do you wanna feel how it feels?

[dealtgod]

Private and low activity multi-muse blog for muses from Stranger Things. This blog will contain mature, complex, and potentially triggering themes. Multi-ship. Duplicate Friendly. OC Friendly.  Cherished by Chelsea (she/her. 30+.) 

Formerly swordoaths

Meme tag (never expires) 

Rules & Muse Navigation Below Cut 

Credits: Banners (for Max); Banner for Billy made by me

Rules

i. This is a private and low activity roleplay blog for various canon muses. I do not own any of the canon characters, nor do I have any affiliation with their respective series.  ii. Please don’t god-mod. iii. Triggering and mature content can and will appear on this blog, including but not limited to: blood, battle scenes, gore, violence, horror themes, grief, references to past abuse, and death. If you have triggers, please let me know, or have them clearly stated in your rules. I tag triggers: [trigger name] tw iv. Basic rules apply here. No drama. No hate or harassment of any kind. No purity/censorship culture. Mun =/= Muse. This is supposed to be fun. Please keep it that way.  v. I write Max Mayfield and Billy Hargrove and frequently talk about how Neil Hargrove is the true monster/abuser in the family. I do talk about how Neil’s abuse affects their lives and relationships with each other, as well as with others. I also talk regularly about their sibling dynamic and (as stated above) am duplicate friendly and will write with other Billy writers. If you do not want to see Billy Hargrove, then my blog is not for you. vi. I will most likely be slow as I work full time. There will be times when I’m more active and times when I’m less so. Sometimes, I will drop threads if I’m no longer feeling it, and I extend the same courtesy to you. Dropping threads does not equal a lack of desire to write with you. I will always welcome starting new threads and memes! I generally do not format my writing and do not use icons. Format (or don’t) as much as you wish! vii. IMs are always open for chatting ooc and plotting. My inbox is always open for memes, random ic greetings, and questions! Discord is available to mutuals only. viii. Regarding shipping— I’m interested in all types of dynamics— romance, found family, friendships, allies, enemies, etc. Romantic shipping will be based on chemistry, and plotting is heavily preferred for romance. ix. I love plotting and just talking about our characters in general. I tend to prioritize plotted threads because I enjoy creating larger narrative storylines. However, I can write unplotted threads. I also have a link in my pinned post for my meme tag, and those memes never expire. Feel free to send those in as ice breakers or just for general fun!

Muses

Max Mayfield:  Bio / Headcanons / Threads / Visage / Musings / Aesthetic Important Max Meta: Parallels of Abuse by Neil & Vecna for Max & Billy + Breakdown of Dear Billy Letter + How Abuse Keeps Pulling Max & Billy Away Despite The Two Reaching Out + Max & Gender Non-Conformity in Style + Max & Billy in California + The Mayfields & Hargroves + Why Neil Never Officially Adopts Max + Susan’s Abandonment of Max in S4-S5 +  S4 Synopsis for Billy and Max + Post S5 Synopsis for Billy & Max + On Max Copying Neil’s Behavior at the Byers’ House +  Billy & Max’s Quiet Gestures of Supporting their Gender Non-Conformity

Billy Hargrove: Bio / Post S3 Timeline / S2 Timeline / Headcanons / Threads / Visage / Musings / Aesthetic Important Billy Meta:  Analysis of the Abuse Billy suffers from Neil + Billy & Gender Non-Conformity & Sexuality  + How the Mind Flayer & Karen Plot is Abuse & SA onto Billy  + Billy Calling Max his Sister vs his Step Sister + The Sexualization & Predatory Behavior Inflicted onto Billy +  On Billy Projecting a Loud Image + Billy’s Body Language: Body Shakes as a Result of Trauma + Analysis of Billy Dialing Emergency Services & its Implications of a Long Standing Lack of Belief in Billy’s Trauma +  Parallels in the Fight between Billy & Steve and Billy’s Mom & Neil + Billy’s Body Language & Styling Change at the End of S2 (and how that informs his characterization) + How Neil’s Abuse took away Billy’s Defiance +  What Does Billy Smell Like & What Hair Products Does He Use + Billy’s Hairstyling Routine and How it Informs his Character Part 1 & Part 2 + The Hook Latch on the Outside of Billy’s Bedroom Door + Billy & Touch being a Complex Thing + Billy & His Scars + Billy & The Gross Image Part 1 & Part 2 + Billy & Max’s Quiet Gestures of Supporting their Gender Non-Conformity + Parallels in S2 & S3 with Billy Expressing Agency over his Body before he is abused and assaulted + Billy & Crying + What Caused Billy’s Eyebrow Slit 

Steve Harrington: Bio / Headcanons / Threads / Visage / Musings / Aesthetic Important Steve Meta: Effects of Head Trauma + Effects of Choking Trauma + On Steve Eventually Needing Glasses + Steve’s Bisexuality & the Dismantling of The Jock & Discovery of Self Affiliated with: @imbricare , @hawkinsdevoured​

[teveharrington]

nobody  drove  his  car  but  him.  it  was  a  RULE  hammered  into  him  from  the  first  moment  he  was  gifted  the  bmw  on  his  6teenth  birthday.  his  dad  was  very  clear.  tommy  tried  pushing  his  weight,  but  it  was  the  one  issue  steve  stood  firm.  not  even  tommy  h  would  risk  being  banned  from  harrington's  house  just  to  take  a  joyride  in  his  precious  vehicle.  those  keys  were  the  last  thing  steve  ever  got  from  his  dad  freely.  every  responsibility  that  followed  fell  short  of  mr.  harrington's  expectations.  he  didn't  take  an  internship  at  his  dad's  company.  he  didn't  take  the  acceptance  letter  to  his  dad's  college  alma  mater.  steve  didn't  follow  in  his  dad's  footsteps.  he  took  the  keys  to  the  bmw  and  used  it  to  forge  his  own  path.

admittedly,  it  was  a  path  around  hawkins.  it  was  driven  to  the  wrong  side  of  the  tracks  where  the  byers  lived  on  the  edge  of  town.  he  drove  dustin  to  the  snowball  and  gave  the  kid  some  self  esteem  advice,  starting  by  keeping  up  with  his  appearance.  not  because  of  what  other  people  would  see,  but  how  it  would  make  him  fee.  more  confident,  more  present  in  his  own  skin.  steve  had  taken  his  burgundy  car  from  the  backroads,  riding  aimlessly  around  with  his  shallow  friends.  drinking  beers,  smoking  cigarettes  (outside  the  car,  of  course)  and  going  nowhere  fast.  then  his  bmw  turned  into  a  noble  steed,  carrying  him  and  the  party  safely  through  their  adventures.  his  car  had  changed  from  a  status  symbol  to  a  sanctuary.  different  from  his  empty  childhood  home.  when  steve  was  alone  in  his  car,  he  was  always  on  the  verge  of  something.  on  the  verge  of  something  new  and  wonderful. 

gripping  the  passenger's  side  handle,  he'd  never  been  on  this  side  of  the  car.  would  it  change  things?  he  wasn't  afraid  of  change.  that  wasn't  entirely  true.  he  was,  but  he'd  changed  so  muchin  the  past  year,  that  he  was  used  to  adapting.  if  he  could  adapt  to  everything  that's  happened  so  far,  then  maybe  he  could  brace  himself  for…  ❝  okay.  ❞  steve  popped  open  the  door.  another  pause.  finally,  he  slide  into  the  seat  and  shut  the  door  soundly.  shifting  his  weight  on  the  seat,  he  tried  to  get  used  to  the  feeling  of  sitting  on  the  wrong  side.  his  hands  reached  for  the  steering  wheel  to  meet  air.  then  he  resigned  himself  to  buckling  his  seatbelt  with  an  audible  gusting  sigh.  ❝  where  to?  or  have  you  planned  that  far  ahead?  ❞  steve  shot  him  a  wily  look.  billy  had  a  way  of  getting  what  he  wanted.  he  wasn't  sure  how  exactly  he  did  that,  but  steve  knew  there  was  no  use  in  arguing. 

