CALIFORNIA SCREAMIN'

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[hargrovetm-gone]

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im moving blogssss its time

[mcxine-archive]

forehead presses against the bus window, vibrating mutely as the wheel begin to turn and the hydraulics release. it sounds like a ride at the shitty fairs that would come to hawkins every summer and fall, the kind that get packed up and shipped off for another random parking lot or field. maxine thinks about the rides that lined the boardwalk in california, begging billy to ride with her on a ride she was too short for on her own. that was before all this shit happened. wonders if billy remembers the rides too, if he thinks about them like she is right here and right now without her having to prompt him. it'd be ok if he didn't. it's then max realizes she doesn't know a whole lot about what billy takes with him and what he leaves behind in california. maybe they can talk about it when they get home. when they get home and make their stupid cake. it'll actually be fun.

" lame? " uh-huh, she wants to say. skeptic and teasing. in that same tone billy uses when she starts going on about lucas. that too, the back and forth, the freedom and release of it all, is new. " well. whatever. you know how to bake so.. you can teach him or something. " her head picks up from the window, rubbing two fingers against the freckled spot that's grown annoyed with the bus' vibrations. " and me. "

max begins to chew on the inner corner of her lip when her own likings about cake are brought up. it graduates to the side of her thumb, gnawing away at the already tethered skin. it's not like billy is the only one in her life who wouldn't know this. this, which, to be fair, maxine doesn't really know herself. does she like cake this much? enough to wanna make one? or does she want something to do with billy? something they can fuck up and have a laugh about, or actually make very well and it become a thing for them to do? yeah, max doesn't know. or she does, and she's not sure she wants to admit the truth to him like this. " i don't. " it comes out cold and reminiscent of a defense maxine would spurt out the moment billy chirped her about something. lips press against her nail, teething away at her cuticle. " i mean like, who doesn't.. like cake? " she doesn't. not like that. not when every cake that's ever been hers had been at the expense of the lame shit they called a cake for billy's birthday.

eyes follow billy as he looks out the window. maybe he didn't like her answer, or maybe he's somewhere far away again. max finally releases her finger, rubbing the spit off on the side of her jeans. " i dunno i—i just thought.. it'd be like fun, i guess. "

[hargrovetm-gone]

the ride goes on rather normally. and it's a weird feeling, he doesn't feel dread. leaving the outside world for a maze of four walls, there is nothing evil waiting behind the door for billy. and that is a relief, makes his shoulders relax and if max wasn't here billy would probably falls asleep by the dull droning of the bus. he thinks of how he couldn't have that even back in california. he's glad to have it here.

billy feels something then. fondness. the topic of steve is no longer this sharp thing made to cut him. max doesn't treat it as...how she probably should. in the manner in which she should carry it. maybe neil missed it in the sea of stupid shit that he pretended to be parenting. but neil was never really a parent. to anyone. "you heard me, lame. harrington's lame." like it does something for billy to save face. like it gets the point across. "-it's not that hard. we got the stupid box with the instructions on it or whatever." it's easy, just rolling with the instructions. the real bitch is the frosting. but they will cross that bridge when they get there.

"cake's fine." billy interjects after a bit of silence. he doesn't like what it means, or that it doesn't mean what it should. that cake fucking falls short along with a long laundry lists that neil twisted from the inside out. just like he did with billy, the fingerprints there even after the bruises are long, long, long gone. he decides not to dwell too much on it. "i think cookies is where it's at." it's a little teasing, bumps her shoulder light, feather light, unspoken promise of billy never being anything but feather light around max's space. even if she's unaware. looks at her. "-i'm not mad at it." translation: i am not mad at you. "-s' like, decent. it's going to be so much fun seeing you clean up all the mess. that's the best part after like eating the cake. if it turns out edible." he smirks and it's not malicious, to get him out of his head. to get her out of her head. nothing crueler than their own thoughts, almost like a haunting at times.

