his hands slide up his semi-bare chest and over his collar bones, around his neck. It’s like a cheat code, the way Billy’s body falls against his. Slumps, like his touch makes him just as weak. Steve feels crushed, between the weight of him and the hard of the wall.
He bites into Billy’s lip, like he knows drives him a little bit wild, also knows he likes to do that first, and pushes his hands into the tight skin of his chest and shoves. Billy staggers a bit with no more Steve to hold on to. His dark eyes fall on the older boy like a challenge, and Steve’s own chest puffs a bit, fists curling.
“Go home, Billy,” he advises firmly. He should really get an award for it.
He cocks his head to the side a bit, advancing a step and smirking surely. “Oh, you want me to go home? That’s what that was?”
Steve simmers under his skin. His head spins, still drunk on his smell. His touch. The feeling of feeling him. “No. And you know that. It’s fucking cruel and unusual punishment, whatever you’re doing.”
His brow sharpens, eyes suddenly wary of connecting with his. He must not have been prepared for an up-front answer. He doesn’t usually get any, his life like a riddle he’s been unable to crack. Solve.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
Steve scoffs and opens the door, swiping the anatomy notebook off the ground. “I don’t know, Billy. It’s not like you’re exactly easy.”
Billy’s struck by that, the confirmation of that thing he’s always wanted. To be hard to read and unknowable, because all of the things that have known him have left. It feels scarily fraudulent here, to be confirmed by Steve. To realize that maybe Steve is one of the only people he might actually want to know him. Like he won’t leave. Because he didn’t. He let Billy push him away, but he didn’t leave.
He decides to take it in stride. Lean into it. Because, what’s there to lose? They graduate in a week. Nothings promised. And that could be nothing, a big nothing. But it could also be something. A big something.
“I’m here because you’re here,” he says. He wants to say and that’s where I want to be, because that’s what he feels. But it’s hard to say that. To admit those things that leave him feeling stripped and vulnerable and flayed open, able to be crushed and hurt all over again.
Steve rolls his eyes. His body is angled toward the door, like he’s ready for Billy to walk out, to flee, because that’s all he’s ever done. “Of course I’m here. I live here.” It’s weak at best.
Billy steps into his space, puts a hand on the edge of the door and pulls it closed slowly until Steve’s forced to come back inside. Forced into Billy’s space. Forced to look at him. Billy takes a steadying breath. “I’m here because you’re here,” he repeats. He tries to be open, like Steve. To force his mask off.
Steve visibly flinches, his nose twitching with his lip as he takes advantage of the door behind him as a steadying surface. “Don’t do that.”
“You want me to swear on something?”
“Billy—“
He can hear the plea in it. Billy won’t break him. He’d break himself in the process, choosing to suffocate instead of breathe. Being honest is suddenly not as difficult as he thought. That goody-two-shoes, scouts-honor, cringe shit feeling suddenly like, instead of being stupidly vulnerable and delicate, it could help him get the only thing he’s ever wanted badly enough to almost ask for a beating.
“Steve,” he says, soft and sure. “I turned up Bryan Adams.”
Steve sinks against the door. It looks like it hurts. “You hate Bryan Adams,” he says. It sounds like a last ditch effort. Like to anyone else it would mean nothing. But Billy knows what it means. He’s cracked the riddle. He doesn’t need it anymore.
“I love when you sing it.”
He wants to cry. He’s not sure if it’s because, for some reason, the heart mending can feel almost exactly as painful as the breaking when sprung upon like this. He wasn’t prepared for it. For Billy to come here and break him open just so he can nestle inside and tell him he’s ok with it, he’s learning to love things. Maybe it’s not too late.
“We’re graduating. We’re out of time.”
“We’re graduating,” Billy shrugs, let’s his lips tilt a bit. “We might have all the time in the world. Overtime exists, y’know.”
Steve wants to laugh. His whole deficit is suddenly pumped full, though, and he’s afraid. “You don’t know that.”
He seems to readily take the leap. Like he was expecting it. “I know I want you.”
“That’s bold,” he says before he can help it. Because that’s usually his thing. Being brash. Being brave.
The blonde’s hands slide against his waist, the band of his sweats. He tilts his nose up against Steve’s, his proximity drowning out his better judgement. Steve may always be ill-equipped, no matter what. Especially when it comes to Billy.
“I know what this is.” His fingers dig harder into Steve’s skin, like he meant it. It’s the final blow. The last straw, is what it is. He’s glad Billy’s holding onto him, or he’d probably do something stupid like exalt. “I know. It’s not easy, but I know.”
