cherrydreamer - Tumblr blog

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Text

‘you going out?’

harrington’s hands falter mid-pomading. ‘something came up,’ he tells mirror-billy, sprawled on the mirror-couch. then he half-shrugs, half-smiles. his half-assed apology, which is a half more than billy’s owed. there’s nothing there to apologize about. there’s—nothing there.

billy hums, tasting bile all the way down. some days he thinks that’s all he is, this acid-want eating away at his insides, corroding his organs. he drank the poison years ago, seventeen and heartbreak-ripe, and now there’s nothing left to do but wait. harrington smiles at mirror-him, and billy feels it coursing through his veins, doing its job.

‘what’s her name?’

in the mirror, harrington hums questioningly.

‘the something,’ billy clarifies, ‘that came up.’

harrington scoffs, elated. oh, how he loves his trophies. how he loves his triumphs. ‘riley. old flame. she’s back in town for a couple nights and figured she could hit me up.’

billy gracefully decides not to point out riley’s back-in-town translates to their never-left. won’t do anyone any good, anyway. where harrington goes, billy follows. the swamp harrington’s chosen to stagnate in is big enough for two.

‘thought nance was coming over tonight.’

mirror-harrington frowns. ‘why wouldn’t she be?’

‘you’ll be back on time?’

harrington does turn around them, features finally in the right order. ‘billy,’ he drawls, with the exasperated patience of someone tasked to explain the birds and the bees to a toddler, ‘she’s up at the red roof inn, man. i’m not coming back tonight.’

‘and what am i supposed to tell your girlfriend? or do with her, for that matter.’

‘you’ll figure it out.’

billy grabs fistfuls of harrington’s fancy throw, fabric bunched inside his palms. it’s coarser than you’d think for a, quoting harrington, 25.000-rubs cover. billy’s never an idea what that means, or the will to ask.

‘i can’t waste an evening spinning tales for you, asshole. maybe i’ve got plans too.’

harrington gives him his signature come on glare, and billy wishes he would turn back around. mirror-him was reflected all-wrong, easier to deal with. ‘you don’t, though.’ there’s a tightness around harrington’s mouth, meaning the matter’s already closed for him. ‘and it’s just one night, okay? riley’ll be gone by friday and nancy will never know. no harm, no foul.’

he steps closer, stopping only when his shins bump against the couch. billy, for a second there, forgets to breathe. squirms in his seat when harrington catches the lapels of his shirt between two fingers.

‘this new?’

billy tries to tell him new clothes don’t just happen regularly to people whose last name isn’t on half the buildings of this town, but he’s too busy batting harrington’s hands away. someday it’s bound to work, he figures, pushing back, but for now his fingers end up wrapped around harrington’s wrists instead, supporting more than chasing away.

‘c’mon, off,’ harrington murmurs, first slotted button already undone, which, in billy’s case, always means the third. on his demure days. you can’t blame a guy for trying.

‘what—’ billy tries, but his loose grip means surrender, always has. ever since seventeen. harrington keeps going, undoing billy’s shirt. undoing billy. ever since seventeen, and counting. the last button’s thumbed open.

‘give,’ harrington says, and then, of course, doesn’t wait. pushes the shirt all the way off, fingers grazing the curve of billy’s shoulderbones. he’s grabbed it before it falls against the couch, shrugs it on while c-curved and towering over billy.

‘i was wearing this,’ billy says—says, not whines—but harrington’s back in front of his precious mirror, making love to himself.

‘you’re not going out tonight,’ harrington points out, smoothing out the creases. the traces of billy. ‘would be a waste. ‘sides,’ he drawls, catching billy’s eye, winking, ‘looks better on me.’

#ooooh i adore this #bby you hurt me in the best of ways #the whole 'some days he thinks that's all he is‚ this acid-want eating away...'#damn what a line what a punch what a knife to the gut ripping right on up through my heart #and this steve? this s1 king steve you write so well #with billy right around his little finger #literally stripping him #taking what he needs #what he wants #DAMN #billy undone in all the ways i love love love love it #got me holding my breath with every WORD #💋👌💋👌💋👌

117 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Text

That made me so mad, so I made it up to him by putting him in a Steve sandwich XD (the three of them are 'supervising' Max and Lucas on their date, and they're definitely gonna be sneaking away for their own fun!)

