cyberwebz

[cyberwebz]

We must beat the Americans

[cyberwebz]

Hiya! Don't forget to Click for Palestine today!

Thank you!

[cyberwebz]

billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that��s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

#billy hargrove #harringrove #st drabble

[cyberwebz]

Returning home

#merthur #bbc merlin

[cyberwebz]

"I am the First Son of the United States, and I’m bisexual. History will remember us."

(Casey McQuiston; Red, White and Royal Blue)

Commissioned by @/yrsagcd on twitter! ✨

#alex claremont diaz #acd #fanart #rwrb

[cyberwebz]

I'd be unstoppable if I didn't have to worry about time or money or having a body

[cyberwebz]

Chapters 8-15 of my Harringrove Bigbang fic are now up on ao3!

Summary:

The day he faced a monster at the Byers' house, that should have been the end of it. That's how stories are supposed to go, right? It's October 1984, and Demogorgons are still coming to Hawkins from the Upside Down, opening gates around Hawkins Lab. Every night, Steve patrols the woods, hoping to stop them before they kill anyone else. Hawkins has had a hard year. When the new guy that's been giving him shit in gym class is attacked by a Demogorgon, Steve saves his life. Now if only he would stop turning up in dangerous places in various states of injury... Because Demogorgons are attracted to blood.

Things are heating up! Be ready for the finale tomorrow!

#harringrove #fic recs

[cyberwebz]

i'm working on a rwrb fic atm, it's a famous/non-famous oxford uni au

feeling really good about this wip, so here's a sneak peek at Sweater Weather

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfic #mine #henry fox #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz

[cyberwebz]

just some casual making out between bros. you know how it is.

#harringrove #fanart

[cyberwebz]

#diagnosis for being a tumblrina

[cyberwebz]

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look.

#they may be the love of each other's lives but they're also the loml #firstprince #rwrb #gifsets

[cyberwebz]

"Thought you should know what you're missing out on." - Henry 💋

Inspired by @kiwiana-writes 's perfect fic I don't know if I should go with XX Pro or Valencia featuring a tipsy vodka fueled Henry and his hot little whoopsie thirst trap

#rwrb #firstprince #fanart #rwrb fic

[cyberwebz]

for casey hehe

#rwrb #firstprince #fanart

[cyberwebz]

steve being absolutely whipped for steve is my favorite thing ever. like ok what if they were friends and billy likes steve, and steve's oblivious to it but billy will drop whatever he's doing to make steve's like a the tiniest bit easier and it's so cute

It all starts with homework.

Homework Steve dropped on the floor in the hallway, to be more specific.

He fucking tripped and his shit went everywhere, and he was scrambling to pick it all up, when he noticed another pair of hands shuffling with his papers.

“Thanks, Hargrove,” he muttered.

“Most of these are wrong.” Steve snatched the math worksheet out of his hands, his face hot as he stuffed it in his backpack.

He tried to push past the absolutely solid wall that was Billy Hargrove, but the other boy kept blocking him.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need any help.”

It was a fucking lie. He knew he’d gotten most of the problems wrong. They were working on some weird formula that had to do with area, or volume, or something like that. And Steve really didn’t understand it.

But he didn’t want any help from fucking Hargrove, who would just spread it around the school that Steve Harrington is in remedial geometry as a senior.

But Hargrove had reached into Steve's backpack, and yanked out the assignment, using the pencil he had stored behind his ear to erase Steve’s shitty work.

“All you have to do is multiply the length by the width by the height. And that’s volume.”

Steve had added those three values and then cubed them. It had taken him hours.

“I know.”

Billy gave him a scathing look.

“Meet me in the library at lunch, and we’ll fix it.”

-

Steve wasn’t actually expecting Billy to be there, but he was. And they fixed Steve’s math.

And he got an A on the homework, his first one all year.

So it became a thing. They’d do Steve’s math homework at lunch together. And Billy would walk him through the tough problems, and clap him on the back when he got something by himself.

His teacher noticed his progress, and congratulated him on it.

“I got a tutor,” he told her.

They were studying on some random Thursday together, Billy with his nose in some worn-out novel, periodically peeking over the pages to take a look at Steve's math homework.