[hargrovetm-gone]

content warning. indepth discussion of not only sexual abuse but sexual harm, both metaphorical and literal.

hey guys im going to say something but i need everyone to get real cool with a lot of things first:

i dont care about the intentions the writers had for this show, i care about what they ended up putting in it.

they coded the way the mindflayer takes possession as sexual assault, it is about the loss of agency and your body and also visually it emulates that.

i am not disregarding what karen wheeler intended to do, to me it feels more like bad writing the why she didn't meet billy at the motel after 20 minutes of her licking her lips about it. i think its easy to undo character mistakes than to try and explain the reasoning or further delve into it and i don't even do that with billy so why should she get that grace.

billy is queer coded. yes he did all that but that does not interfere with the fact that he is queer coded.

okay? okay.

so regardless of whether billy hargrove made it to the motel that night, it is insane to me that there is still the coding of him being sexually hurt. because although he is 18 and a legal adult, i think that sleeping with karen is one in the list of many ways billy hargrove has found of hurting himself. he thinks himself older and smarter and he is seeing with how much he can get away with, and in this situation he believes to be the one in control and in charge and he is very much not. it is karen's responsibility to turn him down and to not have had advances with him before then. buying a new swimsuit to show off to him, flirting with him. but in the end billy has only the illusion of agency and the pressure of trauma and society at his back, if he had gone through with the thing then he would've woken up sick with no clue as to WHY he is feeling like that.

the parallels of getting hurt in this manner occuring that night whether billy got possessed or not have insane implications that i know no one ever like thought about it even slightly. billy was destined to be hurt that night and to frame the entire thing as his idea and therefore furthering antagonizing him leaves this emptiness in which the reasoning is left at the door but the explanation is simple, it is most likely not the first time. to turn around then in the same season and explain that his mom did not die but abandoned him with her abuser who then turned to become his abuser just lays down the structure behind why would billy say yes why would he seek karen out in that manner and the whole karen motel thing was meant to dehumanize him but i think it did quite the opposite.

[hargrovetm-gone]

it all ends with a gasp. sweated sheets cling to the feverish parts of max’s body where her clothes have ridden up from tossing and turning. max sits herself up, the cold air of her room hitting her skin like a slap that only makes her shiver. layers are readjusted, but everything is soaked. her fingers desperately pry at the scrunchie that’s been swallowed up by her knotted hair, but nothing loosens. she’s stuck like this: hot with chills, damp and gross. and she’s stuck with the image of billy’s half-dead body laying against starcourt’s linoleum tiles. her palm presses into the soaked fabric of her mattress, pushing herself up and off her bed, and it feels like billy’s chest when she hovered over his body. the squelch is all too vivid of the nightmare that’s been haunting for the past few days. billy’s eyes glazed over, skin speckled with black and red and fear. he doesn’t wake up at all in her dreams.

and maxine, she doesn’t ever tell billy how she watches him die in her dreams. it wouldn’t be very good for his recovery, or whatever.. at least, that’s what she thinks. and it’s hard for her to even fathom how she’s bringing herself out of her room and down unfamiliar hallways to get to him. some nights, she intrudes his space just to watch him sleep for a little while. it’s enough to trick her brain that he’s alright. but tonight, max is reaching over to gently poke at his shoulder until he stirs awake.

“ billy? shit.. ” maybe it’s guilt. or shame. or embarrassment. or fear. or it’s everything. clammy palms lift in soft surrender when she can find his eyes in the darkness. “ i—um.. i can’t sleep. ” do not ask me why. “ can you make me a grilled cheese. um, please? ”

billy's sleeping light. he's always had, and even with neil long gone he's come to learn that there are other things to fear in the dark that just heavy steps and old class rings, his body isn't safe in hawkins, it's just safer but it's not enough. he always wakes up instantly, his eyes open and he sees the vague shape of max. at the edge of his bed, for a second he hallucinates, he can feel the ghost of the breathing tube down his neck and the barely there glimpses of maxine next to him. waiting. but this is not the hospital, there's no beeping sound from the machinery around him. it's none of that it's just max.