From the new Stranger Things puzzle game released today. Everyone gets a description. Erica's is "Sundae Aficionado" and one of Joyce's is "Relentless Rescuer". This is Billy's. Out of everything they could of picked. Irredeemable. That's a clear message alright.

#harringrove #making my own fun with this game #let my boy be happy!#double Steves for him to enjoy 💕

337 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Photo

For the @harringroveweek prompt “Magical Curse“ WARNING for blood and gory descriptions

The first hint that something is off is that Steve gets up one bright October morning with a headache. That in itself isn’t weird, he gets his fair share of migraines. It’s that this particular pain wakes him from increasingly restless sleep with a sensation like someone has pushed a needle through the back of his head. It’s too precise. It fades too quickly.

Keep reading

#ooooooh i LOVE this #so many cute details!#steve in his glasses #the gorgeous description of the light in the coffee shop #robin's entire look cause she is awesome #love her lesbian ghost stylist XD #and oh oh oh the mystery! how it builds!#the memories of billy linked with the pain #i was hooked!#awww i love steve's power being to help and guide people to find their potential #that's so right for him!#and billy who comes back to help him. protect him #YES #aaaaaahhh i love them coming back together like this #the realness of it #another chance for them #YES YES YES #beautiful #absolutely beautiful

118 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Text

Harringrove week day 2: The Annual Henderson’s Haunted House

Words: 1826

“I am not working a haunted house.”

“Oh come on,” Dustin pleaded, “I promise it’ll be fun!”

“Henderson,” Steve sighed heavily, “I am not, I repeat, not helping you with a haunted house when I could be out doing other things. Like- Like going to a party or something.”

“You don’t go to parties anymore,” Dustin pointed out unhelpfully, “You just sit at home or go to work.”

He folded his arms, pretending like that wasn’t true.

“I have a social life outside of you, Henderson, you just don’t see it.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, then immediately switched tack to that stupid puppy dog thing that didn’t work.

“Please Steve? Jonathan is going to be there. And Robin. So really you have to be there.”

“I’m not a good actor,” he hedged, “That’s Robin, not-”

“You don’t even have to do anything like that, just help me set it up.”

“Look-”

“I’ll give you free beer!”

Now that brings Steve to a screeching halt.

“And where are you going to get beer?”

“I have a contact.”

Steve laughed.

“A contact? What does that mean?”

“It means I can get you beer, do you want in or not?”

“I can get my own beer.”

“Free beer Steve! As much as you can drink!”

And Steve folded. Well, he told himself it was for the free beer, but really it was down to the fact that Henderson’s puppy dog face really did work on him.

So he was forced into a chair in the middle of the afternoon on Halloween, having been told to take the entire day off to “prepare” for the haunted house that night.

“Come on,” he complained as Dustin, Max, and Will started circling him like a flock of vultures, “Where’s Robin? Isn’t she in on this too?”

“Yeah, but she’s with Lucas, Mike, and El getting more stuff for the house.”

“So I’m the guinea pig?” he flinched away as Max stabbed him with an eyebrow pencil, “Ow!”

“Don’t be a baby,” Max told him, stabbing him with the pencil with far too much force, “It’s all part of the vision.”

“And what’s the vision,” he turned, coughing slightly as Will pulled out what looked like a vat of baby powder, “I’m not playing Scarface, am I?”

“My mom wouldn’t let me see that movie,” Dustin complained, attempting to put something in Steve’s hair.

Now that was a bridge too far.

“You aren’t touching my hair,” he said forcefully, “You said I wasn’t even acting. Why do I have to be dressed up?”

“We can’t have a Dawn of the Dead haunted house without zombies, Steve,” Will said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yeah,” Max was scrawling outlines of something all over his face, “It’d be the stupidest haunted house ever if you were just walking around like normal.”

“I can be intimidating,” he said feebly as Dustin started smearing makeup on his face, making him feel like one of the dolls that he used to see Holly Wheeler play with.

He was only met with laughter, which was a little insulting.