He was doing much better, and now Billy only had to silently point to an incorrect answer for Steve to go back and fix it.

Steve's stomach rumbled, breaking the silence,

"Jesus, Harrington. I think your stomach is trying to eat itself."

Steve rolled his eyes, but he smiled at Billy.

"Seriously, just eat lunch."

There technically was a rule against food in the library, but the librarian liked Billy, and tended to turn a blind eye to whatever he was doing at his usual back table.

Steve checked his watch.

"I'll just grab something later. I need to finish this."

He kept working on his math. His stomach growled again.

Billy sighed.

He dug into his bag, pulling out the crumpled brown paper bag Susan has passed him in the morning. She always made him lunch after a rough night with his dad.

Consolation prize, he guesses.

He pulled out the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, placing one half on Steve's open textbook.

Steve looked at him with round eyes.

"Nah dude, that's your lunch. I can get something after school."

"Like hell. Just eat the sandwich, Harrington."

Steve scarfed the first half like a small animal, and Billy glared at him until he had the second half.

He'll be okay, he can just sneak some food at home before his dad gets back from work.

-

"Harrington! How many times," Coach yelled from the sidelines. "You're leaving yourself too open!"

Steve was breathing hard, sprinting down the court after being bowled over by one of the guys on the other team.

It was deafening in the gym, the stands packed full.

Steve was playing like shit. The other team was dogging him, stealing the ball from him, blocking his every move.

He was point guard to Billy's shooting guard.

Billy yanked him by the back of the jersey, pulling him back to mutter in his ear.

Steve nodded once.

It was a good play, a simple pick and roll.

The other team scored, and Billy nodded at Steve.

They brought it down the court, and Billy made eye contact with Steve as he moved to set a pick on the asshole guard that kept knocking Steve down.

Steve moved, sprinting to the basket to finally make a fucking shot.

As he moved, the guard followed, but there was Billy.

They collided hard, and Billy got knocked flat on his ass.

His head cracked against the wooden floor, and he saw stars for a second.

He was fucking pleased as punch to see the other guard flat on his back, too. Looking as dazed as Billy felt.

There was a hand in front of his face, and he took it, allowing Steve to bring him to his feet, a look of concern in his big eyes.

"You okay, dude?"

"You score?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'm fine." He clapped Steve on the shoulder, jogging back to get in the game, shaking off the dizzy spell.

-

Billy paid no mind to the phone ringing.

He was sat at the kitchen table, finishing up his chemistry homework.

Sometimes he and Max did homework at the kitchen table together. Neil would give approving looks when he walked by if he saw Billy helping her with something she pretended not to understand.

"Hargrove residence." Neil was the only one who answered the phone that way. The rest of them said Hargrove-Mayfield.

Billy tightened his grip on his pencil.

He could feel his dad's eyes on the back of his head, standing straight against the wall where the phone was mounted.

"Yes, he is here."

Fuck.

What could Billy have done now? He's been a model fucking citizen for the past week.

And no one can trace that fucking fire under the bleachers back to him. Besides, he put it out before anything could really get burned.

"Billy, the phone's for you."

At least if he was in trouble, the person wouldn't be asking to speak with him.

Billy stood up, ignoring Max's questioning look.

Billy took the phone, not making eye contact with his dad.

"Hey! Sorry, I know this is weird, but I got your phone number from Max a little while ago, and I know usually we just study during school, but I am so fucking confused on this assignment. And I'll pay you! I'll even order food if you want to come over to help me. Oh! This is Steve by the way."

As if Billy wouldn't recognize his rambling.

"Um, sure. I can help you." He looked at his dad. "And no need to pay me."

"Just try to get out of here without any money. I dare you. So, can you come over? Tonight? This is due tomorrow."

Billy wasn't supposed to leave on school nights.

"Can you give me a second? Please?" He didn't wait for Steve to respond, he just lowered the phone.

"Dad," he started.

"How long have you been tutoring that Harrington boy?" Neil's voice was unreadable.

"A few weeks. Mostly at school. He needs some help tonight, and uh, offered to pay me if I come by his place."

