#The Crow Billy Hargrove

[thediktatortot]

I just had a idea:

Billy and Eddie hit it off really well when Billy first moved into Hawkins. Neither of them were able to hide each other's affections for very long either, falling into a hard and fast type of romance that both of them were having a blast in, having the time of their lives and didn't plan on stopping any time soon.

Then Billy dies in the Starcourt mall fire and Eddie's drifting and no one knows why. It's why he fails highschool for a second time and has to push everything to the side long enough to help Wayne pay the bills and keep his weed habit paid for.

Then Eddie comes face to face with the very evil he's been told took down Billy, took Billy away and snuffed him out like he was water to a flame. It's all stacked against him though, his heart, his life, his luck.

Eddie's taken from them too and so goes the last person who knew about the secret love that Billy could have given them.

------ The Crow AU (Hold the Crow Familiar)------

Billy doesn't know how he's breathing, but he's taking in sharp bursts of breath as he crawls up from rubble that had apparently been dozed over him, fingers breaking concrete and bending bars in his struggle to make it to freedom.

He's filled with a rage he can't seem to let go of and it fuels him to break himself out and into the open air. He's in an abandoned work site. He's hurting though, a fiery pain seeming to radiate through his body simply because his mind is telling him that's what he should feel. He has to look at himself to see there's nothing wrong. It still feels like something's there, like his bones are just at the cusp of breaking beneath the weight of something heading his way.

He's confused and disoriented but the longer he walks the more small bits of things come back to him. He remembers fire and bangs of light that make his heart race and he can remember the sound of glass breaking and his sight leaving him for just a while, his legs shaking lightly as though he's close to passing out.

He also remembers crying, remembers searing hot pain all through his body as he struggled to breath through the oppressive heat of the air around him.

Billy's whole body thumps into the front door of his house when he tries to open it, staring at the handle for a moment before realizing his key didn't open the door.

There's also a car he's never seen parked in the driveway, a flowery mailbox that wasn't there before, and below his feet there's a doormat that says "Welcome to our House".

It takes Billy a few moments of looking at all these details before he turns and walks away, now heading down the street to another house that he remembers in his head. It's a trailer Billy remembers, run down and dimly lit by the warm light swarming with moths that he had sat in front of on many occasions.

The smell of weed and cheap beer on top of the smell of recently cooked burgers comes over him as he remembers looking up at that light, making some comment about turning it off and someone replying in a tangy sounding voice that sends shivers down his spine.

This is a good memory.

Billy wants more of that, but the haze of pain and fire clouds his thoughts as he makes his way down the dark road towards the trailer in his memories.

It's dark when he gets there, the police tape surrounding the neighborhood having been ripped down and there's no lights on coming from inside the trailer. There's police tape there too, blocking off entrance to the front door and surrounding the property in broken waves.

Billy makes his way inside slowly, the police tape breaking against his stride as he steps into the trailer and shuts himself inside.

Something happened here, Billy can feel that, stepping on the moist carpeted living room as he feels a sense of dread building up inside of himself. He looks up at the dark stain ripping through the ceiling of the trailer's inner walls and it's like he can watch it happen with all his senses.

He is Chrissy Cunningham, he is also Vecna watching her as he claws into her mind and into her most vulnerable memories and claws her mind away like meat from a shell.

He hears screaming, so much screaming and he can't tell if it's himself or Chrissy or Eddie-

Eddie. Eddie. Where is Eddie?

Billy stumbles away from where Chrissy was ripped out of this world and into the hallway, dragging mud and dirt along the old carpet floors as he stumbles into the bedroom at the end of the hall.

It's like being shot over and over, the memories of Eddie crashing into him one after another as both the wide smile of his goofy grin and quick energy of Eddie's personality is quickly over imposed with blood and the sound of shrill cries.

He is both the Demobats and Vecna, watching as Eddie is mowed down by droves and picked apart one flap of his wing at a time.

Billy cant scream anymore, his voice raw and broken as he falls to his knees in the middle of the trashed bedroom and cries. It hurts so bad. It hurts like nothing else Billy has ever experienced, he had something good, something happy and fun and it was all taken away from him, taken away from Eddie.

And now Billy's here and Eddie's gone and he can only imagine how it felt for Eddie to loose Billy. Did he cry? Did he feel such a gaping loss as though it was a cavern inside of his chest that would never get shallower? Was the thought of getting up and trying again just another painful drag of the claws of sudden loss as bad for Eddie as it is for Billy?

Now he's angry.

The rage Billy first felt as he struggle to open his eyes and claw his way from the rubble is back and the only thing Billy can't think about is revenge. What left is there for Billy? His life is gone, his only connections are gone, the one person who had given Billy the time of day to show his true self is gone.

What would Eddie do?

Probably put on a show, turn up the music and say 'fuck it' as the world fell down around him.

Billy's already on his feet and moving towards the bathroom, opening and closing draws until he finds what he wants and dumps out a old box of shitty gas station brand makeup he knew Eddie kept for his gig nights.

It's ridiculous but Billy feels like he has to do this, has to find some thing that connects him to Eddie as he sets out on his mission. It'll be his mask, his own performance like Eddie would have cheered him on to do.

It's not perfect and it's smudged around the edges but Billy can't help but stare at himself in the dark bathroom mirror after he's nearly smashed the pencil liner between his fingers.

He looks ridiculous.

Eddie loved ridiculous.

With a wide grin at the mirror to himself, he feels like he can feel Eddie with him, the smell of his hair next to his face and the tangy voice of his telling him to embrace chaos and he's gone, dipping out into the night to enact his chaotic plan of vengeance.

[ramblings-of-lola]

I love when authors/writers take characters that the audience hates and then we get their perspective or the other characters get to know them better and suddenly we love this character and pause and go "how did this happen?"

[ashessonfire]

characters i write for

Requests are open! please send in any ideas <3

click here for main masterlist :) 

click here for request rules :) 

Marvel : 

Bucky Barnes 

Loki Laufeyson 

Steven Grant 

Marc Spector

Jake Lockley 

Peter Parker (tasm)

Six of crows :

Kaz Brekker 

Jesper Fahey

Wylan Van Eck

Matthias Helvar

(possibly) Inej Ghafa

(possibly) Nina Zenik

Pirates of the Caribbean :

Jack Sparrow

William Turner

Attack on titan :

Levi Ackerman 

Reiner Braun

Hunger games :

Peeta Mellark 

Finnick Odair 

Stranger things 

Billy Hargrove 

Steve Harrington 

(Please request other characters from these fandoms, however i cannot guarantee the accuracy of the writing!!)

[alicetallula]

Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023/2024 - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - Part I - 30.03.2024

It was an absolute pleasure to work with @ghostdeb on this The Crow AU - 'A Dream on the Way to Death' - she really brought to life the concept I had in mind and I couldn't be happier with our take on the The Crow universe !

