#harringrove for ts

[mispatchedgreens]

I'd like to request and a freight train running through the middle of my head for WIP Wednesday please. Good luck with writing!

Helloooo, thank you so much for the luck, it appears to be working already. I did an older bit of freight train here. Here's some of what I churned out today:

Between tucking themselves away and cleaning up, Steve sees Billy hide away the gasping, loose beast he turned into. By the time Steve gets himself a glass of water in the kitchen, Billy's shoulders are stiff and his mouth no longer soft. It’s sort of impossible to make the space of the trailer unwelcome, its sheer yellowness overpowering even Billy’s tenseness. But it’s– off, awkward. Even the nonchalant way Billy sprawls on the recliner seems put-on and it gets worse when he says “What would the good folks of Hawkins say if they knew you turned gay?” It’s not the thing he says, Steve doesn’t care about the thing he says, he cares about the tone, like when he had said ‘turned bitch’ a year and a half ago, like they barely know each other. “I’m not gay,” he points out, because he’s whatever, he’s something and he thinks maybe talking about it with someone that isn’t Robin will be useful. But once again Steve manages to fuck a good thing up. It’s not useful, it’s so dumb, it’s not the right thing to say at all. Billy’s face transforms instantly, nostrils flaring, like a bull that’s about to run Steve through. “Right. Get the fuck out.”

[metalheadcowboy]

Turning a Harringrove Cowboy/Farm AU I wrote A LONGGGG time ago into an actual multi part/chapter fic, so here's the first part, enjoy!

-----------------------

It was the spring of '84 when Steve Harrington first decided he hated Billy Hargrove with every damn bone in his body.

The beginning of that spring had been particularly rough in many ways. 

Steve's second senior year of high school was going quite a ways away from great, it seemed like no matter what his old man was pissed off about something or another, the calving season had only just started and it was going straight to shit. Oh, and on top of that, it was hotter than a witches tit outside, a record high in southern Indiana that year, great.

"Gah lee," Steve huffed as he fell flat on his rear, wiping the sweat off his forehead, with the part of his arm that wasn't covered in cow crap and god knows what, "That 'as one big son 've a bitch." The force of his collapse knocked his Stetson hat clean off, but he was quick to recover the rather expensive item he’d received for Christmas not too long ago. 

He slowly collected himself, pushing the medium tan leather down upon his dark, messy waves. He couldn’t help but blink his eyes a few times as he practically panted like a dog to will any form of cold into his body, "Yeah, 'll least this one's livin'," his dad remarked, and he couldn't disagree with that. Seemed like they'd had more still born calves than live ones this season.

" 'Ts only March, we've got a few months," The teen reminded, manifesting at least a shred of hope for the coming weeks. It wasn't that they didn't have calves other times of the year, they were just few and far between. Now was the time when they started raising a good sized herd to sell of at the beginning of next spring to support them most of the year round, besides the practical penny change they made selling their cows milk local, "Good job, mama," he praised the brown and white blotched animal next to him, already akin to new motherhood, licking her almost identical oversized calf like she knew nothing else.

Steve willed himself up off the ground onto shaky knees, this day had been one of his longest in a while. School on top of all the heifers seeming to want to calf at the exact same time. But as he looked past their property line, out into the marvelous bubblegum pink and creamsicle sunset, he found some sliver of peace.

Only the voice of his father snapped him out of his blissful moment of zoning out, seemed like he was doing a lot more of that lately "You best go wash up 'fer dinner, you know your ma ain't gon' have you at the table lookin' that way." He was right and Steve knew it, but he couldn't lie, a hot shower did sound pleasant on his aching joints.

He gave a quick "Yes sir," ending what was probably the tamest conversation they'd had in weeks, before making the short, yet long trek back to their homestead. He could see the lights on in the kitchen and living room, and as he got closer he came upon the silhouette of his mother washing her hands in the kitchen sink in the small window next to their side door.

He trotted up the last few stairs, smiling as he walked through the door to someone just as happy to greet him, "Well, look what the hot mess express brought in, my word sweetie," she said with no real malice, grinning at him like he was her pride and joy, which he was.

"Hi mama," he replied plainly, chuckling softly as she came over and pulled his nearly six foot frame down to her 5 '2 height for a kiss on the side of his head.

