#gnc billy

[chrisbitchtree]

Billy tearfully breaking down one night after dinner out with Heather and Robin, telling Steve how hard it is to watch Heather wear cute dresses and hair accessories and makeup when he can’t do that I’m self because he’s too nervous to go out and buy it, let alone wear it out on a date night, so Steve buys Billy a whole new cute outfit, a little daisy printed sundress and strappy sandals, and makeup and butterfly clips, and surprises him with it. While Billy’s busy going through everything and getting ready, Steve goes to their favourite restaurant and picks up dinner to go. He puts down a tablecloth and candles and tells Billy if he’s not comfortable going out, that’s ok, but that’s not going to stop them from having date nights where Billy can feel cute and comfortable.

[king-ratboy]

It’s just a Halloween costume.

There’s nothing more to it.

Steve’s going to be here in less than ten minutes, thick hair styled back and the one-size-too-small black shirt they’d found on the clearance rack at Melvald’s tight across his chest, and when they show up at Wheeler’s house everyone will laugh and joke and groan and it’s fine. It’s supposed to be funny. It is funny. Billy had cackled for what felt like an hour when they came up with it two months earlier, grinning up at the Dirty Dancing poster outside the Hawk.

Billy stares at himself in the mirror, fingertips playing with layers of pink chiffon, gaze darting up to his mascara-lined eyes and hurriedly averting to the ground, and feels nauseous. It’s just a joke. It’s a costume. That’s all. There’s no reason why his heart should be so tight in his chest, why the sleek fabric should feel so soft and free on his thighs, why the black lining his eyes should make him feel anything.

Behind him, Robin stays silent, sitting on the edge of her bed and giving him a tight-lipped smile that’s a little too knowing for his liking, and when she stands Billy can’t suppress the tiny, involuntary flinch, the rush of danger danger danger she knows she fucking knows get out get the fuck out FIGHT, Neil’s voice roaring in his ears —

faggot

pussy

goddamn queer

what in the hell do you think you’re wearing 

get that shit off your face

you’re a disgrace to my goddamn name

— but then Robin’s awkward smile is expanding, spreading out into a megawatt grin, and when she tosses Billy a tube of lipstick that definitely isn’t hers, he only fumbles it slightly.

“You look smokin’ hot, Frances,” Robin says, still grinning, and the fluttering flare of panic in Billy’s chest quells a bit, allows him to glance back at himself in the mirror, at his carefully-crafted hair and the mascara Robin had clumsily applied and the – the dress, fuck, and the panic and nausea are morphing into something else, something he can’t put a name to, isn’t ready to name, and then there’s the flash of headlights through the window as the beamer rolls into the driveway and Billy looks at himself, draws himself up, and leans forward to press the tube to his lips.

[hijinxinprogress]

YJ is not allowed on social media

Most capes have like an official hero social bc people just leave comments like ‘captain colds out again no class?? 👀’ instead of flagging down a hero or getting the police to get the nearest hero so most crimes are discovered through viral videos

And yj decides that they need to be on social media so they make ig and tiktok accounts which somehow led to them running a smear campaign against Lex while he was running for president

it’s mostly videos of Cassie in a superman onesie flying around pretending to save damsel in distress!Kon while Bart in an ill fitting bald cap is sitting behind a desk clearly made of cardboard as he mutters about how he’ll show everyone the truth and petting a picture of a cat with drawn on angry eyebrows then the video cuts to Bart way too close to the camera saying ‘A vote for Lex Luthor is a vote against happiness’ then the video ends with Cassie in the same superman onesie with a lightning bolt taped to the front of it claiming ‘this message was endorsed by captain marvel’ [a week later captain marvel makes a posts responding to the video in a captain marvel onesie reaffirming Cassie’s claim]

[feminist-bitches-only]

Hey @ trans inclusive radical feminists, how do y’all beat the terf accusations while also talking about sex based oppression as a form of misogyny? I literally highlight my support of trans people in my bio and my pinned post and just got hit with a terf accusation :/

[stranger-rants]

Anyway… gender non-conforming teenage Billy discovering metal for the first time, seeing men in makeup with long hair and feminine clothes. Metal being a “safe(r)” way for him to express himself than outright saying he doesn’t want “to be a man” 100% of the time. He can deal with Neil thinking he’s a degenerate brat, but he won’t survive if Neil knows for a fact that he’s queer. So, he dresses himself up like his heroes and plays the part well. Girls flock to him because he breaks the mold and Billy likes girls in the way that he wants to be like them. Pretty. Dolled up with perfume. He envies video vixens and fantasizes about bassists. Metal allows him to walk the line between the safe and expected (masculinity) and unexpected and dangerous (femininity) he would love to embrace more.

[ickypuppi3]

something something max not being ‘girly’ enough and billy not being ‘masculine’ enough in the eyes of their parents

[musclesandhammering]

I could get cancelled for this immediately, but does anyone else get really irritated when you see a certain subset of the queer community inserting themselves into other subsets’ issues?

Like when cis gay people think they can speak for trans folks just because “well we’re all lgbt.”

Or like gay men thinking they can make misogynistic comments about lesbians and use the word d*ke etc just because “well we’re lgbt too”.

Or (and this is a big one lately) queer women inserting themselves into conversations that are about issues specific to queer men, and acting like they have exactly as much credibility in the argument because “well we’re just as lgbt as you.”

It’s just like… yeah we’re all queer. But each individual group is their own mini community, and they all have their own things that are specific to them, and if you aren’t in that exact demographic then you don’t have the experience necessary to add your input on those topics. And if you go ahead and shove your way into the conversation anyway, then you’re like… only 5% better than a homophobe. If that.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Sometimes it’s hard for Billy to look in the mirror.

Most of the time it’s for obvious reasons, cuts and bruises that he doesn’t really want to acknowledge littering his face. Nobody likes to see themselves torn up like that, to look weak. Especially not in his case, where under the welted skin and deep bruises and blood, he looks just like the man who put them there. He can’t escape it, the fact he’s a Hargrove, his fathers son.