"And you said you didn't want to be paid?"

"Yes, sir."

Billy tried his very best not to flinch when his dad patted him on the shoulder.

"That's good. Rubbing elbows with the Harrigntons. I was wondering why they didn't press charges when you beat that boy to a pulp."

Billy fucking hated when Neil brought that shit up.

It wasn't his fault he has a hard time controlling his rage. If anything, it's Neil's fault for slapping him around before sending him on an errand.

Steve just happened to kinda get in the way.

But Billy apologized, and Steve said he got over it, and clearly he did, if he's inviting Billy over to his house to work on his homework.

He raised the phone back up to his ear.

"Sure, I can help you. But I can't be out late. It's a school night."

Neil nodded approvingly, and Billy flipped him the bird the second he turned his back.

"Yeah, whatever. The front door's unlocked, just come upstairs when you're here."

Steve didn't even wait for a reply before he ended the call, and Billy quietly placed the phone back on the receiver.

He cleaned up his own homework, and took his bag with him.

"Billy," his dad said as he was halfway out the back door. "Curfew's at 8:30. And I'll be locking the door."

"Yes, sir."

-

Harrington's house is fuckin' huge.

Billy should've expected it, with Steve's family being as well connected as they were.

He let himself into the house, as Steve had told him to do, and was immediately met with a slight woman, staring at him like he'd just walked uninvited into her home.

"Uh," he said. Why the fuck would Steve tell him to just come in? "I'm Billy? Billy Hargrove. Steve's tutor."

And then her face brightened, and holy shit, Steve looks exactly like his mom.

"He is upstairs, I'll show you." She waved him to follow behind her and she took off up the stairs.

Billy scrambled to kick his boots off and raced after her.

She was lean like Steve, with long legs and insanely thick,dark brown hair that went clear down to her ass.

(Steve even kinda has his mom's perfect ass.)

She knocked on the door to Steve's room, even though it was slightly ajar, and let herself in.

Steve was sitting at his desk, his head in his hands, all curled up and sitting cross-legged on his chair.

"Tesoro, il tuo amico è qui."

Steve turned, and he fucking beamed at Billy.

"Grazie, Mamma." He waved Billy over in the same motion his mother had done downstairs.

Billy felt awkward in the room, and his face felt hot, and his palms were sweaty.

"Avete bisogno di qualcosa?" She asked, and holy shit, how has it taken Billy this long to realize that Steve and his mother were not even speaking fucking English to one another.

He knew he was staring.

"No, grazie."

She smiled again at Billy as she left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Damn, your mom's hot," was all Billy could think to say.

Luckily, it worked. Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to his work and shaking his head. But Billy could see a tiny smile on his face.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't start that shit and just help me with this, okay?"

Billy peered over his shoulder.

Steve was working on an English assignment, the same one Billy had completed last week.

It was a questionnaire about the Shakespeare play they had read in class, Othello.

Billy knew it was grueling, fifty multiple choice, ten matching, and three essay questions.

He had the book open text to him, and there had been lines and passages highlighted and annotated.

"This shit was nasty. I did it last week."

Steve scrunched his brows up at Billy.

"You're in English 12? How? You're a junior?"

Billy shrugged.

"That's just what I tested into when I moved here. I was on a fast track in California." Yeah, he would've probably gotten to graduate a semester early, if they had stayed.

"Okay, well, then you can help me. Because I can barely read as it is, and this stupid Shakespeare stuff just doesn't even make sense."

He put his head down on his desk, leaning his forehead against the questionnaire and groaning loudly.

"It's like another language. You have to learn to translate it. I mean, you and your mom were speakin' something, so you know how to do this."

"Yeah, and that's kinda the problem." Steve sat up, looking at Billy. Billy moved to sit on the corner of his desk. "My mom's from Italy, and I didn't even speak English until I was like, six. Regular English has never made sense to me, and then they give us this shit." He flipped the book closed harshly.

Billy had to bite his tongue, because the only thing he could think to say was you sure do talk a lot for someone who allegedly doesn't understand English. But he didn't really wanna be a dick right now.

"Okay. Here's what will do. We'll answer as many questions as you can. Once we get to the ones about specific passages, I'll read them in plain terms, and you'll be fine, okay?"

