#Billy Cross
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hehe
#me draws#re#resident evil#albert wesker#chris redfield#ada wong#leon kennedy#jill valentine#claire redfield#rebecca chambers#billy coen#william birkin#annette birkin#animal crossing
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Animal Crossing: New Horizons Gifs 55/?
#animal crossing#animal crossing new horizons#acedit#acnhedit#nintendoedit#nintendographics#olivia#billy#**#*animal crossing#queue
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i cannot be the only one that wants to grab Billy's belt chain right? like- i just want to rattle it a little bit and lead him around
also- LOOK AT HIS WAIST, HOLY SHIT!? -> this is the lankiest android design i've ever seen, man is all limbs and whimsy
#does he have a crossed out patch on his jacket or am i tripping?#his design is everything i didn't know i needed#zzz#zzzero#zenless zone zero#billy kid#billy kid zzz#zzz billy#cunning hares#character design#the ramblings of a fallen star
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Now. I love the Some Like it Hot cast. But this wouldâve been absolutely nuts. Billy Wilder your mindâŠ
#Tony Perkins cross dressing good timeline#some like it hot#billy wilder#frank sinatra#anthony perkins#old hollywood#classic film stars#my art
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heard you, saw you / need you, love you
Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of himâtall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the kneeâand though you canât see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know heâs looking at you. More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, âGonna get you, baby!â
Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.
Word count: 4,857
Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.
A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!
sweet, mourning lamb thereâs nothing you can do itâs already been done
Your life is perfect.
You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Loverâs Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.
At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumorââDid you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?â âIs she the next Virgin Mary or something? âCause no away anyoneâs touching her.ââwhile sipping on cans of Diet Coke.
It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.
When you tell your parents youâre going out and donât know what time youâll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner heâs shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.
Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. Sheâs perched in the driverâs seat of her dadâs new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each otherâs outfitsââGod, that top is to die for!â âBaby blue is so your color!ââshe tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.
A girl on the cusp of womanhood, youâre no stranger to stares that follow your every move.
Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.
You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up closeâthe crowâs feet, the nose hair, the greying mustachesâyou no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
âAs if!â you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckinâ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.
When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, itâs a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys youâve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theaterâs station.
Theyâre like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of âOver here, honey!â will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.
You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and thatâs when you notice him.
Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of himâtall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the kneeâand though you canât see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know heâs looking at you.
More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, âGonna get you, baby!â
You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that heâs wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.
Later, after Crystalâs food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, youâre settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when itâs clear that his insistent lips wonât be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath youâve heard time and time again.
You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel heâs left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you donât see the man with the sunglasses watching you.
âYou sure you donât want to come?â
You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, âYes, Iâm sure,â for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.
Attending a barbecue at your great-uncleâs houseâwhere youâll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your âhooker makeupââis not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.
âAlright,â your mom finally concedes. âYour father and I will see you later then. Thereâs some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?â
You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a weekâthe drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rickâyouâre in desperate need of solitude.
Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you donât completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You donât realize youâve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.
âShit!â you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now youâll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your momâs expensive moisturizers, which means youâll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonightâs party over in Loch Nora.
You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.
âNo way,â you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.
You cannot believe your parents are already home! Theyâd only been gone for an hour or two and werenât supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dadâs impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you werenât going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?
The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. Theyâll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.
You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.
Itâs not your parents in the driveway.
The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentenceââabandon all hope, ye who enter hereââbefore your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it.Â
Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.
âI was starting to worry you were ignoring me,â he says.
âWho the hell are you?â
âDonât pretend you donât know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.â
He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that heâs the same man from the drive-in.
âSee? You know me.â
âNo, I donât,â you tell him, your voice sharp.
âYouâll get to me know me.â
Heâs still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks heâs being cute. You study him, noting that heâs more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. Heâs not your type, and you definitely donât think heâs kind of cute.
âWhat do you want?â you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.
âWanna go for a ride?â
âUh, no.â
âWhy not?â
You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that thereâs a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, heâs also wearing sunglasses.
âHey,â the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. âYouâre pretty.â
âWhat?â
âYouâre pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.â
You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. âI donât even know you.â
âEddie Munson,â he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. âAnd this is Billy Hargrove. Doesnât say much, though. Heâs shy.â
For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.
âWell, Eddie, itâs nice to meet you or whatever, but I thinkââ
âYou should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.â He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. âYou like it when cars go fast, donât you?â
Thereâs something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. Heâs too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.
