#basically just harringrove

[lazybakerart]

YEs, keep talking about Jeremy and Gator because I am listening. I am nodding along. I am fully supporting this.

they ran in separate circles in high school. jeremy said some shitty thing to gator once. years later, gator is high up his own ass and runs into jeremy and that one insult loops in his head. and like, it's a coin toss how this can go. he's got his cuffs and a daddy as sheriff.

but jeremy smiles at him.

but doesn't remember his name.

calls him croc.

but does say he looks sick in his uniform.

and it's still a coin toss, but gator feels that nagging inside of him from high school, since he was a kid with a daddy that might as well be god, that wants to impress this guy into remembering the name gator.

(they go for a beer and gator lets jeremy shoot his gun nearly killing the both of them and jeremy gets to make out with the douche from high school in the back of a patrol car.)

[fizzigigsimmer]

Reality collision where Billy shows up to school one day with a baby. No one knows who the kid is or why Billy showed up with him; but he waits to corner Steve in the parking lot. Shoves the baby into his arms unceremoniously all - "Take your spawn Harrington."

Steve's never seen this baby in his life, and if anything it looks like Billy. Brown hair sure, but the eyes,chin, and those ears are all Hargrove. He's confused even more when Billy starts babbling about holes opening up on the walls and what sounds like demo-dogs, which he shouldn't even know about!

One thing he is sure of, he definitely didn't get attacked by a demo-dog last night or run into Billy's car out near the powerplant. He definitely didn't give Billy this baby and ask him to take care of it, but someone did.

AKA Billy and Steve get stuck temporarily taking care of their alternate reality baby and it brings them together.

[generalghosty]

several people in the notes of this post wanted a version of it with billy and i Could Not Resist

[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s fibromyalgia awareness day! 🦋

Fibromyalgia is a disability characterized by lifelong, unexplained body pain and numbness, memory problems, attitude changes, depression and anxiety, stomach issues, migraines, and sensory sensitivity.

Here’s a fic about Billy Hargrove (and Steve Harrington) having that disability!