Steve nodded glumly, but he picked up his pencil.

"Okay, dude. You can definitely answer this first question."

Question one: Who wrote Othello.

Steve circled the correct answer and Billy pat him on the head. Steve glared at him playfully.

They went through the questions.

Some were easy, and clearly all Steve needed was a cheerleader, because he circled the correct ones right away.

But then, some were fucking difficult.

"Okay, question 36: What is the significance of Othello's handkerchief?"

Steve flipped through the book desperately.

"What fucking handkerchief?"

-

It was a little past eight, and Steve was just barely halfway through the packet.

He was clearly trying not to get frustrated, as he came across harder and harder questions, understanding less and less.

"So, in the passage, Iago is basically trying to turn Othello against Desdemona. He's saying that if she deceived her father, she would deceive Othello."

"But, I don't get why she lied to her dad. Like, what was the lie?"

"He didn't want her to get married to Othello, but she did anyway."

Steve just looked desperately at Billy.

"So, she did cheat on Othello? And Iago is telling him about it?"

"No, she didn't Iago is trying to fuck with Othello."

"Wait, so Desdemona did nothing wrong, and then Othello still kills her?" He looked incredulous.

"Yeah, man. It's Shakespeare. In the tragedies, everyone dies. In the comedies, everyone fucks."

"Why?"

"Because it was Elizabethan England, and everyone was fucking and dying, and half of these stories are based on the Greek plays that came before, in which everyone just fucked and died."

"I wish my life was like that. I just wanna fuck. And then die." Steve put his pencil down, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sorry, man. That I dragged you here to help me with this. I'm just fucking dumb."

Billy smacked Steve in the back of the head, and he yelped, glaring at Billy and rubbing the spot where Billy had merely tapped him.

"You're not stupid. This is hard. Now, let's keep going. This isn't gonna finish itself."

-

Billy ended up finally leaving Steve's close to ten.

His mom thanked him for helping Steve, and shoved a wad of cash in his hand that Billy felt too awkward to count until he had parked in his spot behind his house.

Jesus Christ, she gave him fifty bucks.

He put it with the rest of his stash, in the locked glove compartment, and wiggled into the back seat.

He doesn't doubt that his dad had locked the house promptly at curfew. He doesn't doubt that he was gonna get his shit rocked tomorrow after school when he showed up back at home.

But Steve had finished his assignment, and had flung his arms around Billy when it was finally over, and it's okay. Billy can take a few smacks.

-

"Hey!"

Billy turned to see Steve rushing towards him down the hall. His cheeks were pink and he was beaming.

He thrust the assignment from last night into Billy's hands, and there was a big red A- on the top.

"That's my best English grade, like, ever. Thank you! Seriously, Billy. Thank you so much. I'm taking you out for dinner this weekend, okay? To say thank you. I'll buy you a burger and a milkshake, and anything you want."

"Nah, man. Your mom paid me last night, it's okay."

Steve shook his head, his hair flopping onto his forehead, and he pushed it back, still grinning. Fuck, he's so pretty.

"Can it. We're going to the dinner and you're gonna eat fries until you puke, okay? We're going Friday."

Friday.

Billy's supposed to help Susan trim all the hedges on Friday.

Okay, if he wakes up early, he can do the front before school, and if he comes home during his free period, he could-

"Sure, Pretty Boy. Friday."

-

He was up before the sun, cutting hedges.

He had to shower before school, which he fucking hates doing, because he doesn't have enough time to properly do his hair in the mornings.

But he finished them.

He finished them all.

And he told Susan such when she handed him his pity packed lunch that morning.

She thanked him, and his dad narrowed his eyes.

"Why?" He barked.

Billy tried to act casual.

"Couldn't sleep, thought I'd just get it out of the way."

Neil didn't stop staring suspiciously at Billy until he and Max had closed the backdoor behind them.

"Why did you really do all that this morning?" Max asked when they were safe in the car.

"Jus' have plans after school."

She rolled her eyes.

"Oh, that's rich. You're going on a date."

Well, he hopes so.

But that's never gonna happen.