He thinks about that reflection when he snaps at Max, when he feels just a little too bitter in a day and takes it out on somebody else, messes everything up again. He knows he’s just like his old man. Throw in an earring and grow out his hair, and he looks enough like his own person, but the attitude, the permanent scowl. It gets to him sometimes.

These days, looks are just about the only goddamn way he ever wants to be compared to Neil again. That’s a new mission of his since coming to Hawkins. He’d failed at it for the first few months, but now that he’s older and he’s got adult responsibilities to worry about too, he just wants a chance to get better. He swore he would.

Fact of the matter is, he still can’t make eye contact with his own inherited deep blues when he’s looking in the mirror, battling the humidity to get that one curl in the front to lay just right, or being careful to apply only a perfectly subtle amount of charcoal liner that Neil won’t notice.

There’s another reason for that - one that’s a lot less superficial too- and it has to do with his momma, the other half of him.

The time passing means it’s been more than a decade now since the last time he’d talked to her, even longer since he’d actually seen her. The kind of wound that doesn’t show on the skin, in the reflection, but that never heals.

Billy’s momma was the kind of lady who was never very particular about her appearance. Between raising a kid practically on her own and taking care of her husband like a second child, she didn’t think it was in the top list of her priorities. A list handwritten by her husband and left by her pillow every night.

Still she had an old vanity, a real beauty in it of itself, hand built and painted a pretty white color. Around the top it was ornate, flower trimmings and fancy inlays, decorated with pearls and flowers and things.

Back when Neil still pretended to like her, he’d fixed it up real nice as a gift to his pretty little girlfriend. He’d buy Billy’s momma all kinds of things to fill it up with too, perfume bottles and new flashy jewelry and decent quality makeup. She never asked him where he got the money for any of that. He wouldn’t have answered anyways. That particular illusion was never going to last.

And that was still before Billy came along.

By the time he was in the picture, momma never sat at her vanity anymore. She couldn’t sit and try to get the curlers she’d put in the night before to lay down just right around her face, or put on just a little bit of makeup, the way Neil approved of it but that still made her feel pretty. Worth something. Not with all these new responsibilities looming.

They were the same in that way. Billy and his momma. Except they were opposites. When she was getting dolled up, it was usually for Neil. To avoid a beating. When Billy did it, it was to piss his dad off. Get a reaction. Stand up for himself for once.

That’s not why he remembers it though, his momma's habits.

Billy remembers that vanity well. Even better, he remembers the way the big mirror bowed in a perfect arch right before it shattered on the pavement because Neil threw it to the curb. The smell of old wood and dusty paint and leftover Estée Lauder burning into ash in the backyard. He remembers the destruction of his memories better than he does the actual event.

Being, the time he spent with his momma in her lap, staring with wonderfilled eyes back at their double reflections.

He always thought he looked like his momma. He had wanted to anyway. People would tell him how much he looked like his dad, that he’d grow up to be such a handsome and strong boy. His response had initially been that he’d rather be pretty like his momma, but a backhand across the face quickly reoriented that answer to a painful acknowledgment and an eye roll behind their backs.

His momma told him he was pretty regardless. What did anybody else know?

Back then, Billy had always thought his mother was the smartest person in the world, and hell, leaving her sorry excuse of a husband behind might’ve proved that to be true, if he was on the outside looking in. If he wasn’t a part of that forgotten memory.

Doesn’t change much though. He’s way past blaming her for it. A decade is too long to be mad at someone. Or maybe he’s just gone soft.

That's what she would’ve wanted.

She’d done her best to instill kindness in him. Between strokes of a hair brush through stubborn tangles and a gentle dusting of a dry makeup brush over his freckled button nose, momma would whisper all kinds of affirmations to him. Promises that he’d grow up to be someone who made a difference. How much she loved him. To use those moments to do some damn good in the world.

For a while it seemed like she’d been preparing him for the day she’d up and leave him. Like if she promised enough times that she was raising him right and caring for him that he wouldn’t be hurt when she took off. It might not’ve worked, but here he is still thinking about it, so, he sure as all hell didn’t forget her kindness.

It’s more like he just forgot what to do with it, and all he retained was a complex in the place of a life lesson.

Sort of.

Part of it too was that he had a more important lesson to learn from his time with momma, and that was how to keep Neil off his case. ‘Cause that’s what she was doing; As long as she was sitting at that vanity doing something, Neil couldn't hit her.

It was a nice piece of furniture, he wasn’t going to risk breaking it when he could just as easily bash her head off of the living room coffee table that only cost them nine bucks at a yard sale. That and the fact that any time she was doing something to improve upon her appearance, he couldn’t find something to complain about. Being a good, subservient wife that cleaned herself up for him wasn’t something he could justify beating her over.

And that was exploitable.

Still is to this day. Billy won’t get hurt if he busies himself with something important. Not that standing at his makeshift vanity counts -That makes him a self-absorbed faggot, as a matter of fact- but he’ll do other things. Like making Susan some bitter tea or cleaning the whole house or doing his homework. Stupid shit he’d probably do anyways, but that he makes a special point of doing when Neil’s watching. Just in case.

His dad might pace around behind him when he’s being productive, might threaten what he’ll do through gritted teeth and hit Billy a little harder the next day, but he will back down, given the right excuses. That’s probably the only damn reason why Billy survived the night that Max ran away.

Probably the reason he’s so unhappy all the time too. He hates being vane, he hates the consequences of it mostly, but he has to do it. It’s all he has, because has to flaunt something for the people in this town. If it wasn’t for the act he puts on, he’d have been dead a long time ago.

It makes him feel fake. Nothing belongs to him. Everything’s a trick he learned from momma or a way of self defense. A mask covering up whatever reflection is truly his. He has a few things; his hair, his car, his friends. But no matter what there’s still always the slightest influence of somebody else.

He doesn’t grow his hair past his shoulders, because then he’s too much like momma. He bought a Camaro instead of a firebird like he wanted, because a firebird is a girl's car. He chooses people his dad would approve of, turned away all the friends he had that fell out of favor, and did his damndest to force his step sister to do the same.