content warnings for: discussion of child abuse and abandonment, ableism and ableist slurs, vomiting, detailed and stressful descriptions of chronic pain, illness, self-deprecation, and suicidal ideation.

~~~~~

Something is off with Billy.

Atop the lifeguard tower, wearing a long sleeved sweatshirt, sunglasses, and a hat. From the outside, it looks like he’s hiding from something. Trying to blend in.

Max had accused him of as much this morning. Pointed her finger right at him and started snapping her teeth about pretending everything was normal. The kid was almost in tears while she confronted him about telling the truth. But Billy had no idea what she was talking about.

His back fucking hurts and he wanted to wear a comfortable shirt, so fucking what? He doesn’t have to justify that to her.

Now he can feel all her creepy stalker friends staring at the back of his head at work. Even sees the glint of the magnifying something or another they’re using to watch him.

He can’t give a shit about whatever those tiny assholes have gotten in their heads about him. They’re probably doing a round of their stupid role play game shit again.

Whatever. Because sitting in this hard ass chair isn’t helping his pain any. The sun is fucking hot, but he’s got chills from how bad his body hurts, a deep ache all over in all of his limbs. The migraine certainly doesn’t help, but even his glasses and his hat aren’t enough to block out the harsh light.

The summer isn’t easy on his body. Neither is winter, or any other time. He never gets a break. But the heat is especially bad on his body, and specifically, the pain in his legs and shoulders. He’s got the body and immune system of a guy in his 60s instead of one who just turned eighteen a few months ago.

Some lifelong nerve disorder he’s had since he was a kid and would spend hours curled up in momma's arms screaming for relief. Good luck with that kid. He lost the only person that ever tried to help; he should’ve been grateful he used to even be able to ask for it.

Now, the best he gets is an apathetic glance. He buys drugs off of some sketchy kid in a creeper van to manage it himself. The doctors and Neil cut him off of his prescriptions a long time ago, accusing him of just trying to get free drugs. Even still Max gives him shit for taking random pills, and he knows she’s right, but he’s just trying to comfort himself when the going gets rough.

He’ll live. Get over it, kid. Man up.

Right now he can barely breathe.

Someone could be drowning three feet in front of him and he wouldn’t even notice. All because Heather had some emergency and needed to take off and leave Hawkins for a few weeks, and he had been the one stupid enough to volunteer to pick up all her shifts until she gets back in late July.

If he lasts that long.

Right now his stomach is twisting from how bad it all hurts. It’s indescribable. If he had to try, he’d say it’s like threading fishing wire through his muscles and tying his whole body in knots, tearing through tissue in the process. Like hammering nails into his joints to keep the mangled mess all together.

He's going to be sick.

It’s not time yet but he blows the whistle anyways, because he needs a fucking breather. There’s no one else on duty with him because today is slow after yesterday's rain. Who’s gonna know?

Those scurrying little shit head stalkers will probably notice. Still not his damn problem.

Billy manages somehow to drag himself to the back room to collapse onto a bench. He tries to tell himself he won’t cry, but it’s far too late for that. This is the worst he can ever remember it being on its own. At least since the beating he took right before the move. That was probably the actual hardest time of his life.

Doesn’t change a damn thing about how bad he feels now though. As he’s just laying there, pathetically wasting his shift away, there’s a painful feeling traveling up his spine and into his ribs, stealing his breath away. He feels so damn worthless. Nobody would probably even notice if he died right now. Suffocated from the inside by his own body.

But that’s not the way this works. The pain cracks open suddenly at the highest point of his spine like a fault line, leaving behind a deep set, intense flash of pain in his back and his ribs.

That’s his last straw. His lowest point. He drags himself off of the bench and literally crawls to the showers. Hot water might help, he needs it to, because this is unbearable.

The shame of pulling himself on his hands and knees across the pool’s filthy floors is almost too much. He wants to scream for help. But nobody’s going to come for him.

Nobody will find Billy collapsed in the shower stall, wheezing like he ran a marathon just from the extraordinary effort it took him to crawl ten feet. It feels like he’s dying. The ground is cold but he’s hot, his skin flushed and sticky with sweat. If he had the energy, he’d take off his shirt, but he’s stuck. Arms tucked underneath of him, one cheek pressing into the floor and just staring at the wall because it hurts too bad to even hold his head up. He’s stuck.

It feels like some other thing is piloting his body. Right now, the pain is. It took the reins and told him to sit. Like a damn dog, trained by his own weakness. A shock collar tightened around his neck from the day he was left alone with this hurt, choking and gagging him.

It feels like he’s already dead.

An hour or so passes. He can tell because he hears a distant blow of a whistle. They probably assumed he ditched work and stuck a manager onto guard duty. He’ll get pointed for this. He could lose his job just because he’s lying miserable in a pool of his own sweat and tears and vomit. Just because he can’t take a little pain.

Try as he might, nobody ever believes him that it’s not just a little. More like a full body sensation of being torn apart from the inside. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Jesus, maybe he is dying.

That thought sends a rush of adrenaline through him. It would anybody, no matter how many times he might have prayed for exactly that to happen when he was lying in bed just the same way as he is here on the cold, wet floor.

Billy forces himself to sit up. His arms wobble like they’re too weak to hold up his weight, but he pushes up until his back is propped against the wall, and he’s not really holding himself up at all. His head fell back and knocked against the wall too, pretty hard.

The pain shoots through his neck, precise lines of fire burning in his veins, from the back of his skull down into the base of his neck. His fingers go numb. He leans over and tries to throw up again. There’s nothing left in his body. He’s dehydrated. Starved. Sick of this.

He’s still going to ride the adrenaline shot for what it’s worth. It’s the only chance he has of not spending the night on the ground in this locker room. God he wishes he had somebody to help him.

It’s past the point of denying it; Billy needs help. If only he’d realized that before right this moment.

The next step is standing. There’s not enough power in his entire body to get his knees to straighten. He’ll have to pull himself up to at least a kneeling position.

His eyes are still blurry from hitting his head though. Protected by a shower curtain in the already dimly lit locker room, there’s barely enough lighting for him to see anything at all in this tiny stall. So he’ll reach blindly for the shower seat and try to pull himself back up.

Billy grabs the spicket instead. All he feels is metal and he assumes that’s good enough. He barely knows where he is right now.

Besides, whatever it is will act as a base to help him slide his back up the wall. His legs wobble all the way up and his knees stay bent, but slowly, slowly, he’s getting himself to his feet.

And then the spicket twists. Billy loses his grip and slips back down to the ground, harder and faster this time, and hits his elbow. There’s no suppressing the shout of pain that bubbles up from his throat when there’s what feels like electricity charging through every nerve in his arm from the one contact point. He had hit his left hip off the floor too, and his leg on that side went completely dead.

When he’d twisted that handle, it turned the water on too. Freezing cold. Hitting his body like shards of glass against his already aching and sore.. everything. Even with the weak water pressure, every drop feels like an electric shock, pressing down and down until he feels like he can’t even move from how deeply the pain goes.

