#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:

[jegulusofwesper]

characters i would love to see meet

stiles stilinski, peter parker, jj maybank and percy jackson

percy jackson, kaz brekker and regulus black

annabeth chase and nikolai lantsov

sam winchester, elle woods and spencer reid

isaac lahey, jj maybank and billy hargrove

james potter and grover underwood

the black brothers and nico do angelo

elle woods and nina zenik

jesper fahey and percy jackson

will solace and wylan van eck

[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

[writhingg]

heard you, saw you / need you, love you

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you. More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

Eddie wants you, and he won't stop until he has you.

Word count: 4,857

Tags/warnings: 18+/minors dni, Flayed!Eddie Munson x fem reader, Eddie Munson & Billy Hargrove (Billy is more of a side character), college-aged reader, post-season 4, no use of y/n, Eddie and Billy live (sort of...), Eddie hints at SA-ing reader (nothing physical, but he does talk about it), horror, suspense, dread, blood and gore, coercion, emotional manipulation, swearing, creepy older men, the Upside Down, background Shadow Monster/Mind Flayer, literary references and allusions, this is not romance.

A/N: I posted this on ao3 back in April, but since we're about a day away from October (spooky season!!!), I figured it would be the perfect piece to debut on here. This was heavily inspired by "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" by Joyce Carol Oates and Ptolemaea by Ethel Cain. Reblogs are the best! Likes and comments are appreciated as well! Thanks for reading!

sweet, mourning lamb  there’s nothing you can do  it’s already been done

Your life is perfect.

You have a father who gives you money whenever you ask for it and a mother who dotes on you even though she secretly covets your youth and your beauty. When she looks at you, you can see the wistful look in her eyes, gaze lingering on the smooth skin between your manicured brows, the barely-there smile lines from late nights of laughter around a bonfire at Lover’s Lake, surrounded by your best friends and girls who pretend to be your friend and boys who want to be more than your friend.

At Hawkins High, everyone knows your name, always calling after you or grinning your way, trying to get a seat at the lunch table where you and all your friends gossip about the latest rumor—“Did you hear that Tracy Anderson got knocked up?” “Is she the next Virgin Mary or something? ‘Cause no away anyone’s touching her.”—while sipping on cans of Diet Coke.

It fills you with a triumphant sense of joy to get whatever you want; all you have to do is flutter your lashes or flash a coy smile and people are like putty in your hands, bending and twisting in whatever way you wish.

When you tell your parents you’re going out and don’t know what time you’ll be home, your dad grumbles a response, not bothering to look up from the TV dinner he’s shoving into his mouth while your mom asks if you really need to show that much skin, her uneasy grin falling into a grimace as you strut through the front door without a single glance back.

Crystal, your third-favorite best friend, is waiting for you at the end of your driveway. She’s perched in the driver’s seat of her dad’s new car, a sporty red convertible with leather seats and a top that goes all the way down. She greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and after the two of you complain about the humidity and gush over each other’s outfits—“God, that top is to die for!” “Baby blue is so your color!”—she tears off down the road, the both of you hollering the entire way.

A girl on the cusp of womanhood, you’re no stranger to stares that follow your every move.

Boys are always looking at you, but men want more than a small piece. Men want to swallow you whole.

You notice the way they watch you, with leering eyes and bottom lips tucked between teeth stained yellow from tobacco dip. You simper and wiggle your fingers in their direction, you and your friends giggling behind your hands when they stumble over themselves in their attempt to approach you. And when you see them up close—the crow’s feet, the nose hair, the greying mustaches—you no longer hide your laughter, doubling over with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“As if!” you always shout, unfazed as they grunt out stupid little bitch and fuckin’ tease. The words hang in the air as the men give you one last acidic look, scampering away with bowed heads and clenched jaws.

When you and Crystal pull up to the drive-in theater, it’s a familiar scenario. She finds a spot in the middle of the packed lot, and before the two of you even slip out of your seatbelts, the cars on either side of you are loud with boys you know from school and boys you’ve never seen before, all of them asking for your names and if you want to go for a drive to somewhere secret. The two of you share a smirk, Crystal busying herself with tuning the radio while you watch the intermission ad on the screen. You giggle at the dancing bars of ice cream, a jaunty tune crackling from the speakers as she finally finds the theater’s station.

They’re like hungry wolves, you observe, snarling and salivating at the sight of you reapplying your lipstick. When you climb out of the car, Crystal handing you a few bucks for her funnel cake and root beer, you pretend not to hear their desperate howls. It feels good to ignore them, just like it feels good to ignore the men who whistle at you on your way to the snack bar. Their idiocy amuses you, deluded enough to believe that cries of “Over here, honey!” will have you bounding over to them like a lost puppy.

You keep your head held high, eyes forward and hips swaying as you follow the oily scent of fried dough. You walk no further than a foot or two before the revving of an engine breaks your stride. Startled, your head whips to your left, and that’s when you notice him.

