#Harringrove for BLM

[decadentworld]

Hey guys what do you think but I think it would be really cool to hold another Harringrove for BLM event😁

[avalonlights]

Billy getting dipped a la B2 for @awrble for Harringrove for BLM. Thank you for donating! ❤ The idea cracked me up so much I had to draw it full body. 🤣

[artzeppo]

a Harringrove for BLM piece for @lissieisspacey, who wanted Billy and Steve at Pride. I may have gotten slightly carried away :) thank you for your donation! 🖤 ❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜 

BLM commissions are still open!

[ihni]

For @xgardensinspace (and @yikesharringrove) who reached out and asked if I was a part of Harringrove for BLM. I’m not, officially, but how could I say no to a) a generous donation to a good cause and b) the prompt “Billy on a pogo stick”? That’s right, I couldn’t. SO.

Billy on a pogo stick.

(I am very much a fan of characters suddenly revealing that they have hidden and unexpected talents)

Hope you like it!

[teenytinylion]

Harringrove for BLM commission for @lissieisspacey

[prettyboyporter]

Shout at the Devil

harringrove for BLM ficlet for @granpappy-winchester , who wanted headbanger Billy doing his thing <33

~*~

Billy’s Camaro fit right in, Steve thought, as they drove through the streets of Detroit. He cruised toward the arena with Black Sabbath blaring out of the rolled-down windows, and the city smelled like blacktop and exhaust fumes. Billy’s aviators reflected the buildings and people around them. Steve was convinced coming here might be a bad idea -- the city had a bad reputation, after all, but so far, it just seemed like a cool, working-class city.

They drove up specifically for the Motley Crue concert and got a hotel in town. The Chicago show had sold out in 15 minutes, but Steve was able to get tickets to the show three nights later in Detroit and gave them to Billy for his birthday. The drive was easy enough, and not as long as he’d anticipated. Steve folded the map and put it back in the glove compartment.

All different kinds of people lined the streets. A solid portion of the crowd wore black concert t-shirts and ripped jeans and also had mullets as they walked toward Cobo Arena. Cigarettes, denim miniskirts, and ratted hair grew more frequent the closer they got to the arena. Several of them woooed at the metal coming from Billy’s car, flashing devil horns at them. Steve smiled awkwardly and waved back.

Billy stuck his tongue out at them and grinned.

The arena that night was like walking into an entirely different world. It was thick with smoke from the fog machines onstage, as well as the cigarette smoke and the distinct odor of weed. Music poured out from the towering speakers, loud rock that fired up the tough-looking audience.

Even the girls here kind of looked like they could kick Steve’s ass.

The lights cut off and beams of multi-colored lights cut through the foggy stage. The opening act came on -- Autograph -- but Steve only knew one of their songs.

The whole thing was a display of scarves, studded leather, tight clothes, and massive amounts of hairspray.

Billy looked like he was in seventh heaven -- the grin on his face was like one Steve had never seen before. And this was for a band Steve didn’t know very well.

Steve kind of felt like a tourist here -- like he was a guest student visiting a different school. He felt sheepish around these people -- loud, wild, burnouts, headbangers, girls in tube tops ready to flash anyone they saw fit.

Between sets they passed a joint, though, careful not to attract the attention of the roaming security guards. Not like they’d pinpoint it, anyway. Seemed like half of the Motor City was blazing up that night.

So when the lights dimmed for the main act, Steve felt pleasantly loose. A bit of Billy’s excitement rolled onto him, and he forgot about all of the tsk tsking that his mom did that Motley Crue’s music, claiming they were devil worshippers and so were all of their fans because she’d believe anything Tipper Gore told her.

If there was anything Steve worshipped, though, it was watching how his boyfriend reacted to the band onstage -- their music, the insane antics the drummer pulled when he got into a metal cage suspended from the ceiling that spun around as he drummed.

Billy came alive -- pumping his fist, headbanging a bit, his curls flying everywhere.

It was kind of adorable.

And it really made Steve want to wrap his arms and legs around Billy and say mine, forever, always.