he blinks back into conciousness. lifting his head up slightly, squinting to make a better image in his head. he doesn't know or recognize the feeling in his stomach, dread or worry whatever it is it sits badly in the couple of minutes he's been awake. "you can't sleep...okay." voice is hoarse with sleep, like repeating would make it make any more sense than it does right now. the image is familiar but he's looking at it from a different angle. if it was him then he would get sent to bed, told that whatever he's scared of doesn't exist. and he doesn't do that, instead billy pushes the covers off, and slowly rolls to a side. a grilled cheese. ok weirdo. "what time is it?" he asks, like it changes anything. like it fixes anything.

but he stands up either way, halfway stretches back into reality. he is never getting used to this house and it's hallways and secrets and some other corny bullshit to explain why it's always so damn empty. but he stands up, waits for her to start walking making their way into the kitchen. "come on."

[hargrovetm-gone]

pros of moving blogs, new tags and a clean following.

cons of moving blogs, moving blogs also my asks.

[lucy-harker]

POSSESSION (1981) dir. Andrzej Żuławski

[sordidery]

neil’s gone for a few days. that’s what @hargrovetm had said, when he oh so casually invited eddie over. eddie had to try very hard not to be flattered by it, not to be charmed by the insane puzzle that is billy hargrove and his patented inability to discuss a single emotion, not to be well and truly wooed by the fact billy invited him over as soon as the coast was clear, like he was only waiting for the chance. eddie failed, of course, because he was always astounded when anyone wanted little ol’ me around. going over to billy’s house and not eddie’s trailer felt big. a showing of something eddie couldn’t fully wrap his head around. neil, billy had said, not dad, and that was something eddie got more than he let on.

eddie can still remember wayne’s face the day he came over to fill his truck with eddie’s meager collection of shit, the awful twist of his mouth when his uncle saw the way he’d had been living. eddie had looked over the house with brand new eyes his and saw for the first time all the things that had built up: beer cans, pizza boxes, and piles and piles of half-started projects abandoned by andy munson himself. that shame had stuck with him for years. taught him a lesson, maybe, that not everyone was supposed to be living like this. so, eddie gets it, he really does, what it’s like to hate home. to not want to show what lies beyond closed doors.

the television is still droning on at a low volume, but eddie abandoned it— and the couch altogether— the moment billy headed into the bathroom. instead, eddie is choosing to prowl around the family living room and cast judgement on the collection of books. billy’s been on edge ever since eddie got there, a little awkward, like he’s embarrassed over the house, and eddie is mulling over how he’s going to to tell him that eddie’s a cheap date, walls with proper insulation really do a number on this trailer park trash, when he hears footsteps. they aren’t the hardly-there boot-clad footfalls from billy that eddie has grown accustomed to, and eddie freezes. hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his ears strain to pick up the new sound. he hasn’t felt this in years, not since the first few months of living with wayne— eddie turns, slow, and puffs out a breath of pure relief.

"jee-sus, give a guy some warning." eddie says, like he is not the leather wrapped intruder standing in her living room. @mcxine is looking impressively frowny, wearing a scowl that could give billy a run for his money, and she has the air of a person who would eviscerate eddie on the spot if she could only get in touch with some telekinetic powers. tough luck, kid. "do my eyes deceive me or is that little miss maxine?"

[mcxine-archive]

it's supposed to feel good, like really-turbo-ultra good, when mom tells you she and her wacko husband are going to be gone for a few days. that the house is yours, that whatever the fuck you want for supper is up to you, that bedtime is a phony construct, and you can play your cassettes as loud and as long as you want. but it doesn't. it doesn't because the house is @hargrovetm's. and whatever the fuck they're having for supper is up to billy. and bedtime is when billy says to scram and get out of the living room. and billy can play his tapes as loud and as long as he wants. and it's billy who can have his stupid friends over. not that maxine would ever invite the party and their idea of a well-kept home over to hers. it has nothing to do with cleanliness, though. this place is clean. real clean. it just fucking sucks.