Slender body angled in your direction, he leans against a rumbling car, a thick haze of cigarette smoke surrounding him. You quickly take stock of him—tall and tattooed, shaggy hair and black jeans ripped at the knee—and though you can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you know he’s looking at you.

More smoke pours slowly from his lips, and with a wide, wicked grin, he points his cigarette at you and calls out, “Gonna get you, baby!”

You roll your eyes in response, thinking only of how stupid it is that he’s wearing sunglasses at night before flitting your gaze back to the growing snack bar line.

Later, after Crystal’s food and your corn dog are paid for by Robbie, a sweet-talking sophomore over at Purdue, you’re settled in the backseat of the convertible watching an old movie about a baby and some lady named Rosemary. You let Robbie put his arm around you, but when it’s clear that his insistent lips won’t be met with an eager, open mouth, he climbs out of the car in a clumsy hurry, huffing insults under his breath you’ve heard time and time again.

You sport a smirk as you help yourself to the pretzel he’s left behind, and in the distance, in the dark, you don’t see the man with the sunglasses watching you.

“You sure you don’t want to come?”

You heave a dramatic sigh up at your mom, muttering, “Yes, I’m sure,” for what feels like the thousandth time that morning.

Attending a barbecue at your great-uncle’s house—where you’ll be surrounded by your sticky cousins and all of your catty aunts who will make snide comments about your “hooker makeup”—is not your idea of fun. With the end of summer looming over you like a dark cloud, the promise of college and responsibilities and having to fend for yourself edging dangerously close, you plan to enjoy your last days of freedom by lazing about instead, sprawling out on a thin blanket in the backyard while the sweltering sun beams down on you.

“Alright,” your mom finally concedes. “Your father and I will see you later then. There’s some money on the fridge so you can order yourself a pizza. Call if you need anything, okay?”

You give a barely-audible hum in return, listening to the slap of her sandals as she shuffles to the awaiting station wagon. When you hear it disappear down the street, you exhale a relieved breath. After your whirlwind of a week—the drive-in, a shoplifting spree with your second-favorite best friend Amy, and a two-day rager at an abandoned lake house that once belonged to some guy named Reefer Rick—you’re in desperate need of solitude.

Situated on the grass, you switch on the radio, flipping through a few stations until you hear a song you don’t completely hate. Though the air is muggy, you find yourself lulled into a quiet comfort. Eyes soon slipping closed, your mind fills with shiny daydreams of white-sand beaches, roiling blue waves, and sweaty, muscled surfers. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the incessant buzzing of a fly near your nose brings you back to reality. When you rise from your blanket with a yawn and a joint-popping stretch, you feel a hot, simmering ache across your face and chest.

“Shit!” you shout, scrambling toward the side door of your house. You take the stairs two at a time, out of breath as you rush past your frilly bedroom and into the bathroom. Twisting the faucet on, you splash your face with cold water, your warm skin immediately soothed by the icy temperature. A sunburn was so not on your agenda. Now you’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon slathering yourself in one of your mom’s expensive moisturizers, which means you’ll have only a short window of time to primp yourself for tonight’s party over in Loch Nora.

You swear again, frowning as you gaze into the mirror and catch sight of your frizzy hair. With a scowl, you reach for your flat iron, a second away from plugging it in and dialing up the heat to the highest setting when you hear the loud blaring of a car horn.

“No way,” you mutter in disbelief, stunned as the horn beeps again only a few seconds later.

You cannot believe your parents are already home! They’d only been gone for an hour or two and weren’t supposed to be back until tonight! When you hear the horn a third time, though, a tell-tale signal of your dad’s impatience, you grit your teeth. You already told them you weren’t going to that stupid barbeque! What makes them think that you would change your mind, that you would want to hang out with all those gross kids and old people always going on about life a hundred years ago?

The horn sounds again, prompting you to forcefully stomp your foot against the tiled floor. Your parents are not going to ruin your plans. They’ll have to drag you out of the house kicking and screaming.

You barrel down the stairs and into the kitchen, bolting towards the side door once more. Your hands are on the screen, ready to push it open and unleash your frustration, but you stop at the last second.

It’s not your parents in the driveway.

The car is blue, sharp, and loud, with a set of words on the hood in an intricate, looping cursive. You can hardly read it, squinting as you try to decipher the sentence—“abandon all hope, ye who enter here”—before your face contorts into a disapproving frown. You think the car would look much better without all that mess written on the front of it. 

Someone clears their throat, and your gaze then travels to the lone figure leaning up against the driver-side door. Your frown deepens when you see a man with a head of shaggy hair and sunglasses perched atop his nose.

“I was starting to worry you were ignoring me,” he says.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me, honey. It hurts my feelings.”

He smiles at you, wide and toothy, and a look of recognition flashes across your face when you realize that he’s the same man from the drive-in.

“See? You know me.”

“No, I don’t,” you tell him, your voice sharp.

“You’ll get to me know me.”