Steve did the next best thing and pulled Billy into his arms during Home Sweet Home, slow and sweet. Billy rocked back and forth in Steve’s arms, his blue eyes glazed and dopey, staring at Steve’s mouth.

After calculating the risk and thinking, this might get our asses kicked, he took the chance and leaned forward to press his lips to Billys.

He tasted like cigarettes and weed -- like what a Motley Crue concert should taste like, in Steve’s mind. It tasted like Billy’s happiness, when he curled his tongue around Steve’s and slid his fingers into Steve’s back pocket, giving his ass a squeeze.

They made out until the end of the song and then Billy pulled back, his smile broad. “Thanks for the tickets, pretty boy.”

Steve kissed the corner of Billy’s mouth. “Gettin sappy on me, Billy?”

“Fuck off,” Billy said. He shoved Steve’s shoulder playfully, slapped him on the ass, then turned to the band to shout loud enough for the devil to hear.

[thinger-strang]

here is my first request contribution, a sketch for @catharrington who requested some joe keery playing the guitar 💕

[here's my donation request post of y'all were interested]

[opaldraws]

BLM commission for @harringrovetrashh 💖

Thank you for donating!!

If you would like to commission me and support a BLM organization, please check out my post here

[flippyspoon]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Characters: Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Additional Tags: Fluff, Well - Freeform, flangst, because, Suicidal Ideation, but barely, more of a reference to it, anyway Summary:

Three times Billy almost said "I love you" and one time he finally did. For Introvertia!

OMG I FINALLY finished my very last H4BLM fic! 

[yikesharringrove]

Ace Steve as requested by @myboyfriendsteve​

Happy Pride!

Here is a link to my post about Harringrove for BLM, and here is a link to Writers/Artists Against Police Brutality

Here’s also a link to the Masterlist of Harringrove for BLM coutesy of @harringrovetrashh

Thank you all for organizing, participating, and donating.

-

The bell above the door was somehow extra loud when Billy shoved his way through.

Or maybe Steve was just extra in tune with the specific way it jangled as he swaggered inside, smirking at Steve, his eyes sharp.

They did this every day.

Billy would come in, they would flirt back and forth, Billy would lick over his teeth, say something like why don’t you meet me at the quarry tonight, Pretty Boy, and Steve would panic and come up with some lame excuse why he couldn’t, Billy’s face would fall, and he’d slink back out.

“Why don’t you just go out with him?” Robin huffed as Steve watched Billy retreat. “I know you’re jonesin’ for him.”

“Because, because he’s gonna want stuff if we go out. Stuff I can’t, can’t give him.” They had already had this conversation, on the bathroom floor of the Starcourt Mall, drugged nearly out of their minds.

She had told him about Tammy Thompson, the deep feeling she got low in her gut when she thought about other girls, other women.

And he hadn’t understood, told her he had never felt that. He loved looking at beautiful people, loved holding hands and going on dates, but never felt that urge, that want.

And she had just shrugged, said that’s okay. That if someone was right for him, loved him as they should, they wouldn’t force something he didn’t want.

“Maybe you could talk to him? See if, if maybe he doesn’t mind that you can’t give him that.” Steve just shook his head.

“You’ve heard the rumors. He’s not goon want me once he, once he finds out that I’m broken.”

Robin’s eyes flashed.

“You are not fucking broken. Stop saying that about yourself. You’re normal and good and just fucking great the way you are, and if someone doesn’t love you enough to make you feel that, then they don’t deserve you.”

-

Billy was back.

He leaned over the counter to tug on the back of Steve’s work vest.

“Hello, I’d like to rent a video. For my family.” He smiled brightly at Steve when he turned around, gum rolling around in his mouth. After getting possessed, after getting that thing burned out of him in the sauna, his lungs weren’t quite the same. He could usually be found with wads of bubblegum in his cheeks, shoving more in when he got another craving for a cigarette.

“I think I can help you with that. We are called Family Video for a reason.” RObin audibly groaned from the back room.

“Well, anything ticklin’ your fancy these days? You could come watch it, watch it with me.” Steve’s stomach dropped.

“Sorry, Billy. I got, I got to drive Dustin tonight, his mom took an extra shift and-” Billy huffed.