max is standing in the hallway, elbow deep in a box of cereal in what will hold her over until supper. her brows hang so low they nearly eclipse entirely over her scowling eyes. there's a pest in this house. a nosy one. leathery and shaggy. " it's max. " get it right, or don't talk to me again! stubby fingers hidden inside the box of a cartoon bear shredding down a half-pipe fish for the marshmallowy pieces, ignoring the rest of the grains. the sound of sifting fills the space, hides the commercials rolling across the tv in the other end of the living room. " you're snooping. " not exactly a question, but an accusation and an expectation all wrapped up in one. " we're not readers. " she adds. defensive? dismissive? she isn't all that sure why she's defending the matter. mom reads cosmos and books with hunky men on the cover. neil opens books just to slam them shut. max's books are stacked in her own room. and she's seen a book or two in the camaro before. max never knows what to make of that. fishing her arm out of the cereal box, she pops a palm full of collected marshmallow bits into her mouth. a few drop to the floor.

and the moment is weird and it's uncomfortable and it's awkward, and max doesn't really know what to say. she doesn't know why billy up and abandoned his guest like this, even if to take a whizz. billy's house. billy's rules. billy's guest. max's misfortune. socked feet carry her over to the corner of the room, setting down the cereal box on the bench of billy's workout equipment. sugar-dusted fingers curl around the metal weights, tracing the number with her thumb. when the flush and running water combo hiss behind the bathroom door, max straighten herself up. taller by a hair, squarer in the shoulders. she relents her gaze on billy's friend and snaps it towards the point of her looming doom. no one is where they last were when billy first left the couch. a weird gathering forms in the living room.

" is he staying for dinner? " it's not a hopeful question she asks billy, and neither is the next. eddie becomes a piece of furniture in the house. far and gone in max's peripheral. head cants to the side, red hair splitting over her shoulder in a frizz. it's a curtain. a barrier between them. " what's even for dinner? "

[hargrovetm-gone]

billy does this thing where he doesn't think things all the way through. it was in the moment a good idea to invite @sordidery over. neil wouldn't be here for five days. and then like a fucking cartoon anvil it landed in his head, the realization that. max would be here. fucking nothing can go the way he wants it, he wasn't throwing the plan out the window just yet...he just needs a goddamn breather.

so. billy picked up eddie. and.

and now they are here, which should be a little off, but it isn't because eddie munson has a way of making things less miserable than they are intended to be. so the house is missing it's usual rope around the neck edge, for once...and billy waltzes back in the room. finds eddie, finds max. and the sinking feeling in his stomach teases a return. he just turns to look at @mcxine. who's simply standing there. ready. and it's not as bad as it once was but it's not getting good either. still. everytime billy gears up to be a complete bitch for no reason he hears the sound of nails against hardwood floor. okay. he looks at eddie, in the living room. live and right there and very much eddie. feels his heart in his throat. billy hargrove is a fucking idiot.

"yeah. he is. actually. he's staying for...a couple of days." he works through it. nervous to even say it, nervous to even think about it. it's not really a question, it's just the truth. what's for dinner. because again billy's primary function in this goddamn house is to play mom sometimes and it makes him want to tear out his own hair. his face is a little sullen, like the barely there happiness was drained. he sighs. "-i don't know, whatever crap your mom decided to grace us with in the fridge." looks at the cereal box and they cannot pay him to give a shit. and he doesn't. "just don't make a mess." points with his eyes at the cereal box again because he doesn't care but he cares when it comes to the fact that neil will comeback and try to sniff out whatever he can, any fucking excuse at this point. he doesn't know where she has been parading the box around in the house. hopefully no where where neil would look.

"i'll go check." as in you are welcome to join me. and. bet.

billy makes his way to the stupid kitchen in this stupid maze of a house but he sticks his head inside there fridge. for salvation, to die in there. or for a break. he's looking for anything. lifeline or not. neil probably didn't even tell susan they were leaving with enough of a warning for her to leave something cooked other than yesterdays casserole. so. fuck billy, right? there's milk and flour and cheese. and. okay. fine. he takes a deep breath, the ghost of neil hanging neatly on his shoulder. saddled with an entire maxine to handle. considers then, that he should've told eddie. hey my step sister is going to be here and it's probably a bummer and a half because she can be so bitchy but also we do not get along but i gotta watch her if i like the way my face is looking. and that definitely kills the vibes. he moves to check on the cabinets for pasta. something quick. he doesn't really ask for what either of them want he's just making something he knows how to make with his goddamn eyes closed.