âSo? What do you think?â
âWhat do I think about what?â
He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. âGoing for a ride. You know you want to.â
You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that youâll obey like some mindless servant. You donât care that your stomach flutters a little at his words â itâs both insulting and annoying.
âNo, I donât.â
âYou can sit in the front,â he continues. âBilly doesnât mind moving to the back. Weâll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.â Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. Itâs an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.
âThatâs not my favorite song,â you interrupt him.
Again, all he does is laugh. âFine, we donât have to listen to music. We can do something else.â
âLike what?â
âWhatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.â One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. âWe could even go to the beach.â
Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. âThere arenât any beaches around here.â
âIâll take you to one.â
âNo, thanks.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause Iâve got plans.â
âPlans?â he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if youâve dealt him a fatal wound. âHow could you have plans when youâre supposed to spend the day with me?â
You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if youâve been slapped.
You never told him your name.
âHow did you know that?â you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.
âHow did I know what?â he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.
âMy name...I didnât tell you what my name was.â
âYou didnât have to,â he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. âI know everything about you.â
It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that itâs hooked in place.
âYou d-donât know me,â you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.
ââCourse, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.â He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. âAnd I know your parents arenât home right now, that theyâre at your Great-Uncle Walterâs house for a barbecue. I know they wonât be home till later tonight.â
Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.
Eddie isnât looking at you anymore. Heâs staring up at the sky, as if heâs trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. âYour dad...heâs sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. Sheâs got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely wonât be home for a while.â
âHow could you...you donât know that!â you shout at him, breaking your composure. âYou donât know anything!â
He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but thereâs no longer any mirth. Itâs what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.
Like he wants to consume you.
âYouâre my girl. Itâd be a shame if I knew nothing about you.â
âIâm not your girl!â
âOh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you canât run me off. I told you Iâd be here, and Iâm not leaving until you come with me.â
âWant me to grab her?â
Billyâs words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddieâs temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. âWhat the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I donât want you to grab her! Sheâll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.â
Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and thereâs not a single trace of his previous anger. âSorry about that. Billyâs a little crazy, thatâs all. Donât pay him any mind. Itâs just you and me, yeah? You and me.â
You nod because you donât know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen doorâs lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.
âYouâre scared of me.â
You donât want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.
âYou donât have to be afraid of me,â he says, his voice soft and warm. âI promise Iâll be gentle with you the first time. Iâll hold you in my arms real tight and Iâll kiss you and Iâll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. Youâll cry my name so sweetly, and youâll be wet and aching and youâll beg me, youâll beg me to keep going. You wonât ever want to leave me.â
A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. âYou â youâre sick! Youâre disgusting! Go away or Iâll â Iâll call the police!â
He shakes his head, chuckling. âIt doesnât matter.â
âWhat?â
âIt doesnât matter. The police canât keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you havenât let go of. Theyâre just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.â
âShut up! Just shut up! Youâre insane!â
âBaby, listen,â he says, flashing you a placating grin. âAs long as you come out here, I wonât go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, dealâs off and I can step foot in that house. Iâll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you wonât like it if I have to come after you.â
âJust let me grab her,â Billy says flatly. âIâll make it quick.â
Eddieâs jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. âAre you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? Sheâs mine! Sheâs mine and I donât need your slimy fingers all over her. Sheâs mine and sheâs gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!â
You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that youâll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.
In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldnât be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadowâs wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.
Itâs only the light playing tricks on you. Itâs not real, okay? Itâs not real itâs not real itâs not real itâs notâ
A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddieâs movements.
He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. Thereâs no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.
Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.
âYou with me, sweetheart? Youâre not gonna touch that phone, right?â
âWhy are you doing this?â you whimper.
âBecause I want you.â
âWhy â why me?â
âI saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. Theyâre rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldnât love you like I love you.â
âStop!â you shriek, nearly out of breath. âJust stop!â
âDonât you realize we belong together? All this time, youâve been saving yourself for me. Donât you know that?â
Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces.Â
And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.
You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.
You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called âcultsâ and âsacrificesâ and âyou think Wayneâs nephew actually did it?â while you colored in a picture of butterflies.
You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.
You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.
And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.
âNo,â you shake your head too quickly. âNo, no, no, no. Itâs notâyou canâtââ
âUse your words,â Eddie coaxes gently.
