#hellfirechris

[dealtgod]

men are weak. / for MAX

Max has a bitchy face. The kind that makes people uncomfortable. And it's so goddamn stupid that it's called a bitch face. Like why does it have to be that if girls don't smile, then they are suddenly bitches? Max wears an attitude with a potency that is there even when her face is still. Reactive, testy, a thing that growls. Because that is where strength is. She thinks.

The only other person whose face carries such potency, even at rest, is Billy. Lately they have not been fully aligned. Someone moves between them with calculated precision, placing a wedge there. Except the wedge isn't there when it matters, like when Billy stands next to her with a face like hers. Or is her face like his? Max doesn't know where her brother ends and she begins. Their faces kinda do the same thing. The shape of their mouths-- the way they downturn. Exaggerated, pronounced. The knots along their brows. The shake that comes when they yell. But when Billy shows up with a face like his, a face like hers, the assholes balk. And Max is just a little bitch.

And that is what she is called by the boys loitering at the curb by the auto shop. Max has been waiting for Billy's shift to be over, practicing ollies on her skateboard when they show up. And they always show up, because Max is on a skateboard. They're telling her to play with dolls, and she's telling them to bag their faces. They laugh. 'Why you gotta be such a little bitch?'

And now Max is coming. Pops her skateboard up to tuck it under her arm. Glaring. Like if looks could kill, she's got it down pat. And then suddenly in her periphery, Max sees Chris. The boys scatter.

'Men are weak,' Chris finally says as the boys go. And Max looks over at her now. A lifted brow, eyes that are curious. Wondering. Like she isn't sure. She stands there, existing as something that isn't one way or the other. Her hair is in messy braids because she hates brushing her hair. She wears old, comfy sneakers, baggy jeans, and Billy's old shirt. The one he stuffed in her drawer one day because Max wanted to claw out of her skin in those tight fitted girls' clothes. Her anger simmers, and it's like Billy's except it's not really Billy's. Max knows. He wasn't like this in California. And there is something scratching underneath her skin, leaving internal marks. Neil. How he's shaping her from within. How he shapes Billy from within.

Men are weak. Then why do they win.

"They're such assholes," Max says. She digs the toe of her sneaker into the pavement, thinking. Reaching for something. "They say shit like that to you, too? Y'know." Max shrugs toward the auto shop. "Because you work here."

[dealtgod]

what are you getting out of this, exactly? / for BILLY

Billy's under a '61 Impala. Disappeared from the goddamn world. Except for his boots and the lower half of his legs, which stick out from the car. But Billy's indistinguishable, really. So, he's as good as gone. Suits him just fucking fine. He's laying on a mechanic's creeper. Standard oil change for some hick in this shitty town. Billy tries not to think about it. This place, this prison, this hell. It's all the same. But the concrete floor in the shop carries the chill of fall. And the smell of gas and rubber doesn't mix with salty air. And Billy's curls aren't what they used to be. Billy's not who he used to be. Which means he is thinking about this place. Because it's all around him. Even under a '61 Impala.

His hand works a ratchet and socket into the engine's rusted out drain plug. "Piece of shit--" It's muttered. Like some secret shared between Billy and this old engine. It's the best he can do. Words of encouragement, or whatever. The heel of his boot digs into the concrete floor. He pushes off lightly. Adjusts himself half an inch to the left. To gain something. An edge. Billy's brows knit together. And then, he feels it. The drain plug gives. Billy rolls forward. Gets the hell out of the way as the oil drains into the pan.

Billy emerges. Rolls out from underneath the car. Blinks against the overhead lights. He's all long lashes. Chris is there. And the thing is, he doesn't know how long she's been there. They don't talk much. And he doesn't give a shit. He's got a job to do, and the job pays. Which means he can start saving up to get the hell out of Hawkins. He reaches for the rag in his pocket. Starts cleaning out the threads. "Y'got a wire brush over there?" The question comes, but his eyes are fixed on the threads. And that's when she talks.

'What are you getting out of this, exactly?'

Billy snorts. Kinda shakes his head. Dismissive. Over it. It's all the same around here. They're all fucking obsessed with a California transplant. The obsession goes both ways. Like they either want to get all over him in a way that makes Billy's skin crawl, or they want to kick him the hell out. And Billy's certain Chris is the latter. "A ticket the hell outta here." He says it like it's obvious. Because it is. To him. "Now y'got that wire brush or not?"

[musecraft]

🪐 — plotted starter for @hellfirechris ;

THIS TIME OF NIGHT, hawkins is usually pretty dead. but ever since the byers kid had gone missing, it's like the whole damn county is on lockdown. all the good little boys & girls — & even most of the bad ones — have started staying in after dark. but not nancy. it would take a lot more than some snot-nosed brat running off or getting lost on his way home to make her stay in & endure her piece-of-shit stepfather.

she's used to passing the hours alone — just wandering around town or cruising the empty streets in the family car 'borrowed' from her mother when she was too drunk to notice — but tonight, nancy might actually have some company. chris had promised to meet her. her mother had enforced a curfew, like most of the parents in this town who actually cared about their kids, & it was starting to drive chris crazy. so nancy had invited her to sneak out, jail break somehow, meet up for a night on the town.

so she's waiting, engine idling & lights off at the end of the block. her black-lacquered nails drum on the steering wheel as she scans her rearview for signs of movement, but there's nothing there. nancy is just about to give up & drive off, thinking chris may have chickened out, when someone unseen raps against her window. & she can't help herself ; for just a moment her fearless demeanor cracks, & nancy nearly jumps out of her skin. but it's only chris, apparently much better at sneaking around than nancy had given her credit for. & she breaks into a grin as the other girl rushes to the passenger door & gets in. ❝ jesus, you scared the shit out of me. ❞ nancy hisses, nudging chris with a reproachful elbow as soon as she's seated. ❝ i was starting to think you'd gotten nabbed. caught by the mom-o-coptor. but you made it ! ❞

[hawkinsfoster]

@hellfirechris sent » "do you believe in ghosts?

“Nah, when you're gone, that's that.” Otherwise, he'd probably believe that his dad was haunting him. After all, Mars was the only business that his father had left behind he thinks. “Now you wanna have a conversation about whether aliens are real? We can go down that road all day long.”