[pagent-archived]

the diner, it sucks, but it works. and this thing @hargrovetm and sera have going on: it also sucks, but it also works. they've mastered the art of using whatever they are as a means to escape another shitty tailgate in the middle of the afternoon. it's a hand on his chest and a hand at her back, a wave goodbye to their group of friends, a walk back to the camaro and a breath of fucking relief. the diner is wrapped up and presented as a suggested place to hang out someplace their friends won't go anywhere near. it's a building in the oldest part of hawkins, filled with the same few patrons that will one day die on their stools. as they enter: sera watches their backs, fronts all lined up against the counter. wonders if they're the same people that have seen her waltz in here as a child with a big dress, layered sashes, and eager eyes only to be stuck with a basket of carrot sticks. billy, with his legs stretched out, cigarette tucked behind his ear because the waitress already warned him once, holds their booth. sera excuses herself then, tapping her finger at the tip of her nose. powdering it, it means. the world's girliest piss.

the washroom looks no different than it did back then: with its radioactive yellow porcelain, the cold fluorescent light overhead, and that chemically lemon scent that is only produced by an aerosol can. sera spends a minute rubbing cold water up and down her forearms until her heart stop throbbing in her ears for reasons she will only ever want to assume are the whims of pageant week approaching. she hates where she is in her life, but this had to be because of the pageant week thing.

the droplets she missed with the insane stack of paper towels she ripped out from the washroom's wall dispenser are rubbed off in annoyance as sera makes her way back out. fuck those warm, shitty carrots. she'll order the biggest strawberry shake this place can make—

sera clocks the stranger in their booth first by posture. hunched, familiar, too careful. @sordidery sits across from billy their booth that suddenly feels too small for all three of them. " shit, " it's not dramatic. no gasp, no stumble. just a full-body pause, like someone yanked the emergency brake inside her ribcage out cleanly. her hand tightens around the strap of her purse, squishing the pastel accessory into her side until something starts to hurt and her stomach drops somewhere near the floor. of all the ghosts hawkins could throw at her, it picks this one. here. now. for a split second, sera considers turning around. ducking back into the washroom. pretending she forgot something important, like her spine.

then jonathan looks up and that does it. with that stupid fucking look he's been giving her that she's been giving him in return. like a deer in headlights, warrant and cautious, before the deer starts charging towards the car in a full sprint. anger comes easiest. anger is warm. anger makes sense. sera exhales sharply through her nose and schools her expression into something sharp and pointed. if billy invited him here to talk, then fine. she'll stay. she'll sit. fuck it. fuck both of them. she'll smile like she hasn't known jonathan byers through scraped knees and dusk movies shared secrets and catch with charlie and a falling out so violent it still echoes in her head. suddenly, she wants to rub cold water onto her arms again.

sera slides back into the booth without addressing the jonathan-shaped elephant on the other side. she's next to billy now, eyes locked on him instead of jonathan. " are you out of your mind? " she asks flatly through her teeth, her sweet smile taut and poisoned at the edges. " hope he didn't bring his camera.. i only have a sweater on. "

[hargrovetm-gone]

if billy had to hear one more stupid line from tammy he is pretty sure he would've gotten into the camaro sans sera and driven it straight into a goddamn fucking post. thankfully @pagent, practiced as is, waltzes them out of the situation. like she can sense when he's fuming. billy doesn't pay too much attention to the fact. the show's over, wrap it up and print it out. billy's got an itch for something, and he's fucking starving. so. fries for now, something to burn later.

they don't have to sit on the same side of the booth, billy can have some goddamn space without being alone. big wins gotta celebrate when they happen. he's taking every inch on his side of the booth, calls the waitress doll and sugar and says please and thank you. and when he hears the little bell of the door and sees no one other than jonathan byers walking in.

isn't this his lucky day?

billy sorta smiles, it's a weird thing, knowing, coy with it. girly someone would say if the threat of a fist to the face wasn't there. "byers." calls out, nice and easy. forgot where they were for a second. but he meets his eyes, and keeps the smile. looks at him with a baby. he bats his lashes. tilts his head towards the booth, like jonathan would do anything other than sit in front of him.

