#pages and pages of sketches of billy after he moves to hawkins

[magniloquent-raven]

31 and 42 for any character(s) you want

eyyy ty for the ask 🥰

31. most prized possession

billy has one picture of his mother.

he managed to keep some of her stuff hidden from neil. a few small things. a filigree dolphin ring she’d left by the bathroom sink, a rinsed out jam jar full of her favourite bits of sea glass, and a paperback novel with curling edges and a broken spine. he used to pester her while she was reading, ask her endless questions until she relented and read out loud for him. didn’t matter what she was reading, he barely paid attention to the stories anyways, he just liked to hear her do the voices.

and all of those things are important to him. (he keeps them in separate hiding places, in case neil ever goes looking through his things, he doesn’t want them all thrown out at once, if it comes to that.) he’s read the book dozens of times. he used to wear the ring when he was alone in his room, but he outgrew it years ago. when he has the house to himself he sorts through the sea glass, lays it all out on his bed and tries to remember the stories she told about each piece.

and he treasures all these little keepsakes, but none more than the single, faded photograph he has of the women herself. a polaroid he took when he was too young to hold the camera properly. it’s crooked, and at a weird, unflattering angle, the sun blotting out a whole corner of the photo, but her smile is still clear and visible, and that’s all that matters.

because she left when he was so young. and he worries that one day he’ll forget what she looks like.

so he looks at the picture every day. sometimes just a glance, to remind himself, and sometimes, when he’s snuck in through his window after a party, drunk and woozy and in his feelings, he’ll sit on his floor and look at it til his eyes get tired and he can’t blink away the tears anymore.

and i think that steve would have a weird relationship with possessions. like. as a teenager, stuff feels like a burden sometimes. all the things his parents bought. he isn’t allowed to complain about his parents not spending time with him because they’ve given him things instead. that they’re at least somewhat invested in keeping him alive. his dad would definitely be one of those “you’re so ungrateful, and after we fed and clothed you all these years” kind of parents.

so he has all these things that are supposed to mean something to him, but they just. don’t.

then when him and billy become tentative friends, billy decides he’s deeply and personally offended by steve’s taste in music. and he makes him a mixtape. it’s just. songs billy likes. music that doesn’t suck scribbled on the label, with a dumb little winky face drawn on the corner. it is in no way a romantic gesture, except. excep steve’s already got a massive crush on billy so, really, he couldve handed over a fucking math textbook and steve still would’ve gotten butterflies over the fact that billy thought of him at all.

and then billy listens to it with him. talks to him about it. it’s not just that billy thought of him, made something for him, but it’s an excuse to spend time with him too.

and when they start dating billy starts to give him other stuff. little things. a wonky little stuffed turtle he snagged from a claw machine while steve paid for their pizza. a piece of sea glass he found when they took a trip to the beach (he looked real serious when he handed it over, his eyes a little distant, and steve didn’t quite understand why, but the frown was easily kissed away). and a couple more mixtapes over the years. that steve would keep even when they couldn’t be played anymore.

he keeps these things in a fancy little wooden box on his dresser, all polished and shiny with gold plated hinges. full of all the things billy’s ever given him. and maybe it’s a little fucked up that sometimes he thinks he keeps these things because he needs the tangible proof that he’s loved, and that without all the little tokens of affections he’d just float untethered and unsure, but. they aren’t just things anymore, they’re memories, and love

42. hobbies

i absolutely adore the idea of post s3 billy just. doing a bunch of grandma activities lmao. his lungs and his heart are all busted up and there’s residual chest pain and he just can’t be as active as he used to be. plus he’s not as social anymore. being possessed and traumatized will do that to you. and then people start to notice that he’s stuck at home, bored and depressed. max notices. steve notices. word gets around.

and somehow their campaign to help him leads to him learning how to bake (max starts taking out cookbooks from the library and giving them to him) and taking care of plants (steve buys him cacti and herbs and anything that blooms blue) and eventually mrs henderson teaches him how to knit. (doc owens says it’ll be good for his hands, keep his fine motor skills sharp. and he doesn’t laugh. which helps)

and all of it helps keep him occupied. keep him from wallowing too much. and it’s nice to make things. keep things alive. feels like a step forward

and idk about in canon, but whether it’s an au thing or not, i love steve as an artist. he’s not great with words, and he just feels. dumb a lot of the time. he’s not intellectual. not good at school, things that his dad and his teachers tell him he’s supposed to be good at if he wants to amount to anything. but when he gets bored in class, when he just doesn’t understand the book he’s supposed to be reading, or he can’t follow along with the complicated formulas up on the board, he doodles. his notebooks are full of little drawings. caricatures of his classmates. landscape snapshots of what he can see through the window. he gets restless and his mind wanders but when he’s drawing he focuses.