For the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Part I NSFW / Part II / Part II NSFW

Banner - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 30.03.2024

Done using watercolors, alcohol markers, ink pens, gel pens, colored pencils, acrylic paint pens and Photoshop for the title, credits and blurring effect

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Banner as is - Family picture with Billy, Max, Eddie and Steve - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 30.03.2024

Done using watercolors, alcohol markers, ink pens, gel pens, colored pencils and acrylic paint pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Header - Eddie's MixTape for his boys - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 30.03.2024

Done using alcohol markers and ink pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Billy at the Bar surrounded by Eddie's and Steve's Ghosts - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 30.03.2024

Done using alcohol markers, ink pens, gel pens, colored pencils and acrylic paint pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Harringroveson smutty scene with Steve in lingerie

[ghostdeb]

A Dream on the Way to Death

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 49k

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence; Major Character Death

Relationships:

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield | Steve Harrington & Maxine "Max" Mayfield | Maxine "Max" Mayfield & Eddie Munson | Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington | Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper

Characters:

Steve Harrington; Eddie Munson; Billy Hargrove; Maxine "Max" Mayfield; Robin Buckley; Wayne Munson; Jim "Chief" Hopper; Joyce Byers; Jonathan Byers; Bob Newby (Stranger Things); Henry Creel | One | Vecna; Martin Brenner; Jason Carver; Tommy Hagan; Patrick McKinney; Andy (Stranger Things); The Party (Stranger Things)

Tags:

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence | Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things) | Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements | Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship | Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug | Gay Billy Hargrove | Gay Steve Harrington | Gay Eddie Munson | Threesome - M/M/M | Anal Sex | Anal Fingering | Major character death (permanent) | Revenge | Grief/Mourning | Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism | Graphic Violence | Mourning | Blood and Torture | Blood and Injury | Blood and Gore | Blood and Violence | Satanic panic | Protective Steve Harrington | Polyamory | Lingerie | Alternate Universe - The Crow Fusion | Steve Harrington Wears Lingerie | Steve Harrington is in Love With Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson | Top Eddie Munson | Switch Steve Harrington | Bottom Billy Hargrove |Billy Hargrove is Not Okay. But He Will Be | bittersweet hopeful ending |Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023-2024 | Period-Typical Homophobic Language |

Beta Reader: @beachfckerblake

Artist: @alicetallula

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54710044/chapters/138654745:

[alicetallulaafterdark]

Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023/2024 - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - Part II - 01.04.2024

Last part for this The Crow AU - 'A Dream on the Way to Death' written by @ghostdeb. I couldn't be happier with what we both accomplished 🥰

For the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Part I / Part I NSFW / Part II

Steve as the Crow with bloody nailbat - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 01.04.2024

Done using ink pens, alcohol markers, acrylic paint pens and watercolors

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter NSFW post

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 1

In a very special engagement (as in a don't normally post 5 days a week), I introduce "A Love Connection"!

If the premise looks familiar the original idea is from here, where a couple of people in the notes or tags said they'd love to try it. And after a year, I figured I'd try my own hand at the idea.

This will update on Tuesdays at 10am and 10pm EST. With hopefully eight chapters.

Summary: Steve has tried everything under the sun to find someone to truly connect with, so he gives up after a particularly horrible date. Then Chrissy introduces him to her favorite game show "Love Connection". When Chrissy and Robin apply for him, they don't think they'll except him, but he does. His suitors are Billy Hargrove, Tommy Hagan, and Eddie Munson. Will Steve crash and burn again or will his connection be there waiting for him?

~

Look, to say Steve’s love life was a disaster would be unfair. That would be underselling it. It was a fucking catastrophe. He had gone to bars, joined hobby groups, used all the apps, even Grindr; though that was mostly for hookups, which sucked. But that was the nature of the beast if he was honest.

And the beast had completely devoured him. All his dates were either only interested the casual, cheated on him, or wanted one-night stands. Which Steve absolutely did not want. He wanted connection. Intimacy.

“I absolutely give up,” he whined to Robin, after the last date tried to slip out in the middle of the night, knocked over their lamp into their goldfish bowl, killing the goldfish, then he tried to hide the evidence by dumping it down the garbage disposal and turning it on! Lied about it, then stole their last beer as “compensation for his trauma’ and told Steve to never call him again.

“Look, Ryan wasn’t the best guy,” Robin replied with a grimace. “He liked Oasis and Tool unironically. Always a red flag.”

Steve snorted. Robin was a music snob most days, but she wasn’t wrong about that. Ryan and he had been dancing around and with each other for weeks before they finally got so hot and heavy that they went back to Steve’s for sex.

“It’s not fair,” he huffed. “You went to that bar and you a hottie girlfriend and I went to that bar and fucked a fish killer! I loved Garfield! He lived for five years before that bastard mercilessly murdered him. That’s long than my last ten relationships combined!”

Robin winced. “Ooh... I’m going to have to call Chrissy and let her know we can’t go back to that gay bar again.”

“Oh he’s so dead now!” Steve ranted. “Not only is he fish killer, he has driven us from our favorite bar!”

“Let me order us some take out,” Robin said standing up, “then I’ll call Chrissy over and we’ll all cry over Ciarán Hinds and Amanda Root falling in love.”

Steve sniffed away a couple of tears and nodded. “Then can we have a funeral for Garfield?”

Robin tilted her head and smiled sadly. “Of course we can. It’s a Sunday so none of us have work. We can watch as many weepy romance movies as you want, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve croaked. She gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek. He watched her wander into the kitchen to see what leftovers they had in the fridge so they could order from somewhere else. He loved her so much.

~

Sometime in the afternoon when they were more than a little tipsy, Chrissy commandeered the remote and turned on her favorite game show.

“Love Connection”

“Noooo...” Steve whined, burying his head into a throw pillow. It was Garfield shaped. It was what inspired the naming of the valiant fish. “This is the last thing I want to see. It’s so fake. No one gets together on these things. It’s so cheesy.”

“Exactly!” Chrissy crowed. “That’s why it’s perfect, we get to make fun of them!”

Steve thought that the only good part of the show was the second half. The first half was split into three different rounds. The first round was each suitor answer the one question, for a total of fifteen and then the catch would rank them, best got three points, second two, and third only one.

Then in the second round there were a set of rapid fire either or questions that the catch would yell out and the suitors would write down their answers. If their answer matched the catch’s they would get a tally. Whoever had the most tallies would win five points. Then three points to second place and one to the last place.

Then in the final round, each suitor would be asked separate questions and the catch would rate their answer one through three and that’s how many points they would get. Then at the end of the round all the points would be tallied up and the two highest would move on to the next round.

To the part that Steve actually liked. The first question always asked was “what would you do for a first date?” And the suitors got to take the catch out for the date and then afterward for drinks, the two dates would ask the catch some of the questions he asked them. Then the catch would pick the one they connected to the best.

It was all the stupid questions that bothered Steve. That was the fun part of dating, having these conversations and learning about them as you go. But then maybe that’s what Steve’s problem was, is that the people he dated didn’t care about these types of conversations.