"fancy seeing you here." casual, smiling still. kinda cute seeing him all eager. real initiative. carving out what he sees in @sordidery under layers and layers and layers. he takes a fry, and licks it as he is putting it in his mouth. force of habit, his eyes on jonathan. "-want some?" he moves the plate closer to the middle of the table. waits a little bit for a response, kinda wants to see him squirm.

then. his day just gets a whole lot better.

sera appears, ignoring jonathan. billy swallows back a protest at refusing complete to sit back on his side, he makes space for her. brow furrowed at her, before looking over at jon. then back at her. okay. "out of my mind? can't i be nice for a change, baby? there's no other booths. throwing byers a lifeline over here." it's teasing. eyes linger on sera's expression, she wears anger nicely. it's a little deadly. staring daggers, if looks could kill...he doesn't get back to the rehearsed play, the bit they both know. no, this is. now this is really something. "-camera?" there's a couple of missing links here from what tommy said and what carol said billy never paid too much mind to that, far too busy on other things, the puzzle pieces are all scrambled up. two and two don't add up. then from what sera said. "no don't think so." eyes look over at jonathan. it's a little sing song, think he's here for something else. and the thought makes him giggle to himself. he's eating another fry, and another. bumping sera with his elbow, again teasing, before he rests his arm over the booth and behind her. relaxing into the seat.

and after a while.

"so. what's with the third degree?" open. for either of them. he's smearing some other fry with ketchup, appearing uninterested.

[hargrovetm-gone]

it's just knowing that obviously even if he survives billy isn't going to be seen as part of anything only because he was used essentially as a goddamn meat puppet and it like scared everyone to death after he already scared everyone to death on his own but damn is it painful

[hargrovetm-gone]

IM FEELING really bad about billy hargrove in this chillis tonight

[hargrovetm-gone]

why do I like billy Hargrove? Well it all started with shadow the hedgehog…

[sordidery]

the fucking— billy is walking towards him, coming closer, light wash jean and eyes the color to match. eddie forgot, maybe, or he will himself to, that billy all eyes. thick dark lashes like a doll, or a painting, or an evil nightmare created specifically to taunt eddie. he’s looking down at eddie. another thing that isn’t right, his billy wasn’t taller than him— eddie realizes his knees have started to give out, bowed back inching down the wall.

eddie's done a lot of wrong in his life. what happened with wayne, then chrissy, it was his fault. he knows that. if he'd been better, more responsible, less of a no-good-coward, they would be alive. he knows that. and, god, he tried to make up for it. he was trying. with every mugging stopped, with every bad boyfriend punched, with every cat saved from a tree, eddie was trying to put something worthwhile back into the world. after billy, though, eddie knew he'd lost touch. the scales were tipped. the balance of good he could do and the bad he'd brought into the world was out of whack. the empire struck back.

he got used to it. the haze of moving through the world. getting his ass kicked and taking pictures with strangers and burning through bottles upon bottles of aspirin. he's good at taking the beating life gives him. kids who grew up like he did learn how to take a punch early. this, though? the not billy? different billy? a walking, talking, living, breathing billy? this is going to kill him.

eddie finds it hard to believe they could program a guy just right, to act in the particular way billy always did. asshole in one second, baby in the next. eddie's stuck on the baby, stuck on the worried curve of billy's lips. baby, he called eddie. the very same way billy always did. nice, rolling off his tongue, gentle and easy and comforting. he hadn't thought he'd ever hear that again.

"stop," he gasps, shoving a pale hand into the air separating them, a tremor running through his fingers. "don't." he's begging billy, not-billy, new-billy. the doesn't know what for. eddie's reeling, his mind moving fast and sluggish and glitchy. every wire crossed. there's concern written all over billy's face, and he's so close, he smells like he used to. eddie feels tears gathering at his waterline, can't bring himself to close his eyes long enough blink them away. maybe billy hadn't died. maybe, this was a miracle. maybe eddie had taken too big a crack in the head, last night. "how- how are you here?"