He’s still smiling at you, a small dimple peeking through, and it occurs to you that he thinks he’s being cute. You study him, noting that he’s more of a boy than a man. You eye the black polish on his nails and his slightly cropped t-shirt, the sinewy muscle of his tattooed arms and his self-assured stance. He’s not your type, and you definitely don’t think he’s kind of cute.

“What do you want?” you ask him, arms crossing over your chest.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

“Uh, no.”

“Why not?”

You roll your eyes at the playful pout he gives you, and when he shifts to the side a little, you see through the window that there’s a second person in the car. Another boy, muscular with blond hair styled into a curly mullet. He sits behind the wheel and jams a tape into the cassette deck, the car filling with pounding drums and heavy guitars. Like the boy standing before you, he’s also wearing sunglasses.

“Hey,” the shaggy-haired guy says, snapping your attention back to him. “You’re pretty.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You ignore the rush of warmth that blooms in your cheeks, gazing at him through a glare that takes more effort than usual to maintain. “I don’t even know you.”

“Eddie Munson,” he tells you. He jerks a thumb behind him. “And this is Billy Hargrove. Doesn’t say much, though. He’s shy.”

For whatever reason, in the furthest part of your mind, the names unlock a small inkling of familiarity. You brush away the thought, though, your glare fixed and sharp.

“Well, Eddie, it’s nice to meet you or whatever, but I think—”

“You should come outside and take a look at the Camaro. Decent stereo and it goes fast.” He leans forward, hands gripping the window frame behind him. “You like it when cars go fast, don’t you?”

There’s something in his words that makes you flustered again. You busy yourself by tugging at the frayed hem of your denim shorts, eyes darting away from him. He’s too forward and too inviting and too much trouble.

“So? What do you think?”

“What do I think about what?”

He chuckles, amused at your attempt to sound nonchalant. “Going for a ride. You know you want to.”

You exhale an exasperated huff, both hands on your hips now. Boys are always thinking that they can boss you around, that you’ll obey like some mindless servant. You don’t care that your stomach flutters a little at his words – it’s both insulting and annoying.

“No, I don’t.”

“You can sit in the front,” he continues. “Billy doesn’t mind moving to the back. We’ll turn on the radio and listen to some music. I bet I know what your favorite song is.” Then he does the most peculiar thing...he starts singing the song you dozed off to earlier. It’s an odd coincidence, especially when his voice starts to sound like the voice on the radio, gravelly and kind of breathy at the same time.

“That’s not my favorite song,” you interrupt him.

Again, all he does is laugh. “Fine, we don’t have to listen to music. We can do something else.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. We could get pizza, go to the arcade.” One corner of his lips curves into a sly grin, as if he's privy to a secret only he knows. “We could even go to the beach.”

Another strange coincidence, you think, one that makes your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster. “There aren’t any beaches around here.”

“I’ll take you to one.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got plans.”

“Plans?” he questions, both eyebrows raising in what looks like feigned surprise. He places a hand over his heart, clutching the fabric as if you’ve dealt him a fatal wound. “How could you have plans when you’re supposed to spend the day with me?”

You roll your eyes at him, having already grown sick of whatever game this is. You take a breath, ready to tell him to crawl back into whatever hole he dug himself out of, but then he says your name, and you flinch as if you’ve been slapped.

You never told him your name.

“How did you know that?” you ask him, a mix of suspicion and fear swelling inside of you.

“How did I know what?” he replies, mimicking your earlier line of questioning.

“My name...I didn’t tell you what my name was.”

“You didn’t have to,” he shrugs, quiet for a moment as he plays with a silver ring on his middle finger. Then, an insidious smirk spreads across his face. “I know everything about you.”

It feels like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on you, the air knocked from your lungs while your limbs lock in place. He seems close, too close now, and with a clarity that makes your heart thrash painfully, you realize that the only barrier between the two of you is a flimsy screen. With trembling fingers, you touch the lock on the side door, ensuring that it’s hooked in place.

“You d-don’t know me,” you stammer, trying your hardest to keep a straight face.

“‘Course, I do, baby. I know you and I know Amy and Crystal. I know sweet-talking Robbie and all those high school boys always running after you. I know those men and what they wish they could do to you.” He pauses, then his voice gets lower, taunting. “And I know your parents aren’t home right now, that they’re at your Great-Uncle Walter’s house for a barbecue. I know they won’t be home till later tonight.”

Your eyes are wide, your skin feeling too warm and too tight. You try to respond, but all that comes out is a shuddering breath.

Eddie isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring up at the sky, as if he’s trying to see past the sunshine and clouds. “Your dad...he’s sipping on a beer and tearing into a slab of ribs. And your mom is chatting away with your Aunt Belinda. She’s got a drink in her hand, something tart and sweet and mixed with vodka. Yeah...with the buzz the two of them are working on, they definitely won’t be home for a while.”

“How could you...you don’t know that!” you shout at him, breaking your composure. “You don’t know anything!”