[dealtgod]

Billy grins. It's a little wild, a hell of a beautiful thing. The curve of his mouth feels like the rush of a cresting wave. Like it's all-consuming, all anyone can see. All because Steve said okay, even if it still felt like there was something holding him back. And it's not at all surprising. Billy's been knocking on this guy's door, trying to get him to loosen the hell up for months now. Steve's stubborn, sometimes doesn't let himself see the things right there in front of him. And it's like. Billy knows he's gonna have to spell this out for him. Which makes his stomach flip. But none of that's showing right now. He's just grinning over the hood at Steve. "All right, Harrington. Knew y'had it in ya." His eyes stay with him for a second longer. The grin fades into something quieter. Something softer. And then Billy's dipping below the hood. Sits down in the driver's seat of the bmw.

One hand grips the wheel. The other slots the key into the ignition. Billy turns the ignition, feels the baby wake up underneath his feet. It fires something up within him. And it's like Steve gives him this little victory and decides he's gonna be a little bitchy about it. Just to rub it in. Because the audible sigh that's coming from the guy's mouth is louder than the goddamn engine. "Jesus, y'got any air left in those lungs after that sigh?" He rolls his eyes, then turns to look at Steve. Catches the wily look on his face. And the problem is, Steve's something else when he's being like this. Like Billy wants to be pissed off, but he's not. Because fortunately for Steve Harrington, he's still fucking something to see when he's being goddamn impossible. "Hey." It's low. Serious. "You can drive me wherever the hell y'want all week. Just let me take you somewhere for once, all right?"

Billy's hand settles on the gear shift. Throws it in reverse. Taps the gas with the sole of his leather boot. Starts turning the wheel with the palm of his hand. And then, he snorts at Steve's question. "Always gotta plan. Thought you knew that by now, pretty boy." He shifts into drive, smooth, so smooth. And here it comes.

"I'm takin' you t'the lake."

[ronandhermy]

"Ghost" by Reyna N.A.

[amikoroyaiart]

I miss themmmm

[hawklines]

starter for @dealtgod ( billy ) - late November / early December 1984

It happens so fast that Dottie’s not entirely sure how it happened – except that she does know how it happened, because the physics of it isn’t exactly rocket science. Molly hadn’t kept her chin tucked enough and it had adjusted the trajectory of her landing just enough that as she got caught by her bases, the back of her head smacked right into Dottie’s face. She can’t help the startled yelp on impact, and if she’s really being honest she sees stars for a second. 

“Oh, shit, Dottie, I’m so sorry!” Molly’s apologizing even as her feet touch the ground and she and everyone else are immediately crowding around. 

“It’s ok – it’s fine, I’m fine,” she’s sort of fine, but definitely not entirely fine, because she’s already instinctively put both hands up to her face, and she can feel that they’re wet; there’s a drop of blood down the front of her shirt. 

“Your nose is bleeding!” 

Yep, she’d figured that one out. She’s not mad about it; it was an accident, it happens, it’s why they practice, and it’s why they have spotters: better her face stop Molly’s head than her neck snap or something. But damn it hurts. “Yeah. It’s ok.” By now she kind of feels like she’s causing a scene, which isn’t something she likes doing; at this rate the basketball team over on the other side of the gym is going to notice, too, if they haven’t already. That’s not embarrassing at all. And practice is almost over, anyway. 

“But–” 

“It was an accident, it’s fine.” Even with both hands clutching her nose she can tell that she’s going to start getting blood all over if she doesn’t get something other than her hands to catch the blood. “Get Chrissy to help you, I’m gonna–” she jerks her head towards the locker rooms. 

By the time she gets to the locker room she’s cursing under her breath at the pain. Grabbing a wad of paper towels from the dispenser she tries to assess her nose in the mirror without bleeding everywhere. She doesn’t think it’s broken. She gives the tip of her nose a tentative poke, and it hurts, but she doesn't think it hurts as much as it would be if it was broken. Maybe she should be thanking Molly’s perky pony and puffy scrunchie for that. It sure hurts like a bitch, though. And she’s getting blood down the back of her throat too, which just tastes nasty.

She coughs, which doesn’t exactly feel great in her sinuses, and tilts her head further forward to try to make sure the blood’s coming out her nose and not dripping down the back of her throat again, cupping the wad of paper towels under her nose to make sure she’s not getting blood everywhere. So gross. The problem is she’s not exactly sure how to make it stop. When she tries pinching the end of her nose it just feels like it’s getting all clogged with blood, so she lets go. It’s got to stop eventually, right? With a frustrated groan, she leans forward, hunching over to lean her elbows on the edges of the sink, still holding the now-bloody wad of paper towels under her nose.

She hears the locker room door from the gym open, and someone comes in. “I’m fine, it’s fine,” she calls over without looking up to see who it is, realizing how nasally and congested she sounds now. Well that sucks. At least if she keeps her head forward like this it’s not dripping down her throat anymore.

[dealtgod]

Billy's running on adrenaline. Hyped up, engine purring. He's playing hard at practice, sneakers squeaking on the court. Staring down his teammates. Tongue out. Taunting. Daring. Like come out and fucking play. Except that it feels a whole lot like he's running from something. Feeding a distraction, as if it'll save him. He lets out a little high pitched whoop! when he makes net. Tommy's up on him, hands gripping his bare shoulders, using them as a springboard to jump up in the air. Saying shit like the Hawkins' Tigers won't ever lose now. Because the new tiger's in town. The keg king. Billy fucking Hargrove.

His teammates join in. Crowd him. Suddenly, Billy's in the spotlight, sweat slicked curls sticking to his neck from playing the game. But what game is Billy playing? Tommy's hand slides up to his neck-- the side with the fading bruise from the needle Max jabbed into him. And that's enough. Billy's ready to bounce. All at once, his mouth goes flat and something dies in his eyes. Like all his teammates just snuffed something out of him. Billy's suddenly pushing out of the crowd. Forcing his way out.

That's when a yelp echoes in the basketball court. Billy stops, turns on a dime. The boys follow suit. Gazes all turn to the cheerleaders. They're crowding around someone. 'Oh, shit,' Tommy muses. Billy squints, brows knit together. He watches quietly. His body's still, like if he moves, then somehow the pain would get worse. Billy doesn't know all the cheerleaders. But he knows it's Dottie who eventually breaks out of the crowd of concerned girls en route to the locker room. Holding her bloody nose. Goddamn. Billy frowns. Then Tommy's on him again. Jesus, the guy's got a velcro problem. Coach calls for a 5 minute break, and the boys begin making their way outside for a smoke. Billy just shoves the basketball into Tommy's chest. "I'm out," he says, like he's too cool for this shit. Like he's bored. Uninterested. Tommy just barks a laugh. Says something like Hargrove's gotta play doctor with Kline, but Billy's already blowing past him.

He pushes the locker room door open. Grabs a towel from the cart by the door. Tosses it around his neck. Then walks down the hall until it opens up to the sinks. Billy stops when he catches Dottie hunched over the sink with a wad of bloody paper towels. His body stiffens. Remembers the nights he stood in front of the sink at, nursing a bloody nose.