and he doesn’t really show people. doesn’t tell anyone. he doesn’t think of himself as an artist, he just can’t concentrate in class so he doodles. it’s a shameful thing.

but maybe a teacher notices. takes an interest. encourages him a little. and its not much but it’s a start. lets him think about it a little more positively. he still hides it from his parents, he knows it’d just end with a lecture from his dad, but he feels less shitty about himself when he flips through his notebooks that are full of more pictures than words.

headcanon asks

[fedupingay]

Stranger Things Warrior Cat AU time! This isn’t the full AU obviously, but I just wrote down a few interesting things

(Also before someone asks, yes Byler is a thing that will end up happening in this AU, how could it not lol)

The clan is called HawkClan because Hawkins... it’s not that difficult to figure that one out lol the main party of 6 consists of Myrtlepaw(Mike), Elmpaw(Will), Dustpaw(Dustin), Leechpaw(Lucas), El/Moonpaw(El), and Dawnpaw(Max). Myrtlepaw, Elmpaw, and Dustpaw were all born in the clan, Myrtlekit and Elmkit becoming very fast friends, a few moons later meeting a kittypet kit named Lucas who moved into the clan with his parents, who were also both kittypets. Lucas was renamed to Leechkit, and he formed a bond with the other two cats after a while. Dustkit didn’t become their friend until a while later, due to his health issues landing him in the medicine den frequently, but he got along with them very well. It stayed like that for a bit until Elmpaw disappeared, the three other toms finding a she-cat named Eleven, shortly after being nicknamed El, in the forest when looking for him, and then stuff happened after that. A few moons later 4 loners joined the clan, one of them being Dawnpaw, who joined in on the groups activities shortly after joining the clan.

Other cats with names so far are Robinclaw(Robin), Burdockfur(Eddie), Wildberry(Billy), Jaggedpaw(James), Thornpaw(Troy), Lynxstrike(Lonnie),  Juniperstorm(Joyce), and Grassstar(Hopper, his warrior name is Grasshopper and he mainly goes by Hopper or Hop, like in the show, also mainly because Grassstar looks horrible when written lmao), I’ll refer to everyone else by their real names for the time being

They live in a very VERY heteronormative society, that believes all she-cats who are warriors must one day become mothers, and that she-cats only major role in a clan can be medicine cats, and male medicine cats aren't a thing. Gay relationships are also seen as very strange to the majority of HawkClan, which isn’t fun for Myrtlepaw and Elmpaw, as well as Robinclaw, and kittypets are seen as very very cowardly, loners and rogues on the other hand being seen as overly aggressive. Medicine cats are confined to camp unless gathering herbs, so once Elmpaw went missing, Juniperstorm yelled at Hopper to make her be a warrior again (her being a warrior before Lynxstrike left, before changing to a medicine cat) so she could leave camp to help look for her son, which Hopper agreed to after a bit. This did cause Robinclaw to become a full medicine cat a bit earlier then she expected, which didn’t really help her.

After Wildberry dies/gets injured (don’t know what to do with him yet lol), him having been made deputy since 1. Hopper wanted HawkClan to stop seeing loners as lesser since he was trying to fix the clans issues a bit, and 2. There are monsters attacking them, and Wildberry is quite strong, it was also a decision made under a lot of stress. But yeah, after he gets hurt, Hopper makes Nancy his new deputy, further pushing for the clan to change their views. Shortly after though, Hopper “died”, throwing Nancy into being leader after only being deputy for a little while, which causes her quite a lot of stress, but she gets through it just barely, though being more easily annoyed and tired. She did always want to be leader, but it was a dream she never thought she actually would achieve, and definitely not that quickly.

If anyone has any questions about this AU, or even any questions for characters in the AU, feel free to ask in the ask box! I love talking about my ideas, and there is a bunch of stuff I didn’t even touch on because I have no time lmao

And as a little bonus, take a sketch of a page from a short little comic based off the events from the first episode, called “The Vanishing of Elmpaw” that I have planned! My Warrior Cat OC comic has taken up most my drawing time though, so I have not finished it yet!

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read Into Me-Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights

Steve Harrington x Shy! Reader

CONTINUE READING THE SERIES HERE

Word Count: 2,849

Date Posted: 04/27/2020

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: We starting something newww friends! If you liked or commented on my post about this series, you’re on the tag list! If you want off lemme know, it’s seriously no big deal. I’ve been working on this one for awhile, so if you liked it, please flash me a reblog or a reply! Criticism is always appreciated!