He angles his head toward you again, still smiling, but there’s no longer any mirth. It’s what you see on all those other men, sharp and threatening.

Like he wants to consume you.

“You’re my girl. It’d be a shame if I knew nothing about you.”

“I’m not your girl!”

“Oh, but you are. You were made for me, honey, and I was made for you. And you can try, but you can’t run me off. I told you I’d be here, and I’m not leaving until you come with me.”

“Want me to grab her?”

Billy’s words petrify you, just as it petrifies you to see the shift in Eddie’s temperament. When he rounds on Billy, gone is the playful lilt of his voice. His skin flushes red, knuckles turning white as his hands curl into fists. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Hargrove? Huh? No, I don’t want you to grab her! She’ll come out here on her own, alright? Stay the fuck out of it.”

Eddie whirls around to face you again, a hand pushing back the hairs sticking to his forehead. He grins, and there’s not a single trace of his previous anger. “Sorry about that. Billy’s a little crazy, that’s all. Don’t pay him any mind. It’s just you and me, yeah? You and me.”

You nod because you don’t know how else to respond. Your fingers are still glued to the screen door’s lock, the metal latch warm and damp from your touch. Eddie cocks his head to the side, studying you.

“You’re scared of me.”

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of being correct, but you have no rebuttal, no scathing comeback. You stare at him, blinking back tears, trying not to crumble. You are scared of him.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice soft and warm. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you the first time. I’ll hold you in my arms real tight and I’ll kiss you and I’ll touch you better than any of those scumbags ever could. You’ll cry my name so sweetly, and you’ll be wet and aching and you’ll beg me, you’ll beg me to keep going. You won’t ever want to leave me.”

A wave of nausea mixes with your fear, your stomach churning violently when his tongue swipes slowly along his bottom lip. “You – you’re sick! You’re disgusting! Go away or I’ll – I’ll call the police!”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. The police can’t keep me from you, just like that door between us, and that lock you haven’t let go of. They’re just barriers, and barriers can be torn down. Nothing can keep us apart.”

“Shut up! Just shut up! You’re insane!”

“Baby, listen,” he says, flashing you a placating grin. “As long as you come out here, I won’t go in there, but if you touch that phone, if you call the cops or your parents or anyone else, deal’s off and I can step foot in that house. I’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop me, and I can tell you this much...you won’t like it if I have to come after you.”

“Just let me grab her,” Billy says flatly. “I’ll make it quick.”

Eddie’s jaw seems tight enough to crack his teeth as he whips around again. “Are you fucking stupid, Hargrove? Are you deaf? You got a few bolts knocked loose? Your daddy shove you around too hard? Your mommy drop you on your head too many times? She’s mine! She’s mine and I don’t need your slimy fingers all over her. She’s mine and she’s gonna come out here because she loves me and I love her, got it? Mind your business and shut the fuck up!”

You want to run. You want to hide beneath the covers of your bed and fold yourself up and wish and hope and pray that you’ll wake up from whatever awful nightmare this is, but you catch something in your peripheral vision, something that keeps you anchored to your spot.

In the chaos of his outburst, the sun had changed its position in the sky, his shadow slanting tall and wide along the concrete driveway. It shouldn’t be something you notice, just as insignificant as the blowing of the wind, but you stare anyway, eyes wide with horror when you see a non-human figure sprouting from his body. Broad shouldered, the shadow’s wings are outstretched, with pointed horns curling from its head and long, sharp claws where the fingers should be.

It’s only the light playing tricks on you. It’s not real, okay? It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—

A shrill cry tears its way out of you as you watch the shadow mirror each of Eddie’s movements.

He turns around, no longer shouting at Billy. His mouth is pulled into a knowing smile as he reaches up to remove his sunglasses, and when you see his eyes, you let out a blood-curdling scream. There’s no iris, no pupil, no white. Both eyes are dark, fully encompassed in an abyss of black.

Your body moves of its own accord, drifting backward and falling onto the stairs leading up to the kitchen. Eddie moves with you, a hand over his forehead as he peers hungrily through the screen. He calls your name again and again and again.

“You with me, sweetheart? You’re not gonna touch that phone, right?”

“Why are you doing this?” you whimper.

“Because I want you.”

“Why – why me?”

“I saw you at the drive-in and knew I had to have you. Such a pretty little thing, I thought, needs someone like me to take care of her, to her protect from all those creeps. They’re rotten, all of them. They only want to hurt you. They wouldn’t love you like I love you.”

“Stop!” you shriek, nearly out of breath. “Just stop!”

“Don’t you realize we belong together? All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me. Don’t you know that?”

Billy is standing beside him now, watching you with the same bottomless eyes. Like a blackhole, their gazes suck you in, pulling and stretching and tearing you to pieces. 

And suddenly, seeing the two of them side by side stirs another rush of buried recognition.