The school day seemed to pass as slowly as fucking possible. He was anxious all day, fidgety and nervous, and a tiny bit sweaty.

Steve was leaning against his car outside when Billy finally stomped away from the school, and he smiled brightly at Billy.

"Should we just meet at the diner?"

"Yeah. I gotta drive Max, so." He gestured lamely.

"Okay. See you in a bit." Steve tapped the hood of the Camaro, and normally Billy would've threatened to bite anyone that knocked into his car like that, but Steve can kinda do whatever he wants as far as Billy is concerned.

Billy made sure to idle in front of the house, making sure Max got inside alright, and making sure his dad watched him drop her off.

He'd be in worse shit if Neil thought Billy made Max walk home by herself.

But he sped back into town the second the screen door slammed closed behind her.

Steve already had a booth when Billy arrived, and he waved Billy down enthusiastically, as if Billy didn't hone in on him the second he walked through the door.

"Hey, man! Glad you could make it," he said, as if he didn't insist that Billy make it.

Billy grunted at him, shuffling into the booth on the other side of Steve.

"Thanks again, dude. My grades have never been so good. My dad even said I've been doing alright, which is, I think, the nicest thing he's ever said to me."

"Yeah. It's no problem."

"Why don't people know you're smart?" Steve's question took Billy off guard a little bit. "You act like you're a dumb jock, like me."

"You're not dumb. And it's just self-preservation, I guess. I don't need every pretty boy in this school to know I'm a good tutor. Already got my hands full."

Steve's cheeks went the faintest bit pink, and if Billy didn't know better, he'd say that Steve's casual shifting of position was more like a little squirm.

"I guess that makes sense," Steve mumbled, picking at the edge of the menu in front of him.

Their waiter came at that moment, and Steve ordered right away, rattling off what he wanted like it was second nature.

"So the usual, then?" The waiter winked at Steve, and Steve flushed a little deeper, looking shyly at Billy.

"I'll have the same." The waiter nodded, and swept off with their menus.

"So, you're here a lot?" Billy didn't want to look too far into it, but he was ravenous for little scraps of information about Steve. A little peek into his life.

"Yeah. I come here for dinner when I'm home alone a lot. Cooking for one person is kinda lame, and I like being somewhere that's not so. Quiet."

"How often you home alone?"

"Every few weeks. My mom travels around with my dad a lot, but she feels bad about leaving me on my own. Doesn't really stop her, thought." And Steve looked positively glum, like a pouty little cat caught outside in the rain.

"Well, next time you're alone let me know. I don't have too much going on. Usually."

Steve brightened, looking at Billy with a tiny mile on his face.

"Yeah? You don't have better friends then some dumbass you tutor?"

"I don't tutor a dumbass. And in case you hadn't noticed, I don't have many friends. Only been in town for a few months."

"I've been here my whole life, and I don't have many friends, either."

"That's their problem, then."

Steve beamed at him.

#harringrove #st reading list #that was so cute

[cyberwebz]

you can click on this button once daily to help palestine and support other causes in the middle east for free. it takes literally 5 seconds and could help save lives so please take the time to click and share this link.

[cyberwebz]

Nobody knows what's wrong with Steve Harrington.

He was there one day, and the next, he was a shell of himself.

It wasn't even really the mall fire that did it.

He was okay, seen around town a few times, although more withdrawn than he had been a few years ago, but that change has been slow. It's been happening for longer than just summer break.

But then the mall burned down, and Harrington could be seen applying to new jobs, tied at the hip with some weirdo incoming senior band geek.

And then, all of a sudden, nothing.

The weirdo band geek was all by herself.

The maroon BMW sat gathering dust in the driveway of the big house, the paint getting sunfaded.

The blinds on the bedroom window were drawn.

And Steve wasn't dead.

He just wasn't really alive anymore.

He sat, well, he laid, every minute of every day, in his darkened bedroom. IN his bed.

He barely moved. He barely ate.

And nobody knew why.

There were whispers around town.

He'd gotten injured in the fire. He was on house arrest. He'd skipped town.

But really, what no one knew,

was that the second Billy Hargrove's body was locked six feet under, Steve's heart was buried with him.

