#if anyone else in the cast was to be able to skateboard despite the magic rule it would be wiz

[journey-to-the-attic]

I feel in my heart that Ik is the only member of the main cast who can do skateboard tricks. Don't ask me where this came from

i feel in my heart that you are correct and also that solomon specifically is so mad that he can't do them.... also i'm going to make it a rule: if you can do magic you can't skateboard and vice versa. something about having magic throws off your inner boarder.....

this opens the possibility of ik becoming a tony hawk like figure within the devildom and i think this is the only variant of devildom fame that she would be okay with

[thedeviljudges]

based on @weirdlet’s hc for witchy!billy, along with some hcs i came up with. this one is based on the very last bullet point of this post.

Billy’s only gone for a couple of minutes, the thrum of the charm he’d left under the bed a steady pulse within his chest. He feels it rustle between his ribs, an extended part of his magic he’d given to someone else for the first time in, well, ever.

Except Max. Max has one, Billy reminds himself. But this? This is different.

It burns so bright, a gradient of ember and green. Billy doesn’t need to see it to know how well-lit, how well-preserved it’ll stay where he left it, and for good reason. Hawkins is a dangerous place, as it turns out, and not because Billy had blown through town like hell was on his heels.

Sometimes the nights are too long, and Billy can’t always be around, but he can give him this. A safety net, a reminder that nothing will bite in the dark. Billy is a lot of things as much as he isn’t, but being a protector feels good; it finally feels like he’s done something right.

The soft chime of the clock in the foyer and the padding of socked feet hitting the stairs disrupts Billy’s scattered thoughts. He hasn’t said anything about the charm, hadn’t planned on making it known until he was surely ready to admit that underneath all the emotional turmoil, he actually feels things he never thought he would.

Billy waves his hand, catching the handle of the spatula before it clatters to the floor. Admittedly, he doesn’t want to be caught. He’s doing better, trying to be better about the use of his magic, and he doesn’t think that making eggs in the early morning counts as particularly useful.

“One of these days,” a voice slinks through the noisy sizzle of the pan, “you will actually sleep in with me.”

Billy smiles as he lifts the pan, turning it over, scraping the contents onto two plates. It’s the easiest thing to make in the house, quick and simple for someone like him who’d often have to make do. Old habits die hard, it seems, but Steve isn’t complaining when he grabs a fork and his plate and immediately digs in.

“You’re welcome.”

Around a mouthful, Steve grins sheepishly without apology, eyes bright as he shuffles over to the dinner table. He’d told Billy once that it often didn’t have any use, but he liked the idea of it when the kids were over, implementing a pattern for them they knew well enough. Nights when Steve ordered pizza or Chinese, when the house was filled with much more noise than he was used to.

For Billy, a table like that meant cowering behind his plate, but with Steve he understands its significance. He’s hardheaded about a lot of things, but this is one he’d easily fallen into.

It’s why he joins Steve at the table with no complaint, where Billy sits close enough to Steve that their thighs brush with familiarity that only comes from two people spending time together. It’s Steve and him in a big ol’ house on Saturday’s, shooting the shit and filling Steve’s bedroom with the smell of sex and sweat.

Billy takes a bite of his eggs in an attempt to ignore the ever-growing intrusion of anxiety, wishes he’d cooked them a few seconds longer. They’re not bad, but definitely not his best, and he thinks maybe crashing at Steve’s place hadn’t been the pleasant distraction he’d been hoping for.

"Are you even listening?”

It takes a kick to the foot for Billy to startle, brows drawn close. He’s been anxious about that stupid charm, and now Steve’s looking at him funny. “Yeah, I-” But Steve, Steve knows Billy. Knows him better than anyone in this town, and Billy would roll his eyes because he doesn’t do cliche, but Steve sees right through him no matter what.

Shoulders slumping, Billy shrugs. “Yeah, just- there’s been a lot on my mind.”