"Like hell you're fine." It's not a barb. It's just the truth. Billy stays back, not encroaching on Dottie's space. "Y'gotta straighten up. Just lean your head forward a little, and pinch your nose. Like this-" He keeps his body straight, leans forward slightly, and pinches his nose shut with his index finger and thumb. Releases it after a second. "And breathe through your mouth. Always looks like hell, but it'll stop."

[teveharrington]

how  do  you  go  home  that  night  after  all  the  sirens  ceased  their  wailing  and  the  lights  turned  off?  steve  drove  anyone  home  who  didn't  have  a  ride  after  the  startcourt  mall  disaster.  he'd  need  to  take  his  car  to  the  shop  tomorrow,  but  it  was  in  good  enough  shape  to  make  his  rounds  and  head  back  to  his  parents'  house.  careful  and  quiet,  so  that  he  didn't  wake  them,  he  went  up  to  his  room  and  sat  on  the  bed.  he  must've  sat  there  the  rest  of  the  night  still  wearing  his  uniform.  the  sunlight  through  his  window  stirred  him  from  his  conscious  revelry.  images  from  the  night  before  ran  over  his  mind's  eye  like  a  projector  reel.  he  wondered  where  the  hell  that  monster  came  from?!  never  had  they  encountered  something  like  that  beast  or  even  suspected  it  could  exist.  the  russians.  the  drugs.  billy…  possessed  billy  then  billy—what  he  did.  the  monster  was  gone  now,  and  billy… 

steve  shot  up  from  his  bed  and  paced  the  room.  stripping  from  his  soiled  uniform,  he  rushed  to  the  shower.  dried  blood  and  fatigue  flowed  down  the  drain  along  with  his  tears.  steve  didn't  CRY  when  he  could  help  it.  he  couldn't  help  it.  he  couldn't  help  billy.  he  almost  lost  all  of  them  if  it  weren't  for  @dealtgod. 

the  next  few  weeks  were  a  long,  unbroken  thread.  the  only  concept  of  time  steve  knew  was  his  connection  to  the  kids  and  robin.  they  had  to  look  for  another  job,  and  steve  became  robin's  shadow  in  that  regard.  steve,  after  taking  his  car  in  for  repairs,  drove  between  the  wheeler's  and  byers'  houses.  max  was  in  his  passenger  seat  or  backseat  more  often  than  not  these  days.  his  birthday  had  come  and  gone,  and  steve  ended  up  passing  his  present  along  to  her  one  day  while  she  sat  silently  beside  him.  i  prefer  my  car  radio,  he  explained  when  he  handed  it  over.  wouldn't  get  much  use  out  of  this,  anyway.  you  can  have  it.  the  WALKMAN  was  brand  new,  but  steve  had  removed  it  from  the  box  so  that  she  wouldn't  have  to  worry  about  breaking  it  out  of  its  packaging.  he'd  set  it  up  with  some  batteries  already.  pulling  some  cassettes  from  his  glove  compartment,  he  handed  those  over,  too,  alone  with  a  ten  dollar  bill  for  her  to  by  her  own.  it  wasn't  ENOUGH  to  make  up  for  anything,  but  maybe  she  would  get  some  use  out  of  it. 

one  day,  in  the  wheeler's  basement,  will  kinda  just…  spaced  out.  his  eyes  rolled  to  white  and  steve  rushed  to  crouch  at  the  young  boy's  side.  shaking  him  by  the  shoulders,  steve  called  out  to  him.  hey,  you  okay?  what  happened?!  will  explained  he  had  a  vision—he's  had  them  before  about  the  mind  flayer—and  this  time,  he  saw  BILLY.  he  was  alive.  he  looked  like  he  was  in  a  hospital,  only  there  were  scientists  there  just  like  when  will  was  taking  sessions  at  hawkins  lab.  will's  voice  and  those  of  the  kids  around  him  faded  out  like  a  lost  frequency  on  the  walkie  talkies.  he  didn't  know  how  long  he  was  out,  but  steve  broke  through  the  chaos  of  the  kids  talking  over  each  other  to  declare:  we're  going  to  get  him  out. 

emergency  lights  were  blinking  from  white  to  RED  as  steve  made  his  way  down  the  halls  of  the  facility.  he  used  the  bottom  end  of  his  bat  to  batter  open  the  doors,  looking  inside  every  room  for  any  sign  of  billy.  armed  guards  ambushed  him  from  behind,  tackling  him  to  the  tiled  ground.  steve  knocked  his  temple  to  the  cool  surface,  but  he  didn't  stay  down.  ducking  a  booted  kick,  he  used  the  momentum  to  propell  himself  back  to  his  feet.  he  met  the  butts  of  large  guns  with  the  swing  of  his  bat.  during  the  scurmage,  the  weapons  were  lost—metal  and  wood  sliding  along  the  tiles  and  out  of  reach.  steve  took  a  few  punches  to  his  half-healed  wounds  from  the  mall.  at  first,  he  couldn't  feel  anything.  the  adrenaline  of  the  fight  protecting  him  from  the  distraction. 

then,  like  a  shift  in  a  dream,  steve  wasn't  fighting  anymore.  the  guards  were  gone  or  knocked  out  on  the  floors  of  the  hallway.  steve  was  no  longer  on  his  feet.  he  felt  hands.  an  arm  around  his  back  and  a  touch  to  his  tender  face.  steve  helped  the  person  lean  him  back  against  the  wall  so  that  they  didn't  have  to  support  his  weight.  neither  did  he.  reality  was  sinking  him  like  a  stone,  and  gravity  was  once  again  steve's  foe.  all  his  strength  was  depleted  to  make  friends  with  it  for  now. 

my  muse  wipes  away  the  blood  from  your  muse’s  face,  their  hands  trembling.

❝  here  you  are…  ❞  the  words  were  slurred.  a  bare  whisper  ripped  from  his  chest  with  the  shallow  breath  he  used  to  control  the  pain.  if  he  wasn't  breathing  so  deeply,  surely  that  meant  the  blows  didn't  hurt  that  bad  now,  right?  mind  over  matter.  ❝  i  knew  it.  i  knew  you  weren't…  ❞  talking  hurt  and  smiling  really  hurt,  but  steve  endured  his  nerves  being  set  ablaze  by  cracking  his  semi-delirious  grin.  ❝  you're  really  here?  ❞  his  eyebrows  crinkled.  the  pain  was  turning  into  a  dull  throb.  his  whole  face  felt  like  a  pulse.  calm  and  steady  as  he  stared  up  at  billy.  ❝  is  it  you?  ❞  his  mumblings  were  becoming  near  inaudible,  but  he  held  faith  billy  could  still  hear  him.  the  force  to  be  understood  punctuated  the  syllables. 

steve's  eyelids  were  falling  closed  longer  the  more  he  blinked  his  sudden  drowsiness  away.  he  didn't  realize  he  was  trying  to  pass  out,  his  body  begging  for  a  reset  from  the  previous  struggle.  it  would  be  better  that  way—to  black  out  while  his  system  recovered.  steve  fought  his  natural  defenses,  urging  his  focus  to  stay  on  this  possible  phantom  billy.  what  if  will's  vision  gave  him  too  much  hope?  was  that  a  thing?  were  there  limits  to  HOPE?  steve  kinda  figured  that  defeated  the  purpose.  were  visions  contageous?  steve  expelled  a  ragged  breath.  his  head  hurt  too  much  for  all  that  thinking.  quiet,  quiet  now,  he  told  himself.  ❝  doesn't  matter.  ❞  he  said  aloud.   ❝  not  gonna  giv'  up  on  you.  i'll  c'me  get  you.  hold  on,  okay?  m'comin'  t'get  you.  ❞  darkness  swallowed  his  vision.  billy  was  fading  from  his  sight.  isn't  this  what  it  was  like—the  place  where  el  and  will  go  to  peak  into  the  upside  down?  ❝  m'comin'  righ'  now!  ❞  he  assured  as  he  slipped  into  unconsciencousness.  with  the  last  of  his  strength,  steve  grabbed  at  billy's  shoulders.  solid.  he  was  solid  to  the  touch.  that  was  a  good  sign. 