His chuckle turned into a full chested laugh when she made a fake gag of disgust, "You smell just 'bout right rank, son. You sure the heifers weren't the ones hackin' it up at your stink?" she teased and Steve just shook his head.

"Had my arm so far up one of 'em I'm prolly 'bout half cow any how," The brunette boy mimicked the struggle sticking his arm up the back end of a cow, to which Annette Harrington grimaced, "That's why I let you boys do your thing and I do mine," she gestured to the kitchen, which is what first alerted Steve to the smell of freshly made chicken pot pie sitting ready on the ceramic countertop. 

His eyes immediately lit up with pure delight, like a kid on Christmas morning, except he was nineteen and to some sad extent pot pie was the highlight of his week, “Mama you didn’t!” he exclaimed, about to go in for a big hug before remembering what he was covered in. 

Mrs. Harrington just shook her head, “Alright, go get cleaned up, the pie ain’t gon’ grow legs.” Within an instant Steve was racing off to his bedroom to grab a pair of pajamas and then to his bathroom to shower. 

And to say he was right would have been an understatement. Steve swore the hot stream of water that cascaded down his spine sent him into seventh heaven, easing out his jammed knee and stiff elbow with ease. 

He enjoyed his escape for about as long as the hot water lasted, a mere few minutes, but that was long enough for him. When he stepped out of the shower he shook his hair out like a wet dog, letting the towel he scrubbed his head with next catch the excess. Shortly after, he grabbed the comb up next to his sink, swiping the steam off the mirror to give his unruly mop a good brush through before quickly throwing on the pajamas he had grabbed prior. 

Steve practically burst through the bathroom door, following the promising scent of dinner, blatantly stopping in his tracks when he found something that was definitely not chicken pot pie. 

“Oh, Steven,” Oh boy, “We have someone we’d like ‘fer you to meet.” The smile on his moms face was sickeningly different from that she had on when welcoming him in from his chores. A lot less genuine and a lot more plastic, but still warm in the way it always was, it was just her nature. 

Steve didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking in the atmosphere, his parents, that boy. He would be lying if he said the golden-haired figure standing between his folks didn’t look straight out of one of the magazines he’d seen the few times they went into the city. 

Striking icy blue eyes, rimmed with lashes that damn near put any woman’s to shame. Thick brows somehow shaped to perfection, lain a top skin so perfectly sun kissed and freckled with intent. Steve had to force himself to shake these thoughts, knowing how damn stupid he must have looked gawking like an idiot. But that didn’t push away the confusion he felt as his heart seemed to pick up at the statuesque mystery man standing before him. 

“If they’d ‘a told me we were having’ company I would’ve thought to dress a ‘lil nicer ‘n this,” he remarked, cheeks burning a bit with embarrassment, feeling almost stark naked in his pajama pants and plain white t-shirt. He huffed out a short breath when the guy in front of him gave him a rather unconvincing pity laugh, parents following suit, “Ain’t no skin off my back, ‘m sure we’ll see each other in worse,” the radiant boy replied, once again leaving Steve baffled, but maybe that’s just what he did. 

“Names Billy by the way, Billy Hargrove” the boy- Billy extended his hand for Steve to take and he did, taking the few steps forward to give his hand a proper shake before returning the favor, “Steve Harrington, pleasure’s mine,” he replied simply with a short nod of his head. 

His father seemed pleased enough by this interaction, though Steve could never really tell, he always had this sort of stone cold thing going on. 

There was a beat of somewhat awkward silence before Annette interjected, “How about some homemade pot pie?” she offered, with a prompt clap of her hands, sending her boys and their guest to the dinner table. Normally Steve would have been beaming, ready to talk and talk and talk about anything and everything under the sun, but suddenly he wasn’t exactly in the mood. 

“Well, Billy we really are glad to have ya here,” Mr. Harrington continued in the tone he only used around guests or, really, people he was trying to impress. The sickeningly sweet, layered on false happiness and enthusiasm that made Steve’s stomach hurt, “Yeah, ‘ll y’know my old man’s been rearin’ to get me out of the house since the second I stepped foot outta school,” Hm, so he was older, “Since I graduated early ‘n all, couldn’t happen fast ‘nough.” The lanky boy nearly spit out his water, choking in an awkward way to where it came halfway up his nose and made his eyes water. 