“Why would you say you hate sports,” Steve huffed, waving his hand at the screen, “when the guy is a major soccer fan? Like did she think that she was going to put a stop to him enjoying it after starting dating?”

“Ooh yeah,” Chrissy agreed. “Just pick a different catch.”

Robin turned to her and tilted her head. “Do they get to chose their catch? I thought it was all random.”

Chrissy paused the show and pulled out her phone and the Wikipedia article. “Okay, it says here that people can apply to be suitors,” she waved at the row of women in the three booths. “Or catches.” She indicated the guy with her hand. “If they’re chosen to be a suitor then they are given a list of catches, headshot included. Then they rank vote them, so if four people pick Henry, then one will be on their second rank vote. And that part is randomized. According to them, anyway.”

Steve snorted. He highly doubted anything was randomized or voted on. They went for the biggest drama and everyone knew it.

“How long has this show been going on?” he huffed. “Like please tell it’s new and shiny and that’s why people like it.”

Robin snorted and shook her head. “Sorry, babe. But this is season twelve.”

“Oohh...” Chrissy said. “We need to show him the season six finale. That was hella juicy!”

So despite Steve’s protests, Chrissy pulled it up on her streaming services even though they hadn’t even finished the episode they were on.

When the credits rolled, Steve stared at the screen in utter shock. “What the honest fuck was that?”

Two of the three guys got into an all out brawl when the one guy had scored the lowest and felt that the second place suitor cheated. Not first place, second. Both guys were arrested and hauled off the set.

“It came out later Sven was right,” Robin said. “Elliot cheated. His cousin was an ex of the catch so he went in knowing a lot about Stella. The things he got wrong were things that had changed since she was dating his cousin.”

Chrissy nodded. “That’s why the have partitions up between the suitors now and why they have vigorous screening now. The show was almost canceled.”

“So why wasn’t it?” Steve asked honestly. “That was a shit show, if I was Stella I would have sued them into oblivion.”

Robin squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “She did, but they settled out of court.”

“Basically,” Chrissy said, pouring them more wine and handing the first glass to Steve, “she wanted them to completely overhaul the system. She didn’t want it off the air, she wanted it safer for future participants.”

“The more the fool them,” Steve huffed. He took a long sip of his wine. “All right, fine. Let’s start at the beginning.”

Robin and Chrissy cheered and they all huddled up together on the sofa to watch this absolute train wreck of a show.

They were about half way through the third season and twice as drunk when Steve slurred, “Why are there no gay peemles in this? It’s a trav–trad–tramajesty.”

“Travesty!” Robin slurred back, her language skills always being the last to go when she’s three sheets to the wind. “And you are absolutely right! This is homophobic!”

Chrissy nodded solemnly and pulled out her phone. “I’mma show them...” she muttered with her tongue sticking out. “At loveconnectionUSA Need more gays, hashtag loveconnection hashtag need more gays.”

It wasn’t long after that that the three of them passed out on the sofa, empty bottles all around them and a message on the screen asking if they’re still watching.

~

There was a loud beeping noise and it absolutely was hurting his head. He reached over to where his phone was usually plugged in on his nightstand, but his hand went straight through it. He waved his arm all over the place but still his nightstand eluded him.

He peaked open one eye but his vision was obscured by a mass of blonde hair. He tried to push it out of the way but it kept falling back into his face. Finally he pushed Robin off him and onto the floor with a thud.

“Hey!” she yelped.

Steve peered over the edge of the sofa with a look of confusion. “Why are you on the floor?” he muttered over the still beeping of his alarm.

“Stop!” he mumbled and somehow, blissfully it did.

“I’m on the floor because you pushed me there,” Robin huffed, getting to her feet. She did a sniff test and grimaced when she completely failed. “God... how much did we drink yesterday?”

Chrissy struggled to sit up and blinked at her girlfriend groggily. “Not enough if I feel like this.”

Steve rolled over and looked at them both in confusion, then the events of Saturday and all day Sunday came flooding back in.

“Oh fuck...” he muttered, sitting up himself and rubbing his face. One eye was blurry from where his contact had shifted in the night. He wasn’t even sure why he had them on. Probably from sheer force of habit.

He got up and stumbled toward the bathroom where he emptied his stomach of all its boozy contents. He really didn’t remember them eating after breakfast, only a steady stream of harder and harder liquor.

While his was puking his guts out, Chrissy and Robin stole the shower. Thankfully only taking the time they needed to get the gross feeling of being hungover off their skin.

Then Steve closed his eyes as they exited the shower and snuck into Robin’s room to get ready for work. They all worked at Hawkins Middle School, where Steve was a history teacher who coached swimming and basketball. Chrissy was a health teacher and advisor for cheerleading. And Robin was the language teacher. The principal snatched her up because she could teach French, Spanish, and Italian, with her only needing to hire a German teacher.

Steve got his shower and then opted for glasses instead of his contacts, not trusting his shaky hands not poke out his eye or some shit.

They all were mostly human once they got coffee, painkillers, and cereal in them, the three of them, no doubt looking like escaped extras from a zombie flick. They moved as one, gathering up their stuff and shuffling out to Steve’s car. Chrissy sat in the back, Robin riding shotgun.

Chrissy opened her phone to check to see if she had any messages. “Holy shit!”

~

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Look I'd be sorry about the cliffhanger, but you're only waiting 12 hours for it, soooo...

Have fun!

Tag List: TEN SLOTS OPEN

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

[storiesbyrhi]

Part Two: All that is left is ashes

Eddie Munson x Reader Series Masterlist 1375 Words

If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.

Warnings: canon typical violence, references to sexual assault, swearing, drug and alcohol use, sexual references, child neglect, death/grief, references to organised crime

Early Evening, October 29, 1995

Four men barrelled out of Arcade Games and into a Camero. They chanted, “Fire! It! Up!” in unison.

Neil ‘T-Bird’ Hargrove got behind the wheel of the car, pulled out onto the road, cutting off a cab and barely avoiding a collision.

“You tryna kill us, T-Bird?!” Andy screamed from the back. Andy’s street name was Tin Tin because Neil said he had a head shaped like a tin of beans, and about the smarts of one too. He sat behind the driver’s seat, next to Chance. Nobody knew why Chance’s street name was Skank. Not even Chance. 

Riding shotgun was Neil’s son Billy. Billy went by Funboy. People avoided asking why because anything deemed fun by Billy Hargrove was not something they wanted to know about.

There was a moment of silence before all four men in the car laughed manically, returning to their chant. Neil slammed down on the accelerator.

A couple streets away, Steve Harrington had just finished voicing one of his great ideas. He stood in his hotdog stand uniform, nodding to himself. “You know, what this place needs is a good, natural catastrophe… Earthquake,”

“Tornado,” Robin Buckley suggested. She looked marginally less ridiculous in the uniform.

Hopper was watching her make his hotdog. She was, in his opinion, doing it wrong. “No, No. Buckley, come on. You got to put the mustard underneath first!”

“Maybe a flood? Like in the Bible?” Steve thought.