[dealtgod]

Billy's alive, but only just. And all the tubes and monitors and tests and physical therapy keep him alive and moving, but something is still broken. Time passes. It feels like a lifetime. But then it feels like there's no such thing as time at all anymore. Like he's just not here. Not anywhere. Just numb. Numb to the tubes that stuck out of him, taking, taking, taking. Who is Billy Hargrove, and what is in him. What made him hold that thing back. They were never questions. Because this wasn't a two-way conversation. Billy's just a lab rat, a test. Something the doctors and government men poke and prod for their own gains.

In the early days, Billy cried. Cried when he woke up. Confused. In pain. Afraid. Hollow. Like his heart got blown out of his chest. It kinda did, says the gaping wound on his chest. He remembers trying to rip the tubes out. Trying to get away. Plant his feet (survive the punch). He remembers the heart monitor. How the blips rang in his ears until the noise was too much. How the green light spiked up, then down, up, then down. Monotonous in its confirmation that he was alive. And then he remembers hands that pushed him back onto the bed. Always touching, always taking. And then, nothing. Just blackness.

He remembers standing in the weeks, months, lifetimes later. They stuck things all over his body, monitoring everything. They made him walk. Made him reach. Made him grab. Made him hold. Made him lift. Threw things at him. Scribbled notes as he suffered. Just someone they could test. Then, it was back in the cage. White walls closing in. A hospital bed. Green lines on the monitor. Up, then down, up, then down.

Billy's alive. Then why does he feel dead? And if he's dead, then why will the pain not end?

He remembers begging to the white ceiling to end the goddamn pain. He's had enough. This is enough. Until,

There's noises in the hallway. Billy can place it. A fight. There's something heavy swinging. Colliding with something metal. There's punches. Blows. Billy squeezes his eyes shut, sees Neil's fist. Winces, feels it on his face. He feels sick, but his heart's racing. The monitor's blipping fast. Like there's an engine revving. Telling him to get the hell up and get the hell out. Before another blow.

Billy's feet hit the tiles. Hands reach, ripping the monitors off his arms. His chest. He's running on something. Fear. Anxiety. Like the fight is gonna come to him if he doesn't go to it first. And Billy doesn't want to fight anymore. He just wants to get out.

He wants to live.

Billy doesn't remember much. How he got to the door. How he stepped out into the hall. He only remembers the way his heart leapt into his goddamn throat when he saw Steve. Slumped on the floor, beaten and bruised. Here for him. Running on a wish and a prayer and that goddamn nail bat. And it's like something breaks and heals in Billy at once. Because Steve came for him, but Steve's also slumped on the floor, beaten and bruised, and,

"Stevie, baby." Billy's there. Right there. He kneels down. Hands grab Steve's shirt, pulling him upright to lean against the hallway. Billy keeps one hand on his shoulder to steady him. The other comes to touch his face. Billy's hand is textured. Rough. Scarred from holding that thing back. But gentle. Feather light in the way his fingers trace Steve's cheek. Making sure he's real, too. "Fuckin'-" Billy blinks, eyes dropping to the shallow rise and fall of Steve's chest. Tears slip. "Stay with me, baby. I'm here."

He swallows, and it's heavy. Billy lifts his other hand off Steve's shoulder. Brings it up. Slow. Tender. Cups his face. Billy's eyes are wet. Full of tears. They're washing over Steve's face. "You came. How'd you--" but Steve cuts him off with that fucking beautiful grin. Delirious, but beautiful. Like Steve's lighting up the whole goddamn world. And Billy gets to see that smile. Steve's giving Billy that smile. "Yeah, it's me, pretty boy. Y'need glasses or somethin'?" And it's teasing and it's choked out and it's full of emotion that Billy hasn't let himself feel in a long time. But it's Steve, and he can get it out for Steve. Because it's easier with him, somehow.

Then Steve does that thing that sets Billy off his axis. Makes his heart soften and his stomach flip. He pinches his brow, watches in real time how Steve's making plans to come save him, vowing never to give up on him. Billy's gonna pass out from such a declaration. "Hey." It's whispered. It's serious. It's full of raw tenderness. "You got me, Steve. You got me, all right? I need you t'stay with me. Stay---" Billy's voice cracks, pitching up an octave. "--with me, baby. We gotta get outta here. You n' me."

Steve just slumps against Billy's shoulder. Slipped away. And Billy's losing it. Buries his face in Steve's hair. Lets the tears fall heavy, hard. It lasts a moment before the adrenaline kicks in. Then he's standing up, grunting as he pulls Steve up with him. Wraps Steve's arm around the back of his shoulders. "What'd I tell you, Harrington? Plant your feet." Fine. He'll fucking drag them out. But they're getting out. Now. So Billy moves. For them both.

[dealtgod]

sender wipes the blood from receiver's face, murmuring, "let's get you cleaned up." (billy)

Billy's left for dead. Lying on the floor of a stranger's house with scribbled papers surrounding him in lieu of funeral flowers. Everything's blurred. Muted. Dim. The haze of whatever fucking drug cocktail Max injected into his neck is pulling him under like tides lapping up something dead along the shoreline. Slowly, slowly swallowing him out to sea. Disappearing into the depths, forever. No grave. No memorial. No memory. Billy's just alone. And this how it ends. Billy's always known that this is how it will end for him. Because he's always been alone. Not a person, but a plot device in everyone else's narrative. Used up by adults who either pucker up or throw a punch. Eaten up by peers, never acknowledged as anything else but 'Look at it go!' Then left for dead. Only now, it's gonna stick. He swears it's gonna stick.

Except he's kinda fighting to open his eyes. Like there's something still in him. Something Neil couldn't beat out . A boy, defiant, pushing back. Lashes flutter, strain. Billy's eyelids feel heavy, and it's like he can't quite fucking do it. But every time his eyelids sink, something grips him. Makes his blood pulse like the final flash of light before it dies. Fear. It's not fear of death. It's fear at what Neil's gonna do. Because he didn't get Max home. What fresh hell awaits him. And then Billy remembers. What can Neil do to him if he's dead?

Tears well up. Pool around his eyes. Well, Neil could bury him here.

That's when he feels hands on him. Hands that do not hurt. This is new. This is foreign. They cup his face, gentle. So gentle. Maybe it's death coming to take him. Billy doesn't believe in this shit, but it's a nice fucking thought. Makes getting put out of his misery less of a goddamn tragedy. His brows knit, confused. Uncertain. He tries to focus. Squints through blurry vision to see a pair of dark eyes. Long dark hair. Someone clad in leather and a single earring. What the hell. He's dreaming. Dreaming up someone like him.

Billy feels rather than sees a thumb pass along the top of his lip, wiping blood away like it's some scared and tender act. @jagcula's voice comes through muffled, murmured: 'Let's get you cleaned up.'