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap @wolfish-willow @scoopsohboi @herre-gud-nej @aclockworkballerina @maddie1504 @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @banjino-the-hole @buckysarge @wildcvltre @stanleyyelnatsiii @t0rment0 @10blurredsmoke10 @unusuallchildd @n3wtscaseofniffler5 @alwaysstressedout @peterparxour @linksispink1995 @asharpknife @alex--awesome--22 @baebee35 @marvelismylifffe @lilmissperfectlyimperfect

Flowers poked up between the sidewalk cracks, little white and yellow daisies blooming skyward, their heads turning to bask in the sun. Spring was bursting all over Hawkins, making the town reborn in pastels and Easter bonnets. Babies crawled around in the parks in white outfits, their mothers not worried about grass stains and cooing over their precious bundles of joy.

You crushed the daisies under your boots on your walk to school. You made a point to. They were begging to be crushed, stamped out by your heavy black soles. You didn’t like spring, you hated babies in their grass stained diapers and drool covered cheeks. You couldn’t place why you hated the season, it wasn’t as if you hated the cold or the rain which plagued March and early April, you adored the sound of rain on the Plexiglas roof of your family’s sunroom, thunder in the distance and swirling grey clouds swarming the sky. Then again, that wasn’t what spring wanted to be. Spring wanted to be beautiful bursts of colour and birds singing from their nests, babies crying into life and everything turning green.

Your hatred might have sprung from all that green, your mother had insisted on you taking up an artistic skill, supposedly because it made young women more worldly and affable, and sat you in art classes where you painted bouquets of flowers and bowls of fruit for hours every week. You didn’t hate art; it had become a release for you, a place to vent your emotions and makes something from your mind’s spinning thoughts. You’d filled sketchbooks and canvases with images of aliens and stars and snails. You liked to doodle snails and hourglasses on the margins of your homework. But your favourite thing was to draw your classmates. You were a quiet person, a sensitive soul according to your grandmother, and so often time’s people would ignore you flat out or discount your presence. This didn’t bother you so much, it gave you the chance to look at them without anyone asking any questions, to sketch out their image in charcoal and graphite, covering your hands in black and grey smudges. Your hands were constantly stained black, up the side of your hand to the tip of your pinkie, which meant that your jeans and shirts and sweater cuffs were smudged and stained.

You were sat on the football field’s bleachers one cool April morning, your best friend Samantha Cameron sat next to you, thin headset around the back of her head. She was unable to pull the headset around her black spiked hair, purposefully ghastly pale with black lips. You could hear the muffled sound of Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees playing at top volume as her head bounced to the beat, her black high tops kicking at the seat below you. You had your sketchpad out, trying to capture the stiff movement of her hair with the graphite piece clutched in your hand.

Samantha turned to look at you with a smile “You get it right yet?” she asked. She could see the annoyance in your face as you rubbed at the drawing, trying to smudge the stray hairs trying to escape the harsh gelling she’d done that morning. Just like your drawing, you suspecting that she’d been unable to get it to do exactly as she wanted.

“It’s getting there, it’s not moving right yet…” you muttered, pulling your lip into your teeth, chewing hard on the skin.

“You have like, four of me as is, I think you’ll survive if it isn’t perfect.” Samantha chuckled, pulling her headset down around her neck, twisting her long strand of pearls around her index finger.

“And I like this one best, your hair is moving so interestingly today…” you swiped at the page, pulling the eraser gum out of the coils and rubbing out the mistake you’d made, adding more shake to the tips of the centre point.

“Besides,” you chuckled “I’m not gonna have the time to get any good sketches of you with post-its in your hair this year.” Usually, you and Samantha would try to take one class together a year, but she had to switch her English class to first semester so she could snag a gym credit to train for potential college reps. She wanted to be a Wellesley girl and get a scholarship for soccer and she needed to be a top performance to get one.

You sighed, turning away from her. “I still hate that Mr. Lawrence insists on group work…” you muttered. You understood her decision, but you felt a bit nervous about being on your own. You’d gone to school with the same kids for your whole life, but being on your own with no one to depend on socially for a whole semester scared you.

Samantha wrapped an arm around your shoulders “You’ll be fine, you know that he usually assigns partners anyway.” She said, rubbing your bare skin gently.

