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[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers and I'm dodging the draft

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Steve watches Neil leave for work, slumped in his seat so the man doesn't notice him parked just behind the neighbour's old ford.

Then Susan. Off to church or pilates or book club or whatever a woman does when not under her piece-of-shit-husband's watchful eye.

He waits until she turns off the street before he makes his move. Walks right up to the front door and doesn't even bother knocking. Turns to the first door on the right and barges right in like he owns the fucking place.

Billy looks like shit, but he's looked like shit since he came out of the hospital, semi-healed and very vulnerable to whatever bullshit Neil has been putting him through for the past few weeks. Steve knows because Max's crackly voice fills his ears more nights than not, interrupted by banging on walls and muffled cries of pain.

No more.

Steve throws the roll of black plastic bags at Billy before the guy can even open his mouth.

"Come on, Hargrove, I'm busting you out. We're having a sleepover."

The fact that Billy doesn't clock him in the face and tell him to fuck right off shows just how much progress Steve has made with this sour fucker in the relatively short time they shared a hospital room. And Billy is.

Sour.

Bitter.

Broken.

Fucked up. Maybe beyond repair, but hey. Steve sleeps 3 hours a night and flinches in the presence of older men and Slavic accents. Robin calls him sometimes laughing until she's crying and Steve will listen and hate it, more than he hates not being able to sleep, but needs her voice in his ear to feel less alone.

Dustin looks at him now and Steve can tell his guilt is eating him from the inside out, that it's not just the goodness of Mrs Henderson's heart that leaves him with casseroles every monday and thursday.

Lucas turns up on his doorstep once every couple of weeks, is practically gone again before the door is fully open and Steve knows it's only because Erica asked him to. That the kid rolls his eyes every time, but he'll do it again and again and again to give her some peace of mind.

Nancy sought him out one time, heartbroken and lonely and Steve'd had to drive her home after she'd tried to kiss him. Now she can barely look him in the eyes and all it makes him feel is tired.

They're all fucked up.

Billy a little more than the rest of them, but he's in good company  that's for sure.

And Billy's moving awkwardly again.

It's only been a week since he stopped hunching the way he's doing again now. Steve can't hate Neil Hargrove more than he already does, but he makes a note of it like he's done all the other times.

It's nice to keep a tally, should the opportunity ever present itself for Steve to generously return the favour.

Steve plants his hands on his hips. "You've got the space in my car, choose wisely."

Billy grunts and gestures at the sound system and Steve begins packing it up. Gives up one of the loudspeakers as trashed and wonders what part of Billy's body Neil broke it with.

Another note added to the tally.

It's a quick affair. Depressing. The beemer's back seat could still take a kid or two when they're done packing everything Billy holds too dear to leave behind.

Steve comes back for one last check and finds Billy staring at the chain hanging on the wall by his bed. Steve makes another note. He doesn't bother to ask. It's always Neil.

He sets down the first can with a heavy thunk onto the bare bedside table. Billy looks down and raises an eyebrow, more emotion than Steve has been able to drag out of him all day.

Steve waves a hand theatrically over his offering.

"Any parting words?"

Steve can practically hear the rust displacing in Billy's jaw when he works it open to speak. "Plenty," he rasps out, voicebox still messed up, just like the rest of him. Billy surveys the colorful selection, lips ticking a little when he picks up a bottle and begins to shake it.

Steve nods and picks a particularly ugly shade of orange and gets to work.

*****

Max hears it when Steve come in.

She's been praying for this day for so long that it feels like lifetime of waiting. Now that it's finally happening, she finds herself frozen in a state of disbelieving tension, hoping against hope that Billy won't be difficult about it. She hears them moving Billy's things to the car — Steve doing most of the work but all of the talking — and she thinks maybe they've both forgotten that she's still at home.

Maybe it's better that way.

She gets out of her bed when the front door slams closed. The hold the moment had on her loosening it's bonds now that Billy's almost made it.

She watches from the slit in her curtains as Steve throws bottles of some kind all over the front lawn before he moves to help get Billy into the car. Strangest of all, Billy doesn't even glare at him for it.

Only when the Beemer roars down the street, does Max rush to Billy's room.

She gasps. Then chokes. Then laughs.

Big pink letters spell out Billy's final fuck you to Neil. There's so much writing on the wall that some of the sentences are hard to make out but they all boil down to a single sentiment that is fairly easy to decipher.

Max grins despite the eyewatering fumes, then laughs all the way out of the house, not willing to bear witness to Neil's meltdown when he gets back, much as she'd love to.

As she skates down the street, she has a moment to think about the gross orange strikes lined neatly along the wall above Billy's bed and the little message beneath it and wonder what it means.

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To be repaid.

-S

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Steve putting lipstick/makeup on Billy, who may or may not be a little insecure but trying to be hopeful in this exploration of style and wanting to make a real attempt to be vulnerable with his guy by letting him do this for him 🥺

But hear me out for Steve wanting to get into the professional MUA industry and Billy being a nervous but very willing canvas

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

i unironically think that the resurgence of mustache culture has brought about a male slut era that is in many ways still in its infancy but is growing day by day. hemlines are getting shorter, chest hair is growing back, tops are cropped. gone are the dark, dark days when the sluttiest thing a man could do was roll up the sleeves of his button up office shirt. we are returning to the light of mustache rides and teeny tiny swim shorts. amen.

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

I literally did not know that sag aftra is currently on strike against video game companies and has been for six months

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

I think what makes me the most devastated about Billy's death is that we were robbed of seeing how his relationship with Max could have changed. I so very much believe that Billy nearly dying and Max watching it almost happen would have caused them to bond from that, theyd grow closer together, and Billy would have been such a good big brother to her. But nOOOOO instead we get dead!Billy and depressed!Max and im MAD

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

stranger things really screwed the pooch by never having a scene where all the siblings pairs (Mike and Nancy, Will and Jonathan, Lucas and Erica, Max and Billy, and Steve and Dustin) are having 5 simultaneous but separate, high volume arguments, while El and Robin just 👁👁 👁👁

(Steve and Dustin started in the only child group but they set each other off, and they lost their high ground spectacularly)

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Happy Birthday Big Bill!

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So anyways with the rapid rise of fascism I feel it’s a good time to point out that it’s perfectly legal to follow unjust orders slowly, badly, or inefficiently

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

For my second @harringrovewinterbingo prompt, "Kissing With Chapped Lips"

i looked for the ugliest 80s jackets i could find on google and then i made them even uglier...

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Losers weepers, Max.

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You would never understand their warrior's bond, Keith.

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Chapter Nine is real and just got posted after a 2.5 year hiatus... whoops?

Happy Birthday to me! Please enjoy my latest Harringrove endeavor. It’s a 1950′s Mafia A/B/O with essentially zero real angst and lots of horny/fluffy content planned for future chapters! 

not much a poet, but a criminal 

now available on AO3!

Summary below the cut!

Keep reading

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

Listen, I know we love the Ides of March on this webbed site.

BUT!! March 15th is also my kickass Dad's birthday. He's one of the few parents who knows and proves what "unconditional" love should look like, and the best part? His name is MARK!

So if you would like to be super cool and amazing, please send me an Ides of Mark meme. He will lose his mind.

[queer-coded-camaro-driver]

me whenever anybody says that they like me/that i’m their friend