âYou canât. You canât becauseâŠbecause youâre supposed to beâŠâ
âSay it.â
Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. âDead.â
âSee? Didnât I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?â
âJessica, right?â Billy drawls out. âOr Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?â
Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. âWait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.â
Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.
Julie Thompson. Sheâd gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldnât just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.
You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddieâs pitch-black eyes. âWhat did you do? Whereâs Julie?â
âGet in the car and Iâll tell you.â
âNo!â you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. âNo! Fuck you! You â youâre fucking dead and youâre nothing and you canât be here! You just â you canât!â
âBut I am here,â Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.
He sees every part of youâthe rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neckâlike a predator tracking every movement of its prey.
A predator that has won the hunt.
âIâm here because this town owes me and Iâve come to collect whatâs mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.â
Youâre screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red â a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.
It's coming after you.
You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You canât breathe and you canât move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that youâll do anything, youâll do anything, so please please pleasepleasepleaseâ
The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.
You are nothing.
After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.
You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.
Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.
âI told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.â
#part 2 coming soon#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#billy hargrove#stranger things#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x y/n#stranger things fanfiction#fanfiction#stranger things fandom#cross posted on ao3#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem reader#flayed!eddie munson#monster!eddie munson#my first fic on here!!!
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Just when I think Apple has finished fueling my Ted Lasso obsession đđđđ
#ted lasso#hannah waddingham#apple tv#phil dunster#billy harris#kola bokinni#james lance#brendan hunt#thatâs all I saw in ad#fingers crossed the whole team just shows up#also#the fact that itâs Phil & Billy & Kola from the team is sending me#merry Christmas to all the Ted lasso fans out there#jamie tartt#colin hughes#isaac mcadoo#trent crimm#the independent#coach beard#rebecca welton
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finding out that this picture of mgg exists made my whole year ok i collect monchhichis and this is just fueling my twin flame delusions lol (my every day purse on the right w/ two monchhichi babies)
#mine#mgg#matthew gray gubler#monchhichi#matthew lillard#scream#billy loomis#scooby doo#horror#pin collection#pin collector#ita bag#horror pin#jenniferâs body#elle woods#miss piggy#the muppets#daphne blake#pietro#animal crossing#miffy#ouran high school host club
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Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four
Part One, Part Two, Part Three
A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!
Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...
***
"SoâŠI have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"
"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.
"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"
Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.
"Doesn't matter anymore".
Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.
He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.
Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask".Â
Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?'Â
"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.
He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.
"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"
Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".
He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.
His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.
"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?"Â
Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.
"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?"Â
Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged".Â
***
Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve.Â
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.
"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window.Â
Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?"Â
Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"
"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?"Â
"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.
Steve swings the Beemerâs door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night.Â
'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'
Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack.Â
The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb.Â
***
Steve beats him to the house.
He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street.Â
Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.
Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake.Â
"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?"Â
Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.
No shoes? Fucking rich people man.
Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year soâŠmay as wellâŠ"
He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything.Â
If anything, Eddie has more questions.Â
Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".
Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?
He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot.Â
Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.
He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.
Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue.Â
Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.
"You said something about outside?"
***
By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--
Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.
He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.
"You good with a joint this evening my good King?"Â
He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.
Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?"Â
Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.
"Major Tom?"
Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone.Â
"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"
Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".
He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".
"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.
Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him".Â
Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.
"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.
"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt".Â
Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne. Â
And Wayne would never hurt him.Â
Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.
"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".
"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.
"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse".Â
"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.
"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch nowâŠ"Â
Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?"Â
"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".
Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"
Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday".Â
Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.
"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"
"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos.Â
Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end.Â
"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again.Â
Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.
"Steve? STEVE?!"Â
The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers.Â
"Dustin?"Â
A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.
"I need your help".
Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson
Part Five
and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic
#stranger things#stranger things season 2 au#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve and nancy breakup#what would have happened if eddie had been at tinas halloween party?#this fic is going places apparently#eddie is having all sorts of complicated feelings about steve here#i will never get tired of halloween party breakup aus#you can pry them from my cold dead fingers#afewproblems writes#cw marijuana#crossing into the canon upside down stuff now#lets goooooooooo#dustin meets eddie early#eddie is listening to steve talk and just thinking ???#like what is wrong with this boy there are too many things to count#cw bullying#billy hargrove is his own warning#I might rename this Castles Crumble based on that TSwift vault song#such a steve song am I right?