“I know I just really don’t want to get stuck with some nitwit.” You replied. On cue, the bell blared from the outdoor speakers and you closed up your notebook, sliding your graphite and eraser gum into the coils and shoving it into your backpack, stringing it around your shoulders.

Mr. Lawrence’s hair had gone white long before he’d begun to show to process of aging on his face. His only wrinkles were from tension on his forehead and around his mouth.  His white hair was a sort of burst of smoke around his head, always puffed up around his head and never fully settled into a style. You smiled when you walked into his classroom, taking a seat in the far back corner. You’d already gotten a sketch of his puffy cloud hair, so you left your notebook closed.  The rest of the class trickled in, clumped in their little groups and chattering loudly, taking up the seats around you. Nobody paid much attention to you, which didn’t bother you as much as it used to. It still left a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. You wished that you had your headset, so you could block out the sound from your peers.

You hoped that the seat next to you would stay empty, that people would avoid you and let you sit quietly. It hadn’t before the break, but the room had been set up in little table groups of four. Now, the room was set up in three rows, two desks pushed next to each other all the way down. Mr. Lawrence had already had to yell twice for people to not move the desks, a sign of little cliques forming. Vicki Clarke had tried to pull the desk next to you over to turn the end of the middle row into a fire hazard, causing Mr. Lawrence to yell out for a third time. Vicki rolled her eyes, but released the desk, taking the desk next to the free one, leaving a clear space between her and you. You didn’t mind; Vicki always smelt like artificial apples, from the cheap body spray she slathered herself in at her locker and the scent gave you a headache.

Tina Martins practically ran to Vicki as the bell rang out, immediately calling to Vicki “Move that desk over!”

Mr. Lawrence rolled his eyes “Miss Martins we are not moving any desks in this room. Take a seat.” He announced. Tina’s shoulders sunk, but she obeyed without an argument, taking the seat to Vicki’s right. Then, the reason for all the commotion walked in, late slip in hand.

Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington was still something to talk about, even after being horrifically dumped by Nancy Wheeler, he was still a hot object around the school, especially for girls burned by the newest small town hottie Billy Hargrove. Vicki and Tina were two primed recent burn victims, Tina having tried and tragically failed to get Billy’s attention at her own house party and Vicki being the first ‘hump and dump’ victim of the notorious man whore. Steve’s sad boy behaviour had attracted the attention of many bleeding hearts throughout the school, letting themselves get their hearts drained by his succubus heartache. And here he was, puffed up like a robin, his bright red member’s only jacket mimicking the red breast on the bird, his hair perfectly coiffed and glinting in the florescent lights. Heartbreak had done his ego good, teaching him that girls were a dime a dozen if you were hot and sad. The concept of preying on vulnerable girls made you sick to your stomach.

Steve handed his late slip off to Mr. Lawrence and he stamped it with the date punch he kept on his desk. “Welcome Mr. Harrington, please take a seat so we can begin.” He said, his rectangular glasses sliding off his nose as he spoke.

Suddenly, the energy in the room changed. It was then that you realized the class was mostly girls and every single girl in the room was staring at Steve. It was obvious to you in an instant: they wanted Steve to sit next to them and they were all out of luck, sat next to friends or other girls desperate for the same attention. The bargaining began, girls whispering to the person next to them to move, sliding cool erasers or lipsticks over onto the other desk, peace offerings they hoped someone would take. Mr. Lawrence’s classroom had fallen to jailhouse rules and you sat wondering when the first person would pull their shank. No one moved as Steve made his way to the back of the class. Then, another thing became clear-you were the only person with a free desk next to them. Vicki waved shyly to Steve as he took the seat and you tried to disappear. The whole room’s eyes were now on you and unlike Steve you absolutely hated it. You wanted to disappear. Now, you were enemy number one to every girl in the room.

“Alright, let’s begin then, yes?” Mr. Lawrence clapped once and commenced the lesson “Welcome to your last two months of English! I’m passing around the breakdown for your final assignment and copies of our last reading for the course, Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.” The class groaned. You’d been hoping for a lighter, more modern read, something at least from that century. But you knew that Mr. Lawrence loved a classic and had to follow the suggested readings for your grade dictating by the state. You took your tattered copy and wordlessly handed the pile off to Steve, who didn’t notice that it had landed on his desk until Vicki pointed it out with a giggle.