“Hey, hey. Lemme do it.” Hopper pulled the dog from her hands, taking over the allocation of mustard. “How ‘bout some onions?” Steve sprinkled some over it. Hopper looked at him. “What are you- Don’t cheap out on me.”

Neither Steve nor Robin had much passion for hotdog making. Hopper demanding to make his own was fine by them. Less work.

They all heard Max’s skateboard before they saw her emerge from the darkness.

“Hey, it’s Mad Max,” Steve greeted her affectionately.

Max took her usual place next to Hopper.

“How d’ya steer that thing on a wet street?” Hopper asked.

“Pure talent,” she replied sarcastically. “Hey,”

“Hey, kid,” Robin replied, getting a bun from the warmer.

“See, Max here is a genuine hotdogger… You hungry?”

“You buying?”

“I’m buying.”

The four of them were familiar, this scene having repeated over and over. Hargrove’s Camero speeding past them was familiar too, but far less comforting. They watched it screech around a corner.

“Bad people out on the street tonight,” Hopper said, not taking the bait. There was little that would compel him to chase after Hargrove and his gang, for countless reasons, but least of all the fact that they were Brenner’s soldiers.

The men had not been satisfied with smashing their way through Arcade Games, pinball machines, air hockey tables, and Pac-Man becoming nothing more than mechanical chaos. A timer counted down to the final second, then BOOM.

The explosion was loud, the soundwaves shaking the hotdog stand.

“Dammit!” Hopper growled.

���What was that?!” Max stood.

“You stay here. Steve, call it in for me!” and he was off running.

Eddie arrived home. The rain poured down as he looked up at the abandoned building. The crow told him yes, but it felt wrong. Something was wrong. Each rung of the fire escape ladder Eddie climbed hurt; each painstaking step up made him weaker.

It felt like hours, but within the minute Eddie was on top of the building. Trash was piled up everywhere. Sheets of plastic did little to protect whatever was being stored there. Eddie took no notice, just blindly followed the crow through an open door and into the belly of the beast.

There was more trash inside. And nobody home. All the apartments were empty. Each door looked the same, until he reached one marked with garish yellow crime scene tape. Eddie tore it down and walked inside.

There was barely enough light to see by, but Gabriel’s pure white coat shone. The cat meowed, immediately jumping from his hiding place and rubbing himself against Eddie’s legs. “Gabriel,” Eddie managed to croak out. He bent to pick up the cat. Gabriel panicked, forgetting what it felt like to be held. It had been a year and he’d never warmed to Max, though she tried. Eddie dropped the cat when it cried out, the sound reverberating through his skull.

Hiss.

Gabriel’s hiss. Someone had tried to pick him up. The cat hissed, scratched at the man. Dropped. Skittered away.

A smash.

Your jack-o-lantern beneath the huge window, smashed.

It wasn’t Eddie’s memory. He wasn’t there for that.

Still, he saw your face turn to a knock at the door.

You said Eddie’s name, confused why he’d not use his key. Maybe he’d forgotten it. He was forgetful like that. Suddenly, the men were everywhere. There were only four of them, but it felt like they were everywhere.

“Department of housing,” Neil Hargrove announced, holding up one of your petitions. “We’re looking to buy!”

“No code violations! No safety hazards?! Place looks great to me,” Billy announced, a mean grin on his face. “But… Let’s redecorate!”

Photo frames were broken. Sheets of music and poetry ripped. Records thrown against the wall.

The crow watched Eddie fall to his knees, gripping his head like if he held it tight enough, he might squeeze all the bad memories out of it. Because now it was memory; it was what Eddie remembered.

He walked through the open door, calling your name. Then he heard you screaming, struggling. The men all leered over you, tearing your clothes from your body.

They noticed him and quickly, before Eddie knew what was happening, Andy’s knife was thrown through the room and stabbed through his body. It made him entirely fucking useless. He couldn’t move to you. Couldn’t stop them taking turns.

You begged. You repeated Eddie's name so mournfully it sounded like a curse.

Eddie tried to get up, but the men descended. They held him up like Christ on the cross. The bullets didn’t hurt. He couldn’t feel his body. But he was awake. Eddie watched the men in the window as he was pushed backward through it, falling to his death.

Andy. Chance. Billy. Neil. Or, Tin Tin. Skank. Funboy. T-Bird.

Eddie sobbed and with every intention of using that window as a portal to death again, he stood and ran at it.

The crow cawed a command to stop.

Eddie couldn’t halt his forward momentum, but he could grab at the wooden muntin of the window. He swung like a child on the monkey bars, landing back into the apartment with a thud. Eddie’s eyes tracked the movement of the crow. “What do you want from me?”

The crow made a sad sound, and Eddie looked down at his hands. They were slashed open by the broken shards of glass embedded in the muntin. He watched as the wounds moved. For a horrifying moment, Eddie thought something had wormed its way into the cuts, but quicker than he could think that, there were no cuts at all.

Eddie let out a terrified laugh, then stood quickly, dizzy with the insanity of it all.

As Eddie moved to the threshold of the bedroom door, the voice was back inside his skull. You don’t have to do this. Eddie did it anyway. He went into the bedroom and looked around. This place hurts worst of all, doesn’t it? You were closest here.

“She’s not here…” He felt betrayed. The crow was meant to bring him to you, but you weren’t here. You weren’t anyway.

Like sobering up from a night out, Eddie felt woozy and overcome with a sick feeling. It wasn’t stale beer and hotdog in his stomach. It was guilt, distilled and top shelf.

“I should have… Should’ve been able to…”

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

Eddie went back out to the bird. It was perched by the window, eerie and omniscient. They regarded each other, a soul shared.

“This machine…” Eddie said slowly, looking down at his new scars, at his reformed body. Slays dragons, he finished in his head. 

The crow swooped to land on his shoulder, realisation dawning and a plan already forming.

End Note: This chapter is dedicated to readers of the comics. As always, thoughts, feelings, and streams of consciousness are appreciated. xo Rhi

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[lovebillyhargrove]

A harringrove fic idea

Starcourt. While Billy's fighting the monster above, Steve Harrington is the one trapped in the secret laboratory under, instead of Hopper. Hopper has escaped — with Joyce, and Steve has somehow fallen behind.

So anyways, the whole thing gets blown to pieces, Steve survives and is taken to the Soviet Union prison,

And Billy ..

He survives as well, and gets wicked powers as a farewell gift — the dark matter really liked his defiant attitude. Still plans on luring this boy onto its evil side.

Billy is super strong. Also, gets a pair of black wings and can turn into a black raven anytime he wishes.

Naturally, when Hargrove crawls his way out of the Upside Down, his sole purpose is to find Steve.

Billy flies to the deserted, frozen island of Sakhalin, to the brink of the world, where one of the harshest soviet prisons is located. The way is long and full of dangers, but he unrelentingly and fearlessly follows the direction the compass in his chest leads him in.

Picture by Hu Guoqing

Finally, he arrives at the destination. Sees his pretty boy — famished, pale, beaten up and bloody, in ragged clothes. At least he's wearing a thick jacket to give him some warmth in this biting frost.