It had taken a long time to arrange a funeral.

Billy's body was burned and broken.

(And government property).

So, no open casket at the Irish Catholic mass that served as a funeral.

His dad spoke.

His sister spoke.

A teacher spoke.

A friend spoke.

And Steve Harrington sat in the very back row, twisting a piece of loose thread around his finger, over and over again.

He left early, slipped out the back before anyone could see the imminent breakdown.

And he hasn't been seen since.

He's thin.

Much thinner than he's been in a long time.

And he's pale. Really pale. His olive skin tinged a sickly yellow.

But there's no point in any of it anymore.

Because the love of his life died, and nobody knows.

There has been activity at his house, people going in and out.

The band geek trying to lure him into the shower. The loud know-it-all kid speaking in a hushed tone and begging him to eat.

But he didn't feel anything anymore.

And he didn't feel there was a point to his existence.

He thought that maybe, wasting away into nothing was easier than the stabbing pain, the guilt and regret he felt every moment of everyday.

Because he can't even mourn him.

He couldn't speak at the funeral.

Nobody knew they were friends, let alone more than that.

He couldn't cry over the grave.

He couldn't wear black and walk around like some Victorian woman.

Life goes on.

But he doesn't know how to keep going.

Because his life was Billy.

They would see one another every day. Sometimes more than once.

They would spend their nights together, they would drive together. They would sit on the couch and make fun on the whatever was on the t.v. together.

And now, he's alone.

And doing everything they used to do, it's agony.

It's agony when for a split second, he forgets that his love is dead and buried, and he wants to turn to say something to him, and finds empty air.

He doesn't know how he could ever cope with the crushing disappointment of being alone.

The typewriter is his mom's idea.

He took a typing class in school, just a semester learning about how to actually use one of the clunky things.

(He and Tommy used to take out the springs so that theirs wouldn't work and they didn't have to actually so anything in class that day.)

He woke up one morning with it sitting on his desk. Brand new. A stack of paper on the right, one piece already loaded in.

It took him six days to type anything.

And when he did, it was garbage. Nonsensical feelings covered in correction fluid and typos and tears. Stupid ramblings about his absolute misery.

But, it did help. A tiny bit.

He's never been good at writing.

Which is why he left the finished product in Robin's mailbox and biked away as fast as he could. (He doesn't really like driving anymore.)

He didn't want to face her as she read it.

He left a note, explaining what it was.

She never made a comment that she got it, but two days later the draft was back in his mailbox, red pen corrections and comments covering the pages.

He took her suggestions. Edited out what she felt should go, added in where she needed more detail.

And it took six months.

But he has a novel.

Or, something like it.

It's a sort of memoir.

All the events are true. All the feelings are true.

But nobody would believe it was real.

Certainly not anyone on the list of independent publishers Robin had slipped into his mailbox with her final round of edits.

Steve typed each of the five copies by hand.

It took him months, somehow longer than the actual thing had taken him to write.

But he sent them off, manuscripts in sealed envelopes. A queer romantic science fiction novel. Something with a devastating ending.

Something that most certainly didn't happen to himself.

He didn't receive any notice for several weeks, and the waiting would've been the worst part, if all of this hadn't been born out of the gory death of the love of his life.

But it was.

And the waiting was the second worst part.

Until a letter.

A publisher asking for a meeting.

Robin accompanied him on the Greyhound to Chicago, but she didn't come into the meeting with him. She had done enough already, it's time for him to finish the story.

The person he met with told him she cried when she read his story. Told him if I ever lost my wife the way that the Steve in the story lost his Billy, I don't know how I could go on.

The book was published under the name S. Hargrove.

Because if he couldn't have Billy, at least he could have his name.

#it's 8am #what the fuck #😭😭😭 #harringrove

[cyberwebz]

She only calls to check up on him when she’s drunk. The phone rings at two AM where he’s drifted off on the couch, head on Billy’s shoulder, blanket keeping them warm and cozy. Instinctively, he knows that it’s her. His parents are on another trip across the Atlantic, supposedly for a conference in Frankfurt that sounds like it’s going to shape into an ‘impromptu’ vacation. Steve’s pretty sure most of the spontaneous trips and vacations his parents take are actually planned well in advance. Orchestrated by his mom to fill any downtime his dad’s schedule allows with ‘quality couple time’ or whatever bullshit excuse she uses to justify keeping his dad too occupied to have another affair.