Logically, it's the drugs that make him feel numb. Like he's out of his body. Or maybe his body just isn't here. But Billy knows. Knows his body's going dead to the world from such gentleness. Lips move, a whispered strain: "W-why?" He closes his eyes. Swallows. Tries again. "--are you doin' this?" Billy wants to ask who the hell he is, but that seems less important to him than the why. Which is why he fought to get that out first before everything goes dark. Billy's eyelids flutter shut, and his face falls into the hands that cradle him.

[dealtgod]

i don't believe in first impressions .

Billy's jacking up Jason's GTI to the beat of the music. Head shaking back and forth until that singular curl breaks loose. It falls down his forehead. Free, like Billy wants to be. Like he is right now, for just a second. He can taste it. The lyrics. Even underneath the bitter taste of nicotine coming from the cigarette than hangs from his lips. Jason's guitar comes through the cassette player and lands squarely on Billy's chest. Sends shockwaves there, resuscitates him from the misery that kills him daily. And it's like Billy's not in this shitty town. It's like his skin doesn't carry the sting from Neil's hand that collided with his face the other day. He's just somewhere else, wherever the hell this music takes him. Makes him shake his hips. Let it the fuck out.

Jason wrote this song for him. And it's kinda blowing Billy's mind.

He kicks the tire with his sneaker. Makes sure he's got Jason's baby at that sweet spot-- the one where the car's lifted just enough, but the tire doesn't move. Billy grins. Hell yeah, he's got the touch. A hand comes to his mouth, fingers pinching the cigarette as he pulls it from his mouth. Billy throws his head back, exhales a line of smoke. Watches the line of smoke with fluttering lashes as he mouths the words to the song.

And then it's like everything happens so fast. So fluid. Billy's like that. Blink, and you just might miss him. He's got the cigarette back in his mouth, and he's kneeling down by the right front tire. There's a tire iron in his hand, and Billy's loosening the first lug nut. Muscles barely flex. He goes through the motions. It's not a hard job, rotating tires. But it does something to his mind. Quiets it. Lets him feel Jason's song even more until he's humming to the music. A little off key, but free.

That's when @outoft1me catches him, saying, 'I don't believe in first impressions.'

Billy tosses his head over his shoulder. Sees Jason standing there, watching him work. Watching him move. And hum. And it's a little fucking embarrassing. But he keeps it cool. So cool. The corner of his mouth upturns slightly. It's a little dangerous. A little daring.

"Don't believe in first impressions, huh?" He pulls the cigarette from his mouth. Something's kinda sparking in his eyes. Like Billy's gotta keep Jason from leaving now that he's here. Watching him. "What, so y'see me shake my hips once and think I'm a new guy? Not what everyone else in this shit town says I am?"

[tomatette]

Excerpted from the poem Hand Me Downs by Sarah Kay read below the cut

I know you’ve taken to wearing around your father’s hand-me-down anger. But I wish that you wouldn’t.  It’s a few  sizes too big and everyone can see it doesn’t fit you, makes you look silly, hangs loose at all the wrong places, even if it does match your skin colour.

I know you think you’ll grow into it, that your arms will beef up after all the fighting and it will sit on your shoulders if you pin it on the right places with well-placed conviction. The bathroom mirror tells you you look good in it, that it makes your fists look a lot more justified, when you dig your hands deep into the pockets you’ll find stories hidden he left there for you to hand out to the other boys like car bombs.

And on days when everything else is slipping through your fingers, this you can wrap yourself inside of, this will keep you warm at night, help you drift off to sleep with a certainty that no matter what, it will still be there when you wake up. And the longer you wear it, the better it starts to fit, until some of the stories are your own. Maybe the holes in the sleeve are from the bullets you dodged yourself, so when it rips, snags on a barbed wire fence or someone else’s family, don’t worry. Cos your mother and your sister will help mend it- patch the holes, sew the tears, replace a button or two, help you back into it and tell you how proud they are of you, how good it looks on you the same way it looked on your dad, and your granddad too, and on his dad before him and on his father before him.

But back then, back then there was only sand until someone drew a line, someone built a wall, someone threw a stone. And the crack in the skull that it hit fractured perfectly outward, like twigs on the branches on the limbs of a family tree. So someone threw a stone back, and each fracture, each tiny break wound itself together into thread and the thread pulled itself around him- your great-great-great-great somebody.

And on the other side of that wall they were knitting just as fast, and theirs fit them just as well but only slightly different shade. So I’m asking, when the time comes, who’s gonna be the first one to put down the needle and thread? Who’s gonna be the first one to remember that their grandpa suffered just as many broken windows, broken hearts, broken bones, in the first time you come down to dinner and your son is sitting at the dining table with your hatred on his shoulders, who’s gonna tell him it’s finally time to take it off?

[littleweirdoss]

The Sea is my Home. The ocean is a mighty beast. 🌊

Endless Billy Hargrove parallel gifset (6/?)

[ronandhermy]

"Wise Blood" by Flannery O'Connor

[hawklines]

(from billy!) i've never been so happy to see you.

@dealtgod ( billy ) | meme

"Here you go, Mom," Dottie says, handing over the small cosmetics bag from JC Penny's.

"Oh, you're a doll."

"Remind me why you need new lipstick delivered at the pool?" She takes a sip of her strawberry milkshake, courtesy of her stop at Scoops Ahoy before she'd left the mall. She doesn't actually need an answer to the question: Billy's on duty. But maybe the question will make it occur to her mom just how weird it is that she and her friends hang around primping every time someone young enough to be their son is at work. It doesn't seem to have any effect.

Down at the lifeguard's chair, she can see Linda Sampson leaning up on the edge of the pool, trying to get Billy's attention; from where Dottie is, it sounds like she's asking something along the lines of if she was drowning would he jump in to save her. Idiot. That's quite literally his job. Well, Dottie's never found Linda to be a star in the brains department. She's going into her sophomore year next year, and barely made it onto the JV cheer team. Which does at least mean that Dottie's got this one pretty much covered...

She walks down to the lifeguard's chair, pausing along the way to dip a hand in the water and splash back a kid who splashed her first (geez, kid, what part of sneakers and denim shorts makes it look like she wants to get splashed), taking off her sunglasses and pushing them up to the top of her head as she reaches the chair.

"Back off, Linda." She's pulling out her bossy, cheer captain tone, giving the younger girl an annoyed glance.

"But--oh. Wait are you--?"

"Swim away." It's not an answer to the unfinished question either way, but it doesn't have to be when it's the cheer captain and one of her girls. Dottie gives her a little shoo-ing motion, while taking another sip of her milkshake, and Linda grumbles something of an apology and something of a disappointed sigh before swimming off. "Hey," Dottie looks up at Billy with a little grin.

"I've never been so happy to see you."

"Yeah, my timing's impeccable," she assesses, half teasing, half serious, because it really does have to be annoying when he's just out here trying to do his job. She'd be annoyed too if she was getting hit on and stared at every five seconds she's at The Gap. "Want some?" She asks, tilting the milkshake towards him, "It's strawberry." Sure, this little interaction isn't going to stop all the stares -- it's, unfortunately, certainly not going to stop her weirdo mom or her mom's equally weirdo friends from their creep-o new summer ritual -- but it'll at least make some of their classmates take a second to question if the cheer captain has dibs. Especially for girls like Linda who aren't going to want to risk their spots on the team.