It’s shitty and he hates living that way. He thinks it might be easier to be himself. But being himself is so dangerous, he’s not sure he wants that either. He’s torn in two pieces, the real Billy, and the reflection of himself he shows to other people.

Enter Steve Harrington. The first person Billy meets that holds him to being real.

Steve is the first to not buy his act, not from that first curious glance across the parking lot. Coming from the same status, someone that used to be in his place until he fell from grace, he always knew there was more to Billy Hargrove.

Billy feels like he has to play it up harder instead of showing Steve that truth. He doesn’t owe anything to that entitled brat anyways. It’s not out of jealousy, that Steve gets to be pretty and soft. It’s survival.

So he pushes him a little harder the next time they have gym together. Mocks him in the showers, only to run out of the locker rooms with his still hair dripping down his shirt so he doesn’t have to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirrors above the sinks.

But Steve doesn’t let him quit. Because he is a brat, and he doesn’t like being told no. Or being knocked in the face when Billy is done with his shit. His lies. For someone who hides behind a fake version of himself, honesty is important to him, more than getting Max and getting the hell back home. He thought that would be the end of Harrington minding his business, once he lost that fight. Beatings always worked to keep him hateful.

Steve saw something that night he wasn’t supposed to though.

He saw the tears in Billy’s eyes and the bruises on his skin that he hadn’t put there. Steve had only cracked him on his nose, the bruises on the back of his neck and the side of his face belonged to somebody else. He seemed to have Billy well figured out, despite his efforts to push him away.

Harrington is relentless, and honestly, after Steve follows him around at school, sitting next to him in every class, rivaling him in basketball every time, and parks in his parking spot for weeks, Billy is charmed. To see the same intensity he put into the world turned around on him, with a different purpose, trying to get close instead of further apart, it’s so familiar. It’s the same routine he’s been forcing his whole life.

So he gave in. Spent a good thirty minutes at his almost vanity undoing curlers he hid under a hoodie the night before, fluffing up his hair and preening like any of the other desperate bitches that got a chance with Steve fucking Harrington. Putting on lipgloss, clipping in a diamond earring, bouncing into his tightest jeans, hyping himself up. It’s all routine.

Except covering the bruises with makeup and doing his hair through tears doesn’t make that night go away on its own. The guilt and the ugliness that look back at him don’t fade like the redness in his eyes.

Until.

“You look good.”

Steve said it like it was nothing. Like Billy hadn’t gone through a crisis about the way he looked before driving out to meet him here. On the edge of the quarry, too high up from the water to see their own inky black reflections.

Luckily, it’s also too dark for Steve to notice that Billy is blushing as red as he was before he caked his face. “Shut up. I always look good.”

Steve has the audacity to laugh at him. The sound bubbling up and echoing off the rock walls. They’re walled in. But they’re free.

A breeze blows past and knocks Billy’s pristine hair back in his face. There’s a compact in his shirt pocket, and were he on a date with a girl, he would’ve taken it out and fixed himself back up. Ignored the preening chick at his side to do it right back, scare them off with his bullshit personality.

But he isn’t. He’s sitting on his hands next to Steve Harrington, who says, all soft like he means it, “No, I mean.. It’s different. Pretty.”

That’s all Billy’s ever wanted to hear.

Not like Neil. Not like momma. Not like a bruised up kid.

Pretty.

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Yeah. I like the makeup. It’s nice.”

“Don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, Harrington.” His default is to be defensive. He can’t help it. Nobody’s supposed to know.

But Steve, Steve just gets everything right.

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, he declares, “It’s not a big deal.”

Billy can’t stop smiling, sparkling lips drawn back into the expression of the only genuine happiness he’s felt in years. Maybe when he’s around Steve, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Maybe this, the tender compliments, the comfort in another, the expression..

This is the real Billy.

[chrisbitchtree]

Farrah

For years, Billy's dreamed of dressing up like Farrah Fawcett for Halloween, and finally, he's getting his chance.

***

The year Billy turned nine, Charlie’s Angels premiered. One night, he walked into the living room after he was supposed to be in bed to find his mom watching it. Neil was working late that night, and sometimes, when he worked late, Billy’s mom would let him watch tv with her, as long as he was quiet. He’d pulled back the covers and tiptoed down the hall, and what he saw on the screen enthralled him immediately.

Three beautiful women, fighting bad guys while all dressed up. He slunk up to his mom and sat down by her side, quiet as a mouse. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blond, with her feathered hair and beautiful eyeshadow. It was almost October, so when the show cut to commercial break, he turned to his mom and asked her if he could be that woman for Halloween. She’d been bugging him to pick out his costume, so she would be happy that he’d finally made a decision.

Instead, she frowned slightly, asking him if maybe he’d like to be Superman or a football player instead.

“No,” he’d said, shaking his head. “I want to be her.” He pointed at the woman who he would later learn was named Farrah Fawcett.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she’d replied. “You can’t go out like that. You know your dad would like it if you went as a sports star, or maybe a cowboy! Remember that hat you pointed out at the store last week?”

Billy now deeply regretted the cowboy hat he’d pointed out, practically begging her to buy it for him, so he could dress up like the Lone Ranger. He wanted his mom to feather his hair and put pink lipstick on him. He wanted to wear tiny little shorts and boots and fight crime. His mom wouldn’t hear his arguments though, so he ended up wearing his baseball uniform, much to the delight of his mother. It didn’t feel right though. It never felt right.

***

Even in their late teens, the residents of Hawkins took their Halloween costumes seriously, starting the planning for them months in advance. Chrissy had first brought up the topic of costumes in July, deciding that it would be a great idea to do group costumes. She declared that she, Heather, and Robin would go as Charlie’s Angels, and Billy, Steve, and Eddie would go as the Three Stooges.

Everyone was really excited except Billy and Robin, but Billy loved how into his costume Steve was getting, so he didn’t say anything. Robin had no such qualms about upsetting her girlfriend though. She kept complaining to Heather that the shorts Chrissy had picked out for her were too short, and the top was too low cut. Every time she was asked to try it on, so that Heather and Chrissy could make sure that everything looked just as it should, she would wriggle around, pulling at the fabric, saying she felt like she was practically naked.