Billy’s sure he’s actually going to die this time. It’s time to swallow his pride.

He calls for help, “Hey! Need a hand back here!”

Nothing. Just the sound of water rushing, soaking him and making him freeze. This isn’t going to end well.

Straining his voice to be heard, so weakened by his condition as to still sound meek even at his loudest, he tries again, “Adam! Come on, I know you’re working today!”

Billy doesn’t know how long he’s spent on the ground now. Hours could have passed. The goddamned pool might have closed and he could be all alone here. He grows desperate, “Somebody, please!”

Something snaps in the primal part of Billy’s mind. He physically can’t sit up. Can’t turn the water off. Can’t survive on his own.

He needs…

“Momma! Momma come back!”

Nothing

After some time the curtain opens, but Billy is barely conscious anymore. He doesn’t look up or move or anything. Just sees a shadowy pair of shoes in front of his face. There are tears on his face already. Anguish. Pain. Disappointment in himself.

Let it be the goddamned figure of Satan, as long as this suffering might end, and for the moment, it does. Everything, the stall, the figure, the whole world turns black as he loses consciousness.

———

Suddenly blinding white light hits Billy’s eyes when he opens them again. He’s in some room with a window, and the curtains aren’t closed. That’s how he knows it isn’t home, his own bedroom window long ago sealed over with a thick blanket for keeping the light out when he’s having a migraine.

The wall paper in this place is almost as headache inducing as the entire fucking sunshine positioning itself right in his face after god knows how long he was unconscious. Blue and red plaid that is as dizzying as it is tacky.

Nothing else in the room identifies who it belongs to, the only hint of personality being a sticker covered cane in the far corner.

Did he get fucking kidnapped by an old person? Maybe, but what kind of an old person uses Garfield puffy stickers on their mobility aids?

That question is answered when, after some trudging through the fog in his brain for any hint of who’s house he could be in, Steve Harrington opens the door to the room he’s in.

Like it’s totally casual to just bring somebody home from their work, no matter how fucked up they were, Steve just walks in and talks to him like it’s nothing, “Hey. I heard you up. You doing good in here?”

Billy stares in disbelief for a moment, squinting against the overbearing sunlight to see Steve, the action making his skepticism doubly apparent, to make up for the work his tired and crackly voice isn’t doing, “So you’re the one. Mother fucking knight in shining armor..”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I went to give Dustin a ride and he told me there was something off with you. I went to check and found you on the ground.” Steve explains it all, pacing around slowly. At least he shuts the curtains on the way before sitting on the other side of the bed Billy’s laying in. A fucking queen size, since he’s some rich messiah apparently. “Matter of fact, you still look pretty rough..”

Billy doesn’t like feeling his sympathy, something like humiliation burning in his face, second to the pain, “Just get back to your bullshit little family, Harrington.”

Steve protests the idea, arguing automatically, “It’s not complete without you.”

A beat passes. For a moment, Billy doesn’t know what to say. He knows what Steve means, because he’s Max’s brother and whatnot, but that sentence has him feeling some kind of sentimental.

His instinct is to become defensive, so he tries it, since every other aspect of this situation is completely out of his comfort zone, “Well, get used to it. Probably won’t be around much longer.”

He’s referring to the fact that he feels like death constantly, a looming feeling of failure in his body. Any moment he could lose his battle against this invisible thing he doesn’t understand.

Poor Steve doesn’t get it. “Oh. Are you moving away already?”

How optimistic, to think only a month of work after graduation would be enough for Billy to make it on his own. He’d think it was because Steve was sheltered, if he didn’t know the guy was working his ass off at the ice cream parlor almost every day of the week.

It almost makes him feel guilty, that he can’t be as hopeful as Steve is, “I’m giving up.”

“Billy..” The concern is so raw in Steve’s voice, it breaks something inside of Billy. His intense resilience could carry him through when he was by himself, but he isn’t this time. He wants to be, so he tells him that, “No. I said, go away, Steve..”

It’s at that moment that he breaks down crying. Not even lying on the hard cement floor at the pool did he feel this pathetic and broken. Painful sobs in his throat and his chest ripple through him in larger waves of stinging jabs. Like the very act of crying is a punishment.

“Billy. Hey. I’m not going anywhere.” Steve soothes, moving closer but keeping his hands off of Billy. Afraid to touch what is broken, Billy deduces. Though Steve at least seems genuinely interested and not just being creepily invasive, since he gently requests, “Tell me what’s up..”

In frustration, Billy exclaims simply, “It hurts!”

“What hurts? Do you need a doctor?” Steve looks him over now quickly, frantically, like a worried parent. That just makes Billy’s feelings hurt worse.

The question also makes him irrationally nervous, spiraling once he realizes that a trip to the doctors would mean Neil would find out this happened. That meant more pain, and right now, Billy can’t handle that. He rushes to insist, “No! They won’t do anything..”

Steve looks so sympathetic, asking all the right questions to make Billy feel heard, “How long’s it been hurting?”

“My whole fucking life. If you can even call it a life. It’s not worth living.” Billy sobs apathetically, earning a sad, slightly panicked even, look from Steve.

His caring nature prompts him to plead, “Don’t say that.”

Billy is so unused to having anybody that cares, he feels like he has to defend his self-deprecating remarks, “But I feel dead. I can’t sleep, but I can’t stay awake. I can’t keep down what I eat, and half the time it makes me fucking sick. I just hurt all over, and it makes it worse when-“

He stops himself abruptly. Harrington is sweet and all for doing this, but Billy barely knows him. Not as much as he wants to. There are some secrets that don’t just get blabbed to close strangers. Even ones he has a crush on.

Steve isn’t content with that, never is without the full picture. Or maybe Billy doesn’t mind sharing as much as he pretends to. Maybe it’s nice to feel listened to for the first time in forever.

“When what, Billy?”

“When my dad hits me.”

Short and to the point. Having a fucked up body means it’s agony going through what he knows no kid should have to. He’s never told anybody that before, especially not so bluntly.

Once or twice Billy has tried to imply he needed a hand back when he still believed other humans had the capacity to give a shit. Steve Harrington and his kind and wise brown eyes is the first goddamn sign he’s had since then that there’s a chance someone might still care.

So when Steve tries to apologize, saying, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“ Billy is quick to interrupt.

He tries to sound more gentle than his previous, snappier responses had come out, “It’s fine.”

Stubborn apathy crashes into the force of determined empathy. A battle Billy doesn’t mind losing.

Not when Steve so passionately argues, “No it’s not! You need help, you can’t do this all on your own!”

And finally, going against what last bit of his aching soul wants him to believe in, Billy lets him in.

Instead of arguing, or asking in bad faith, he genuinely wants to know, “How do you know what this is like?”

“Have you ever heard of fibromyalgia?” Steve prompts, his eyes lighting up as bright as the morning sun when he recognizes that Billy isn’t pushing him away anymore, but inviting him in on his own terms.

It doesn’t help that he literally hasn’t heard of that though, shrugging to show his ignorance. The action of raising his shoulders up hurts though, and it dies out halfway, along with a pained grunt. To make sure Steve got his message, Billy answers verbally instead, since his skeleton is fighting so hard against his broody body-language thing, “Fuck no.”