“That’s fine, Harrington. I get the fuckin’ message.”

Billy stomped out the door, shoved himself through. Steve panicked, was rounding the counter before he even realized what he was doing.

“Billy, Billy wait.” He reached Billy just as he was opening his car door in the lot behind Family Video. “Billy, why are you angry?”

“I get the fucking hint, Harrington. Why do you keep pretending to flirt if you don’t actually want to go out with me? You think it’s fun for me to get shot down again and again? Are you having fun playing with the queer? Playing with the fact that I fucking like you?”

“I’m, I’m not messing with you. I, I like you, but, but you don’t, you don’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?”

“If we’re together, you’re gonna, gonna find out, and then you won’t like me any more.” Billy shoved another piece of bubblegum in his mouth.

“Try me.” Steve shook his head, eyes wide. “What skeletons do you got in your little fancy boy closet? You got some weird fetish or something.”

Steve made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, something like a scream with his mouth still closed.

“No. It’s the fucking opposite of that.” Billy furrowed his brows.

“The opposite, of a fetish? You think I’m not gonna like you because you like nice vanilla white boy sex? Honestly, Pretty Boy, that’s fine. That’s good, actually.” Steve stamped his foot. Billy just raised an eyebrow.

“No. I don’t like any sex. It’s just, it’s just like a chore and I don’t want it, and you’re not gonna be with me because I’m high maintenance, and you don’t get anything out of dating me.”

“Relationships aren’t just about sex, Steve. If we were, were together, I would get to be with you, I would get to love you. That’s fucking enough.”

“But I, I I just don’t feel that way. Like, I don’t think I ever have. I just, I’ve only had sex because I, because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Like, I’m a teenage boy. I should be raging with fucking hormones.” Billy took a small step closer to him, put his hands on each of Steve’s elbows. He spat out his wad of bubblegum, tightening his grip on Steve.

“Sweet Thing, I don’t fucking care about that. About any of it. We can be together and never have sex. I got two hands. I’m fine.” Steve smiled weakly. “As long as you’re happy, and comfortable, and safe, I’m good.”

Steve nodded at him.

“Can I kiss you?” He was searching Steve’s face. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah. I like kissing.” Billy smiled at him, discreetly looking around before leaning forward, leaning in.

He kept it soft, just a slow press of their lips. 

[wingedbears]

In just 24 hours we’ve DOUBLED our donation amount! Contributors are on the rise, and IT IS ONLY DAY 3. Y’all. That’s amazing. 

Keep boosting and reblogging (you can tag me and I’ll reblog too) because the money we’re sending is helping the people who are in the front lines, fighting for equity. You may not be able to physically be there in a protest, but the people who can, NEED this money, George Floyd’s family NEEDS this money. Let’s show fandom what we can do. Again. 

[avalonlights]

Steve throwing caution to the wind [and all of Billy’s dreams coming true lol] a la A1 for @harringroveheart​ for Harringrove for BLM! Thank you for donating! ❤

[artzeppo]

a Harringrove for BLM piece and a gift for @tracy7307 from @lissieisspacey. I - took some liberties, I hope you don’t mind :)

California isn’t a house, but it’s about to become their home. And they aren’t technically married but someone still gets carried over the threshold. I don’t know where the cat came from - as most cats, it didn’t ask for an invitation. 

💛

[platypanthewriter]

The Beastmaster

Steve came home to find Billy’s car in the drive, and the front door standing open—in January, so there was snow blowing in.  

He braked right there in the middle of the street, looking around for Neil Hargrove’s car, or—or what? he thought.  Messed up snow?  Bloody snow?  He craned his neck, but there was only Billy’s car, and footsteps to the door.  He’d put the rock back that Steve kept the key under, which meant he probably wasn’t...running from anything.  

All the same, instead of opening the garage door, Steve coasted to a stop on the street, and pulled the nailbat out of the trunk.  As he sidled around the corner of his house, he stood on tiptoe trying to see inside, and registered the kitchen windows were open, too.  He stared at them, then snorted, tromping back around to the front door.  I need therapy, he told himself, shaking his head and grinning.  Somebody opens up the house after burning a Poptart or something, and I think there’s a serial killer on the loose.  