Billy would look longingly at the outfit and the feathered wig, trying not to be too obvious as his mind wandered, images of himself in that same outfit flashing through his mind. He was going as Larry, and the bland grey suit and ugly wig had him down in the dumps. Steve and Eddie were so excited that he didn’t say anything though.

One such night, Billy and Robin were tasked with picking up pizza for dinner. They set out in the Camaro, and as they drove, Robin brought up the subject of the costumes. “I can’t believe they’re making me wear that hideous outfit,” she huffed, slumped down in her seat, arms crossed.

“I wish my costume was that nice,” Billy mumbled, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t help it, the jealously was seeping through. It was just so frustrating that Robin couldn’t see how cool her outfit was. She was lucky to get to go as such a beautiful badass.

“What?” Robin asked, turning towards him.

His cheeks heated up with a blush. He hadn’t meant for Robin to hear him complaining. “Nothing,” he said, eyes focused on the road ahead, hands clutching the steering wheel.

Suddenly her eyes got large. “Billy, do you want to be Farrah Fawcett for Halloween?”

“No, of course not, Buckley,” he snapped, shaking his head. “Why would I want to dress up as Farrah Fawcett? I’m a guy.”

The corner of Robin’s mouth curved with a small smile. “There’s nothing wrong with playing dress up, you know that, right, Billy? I personally think you’d look beautiful. And I’m sure Steve would too. Do you by any chance want to trade costumes? I’d much rather wear a suit than a tiny little shorts. Really, you’d be doing me a favour.”

“Sure,” Billy said slowly, after thinking about it for a moment. Robin was giving him an out, a way to make it seem like he was just switching costumes for her. “I’ll do it, but only as a favour for you, Buckley.”

They picked up the pizza and headed back to Steve’s. As they were sitting around the living room, eating the last of the pizza, Robin told the rest of the group the plan. “As soon as I said I was uncomfortable, Billy, great guy that he is, offered to swap costumes with me!”

Everyone looked at her in mild confusion, trying to figure out if she was talking about the same cranky asshole that they knew so well, but in the end they all shrugged, agreeing with the new plan. “It doesn’t matter to me,” Chrissy said, smiling. “I’ll be fun to get Billy all dolled up! He won’t even need a wig!”

Billy smiled, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder as the other boy wrapped his arm around him and pulled Billy in close, kissing the top of his head. “That was really nice of you, Billy. I’m sure Robin really appreciates it. And you’re going to look gorgeous in those short shorts. I just know it.”

***

After some searching in Chicago, Chrissy and Heather had managed to find booty shorts and too white boots in his size. They paired it with a white bikini top they’d found in a thrift shop and declared his costume complete.

His jaw dropped the first time he tried the whole outfit on. He felt gorgeous, and like his dream was finally coming true, even if it was ten years late. He started a countdown to Halloween on his calendar, elated when the day finally arrived.

He sat still as a statue on Heather’s bathroom counter as Chrissy and Heather blew out his hair, feathering the sides, and then applied makeup to his face. Frosty blue eyeshadow and soft pink blush, coating his lips with lipstick, almost the same shade as Farrah wore on the show.

They didn’t look in the mirror the whole time, but he sat patiently as he could, knowing it would be more fun to look at himself once he had his costume on. As soon as they were done, he hopped off the counter and ran into her room to pull his outfit on. He’d shaved his legs for the occasion, and the thin nylons slid up his legs smooth as butter. He wriggled into the shorts, zipped up the boots and then Heather came in and tied the halter straps on the bikini top for him.

“Ok, are you ready to see yourself?” She asked with a flourish, turning him around so he faced the mirror.

His eyes snapped open, growing large as he walked closer to the mirror, taking himself in from all angles. He was unable to keep the grin off his face. He felt beautiful, more so than he ever had before. He heard a wolf whistle and turned around, finding Steve, framed in the doorway, grey suit, and curly wig on his head, staring at Billy like he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You look stunning, baby,” he whispered as he approached Billy, wrapping his arms around him from behind. He no doubt, just the same as Billy, was imagining what fun they’d have in bed that night as Steve peeled Billy’s costume off after the party.

Billy grinned, placing his hands over Steve’s. “Thank you, pretty boy,” he whispered back, staring at their reflection. He did feel stunning, but more than that, he finally felt right.

[magniloquent-raven]

happy slightly late birthday @mourntheantagonist 💕💕💕💕💕 have some billy angst (with a happy ending because i gotta) i hope u like it 😭

(read on ao3)

~~tag list ppl @growup-thatbeautiful @spreckle @prettyboy-like-you ~~

**

When Billy was four years old he got his first lecture about looking presentable. He’d been playing in the garden while his parents were getting ready to leave, and had gotten his nice pants all muddy. 

His mother fussed, a worried crease between her brows while she rinsed the dirt from Billy’s pudgy fingers. They were already running late and her in-laws weren’t the forgiving type. But as much as she hurried to clean him up while Neil was distracted with trying to find his keys (Billy had hidden them the night before, he didn’t want to see his grandparents), there were still conspicuous streaks all over his clothes and his fingernails sported tiny crescents of packed soil underneath. 

Neil was not pleased. 

He wouldn’t be seen with Billy looking like that. His son looking unkempt and uncared for would reflect poorly on him, and he’d never hear the end of it from his parents. 

So Billy was sent upstairs to change. To wash his face. Comb his hair. Neil gave him a list and if he forgot a single thing there’d be hell to pay. They were already late so he might as well take the time to clean up properly, and learn to be responsible for his own appearance while he was at it. 

The thing is though, Billy’s mother had gotten ready in a rush, intending to help Neil search for his keys, and in her haste she hadn’t bothered to put away her makeup bag. 

A tube of something shimmery was sticking out of the half-zipped opening, and he felt compelled to peek inside, poke through the contents. There were tiny plastic cases of crumbly colours, a few sticky pencils with cracked caps, brushes and a sponge smeared with different shades of tan and pink. It was all so fascinating. He liked the dry, powdery smell. And the clack of things bumping into each other as he rooted around. 