“I could tell you about it, but just by hearing what you went through, I think I know what you’re going through. I got diagnosed just a few years ago.” Steve explains carefully, watching Billy like he’s about to say the wrong thing at any second.

Billy just stays quiet while he processes everything Steve is saying, but he realizes what exactly Steve was worried about saying once he continues, “Yeah, sometimes I have flare-ups and I can be right where you are. But, you know, I don’t have anyone at home actively trying to make it worse.”

That’s hard to hear. He’s right, and Billy doesn’t want him to be. Without the energy to get mad or lash out about it, Billy asks more questions.

“Flare-ups of what?”

“Fibromyalgia. Like I said. It’s a pain disorder. Makes you feel gross and sleepy and in pain all the time.” Steve puts it into words exactly like Billy has tried to for years, only they know the context between one another.

The sleepless nights writhing in agony, the loss of self, the torture from the inside out, it all goes without saying between the two of them. In Steve’s presence, Billy has a place where he’s understood instead of examined under microscopes and treated like a monster.

This drab bedroom suddenly feels like the only place he wants to be, saying with an almost awe-stricken quality to his voice, “So you really do get it, huh.”

“Mhm. Except I have it easier. I’ve got a Jewish Ima who loves me and lets me take breaks when I’m hurting instead of.. well.. the stuff your dad does.” So Steve isn’t letting that go.

Shockingly to even himself, Billy isn’t all that mad about it. Telling someone his deepest, darkest secret and having them actually listen, for the sake of helping rather than keeping dirt on him, that’s something Billy has never had before.

Now he just wants to know, “How do you fix it?”

Steve breaks the news softly, but in a huge way, “You don’t, B. It’s a disability.”

“I’m not-“ Billy tries to argue with that right away, associating that word with all the horrible things his dad had called him over the years. Fuck up. Cripple. Waste of space.

Something compels him about Steve’s brutally honest interruption of an explanation though, “I didn’t think I was disabled either until I slipped on my ass down the stairs and couldn’t walk for a month, long after the bruises, because I was in so much pain. That’s not normal for just any abled nineteen year old, and neither is what you went through last night.”

Even still, Billy’s impulse to argue is triggered, “So I just have to accept that I’m fucked up for life. But I don’t understand what I fucking did wrong?”

Steve doesn’t even hesitate for a moment before he’s assuring him, “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. It’s just a part of who you are.”

A failure. A fuck-up. All those rotten things come back in his head again, and Billy worries, for a moment, that Steve is turning on him. Mocking him.

“Yeah, damaged goods?” Billy scoffs, bitter and hurt, emotionally instead of physically for once.

Steve proves him wrong, for the thousandth time, and heals his heart just a little bit more, “Would you say that about me?”

“The opposite really.”

“But what does that mean?”

Well, Billy meant it in two ways. For one thing, Steve isn’t like him. Steve is kind, and loved, and all around doing better in life than him, relationships wise and career wise. It doesn’t feel right to compare all of his wrongs to all of Steve’s rights.

Though, because of how vulnerable he’s been already, it’s easier for Billy to say, “It means everything about you is fucking perfect. You got a good mom, a huge mansion, and probably the best fucking doctors out there.. Sure, maybe I gotta accept that I’m busted, but why can’t I be busted like you?”

“Why do you want to be?” Steve sounds like a therapist, and a damn good one too. He stays all soft and sweet and god it makes Billy frustrated.

He bursts out, talking with his hands without realizing that he’s been distracted long enough to recover enough energy to do so, “Because it’s easier for you!”

The final nail in the coffin. There’s nothing left Billy can say to pretend this isn’t what it is.

He’s jealous of Steve, he idolizes him, fucking loves everything about the guy. No matter what he argues he can’t hide how stupidly fond of the other boy he is, and has been. Even if the thoughts aren’t the sweetest, he’s got Steve on his mind, all the time and especially now that he’s being interrogated in his bed.

Crucify him, but Billy fucking Hargrove has a crush on Steve fucking Harrington’s

Steve isn’t afraid of that for even a second. “So let me help you, B. I don’t want to compete. I want to take care of you.”

While Steve isn’t afraid, Billy is. He’s terrified. Nobody has ever treated him like Steve, and his heart is getting too attached.

Hoping to get an answer that will either make the heart break easier or avoid it entirely, Billy asks him, “You’re not sweet-talking me, are you?”

Steve shakes his head patiently, “Nope, but I don’t know how to prove it to you. Can you tell me what you want me to say?”

“Fuckin’- Maybe.. some tips?” Billy tries. This isn’t natural or easy for him, asking for help. It took him this goddamn long to even accept that Steve was genuine, despite waking up in his bed more than an hour ago now. His trust has been established, but now he’s unsure what to do with it. So he keeps asking the questions nobody else has ever been able to answer for him, half to test Steve, and half just because he truly trusts Steve to answer, “How do I make it hurt less?”

“Self care. But-“ Steve starts, about to hand Billy the hard truth.

To avoid blaming Steve for it, Billy just decides to admit that reality out loud, “I know, I know. Going back home where my dad beats me doesn’t count as self-care. I know.”

Thankfully Steve moves on to giving more advice that doesn’t involve the tragic circumstances of Billy’s life, “Heating pads help.”

It sounds nice, but Billy has to admit, “I don’t have a-“

“I do.” Steve interrupts before Billy can finish, with all the eagerness and expectation of a new puppy waiting for a treat.

It’s charming and sweet, how much Steve wants to take care of him. Billy doesn’t want to outright accept or deny anything yet, the decision feeling too large when his head is still hurting and his thoughts are all jumbley and messy.

He’ll settle for giving Steve a fond smile, to make his words match the positive feelings in his heart, “You really want me to accept your help, don't you?”

“Uh, fucking yes.” Steve laughs, like it’s really nothing stressful for him. Like he’s happy that Billy might stay.

It’s not as easy for Billy to get to that stage of comfort, so he wonders, “And if I do say yes?”

“I’ll drive you home today to help Max pack you a bag, and you’ll move in with me. Hopper will deal with your dad while my Ima and I help you manage your pain and get you a new doctor. And make you good food.”

That sounds like a fucking dream. The fact that Steve came up with it so quickly somehow even dreamier, “You’ve thought about that before, haven’t you?”

“I like you a lot, Billy.” Steve confesses.

It’s almost too good to be true. As a matter of fact..

“In what way?” Billy asks skeptically, after everything, the fight, the showing his true colors, he can’t believe that Steve would have those kinds of feelings for him.

But, for the thousandth time, Steve proves Billy’s unintentionally cynical assumptions wrong, when he details, “In the way that I like you. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like, butterflies in my chest and I can’t stop thinking about you, and when I see you hurting I just want to hold you and make it all better.”

Billy can tell he’s blushing and his eyes are wide, “Really?”

Steve sounds breathless, like he can’t believe he just confessed all of that. Still, he doesn’t deny it, though he clearly begins to worry how Billy feels, “Yeah. I’m sorry if that’s-“

“You’re the first.” Billy says abruptly, before Steve can take back his love. Though the sudden declaration seems to confuse Steve, according to the furrow of his brow, so Billy explains his thought process, “You’re the first person to care about me like that.. But you deserve better than a broken-“

“Hush. You’re not broken. You need a little TLC is all.” Steve says it all so confidently, and since he’s been right about everything else, Billy finally feels ready to believe him.

