Hαʅʅ Oϝ Fʅαყҽԃ

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧         ✦         ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗ 𝙹𝚊𝚣 • 𝟚𝟘 • 𝙴𝚂𝚃  𝙸𝚂𝙵𝙿 ♒︎ • 𝚂𝚑𝚎╏𝙷𝚎𝚛 • 𝙰𝚍𝚟.𝙻𝚒𝚝 ✎ ╚═                                                       ═╝

✦ 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚢 𝙻𝚟𝙻 || 𝙰𝚍𝚟. 𝙻𝚒𝚝

𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚜- 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛, 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝙰𝙿 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢.

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✦ 𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑 || 

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎. 𝙼𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚎!

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✦ 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚗 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 || 

𝙸’𝚖 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚙. 𝙸 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚢. 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍- 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚞, 𝚎𝚝𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚜!

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✦ 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ||

𝙸’𝚖 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 in 𝚠𝚕𝚠, 𝚖𝚕𝚖 & 𝚠𝚕𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 ♥  𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚌𝚜 ✓ 𝙾𝚌𝚜 ✓

The slaughter column simply wasn’t worth the risk. In a small town such as Hawkins, everyone’s business was already scrutinized, so imagine being exposed under Toms Tuesday column— Everyone up to the county over would know about you.

Poor Heather, reluctantly, succumbs to shallow popularity. She’s destined to wade through half-baked personalities, though what she craves most of all is for *someone* to be unapologetically themselves.

Make her a ragdoll, it’s okay. Hawk a loogie at her—I don’t fucking know, just be *real.*

‘C’mon, *c’mon*’, She insists, attempting to scoop up a set of rings into the mesh net. It was a futile effort, though, as they floated aimlessly wherever the pool's current was jetting, which was further than Heather dared to reach. The chance of diving in for a kid gurgling chlorine was already above her pay grade, never mind a bunch of plastic. 

It was a unanimous decision on her part. 

She grips the skimmer like it’s the thing's fault, turning on her rubber sole to seek out the next best thing in her arsenal. The girl makes for the bathrooms, unapologetically barging past the men's door, seeking a pair of arms much longer than hers and perhaps, a bit of disgruntled reluctance. She props the skimmer against a sink, proceeding towards the sputter of flowing water. 

*“Billy, sweetie,”* Heather jingles lightheartedly, mingling in between the stalls to let him gather himself. She follows up promptly: “I need help with the pool cover, please. You know I don’t like touching the water.” Typically, he greets her with something snarky like, ‘Can’t lather my dick with you watching,’ or simply, a *‘No’*. 

But this time, a beat passes.

Which is…fine. But then again, not entirely. Inquisitively, her mind recalls back to that afternoon. She had sauntered past Billy, where he seemed to be trudging forward in this stiff, mechanically way. Teasingly, Heather had thrown a ‘Looking good, Billy’ over her shoulder. The thing was– he looked *far* from his usual homeostasis. About as clammy as a bar of soap, in fact. 

The running water makes the silence all the more deafening, sobering her– Not only that, but her sixth sense urges Heather to risk getting flashed. She resorts to saying something drastic, something insane like, “I’m gonna join you, ‘kay?”. Surely, that should elicit a reaction out of him, but it never comes, even as she slinks closer to his stall and–

‘Billy-’ 

*Billy* is on the *floor*. He has all four limbs huddled to himself, still as a statue. It startles Heather to the point where she crouches to his level, syrupy eyes dilated and brows knitted tight– The water laps at her knees and it’s *freezing*, yet another insinuation that told her this wasn't the norm:

'Hun, are you alright? Why in the world are you on the tiles? That can’t feel good.'