It all just felt…good. He could see why his mother liked it. Plus, she always looked so nice. Billy wanted to be pretty like that.

And Neil told him to make himself presentable, right? He said to be responsible and take care of his appearance, like a grown-up would. So.

Billy had gotten pretty good at reading by then, but the makeup labels still confused him. There were so many words he didn’t know.

He just grabbed the first thing that caught his eye. A little bottle of pink goop, with a wand attached to the lid and tiny strawberries printed on the outside. He’d seen his mom use this before, he knew what it was for. 

It smeared a little on the corner of his mouth, but after he wiped it off—with a tissue, not his sleeve, Neil would be mad if he wiped it on his sleeve—it looked alright. It maybe even looked nice. He thought so anyways, with a tiny little spark of pride in his heart. 

His father did not agree. 

His mother spotted him coming down the stairs before Neil did, and Billy didn’t understand the flash of panic that crossed her face. Didn’t understand why her gaze darted frantically from Billy to Neil, like she was helplessly counting the seconds until a bomb no one could defuse went off. 

Billy wouldn’t remember everything his father said, but he’d remember how it felt to listen to him. Every stab of guilt at the sight of frustrated tears in his mother’s eyes over the argument she got into with Neil, because he knew it was his fault. His fault for thinking it wasn’t wrong for him to want the things he wanted. 

He felt a part of himself being cut away that day, and he’d carry that scar for the rest of his life.

**

When Billy was eight years old he rode his bike past a bookshop in a part of the city he’d never been to before. 

Neil always told him to stay away from that whole street, but it would’ve taken him an extra ten minutes to go around on his way home and he was tired. He figured Neil would never find out. It would be fine. 

He’d never thought about why Neil had warned him off in the first place, but he figured it out pretty quick when an old man in a neatly tailored sundress walked out of the bookshop he was cycling past. 

His heart slammed into his mouth, and his jerked his head to look away so quickly he nearly steered his bike into a wall. 

The man was tall, and had the physique of someone who might’ve been muscular in their youth but had softened with age. He had a short, tidy beard, but his hair was long and frizzy, falling around his shoulders in silver waves. 

And he was wearing a lacy blue dress, held up by ribbon straps tied into bows. 

Every day for the next three weeks, Billy rode his bike down that street as slowly as possible.

There was a rainbow sticker on the bookshop’s front window, sun-faded but still vibrant, that always caught his eye and made his heart beat a little faster. It felt dangerous, being there, but he couldn’t stop. Even though when he got home afterwards his legs felt like jelly, and he’d start to sweat every time Neil looked at him because it felt like his indiscretions were written in sharpie on his forehead and his father was about to notice. 

After twenty-three days of scoping out the bookshop he ran into the old man again. Almost literally. Billy had to swerve dramatically to avoid him because he’d been so busy staring at the people holding hands across the street that he hadn’t noticed the man’s cane sticking out across the sidewalk. 

He barely caught himself before he tipped over, and stood at an awkward angle clutching his bike, his face burning, stammering apologies, until the man waved him off with a smile. 

His name was Gilbert Grey, and it turns out he lived above the shop—his shop. He’d seen Billy, every day, desperately trying to look like he wasn’t cataloging every inch of this place he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Billy braced himself for a reprimand that never came.

**

When Billy was nine years old, Gil threw him a party.

He’d been complaining—slouched on the bench outside Gil’s shop and pouting into his styrofoam cup of hot chocolate—about Neil punishing him. He hadn’t been paying attention during his last baseball game, and he missed what should have been an easy catch. It lost them the whole game, and Neil wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. Then he brought home a report card with two Cs on it, and to cap it all off, he ruined Neil’s nicest watch when he spilled maple syrup at breakfast. 

So he made it very clear Billy’s birthday would not be celebrated this year. He’s getting too old to have shit just handed to him anyways.

Gil did not agree. He didn’t agree with a lot of the stuff Neil said. 

The weekend after Billy’s miserable ninth birthday (the only highlight had been his mother slipping a note and a cookie into his lunch for the day), when he stopped by the bookshop there were streamers everywhere. It was kind of a mess, honestly, coloured paper draped along the shelves and hanging from the ceiling and tangled together in the corners where too many had been taped in one place. 

He didn’t understand until Carla—Gil’s only full-time employee, a girl with spikes in her nose and a penchant for glittery eyeshadow—walked out from behind the counter with cake. The icing was smushed on one side of the plastic dome it sat under, and there was a bright yellow clearance sticker on top, but Billy was over the moon. 

The only gift he got that year was a brown eyeliner pencil that Carla had bought for herself, and didn’t want once she realized she hadn’t grabbed the black one. She warned him not to poke his eye out with it. He hugged her ‘round the middle and left tearstains on her t-shirt. 

**

When Billy was eleven years old his mother left. Everything changed after that. Neil was stricter. Billy was angrier. At everything. At everyone. At himself, most of all. Maybe if he hadn’t caused so much trouble she would’ve stayed. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so at odds with Neil if Billy hadn’t been around causing arguments between them all the time. 

Maybe she would have loved him enough to bring him along if he wasn’t such a fucking freak. 

He’d only used his eyeliner a couple times. Mostly it stayed hidden away under his mattress. Just having it used to be comforting. But after his mother left he thought about throwing it out all the time.

He stayed away from the bookshop for two weeks. When he finally went back he broke down before Gil had a chance to say hello.

The tea he made tasted like burnt grass and didn’t help, but listening to him ramble about the stray cat he’d been feeding did. A little. 

It was nice to have a moment or two in a place where nothing had changed. To be assured that he still had a place somewhere. 

Gil let Billy look through a trunk of old clothes upstairs while he busied himself with stuff people need to do when they own a business. Books with numbers and things. Billy wasn’t paying attention. The second Gil told him he could try on whatever he wanted he couldn’t hear anything else. 

The dresses hung loosely around Billy’s ankles, most of them too long to walk in. He didn’t want to be anywhere but in front of a mirror anyways. It didn’t matter that they hung off his shoulders and bunched oddly in places, he felt beautiful.