He just has one more question, “And you’re seriously saying you’re gonna be the one who does it?”

“Yes! Please, Billy. Let me.” Steve begs for the right to love Billy. And that, that dedication and longing- that convinces Billy.

The time for words is past, instead letting their body language do the talking. At first, Steve is just holding Billy’s hand, but Billy gets closer and closer, until they’re arms are pressed right against one another.

Billy is pretty sure he across Steve first, connecting his lips with his, kissing him softly, but with all the passion he’d saved up for the months he’d loved Steve in secret.

Yesterday is still affecting Billy, stealing his breath away and making it so he needs a break. He taps Steve’s cheek and they part, but only enough to get their bearings back. Steve patiently waits until Billy is ready again, smiling as Billy leans in and they kiss once more.

It’s nothing too intense. After all the emotions of today, they aren’t ready for that. Right now is for gentle affection, and love, and all the tender moments that Billy’s suffering had robbed them of.

Steve adds at some point, after they’ve been cozying up for a while, “By the way, the kids are going to apologize to you.”

“Nah, they didn’t do anything wrong.” Billy shrugs, not really bothered by their stalking, even if it was a little weird.

Steve makes a guilty face and Billy can tell he doesn’t have the full story before Steve even explains it, “They almost did. Their solution before they called me was going to be to put you in the sauna. Burn the sick out.”

Oh. Now he’s a little more than fucking bothered. Those little assholes are gonna get somebody killed someday.

“Holy shit, never my fucking mind. I expect a damn cake and a handwritten, formal apology.”

“Right?” Steve rolls his eyes at the thought of them, and Billy does too. Already on the same page, Steve thinking exactly what Billy is, he says it, punctuated by a kiss on the cheek, “Later, you’ll have it. Right now you need some sleep more than any of that.”

“I’m not gonna say no, but…” Billy shuffled into a comfortable lying position, and pats the pillow next to his head, wiggling around to make room for Steve to lay by his side, “Care to join me?”

Steve laughs, a bright bubbly sound, and copies him by laying down and getting comfortable, “For sleep, yes. I need a goddamn nap.”

Billy ends that morning with an arm around his middle, a puff of hair in his face, and a full feeling in his heart. Billy is finally safe. Finally at ease. He mumbles, barely awake as that comfortable feeling sets it, “Thanks, Stevie. Love you.”

“Don’t worry about it. And I love you too.” Is Steve’s easy response, without needing to prepare it or anything.

Everything is just fine with Billy.

[memes-saved-me]

The Hanged Man when upright indicates that you are trapped in a situation that you wish to escape. It means surrender, sacrifice and letting go. That you have the power to redirect your path, to pause for a moment and see a new perspective. When reversed, you are being impulsive, making rash and quick decisions to distract yourself from an inner conflict. Egotism is getting in your way of change, keeping you at a standstill. Unable to escape what fate has decided for you, it may be time to accept it...

I chose this card for Billy, especially flayed/puppet Billy as he is both upright and reversed. Which works perfectly with him as the puppet because technically he is hanging in the reversed position but the card is upright. Meaning no matter which way the card is, he represents both readings

[mioakem]

Billy Hargrove really isn’t as fine as people make him out to be

[ghostlynimbus]

As always no promises but if anyone wants to send me any one shot requests to try to work out some of this rustiness I would appreciate it.

[robthegoodfellow]

Context: Hop bribed Steve and Billy to chaperone Mike and El on their Valentine’s Day date, which ballooned into unwieldy Big Group Outing. They decide to go to Chi-Chi’s because Billy is morbidly curious (chi-chis is slang for tits, which the originators of the franchise... uh, definitely didn’t know). Last snippet from this chapter I promise (it turned into 20k monstrosity so I have... a lot of moments to choose from).

Valentine’s dawned bright and cold, though the weatherman promised it would warm up a bit before dropping again. After school, he took Max back to get ready, not that she intended to get gussied up much—for one thing, Neil definitely didn’t know she was going on a date at all, never mind a date with Sinclair. Another benefit of Chi-Chi’s aside from the potential entertainment value: it wasn’t in Hawkins, but about twenty minutes away in Marion.

Hop had called in the reservation, explained the situation: that there would be two tweeny couples at their own tables, then a group of four, two of whom were chaperones, who would settle the bill of all involved. Max and Sinclair had pitched in their share from their allowances, ditto for Wheeler and Dustin. Joyce had insisted Billy take ten bucks last time he’d seen her to cover Will, and Hop was paying for the rest. Easy-peasy.

Max emerged from her room around five, just as Neil was getting home. She looked fine—hair a bit smoother than its usual frizz, with a headband that matched her green sweater. Neil grunted a hello as he passed them, off to get ready to take Susan out for dinner and a movie—they were going to see Witness, because Susan liked Harrison Ford and Neil liked overblown fantasies about good cops saving the day.

With Max in shotgun, Sinclair, Dustin, and Wheeler had to cram into the back. Harrington would be carting over the rest. To cut down on mutinous muttering from the peanut gallery regarding his music selection, Billy delegated all disc jockey duties to Max and made it abundantly clear that if the dweebs annoyed him an unspecified amount, he’d be ditching them on the sidewalk, frostbite be damned.

Dustin spent the entire drive quizzing Wheeler and Sinclair on dating etiquette, which necessitated a couple outraged corrections from Max, who spun around in her seat to inform them, for instance, that a girl not laughing at your joke didn’t automatically mean she didn’t like you, but perhaps that you weren’t funny and should try being less of a stand-up comedian and more of a conversationalist. On the flip side, a girl laughing at all your jokes didn’t automatically mean you were funny or that she did like you, because it could just be that she felt bad about you bombing in front of an audience of one.

“Wait,” said Sinclair. “Do you ever fake-laugh at my jokes?”

“Lucas, how often do you try to be funny and I just stare at you?” asked Max, exasperated.

“…A lot.”

“Well, there’s your answer.” She grinned at him sweetly over her shoulder. “When I laugh, you know you’ve earned it.”

“Hear that?” Sinclair said to the dweebs, undertone. “I get real laughs.”

“But mostly blank stares,” Dustin shot back, unimpressed.

They arrived at Chi-Chi’s before Harrington’s troop, and it was… everything Billy gleefully dreaded and more. The exterior was imitation Pueblo—adobe walls painted vibrant blue or earthy red with a tiered detail at the top of the main facade that he was pretty sure was meant to resemble a Mayan step pyramid. And of course, arching above a weird turquoise faux-terracotta awning, in red bulbous script: BOOBS.

The overall impression was very Mexico-by-way-of-theme-park.

He could not wait to see what abominations the menu had in store.

The exodus from the Beamer, when it parked beside them, was far less clown-car than it had been from the cramped Camaro, but he supposed it wasn’t Harrington’s fault that only Hop and the Byers lived close by.

“Ready for our double date?” Dustin asked Will, who giggled and linked arms with him when Dustin held out a gentlemanly elbow.

Billy rolled his eyes but followed behind as the other couples processed in a similar fashion.

The maître d’ led the lovebirds to their small, intimate tables and the rest piled into a booth. As expected, the decoration was that of a restauranteur, who, having run out of time and budget, in an act of desperation, robbed a mariachi band or several and scattered their possessions over the whole kit and caboodle. More than one patron had been crowned with a bedazzled sombrero. The ghostly twang of folksy street music piped from unseen speakers.