By the time kids started to arrive to the haunted house, which Mrs. Henderson had finally allowed Dustin to commandeer the entire cellar for, Steve was fully “transformed” as Dustin said.

By “transformed” it really meant that he was slathered in makeup that he was pretty sure they had stolen from the high school’s theatre, and looked less like a zombie and more like a victim of a full body bruise.

But the kids and Robin were laughing, and though he was painfully sober, Dustin swore that he would make good on his promise for free beer, and Steve was really too busy to worry about it.

First he was helping Will count off kids into the house, then he was helping them exit, then he was helping Mrs. Henderson get more candy from the store, since he was the only one who could drive, finally ending up, at Dustin’s insistence, walking through the haunted house with the youngest groups, just so they didn’t “get into trouble.”

“I’m going for a smoke,” he finally told Dustin after several hours of nonstop running around.

“You don’t smoke,” Dustin responded at once, shooing yet another group towards Will, “Come back here.”

“Not until I get my beer!” he called, already halfway across the dark yard. He leaned up against the shadow of the house, listening to the laughter and shrieks coming from down the hill, the low murmur of Mrs. Henderson and several other parents inside the house, and the crunch of someone approaching in the dark from the direction of the street.

Steve squinted against the orangey glow of the street light as the person approached him, wishing he had a cigarette just so he wouldn’t look so stupid, posted up under the eaves of the house in the dark, away from everyone else.

“Harrington?”

Oh perfect. Billy Hargrove in a leather jacket and a far too tight t shirt, hair slicked back and a grin on his face. Just what Steve wanted.

“Hargrove? What are you doing here?”

“Here to pick up Max, you seen her?”

But Steve was staring shamelessly at the way the fabric of Billy’s light blue t shirt stretched taught across the muscles of his stomach.

“King Steve, you with me?”

“Huh?” he tore his eyes away from Billy’s torso, flicking up to meet his eyes.

“Have you seen my shithead sister?” he repeated, eyes raking over Steve’s face.

“Oh, she’s in there scaring kids,” he pointed down the hill, “She’s made at least four people cry.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing smoke into the chilly fall air, “You want a beer?”

Steve watched his mouth wrap around the cigarette, feeling like his brain was moving through molasses.

“You have beer?”

“Gotta come prepared.”

Something clunked into place in Steve’s mind, and he pushed away from the house, moving towards Billy, his eyes narrowed.

“Are you Dustin’s beer contact?”

Billy stared at him, evidently confused.

“Am I what?”

“He said,” he gestured uselessly towards the cellar, where the sounds of laughter still emanated, “He said he had a contact that could get him beer.”

There was a pause, where Steve shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot, watching the cigarette burn between his fingers.

“You think I’d be the beer supplier for underage kids?”

Steve opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Now he came to think of it, it did come across as pretty shitty.

“Not it- Yeah. Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t waste my money on beer for people that won’t even enjoy it,” he said almost imperiously, leaning forward to get into Steve’s personal space.

“Yeah well,” he looked at the ground, not wanting to meet his eyes, “That’s probably a good call.”

“So do you want one or not?”

Steve’s eyes snapped to him.

“One what?”

“Come on, Harrington,” he smiled so wide and sharp it felt like he could cut glass, “You’d appreciate a beer, yeah? You look like you’ve been put through the ringer.”

Steve didn’t really know why his heart was racing like he had just run a race, but Billy’s lips were pinker than usual and he smelled like hairspray and cheap cologne.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s the theme of this thing?” Billy countered, “You look like you got the shit kicked out of you.”

“It’s zombie themed.”

“Those zombies get some good hits in?”

He snorted, pushing a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together.

“What are you even supposed to be?”

“You ever see Grease?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Robin made me watch it. It’s a girl’s movie.”

“That’s a fucking lie,” he said easily, pulling a beer out of the inside of his jacket and tossing it to Steve, “It’s good.”

“You dressed up as Danny Zuko? Is that what you’re saying to me?”

“Nah, his friend.”

“Kenickie?”

“You aren’t a fan, but you know all their names?”

He flushed, which fortunately Billy couldn’t see because of all the makeup splattered on his face.

“I have a good memory.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that’s why you remember it, baby.”