**

Three days before Billy’s seventeenth birthday, Neil found out. About everything.

He’d gotten complacent. Neil had his new annoying girlfriend and her shitty little brat to dote on, Billy didn’t matter anymore. He didn’t need micromanaging constantly because there were more important things, like figuring out how to hide the fact that he’s a raging piece of shit from a woman long enough to trick her into marrying him.

Or whatever.

Point is, Billy thought he had a little wiggle room. And he was wrong. Because of course he was.

He’d never find out how Neil caught him, but the how didn’t matter when his world was falling apart around him. Neil knew he’d been hanging out with queers. He tore Billy’s room apart and found every hidden thing he’d stashed away over the years. His eyeliner stub. The tube of lipgloss he saved when Neil started throwing everything away after the divorce. Skirts tucked away under old gym equipment in his closet. 

It all ended up in the garbage. 

The first thing out of Neil’s mouth that wasn’t a slur was, what if Max had seen that shit.

That hurt more than being called a fag.

**

Six days after Billy’s seventeenth birthday Neil finally took the padlock off his door and let him out. The first thing he did when he got his car keys back was drive to the bookshop.

He had to pull over three buildings down when he spotted police tape.

His body knew what had happened before his brain did. The thought wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t connect. But his knees still gave out when he staggered closer to make sure, and his jeans tore when he hit the pavement.

The broken window blurred, tears burning as they welled up faster than he could shed them. Yellow tape rustled, a line waving in the wind. The bench he used to sit on to drink his shitty hot chocolate was half-visible, an armrest caught on the windowsill keeping it propped up, tilted through the shattered glass. 

He waited for hours but no one stopped by. He needed someone to stop by. He needed Gil to see him through the window of his tiny apartment and come outside to tell him it’s not what he thinks. 

He didn’t go home that night.

Instead of the lecture he expected when he saw Neil the next morning all he got was a lukewarm warning and an appraising look that saw too much.

**

Fourteen days after his seventeenth birthday Neil read out the obituary of one Gilbert Grey, aged 79, and ended with a scoff. He didn’t even look at Billy. Susan fussed over her plate of eggs, oblivious. Max watched him with narrowed eyes.

Billy didn’t bother excusing himself before he fled to the bathroom, barely keeping his breakfast down long enough to make it to the toilet.

**

Billy didn’t think he’d make it to his nineteenth birthday. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to. Hawkins was hell before he found out there were actual monsters lurking in the shadows. He was trying his hardest to be everything Neil wanted him to be here, joining the basketball team, keeping his grades up, taking girls on dates, and most importantly, only associating with the right kind of people. 

None of it was ever enough for Neil, their team rarely won games, Billy was just barely scraping a B in Math, the girls he dated were too trashy. It was always something. All Billy was managing to do was fuck up his life and lose what little he had that he actually cared about. 

And then there was Steve Harrington. Walking around this backwater fucking town with no goddamn clue what he was doing to Billy just by existing. 

Billy promised himself he’d leave all that queer shit in California. He was a different person there. 

All that denial went out the window the second he saw Steve and a white-hot wave of want crashed over him. He wasn’t going to be able to ignore this. Especially not when Hawkins High had the worst fucking shower set-up Billy had ever seen, and he was forced to stand inches away from Steve’s wet naked body when he wasn’t allowed to even look. 

He’d spent months before the move training himself to keep that shit on lock, but two days of proximity with Steve had already broken his resolve. 

It was terrifying. Wanting things this badly never ended well for Billy. The things he wanted just weren’t things he was allowed to have. 

So he may have taken that fear out on Steve Harrington’s pretty face. 

It tore him up inside, but at least he’d ruled out any possibility of getting closer to Steve and landing them both in a hospital if he ever slipped up around Neil. If Neil even suspected how Billy felt about him…

But it didn’t matter anymore. None of it did. 

All his turmoil over Steve and all the shit Neil put him through, years of Billy worrying and looking over his shoulder and feeling sick to his stomach every time he got close to being happy. All of it felt hollow now. 

A week before he turned nineteen, Neil left Hawkins. He just…left. While Billy was still in physical therapy, Susan was working two jobs to help pay his medical bills and Max was constantly hovering over his shoulder like a ginger hummingbird, and…Neil quietly served Susan divorce papers, before disappearing.  

He didn’t say goodbye to Billy. He’d barely been able to look at him since last summer. Now that he wasn’t just a queer and a fuck-up, but a cripple too. 

Billy had shaped his life around this man’s whims, and now he didn't know how to live with whatever was left behind.

Susan told him he could stay, and Max told him that he fucking better, but Billy had no clue why. He could barely stand the person he’d become, he wasn’t sure why anyone else would put up with him. 

Neil certainly hadn’t, and that person was his goddamn creation. 

He’d resented his father for years, hated him and every scar he’d ever left, and now…he should’ve been relieved but instead he felt gutted. And felt like a piece of shit for caring so much. 

It didn’t help that Billy kept repeating his old mistakes, even after he had no reason to. He’d just dig himself deeper and deeper, pushing Max away when she tried to be helpful, refusing to talk to Susan, carrying on his father’s legacy in some twisted fucking way. And it was making him miserable. 

Because that’s what Neil would’ve wanted. 

**

When Billy was twenty years old, Steve Harrington kissed him for the first time. 

He thought they only spent time together because they had to. Because of Max, and El, because they chauffeured the same kids around and so they had to communicate sometimes. He thought he was being selfish, taking what he could get, offering Steve a cigarette or two while they waited around. He couldn’t handle more than that. 

Because he wasn’t allowed to have more. He wasn’t allowed to have good things. Neil might not be around to ruin them anymore, but Billy was a big boy, he could take responsibility for it himself. Afterall, Neil taught him everything he knew. 

Billy’s hand shook the entire drive home, his knuckles split and swollen, radiating heat and pain in waves, sharper every time he flexed his fingers. He could still feel Steve’s lips pressed to his, no matter how much he tried to focus on anything else. He’d been so gentle. Shy. His kiss was a question and Billy answered with the only words he’d been taught.

**

Two weeks later, Max found out. 