“Horrendous,” Billy pronounced, with relish, and Harrington gave a tolerant, close-lipped smile—glad you’re enjoying yourself, dear.

The menu was a cross-cultural game of telephone—or kinda like those medieval sketches of animals based on description alone, the artists having never seen the beasts themselves. Like—you could recognize what they were going for, but the whole vibe was a bit off.

For instance, rather than burritos, Chi-Chi’s had devoted an entire section to “burros.” The logic there, he suspected, was that burrito implied something little, which was anathema to American serving size sensibilities. And though he was no expert, in all that time stuffing his face at Joaquin’s, he’d never heard tell of Chajitas… which based on the description were just knock-off fajitas.

It took five minutes to convince Dustin that even though he’d learned in Spanish class that burro meant donkey, no donkeys were involved in the creation of any dish. He seemed disappointed by the news.

When their entrées arrived, it was hard to tell the difference between orders, because it turned out “topped with sour cream,” which had featured so often throughout the menu that it practically served as punctuation, was intended more in the sense of a mountaintop of sour cream, sprinkled liberally with an orange snowfall of shredded cheddar cheese.

With his fork, Billy began digging—like a St. Bernard in search of a hiker lost in an avalanche—and rescued a poor enchilada from the depths of the dairy.

“You look upset,” Harrington commented around a mouthful of taco.

“This is a travesty,” he muttered, fascinated and appalled. Will and Dustin were watching, wide-eyed, enthralled by Billy’s reaction.

“Haven’t even tried it!”

“With all due respect, King Steve, you know not of what you speak.” He gestured at the stringy clumps of orange. “Where is the cotija? The cotija’s the best part!”

Harrington washed down a wolfish bite with a gulp of water, then patted Billy’s hand by his plate. “There, there, Sir William.”

“Just to be clear,” interrupted Dustin. “This is all fine to eat? Billy’s just being a drama queen?”

“Yeah,” Harrington confirmed, and Billy ripped his hand away in mock outrage.

“Sir William?” Will asked, as they all tucked in—even Billy, though he chewed slowly and with disdain.

“Is that a D&D reference?” Dustin demanded. His intrigue morphed to disgust. “Or—a dirty reference? ‘Cause Mike said King Steve is—”

“It’s neither,” Harrington cut in, flushing. “New topic, please.”

Billy bit the inside of his lip to keep from snickering, and the middle schoolers were no better off.

There was a pause broken only by the clinking of cutlery. Desperate to add some interest to the bland sludge, Billy upended the bottle of Yucateco over his plate.

“Didn’t think there were knights in your little game,” he said, finally. “Thought it was all—hobbits and evil wizards and shit.”

Will lit up like Billy had just handed him the only thing he’d asked for from Santa and launched into a meandering explanation of the differences between character race and class and alignment, assisted by periodic long-winded clarification from Dustin, which eventually segued into a debate on which ones best suited their chaperones.

“They’re fighters,” said Dustin, pointing at Billy, then Harrington. “Shovel, bat.”

“Yeah, but they’ve both got more going on,” Will insisted. “Like Billy definitely reads a lot—don’t you?”

“Uh—” He squinted at Will, caught off guard. “Used to.”

“And he’s got specialties and stuff. Jonathan said Billy knows almost as many bands as him.”

“Oh, almost?” Billy huffed.

“So what, you like him for a bard?” Dustin scrunched his nose, dubious.

“No...” Will thought a moment, stabbing his burrito. “Maybe a cleric?” Warming to the idea: “A cleric whose deity is a god of music. Rock n’ roll! And—oh my gosh—” He clapped his hands to his cheeks—and Christ, the gesture was so gay that Billy’s heart wept. “Tempest domain! Dustin, like—” Waving his fingers to the melody, he sang, “Na-na-na-na-na-na—” then slapped his palms on the table, a double tap for the “THUNDER!”

“Now we’re talking,” said Billy, who only partially grasped what that all meant, and Will bounced in his seat, triumphant.

“I mean, okay, the bludgeoning part fits, but…” Dustin scanned Billy, who crossed his arms, already irrationally defensive. “But a healer? Him?”

“That fits, too,” Harrington said before Billy could form a comeback. When all eyes turned to him, awaiting explanation, he clammed up. “It just—does.”

And Billy still had mostly no idea what was going on beyond the basics, but he was weirdly—moved. Also confused, because only one of them had played nursemaid repeatedly, and it wasn’t him.

“Fine,” Dustin allowed. “I refuse to buy him as anything but chaotic, though.”

“Chaotic good,” said Will, in the tone of someone bargaining the terms of a contract.

When Dustin assented, they turned, sizing up their next victim with outlandish scrutiny. Harrington shifted in the hotseat, and Billy grinned, buckling up for the ride. “Steve used to be a jerk who just wanted into Nancy’s pants,” Dustin began, thoughtfully.

Harrington opened his mouth, and Billy could see him, in deference to their young audience, choke back first of all, I very much got into said pants. Dustin went on, oblivious.

“But now he’s trying to be all noble and upstanding. Protective. And totally lame when he thinks he’s gotta follow the rules…”

Will piped in with sudden recollection. “Jonathan said he only showed up that night with the Demogorgon to—uh, say he was sorry.”

“To atone,” Dustin agreed, brows raised with significance. “For his sins.”

“Oh, come on!” Harrington protested. “He gets music gods and I get—” He threw up his hands.

They ignored him.

“Paladin?” Will proposed, curious.

“And therefore, lawful good,” concluded Dustin.

“Can I still be Sir William?” Billy asked, aiming a thumb at Harrington. “The knight of King Steve?”

“I mean, usually you invent a character, you don’t—play yourself—” Dustin sputtered.

“But can I?”

“Sure!” Will chirped.

Dustin was skeptical. “One of you being chaotic and one lawful would cause problems for sure.”

“Eh.” Billy smirked at the king. “Keeps things interesting—huh, babe?”

“That’s one word for it, sure.”

Will raised his glass for a toast, muffling a laugh. “To Sir William the Cleric, Knight of the Paladin King Steve!”

“Cheers, guys,” Billy said, clinking his glass. “Real glad we got that sorted out.”

“Does that mean you’ll play with us?” asked Dustin.

“Not a chance.” Billy glanced at Harrington, arched a brow as something occurred to him that he should’ve thought of ages ago. “But we should introduce you to our friend Eddie sometime.”

read the full chapter here

[thissortofsorcery]

What are your favourite Steve, billy & harringrove headcanons?

You sent this ask so long ago and I'm only getting to it now because I had to take some time to think about it.

Steve:

BAMF Steve Harrington is one of my favorite headcanons for him. I hate the trope that he's dumb so much, and I hate it especially when it's reflected on fanfic and he's just... incompetent. Some people have a competence kink but I have an incompetence squick. So I always gravitate toward the idea that Steve has something he's good at, it's just not very visible.

Steve Harrington's parents are nice. Sure, we need the house empty so Steve can bring Billy around a lot, but they can be traveling like temporarily! I want as many adults as possible in Billy's corner anyways, and I love fics where Steve's Dad goes up against Neil.

Billy:

I LOVE the english nerd Billy headcanon. He reads all the books. Knows all the poems. Understands all the things. Wows all the Steves. It's also so much fun to see what literature the writers like that they use in their fics.

Virgin Billy. Listen. I have no excuses. But a Billy that puts up a front and has never actually had sex is so?????? Layers. So many layers.

That Billy is alive in the Upside Down. Tbh I avoid anything post-s3, but if I HAVE to read something, the boy's gotta be alive down there. The reunion????? Hello??????

That Billy has always known he's gay.

Harringrove:

Balls to the wall obsessed with each other. From day 1.

Billy thinking he's screwed up everything every time he gets angry and Steve being patient with him always.