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uh
#cyber draws#the beatles#ringo starr#paul mccartney#billy shears#george harrison#...#mcstarr#pringo#arms crossed. i GUESS.#digital art#traditional art#ibis paint x#my art#fine. you win rpf-fueled braincells. whatever đ
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look who is speakingâŠ
#also the fact that in the scene with Robin Steve is wearing Billyâs jacket??#hell nah you canât make this shit up#the fact that these two have literally two minutes of screentime together AND YET manage to have so many unintentional parallels#it drives me insane#and letâs not talk about Steveâs dream life#he literally wanted to go to California and learn how to surf#they were originally written as the same character#then they were supposed to have a storyline together#Steve and Billy are literally the definition of star-crossed lovers#âbut itâs about doomed loveâ âthatâs relatableââpreciselyâ#max mayfield#stranger things 3#billy Hargrove#Steve Harrington#harringrove#Dacre Montgomery#Steve x billy#Joe keery
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Trying to Get Along
Dick wants to connect with his little brother, but no matter what he does, one major problem keeps them at odds.
---
âUgh, youâre still here?â
Dick ignores the disdain. âHave you seen Bruce?â
âNot home,â the boy says, spinning in his chair. âLeague business.â
âFigures.â After he was fired - after Bruce replaced him - Dick all but cut Bruce out of his life. He left Gotham behind and let himself become swamped with his work with the Teen Titans. He didnât go to the manor for anything. Not even to see Alfred. (He should have. He knows he should have. But he just⊠couldnât.)
But after an unplanned team-up with the Caped Crusader and the Boy Wonder, Dick tried to reconnect. He made a concerted effort to visit. Tried to call when he could. AndâŠ
And he tried to get to know the new kid. After all, it wasnât his fault that Bruce thought Dick was so easily replaceable.
But even now, Bruce is tough to pin down. More and more often, Dick visits the manor to find Alfred and the copycat. No Bruce. So Dick tries to capitalize on the time without Batman.
âWanna do something?â Dick offers. âGotham could use a couple crime fighters while Batmanâs away.â
The boy, usually eager to do anything with Dick, be that a patrol or math homework, is hesitant. âI dunno.â
âCâmon, I havenât broken a nose in almost a week. Just a couple hours.â
âYou donât have to do this anymore.â The little boy fixes Dick with a curious look.
Something cold and pointy sinks into Dickâs heart. âDonât have to do what anymore?â
âPlay big brother.â The boy blinks owlishly. âIâm not your brother anymore. Iâm dead.â
âYouâre not-â Dick takes a deep breath. It does nothing to calm the hummingbird wings in his chest. âDonât say stuff like that.â
But a much more typical frown graces the boyâs lips. âYouâre not helping anyone by doing this.â He approaches Dick carefully, arms folded and yellow cape swallowing his figure. âYouâre just worrying Bruce.â
Dick copies the boyâs posture, sending a glare that would make even the toughest of street thugs sweat. âBruce doesnât care what I do.â He can barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. âIâm just looking out for you.â
âItâs too late for that. Iâm not alive anymore.â The boyâs voice is too chipper. Too reminiscent of-
Late nights against the Gotham skyline. An unexpected visitor at Titans Tower. A rare trip to the Batcave, a kid hot on his heels and talking like his life depends on it-
âDonât say that!â he snaps, fingers itching and blood roaring. âDonât say that! You are alive! Would you quit-?â
A small hand reaches up to pat him dismissively on the shoulder. âCâmon. You donât really believe that. Not even Bruce believes that, and heâs crazy.â
âBruce has nothing to do with this. BruceâŠâ
Bruce didnât say a word. Not a word. You had to go digging. You had to call Barbara. He never wouldâve told you.
âDick,â the boy stresses. âIâm dead.â
âYou shouldnât be! If heâd just told me he needed help-â
âYou would have failed too. Thereâs nothing you couldâve done.â It might be an attempt at reassurance. To Dick, it sounds like an excuse.
âI couldâve helped.â But something in his voice breaks. His heartbeat slows to a loud, painful thud. Thud. Thud.
The boy sighs. âNo, you couldnât have.â
Thereâs a heavy pause. And then the boyâs expression hardens into tense panic.
âYou couldnât save me, Dick. Dick. Dick, you there?â
Dick blinks.
âDick, youâre scaring me.â
âSorry. Sorry, Tim.â Dick runs a hand through his hair, grimacing against a new headache.