“Now, everyone turn to their desk mate. He or she will be your editor and writing partner for the final essay of the year!” your heart dropped. You were stuck with Steve. And he was an idiot. Every stupid thing you’d heard uttered from a classmate’s mouth had always been from his. He once asked who the US was fighting in World War two. He spent one class arguing with a teacher that Beth didn’t die in Little Women, not believing it even when the teacher sourced the exact page when Alcott revealed it. He once failed a health assignment because he mixed up the names for the parts of the male and female. Literally mixed them up, your seventh grade health teacher had provided them for the worksheets and told the class to cut the out and glue them on and he mixed up all the words into a pile. He was an idiot!

Tina’s hand shot up fast and Mr. Lawrence called on her. “Mr. Lawrence, can we be a threesome with Steve?” She asked loudly, smirking over at you. Vicki giggled at the word ‘threesome’, hands clutched over her mouth.

“But then what will Y/N do? She won’t have a partner.” Mr. Lawrence flashed you a small smile and you just about threw up. This was all too much for you, too much attention, too many people looking at you.

You raised your hand timidly “I’ll be fine if that’s what they want to do. I don’t mind working on my own…” you said, your eyes locked on the course breakdown.

“See, Y/N can handle herself.” Tina said. If you knew Tina to be anything other than mean and condescending, you would’ve taken that as a compliment.

“I want every student to have work edited and reviewed by a classmate before I look at it. I’m sorry, but I’m not making exceptions to the rule. If your desk mate wants to switch with Steve, then that’s another thing entirely, but you cannot be a group of three.” Mr. Lawrence laid down the law on that and moved on with the lesson. While Tina and Vicki attempt to convince one another to switch seats and let the other have Steve, neither would budge and Steve seemed utterly uninterested in their spat. To be fair, he didn’t seem interested in the lesson either. He had taken to drawing on the surface of his desk, scratching his initials into the wood.

“Now, for your first assignment back, I’d like you to write me a piece on your spring break. Nothing fancy, just one page typed. We’ll write the first draft today and exchange it with our partners to be edited and rewritten for Friday.” He announced “When you’re done, read chapters one through three of Wuthering Heights.”

With that, the semester had begun again and everyone went to work. Voices took over the room, people chattering around you. You felt a pair of eyes on you, but you flipped open your binder to a clean sheet of paper and began writing out your simple description of your break. You knew that Mr. Lawrence didn’t actually care about what you had done or had to say, only that you’d done the work and had proof of editing for it. This was a practise for the main event. Still, you could make a page out of art classes and driving to Carmel with Samantha to see some random band in the basement of a dive bar. You could even make it interesting for him. But, something still made your stomach churn. You didn’t want Harrington looking at your writing. You didn’t consider yourself the next Hemingway, but you could write an essay. What worried you wasn’t being told that you were wrong. It was letting him into your mind at all. You didn’t know Steve and he didn’t know you, what if he didn’t understand you? He wouldn’t understand you.

You looked up from your work to see Steve looking blankly at you. You met his eye, raising your brow at him. He looked away fast. You didn’t know what it was about, your hands came up to your face, wiping at your cheeks and mouth. Maybe there was something on your face. Maybe your hair looked silly. Maybe he was making fun of you. That had to be it. He was making fun of you. Vicki and Tina were always bugging you and Samantha, maybe he was joining in. It wasn’t your fault that Mr. Lawrence had forced you two to be partners. You pulled your body away from his, curling into yourself.

When the bell rang, you pulled your work into your bag, making a break for the door. You had your free period next and were desperate to finish your drawing of Samantha. You didn’t need to have her in front of you to catch the right details; you’d drawn her a million times.

You had barely made it into the hallway when Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you back with a cocky grin “Whoa, slow your roll there kiddo,” he chuckled. Your skin prickled under his hand and you wanted nothing more than to disappear. You stopped dead in your tracks, pulling away from his hand carefully.

“So, how’re we doing this?” he asked, his attention moving from you to the yelp of Tommy Hanson. You didn’t need to look to know that Carol Perkins was beating him with her bag again. That was a weekly occurrence.

“Write your stuff and hand it off to me in class. I’ll edit anything up till forty-eight hours before it’s due. I’ll give you my stuff when you give me yours.” You said quickly, crossing your arms tightly over your chest.

“Sounds cool,” Another cry from Tommy, this one more directed at Steve, drew his attention fully “Alright, I’m coming Hanson! See ya around.” He directed the farewell to you, bounding off towards the source of the sound. Even when his presence was gone, you still felt his fingertips on your arm.

Samantha threw her arm around your shoulders, rebooting your systems again. “Hey, what was that about?” she asked, leading you away from Mr. Lawrence’s classroom and towards the gym, her next destination.

“That was because you fucked me over.” You sighed. It was going to be a long month.