#witch billy

I have been stuck in the Billy practice.

Probably gonna start doing a semi-magical Billy drawing(s).

Like his mom's side of the family were witches or had magic, and it was a talent that was vanishing until he was born. He figured a bit out while trying to survive his dad, like the earth made his skin tougher, the wind let him dodge faster, and water- thus his connection to the ocean- healed him. Things like that.

Also head cannon that Eddie also has magic, but it's more like bard magic so thats why he's never noticed. This is also why Billy notices him, because he hasn't seen any type of magic since his mother- who could only make plants very healthy and bloom flowers- and Billy is kinda excited to not be the only witch in town. Only to realize Eddie didn't know, so he's gotta help him learn.

And then there's Steve.

No Magic, but damn if Billy doesn't think he's hella pretty, and after finding out about the Upside Down decides it's fine to tell the pretty boy about his magic.

because i’ve said this a million times before and i’ll say it a billion times over but it’s all i can think about, honestly. even on the days of celebration that most pagan religions don’t abide by exactly— for example, new year’s eve!

like, can you imagine harringrove’s first nye in their own little apartment? christmas would be an absolute blast, yea but a day or two later and billy would be turning the place upside down trying to clean. i mean, vacuuming, dusting, bagging stuff up and forcing steve to help him with all of it (which he grumbles about but does anyway because he’s boy crazy about him).

he’d open every window and every door, only to be reminded that “hawkins is fucking freezing, babe— this isn’t california” so he’d have to relax a little. but once steve’s out at work? he’s back to his shenanigans and airing out all of the bad energy.

he’d teach steve about manifestation and meditation, too. or rather, he’d try to before hawkin’s hottest resident started fidgeting and sighing and fiddling with a million other things. and then naturally, billy would have to roll his eyes at him and finally give him some attention.

billy would also probably write a few letters to ring in the new year.

to max, of course; apologizing and wishing for her to be happy and live brightly and to be everything that his teenage self couldn’t be. he’d also write to susan and his dad; the latter of whom, he wished to never see again.

he’d wax absolute poetic about steve in his and hope for his happiness; imbue every bit of his love into the point where pencil and paper meet and wish for long, long lives together.

the last one would be penned to his mom, though; uncertain and full of questions. smudged. slightly damp. wrinkled and ripped in places where he erased too much or wrote too hard but the longest of them all.

and then he’d tuck them all into a little shoebox and leave it at the back of their closet. not in an attempt to hide them like he did— he wasn’t at cherry lane anymore — but to keep them safe.

he’d boil orange peels for purification, love and happiness in the day— the scent clinging to every inch of their home. and steve would moan about the smell but he’d be smiling and holding billy sososososo close that it wouldn’t even matter.

(it worked as well as he remembered it doing for his parents; before things took a turn for the worst, at least)

1

Billy doesn’t know why exactly, but here he is. He finds himself stumbling into a strange little store hidden away on the outskirts of Chicago.

i’m talking about a routine that takes freaking HOURS and every part of it is infused with a bit of love magic— something that makes him smell and look divine-levels of irresistible but only to the one. which makes things really confusing at first, when oddly enough, it seems to only work on steve ie. his best friend

also known as the guy that he’s been crushing on since he was a kid. since he was a teeny tiny tot and they went to the same pre-k. and he knows, okay? He Knows. spare him the trope conversation. heather doesn’t fail to remind him that he’s a cliche!

so when steve finally asks him out, it’s no surprise that billy just really goes in. i know for a fact, he’d have a spotify playlist named ‘for s’ or some bullshit and the whole time, it’s just songs that remind him of steve. sensual, slow beats beneath the voices of frank ocean or brent faiyaz, alina baraz and dvsn.

and like, the date would be at 6pm or something but billy would start washing his hair from noon so he gets his curls all perfectly coiled. he’d use his signature scent— this rich lavender that always has steve pressing his nose into his nape. and billy would massage deosil circles into his skull to create peace of mind and set clear intentions. he’d then rub widdershins into the same spots to dispel doubt.

his next step would involve having his favorite candles lit up in the bathroom and drawing himself a bath. he’d soak in a tub of water and milk, rose petals and honey; nectar of the gods. and he’d scrub his skin clean and soft with a gentle rag, having shaved the day before and use jojoba oil to moisturize once he’s done. he’ll even dab a bit of vanilla at his pulse points to maintain before he moves unto his usual skincare.

he’d wear his favorite red shirt to incite feelings of passion and desire (and because steve can barely take his eyes off his chest). he’d have three buttons all done up, slide three, silver rings unto his fingers and layer on his three favorite chains; the metal of them cold against his chest.

his mom had always told him that there was deep magic in makeup, too. she’d sit him down at her vanity and run her hand through his hair almost idly, while getting dolled up.

and she was right, of course. there was something primordial about painting one’s face and becoming another facet of yourself. and it was obvious that women had always been inherently magical beings; mothers, like little goddesses, in their own way. his mother, salome? the most golden of them all.

so he’d think of her as he applied mascara to his lashes and eyeliner to his waterline. he’d hear her laughter while he smudged a hint of red lipstick across his cheeks and lips. he’d even blow a kiss at his own reflection or wink, the very same way that she would and knows for a fact, that the magic has been set; imbued so deeply by a love that has won battles and brought men to their knees

a mother’s.