âYou okay?â Tim fidgets with his cape, still watching Dick like he might disappear. âYou zoned out or something.â
âYeah. Yeah, Iâm fine.â Dick doesnât truly believe this and, going off of Timâs expression, neither does Tim. But even so, itâs been over a year now. Dick should be over this. He shouldnât still be seeing those leftover remnants of Jason. Dick has no right to be haunted when he didnât even know Jason was gone.
âMm-hm.â Tim rocks on his feet, letting his cape fall away and playing with his mask instead. âIf you say so.â
Desperate to change the subject, Dick asks, âAre you headed out to patrol?â Because Tim is suited up.
Tim shrugs. âI wanted to, but then Bruce had that League thing, and IâmâŠâ He shrugs again. âIâm not allowed to go out on my own.â
The unspoken is obvious: I would go out on my own if you werenât here to tell me no.
âRight.â Dick pulls his mask from his belt and presses it to his face. âWell, we can watch Gotham together, then.â
âReally??â
âGotta make sure you donât do anything reckless, and I need to stretch my legs.â
âCool!â Tim puts on his own mask, rushing to the garage. âCan we take the Batmobile?â
âNot unless you want to be grounded for the next thirty years. Letâs go by roof, huh?â
âIf you say so.â
âI do say so, Jason.â
Dick doesnât notice his mistake. Tim doesnât point it out. They just patrol the skies, each brother looking out for the other.
#whumptober2024#no.4#hallucinations#âYou're still alive in my head.â (Billy Lockett More)#batfamily#fic#canon character death#dick grayson#jason todd#tim drake#nightwing#robin#cross posted on ao3
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aight would anyone be sad if i give this wip up, just trying to prioritize some drawings than the others
#for context its butchlander and ryan pulling up to some red carpet event#theyre sitting in the limo while ryan plays animal crossing or smth#butchlander#wip#billy butcher x homelander
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Ëââ©â§ââkinktober 2024! â
⧠it's that time of year again! I'm starting early this year because the last two years I didn't finish the challenge. life got in the way and all that jazz. here is the list of kinktober prompts I will be doing along with their respective muses. this is subject to change.
⧠please remember to read/ participate in kinktober, you must be over 18. so minors, do not interact.
⧠as I complete each work, a check mark will be added next to the prompt.
(prompts are below the cut.)
day one. cockwarming with: John âBuckyâ Egan (Masters of the Air)
day two. nipple play with: Benny Cross (The Bikeriders)
day three. blood play with: Roman Bridger (Scream 3)
day four. orgasm control with: Coriolanus Snow (The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes)
day five. praise kink with: Bruce Wayne (Batman Begins)
day six. degradation with: Coriolanus Snow
day seven. bondage with: Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)
day eight. edging with: Gale âBuckâ Cleven (Masters of the Air)
day nine. breeding kink with: Javier "Javi" Rivera (Twisters)
day ten. mutual masturbation with: Stu Macher (Scream)
day eleven. throat fucking with: Thomas Webb (The Only Living Boy in New York) â
day twelve. threesome with: Gale âBuckâ Cleven & John âBuckyâ Egan
day thirteen. knife kink or gun kink with: knife kink with Ethan Landry (Scream 2023)
day fourteen. sex toys with: Callum Turner
day fifteen. hate sex with: Callum Turner
day sixteen. thigh riding with: Austin Butler
day seventeen. sex tape with: Bruce Wayne
day eighteen. squirting with: Billy Antrim (Billy the Kid)
day nineteen. public play with: Joe Rantz (The Boys in the Boat)
day twenty. voyeurism with: Bruce Wayne
day twenty-one. corruption kink with: Roman Bridger
day twenty-two. daddy kink with: Cillian Murphy
day twenty-three. spanking with: Joe Rantz
day twenty-four. shower sex with: Javier "Javi" Rivera
day twenty-five. roleplay with: Neil Lewis (Watching the Detectives)
day twenty-six. face sitting with: Stu Macher
day twenty-seven. dom/sub with: John âBuckyâ Egan
day twenty-eight. drunk sex or high sex with: drunk sex with Tom Blyth
day twenty-nine. phone sex with: Billy Loomis (Scream)
day thirty. anal sex with: Jonathan Crane (Batman Begins)
day thirty-one. mommy kink with: Ethan Landry
#kinktober#kinktober 2024#callum turner#austin butler#cillian murphy#christian bale#tom blyth#ethan landry#roman bridger#neil lewis#bruce wayne#batman#batman begins#scream#stu macher#billy loomis#masters of the air#john bucky egan#gale buck cleven#jackson rippner#red eye#watching the detectives#coriolanus snow#billy the kid#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#joe rantz#the boys in the boat#thomas webb#the only living boy in new york#benny cross
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iâm not giving context
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Take a Step That is New
another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)
this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience
May 1987Â
The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, âShut the hell up,â and heads for the counter.Â
âWhoa, buddy, rough day?â Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billyâs just serving up her burger and onion rings.Â
The boxy fan theyâve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat thatâs settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steveâs mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again.Â
Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, âI hate my fucking life.âÂ
Itâs not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly.Â
What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up⊠some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesnât help.Â
Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steveâs life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. Heâs always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye.Â
Robin's hand is still on Steveâs shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer andâ âDon't fucking sniff me, dude!â He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. âIt's so weird.âÂ
âSorry! Sorry,â she says, âYou seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didnât go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.âÂ
Robinâs been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable.Â
Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, âI didnât smoke,â God, he could really go for one right now though, âIf I bring a lighter to work Iâll end up burning the building down.â Â
A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, âOh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!â he explodes, âI cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.âÂ
Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. âI canât just quit,â he whines.Â
Billy just rolls his eyes and doesnât try to take Steveâs one joy away from him. âWhy? Because your Dad got it for you?âÂ
And like, yeah, but Billy doesnât have to be such a dickhead about it.Â