Steve’s black eye had faded—or so Billy had been told, he hadn’t seen him since he’d bloodied his face a second time—but Billy’s hand was still stiff. Still hurt when he moved his fingers. It didn’t help that he’d made a habit of clenching his fist whenever he thought about that night, and he’d thought about it often.

It was all he thought about.

Should’ve known Max, the nosy brat, would wheedle the truth out of Steve. Once she sets her mind to something, she pushes as much as she needs to to succeed. And Billy would admire that about her if she wasn’t set on grilling him about why he’d flipped the fuck out.

He can’t tell her. It’s not something he could put into words. And even if he could, it wouldn’t be any of her fucking business.

It took half an hour of her pestering for him to snap at her, and storm out before he did anything he couldn’t take back. 

And of course that was when he ran into Steve. When he was trying to clear his head. 

The last thing he expected to come out of Steve’s mouth was an apology, but suddenly there one was, and Billy had to take a solid thirty seconds to remember how to breathe and get his brain working again.

It didn’t make sense. Steve didn’t make sense. Billy expected him to shatter like glass when he dropped him, but here he was, intact and offering…something. Peace. Assurance.

Max had been trying to care about him ever since the Mind Flayer shit, constantly on edge and yelling at him about keeping up with his meds and all that shit, and El had been refusing to leave him alone even though they never actually spoke to each other, and now Steve was here, trying to be invited in too, and Billy was so tired of barricading the door. 

So he offered an apology of his own.

**

Three years later Billy comes home to find Steve sitting on the couch, his back straight, hands folded in his lap, looking like he’s posing for a family portrait, complete with awkward grimace that’s pretending to be a smile.

“Am I about to get dumped?”

Steve flails, fingers unclasping and waving in the air, “No!” He yelps, shooting out of his seat, pausing, and then sitting back down, looking even more like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. “No. I just…wanna talk to you about something?”

“That’s never good,” Billy says flatly, shucking his jacket and busying himself with his boots so he has time to school his features. It takes him four tries to untie one of the knots, his bitten-down fingernails scraping uselessly and his hands shaking too badly to get a good grip.

“I mean—shit, I’m doing this all wrong. It’s not bad. I really hope it’s not bad, anyways. Um.”

“Spit it out, pretty boy.”

“Iboughtyousomething.”

Billy walks over to perch on the edge of the coffee table, watching Steve carefully. “Slower.”

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, it wasn’t expensive or anything, I just saw it and—okay that’s a lie, I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I went looking. And I found something I think would…” He bites his lip, and stares down at his hands. “I bought you something.”

“O—kaay…?”

“It’s…” Another pause. Steve lets out a breath. “Can I just show you? And you can tell me if you hate it.”

“...Okay.”

Steve takes his hand and leads him to their bedroom. His palm is sweaty, and he grips a little too tight, but Billy lets him.

There’s lingerie on their bed. 

The bedding has been tucked and smoothed and made neater than it’s been since they bought the mattress, and delicately laid right in the middle there’s a pale blue negligee. It looks like it would fall to Billy’s mid-thigh, with a split up each side, made of sheer fabric, floral designs stitched into the bodice. The thin straps are capped with tiny ribbons tied into bows. 

Billy doesn’t get a good look at it before the room starts to get blurry.

“Billy, hey,” Steve breathes out softly, reaching out to cup his cheek. “I—I can return it if you—”

“No.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Then…?”

“I don’t hate it.”

There’s a pause, like Steve’s waiting for Billy to elaborate. He bites his bottom lip. “Alright. That’s…a relief.” His thumb rubs along Billy’s cheekbone, a gesture that’s meant to comfort him as much as Billy. “Seriously, I’ve thought about you in stuff like that, just. So much. It’s actually embarrassing. I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

Billy’s eyes fall shut, and he leans into Steve’s touch. “I love it.” He exhales slowly. “I really do. It’s just…”

It’s just the first time he puts it on he’s probably going to cry. 

He might not be able to do it at all without panicking.

He’s afraid Steve will leave if he finds out how much he actually wants this.

“When I was a kid I used to go to this bookstore…”

[plasticfangtastic]

Does anybody know what the exact shirts Butcher wears are? Like anybody can recognize the brands or pieces?

Summer is not far here in australia and momma needs new fits.

Like i need this shirt so badly y'all need to understand how much gay euphoria this shirt will provide.

[mourntheantagonist]

Oh oh oh Little Billy's first Halloween as a Little? Getting all the fun of costumes and candy and decorations!

ok ok ok! but now you’ve got me crossing over my little!billy and gnc!billy headcanons and I love you for it.

when billy was a kid his favorite movie was cinderella. his mom would sing a dream is a wish your heart makes to put him to sleep every night, and every year when october rolled around, he would always ask if he could dress up as cinderella.

he and his mom would have to compromise and ask to be prince charming instead.

but neil always had the final say, and even prince charming was too girlish for neil’s taste. he’d go as an astronaut or batman or a football player. something distinctly manly—even if he was only five years old.

the disappointment of not getting to dress up as cinderella didn’t fade, rather, it was replaced by the disappointment that he was told he had to stop trick or treating when he was only seven years old. sure, he never got to dress up how he wanted but at least he got to have fun running around the neighborhood at night hauling a heavy pillowcase full of candy!

it was the first is a long list of things billy would have taken away from him. he could have only wished that the worst thing to happen to him would have been having halloween taken away from him.

when steve approached him one morning when he was little and asked billy if he wanted to go trick or treating, billy was confused.

“am I allowed?”

steve just musses his hair. “of course buddy! nancy’s taking jonathan and robin trick or treating and asked if we wanted to join them!”

billy sort of just sits there for a second. it doesn’t make total sense to him. “not too old?” he asks, bracing himself for steve to say “oh yeah, you are too old aren’t you.” or “you weren’t seriously thinking I’d take you trick or treating right? that’s for babies! are you a baby billy?”

but of course, steve says nothing of the sort.

“no you aren’t too old! you’re never too old to trick or treat if it makes you happy! so do you wanna go?”

billy nodded his head, trying his best to hide his excitement, but he apparently wasn’t doing too good of a job at it with the way steve was giggling.

