& 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 ❟ 𝐡𝐞 —

#𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑹𝑪𝑺𝑬   ⊰   INDIE   ,   canon   divergent   ,   BILLY   HARGROVE   from   Netflix's   Stranger   Things   ––– ⊰ –––   first   adored   in   april   of   '22   by   BAKUNA   (  25  ,  she  /    her  ,    &  est.  )   ––– ⊰ –––   warning   for   blood   ,   violence   ,   adult   content   &   toxic   behavior   ––– ⊰ –––   current   themes   , also   ,   include   :   death   &   dying   ,   drug use   ,   abuse   ,   alcoholism   ,   bullying   ,&   redemption.   mun =/= muse .

#NAVIGATION   ⊰   doc.     –––  ⊰  –––       pinterest.      –––  ⊰  –––      playlists.

oh, i absolutely adore Billy. This character got me through some really rough times and he was the first really REAL character that I connected with. He isn't perfect. He's not very nice. He's a product of his environment absolutely. He's vain. He's violent. He's hurting. and he makes other people hurt, too.

It isn't beautiful. It isn't cute. For all his beauty, he's a young man that has cut his hands open on the jagged glass edges of his father's aggression and abuse, and now, broken glass is all he's got to give everyone else.

It isn't excusable. It's very ugly and it's a shame to break a young boy that probably had all the dreams and love in the world to give. Not everyone shits gold and rainbows from their asses with no problems and PhD's in good, healthy communication. Not everyone understands how to treat people when the teacher is someone who ALSO doesn't know how to treat people. His father knows how to lure people in and switch up mid-way. THIS  is the person he's had to learn from.

I'm sorry for the late response, dear anon. If you still have eyes and want to know, I would suggest using byluna's generator for both spacing AND color.

a bonus : If you've seen any of the gradient posts, they're all pretty and lovely, but it's ANNOYING to find decent gradients with hex codes n all. this will take any two colors and blend them into a gradient. very useful. { this here }

                                                   He   would   liken   himself   to   Achilles,   but   he   isn't   is   he?   He   is   Patroclus:   the   one   slain   early   in   the   tale.   The   one   hungry   for   ambrosia,   tongue   stained   golden   by   the   taste   of   the   divine.   The   boy   that

                        chased                                  after                                        the                                              thundering                                                       foot                                                             falls                                                                   of                                                                            gods.

                                                   Thrown   to   the   flames,   gold   is   where   he's   lain,   and   the   sort-of-God   he   chased   after   only   wishes   to   meet   his   end   all   the   same.   Embraced   in   ashes,   where   life   would   deny   them.

*   ━━          ✦ 「      @jonbyers​ said   ,      ❛       why wouldn’t i save you   ?      ❜      /      accepting from this.」 ☆

                                                   the   words   don't   seem   to   register   right   away.   In   the   haze,   straining   against   a   body   that   just   won't   W   O   R   K   how   he   wants   it   to;   he's   lost   to   the   cotton   and   the   fuzzy   static   marching   like   ants   in   his   brain,   numbed   digits   search   out   the   side   of   buildings   to   help   him   keep   moving.   Even   broken   and   bloody,   he   would   just   keep   on   moving.

                                                   ❝         Because   ...         ❞            It's   a   strain   to   even   move   his   lips   to   form   the   first   syllables   from   them.   They   were   detached,   numbed   things   that   felt   foreign.   Phantom   sensations   of   lips   seemingly   pressed   at   every   end   to   his   own,   they   aren't   his;   his   own   mouth   isn't   his.   He   tries   again,               ❝         Because   ...         ❞            his   voice   is   hoarse   around   the   ball   gathering   in   his   throat,   an   ache   born   from   someone   trying   their   hardest   to   get   it   out.

                                                   Sapphires   aren't   obscured   by   lids,   he   doesn't   blink   in   the   slightest   as   he   creeped   his   way   toward   the   other.   Lids   shuttered   with   the   heaviness   of   droplets   stuck   in   the   lashes,   fluttered   away   to   knock   thick   bead   of   liquid   loose.   They   collected   among   center   lashes   and   formed   a   fat   drop,   a   tear   that   made   him   blink   once   it   smacked   the   top   of   his   cheek.

It's all a carefully crafted L I E to make you think I know any of what I'm doing. 'cause I don't. hAaaaaHAA. Seriously, thank you for even giving me the time of day. I know there is quite a few people that consider Billy and characters like him to be avenues in which to be the worst types of people. I struggle more with balancing how I want him to be with what he needs to be to make an environment people feel comfortable in regardless of how much of a butt he can be.

*   ━━          ✦ 「      @citysided​ sent   ,      ❛       can you move   ?      ❜      /      accepting from this.」 ☆

                                                   In   all   the   chaos,   a   harrowing   experience   played   out   in   panicked   screams   and   running,   they've   begun   shoving   to   get   away   from   the   uproar   of   a   pulled   alarm.   It   had   been   a   calm   and   orderly   exit   until   some   five-head   smelled   the   distinctive   odor   of   grease   and   burning   and   decided   it   was   a   good   idea   to   scream   out,               ❝         Fire   !         ❞

                                                                     ❝         Fire   !         ❞                  he'd   repeated   again,   because   it   didn't   quite   seem   to   register   to   those   shuffling   single   files   out   the   door   the   first   time.   He'd   said   it   again   and   set   the   herd   off   like   skittering   buffalo   in   a   narrow   valley   trying   to   squeeze   and   shove   their   way   out   the   door.   Mass   hysteria   and   panic   was   all   it   took   to   turn   what   felt   like   a   routine   fire   drill   into   this   chaotic   writhing   mass   of   bodies.   People   were   being   knocked   around,   pushed   to   the   floor,   and   trampled   over.   No   one   seemed   to   stop   and   think   about   the   person   they   were   crushing   under   their   heels   so   long   as   they   survived   the   ordeal.

                                                   The   constant   shoulder   checking   sets   Billy's   teeth   on   edge;   their   stupid,   formless   desperation   sickens   him.   He   turned   to   tell   the   sweaty   fucker   that   shoulder   checks   him   a   fourth   time   where   he   would   find   his   fist,   if   he   kept   at   it.   It   was   serendipity   that   someone   had   decided   to   throw   an   elbow   into   the   fray.   It   was   his   font   of   bad   luck   that   made   perfectly   sure   it   was   his   face   they'd   managed   to   hit.