And it’s not an apology; Steve knows better than to expect that. Once upon a time, knowing what ‘this’ is was not a comfort. It was a definition. Lines drawn in sand. And Steve knew, too; agreed and never really meant it. Never really wanted whatever it was to be all it was. He never thought he’d get to watch Billy trip to cross the line instead, and he’s not going to shove him back. Billy better know that.
He wants to say easy was never part of the plan. Wants to say that Billy’s worth not easy. Wants to say he’s known and been ok with it and been happy to love and lose and hurt if it meant he had the chance. But things like that have their place, their time, and Steve has a feeling it’ll come like a wave at dusk, quiet and easy, to wash away all those sand-carved lines.
So, instead, he buckles down. Buckles in. He can be bold, can help Billy be bold. “Do you want to stay?”
When the other boy smiles, it’s like everything before flattens. Crushed under the weight of this new agreement. The timeline is collapsed; it’s dead and gone and past is past and he’ll happily hand Steve the shovel if what he wants to do is fill him. He’s got time for pretty boy to smooth his edges, if he really wants to try. He’s got time to breathe, to be ok, maybe even to love. Maybe he even already does.
He’s got time to not be too late, to not be out of time.
He’s got time for overtime.
don’t worry everyone the doctor who wiki has everything under control
thinking out loud
guys i have to know... so i took a break between finishing season 4 between when it came out and like. now. so maybe i am late to the party but did ANYONE ELSE side eye the part where steve is mentioning his dream future family and making nancy cringe and he mentions SURFING and CALIFORNIA specifically?? like why both those things he coulda said going to disney or camping but SURFINGGG??!? i realize i am delulu but ive been thinking abt this for like 2 weeks pls tell me in not the only one who did a double take
Uhhhh... It fills you with determination...?
brought some fruit for the potluck
If u haven’t read the Tago Bell arc
Stranger Odessey - Heros
Stranger Things - ancient greek mythology au
Steve - Stephanos
Through a series of unfortunate events, including but not limited to: love, loss, a heroic death, more chaos thanks to a drunk Zeus ANYWHERE near Tartarus and finally the mercy of two kind gods. Stephanos finds himself in the position of a champion, a Hero under Hades to be more specific.
His main quest? Find lost souls and help them into the underworld, by giving them a proper burial or the necessary money to fair the river styx. Also: "bring back" some of the escapee monsters from Tartarus, for which he has been given a special sword, that absorbs the essence and souls of said monsters and beasts to store and return to Tartarus.
Robin - Rhoda
Coming from a small mountainside village in the proximity of a temple of Zeus, Rhoda's life was always one of property. One day she has had enough and just run off. Quickly she found other women with similar views and learned their craft fast. From then on, she was a part of the sisterhood of the Daughters of Artemis. But she was destined for more than rituals, hunts and a live devotion.
Her main quest? Due to a lost bet between gods, her patron had an open tab.. So she has to find Anteros and escort her to the Temple, so Artemis can finally get her magical quiver back! But gods dam, that kid is nothing but trouble!!
Chrissy - Chryssa
Chryssa grew up well loved by her family, friends and small town. Her wit, bravery and smarts always help her out in life and so caught the eye of a certain goddess... And after her dream of a life caved in, shattering. The comfort she sought, crying in a temple of Athena; she was heard. And she was taught by the goddess of wisdom and battle strategy herself.
Her main quest? There was word amongst the gods about a new born clairvoyant with the power to become the next oracle. But she has to find a way to the temple of Delphine first. So Chryssa was sent to guard and escort her, in safety. But who knew it was going to be this difficult??
Tips for writing those gala scenes, from someone who goes to them occasionally:
Generally you unbutton and re-button a suit coat when you sit down and stand up.
You’re supposed to hold wine or champagne glasses by the stem to avoid warming up the liquid inside. A character out of their depth might hold the glass around the sides instead.
When rich/important people forget your name and they’re drunk, they usually just tell you that they don’t remember or completely skip over any opportunity to use your name so they don’t look silly.
A good way to indicate you don’t want to shake someone’s hand at an event is to hold a drink in your right hand (and if you’re a woman, a purse in the other so you definitely can’t shift the glass to another hand and then shake)
Americans who still kiss cheeks as a welcome generally don’t press lips to cheeks, it’s more of a touch of cheek to cheek or even a hover (these days, mostly to avoid smudging a woman’s makeup)
The distinctions between dress codes (black tie, cocktail, etc) are very intricate but obvious to those who know how to look. If you wear a short skirt to a black tie event for example, people would clock that instantly even if the dress itself was very formal. Same thing goes for certain articles of men’s clothing.