Steve felt his stomach drop to his shoes. The pet name made him squirm, made the tips of his fingers tingle with the desire to reach out and touch.

This was a sensation that wasn’t necessarily new…but it certainly had gotten worse, and it seemed to key up in intensity every time they got anywhere near each other.

“You have no proof of anything, Hargrove,” he tried to straighten up, do that thing he used to do, shoulder checking another guy in the hallway at school, because boys who do that don’t like other boys.

Which of course, all went out the window when Billy’s lips caught the light.

“Are you wearing lipgloss?” Steve asked, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure of his words.

He smiled wider.

“Just a little for the occasion, pretty boy,” he said quietly, “Why? You like it?”

Steve did like it, which was incredibly confusing, and he didn’t have the words (or the thoughts for that matter) to understand it.

“It’s…fine.”

Billy laughed, a pretty sound that cut right through Steve.

“How about that beer?”

“Yeah,” he rubbed a hand down his face, then pulled his palm back black and red and blue, makeup streaked all over his face, “Fuck, I really fucked up my look, didn’t I?”

“You did, still pretty though.”

Steve swallowed with a click. He had no idea how to respond when he talked like that. It was so…genuine, like he really felt that way.

“I- So’re you.”

Billy’s eyebrows raised just slightly, just a hint of surprise marring his face.

“You think so, do you?”

Steve didn’t know why he felt so bold, why he was talking like this, but the words were just falling out of his mouth before he could even attempt to stop them.

“I mean…I have- Eyes.”

“So you do, Harrington. Let’s get you that-”

“Steve!” Dustin’s voice cut through the tension like a hatchet, “Come on, we need you back!”

Billy’s mouth lifted in a half-smile.

“When are you done babysitting? Or working? Or whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Some might call it servitude,” he deadpanned, earning a chuckle from Billy, “Hoping not past eleven.”

“You drive here?”

“Yeah,” he said too quickly, trying to backtrack immediately, “I have to uh, take Robin home.”

“And after that?” he was in Steve’s space again, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe, “What’re you doing then?”

“Washing this makeup off,” he decided to be a little bit bold, “Maybe having a beer with someone.”

His grin was wide again.

“Hm. Seems like you might need a drinking partner then.”

“Seems like it. We can go to mine.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, pretty boy.”

#love this!#the steve and dustin banter made me laugh #so very them!#poor steve having his makeover!#love billy teasing steve too #and oooh that pet name!#their snarking turning to flirting is so very them #and so very sweet #and i could hear it all in their voices so clearly!#brilliant ficlet

78 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Photo

#this is so pretty!#i love the colours #oh billy looks so pretty in this #and steve looks just like a hero!

31 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Text

So messed up, I want you here

In my room, I want you here

Now we're gonna be face-to-face

And I'll lay right down in my favorite place

And now I wanna be your dog…

drawn for @harringroveweek xp the prompt i used was: COLLARS [lyrics from the stooges song i wanna be your dog. close-up and tags under the cut—please just let me know if you'd like adding/removing from the list]

@jesuschristt-thatsaprettyface @chrisbitchtree @marmiscient @lovebillyhargrove @edith-moonshadow @harringrovetrashh @genderfuckedslut @stevewhoreington @prettygirlsloveprettypeople777 @grey-sides @memes-saved-me @spreckle-blog-blog @ameliesroaminggnome @fawcett-hairspray-club @suometar

#OH YES YUM YES PLEASE #love the pops on colour for his make up #and that snarl!#and holy shit the nipple chains #glorious. all of this is GLORIOUS!

30 notes · View notes

cherrydreamer · 1 year

Text

Harringrove Week Day 2

Drowning is a lot different than Steve expected. There’s way more sunshine for one thing.

Not that he’s spent a lot of time thinking about how he might plausibly drown, but there were moments (drunk at the quarry, or drunk at lover’s lake moments mostly), where it seemed like a possibility. So, stone cold sober, on vacation in California is a bit of a surprise.

Not as big of a surprise as the mermaid though.

Or merman?