Hang in there, baby ..

Watches the guards, learns the prison routine.

Makes up a plan.

One day as Steve's peering through the bars at the heavy gray sky, a crow sits near the bars and slides in a sharp blade wrapped up in a little shred of paper. A note.

At midnight. Be ready, pretty boy.

It's Billy's handwriting!!

The crow looks at Steve as if sending a message only two of them can understand and flies away.

..

So while Billy's again meticulously going over the plan, over every tiny detail, making sure it's gonna work, Harrington's having a whirlwind of thoughts of his own.

Lying on a stiff cold bed in his solitary cell as he practises clutching the blade between his fingers so that he can slice the neck of a guard in one go

Wtf, did Billy tame a bird to save me?

And then, when the wildest realization hits, he covers his icy lips with a cold hand, letting out a gasp

Oh my god, what if Billy is the bird ..!?

And then

But if he is a bird, and he frees me from here, and we get back home .. how are we gonna have sex ..?

Remembers the fairy-tales his mom read to him when he was a little boy

If I kiss him romantically on the lips .. on the beak, he's gonna turn back into a human, right?

***

Based on this and ofc "The Crow" (1994)

[shieldofiron]

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was  Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979. 

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

��That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,” 

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes: 

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it. 

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

[strangerchurby]

Edit: Ooops, I forgot to change the words up here. Anyway, we finally catch up. Yay!

Original Idea/Steve Post by @shieldofiron

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 4 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ Here ]

Or Read on Ao3

Turns out that reckoning time in the same way that people do is harder as a wolf. Especially as a wolf lingering on the edges of human society in a cursed place like Hawkins, Indiana. Hell, time gets harder still when there were close to no anchors to the life he had lived before. He's unmoored from the things that used to help him measure things happening. Not that he doesn't notice days starting or ending, just that the math of them adding up matters less.

Instead of counting down until he can return to California or measuring time in work days versus days off, his life distills into a flow of shorter and longer periods. Periods of hunting with his crows guiding him to viable prey that a single wolf his size can take down, periods of stalking the edges of town, hoping for some information, periods of rest where no one will find him.

At least he thinks no one will find him there, what with the fact that the cabin in the woods seems pretty abandoned. He gets why, within moments of setting paws inside some days after his own funeral. Beyond the lingering scent of the flesh-beast that nearly killed him, that had possessed him, he recognizes the inside. Never been there before in his life, not in person, but he knows the place. Maybe it had been the possessor that took his form into the girl's mind, into her awareness of her personal space, but Billy had still been there. He had wept at knowing the pain that they would inflict on her.

He sees now the ruin they made of what would have been her home. The place she belonged, but had lost because of him. She's gone now, like the Byers. But their place has signs that someone else might buy it, and the cabin rests abandoned, save for his own presence. Even the crows don't come inside, regardless of the hole in the roof and the broken windows.

They're smarter than him, so he gets that. But there's something comforting in curling up on the couch that was too small for his growing form. Sure he's knocked it over once or twice, but the cushions are still comfortable and they're some of the only comfort the world has for him these days. The only way of reminding himself that once, a lifetime ago, he had been a boy living in this town.

Perhaps the strongest promise that he really was once Billy Hargrove is the fact that he just can't bring himself to leave Hawkins. Can't stop himself from staying, from listening for whispers, from trying to catch a glimpse or the scent of a girl that has already replaced him. Her name is getting foggy in his head, so many things are getting foggy, but still he stays. Even in the face of all of the danger, and the certainty his instincts insist that the thing that hurt him still lingers here, he stays.

So time passes in that way it does. Summer reaches its peak and falls away. Fall steals in around them, less brutal this year with the thick coat of fur keeping him warm. With each week he finds he's getting bigger, stronger, faster, to the point where hiding gets harder and going about at night is one of the few options he has. Very little changes beyond the length of the day.

Until suddenly, something does.

Truth is he didn't know the Harrington house ran up against the woods, but when he comes across it one evening, he knows immediately what it is. While his nose guided him there over the scent of grilling meat, it kept him lingering, hidden in the woods for something different. A familiar boy with fluffy hair that leaves his heart torn between hunger and anger. Somewhere inside he can remember why, but not in the moment. Not as he watches the boy turning meat over (chicken, god he misses chicken) on a grill. There's shouting from inside, annoying voices of children that are... familiar?

The boy is busy juggling too many things, and Billy licks his chops as he watches meat being loaded onto a plate. A very loaded plate. A plate that, as the guy turns quickly, upsets a piece of chicken that falls. He watches as the boy sighs and then keeps moving inside.

A few seconds once the boy goes inside is all it takes. His footfalls go from utterly silent amid the leaf litter and bare grass to clicking as his nails clatter across the concrete surrounding a covered pool, but he's certain no one inside notices. Another moment to snatch the chicken breast and he's turning to flee back into the trees.

For all that the rush of blood and fresh meat strengthens his body, the taste of that chicken breast does something else entirely. The black pepper and salt, the hint of something lemony, it's all so distinctly human that if Billy could moan in pleasure, he would. As it is he feels more himself than he has in... weeks? Months? God he can't even tell anymore.

He's finished devouring the meat when the boy, when Steve Harrington, comes back outside, shouting something about cleaning up. But of course Harrington pauses, looks at the spot on the concrete that the now missing meat had fallen. Really, Billy regrets he didn't have more time to lick the area clean. At least he can lick his chops, get the lingering traces of the humanizing taste off his fur.

"Hey Dingus? Is everything okay? Do you need help?"

Billy doesn't know the voice that calls, but it's female. Harrington looks one more time at the spot then turns back to head inside. Before Billy trots off on his own for a bigger meal he hears the guy's answering words.

"Yeah. But can you ask around if anyone's lost a dog? I think a stray got to the chicken I dropped."

Stray sounds about right to Billy, but he's definitely not the sort anyone is expecting.

From there it turns into a strange sort of routine. It's not everyday at first, but two days later when he returns to the house there's something surprising there. No Harrington this time, but definitely a change. A bowl lies a bit away from the door he saw Harrington go through, and of course Billy has to investigate. What might Harrington leave out for a stray.

The answer is kibble. A bowl of kibble. Annoyed Billy takes the edge of it between his teeth and flips the bowl over. He does take a second to drink his fill from the water dish, but then he's back into the woods. At least Harrington will probably make some racoon happy or something.

Thankfully the next day there's a better offering. A plate of shredded chicken. Some of the crows get to it first, but he doesn't let that stop him from eating every last bit he can and licking the plate clean.

From there it becomes a routine. As the evening gets late, and only if the BMW is in the driveway, Billy goes to linger in the woods. He makes sure to move just enough to maybe let Harrington catch sight of fur in motion, his theoretical stray. That almost guarantees a plate of chicken outside within half an hour. Never as beautifully seasoned and anchoring as the first time, but it's wonderful.

It goes on for days, or weeks. Time is still a mess. But it goes on until it changes. Fuck, how often was it that Harrington leads to a change for him?