"I shouldn't distract you at work, I'll go in a sec. But if you think it'll fend off your vultures, I'll kiss you before I go." She doesn't mean anything by it other than exactly what she says, there's nothing ulterior there, just like the times he's come to pick her up at her house and given her dad a little quip about not needing to wait up. They know what kind of friendship they have, but letting anyone else make whatever assumption is helpful in the moment, well, that's on whoever's letting their imagination run wild, isn't it.

[dealtgod]

Billy's got the afternoon shift. Which is no surprise to anyone. Almost every mom in Hawkins and all their daughters in high school know about it. It's why they're here. Lips painted crimson, ready for the meal. Billy's the meal. And he's fucking sick of it. And like, he's already dead inside, but this is the final nail in the coffin. To be spending summer in this shithole town when he should be catching waves at the beach. Watching sunsets only San Diego can give to him. Getting wrapped in a pink-orange glow until the fading light takes every bad memory off his skin and dips below the horizon. But he's in Hawkins. In a concrete prison encased by a shitty metal gate. Caged in with monsters in the form of adult women, dragging tongues over sharp teeth.

And the thing is: Billy has asked to swap shifts. Flip his schedule around. Plays it off like he's bored as hell about the same goddamn routine. But the boss won't let him fucking switch with Heather, Freddy, Zoe, Adam, or Katie. Says pool membership hasn't been this high since '81 as he pats Billy on the back for a job well done. Billy just presses his lips into a firm line. Like if he doesn't, then he'd scream. Or cry. So,

He's sitting on the lifeguard chair this afternoon. Because the boss won't let him switch, and he needs the goddamn money to get out of here. Away from Neil. And it's only the millionth time he's had to explain to some drooling chick that yes, it's his goddamn job to save a drowning swimmer. And no, it isn't romantic. That's when he catches Dottie getting splashed by some kid...

PFFT! Goes the whistle. Everyone goes silent.

"Hey!" Billy barks. "No splashing people on the pool deck. Y'wanna make someone slip and crack their head open, huh?" The kid pushes away from the edge of the pool and shakes his head. "Keep the splashing in the pool, y'got that?" The kid nods fervently. Billy blows the whistle, and chaos erupts, again.

Including Dottie telling Linda to back off. Billy leans back in his seat. Catches the way the girl looks up at him with dejection once she thinks, incorrectly, that he's with Dottie. He's not. They won't ever be. Because he's not like that. They're friends. Good friends. He gives Linda a smile. It's not cute. It's like he's gonna tell her to piss off, too. But he doesn't have to do that. Dottie's got it, and for once, Billy's breathing in this chair.

He blows out a breathy laugh when Dottie switches from bossy cheer captain to a smiling friend. He knows both, like Dottie's both, and he thinks that's what's so great about her. Billy pushes the aviators down the bridge of his nose. Thick brows lift, and ocean blue eyes peer over the rim. He grins. "Must be all those eight counts, Pom Poms. Your timing's perfect." And then there's something in his eyes. Something kinda tired. It's brief, but he lets her see it. Until,

"Strawberry? You bet, thanks." He reaches down to grab the milkshake from Dottie's hand and takes a sip from the straw. "How's The Gap?" The question comes, but Billy's eyes stay trained on the pool. It's Dottie's suggestion that gives him pause. He pulls the straw from his mouth. Knows there's nothing ulterior there. Because they're friends. And she knows about him. Knows that he only looks at guys in that way. And it's not about the fucking kiss. It's the fact that Dottie saw how their little act got Linda to back off and sees how it could stop all this shit. For a moment.

And it hits Billy. The way they've been pulling each other out of the shit that's been drowning them. Refusing to let the other slip under the water.

"Shit, it might. It'll piss off your mom, too." Billy breaks his gaze with the pool to look at Dottie for a second, then nods. Leans down to give her milkshake back. Hovers his lips at her cheek. Just enough to get half the town to stop and gawk (or cry). He thinks he hears Linda huff out, 'I knew it!' And he's pretty sure Dottie's mom just dropped her new lipstick tube on the pool deck. Fucking serves her right. And for the first time this afternoon, Karen stops ogling him.

"Thanks for fending off the vultures, Dot," he whispers at her ear. "Now get outta here before that kid starts splashing you again, all right?"

[dealtgod]

Thinking about the way Billy has an eyebrow slit when Dacre doesn't, so you know it's an intentional character design choice. But it was before eyebrow slits were popularised, which means the most likely explanation is a subtle scar preventing hair growth. One guess as to how he might have gotten a facial scar?

Hi! Thanks so much for this question. It's a great one, and one that I think really delves into the subtle nuances to Billy's characterization.

Before I jump directly into what I think may have happened, allow me to provide some context.

When did this eyebrow injury happen?

The first important detail to acknowledge is that Billy does not have an eyebrow slit in S2, but he does in S3 (and we see Billy's eyebrow slit immediately in the first episode).

S2 Photos Showing No Eyebrow Slit

S3 Photos Showing Eyebrow Slit

This means something happened between S2 and S3. We're looking at something occurring roughly between mid-December 1984 and end of June 1985. That's ~6 months for some type of eyebrow injury to occur and then heal to the point that we see it in S3.

When considering eyebrow injuries, hair loss implies that the injury was deep enough to damage the hair follicles. Generally speaking, if the cut is deep enough to damage hair follicles, it is likely that the cut also warrants medical attention, specifically stitches to help with healing, reduce risk of infection, and reduce the effect of scarring. Healing time for the cut (and the removal of the stitches) may take under 2 weeks, but it can take months to see just how much hair will (or will not) grow back. Any scarring also will take significantly longer to heal, too, and could also take several months (roughly 6-12 months, though there are numerous variables that will affect this healing process). Eyebrow injuries can sometimes hide scarring because of the hair, but when we look at Billy's eyebrow slit, there's no apparent visible indentation (obviously because this was Dacre's choice and not a real injury, but walk with me for the purpose of this post).

The other thing I would like to point out is the hair regrowth is not even. The shape of the missing hair line is a bit jagged.

So, considering all of the above, I think it's safe to say that Billy suffered some type of injury to his eyebrow fairly soon after the Epilogue of S2 (so after December 15, 1984) that was deep enough to damage the hair follicle, thereby requiring stitches that helped with the healing process (including some level of healing from scarring). I think a general range for this injury to occur that makes sense for Billy's eyebrow to look as it does in S3 could be between December 1984 - January 1985.

What is one possible explanation for the injury?

Stay with me for a second here. In Season 3, we know that Dacre made the intentional choice in his acting to convey Billy in the eyes and the Mind Flayer in the body. When El comes to Billy, she says, "I want to see what happened." Of course, this is because she's going into Billy's mind, and Billy shows her what happens. REMEMBER: When El asks this question of Billy, she asks this because she wants to know what the Mind Flayer did to Billy. El has NO IDEA about Neil yet. The question was not about Neil. But Billy has been abused since he was a child and has been living in a constant state of traumatic stress (CPTSD). Billy therefore cannot differentiate the trauma from Neil versus the Mind Flayer. And so when he hears, "I want to see what happened," it's not about the Mind Flayer. It's about Neil. Because it started with Neil and continues with Neil. It is hard for Billy to emotionally separate what Neil does to him from any additional trauma and abuse that others inflict on him.

El (and the audience) then visually sees what happens to Billy. Thematically, what's going on with all of this is: Billy (the real Billy) and the truth of the abuse and trauma he's suffered is all there in the eyes.