Or… is it a merman if he’s got legs? Legs, but also fins? Long graceful fins and dizzying whorls of colorful stripes and spots, like the exotic fish Steve saw at the aquarium in Indianapolis on a school trip when he was twelve.

It’s definitely a man that grabs him around the waist and hauls him to the surface. And it’s definitely a man that deposits him, sputtering and coughing back on his rented surf board (that probably should have come with more lessons). A distinctly fishy man.

Chest flat to the board, legs dangling in the water, Steve just clings for a minute. Trying to get his body to believe that he’s not going to die today after all, and steadfastly ignoring the bright blue eyes, with weirdly shaped pupils, starring intently at him from across the board.

Until a jet of water hits him square in the face.

“The hell? Did you just spit at me?” Steve demands looking fully at his rescuer for the first time. It’s disturbing honestly, to see a face so obviously human while simultaneously so obviously not.

Steve doesn’t know why he’s surprised when the fish man talks back, it’s no weirder than anything else that’s happened so far. “No one ever taught you manners, pretty boy? They don’t say ‘thank you for saving my life’ on dry land?” He pulls his long hair over his shoulder and twists it into a thick, blonde rope. Steve notices there’s a pointy little shell dangling from his left ear. The merman has an earing, why not.

“Sorry, Mister Merman. Just trying to process a lot of stuff all at once right now, but yeah, sure thank you.” Steve checks his knee-jerk sarcastic tone, “I mean, yeah. Thank you, actually. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Not a merman,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

“You see a tail?“ He kicks a foot up briefly above the water. His toes look webbed, but it’s definitely one of a pair, "I’m not a merman.”

“Alright, what are you then?” Steve asks skeptically.

The not-a-merman scowls at him and snarls, “A person.”

Steve fights not to roll his eyes, “Fine. We’re both people. But if I’m a human, what are you?”

“A siren.” He swings his hair back over his shoulder so it smack Steve in the face with a wet thwack.

Steve freezes halfway through trying to haul his sorry ass up on the surfboard. “Uh, don’t sirens usually, um, drown people?” Steve forces a laugh, like maybe it’s a laughable thought.

The siren flicks a translucent lid over his eyes and, Steve not sure how he knows this, but he instinctively does know, that it’s a gesture of annoyance. A fishy roll of the eyes.

“Sirens do lots of things. You know, like people do.”

Steve nods, finishes his very ungainly scramble up onto the board and straddles it. “Well, lucky for me you were around.” Steve looks down at his rescuer’s face, and it’s still alien but it’s undeniably a beautiful kind of oddness, with his strange eyes and warm, tiger stripes on the highpoints of his anatomy.

“You’re a terrible swimmer,” the siren says and any warm fuzzy feeling Steve was starting to feel evaporate. “Maybe you should practice in one of those,” he draws a little square in the air, “Artificial pools you guys build, until you get better.”

“I’m an excellent swimmer,” Steve protests, “I’m a certified lifeguard.”

“What’s that?”

“I save other people from drowning!”

He does that weird blink again, slower. It comes off as less annoyed, more sarcastic.

“I fell of the board, okay, it was very disorienting.” Steve huffs.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“Steve. My name is Steve.” He extends a hand, the siren stares at it, “Do you guys not do handshakes?”

There’s a long pause before he pulls a hand out of the water and presents it to Steve like he’s expecting a kiss on the back of his wrist. His fingers are webbed like his toes, and tipped in little, needle sharp claws. Steve grasps his hand and gives it a firm shake, “And your name is?”

“Billy,” he says, observing their joined hands like a foreign object.

Harringrove Week Day 2: Sirens, “It’s poor judgment’, said Grandpa ‘to call anything by a name. We don’t know what a hobgoblin or a vampire or a troll is. Could be lots of things. You can’t heave them into categories with labels and say they’ll act one way or another. That’d be silly. They’re people. People who do things. Yes, that’s the way to put it. People who *do* things.” - Ray Bradbury, The October Country

#this is so sweet!#i love how they're bantering already!#billy spitting at steve is SO FREAKIN' HIM!#and him mocking steve and steve getting all huffy XD #they are absolutely 100% in character!#love the shell earring detail #and steve being all 'yeah sure an earring why not'#brilliant writing!

70 notes · View notes