You recall fuzzy, childhood memories, images blurred around the edges of news reports on the Starcourt Mall fire. You remember sitting on the couch, a teddy bear in your lap as dozens of names and faces are plastered across the screen, your mom in the background murmuring something to your dad about Susan and her poor stepson.

You remember your dad and a few angry neighbors huddled around the dining room table, all of them whispering about something called “cults” and “sacrifices” and “you think Wayne’s nephew actually did it?” while you colored in a picture of butterflies.

You remember the earthquake, the ground splitting open, strange, grey snowflakes falling from the darkening sky as your parents packed up the car and rushed you out of town.

You remember coming home after almost two years of sheltering out west, flyers of missing persons still hung up around Hawkins.

And when you think hard enough, when you think long enough, you finally realize why Eddie and Billy look familiar to you.

“No,” you shake your head too quickly. “No, no, no, no. It’s not—you can’t—”

“Use your words,” Eddie coaxes gently.

“You can’t. You can’t because…because you’re supposed to be…”

“Say it.”

Heart pounding, blood rushing, stomach whirling, the word falls quietly from your lips. “Dead.”

“See? Didn’t I tell you she was smart, Hargrove? Not like the last one. What was her name again?”

“Jessica, right?” Billy drawls out. “Or Jamie? Or was it Jacqueline?”

Eddie snaps his fingers excitedly. “Wait! I got it. It was Julie. Julie Thompson.”

Your face is buried in your quivering hands, but when you hear the name, everything becomes still and silent.

Julie Thompson. She’d gone missing last year, assumed by police and her parents to have run away with one of the many college boys she was sneaking around with. No one believed you when you said she wouldn’t just run off. And she was your best friend. Your first-favorite best friend.

You lift your head, reluctantly meeting Eddie’s pitch-black eyes. “What did you do? Where’s Julie?”

“Get in the car and I’ll tell you.”

“No!” you shriek, despair and hot anger coursing through you. “No! Fuck you! You – you’re fucking dead and you’re nothing and you can’t be here! You just – you can’t!”

“But I am here,” Eddie replies, all traces of his softness gone.

He sees every part of you—the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe too hard and too fast; the trembling of your shoulders as you hold back an anguished sob; the delicious throbbing of the pulse in your neck—like a predator tracking every movement of its prey.

A predator that has won the hunt.

“I’m here because this town owes me and I’ve come to collect what’s mine. And you, sweetheart, belong to me.”

You’re screaming again, your head whipping back and forth so rapidly that your world starts to tilt. You clamp your eyes shut, but your mind offers no solace, because behind your lids, there is only red – a red sky, red lightning, a red pool of something thick and warm and murky that your feet are quickly sinking beneath. And out of the pool comes slippery, snaking vines that wrap around your ankles and up your calves, tightening and binding as they rise higher and higher. And something is diving toward you, the beat of its wings growing louder as it swoops beneath the red clouds. And you feel the ground rumbling, shaking, falling apart as lightening cracks and illuminates a monster in the distance. Massive and spider-like, its roar cuts into you so deeply that you feel it in your bones.

It's coming after you.

You struggle and cry until your throat is raw and aching, and you beg for your parents, for someone, anyone, to hear you, to save you, but there is no one, there is nothing except red and screams and fear and blood. You can’t breathe and you can’t move and you sink further into the depths of this hell, and you swear and you plead that you’ll do anything, you’ll do anything, so please please pleasepleaseplease—

The distorted chimes of a grandfather clock reverberate across the cold, blazing landscape, and then someone laughs, cruel and deep and echoing. It grows louder, and it stretches on forever and ever, and you can't do anything because you are decaying flesh, you are crumbled bone, you are dust.

You are nothing.

After an eternity of depravity and suffering, of drowning beneath the weight of wailing souls and fetid corpses, your eyes are open again.

You claw at the lock on the screen door with shaking hands and push yourself over the threshold. And when you tumble outside, desperately gulping in lungfuls of fresh air, your face streaked with snot and warm tears, the world is bright and burning again.

Eddie stands before you, his mouth twisted into a malicious smile, his arms wide and open.

“I told you, honey. I told you I was gonna get you.”

[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!

[bookshelf-dust]

you've ruined everything.

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 2,867

warnings: swearing, kissing, mentions of past/ongoing trauma, brief smoking, mentions of death, vecna (yes he counts), a pretty violent kill just not described in graphic detail, billy and reader are a mess

requested here

a/n: sylvia, this one's for you (really hope you read that in eddie's voice). so i kind of ended up with a recreation of some season two moments during the plot of season four, if that makes any sense. for context: everyone is still in hawkins, billy is upside-down-aware, everyone is chill with each other. this was my attempt at something riveting, but i don't know if that's what i accomplished. sidenote: for vecna's end, i want you to picture the endings of david in the lost boys or top dollar in the crow (sorry if those are spoilers). i hope you enjoy this!! <333

————

"Max..." Vecna's voice felt like a shiver. Max felt it skate down her scalp, tickle the base of her spine. As if someone had poured ice water over her head.