Billy landed his job at Dotâs Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadnât even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, âI'm gonna get the lay of the land,â and walked out the front door.Â
He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while.Â
âWe could find you another job,â Robin says, as sheâs been saying for months, âOne that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!âÂ
Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own.Â
The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, âOutstanding news chums!â he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction.Â
âEasy on the door, Munson,â Billy warns.Â
Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymourâs glare intensifies.Â
âI have news,â he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesnât need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no.Â
Robin takes a guess, âYou talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?â she doesnât sound that hopeful.Â
And for good reason. âWhat? No,â Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, âI have an audition with a band!âÂ
âGasp,â Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist.Â
Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (itâs nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream.Â
âLook, I'm going to Hawkins either way,â Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, âIf Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.âÂ
âSee!â Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, âYou see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.âÂ
Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, âOh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?â Â
âNo,â Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake.Â
Steve didnât get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his fatherâs business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do.Â
It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steveâs dadâs plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again.Â
Steveâs job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. Heâs a Junior Account Associate somehow.Â
Itâs soul crushing.Â
âAw, cheer up, Stevie,â Eddie says, slapping him on the back, âLook on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.âÂ
Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head.Â
Steve decides to change the subject, âWhatâs the band called, Ed?â he asks, because thatâs always good for a laugh at least.Â
Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, â God of Gore ,â he announces in a theatrical growl.Â
Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, thatâs good shit.Â
âAnd,â he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, âGet this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!âÂ
âWho would willingly move to Indiana,â Billy wonders, âThe whole state's a toilet.âÂ
Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, âSpeaking of which, gotta drain the snake.âÂ
While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robinâs judgmental gaze. Heâs made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but heâs just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice.Â
Billy might be smoking more out of spite.Â
Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and heâs sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work. Â
All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymourâs ire. âYou know what I think would make me feel better?â Steve asks loudly and rhetorically.Â
He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox.Â
âNo!â Billy booms, pointing at Steve like heâs a cat on the counter.Â
Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. âWhat's that?âÂ
âYouâre still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.â Honestly, Steveâs probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally. Â
âI have no idea what youâre talking about, Hargrove,â Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still wonât turn away from Billyâs impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red. Â
âI call the shots here,â he tries, fruitlessly.Â
âNo you donât, Sal does,â Steve snorts, âAnd, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybodyâs!â He's been spending too much time with Eddie.Â
Billy throws a spoon at him.Â
Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. Thereâs a couple beats of bassy synthesizer.Â
Billy tells him, âYouâre a monster,â with feeling. Â
Thenâ â Watching every motion in my foolish loverâs game.â Â
Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, â Take my breath awaaaaay,â right in Billyâs face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth.Â
âItâs not my fault Sal wonât put Mötley CrĂŒe in there,â Steve says, munching happily on his cherry.Â
Billy storms off into the kitchen.Â
âSomeday,â Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, âheâs going to feed you a floor burger, and Iâm not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.âÂ
âI like it,â Steve declares.Â
âOf course you do.â Robin pats his hand condescendingly.Â
She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. âSeriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.â Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but itâs nice of her to say. âYou donât need to stick it out because of your dad, you donât need his help. Itâs not your only option or whatever bullshit youâre worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldnât pay as much, but you'd get by.âÂ
Robin wasnât Steveâs first real friend or anything like that, he wouldnât even say sheâs his first good friend . But sheâs definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, âBut then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?âÂ
She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, âSo we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.âÂ
They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, theyâd figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually canât stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when sheâs sick of his shit, saying You canât expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the âdingusâ morphs into âdarlingâ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesnât help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way.Â
Steve just smiles at her.Â
Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, âDonât look at me, Iâm all out of dimes.âÂ
Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, âWhere'd Eddie go? Heâs taking forever in there.âÂ
Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddieâs hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain thatâs finally broken after threatening all day. Heâs sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started.Â
âNo!â Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt.Â
Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, âWhat are those puppets thatââÂ
âPunch and Judy,â Billy answers the unfinished question.Â