He was still slow and quiet coming in the front door—which was good, because Billy was kneeling backwards on the couch, leaning over the back, whispering over the phone, having a staring contest with a squirrel.

The squirrel twitched its tail, turning to stare at Steve, and Billy looked up.  “Steve’s home,” he whispered.  “Yeah.  Uh, yeah, I’ll tell him.”

Steve had stopped, his mouth twitching as he wondered whether his boyfriend was afraid of squirrels.

“You’re between it and a door,” Billy hissed, and Steve blinked at him, then rested his bat by the wall, and edged around to kneel on the couch next to Billy.  His skin had gone all goosepimply with the windows and door open, and Steve put an arm around him, kissing his neck and inhaling the smell of Billy, safe.  “Mm,” Billy nodded, listening.  “They what?  Rad.”

“Who’re you talking to?” Steve whispered, as the squirrel watched them, glancing around, then wandered over to snatch up a peanut.  There was a trail of them, Steve realized, leading to the back door, and he buried his face in Billy’s neck again, trying not to laugh aloud.  

“Will,” Billy frowned.  “He says they come in looking for salt.  You gotta get a salt lick for the squirrels, Steve.”

“I can do that,” Steve nodded, biting his lips as his lungs tried to burst into giggles.  

Billy gave him a suspicious glance.  “...it’s a Fox Squirrel, Steve.  They build treehouses to sunbathe, they weave leaves and things together—”

“Huh,” Steve nodded slowly.  “That’s pretty smart, for a squirrel.”

“Smarter than you,” Billy grunted, watching it avidly.  

The squirrel ate the peanut, staring fixedly at them, and zipped to the next in the weird strobelight motion of squirrels everywhere.  

“So,” Steve struggled to keep a straight face, “—you found a squirrel, so you called Will to ask him about squirrels.”

“We didn’t get attic squirrels in LA!  I heard something in your attic,” Billy growled.  “I couldn’t find it, so I called somebody nerdy to ask what the hell it was—”

“You lured it down here with peanuts?” Steve stared upwards, wishing he hadn’t missed Billy Hargrove placing a trail of peanuts throughout the house, and hiding around corners, lying in wait for the squirrel.  

“You didn’t want it living in here,” Billy said, glaring, and Steve couldn’t help it anymore, he started snickering.

“Okay, Cinderella,” he whispered, and Billy elbowed him in the ribs, flushing.  

“They’ll eat your walls,” he hissed.  “What’d you want me to do, shoot it?!”

“No,” Steve shook his head.  “Never, no way, not your awesome treehouse squirrel.”

The phone made a static-y noise, and Billy pressed it back to his ear.  “No, sorry, Steve’s being a—no, it’s still here.  It’s probably full.  Maybe I should’ve spaced the peanuts out more—” he bit his lip, frowning, and Steve couldn’t help it, he yanked his boyfriend half in his lap, laughing against his shoulder.

“Jesus christ, I love you,” he mumbled, feeling Billy’s skin warm.  

 They sat there for another hour, while the squirrel surveyed its new realm, and finally Steve said “I think maybe we taught it houses have peanuts.”

“Shit, yeah,” Billy mumbled, his head against Steve’s chest.  “I should go around and put some outside.”

 A week later, Steve glanced out to see his boyfriend having a smoke, crouching in the deep snow by the treeline, and he went to the window to squint out.  Billy was fiddling with something in his pockets, and Steve realized the dark little shape on the tree was a squirrel.  Billy was handing something over to its little squirrel hands, and Steve groaned, profoundly wishing for a camera, and maybe a telephoto lens.  When Billy came back in, his cheeks were flushed with cold, and Steve yanked him into a hug, asking,  “What you gonna name your new friend, Cinderella?”

Billy laughed, pushing at Steve’s shoulders, but relaxed into Steve’s grinning kisses.  He slid his freezing hands up Steve’s shirt, and Steve yelped.  “Need to get some more peanuts,” Billy told him.  “Think he has a girlfriend.  Maybe a boyfriend.”