Sometimes he wishes he could just pretend to sleep through the loud ring of the telephone. It echoes through the hallway, an unavoidable, familiar sound that has him up, across the living room, into the kitchen and holding the phone to his ear in record time. He doesn’t like the late-night calls. His bare feet are already getting cold on the kitchen tiles. His back stiffens.

There’s not many rules in the Harrington household anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, since his parents realized Steve’s biggest achievements would be in school sports and not academia. Who the fuck cares, as long as he (barely) passes his classes and the house stays as pristine as his parents want it to look, right? They have a cleaning service to pick up his slack.

The phone calls are non-negotiable, though. If he’s home (and he better be), he will pick up. 

“Stevie, my boy,” his mom’s voice greets him on the other end. Makes his stomach clench with anxiety. 

“Hey mom.” “How have you been? Do you like your new job? How’s your head?” She doesn’t give him the opportunity to respond. Words slurred, she just barrels on. “Your father was at his conference all day, so I got the chance to catch up a bit with Mrs. Baker. She told me about the most curious thing she saw!” Dread pools in Steve’s stomach. It’s one of those conversations, then. 

The other big rule is to not make his parents look bad and there’s different levels to what constitutes ‘bad’. His mom calling about whatever gossip she picked up is like the calm before the storm. A warning sign, that whatever he says to his defense will be relayed to his father.

There’s a pause, like she expects him to ask what she’s going to scold him for in just a moment. He refuses to play into it and stays silent. 

She sighs against the receiver, makes the other end go a bit static with the force of the airflow. He’s no longer ten or fifteen anymore, but it sure feels like it when the disappointment is almost palpable through the phone line.

“Alright then.” The shock at how fast his mother can switch tones, from happy drunk to stern concern never loses its impact on Steve. Raises his hackles instinctively and makes him completely freeze up in response. “Sarah told me she saw you driving around town with the Hargrove boy. Is that true?”

“Yeah- yes.”

“Steve. There’s certain people in Hawkins you shouldn’t be seen with. It’s just irresponsible.”

Steve nods along. It’s two AM and he’s on the phone in the kitchen, familiar sound of his mother’s drunken lecture in his ear while he starts shivering, because the tiles seem to sap all the heat from his body. 

It’s September and Billy has been out of the hospital for only a few weeks. The government people have put him into an apartment that sucks, where he has to walk way too much just to get basic groceries. All because they need to keep him under supervision while he recovers. So Steve drives him around. To the grocery store and the apothecary. To the inconspicuous office building a makeshift government lab has been set up in. Billy has reluctantly started scheduling his doctors appointments around Steve’s shifts.

And yeah, they’ve been doing these movie nights at Steve’s home. Because they both hate being alone at night. Because they can make out on the couch and sleep in Steve’s bed and take things slow and careful while Billy feels a little more human again with every day that passes.

He’s sure his mom has heard through the gossip grapevine how badly Billy got hurt. Even if it was just the official coverup story.

And now she wants Steve to ‘stop associating with him’. Because apparently Billy Hargrove is the wrong kind of people to hang out with. The thought of what constitutes as the ‘right’ kind of people makes fury rise up in Steve, makes heat rise to his cheeks and ears.

Behind him, he can hear shuffling footsteps.

“You know what, mom?” he says, voice shivery and furious. For all of the shit he’s been through that she and his father haven’t been around for. For the way she’s trying to make him throw away the one person who he feels safe to be with. “Maybe I’m just as much the type of person you shouldn’t be seen with.”

It feels good to say it out loud. It’s also scary, to know he can’t take it back.

There’s warm pressure against his back and arms wrapped around him. Billy’s chin on his shoulder, like he’s a blanket that’s gonna warm Steve right up again. He tells the stunned silence on the other end of the line a quiet good-bye. Turns around and hugs Billy as hard as his still healing torso allows.

#harringrove