He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. âGo put on some Springsteen, Bambi,â he says, smiling at him like heâs still a sad-sack, sure, but at least heâs one Billyâs kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymourâs coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner.Â
For Billy alone, Seymourâs got a great big smile.
Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it.Â
Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one.Â
Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isnât any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx.Â
âHarrington.â All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face.Â
The thing about all of Steveâs coworkers is that they hate him, because heâs clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. Itâs all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it.Â
Connor chuckles, âTgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hellâs Kitchen property for me, but sheâs on the rag or something and flipped out at me.âÂ
The other thing about Steveâs coworkers is that theyâre all douchebags.Â
âOkay,â Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face.Â
âI know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?â Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sportâs things any time it came up.Â
Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. Sheâs smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steveâs level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. Sheâs got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows sheâs the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit.Â
Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, sheâs the only reason he hasnât caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that itâs a joke that theyâre on the same level professionally. And not a funny one.Â
Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, âSure,â he says to Connor, hoping thatâll get him to leave.Â
No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steveâs wall, âHow do you manage that anyway?â he asks lightly, âYou tapping that?âÂ
Steve rolls his eyes, âNo.âÂ
Connor hums, âYeah, not surprising. I bet sheâs a dyke.âÂ
And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasnât already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.
âI quit my job,â Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house. Â
All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room.Â
They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadnât built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there.Â
âWhat?â Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, âWhat happened?âÂ
âI threw a stapler at a guyâs head.â Steve answers.Â
âA stapler?â Billy asks, baffled, âWhy?âÂ
Steve shrugs, âI donât know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.â Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, âIt wasnât even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasnât anything new, and I just... lost it.â Heâs down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft.Â
âRight on man,â Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steveâs knee, âI bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.âÂ
He really did, Steve must concede.Â
âShit, I canât believe I quit.âÂ
Robin makes a questioning noise, âDid you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?âÂ
âWho gives shit,â Billy says before Steve can tell them heâs not actually sure technically, âItâs done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!âÂ
Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, heâs the only one whoâs foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles.Â
 âTo casting off the corporate shackles!â Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it.Â
Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. âWhat the hell am I gonna do?â he wonders aloud.Â
âCelebrate!â Robin says, sheâs also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, âLike the man said.âÂ
Steve huffs, âI meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.âÂ
âDon't worry, Stevie my boy,â Eddie says, clapping him on the back, âOnce we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?âÂ
Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, âRight. Sure. Yeah,â in a way that clearly doesnât cover for him.Â
Billy squints at him, âWe have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?âÂ
Steve nods but he canât maintain eye contact when he answers, âRight. Fair shares.âÂ
Robin, catching on immediately, groans, âOh god, Steve, tell me you havenât been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.â When Steve doesnât answer right away she screeches, âSteven!âÂ
âNot half! I havenât, okay?â he rushes to explain, âJust, like,â he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, âA little more, than you guys.âÂ
âHow much more,â Billy demands through clenched teeth.Â
âWell,â Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, âImagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.âÂ
âSo, double,â Billyâs basically growling now, âYou've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!â Steve hadnât thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks.Â
âAnd... also the utilities,â he admits reluctantly.Â
âOh, Stevie,â Eddie says, shaking his head sadly.Â
âFuck!â Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, itâs best to let him.Â
âI can probably still get the job back,â Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. Heâll eat shit if he needs to, âIf I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.âÂ
Eddieâs still shaking his head, but more decisively, âNo way, man. Weâre not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.âÂ
âNo other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.âÂ
Robin backs Eddie up though, âYou were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.âÂ
Steve still canât just let it go, though, âBut without that money-Â
âThereâs no need to panic, all we need is a plan. Youâve got savings, yeah? Thatâll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,â Robin says, like sheâs already running numbers in her head, âWeâve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.â Because theyâve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. Theyâd just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax.Â
âI donât know how to do a budget,â Steve admits with an apologetic grimace.Â
Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, âDonât you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. Weâll show you the ropes.âÂ
âYou know what the easiest expense to cut is?â Robin says brightly, âCigarettes.âÂ
âYou know what!â Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing.Â
Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though itâs clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesnât help, Steve canât help but feel like itâs his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. Whatâs the word for that? Displacement?Â
Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he canât really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.