It’s a non-answer Billy hopes Steve doesn’t push, but he sees the wheels turning behind Steve’s eyes, the flicker of concern he’s never been good at masking. “This isn’t about-”

“No,” Billy shuts that down immediately and with a little too much force. He regrets it instantly, but he doesn’t apologize. His father makes him angry in many irrational ways, but luckily he’d left the house unscathed, could be here with Steve this weekend without the shadow of a monster home-grown. “It’s nothing important.”

“Okay.”

Because it’s that easy. Alway is, and Billy isn’t naive enough to believe it always will be, but he’ll take what he can get. More than thankful over the fact that Steve trusts him enough to open up when he’s ready.

This, though? Billy’s not sure he’s ready for. In fact, his thoughts sway again because it’s just a charm. Just a protective spell meant to keep Steve safe. 

There were no qualms making one for Max, not after all the failed attempts learning new moves on her skateboard. Billy grew tired of seeing all the bruises and gravel marks that’d split her skin open wide, scabs that cracked and healed only to be tore open again because Max is still so damn stubborn.

Steve, on the other hand, can handle himself, but it’d made Billy feel better. His magic came so naturally to him, it had no problem dancing in front of his face when he’d whispered Steve’s name in the darkness of his room two nights ago. Billy could’ve sworn it almost laughed at him for being so slow, so stu-

“-it’s a bit unusual. Mother’s never cared for flowers-”

“What?”

Steve sighs, shoving the last bite of eggs into his mouth. He makes the motion to drop the utensil, an exasperated annoyance flittering across the corner of his mouth, but Billy catches the fork with the flick of a finger, settling it back down onto the plate.

Steve only huffs.

“Please don’t be mad at me.”

Like Billy, Steve’s resolve is easily broken. He licks the front of his teeth, arches a brow, and gives Billy what’s supposed to be a glare but is only another twist of concern. It’s only fair. Billy’s frustrated with himself because it’s not a big deal. None of it’s a big deal, but he thinks and he wonders if maybe he should’ve asked Steve first, if he’d wanted Billy’s magic, if he wanted his help.

Because that’s all he’s trying to do.

“What were you saying about the flowers?”

“There’s like, a dozen-” Steve begins, expression shifting. His nose scrunches as he gently shakes his head, tufts of brown hair falling to the wayside, curling and sticking and poking out from the nest its made from a good night’s sleep. “No,” he corrects himself with a lilt, like a question, “hundreds of them in the yard? It’s- well, it’s weird. It happens a lot.”

Billy’s eyes narrow at first, maybe from disbelief, maybe from the sudden shift in topic: from charms to flowers. And in a grand moment of pause, he says, “What?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” This time the irritation is real, and Billy’s tempted to press his thumb right between Steve’s brows, ease the muscles that give him an offended look, but he doesn’t. Billy’s too caught up in Steve’s story about flowers- and what the fuck is he even talking about?

���Everywhere?” Billy presses, lifts himself out of his seat.

“Hey,” Steve calls out behind him, the echo of his chair as it scrapes against the floor flooding his ears. “Where are you going?”

Billy doesn’t answer. He knows Steve will follow him, and he knows exactly where he’s going. The door leading to the backyard opens easily under his grip, the pool before him the first thing that catches his eye. It shimmers under the early morning light, but just a few yards away, right before the yard extends into giant trees and the extensive stretch of woodland, does not sit grass.

It’s there budding from the dirt, of course, but between each blade, a stem has sprouted. They’ve got little leaves on them and a flower in full bloom, and when Billy looks around, there’s not a space of well-manicured lawn left untouched.

Billy’s not even sure he wants to take a look at the front of the house. It’s got to be ten times worse than this. “Holy shit,” he whispers.

“It happens almost every time you sleep over.”

The tips of Steve’s fingers are cold as they slide over Billy’s waist. His chin fits right into the dip of Billy’s shoulder, front pressed to his back, and despite the sun casting its first rays of heat, the warmth of Steve’s body is much welcomed.