Steve coughed it out a bit before bringing his napkin up to his face, watery eyes of shame blinking themselves dry, “Y’ alright there cowboy?” Cowboy, Steve looked up at the smirk on the other boy’s face and had to hold back a sneer. The last thing he needed tonight was to get into it with his dad while they had company over. 

“ ‘M fine, thanks,” he mumbled, feeling the short- lived rage in his stomach settle when his mother brought the meal over just in time, “Shall we?” she chimed in a sing-song tone, that wasn’t anything like his fathers, hers was genuine. Because if there was one thing about Annette Harrington, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body for anyone, unless they messed with her family. 

Steve tuned out the prayer, forehead pressed solidly against his hands clasped so tight his knuckles were about ghostly white. He was just wondering when this Billy guy was going to leave so this night could be over. But of course, just when the brunette thought the topic might change, of course, even after the prayer, his father, John, had to dwell. 

“I’ll say that’s right impressive, y’know Steve here’s held back a year, he’s ‘sposed to have graduated by now, but,” Mr. Harrington shrugged as he dug into his dinner. His son sat there halfway gobsmacked, halfway offended, but he should’ve expected such. 

Steve scoffed, “Only ‘cus you got me doin’ half your work every day. I barely got time for anythin’ else,” he mumbled under his breath just loud enough for the table to hear as he stared down at his mashed potatoes. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel his fathers eyes boring into his skull like laser beams. 

Steve’s mom just looked at him with a disappointed expression, but didn’t interject because she knew good and well it was true, “ ‘F that’s whatcha really think ‘n you’ll be happy to hear you won’t have to do it no more.” Steve’s eyebrows practically shot up his forehead and through his hairline. 

What the hell was he talkin’ ‘bout?

“Huh?” Was all he could manage before his dad excitedly cut off whatever he was planning to say next, “Well what else do you think we got Billy here for, looks?” This gave everyone but Steve a good laugh, he didn’t see any reason to be laughing right now. 

“ ‘N just what ‘o you mean by that?” He was so blinded by anger that he couldn’t even think about eating the pot pie his sweet mother had made, but he’d get over that guilt. He couldn’t say the same for the fury burning deep within him. He looked over at Billy who looked smug as ever, chewing on a bit of his food, sneaky eyes peeking out of the rim of his rather ratty looking Resistol. Oh what he would give right now to punch that smug look right off that pretty boy face. 

John Harrington gave Steve the look, his signature look that said ‘I dare you to go testin’ me, boy’ and if there was ever a time for that it would be now, “Steve, you’ve been slacking lately ‘n we both know it, son.” Steve went to open his mouth but got cut off, again, “ ‘N I figured having Billy stay here ‘n work with me ‘d give you the time off to do sumn else. Like helpin’ your mom ‘round the house, you did always seem… better suited for those things.” 

This couldn’t be fuckin’ for real, “John-,” his mom tried to scold. 

There’s no way his dad just basically called him a sissy, not after-

“I had my hand up a cow’s ass ‘fer you today, ‘n then you’re gonna go sayin’ that- that bullshit?” Steve burst, knowing he would no doubt have to pay for these words later. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes, not from guilt, not from shame, but of pure, unfiltered rage. But what really put salt in the wound was looking over at Billy, whose subtle smirk had far faltered, turning into something more innocent, more regretful. Like this wasn’t all his own damn fault in the first place. 

Everything’s so unfair, this is so unfair. Not only did he feel hurt, but he felt embarrassed, having his dad say those things about him, basically calling him a sissy, in front of his own mother. 

“Steven-” he heard his father try to reprimand, but Steve refused to take it. Instead, he stood up abruptly, the straightening of his knees sent his chair flying backwards against the wall. He would have cringed at the sound if he weren’t so genuinely pissed. 

He was able to hold the tears in until he turned around, then it was like the dam just… burst. He felt a whine work its way up his throat, but he willed it back down, swallowing what last bit of pride he had left down with it. 

Could a sissy do that? Maybe Steve didn’t want the answer to that. 