There Harrington sits, looking out over the covered pool. Tonight there's no offering of meat, which is an annoyance all its own. That should be enough to send Billy off to knock some trash cans over for the crows before retreating to his cabin shelter. But there's a scent in the air.

Sorrow has a scent. Loneliness has a scent. Billy knows they both know. So he can pick them out coming off of Harrington. They're scents that Billy knows stink up his own den. In the moment Harrington is a mirror to him, and it makes Billy take the first step forward out of the trees. The motion is enough to catch attention, and he sees those doe brown eyes (and he's so certain of that description now) staring at him. Wide eyes, fearful eyes, prey eyes. And yet...

"H-hi," Steve ventures through the surge of fear scent. "You uh... wouldn't be planning on killing me, would you? Cuz I promised my friend Max I'd drive her to the arcade tomorrow and I'd hate to miss it."

Max. That's her name. The girl with pale colors and summer bright hair. His girl. His pack. No. No that's not the right word. Billy cocks his head to the side as he tries to think of the word. Thinking doesn't keep him from stepping forward though, from getting closer to Harrington.

Closer and closer like the guy is a magnet and now that he's this close Billy can't pull away. Forward step by step with the fear swelling but Harrington doesn't move. He's brave, for a pretty boy. He's not running, which is for the best because Billy doesn't know if he could keep down the wolf side's desire to chase. The stillness means Billy gets close, so very close. Close enough that if he let his tongue flash out he could lick Steve's-

And of course Harrington ruins it by scrambling back a few steps. The motion drives his muscles to tension, makes his head scream to lunge. His whole body shakes with the effort of keeping his poor, cold pads on the frosted pavement below them. Staying still is a battle against instinct, and Billy's determined to win.

This is Harrington. He knows Harrington. Harrington knows Max. They've both seen strange things. Maybe... maybe they'll understand. Maybe they can help him. So many moons have come and gone. During the fullness Billy goes out and sits and stares up until the moon sets, and when it leaves he's still like this. The change is never shed from his skin. He's trapped in this form like he was trapped in his head. A victim to his survival both times.

Maybe Harrington can help fix that, if Billy can only make him understand. Make him believe.

Which is when he remembers it. The only sign of his former humanity on him. Billy lowers his head, twisting it to the left as he does. Again his instincts scream, he's practically baring his neck. He can't do that. It's almost as weak as showing his belly.

All for naught, because Steve just stares.

Annoyed, frustrated, caught up in another swell of grief, he shakes his head. He wonders if he has lost the earring, but his chief crow was just pecking at it that morning. If he could just get Harrington to see it then maybe...

The gasp of breath tells Billy that Steve's caught sight of the metal. Now he just has to hope it means something to the guy.

It's at least enough to cause a trembling hand to raise, to reach out, to gently touch sensitive skin coated in soft fur. Then there's a gentle fumbling followed by a tugging as Harrington works the clasp of the hoop open. The metal is hauled free, the last sign of Billy's former life, and he watches as the metal is held up between them. Gold, like the necklace he used to wear. He'd never bought real silver jewelry in the past, it always made him itch. Makes him think now that maybe that's got something to do with what he is. But he's also glad because it's so clearly a man made object.

His eyes are riveted to Harrington's face as the older teen stares, touches, processes.

"Billy?"

And fuck it feels so good to hear someone say his name to him. Frankly he wants to lunge forward and lick that stupid handsome face in thanks for understanding. Instead he does his best to remember what he used to be like. What Harrington will expect from him. He tilts his head and blinks, slowly. Does that convey 'obviously, asshole' well enough? He hopes it does.

"We gotta call Max," Steve whispers.

For all that he doesn't know that he wants the brat to see him like this, the very potential in the words and the belief behind them fills his heart with hope.

Now, how to convince Steve to make him some more of that chicken while he tries...

At least that's a problem that is less distressing to try and figure out.

And that's it. Those are the thoughts that I had from the original post. Took a while but I got them all out.

[illusioninfnty]

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[hargrove-mayfields]

________

Steve traveled a few hours for this.

Robin and Dustin came with him, taking turns driving since neither of them really liked to, but there wasn’t much choice. They would’ve brought the boys’ mom, but going a few states away isn’t something Claudia can do with her job if she still wants to retire in a month.

She’d entrusted Steve and Dustin with her car and settled for car-pooling with Joyce to work until the boys and Robin got back.

He really appreciated that. This trip is a very big deal to him; a visit to literally the only place left in the country he can visit his decades long hyperfixation. The Rock-Afire Explosion, in all its horribly tacky 1980s glory. Settled today at an independent arcade restaurant.

There’s one closer to home, but it isn’t the right group. Some corporate sellout place that uses digital screens and shit. Another is closed off to the public unless he was going to pay way too much money to see his favorite characters barely functioning. So to West by god Virginia it is.

They made it, and have spent probably two hours straight at this literal wonderland. Robin and Dustin are mostly hanging out in the arcade portion, dishing out little golden tokens into skee-ball games and spinning wheels for tickets. Actual print tickets. Just when he thought this place couldn’t get better.

Steve though, he’s mostly been parked in front of the stage the entire time. A basket of chicken tenders later, even though the place is known for pizza- which Steve in his post ileostomy world can’t eat- he’s still not going anywhere.

Each and every time the show selector board lights up again, he’s wheeling his way over and choosing one from the draw. So far, he’s seen probably half of the whole show tape, happy stimming his way through each song and skit that he’d wanted so desperately to see in person ever since the last Showbiz Pizza closed in Indiana during his early childhood.

This time, when it comes back on to signal the cooldown is over, he’s beat to the draw.

A small boy of about 10 or 11 years old comes darting past in little light up sneakers, on tip-toes to reach where the buttons are mounted up on the wall. He’s got a mop of blonde curly hair on his head, where it’s longer in the back pulled into a tiny ponytail, with the band of some strap-on glasses tucked underneath.

Steve looks over his shoulder to see where the little guy came from, and sees a man who looks almost identical. But not just any. The one approaching him is someone he used to know, an old crush that got away.

Billy Hargrove in the flesh.

It’s been over thirty years. These days, Billy is inked from shoulder to wrist, even more tattoos peeking out from just under the v-neck t-shirt he’s wearing. His hair has lightened, probably from the California sun that darkened his freckles and added more to any uncovered spot of skin. Those pale, almost peachy colored curls don’t do much to hide the dark graying streaks.

Steve is the same way, a whole patch of greyish-brown blooming at the front of his hair, and crows feet by his undercast eyes. Aging hasn’t done him particularly well, not the way it has Billy. That is what he thinks at least, still never quite breaking out of his self-critical shell. His mom says he’s still charming at least.

Being love-sick all these years hasn’t helped though. He wonders what Billy will think of him now.

Billy who, with an absolutely adorable laugh, calls after his boy, “Mackenzie! You gotta wait your turn little dude!”

Steve rushes to insist, “Oh, no, he’s alright!” After all, he’s the grown ass man getting his entertainment from a group of cutesy animal robots.