“Can’t be sure,” Steve nodded, laughing, and leaned in again to kiss his boyfriend’s smile.

Requested by anonymous to benefit BLM!  DM me if you’re interested in Harringrove stories for a donation~details here~!

[teenytinylion]

Harringrove for BLM commission for @lissieisspacey

Greetings from Los Angeles, California

jealous shitbird?! - Billy

We wish that you guys were here, too! - Steve

P.S. I’m happy you’re not here that way I can eat out Steve all day long ;-P

Don’t write that Billy >:(

[prettyboyporter]

It Started Like This

also on ao3

for @lissieisspacey for harringrove for BLM, who wanted the story behind the cat drawn in this art by @artzeppo

1.5k | M 

It started with Steve clearing out his savings account.

He marched into the bank kind of in a daze, and before he knew it he was blinking in front of a teller and saying, I’d like to withdraw all of my money. She gave it to him, baffled, and he looked down at the stacks of bills -- the college fund that his dad had deposited that never came to fruition because no colleges would take him in addition to the tiny amount he’d managed to put in there from his Family Video earnings.

If he was in a daze before, he suddenly moved as if a meteorite would crash into the Earth if he didn’t hurry. He sped home, took the stairs two at a time, flung open two suitcases on his bed and jammed them full of clothes, a handful of pictures, the little league trophy from when he was nine, a few cassettes, and the little stuffed tiger Billy had given him last night that led to their first kiss.

He snapped them closed as soon as they were full, tossed them in the trunk, and squealed his tires as he took the corner hard toward Cherry Lane.

Neil Hargrove was outside watering his lawn when Steve came to a speeding halt in the driveway, sending gravel skittering.

“Can I help you?” Neil asked as Steve bounded up the stairs and let himself into the house.

“Nope, fuck off!” Steve shouted back over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Neil shouted but Steve didn’t hear what came next because he was already standing in Billy’s room, chest heaving, his lungs trying to catch up with the frenzy of activity.

Billy stood up from his bed and faced Steve, shock written all over his expression. “The fuck?”

Steve’s heart was banging against his sternum. He felt like he was going to pass out. “Come with me to California.”

“What?” Billy asked, a little hysterically.

“Pack a bag, Billy. Fuck it. Let’s just go. Me and you.”

Two heavy boot thumps came from Steve in Billy’s doorway. ���You’ll go nowhere with this boy,” Neil said from behind Steve’s back.

Fire flared up in Billy’s eyes -- a fire that had been missing during Billy’s strenuous ten-month recovery from Starcourt.

Last night, the first time that Steve had ever kissed Billy, Billy’s eyes were soft and warm as Steve held the little stuffed tiger that Billy had given him.

Right now, Billy’s jaw twitched, and his eyes were cold as ice. “I’ll go where the fuck I want.”

“You’ll do exactly as I-”

Steve turned around and decked Neil, and Neil went down with a loud thump. I won again, Steve thought. Dustin would be proud.

Billy stood wide-eyed, silent. Time stretched out for a few moments as Billy blinked at his father on the ground. “Fuck you Neil,” he whispered down to Neil’s unconscious body splayed on the hallway floor.

Then, he went digging under his bed and pulled out a suitcase. He started emptying the contents of his dresser into it. “See those crates over there? Start dumping shit in them.”

The crates made up part of Billy’s makeshift vanity. Steve’d always felt sad when he looked at it that Billy had to make it himself since his dad didn’t simply buy him one. He pulled apart the vanity and started filling the crates with haircare products and cologne and random items from Billy’s shelf.

They stood at the trunk of the beemer holding all of Billy’s worldly possessions. Billy paused as he looked at the beemer, then looked over at his own car. His expression hardened. “Let’s take the Camaro,” he said. “Let’s bring her home.”

Steve nodded. It made sense. He wasn’t overly-connected with the beemer in any case.

He left the keys in Dustin’s mailbox with a hastily scribbled note on a Burger King napkin.

Dustin would be 16 soon enough, and he deserved to have a good car. The whole thing felt good and right and when they pulled away, Steve wiped at tears that he hoped were inconspicuous.