He didn’t know what was going on, he’d never felt this was, this upset, this angry. He didn’t understand. He practically glid to his room, socked feet moving so fast he wasn’t sure whether or not he was actually taking real steps. And, frankly, he didn’t care, just wanted to be away. 

When he made it to his room, he closed his door behind him and flopped down onto his bed, stomach down, choking on his own hushed sobs. It made him feel like a child again, pathetic, small, lonely. He turned on his side and curled in on himself a bit, clinging on to whatever little bit of comfort he could. 

Through wallowing in his own self pity, he barely heard the faint mewl coming from behind him. He just groaned, hoping maybe if he ignored it long enough it, or rather she, would go away. 

“Meooowww.” He should’ve known better, it was his fault for locking her in there with him anyways. 

“Oh, Ginger,” he sighed, stuffy nose making him sound all nasally. And it was as if that was the permission the rather plump orange tabby needed to jump up on top of him like he was her human pillow, “Cain’t a man even have a few seconds alone.” To that, of course, she meowed at him in protest, ever the chatterbox. 

Steve quickly accepted his defeat to the tubby cat when she somehow still gracefully jumped off his ribs and onto the empty spot in bed next to him. The pale light of bright stars shining through his window, reflecting off of Ginger’s big round saucer eyes were the only thing giving his room any light. But it didn’t matter because soon after he shut his own eyes, focusing on the purring of the seemingly content cat next to him, half wishing to disappear, half wishing to go back out there and beat Billy to a pulp. Even if only for existing.

Billy, stupid Billy and his stupid white teeth and his stupid pretty eyes and his stupid everything.

Fuck this dinner, fuck this day, and most importantly fuck Billy Hargrove.

[flippyspoon]

s3: (not about steve having panic attacks and insomnia while billy helps him breathe and steve helps billy process his anger in a healthy manner and hours of after glow vulnerability)

me: fake

[lymricks]

Hello my favorite 😘 Been wondering if you have any T Swift songs that remind you of Harringrove?

omg, anon, this is my favorite question. if you don't know, the entire Chicago series was inspired by reputation - I wrote about the different fics and their songs in this post for the two year anniversary of that fic! "king of my heart" is the perfect harringrove taylor swift song and it should be on every playlist.

I think a lotta songs work but here's just one for now:

There's a great argument to be made for "sparks fly" as an ideal harringrove song - particularly in season 2 fic. "you're the kind of reckless that should send me running" & "and I stood there in front of you just close enough to touch / close enough to hope you couldn't see what I was thinking of" -> like, it's the perf back and forth of steve and billy.

plus, I love a "drop everything now / meet me in the pouring rain / kiss me on the sidewalk / take away the pain" for harringrove. 10/10. billy absolutely sees sparks fly whenever steve smiles.

[rigginsstreet]

hes right and he should say it

[kerasines]

do i have to write a fic about dacre and joe hooking up after a year of bad break up vibes because joe decides to get a nipple piercing totally by coincidence the same day he sees dacre again? do i have to write it? do i have to?

[berebone]

love my way by the psychedelic furs is steve and billy’s song though

[catandbeargames]

Hello!! I have not been active on here for a while but my kitty cat is sick and I could rly use the help with the vet bills! She is very very sweet and deserves the world.

Also i used to make fan art and I will make a lil 5 min commission for anyone who donates regardless of amount! anything ur heart desires! (talking to you harringrove blogs my gf is friends with hehe) check out my art tag (tagged here) if you want! i’m better now so just imagine that stuff,,,, but better.

anyway here’s the link

[mispatchedgreens]

chapter 2 of ‘a freight train running through the middle of my head’ is up.

steve is just trying his best, eddie is lowkey sad, billy is being cryptic, and the poly panic is going on strong and kinda horny

[localdadfriend]

Hey guys so I'm officially opening my Etsy back up.

I'll have the Harringrove keychains up there soon as well as so other things and then I'll probably start on Christmas designs.

FERALATHART

[causticsunshine]

finally got around to doing some quick harringrove art!! these two are ruining my life & i haven’t been able to contribute any art yet, but luckily i finally had some time to do a few sketches last night! (also -- full size for better quality!)

bonus:

[flippyspoon]

Unpopular opinion—Billy has a harder time saying sorry than saying I love you.