[hargrovetm-gone]

so. the list of concerns grows and grows, especially when none of the usuals bring eddie back to some level of coherent. it's dire then, worse than a hit to the head. and billy isn't that creative to make up all the horrific fucked up shit that could in turn leave eddie like this. he's shaking, like a fucking leaf, he's on his way to the floor. telling billy to stop and billy does stop, he doesn't reach out for him, he doesn't kneel down. and it's a sinking feeling, dragging him, down, down, down. one of them has to have their head on and that falls on him. panic has him sluggish, he opens his mouth and then he presses it back into a line. like he's swallowing back what he was going to say. he isn't going to pick a fight. not right now.

eddie looks two seconds away from breaking, into tears, or into tinier pieces of himself billy doesn't know. he's freaking him out and while a couple of years back billy would've gotten angrier and angrier about this whole thing, now he just...let's himself be. he's worried, he's so fucking worried he's never felt like this, the anxious feeling washing back to him as if it was a wave. the tide always seems to find him. it's written plainly in his eyes, in his mouth, the way he stands...billy's thinking the worst.

something about being right. about this whole vigilante business crap catching up to eddie, it's wrong all of it. billy can feel it, a hunch that shit has gone sideways, with eddie in the middle of it because it's always fucking eddie in the middle. and it can't be anyone else in the known fucking universe. it pisses billy off, the type of problem he can't talk his way out of, punch himself out of. he just has to sit. and deal. and he would be dedicating it more man power if it weren't for eddie crumbling in his own damn kitchen.

how are you here? billy does that thing where he chuckles when it's bad, and it's dry, humorless, unbelievable. staysm, doesn't change the distance between them and he let's it sit there. blinks with the question, like he's trying to make sense of it. "how am i here? what d'you mean? i took an uber. i texted you the trip." because eddie also gets worried when no one's checking in on billy. and then, honesty, the earned type. because billy can say it to eddie, he's learned to. "-i don't know what's going on with you. you were fine in the morning, and if somethin' happened eddie i...i gotta know alright? i can't fucking help you if you don't throw me a bone here. you're freaking me out." he doesn't move, like moving could make whatever eddie's going through worse, he said stop and don't and billy listens.

[pagent-archived]

the mirror eclipsing off of her vanity frames the both of them in a warmly-lit picture. miscellaneous photographs are wedged into the frame; even a photo strip sera had kept all this time of them. billy was a part of her life at one point, even if he was buried by the boy in the photograph and she the same by the girl clinging to him. perhaps one day they'd redo it as they are now. but for now, as sera always did, she sees who's sitting at her vanity now as the boy who'd watch her get ready instead.

she gently reaches to twirl one of his curls back into place. ‘ yeah? you'd see me doing that? ’ surely, it's rather hard for people to fathom sera doing anything that isn't a request. it's rather hard for people to fathom there's something of use between her ears. most don't. billy does. he did, then, too. not as loudly, but louder than anyone else ever did. ‘ hey, that's not a bad idea. beats where i'd probably end up. posin' for like, the wrong guy with a camera.. ’ spoken as a promise that it's just a joke. sera would like to think her judgement had.. sharpened since the summer everything had gone to shit. reputations follow them both now, for very different reasons, and sera would argue: very different severity. it's not everyday an ex dies and comes back to life! or, you know, also suffers a paralyzing possession that is born of the same hell which took her brother in the first place. but most people can fathom an ex having a really shitty stint of cries-for-help painted as small-town-obscenities. so, yeah, it's a very niche set of circumstances. and somehow, in the muck and mud of it all, sera can have billy hargrove back in her bedroom in a very different context than before.