It was almost funny that he'd chosen her, really. She should've seen it coming.

This young, freshly traumatized girl. This girl who'd been dealt a shitty hand: uprooted from her father, from her hometown, disputed over by new friends. Best of all, she'd watched her brother get ripped apart—mentally and physically. Yeah, he'd lived, but Starcourt had still happened.

Maybe the Mindflayer was dead, but at what cost? Obviously their efforts had been in vain if Vecna was running amuck. But this time, it didn't seem like anything could be fixed. It felt like Vecna was the end.

"Your time...is almost at an end." His voice reverberated around the concrete walls of the school hallway. At least she’d thought it had.

“Max!” You were snapping your fingers in her face, an aggressive gesture, a tone in your voice you’d never used with her. It had been in her head. He’d been in her head.

Max’s headphones hadn’t left her ears since Nancy and Robin told you that music worked. That it’d saved Victor Creel (for the most part). And it would damn well save Max.

But He was getting angry. Vecna didn’t approve of your tactics. He didn’t like your plan.

Save Max. Save Max. Save Max.

So He flipped another page. Swept down another path. He looked into you. Listened.

That boy from the summer. Billy, was it? He’d hid something away. Tucked it nice and snug in the back of his mind. You.

You’d do just fine.

Vecna closed his eyes, let the vines do their job. Let them tether him to your world. He felt through that red blur, felt for you. Found himself sifting through your memories.

"Billy, would you please sit still? You fucking popped at stitch." You sounded aggravated with him, but you'd kissed the angry skin on his side anyhow.

He caught glimpses of you and that boy.

"Max, you have to tell Billy these things. He needs to know how you feel." Max hadn't known how to tell the boy how scared she'd been when she thought she'd lose him.

It seemed you played a great role in both of their lives. He wondered why he hadn't chosen you to begin with.

It seemed a different approach would be necessary this time. Messing with your mind clearly wasn't going to be the best move. Not like it had been for Chrissy. For Fred. For Patrick. Max.

So He started appearing for you. Showing himself off. Making himself known to you.

God, He was like a shadow.

The first time you'd been in the car with Steve. A glance in the rearview mirror and Vecna was in the backseat. You would've laughed at the odd manner of the situation, if it weren't for the way the monster was looking at you.

Like you were a hindrance.

You'd jumped, causing Steve to jump, but you'd gotten him to brush it off, keep his eyes on the road.

The more Vecna showed up, the more you understood what he was playing at.

He was outside the gym the night of the championship game when you'd gone out to get some air, the bleachers being way too crowded and sweaty for your liking. Billy had offered to go with you, but you knew he was much to invested in Lucas winning the Tigers the game.

You didn't even flinch when you heard that growl--familiar at this point. In fact, you patted your pockets, grabbing hold of the pack of Marlboros and the lighter Billy had shoved in your jacket earlier.

The spark caught, a little flame igniting, and you lit a cigarette. Watched as he made his way towards you. He really was ugly.

"You've ruined everything."

You felt it that time. How Max had described the way Vecna's voice carried.

To you, though, it felt like when someone lights a fuse, when you watch the flame snake up up up. And then it stops. There’s just no boom. It simply feels like the empty space after the firework goes off, the air dead quiet. You thought you could get used to the feeling if need be.

Of course, you didn’t tell anyone about this. About your experiences.

Not like Max had. Like Billy that night last summer when he’d dialed your number, hands sweating and shaking, in the telephone booth.

This wasn’t about you. This was about keeping Hawkins safe. Keeping Max and Eddie safe.

You didn’t tell anyone except Will. You thought he’d understand that instinct to not worry anyone else, and he did. Be able to tell you anything that might help. But then you realized you were burdening him with all of this, and you quit.

But your friends had started to notice when nothing was happening to Max—when she made it past the week mark, when the symptoms had stopped.

No way it was that easy. That, what, Vecna had just given up? No. It was never that simple.

————

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.” Steve stomped down the stairs, swung the door open.

He was met with you.

“Why are you sweaty?” Steve propped his arm up against the door frame.

“Don’t worry about it. Where’s the bat?”

“Huh?” Sometimes you thought he really did need to be told everything.

“Nancy’s bat. The one with the nails?” You waved your hands above your head for emphasis. I need to borrow it. Please.”

“That’s my bat.” Steve set his hands on his hips, his most common motherly gesture.

“No, Steve. It’s Nancy’s. You took it at Jonathan’s house, remember? Fuck, okay. That’s not important. Would you just get me the damn thing?”

Steve obliged, though slightly frightened by what you could need it for, but, frankly, he thought you were a badass and could handle whatever it was.

He marched back up the stairs to his room, leaving you in the doorway. You heard him mumble along the way. “Nancy’s bat my ass. ‘S totally my bat. I’ve used it way more.”

————

Will was panicking. He’d always been good at keeping secrets; he did it nearly every day of his life. But he cared about you. You were like a sister to him. And he understood why you’d come to him, and even why you’d stopped, but when Steve called the Byers residence in question of why you might need a bat, he entered full freak-out-mode.