Going to Steve's house after a run-in with Neil is a very basic hc but good lord it hits right

BILLY IS A GRADE BEHIND STEVE FTW (i don't know why i like this one so much. i just do. i doesn't have to make sense)

After Billy starts hanging around Steve he starts to feels more settled (as much as that's possible). Drinks less. Smokes less. Is less reckless. Walking around Steve's house in a bathrobe with a cup of coffee.

When Steve uses his name to threaten Neil hmmmmmmm. We hate the rich but this time it's ok.

Tell me your headcanons babe, what do you like to think about them????

[imsodishy]

I'm all for Heather and Robin being meddling and a little condescending to their respective dumbasses in Harringrove fic but only! if they are simultaneously massive disasters.

Like they talk a very good game at their stupid boy best friends about how it's not that complicated, just get your shit together, but meanwhile one day Heather's got a lollipop and she says to Billy, "I can't tell what flavor this is supposed to be. What do you think?"

And Billy's like, "I've got cherry gum, it'll just taste like cherry."

And Robin, all in a rush just to say something to Heather, basically shouts, "I'll lick you!" immediately turns beet red, and flees the scene, "Steve! Start the car!"

Meanwhile Heather's got Billy by the collar going, "What do you think she meant by that???? Was it a friend thing? Billy, does she want to be friends?????"

[shieldofiron]

Saf...

I know it's been done, probably a million times, but...

harringrove roommates AU, idiots in love, and everyone ELSE can see it but they're both absolutely oblivious until an outside throws the word boyfriend at them forcing them to reevaluate.

and go, would it be so bad? everything would remain the same, only there would be kissing now and other stuff.

and then maybe they would decide to pretend they still have no idea to see how long it would take Max and their friends to notice...

that was my 2.20am thoughts.

going to bed now

ily

LOL also yet again, your one thought is like a whooooole enchilada longfic, my friend. And I have so many of those cooking. But I was inspired to write a little snippet of this. Consider it a slice of their weird little life.

---

"I think I'm going to go on a porn fast."

There's no reason for Robin to give him that look. They talk about everything. He helped her check herself when she had an ingrown hair that she thought was an STD, for God's sake.

"What?" Steve frowned.

"A porn fast." She looked absolutely disgusted. He was talking about less porn, what was her problem.

"Yeah. Like 30 days, no porn," Steve shook his head, "I just feel like I'm doing it too much, you know. I'm gonna get carpal tunnel."

"Are you going to move out?" She smirked.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"What it means, Dingus-"

She paused when Billy waltzed in and pulled out one earbud, tiny shorts hiked up so high they were basically underwear, glistening from his workout.

"Have you seen my water cup?" Billy's chest was heaving, a drip of sweat sliding down the center of his chest towards his happy trail.

"You mean your basic white girl cup?" Steve rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever, Pretty Boy. It's huge and it stays cold as fuck," Billy leaned in to where Steve sat at their tiny breakfast nook, and smirked, "I've seen you steal a sip."

"As if," Steve scoffed, "Robin he's obsessed with one of those huge Stanley cups."

"That is a basic bitch move," Robin shrugged, "He's got you Billy."

"Yeah he does," Billy licked along his lower lip, "You've seen it. C'mon, baby, tell me."

Steve sighed, "I washed it, because you never do. It's over there."

Billy snuck in close for a kiss on the cheek, and heat washed over Steve's body, probably from Billy standing so damn close after lifting. He was like a furnace, and Steve had fallen asleep with him enough on the couch to know.

"Thanks, Pretty Boy."

Steve watched Billy pop in his air bud, and assemble and fill his cup for a moment, shaking his booty to whatever his dumb workout mix was, only to be brought out of it when Robin pinched him.

"Don't know how you're gonna do a porn fast with your fucking boyfriend doing a playgirl shoot all around your apartment."

Steve's mouth fell open, "He's my roommate."

"Yeah. And you stare at him and jack off all the time because you feel sooo normal about that."

Steve kicked her weakly under the table, not even able to speak. He wasn't that way about Billy. Couldn't be. That was his roommate.

Later that night after Robin had gone home, he was curled up on the couch next to Billy's furnace of a body.

"Have you even had a sip of water all day?" Billy asked, eyeing Steve's diet coke.

"Yes, I have," He hadn't, "chill, you water obsessed freak."

Billy shoved the clear straw of his enormous silver cup in Steve's face, "Drink."

There shouldn't be something stirring in his stomach when Billy said shit like that. There shouldn't be...

"Good Boy," Billy said in a low laughing voice.

Billy wasn't his boyfriend. Nor was he porn.

But God help him, Steve was realizing he wanted him to be a little of both.

[lazybakerart]

absolutely furious that 'i would do anything for love' by meatloaf only came out in 1993 because teenage steve would go absolutely apeshit for that song. can you imagine billy walking across steve waiting in his car to pick up dustin or something from the arcade, windows down and absolutely belting out that song, eyes closed with an imaginary mic in hand? billy would be awestruck

meatloaf would be steve's jam. it's hard to beat bat out of hell. steve would be the king of karaoke. he'd bring the pizazz. the cheese. every first date would be wowed by his over the top performance that's both ridiculous and charming. but even outside of karaoke, without a mic and a stage and a crt tv for the lyrics (which he never needs), he'd tug on billy's heart (very much alive and thriving in his 90s grunge phase) and get him out of those classic 80s skin-tight jeans with his rendition of it's all coming back to me now.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Ahem.

Imagine Billy’s first spring show at the academy being Frankenstein. He and Steve are still in their rival stage and Steve is gloating because he got the part of Victor, who is technically the lead. Billy’s pissed because they were both good but he thinks he did better at his audition. No he doesn’t think it, he knows it.

This is total bullshit and obvious favoritism. He wants to just pack his bags and walk out, only he hasn’t hated the last couple of months the way he thought he would. His classes are challenging and it’s been nice not having to hide his books or pretend like he doesn’t give a shit about his grades without his dad looming over him. And fuck, yeah, he’ll admit it, he’s not sure if he’s ready to give up dancing again.

Being able to practice every day with Argyle & Eddie who almost feel like friends now, learning from teachers who really know their stuff and who can push him to be better - he’s not ready to walk away from it. Which burns. Because he doesn’t want to need this place more than he wants it; and that’s what drives him into Mrs. Harrington’s office, calling her out for her Nepo Casting. He all but dares her to admit that he was better and therefore should have gotten the part as Victor.

He’s speechless when she agrees with him - about the audition. Not about the part.

“I don’t need to tell you you’re good Billy. You already know it. You’ve scored the highest on every exam this term.”

“So then why -”

“Because this is a school, Billy, and while some competition between students is to be expected you shouldn’t mistake this for one. This place is meant to prepare you for the world first, but more specifically to teach you to be an artist within it. Our job as your teachers is not to hand out parts based on how you score on a sheet, but on how you might grow. I gave you that role because you bring something to it that few of your fellow students can, and I believe there is much you can learn from it. Likewise, the part of Victor will challenge Steve technically as well as mentally. When I approved the curriculum for this term I’ll admit I wasn’t confident that reading the novel in English would sufficiently teach him anything about the pitfalls of pride and hubris -”