affection is a versatile thing, sera is coming to learn. she's seen just about every part of him, as he has to her, but somehow this was far more kindly intimate. gentle in the way friends can share an inside joke or memory they'll be able to recount later over some shitty food. ‘ holy shit, i AM really good at this.. ’ her playful grin is wide as her hands find the back of the chair, leaning in towards the mirror for a closer inspection of his reflection first, then a soft turn of her head sends blonde curls bouncing over her shoulder. ‘ ..it? you look great! ’ the clarification is very important! too many times has seraphina mannequined a gown that surely looked divine. and that's just it. all her wit, all her traits, all that makes her, her, is redundant when all that's wanted from her is a body for something to be graded. never mind her.

her finger raises then, steady, pausing just at his chin until she's given the go-ahead to softly drag the smooth edge of her fingertip against the bow of his lip. it shapes the colour neater, crisping the plum line out. after careful inspection, sera grins once more, softer this time. ‘ you like it? did i do good counter-girl-servicing? ..or whatever. ’

[hargrovetm-gone]

"think you can do whatever you wanna do. y'got it in you." there's feelings that billy settles with sometimes. that this is at the end of the day pretend. it's easier now somehow, to simply exist as what he is now. not longer a husk of himself but not truly himself. sera has been also playing that game, smokes and mirrors. the dust has settled and this is who they find at the end of the road. no pretense, no cover up. he royally fucked it before. careless enough to date her and blind enough not to see where feelings, strange and usual made themselves known. there is nothing normal about this friendship. skirts a line that billy doesn't get. but it makes him feel safe enough to put on lipstick and not feel the dread rising from his chest to his throat.

he's looking at her from the mirror. let's go of a breath he didn't know he was holding when she's grinning at him. says he looks great. he feels flustered then. genuinely, makes his heart but that little bit faster. no longer is it a reminder that billy will never be that, soft, glamorous, the right fit. it's wrong, along with the rest of him. but sera's trying. and most importantly she isn't lying, he feels it.

she touches him gently, softer, like he could break if she's too rough. and something settles in him, pinpricks at his skin, a sentimentality well guarded and held behind walls, upon walls. sitting nicely. his eyes get a little watery. billy wasn't put in this world to be a soft thing, he's been ripped and torn, put back together wrong and brought back into this cruel world. and yet her touch is light and precise. there's this burning sensation, a voice in the back of his head. he doesn't deserve this, he doesn't deserve her kindness. "thanks." it's quiet, a little rough and wobbly and it doesn't sound like how billy hargrove should sound. he is just meeting angel eyes and seeing something there that breaks him into tiny little pieces. he swallows and shudders a breath and he is keeping it together. just that little bit long enough to weather the need to cry. he simply breathes.

"you're good." at this, at being nice to me, at being yourself finally. "-you're really really good." he nods, his gaze shifting back to their reflection. emotional. tucking his hair back on his ear, smiling then. framed by the dark lipstick. he doesn't feel like he usually would feel. ridiculous. no this is an unfamiliar sensation. warm, and soft. can't quite put a finger on it.

[hargrovetm-gone]

"You’re   distracting   me,   you   know." /+ eddie

@sordidery

it's hot.

billy's in eddie's room, or at least his temporary one. he's gathering his hair into a ponytail, curls falling into place as he does and he turns around, shirt riding up exposing his hips, side of his torso, just that little bit lighter than the rest of him. he doesn't tan like he used to, keeps the scars private more often than not. he's playing innocent, fans his lashes at eddie. smiles when he's not looking at his nerd book.

he's tying up the whole thing with a hair band "hm?" it's all a trap, he just wants attention. he doesn't like asking for it. but billy's greedy. tilts his head to the side, knee on eddie's bed. "i didn't know. you're so easy to distract, eddie." he's in shorts. it's summer and he can get away with shit. there's so much he can get away with.

(like the lipgloss he has on, the one he put before getting in the room. counting how long does it take for eddie to notice. makes his lips straight up peachy. kissable. really eddie doesn't stand a fighting chance.)

he crawls then, closer and closer to eddie before his hands grab a black t shirt right next to where eddie is sitting. "-just wanted t'get my shirt. i'm doing laundry." he smiles, sweet, mean like he knows what he's doing. giving enough time for eddie to react. he doesn't have to do this to get some. this is just for the love of the game.