He had this image in his head of you being all alone, trying to fight this thing, and it made him sick. He didn't need to feel for the goosebumps on the back of his neck to know that it wasn't just in his head.

His hands were sweating as he picked up the phone, dialed Max's number.

"Hello?"

"I need to talk to your brother."

"Will? Why do you need to talk to Billy?"

Will could hear muffled music around the sound of Max's voice, so obviously Billy was home.

"It's about Y/N. I think something bad is going to happen. I think she's going to die."

————

Steve lazily rose from the couch, pausing the television. He followed the obsessive knocking once again, raising his hands in surrender though no one could see him. "Alright! Jesus, I'm coming, I'm coming. Can't you people just leave me alone for a while?"

This time, when he swung the door open, he was met with none other than Billy Hargrove. The apparition of such a creature was so odd to him, that Steve laughed. Actually laughed. Billy did not like this.

"Shut the hell up, Harrington." Steve did, but only because he didn't like the look on the blonde's face--like something was wrong. He realized that there was no reason for Billy to be here other than if something was wrong.

"I need your help." Steve had to bite his tongue. This was insane.

"Byers said that Y/N was here tonight, that she's gone off a-and I would fucking rip you a new one for not telling me about this Vecna shit, but I don't have time for that one right now. It's just that you guys have done this before, and I'm not exactly cut out to go off looking for her on my own--"

Steve cut him off, having never seen Billy ramble, or look remotely mentally distressed. "Hey, man, it's totally fine. I'll get a hold of Nancy, and you could go pick up Robin or something--look, we will figure it out, okay? I know this is a lot."

Billy shook his hands out, zipped up his jacket. He didn't like this. Not even a little bit. He wondered if this what it had been like for you when he'd been flayed: the constant buzz of fear, like you were gonna slip and fall away from him.

But he was also angry with you. You told him everything. This meant you'd been keeping something serious from him, and the both of you had worked so hard to get to a solid point in your relationship where all of your cards were on the table, no matter how shitty the hand was.

Sometimes it was just hard to be open.

Billy sat on the steps inside Steve's place, half registering that he was on the phone with Nancy who was simultaneously arguing with Mike.

There'd been a day once, back when he was still recovering, where he was sat on the edge of the tub, you with your knees pressed into the rug below you. You'd rubbed your hands together, trying to warm up the salve before you touched him. Billy's sides had always been ticklish, but that on top of the sensitivity of healing wounds meant you had to be very gentle with him.

Billy had tried to argue that he could do it himself, but he'd lost that battle, and let you at it.

"C'mere," you'd mumbled. You'd distracted him with a kiss while you moved your hands over some of deeper scars just below his ribs. He'd registered your palms being there, but he couldn't find it in himself to give a shit when your kiss told him he'd be okay.

You dipped your fingers back in the tub of medicine, spread them over a scar on his hip. "You're my favorite person in the whole world, Billy Hargrove." He'd scoffed.

"When I said you could tell me anything, I didn't mean cheesy shit like that."

The sound of the receiver being slammed back down snapped Billy out of his reverie.

Steve looked at Billy, put his hands on his hips. "Okay, Hargrove. Let's do this."

————

You'd parked your car a ways off from the quarry, and rock crunched under your feet as you made towards the edge overlooking the water.

This was the best place for you be be alone that you could think of. The moon was full tonight, the light shining over the water. It was beautiful in the way that the lights in the mall had been beautiful that night last summer.

You paced, waiting for him. The bat was heavy in your hand as you swung it back and forth, what with the nails jammed into the wood, listening to the swooshing sound it made in the night air.

You weren't entirely sure why you'd brought it, but the idea of coming out here empty handed felt unbelievably stupid.

Fog was rolling in over the water. Fitting.

And there he was. Big and writhing and evil. An image of Billy screaming flashed through your mind. Vecna had done that. Hurt your pretty baby.

"What are you doing out here, Y/N?"

"Thought we could have a little chat, you and me."

"Is that so? What makes you think you're so special as to get that kind of treatment?"

"Nothing, really. Thought we could make a deal. You seem to like me a whole lot, what with the trauma and all. I was thinking you take me. Leave Max and everyone else alone. I think you've had plenty of fun already."

"Oh, but there's always so much more fun to be had, Y/N."

But you'd caught that shift in his demeanor. Vecna hadn't expected you to give yourself up. Chrissy had run for her daddy. Fred for the hills. Patrick thought his friends could pick up the slack. But you. You were so different. So enticing.

You'd caught Lord Vecna off guard. Eddie would think it astronomically badass.

Your thumb shifted Billy's ring around your middle finger, the other hand still swishing Nancy's bat.

"I think it's pretty solid. Take me and do whatever it is that you think you need to do to feed that ego of yours. But stay the fuck away from my family. They've had enough."