“It’s got something to do with you, doesn’t it?” Steve asks. His grip tightens around Billy for a split second, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

Thing is, Billy’s never seen this before. He’s seen things like it when he’s alone, the only witness to his frustrations, but never anything of this magnitude. And moreover, he’d never been quite sure whether others would be able to see it either, that his magic that procured most of them, would allow it to happen. 

But, as it seems, there’s no other way to explain it. Billy knows what he’s staring at even if he doesn’t want to admit it because it means facing the truth he thought he could avoid.

By now, Steve has wandered over to the other side of the patio, far from the pool but along the meticulously placed step stones that sit in the grass. They act as a guide to the pool, as if guests couldn’t spot the swath of dug up land from several yards away. But that peculiar path is the one Steve lingers on, bending down to caress a flower with the brush of a finger.

They’re not harmful, and Billy only knows this because he can feel the life they breath, imagines the roots wiggling below in pleasure of being seen. Slowly, Billy follows in Steve’s footsteps, the ground below him gritty and rough beneath him. He stops just before the first step, just before he intertwines himself amongst the flowers, toes curling against the edge of the patio. 

“I made you a charm,” he says abruptly. The nerves he feels shoot across his limbs, feel like pinpricks against his skin. Billy doesn’t bleed, though, but he feels like his blood is draining with the rush in his ears and the steady pace of his heart picking up speed. “And every time I feel too deeply, it manifests.”

It sounds stupid. It sounds so damn stupid when he says it out loud, and he thinks, briefly, that when Steve looks up at him from his crouched position, that he’s going to laugh. He’ll laugh at Billy for being absurd, for thinking he’d cause hundreds of flowers to sprout out of nowhere in the middle of the night because he’d felt too much.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve says, the corner of his left eye squinting from the light of the sun, “is this you trying to tell me you love me?”

Billy blinks back, clear surprise on his face.

Does he love Steve? Is that a thing he’s capable of, something he’s allowed? 

He’s avoided that question; he knows of his family’s curse, and yet he’s allowed himself this one simple pleasure because instead of laughing at Billy and the weird he brings with him, Steve smiles so softly, so kindly, and Billy doesn’t think he could ever give that up.

He’s not sure it can get any better than this.

It goes quiet around them except for the light breeze. The earth is quiet, too, probably reveling in Billy’s human fumblings, but he’s thankful for the peace. It gives him a moment to catch his breath, to extend his hand out to Steve, pull him forward into his embrace and kiss him as affectionally as he can muster.

There’s a lot about magic Billy doesn’t know yet, but he knows when he feels anger, pinpricks manifest across the seat of his car when he rolls angry down the backroads.

Billy’s also seen the ocean weep when he’s found an alcove close to the lake’s mouth, let tears loose under the guise of wistfulness of a small waterfall.

He’s also seen angry welts across his skin as punishment for his backlash turn into wind-whipped hair, thunder and lightening bracketing the sky under a downpour.

But this is different. This is the first of its kind, and Billy’s not well-versed in the naming of flowers, but he thinks they’re pretty for a reason.

A reason he hadn’t considered until now, presented before him in the most startling of ways. Billy’s always found ways to surprise himself, but he can always count on his magic to one-up him.

“I think-” he starts when he lets Steve’s mouth go, when he flicks his gaze upon red, swollen lips and sparkling brown eyes. “I think it might be a way.”

Later, Steve will tell him that they disappear after awhile. It’ll make sense because Billy’s never seen them before, not when he’s left Steve’s house in the middle of the day on a weekend he doesn’t like to let go of.

But now that he has, and now that he witnesses the blinding smile Steve gives him before pulling him back into the house, he wonders what had scared him, what had made him so damn nervous to begin with.

Billy hates big gestures, and he’d curse himself if he wasn’t already, but he likes this, likes the way Steve shrugs and says, “Yeah, I suppose it’s a good thing I love you, too.”