Open bars / cash bars at events usually carry limited options. They’re meant to serve lots of people very quickly, so nobody is getting a cosmo or a Manhattan etc.
Members of the press generally aren’t allowed to freely circulate at nicer galas/events without a very good reason. When they do, they need to identify themselves before talking with someone.
just some observations + thoughts about this:
Dacre accidentally defaulting to a New Yorker American accent and hand gestures for a few seconds is highly hilarious and the fact that that’s the take they chose to use, i love it.
The iconic “it’s givin me da heebiejeebies”, peep this grandpa, we love that that’s a thing Billy said in canon. It seems like something a bad fanfic writer would make him say BUT NO. He actually said it.
This is one of the only times Billy actually calls Max his sister of his free will and i… 🥺 of course it’s to Steve.
Why do none of the Billy antis realize that this is completely valid thing for Billy to think? Billy has ZERO context as to what’s going on with the Upside Down, no one thought to try to tell him (despite the fact that the Byers house is a mess for a reason and there’s a literal demogorgon chestburster in the fridge that would’ve made it incredibly easy to convince him). From his perspective, it is so weird for this 18 y/o senior to be hanging around alone in this random person’s house with his middle school sister and a bunch of boys. Like i know we’ve been conditioned by this point in season 2 to know that Steve’s a good guy and has no bad intentions with the kiddos, but it’s so obvious why this is weird from Billy’s perspective.
Billy and Max have only lived in Hawkins for 1 WEEK at this point. They start going to Hawkins schools on October 30th and the fight happens November 5th. They just went through a MAJOR cross country move, likely due to traumatic reasons (depending on if you follow Runaway Max, which has since been retconned after Season 3, or the fanon theories, or even none at all, moving so far from somewhere you’ve lived your whole life can be traumatic on its own, not to mention with an abusive parent). In my opinion, he jumped the gun on fighting Steve, but it makes sense after Steve straight up lied to his face without any remorse. It doesn’t make it right, but it makes sense with context and the tiniest amount of thought.
And a random thought that this inspired: BOTH Billy and Max are in high conflict mode at this point with all of these big changes being so recent and i would give my left foot to see them interact a few months down the line. The most we get of this is we see them share a look before Max goes to the Snow Ball, and while Max is still standoffish, Billy looks almost remorseful. By the time Billy is possessed, Max obviously has forgiven Billy to some degree for his anger in this time period and cares for him deeply (by the way she reacts in The Sauna Test and Battle of Starcourt episodes).
What happened in the ~seven months between s2 and s3?? Release the flashbacks, Duffers!! Do the “make Billy’s death actually mean something” challenge or die by my sword.
Stranger Odessey - Gods
Stranger Things - ancient greek mythology au
Billy - Eros/Bilato
First child of Aphrodite and Ares, god of lust, desire and unrequited love. One of the few winged gods. And as Ares' first son, of course he's somewhat furious, that Eros became like his mother with no regard or initial interest in warfare. And even if the boy knows how to handle bow and arrow, frankly his younger sibling is a bit better than him. And she isn't even as cold or confrontational as he is! One might think to know who the favourite is... But then again, desire is written inside every humans heart, isn't it?
So imagine his frustration, turned confusion, turned fascination with this seemingly human hero who's somewhat cold to his touch! How!? But interesting...
Max - Anteros/Maxena
Second child of Aphrodite and Ares. God of requited, pure love in any form; romantic, friendly, familiar or unconditional. She doesn't have as much pressure on her from Ares. Not only is she, well... A she, not a he, but also younger.
That doesn't mean, that she doesn't know how to at least use a bow and arrow! And of course she will use them to protect her new found friends! I mean, they are... an odd bunch for sure. But hey, love falls, where it does and she does love them dearly!
Guys I need a name so I can keep writing and getting it out. So here's what I got:
How is "Strange(r) Odessey" ???
And name suggestions are very welcome!!
Because it's been living rent free in my head lately:
Greek Mythology Harringrove AU
Gather 'round my children, for I have hadeth another brain fart... And this is what I woke up with!! Yes, I changed their names because ancient greek, man! Max is okay. Steve, eh gets difficult. Lucas- okay... But Dustin?? Or Nancy?? Anyway!- Steve is a hero, Billy is Eros and they find each others presents strangely comforting.
Of course the others will all also be there, definitely. And they each have their own backgrounds and stories and reasons to do... Uh... Stuff!
I got the idea randomly whilst listening to I won't say I'm in love from Disney's Hercules sooo...