"Yeah they have." Steve's voice. Steve's voice. You turned your head in time to see Billy hand the brunette a lighter before Vecna was alight, struggling for you, for anything.

But he looked shocked at the arrow that pierced his chest, and knocked him backwards. A fucking arrow. It had been Robin. The group of you gathered to watch Vecna fall. It was almost poetic, considering the way Henry had ended up in his alternate dimension.

Not so much when you mumbled, "Where the fuck did you get a bow, Buckley?"

"I tried to take up archery in middle school," she shrugged.

You watched Vecna burn from above, his body having impaled a stalagmite at the edge of the quarry floor. It felt almost ethereal.

You spun around, suddenly remembering that Billy was there. He was looking at you, but he was practically fuming. You hadn't seen him that angry in a long time. The rest of the group noticed, but Steve spoke first. "I think we oughta go make sure he's like, for sure, cooked."

Nancy eased the bat from your hands and smiled before pattering away.

"Billy, I--"

"Don't, Y/N. What the fuck were you thinking coming out here, huh?" He was an animated arguer, a hand gesture accompanying every frustrated word. But you didn't miss the glaze over his eyes. He'd obviously been worried sick.

"Oh, I don't know Billy, maybe that if he took me, that it wouldn't be Max. That it wouldn't be Dustin, or Eddie, or Steve's funeral that I'd be going to. That it wouldn't be fucking you lying dead somewhere!"

You'd moved closer to him in your haste.

"One sacrifice is better than a handful, Billy."

"No, Y/N, it's not!" Billy shouted, his words echoing around you. "If you die and I live, I'd have nothing. You have people that depend on you."

Billy's words knocked the wind out of you. You couldn't breathe.

"Billy."

"It's different for you. Your family needs you. Nobody needs me."

You stepped in front of him, taking his hand in yours. "I do. I need you."

A tear slipped down Billy's cheek, and you reached out to hold his face. He leaned into the weight of your palm, trying to control his breathing.

"Were you ever gonna tell me that you felt this way?" You asked him.

"Were you gonna tell me about Max or this Vecna creep or that you obviously thought it was okay for you to go off getting yourself killed?"

"Billy."

"Tell me. I need to know."

"Billy, I think you've got it all wrong. If I die, the rest of the group will go on. Steve and Robin and all of the kids. It doesn't make a difference if I'm here or not. I thought that by doing this, I could somehow fix it for them. For you. Make sure that your lives would be somehow different. Safer. That I'd be worth something."

"But you are. To me. You think I keep you around for no reason, Y/N? It's not like I love you or I need you or anything?"

"Yeah but I'm sure you c--"

"No, I fucking couldn't. There's no one else out there for me. Not one as good as you. As badass. You were shit talking him, weren't you?"

Billy laughed, but that didn't stop the tears laving over his freckles.

"Yeah. But, Billy, you gotta know that Max needs you. That Lucas needs you. Who's gonna teach him to be better than Steve, huh? Robin needs you. She wants to grow out a mullet, you know. I need you, Billy."

Billy wrapped his arms around your back, firm and warm.

"We're such fucking losers."

"Welcome to the club!" Robin's voice made you jump, and Billy's hand absentmindedly rubbed your back to soothe you.

"Shit, Rob! How long have you guys been back up here?"

"Long enough to hear all about your shared trauma." Nancy said, clapping her hands together happily.

Billy rolled his eyes and kissed you, his lips chapped and a little salty, but comforting nonetheless. He couldn't give a shit if Robin was making gagging noises behind him.

God, the two of you were so fucked up. But you were more than happy to be fucked up together.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging just to be safe: @zaypay

[illusioninfnty]

✩₊˚.⋆Masterlist ! ✩₊˚.⋆

You can access my rules here.

── .✦ Kinktober 2023 ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ various fandoms

── .✦ Kinktober 2024 ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ various fandoms

── .✦ Until Dawn ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ sam giddings, josh washington, mike munroe, emily davis

── .✦ House of the Dragon ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ rhaenyra targaryen, alicent hightower, jacaerys velaryon, harwin strong

── .✦ One Piece (Live Action) ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ roronoa zoro, vinsmoke sanji, monkey d. luffy, nami, red-haired shanks, buggy the clown

── .✦ The Last of Us ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ joel miller

── .✦ Horror Movies ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ house of wax, scream, halloween, the boy, midsommar, violent night

── .✦ Outer Banks ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ rafe cameron

── .✦ Call of Duty ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ simon "ghost" riley, john price

── .✦ The Quarry ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ jacob custos

── .✦ Stranger Things ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ jim hopper, billy hargrove

── .✦ Moon Knight ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ marc spector, jake lockley

── .✦ Miscellaneous ✦ . ──

↳ click here!

↳ spiderman astv, shadow and bone/six of crows, resident evil, four brothers, jujutsu kaisen

all works are written by and belong to © illusioninfnty. I do not give permission for my works to be reposted, claimed, copied, translated, or used for AI. Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated!

[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