“alright buddy, what do you wanna dress up as? you can be anything you like!”

billy blushed at the question, because his mind immediately went to the one thing he always wanted to be. the one thing he was always denied and told was only for girls. billy wasn’t a girl. he didn’t want steve to look at him the same way his mom had when he would ask. but at the same time, he couldn’t think of anything else.

“anything?”

“anything buddy. you name it!”

billy pursed his lips, debating whether or not he should say it. he didn’t want to have to compromise with prince charming again. he wanted to be pretty like cinderella.

“c-can I be cinderella?”

when billy looked up and saw steve’s wide eyes, he was ready to cry.

“is that not allowed?”

steve quickly started shaking his head and started rubbing his shoulder. “no of course that’s allowed bud! stevie was just surprised is all. is that what you really want?”

billy nodded his head.

“alright then buddy, we can go costume shopping tomorrow.”

when halloween eventually rolled around, billy was all around nervous. steve had laid out his costume for him; a long and pretty blue dress with a black choker and some sneakers (no glass slipper, he’d be walking around all night). he hadn’t thought about it until it was looking right at him—other people would have to see him in it, what if they laughed at him?

“hey buddy, what’s with the thinkin’ face?”

billy didn’t say anything. he just shrugged.

“don’t wanna tell me? that’s ok bills. how about we start gettin’ ready? wanna start on your hair?”

billy liked when steve brushed his hair, so he was okay with that. it would be a good distraction if nothing else. he took steve’s hand and followed him into the bathroom, taking a seat in the chair as steve gently brushed the knots from his hair. billy just smiled at himself in the mirror as steve pulled all his hair back into a pony tail. “you want it to look just like hers?”

billy nodded his head. he wanted to be pretty just like her.

even through all the poking of the bobby pins, billy’s smile didn’t falter one bit through the whole thing.

“lookin’ like a princess already.” steve said, admiring his work. but billy just hung on the word princess.

“pretty?” he asked.

“so pretty.”

billy was slowly starting to feel better about the whole thing. if steve thought he was pretty, well that was the only thing that mattered.

“you ready to get dressed?” steve asked.

billy nodded his head rapidly, excitement clear.

steve led him back into the bedroom and helped him out of his clothes and into the pretty blue dress. it looked just like cinderella’s (steve dropped a pretty penny on that thing because he’d be damned if billy didn’t have the best first little halloween ever). it wasn’t even itchy like his costumes were when he was a kid. the material was soft and he not only was looking like a princess, but he felt like one too.

steve secured the choker around billy’s neck and helped him tie his shoes, and once everything was all put together steve brought him over to the mirror to look at himself.

billy instantly smiled.

“pretty.” he said.

“you sure are billy. you look beautiful.”

billy couldn’t stop staring himself. it was a dream come true. like a fairytale.

“oh, I forgot something! I’ll be right back.”

steve was only out of the room for thirty seconds before he walked back in with something behind his back.

“what’s that?” billy asked, trying to peek around steve’s back.

“well, I know she doesn’t wear one in the movie, but I thought a princess as pretty as you are should have one of these.”

billy could not have prepared himself for what steve had hidden behind his back.

it was a tiara. it was so shiny it nearly blinded him with the way it reflected the light. but it didn’t light up nearly as bright as billy’s eyes had once he’d seen it.

“may I?”

the head nods were just getting more aggressive.

“alright kiddo calm down you’re gonna give yourself whiplash if you keep doing that.”

billy could barely hold still as he waited for steve to place the tiara on his head, and once he did, billy started to cry.

“oh no did I poke you?”

billy shook his head. “no.” he said, taking a deep breath and smiling, “I’m a princess!”

steve just pulled billy into the tightest hug possible. “yes you are!” he said “you’re my princess! all ready for the ball.”

then there was a knock at the door, and any reservations billy had about showing people his costume went out the window, and all he wanted to do was show everyone. he ran down the stairs (steve calling from the top not to lose a slipper on the way down).

steve eventually caught up with him and let the group into the house, nancy and her two littles pouring into the living room in a fit of laughter.

robin was dressed as robin hood and jonathan was dressed as david bowie (will did the makeup for him) and nancy was dressed as tinker bell. but nobody cared about them, they were all staring at billy.

“wow.” was all that nancy said, her breath barely above a whisper.

“nancy look at billy!” was what robin said, her voice high pitched and pointing at billy.

billy felt his face flush from all the attention, and he was dreading what their next words were gonna be. his confidence was draining.

“I see him robbie!”

“he looks so pretty nancy!”

“yeah he looks just like cinderella!”

and just like that his confidence was back.

“he sure does!” steve said, rubbing comforting circles into billy’s back. he must’ve noticed him tense up. “what do we say billy?”

“thank you.”

“hey steve, where’s your costume?” nancy asked.

“shoot, lemme go change real quick. give me two minutes.”

two minutes was actually five because steve could not stop messing with his hair.

but when he came down the stairs, well, billy didn’t think his smile was capable of getting any wider.

“oh look at you steve, demoted from king I see.” nancy said, giggling.

“well you can’t have cinderella and not have a prince charming.”

billy was right. he was in a fairytale.

“alright guys let’s get out of here before we turn into pumpkins!”

robin and jonathan both threw their pillowcases in the air and simultaneously shouted “candy!”

billy wasn’t thinking about candy. all he could think about was how he was about to have the best halloween ever.

[feminist-bitches-only]

Found these comments on a post where op was talking about being happy seeing two weird little girls (fuzzy cat ears, anime regalia, etc.) having found each other as friends and I want to talk about it.

It’s reminding me of a couple months ago when people were insisting Billie Eilish was trans because she was wearing baggier/masc clothing. Do people really not understand the harm in implying that a girl is not a girl because she’s a little weird/masc/gnc?? What’s going on here??

[captainjcarver]

💋 My Girls ❤️

[cruelsister-moved2]

i love how they had literally every masculine man on earth to choose from literally billions of human beings but they still chose three exceptionally ugly white guys

[prettyboy-like-you]

steve harrington is getting hotter by the second