If that little boy in his cute sneakers wants to have fun too, he’s not gonna be some gatekeeping elitist about it. Not when he sees the wristband on his little wrist that proudly declares his extra 21st chromosome. He recognizes the rainbow infinity on the beaded bracelet beneath that one too.

Steve gets it. Hyperfixations and special interests are pretty huge for him too. Mackenzie being so excited about the band he’s loved for so long is not something Steve would ever dream of squashing out.

Not even when the young boy takes to climbing up the side of Steve’s wheelchair.

Billy intervenes and picks him up right away though, “Hey, hey. We don’t touch that, Kenz. That’s his legs.”

Mackenzie’s slanted eyes get big, his little head whipping towards Steve to apologize, “Sowwy!”

But the little guy was so genuine and curious, there’s no way Steve could be mad about that, “It’s alright! Here, do you wanna push a button?”

Billy looks relieved that Steve didn’t start freaking out on his kid, motioning with a little nod of his head that it’s okay for Steve to take Mackenzie’s little hand and guide it towards one of the buttons.

Together, they choose a blue one. Steve’s already watched this specific show, but it’s one of his favorites since it involves all eight characters. For some reason, he hopes the kiddo really likes it too.

Nothing happens at first- the animatronics have to get air pressure back in them before they can start -so Steve takes the few seconds of delay to roll back to his table. It doesn’t really surprise him when the two friends he’s made join him. Father and son in swivelly red chairs at the table Steve parked beside.

When the lights come up on stage, Steve finds he doesn’t want to look right at the show and stare the way he usually does. Instead, he watches the wonder in Mackenzie’s deep and emotional eyes.

Kids like him don’t do much to hide their emotions, which is honestly a huge inspiration to Steve, who grew up masking and hiding his disability. Pretending isn’t fun, and even though he just met this little dude, watching him just be himself makes Steve happy too.

They’re both letting their hands flutter about by the time the first set is finished, the hiss of air signaling the animatronics are done until the next time.

Mackenzie whips around in his seat and all but shouts at his dad, “Baba, t’ey sang to me!!”

“I heard, buddy! Wasn’t that cool?” Billy enthuses back.

Little Mackenzie nods his head over and over, giggles replacing his words.

Surprisingly, to Steve at least, he then looks to Steve for his opinion too. There is so much trust and adoration in that look. He hasn’t seen that since Dustin was a kid way back when Steve had first been adopted.

Steve gives a thumbs up for some reason, “Yeah, it was awesome!”

He reassures the little boy, but Billy is looking more skeptical. Not judgemental or anything, just aware of the surprised tone in Steve’s voice.

Non-confrontationally, he informs Steve, “Just a heads up.. I might’ve told Kenzie we were friends. I saw you and I panicked.”

Yep. That explains it. The sheepish looks from Billy combined with the excitement from his son.

Steve is actually really flattered that someone he used to think was so cool would want to be his friend.

“Highschool bullshit aside, I always kinda wondered what it would be like being close with the Billy Hargrove.”

“Well I still have the same taste in music.” Billy announces, after a moment to think on important fun facts about himself.

It makes Steve chuckle softly, “This tacky pop is probably painful for you then.”

Billy shrugs it off, “Hey, I heard some Springsteen in there. And the Beatles always get a pass. I can get by on this.”

Suddenly Mackenzie gets impatient with them having their own little conversation, and tries to get Steve’s attention. He taps him gently first, then starts waving and curling his hands into shapes.

Steve recognizes the gestures Mackenzie is making as sign language, but he doesn’t understand a word of it. It’s one of those things he always wanted to learn, and wished he knew, but never sat down and dedicated to. His communication board was way easier for non verbal days.

His confusion must be clear, because before he can even say anything, Billy starts acting as translator, “He wants to know your favorite member of the band.”

“Oh that’s easy! I love Beach Bear. His surfer theme and his curly blonde hair are so cool!” The answer is easy for Steve. He doesn’t mention the part where the character has always reminded him of someone his heart long yearned for.

Mackenzie seems to explode with happiness anyways, butterfly hands going faster than Steve can even finish his sentence. He guesses that’s his favorite too.

The excitement takes over totally, just then Makenzie taking off running unexpectedly.

Billy is up out of his seat so quick, jogging past his little one and intercepting him before he can complete his mission. It’s obvious Mackenzie had wanted to jump onto the stage, instead having to crash into his fathers open arms.

Before the little guy can get upset, Billy turns it into a hug. He’s so gentle, his hold on his boy loose, not crushing like the prone restraints Steve grew up with.

This is teaching through love, not fear. Steve may have just learned something about love himself if the way his heart skips a beat is any indication. He tries not to tear up.

Billy cups his hand real soft on the back of Mackenzie’s curly head, advising him, “Please don’t run off like that, baby. You could get hurt.”

“Sowwy.” Mackenzie apologizes, almost automatically.

Once again, Billy takes action to make sure his son isn’t feeling confronted or yelled at, “It’s okay, bud. You’re doing a really good job today, buddy. Daddy’s proud.”

With that, he carries him back over to the show selector to press one of the buttons that has now since lit up again, choosing a show with help from Steve through a series of pointing and lighthearted laughter from the trio.

They end up picking yet another one that Steve already heard, but Mackenzie clearly hadn’t, so Steve feels okay leaning aside with Billy and chatting while the boy dances and enjoys the show in close range.

“You’re really good with him.” He compliments softly, not just impressed but super enthralled

Instantly Billy’s face lights up with a smile, “Thanks, Steve. It’s just been me and him, I’m trying to fix a lot of shit his mom put into his head.”

Steve is going to say something, but Billy gets bashful, and interrupts it, “Sorry. Trauma dump.”

“No, it’s fine. I definitely get it. My uh.. my mom was the same way, you know.” Steve admits, to make Billy feel less embarrassed about it.

“Here, here.” Billy bumps their shoulders together, a weirdly intimate interaction, one that most people would be too afraid to do lest they break poor paralyzed Steve (not going to happen).

“It’s hard. I love my kid. More than the fucking world. I flew hours to this place just to let him be happy. But goddamn it’s not easy to unravel the shit that was done to me. To him too.”

“Listen, that happy, sweet little boy that ran over to me isn’t afraid. He’s not hurt, or scared, or hiding from anything. You’re doing great.” Steve compliments, all genuine.

His dream of six little nuggets of his own might not be something he’s going to have these days, but he admires Billy for his family. Not just because of his crush either. There’s always been a side to Billy that was so emotional and tender, and he’s amazed at how easily Billy can use that for good.

A lot has changed, but not really. Steve just wonders what Billy thinks of the fact Steve hasn’t made strides in growing a family or becoming some successful mogul.

Apparently he isn’t appalled, because he’s blushing as pink as Steve has probably been all day, as he says, “Thanks, Steve.. I needed that.”

And then there’s nothing left to say. Steve opens his mouth once, then closes it again, too overwhelmed to think of anything. All he wants to do is blab about how he’s been in love with his old rival the whole time.