Billy's not in his room, but Steve didnât really expect him to be.Â
Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean. Â
Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke.Â
He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, âIâm coming out,â he says, âPlease donât hurl me off the roof.âÂ
Billy doesnât respond, but he doesnât bite Steveâs head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation.Â
Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over âtil he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasnât broken at all.Â
He snags the cigarette right out of Billyâs mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros.Â
âOoooh,â Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, âRobin's gonna be mad at you,â Â
âMore or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?âÂ
Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. âSeriously?âÂ
Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. âFigure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. Iâm sure Iâll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.âÂ
He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. âIf your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, Iâm deleting them.âÂ
Steveâs not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?â with a wince, âAbout the rent thing.âÂ
âWell Iâm not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.âÂ
Yeah, that was obvious.Â
Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. âThought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,â he scoffs to himself, â Stupid.âÂ
Billyâs got a very specific tone he does when heâs quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it.Â
âYou are,â Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, âMaking it. Not stupid. Youâre making it.âÂ
âNot without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I canât-âÂ
âIt wasnât charity, dickhead!â Billyâs mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. âIt just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddieâs trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!â Heâs worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, âI mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?âÂ
Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that heâs breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billyâs hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesnât know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one.Â
âYou sell yourself short, you know,â Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead.Â
âLook,â he goes on, slow and awkward, âI donât exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldnât be here .â He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here.Â
It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isnât even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck thatâs blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and itâs not like itâs any cooler in the house.Â
Their whole life here? It doesnât actually look like very much from the outside.Â
Steve gets it though.Â
He jostles their shoulders together, âYou would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.âÂ
âYeah, maybe.â Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steveâs grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls.Â
âYou know,â Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, âIf you donât go to Hawkins, youâre gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.âÂ
âShit, I didnât think of that.â He waves off the thought, âCanât be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.âÂ
Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, âMan, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.â Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, âScoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I donât think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didnât come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.âÂ
âWell, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,â Billy says, âBet heâll do voices and everything.âÂ
âJust what I need. A reference from Gondelf.âÂ
Billy snorts a laughs, âItâs Gandalf, you know itâs Gandalf.â Heâs right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book.Â
âMmm, pretty sure itâs Gondelf. I mean, heâs an elf, right?â Billy just rolls his eyes but heâs smiling, and listing a little towards Steve.Â
âBilly,â Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, âWould you... get me a job at the diner?âÂ
Billy explodes with laughter, âFuck no!âÂ
âCâmon,â he wheedles, through his own laughter, âWe can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!âÂ
Billy punches him in the shoulder, âSure, Iâll tell him youâre a chronic masturbator and that Iâve never seen you wash your hands.âÂ
âThanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.âÂ
Billy grabs the shoulder of Steveâs shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, âIâm going to shove you off this roof,â he threatens through laughter.Â
They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steveâs shirt like heâs worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesnât keep a tight hold.Â
Or maybe heâs just forgotten that his hand is there.Â
âHey,â Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, âWeâre gonna be fine,â he reassures him once he has.Â
Billyâs undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but heâs gotten used to it. Itâs just how Billy is. Sharp like that.Â
Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too.Â
âWeâre gonna be fine,â Billy parrots.Â
They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. Theyâre gonna be fine.Â
They have each other.
#steve harrington#billy hargrove#robin buckley#eddie munson#harringrove#(pre harringrove really but ya know)#more cross-posting#dishy writes#four's company#fic
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