They make it through Indiana, Illinois, and most of Missouri smiling, whooping, and fist pumping. They blared Metallica and Ratt and Van Halen. The Camaro felt like a roller coaster flying past corn stalks, flitting greens and fields of golden wheat. Steve stuck his hand out the window and felt the breeze flow between his fingers, free and clear.

Billy laced his fingers through Steve’s on the seat between them. They stopped and shared their second kiss after eating, still tasting of greasy burgers and Cokes with the smell of asphalt in the air.

They shared their third kiss when they spent the night at a motel, neon lights in the middle of a dark night, shining through the crack in their curtains as they slept together but kissed lazily and spooned, too tired to take it any further, too drained after a day of driving and intense emotion. Steve buried his nose in Billy’s curls.

Steve drove the next day with Billy’s hand on his thigh. They drove past more corn while Billy complained about Steve’s Lionel Richie tape laming up the aura of his car, then slept, mouth open and aviators dangling off of his ear. His curls blew around in the air from the cracked window.

Eventually the air grew warm and dry around them. Night settled. The stars appeared and the temperature dropped as Billy laid his head on Steve’s shoulder. He wasn’t asleep -- he just rambled about nothing and Steve dropped his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

“You’re good to me, pretty boy,” Billy said as he took a drag off of his smoke.

“Wouldn’t have wanted to run away and join the circus with anyone else,” Steve said. He planted a kiss on Billy’s forehead.

That night as they were bringing their suitcases into their motel room, a tiny little tabby cat brushed in past their legs, jumped up on the bed, and curled up into a ball.

“Fuckin excuse you,” Billy said to the cat. “Our bed. Skidaddle.”

The cat blinked lazily up at Billy.

“You wanna stay here you gotta pitch in for the room, gato,” Billy said as he placed his suitcase on the stand. Steve closed the door.

“Hey. That cat needs to get out. Open the door back up.”

Steve shrugged. “He looks comfy. We should let him stay.”

“How do you know it’s a he?”

“I don’t. C’mere gato!” Steve said in a high-pitched voice. The cat stood and walked to the end of the bed, raising his little grey head and closing his eyes while Steve scratched his cheeks and behind his ears, under his chin.

Gato started purring.

“I think we have a cat now,” Steve said.

“We don’t have a fucking cat, Steve.”

That night, though, Gato slept on Billy’s chest. And when Steve woke up, Billy was petting him and cooing.

When they got around to loading up the car, Gato walked out with them and jumped up into the Camaro’s back seat when Steve opened the door.

Billy looked at the cat and shook his head. “I guess we have a cat.”

They found a pet store in the phone book and Steve peeled off some of his savings account money for food, litter, a couple of bowls, and a box.

They stopped one more time at a motel. Gato curled up in Steve’s suitcase on top of his clothes while Steve tongue kissed Billy on the bed, heated, dick hard, got down between Billy’s legs, thick thighs under his hands as he sucked and sucked with Billy’s hand on the back of his head.

Billy did the same for Steve on his knees while Steve braced himself against the wall, breathless, in love, so in love, his heart bursting with it as he spilled into Billy’s mouth.

The next day the Welcome to California sign loomed ahead of them and grew larger as they approached.

Billy pulled the car off to the shoulder as they got close to it.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asked.

“Come on,” Billy said as he exited the car.

Steve looked around and couldn’t see why -- they were near the Colorado River so maybe Billy wanted to snap a Polaroid with the camera he’d purchased yesterday.

Gato got out behind Steve and started playing with the brush on the side of the road.

“Gonna carry you across the state line, baby. Here’s our future,” Billy said, gesturing up at the sign. He crouched down. “Get up on my back.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and as he started to climb up, Gato scurried up Steve’s back and got up on his shoulder. “And you accused me of being romantic.” He leaned down to kiss Billy’s cheek as Billy started walking forward with Steve and Gato on his back.

It started four days ago with Steve clearing out his savings at Hawkins National. It started there, and ended here, in California, where Billy carried them across the state line, where they found a little loft in San Diego that fit their budget, where Steve found work in a bookstore and where Billy got a job in a repair shop.

It started at the bank, and it ended in love.