The pause in conversation isn’t silent, between Mitzi Mozzarella singing her little mechanical heart out, kids laughing about something fun or crying about not getting the prize they wanted, and various machines begging to be played. But it feels intimate anyways.

A moment for just Billy and Steve, in all their nearing middle-aged glory.

It’s Billy who starts things back up, after checking that Mackenzie is getting enough to drink for all the moving he’s doing, “So. D’you really think blonde surfer guys are cool?”

“Maybe.” Steve goes along with it, seeing the opportunity to flirt in the way Billy held onto that one small moment, and tugging hard on that red string of fate, “They definitely get bonus points for having cool tattoos and being good parents, I’d say.”

Billy’s face looks absolutely frazzled, eyes big and smile all crooked and wobbly. And then he laughs, a loud, hearty laugh that has butterflies going through Steve’s whole chest, “Looks like you finally beat me at my own game, H.”

So they have been flirting.

In celebration of not reading the situation wrong, Steve turns it up ten more, leaving a locationally relevant move for Billy on purpose, “Do I get a prize?”

Of course the prize isn’t a stuffed toy or a handful of bubblegum, but rather, a kiss. A sweet, shy kind of kiss that has them bumping their noses together by accident. It’s all they can really get away with, considering where they are, but it’s enough. A thousand words in one chaste press of their lips together. It’s how Steve knows right away this was meant to be all along.

For what could have been several more hours they sat and talked, just the two of them in their little corner of the restaurant, occasionally taking breaks to go play a game, or take Mackenzie to the bathroom. In that time, they go from practically strangers, to having agreed to live together.

See, Billy and MacKenzie actually bought one way tickets. The California cost of living was way too much for single dad finances, and they had plans to settle in a rental trailer park, after a tour of a few states around the area, doing cheap stuff to make it seem fun. Like they weren’t searching for a place to live.

No way was Steve going to let Billy and his disabled kid be homeless in their rental car. Absolutely not.

He sent Claudia a text, and she said instantly she’d be getting Dustin's old room in order to house Mackenzie, and Steve could share his room with Billy. The situation is one plenty of people have already criticized, saying Steve at forty something is too old to be living with his adoptive mother. Adding a alternative queer man and his kid with down’s syndrome to the mix was destined to be the talk of the town, just as it was when Dustin moved out into an apartment with Lucas and Erica.

The fact is, he doesn’t care.

Steve hasn’t done babysitting since he was paralyzed in his twenties, but he’s more than happy to watch Mackenzie while Billy works. As soon as he saw him he felt like family, and Billy agrees Steve and he are soulmates. To him, this is just completing part of him that anguished and mourned and longed for so long.

The three of them together with Steve’s mom and caregiver, sounds like a dream to him.

“Who wants funnel cake!?” Robin appears out of nowhere, two greasy paper baskets in hand. But she freezes, “Wait a second- Hargrove?”

Okay, so there is a lot to catch her up on. Steve is more than happy to tell the story of rediscovering Billy, his beautiful son, and their long-lost love for each other.

_______

[ashessonfire]

Hii! May I ask if you have any guidelines on reqs? I'd like to know what's good and not for you ^^ love your work btw

Request rules <3

click here for my masterlist

click here for the characters i write for

A/N : its long overdue that i make a guideline post, so thank you for prompting me to do it finally! also, after my exams finish i will do a big organize of my page, and hopefully make everything clearer and look nicer <3

type of works -

one-shots

two-shots

headcanons

series

literally anything

i won't write -

smut - just not comfortable enough to write it, literally way too scary to attempt to do it well T-T

dark topics - i think this comes with the no nsfw, however i will not write for anything super questionable - if you're debating if its okay to send, then probably no

(character) x male reader - im so sorry but again i dont know if i will be able to do a strictly male reader justice, which is why i do my best to keep all my works gender neutral unless specified - so please ensure to request it to be gender neutral! <3

open to pretty much everything besides that, and i can always manipulate requests if im not sure - so please send anything minus these !! I am always open to new ideas and trying new styles so fire away <3

i will write -

fluff

angst

hurt / comfort - my favourite... ;)

unresolved angst

any other genre you can think of

(character) x reader - gender neutral / female

literally anything that isn't in my 'i wont write for' list

other notes -

most of my works are gender neutral, however you can also request for the reader to be female too!

it may take a long time to get to each one, as i am finishing part of my education so i have alot of exams!!

all ideas are valid and wonderful, so send them in and i will try to do them justice !!

overall happy to work with anything that isnt nsfw, so keep sending ideas to my inbox <33

[alicetallula]

Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang 2023/2024 - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - Part II - 01.04.2024

Last part for this The Crow AU - 'A Dream on the Way to Death' written by @ghostdeb. I couldn't be happier with what we both accomplished 🥰

For the @strangerthingsreversebigbang

Part I / Part I NSFW / Part II NSFW

Steve as the Crow with bloody nailbat

Billy at the Bar surrounded by ghost Eddie and Steve in The Crow get-up - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 01.04.2024

Done using alcohol markers, ink pens, gel pens, colored pencils and acrylic paint pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post

Billy crying sat on the bed - ending - A Dream on the Way to Death by Arbeds Ghost - 01.04.2024

Done using watercolors, ink pens, alcohol marker, gel pens and acrylic paint pens

AO3 post / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post /Twitter post

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Chapter’s Ficlets

I’m opening submissions for small ficlets that can range from 100 - 1k words (depending on how inspired I get).

The characters I will write for are as listed below;

(Stranger Things) Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove.

(Bill Skarsgärd) Eric Draven, Roman Godfrey.

Feel free to suggest a character to me and I will either confirm or deny the request. It is also of great importance that you read my rules (that can be found on my pinned post) before you submit a request. Please stay kind and respectful. I am only human.

To submit a request please send me either 1 or 2 of the below prompts alongside the character you wish to see and a rough brief what you want the request to entail.

Prompts

Threesome

Bonfire

Gym shorts

Mean and scary?

Vibrator

New Years Eve

Matching pyjamas

Somnophilia

Supernatural

Slow dancing

New apartment

Guitar lessons

Warehouse

Pillow humping

Enemies

A flock of crows

Botanical garden

Tattoo gun

Narcotics

Basement

Dildo

Abandoned

Graveyard

Speed drive

Bandaged knuckles

Eyeliner

Bathtub

Butcher

Tortured artist

Book store

Monster

Tavern

Crumpled paper

Potion shop

Role play

Nude painting

Hollow

Sleepy mansion

Music

Public sex

Bound and gagged

Stalker

Abduction

Lazy evenings

Tentacles

1800’s/1900’s

Dunking for apples

Dust

Skinny dipping

Free use

Ice skating

Decorating the tree

Dinner conversation

Crime

Fists or knives?

Blindfold

Angels and demons

Sea salt

Lingering scent

Mirrors

-

(If there’s nothing on here that tickles your fancy then suggest something to me and I’ll see what I can do!) xoxo