Billy snorts. Because if Harrington manages to write a thoughtful essay on Frankenstein’s themes without Wheeler spoon feeding it to him he’ll eat his hat. Mrs. Harrington’s eyes dance like she read his mind and shrugs.

“I was never much of a reader either. Dance has always spoken to me in a language that is easier to understand.” She smiles at him, tenderly, with that same look in her eye that Billy’s mom always had when she talked about dance. It’s a look he sees every day now reflected in the eyes of so many almost friends. Still. It’s not fair. Steve gets the lead because he’s an arrogant prick and mommy hopes playing out the demise of another stuck up asshole will teach him to play nice with the other kids, and Billy just has to take it?

“It’s not fair.” he challenges, and Mrs. H. sighs a little, her smile fading as her expression settles into something more serious. Final.

“You did very well Billy. But no. Victor is not the role you should have.” She says, closing the door on any further argument with one of her direct unblinking stares. “I’m confident you’ll do very well as the creature, and that the rest of this term will be an education for you.”

She doesn’t say as much but Billy doesn’t need anyone to tell him the conversation is over. For better or for worse he’s Frankinstien’s creature and he’s going to have to put up with Steve, Tommy and Jason giving him shit until the show is over. As he leaves the madame’s office he vows to himself then and there that he’s going to outshine Steve on that stage and make him eat every word. Victor isn’t even the true protagonist of that story anyway, and Billy’s going to show them all why.

[steddieunderdogfics]

Consensual Catfishing by foresthearts

@kiaramori

Rating: Mature

32,108 words, 4/4 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Past harringrove and stancy but nothing current, Identity Issues, Catfishing (but not), Texting, Epistolary, Famous Steve Harrington, (basically like harry styles), Professional DM Eddie Munson, (basically like brennan lee mulligan), Roommates, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Pining, Steddie Big Bang 2023 (Stranger Things), Modern Era, Alternate Universe

Summary:

When Eddie gets a message on instagram from an account claiming to be the famous pop-star Steve Harrington, he knows immediately it's a catfish. He's not dumb. The account has no pictures and people like Steve Harrington don't just randomly DM guys like Eddie. Still. What would be the harm in letting it play out? It's not dangerous if he knows he's being catfished. No, if he knows about it, then it's basically like a fun little roleplay. No harm, no foul. (Eddie is not, in fact, being catfished)

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @kiaramori. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[kennahjune]

Been having this idea so bare with me while I attempt to explain:

(Note: this isn’t exactly my “usual” content)

No Upside Down AU where like 37% of the human population are some kind of “mythologic” as they call them.

Hawkins is kind of infested with them, despite being— well— Hawkins.

The majority of the Party are mythologics.

Now, Billy and Max move to Hawkins from Cali as per usual in 1984. And they’ve heard of Hawkins. Of how it’s mostly mythologics despite the small human population not being very accepting of them.

So they move to Hawkins and all is well until they start hearing rumors.

Rumors about a werewolf pack that isn’t a werewolf pack. Apparently there’s a werewolf in Hawkins collecting misfits and others and simply— accepting them into his pack.

Billy doesn’t buy it for shit. Werewolves tend to be hella territorial and unwelcoming.

Or that’s what he’s been told by his dad. He’s never actually met a werewolf, being a vampire. Vamps and Wolves don’t really get along.

And so Billy and Max start school and it’s fine. Billy likes fucking with this one guy, Steve. It’s really easy to rile him up and funny to watch him try and rein himself in.

Max is in the middle school, always talking about this one vampire kid and how he’s an asshole but his friends are sweet enough. Billy doesn’t listen too much.

Until he collides into Steve in the high school parking lot. Steve’s in a rush, barely getting an apology out before running (inhumanly fast— Billy notes) down the road where the middle school is.

Billy, thinking “well what the fuck”, follows after him. They arrive at the middle school and there’s a fight going on in the parking lot.

He says “fight” but it’s really a bunch of kids ganging up on one scrawny pale kid and holding back his friends. Steve is rushing in immediately, yelling at the assholes to leave them alone and to scram.

That’s when Billy realizes one of the kids being held back was Max, with a minor busted lip.

He’s immediately at her side, trying to seem angry but not being able to hide the actual concern in his tone.

Billy turns to leave but watches Max run up to the other kids to check on them. That’s when Steve turns to Billy and seems to recognize his presence.

Steve’s pulling the 4 boys behind him immediately, his eyes flashing a bright yellow and he growls and—

Oh.

Steve’s that odd werewolf collecting strays.

.

And idk Billy and Steve go through this whole thing where Billy refuses to be accepted into the pack even tho he basically already is cause no one else in the pack really has a problem with him.

But Max is in the pack (the Party, they call themselves), so Billy sees them all constantly against his will.

And there’s the bit where vampire Eddie also joins the pack eventually, after the kids kind of adopt him in Hellfire and Steve is weak for those kids.

And obviously Billy ends up joining the pack at some point but I haven’t thought that far ahead lmao.

Idk if I want it to be platonic harringrove or romantic harringrove but I’m lowkey leaning towards harringroveson to be honest.

But if you have opinions I’d love to know them!!

I kinda wanna write more for Billy, idk lol I’ve just been in a middle lately

[idkevenknowwhattoput]

I have been thinking about a Hercules harringrove. Idk who would be who though. They could be either but here’s what I think it would be like if Steve was Meg and Billy was Hercules (it’s going to be a mix of the Disney version and the accurate one).

Billy or Hercules was born from Zeus and a farmer’s daughter. Zeus gave Billy the name Hercules because of his godly strength but his mother (we are just going to call her Cora) renamed him Billy as to not be found by Hera and her wrath. Billy wasn’t liked very much by the people of his town and felt like an outcast, so he decided to go to Zeus’s temple to find answers. It is there when he finds out he’s a demigod and Zeus is his father, but Zeus is an asshole (*cough* neil *cough*) so billy leaves the temple determined to be better than his father. This is where he stumbles upon pegasus, his hoof trapped under a rock. Using his strength Billy frees him and for his gratitude Pegasus stays with Billy to help with transportation and stuff. Billy renames him Camaro. Billy then goes to the temple where the trainer hopper (aka Phil the half goat guy) lives. He has trained every other powerful Olympian warrior and billy was intrigued by this and wanted to use his full potential. So with the help of Hopper (and being fed and housed with his wife Joyce) Billy got his full strength and determined to make something of himself….(now Steve’s story)

Steve (Stefano just to be fancy) fell in love with a beautiful girl. She was very smart and helped out in Athena’s temple. Though she never gave Steve the time a day even though she claim to love him (Nancy). Till one day Nancy died of a terrible accident and being heartbroken, desperate, and so in love Steve makes a deal with hades. The deal was that Nancy would come back and in return Steve had to pay a price. So without a second thought Steve agrees and Nancy comes back. Only for her to leave him for a poet (Jonathan) leaving Steve heartbroken. For the price hades and hera decide to team up (because no one likes Zeus) and hades uses Steve by taking his soul. He uses Steve basically as a spy or recruiter to bring other monsters on hade’s side against his will. Then after being saved by Billy from the river guardian hades and Hera decide to use Steve to take down Billy, because he’s one of Zeus’s bastard children. (Does it work? Can Steve fall in love again after such heartbreak? Will Billy find out Steve is basically a spy? Who knows.)