For an implied history of some injury that occurred on Billy's eyebrow (of all places!) when Dacre's whole point in S3 is to convey the real Billy and the pain that he's suffering as a victim of abuse through Billy's eyes, I think that missing hair implies a recent past injury Billy suffered from the hands of Neil.

Now I need to stress a point: I think Neil's abuse is extremely calculated. Neil is all about power and control. The physical violence Neil inflicts onto Billy is just one part of the abuse. Neil manipulates, gaslights, emotionally abuses, verbally abuses, psychologically abuses, emasculates, isolates, intimidates, parentifies (thereby encouraging resentment between Billy and Max), verbally threatens, and (implied) economically abuses Billy. He makes sure that Billy is always trapped no matter where he turns, creating and instilling near constant fear and anxiety that takes away Billy's agency, body, and defiance until Billy cannot fight back against Neil because he has lost hope.

Again, Neil loves control and power. He curates an image of a perfect family to the outside world that enables him to continue on with the abuse at home. He runs the risk of losing that if his violence onto Billy requires medical attention. I don't think Neil is hurting Billy all the time with injuries that require medical attention regularly. It runs a risk of putting up warning flags to the outside world, and it could come back on Neil if investigations are launched from suspected child abuse.

That said, we also know Neil's rage. The way he breathes and almost holds in his rage with his downturned and pressed facial expression when he throws Billy into shelves in Billy's bedroom shows that he's trying to hold back. He wants to hurt Billy more. And no matter how controlled an abuser is in their tactics, abusers can lapse in their curated abuse.

And I do think a lapse in Neil could have happened.

I think it's also worthy to point out the (rough) timeline as to when Billy's eyebrow injury occurred. It likely happened over the holidays, a time of year that increases the frequency and magnitude of violence in abusive situations. We must also consider Billy's personal situation in the immediate aftermath of the epilogue, which you can read more about here. Through Billy's clothing, styling, and body language, we see a different Billy in the epilogue of S2, one that reveals the effects of abuse and how abuse and violence is perpetuated in such a way that has beaten, emotionally manipulated, and drugged him into a withdrawn silence with nervous energy.

Billy is living in a home where Neil abuses him, Susan has looked away while Billy is abused and doesn't acknowledge Billy, and Max has drugged him with an unknown drug and in such a way that should have killed him. There is no support system at home. Billy is alone and helpless.

There could also be some potential twisted source of power that Neil derives from kicking Billy when he's already emotionally down at this point in the timeline. Allow me a moment to explain this: I do fully believe that Billy's advice to Steve, "Plant your feet; draw a charge" comes from his own experiences of Neil's abuse. Billy has learned that no matter what swings come his way, no matter how many tears he wants to cry, no matter how much Neal beats the defiance out of him, Billy still stands. He still keeps his feet planted. He won't be knocked completely down. And it's important to note that even while Billy is emotionally down at this point, he's not physically down. Could this have pushed Neil over the edge in a moment of rage where he just wants to knock Billy off his feet? And in so doing, Billy does fall and hit his head on the edge of some surface that cuts his brow? Possibly.

I also did a little digging into the weather in Indiana in December of 1984 and January 1985. In December 1984, the weather was a bit milder for the time of year and rainy. In January 1985, Indiana went through an extremely cold spell with record breaking cold (in negative degrees Fahrenheit) that forced school and business closures throughout the state. Several towns didn't have access to water because of burst pipes, and there were multiple deaths across the state because of the extreme cold. There was also heavy snow in January 1985 that shut down major highways, with blizzard-like conditions. In short, Billy (and his whole family) had significantly less ability to get out of the house in January. That's incubating an extremely dangerous situation at home for Billy.

The ingredients are all there, but what stays the most with me is how an injury to the eyebrow from the hands of Neil is just too thematically close to Dacre's choice to show the real Billy and the pain that he's suffering as a victim of abuse through Billy's eyes. It's that subtle hint that if people just looked, just acknowledged him, just showed one act of kindness and care to Billy, he could have been helped.

They just had to see him. They just had to see the signs.

[dealtgod]

I need everyone to know that I was away from tum.blr for a few days and @hawklines + @teveharrington came prepared to greet me with open arms for my return, which is to say they ABSOLUTELY ANNIHILATED ME with feelings.

[hawklines]

Exit, pursued by a bear. It's the way he says it, like he knows more than he actually does. Like he's reading between her words the way he does when he's driving her home from basketball games. Except he can't know more than he actually does, because for as much as Dottie will quip about her parents, she's always careful not to not just come right out and say what she wants to. There'd be no point, anyway, it'd just sound like poor little rich girl problems, trying to find something to complain about. Besides it's not like everyone doesn't see how great her dad is. That's his whole thing. It's why the "Exactly," she gives with a little grin is said like a joke. Pursued by a fucking bear, indeed, though.

Billy's doing that thing, then, that thing they both do where something a little too real, a little too much, slips out when it wasn't supposed to, and needs a second to recalibrate. Maybe it's easier in his Camaro, when all it takes is a look out the window, instead of here where they're practically staring at each other. But here they also have alcohol, and Dottie can use her cup to fill that little recovery window, drinking the rest of her beer -- almost choking on it with surprise and laughter when it looks like Billy Hargrove is actually going to do a handspring. Well shit. Hell, if he can hit a handspring in this crowd, she really will let him on the team if he wants a career change from basketball.

It's cruel timing that she doesn't get to see it.

Music stops, cops show up, flashlights blaring and everything. Goddammit. Who ratted? She doesn't have time to think about that now. Billy grabs her hand, and her other hand drops the plastic cup. Who cares about not throwing it away. He's practically dragging her to a window, but she's keeping up; the rush of everyone running to get away has her adrenaline spiking, even though if her track record is anything to go by, she can get out of this with just a pout. Who's going to want to be the one to call her dad at this hour, anyway. But Billy doesn't have that same freebie card, and he didn't bail on her, still holding tight to her hand, so she's going to make sure he gets off clean, too. It's only fair.

The jump down from the window isn't hard, but they only make it as far as the street before almost getting run right into by a cop car that's just getting there, probably called in as backup or something for corralling the crowd of teenagers all attempting to flee and getting stopped in their tracks. Shit. She locks eyes with Chief Hopper through the windshield, and he has the audacity to look like seeing her has ruined his night, instead of the other way around.

"Shit... okay, it's fine, I got this," she murmurs assuringly to Billy as Hopper gets out of the car. She's got this, right? The chief doesn't even like her dad.

"Goddammit, Dottie." He doesn't sound happy. (To be fair, is he ever happy?) Dottie takes a little half step sideways in front of Billy. He pulls out his radio, "Florence, you'd better get the may--"

"No come on, Chief," she interrupts before he can finish. "Just let us -- I swear, we'll go straight home. Honest."

"Oh yeah?" He's still holding the radio. "Just like I'm guessing you swear you and your, what, boyfriend here, weren't drinking tonight? And that I'm not gonna get another call later about you two uh, 'loitering' over by the lake?"

Somehow she doesn't actually think it would help to point out that Billy isn't her boyfriend. But she is starting to feel like this isn't as easy as she thought it was going to be. She lets go of Billy's hand before her hands can get all sweaty and shaky with nerves, and takes a step closer to Hopper. "Yeah, I had like, a drink. But I promise we will go straight home. You don't need to call him."

"Jesus, Dottie, this is not like driving your car a little fast down empty back roads: you do not get to be above the law just because of daddy."

"I know!" No, that's too loud. Bring it down. Even so, she can't fully even out the desperation quivering in her voice. "I know that. Just please...one time."