Idk that that’s unpopular- I can see it.

Yeah I always have a hard time with Billy apologies. I feel like if he does apologize he immediately undercuts it somehow.

You know what I could see him doing is not apologizing but maybe some guys fuck with Steve or there’s a monster and Billy steps in and goes hard- gets really walloped- he’s not friends with Steve yet at all.

Then he’s like bleeding, Steve’s got an arm around him (he’s shocked), helping him walk ffs. Billy’s still catching his breath and he’s like, “Now we’re even.”

Steve says, “Huh?”

“The fight. You and me. We’re even now.”

“Jesus, Hargrove. Could’ve just said you were sorry!”

“ARE WE EVEN NOW OR NOT?”

[lymricks]

you’ll lose the blues in chicago

Guys. Guys. It has been OVER TWO years since I published knit more nearly together, which was the first story in the Chicago series. It was the first thing I’d written for people to read in four years, and it was a whirlwind of a fucking story for me. I am ten thousand percent grateful to everyone who read that first 12k chapter and was like, but also we want to hear from Billy, too.

Anyway, it led me to write more than I had written in years and to have an absolute blast doing it. And I’m feeling super grateful and thankful this morning for that, because I can still remember walking into my kitchen that Saturday morning and being like, oh shit, this is...this is a fic, isn’t it?

Anyway. I once joked that there was a T Swift song for every single one of the Chicago stories, so this is that post (with key lyrics & essential ones bolded for fun) to celebrate that anniversary. Also because I’m just in a T Swift mood, okay.

knit more nearly together & “king of my heart” 

I’m perfectly fine / I live on my own / I made up my mind I’m better off being alone / we met a few weeks ago / now you try on calling me baby like trying on clothes & and all at once / you are the one I have been waiting for / king of my heart / body and soul . . . is this the end of all the endings / my broken bones are mending

in the business of searching for a precedent & “delicate:

come here you can meet me in the back . . . oh damn never seen that color blue / just think of the fun things we could do / ‘cause I like you & we can’t make any promises now can we babe / but you can make me a drink & is it cool that I said all that / is it too soon to do this yet / ‘cause I know that it’s delicate / isn’t it? . . . echoes of your footsteps on the stairs / stay here honey / I don’t wanna share

and you may ask yourself & “call it what you want”

all the liars are calling me one / nobody’s heard from me for months / I’m doing better than I ever was & call it what you want yeah / call it what you want to . . .  my baby loves me like I’m brand new . . . windows boarded up after the storm / he built a fire just to keep me warm . . . and I know I make the same mistakes every time / bridges burn I never learn/ at least I did one thing right . . . starry eyes sparking up my darkest night . . . late November / holding my breath / slowly I said / you don’t need to save me / but would you run away with me?

meet it again in the morning & “new year’s day”

you squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi / I can tell that it’s gonna be a long road . . . don’t read the last page, but I stay / when it’s hard or it’s wrong / or we’re making mistakes . . . you and me forever more

[flippyspoon]

Billy is the type of person who would eat all of the m&ms in trail mix, leaving just the nuts and raisins. Steve learned this the first time he shared trail mix with him.

“Again??? I hate raisins!”

[flippyspoon]

so i dreamed that drunk!steve was hitting on billy heavily like laying all the moves and the ridiculous pick up lines and billy was cracking up a smile like "steve, we've been dating for months now" and drunk steve like "ooOOH? ikr? im so lucky" cue billy looking like a tomato and taking him to bed (also: i headcanon that drunk!billy would do some shit like serenading steve maybe and he would tell him when he is sober and billy is like "nO I DIDNT!! DO THAT" "yes you did babe")

I want Steve to get blitzed on Absinthe or something to the extant that he literally forgets Billy is his boyfriend and when Billy tells him they’ve been together for months Steve’s like sobbing happy lol. 

Drunk Billy SINGS ALL THE TIME. Especially “Brown Eyed Girl” and “Uptown Girl” at Steve and later he’s like “HOW DARE YOU! I WOULD NEVER SING BILLY JOEL.”  Steve busts out the VHS proof lol.