"You think any of your other little friends won't notice if I let you go home? You think they're not going to tell their parents, and I'm going to have to hear about it all goddamn day tomorrow?"

He probably does have a point there, but she doesn't care. She can feel the panic rising as it's looking more and more like she doesn't got this the way she thought she did. Her dad's going to kill her. "I don't..." She doesn't really have any solid excuse. "Please don't call him." It's a quiet plea, now, meant only for Hopper to hear. "He's gonna be so mad. Chief, please." If he told her to get down on her knees and beg, she would. Instead she just looks at him, like she can telepathically convince him. She knows he doesn't like her dad, she's seen the two of them butt heads when no one else is around.

It doesn't work.

He hesitates a second, then shakes his head, "Sorry kid, no can do. Florence, get the mayor. I need to see him right now. You tell him: right. Now."

Goddammit. "Great. Thanks." Signed her fucking death warrant.

"Yeah, yeah. You, you," Hopper points at each of them in turn, before opening the back door to his car, "Get in the car. Do not make me cuff you."

Dottie takes a shaky breath, somewhere between a not-gonna-cry swallow and a defeated sigh, and glances back at Billy, "Sorry. I...thought that'd work." But she can't keep eye contact right now. So she just drags her feet to the damn hearse.

[dealtgod]

Billy's pulling Dottie closer when the headlights wash over them. Stands side by side. Lets Dottie know they're fucking standing or going down together. The headlights are bright and blinding. And it's too much. This kinda spotlight's too much for him. Exposing ghosts of people who were on his skin. Billy tenses. Gets that sickening feeling of dread in his stomach. Like Neil's eyes are on him, assessing. Unblinking in his fine-tooth-comb search for the wrong movement. The wrong breath. The wrong tone of voice.

Billy Hargrove doesn't believe in anything anymore, but the Mary with Child pendant starts burning hot against his chest. And suddenly Billy's begging for the Mother to hear him.

Which mother? That's the goddamn tragedy.

Get us out. Get us both out of here. Please.

Billy's still, bracing for something. The words don't come. He just squeezes Dottie's hand when she assures him. Watches Hopper approach them with distrust. Betrayal. Because Hopper's gonna call Neil, and Billy's gonna get his ass handed to him. And it's like he's not himself anymore. Just this heightened version of pent up anxiety with nowhere to go. Burning, burning, burning from the inside. And the flames are taking away all the oxygen in his lungs. Billy can't breathe. He's in survival mode now. He's listening intently. Because this is all gonna lay out how the rest of his goddamn night is gonna go. Like what version of hell is he gonna walk into once Neil finds out. Billy's gotta figure out how to douse the fire. Course correct. Get back to the road that can get the two of them the hell out. But it's Dottie who course corrects. It's Dottie stepping in front of him. And it's the first time someone has ever done that for him. She starts talking. Starts trying to save them both.

She doesn't leave him alone. And the magnitude of that hits him. Hard, not in a way that hurts, but heals. Gives something back until,

"Listen, Chief," Billy cuts in. Finds his voice. Because he's not letting her walk out on a limb alone. "She's not drivin'. I'm walkin' her home, all right?" The end of it gets clipped with a tone. The last singular thread of defiance that Neil hasn't beaten out of him, yet.

Hopper lets out a humorless laugh. "You stay outta this, lover boy. Unless you want this to get a whole lot worse for you stepping out drunk with the Mayor's daughter." And just like that, Hopper cuts the thread. Defiance broken. Resignation sets in. Billy's body goes kinda numb. His eyes get glassy and wet. Because this is how it always goes, huh? And then, he closes his eyes. Not to hide the tears, but because he's hearing Dottie begging Hopper not to call her dad. That Larry's gonna be so mad. But all he hears is his mother's warning on the beach: 'Dad will be mad.'

Neil will be mad. Larry will be mad. And Billy's thinking they're both gonna get put in the fucking ground.

Billy kinda blanks for a second. Because the next thing he knows, Dottie's looking at him, swallowing back tears. Saying she's sorry. Billy just stares back, eyes watery. "Don't be sorry." It's murmured, it's genuine. And then the thing that's never been said to him, the thing that he's saying without saying. Because Neil will be mad. Larry will be mad.

"It's not your fault."

He's quiet in the cop car. Kinda distant. Like Billy's out of his body. Hiding somewhere in the corner of his mind where he goes when things get bad. He doesn't move until Hopper opens up the back door. Tells them to get out. And Billy listens. Because he just wants to get this fucking over with. Get home, take the hits, and move on.

There's a lot of other kids sitting around the station, but Billy doesn't notice. He just sits down in the seat he's told to sit in. The one next to Dottie. Hopper's looking like his whole night is ruined, and it's like. He doesn't know the half of it. Finally, he turns to Dottie. His words are quiet. Quieter than they've ever been.

"Y'think he's gonna book us?"

[dealtgod]

Your analyses are very inspiring, as is the work you put into them! I'm not afraid to say that you're a role model for me ʕ≧㉨≦ʔ

I'd say that while reading, a lot of thoughts come to mind, and that's great. Special thanks for touching on the topic of Billy's inner experiences🌻

Thank you so much for reading my analysis posts on Billy! I'm truly touched that you find my deep dives into Billy's character, particularly his inner experiences, to be inspiring. I enjoy writing these analysis posts and sharing them, but what really matters to me is that someone is moved by them, or finds a new or deeper perspective/understanding on Billy. I can't describe how much it means to hear that you're inspired by them and that they bring up more thoughts about Billy as you read along. We're all a sounding board to each other, sharing our thoughts that inspire new thoughts! That's pretty rad. If these posts inspire more thoughts from you, then run with it!

Role model is a high honor, and I thank you for that. But I will tell you this: your writing and your thoughts matter. However your creativity manifests-- be it analysis posts, fic, au ideas, or another creative outlet beyond writing, such as art-- it matters. Someone out there will connect to what you're saying. Someone will find it inspiring, too. So, keep creating, keep loving what you do! <3

[dealtgod]

@teveharrington , continued

Billy's got the car keys in his hands. Except it's more like he's got Steve's heart. He gets it. Knows that bmw is more than just a car to him. Because the Camaro's more than a car to Billy. A lifeline. The thing that's gonna carry him past the Leaving Hawkins sign one day. Away from Neil. So he can breathe, finally. Billy hates this hick town, but it's easier in the Camaro. Driving fast. The wind in his hair. Billy can almost delude himself that it's a coastal breeze catching the curls that went flat in this shitty town. And if it's easier in the Camaro, then maybe it's easier in Steve's pretty little bmw, too. Because Steve's car means something to him. And Billy's trying to find out what it takes to mean something.

It's all cute. The guy's cute. It doesn't take much for Billy to pull this outta Steve. Which kinda fucking delights him. Makes him feel a little lighter. It feels like a win. Steve's shocked expression, the way he kinda pauses before he can step outta himself. Like the guy's not sure where he's gonna plant his feet next. And that's where Billy wants to meet Steve. To figure out where he stands after he's all over the damn place. So,

Billy grins. Confident. Cool. Waits at the driver's side door until Steve's looking at him over the hood... from the passenger side. "I'm takin' you out, driving." Billy's voice rolls out. Quiet. Low. And there's a pause in there, expertly placed. The faintest pause. Like if Steve's not paying attention, he won't get it. And Billy's been trying to see if Steve's been paying attention since the day he got here. He looks at Steve for a second, waiting. Billy's gaze is always intense. Captivating. Beautiful, framed by long lashes. The embodiment of living on the edge of something. And so,

Billy opens the door.