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[naranha]

Steve spoting the Camaro by the quarry in any post S2 harringrove fic

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Steve's House From Hell

I'm bastardising @mcmansionhell's carefully honed craft to make fun of Steve's house from Stranger Things. If you like making fun of far more ridiculous houses and learning about architecture along the way give them a follow!

The Harrington's house is actually in Atlana. 8253 Carlton Road, Riverdale to be specific. With that in mind, lets get into the epic highs and lows of this property.

FRONT EXTERIOR

Built in 1976 when Steve was the tender age of ten, this grey hunk of bricks boasts 4 beds, 5 baths, 2 acres of land, and of course the heated pool. These photos are a mix of shots from the show and pics taken when the property was last sold in 2009.

FOYER

There isn't physically a chandelier in the Harrington's foyer but spiritually there is.

MAIN ROOM

I think Steve's Plaid RoomTM was a set built separatley from the house? Unless that balcony bit has been renovated since 2009.

POOL ADMIRATION ROOM

Why this room has two giant empty doorframes into the main room I don't know. Otherwise it's kinda cosy!

A KITCHEN

I have no idea where this kitchen is in relation to any of the other rooms.

REAR EXTERIOR

(as someone who has zero garages I may have gotten emotional here)

I hope you enjoyed this foray into all the photos I could find of Steve's dumb rich people house! Worth an estimated $421,700 today, it's nowhere near the fanciest or most ridiculous McMansion out there. Nonetheless I hope this inspires you to include it's more nonsense features in your fics.

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Bad bitches club 🤟

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the boys™

[more here]

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#homo reasons neurodivergent reasons digital artist reasons #+gender reasons #bc i feel like long nails make my hands look too femenine

[naranha]

i never consciously realized… if Billy graduated Summer of '85 like implied in canon (tho i stand by the fanon of Billy being in Nancy and Robin's grade, it's just a vibe) and he died on the 4th of July... he likely was less than a MONTH away from going off to college and finally getting to build his own life. to be himself.

if he was gonna go, he would've already committed to his school by then and that was at the forefront of his mind.

lifeguarding was probably his Summer job to get him the gas and travel money he needed to drive cross country and get back home.

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[naranha]

a summary of billy's first four days in hawkins (x)

[more here]

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“Goofy Comic Relief”

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I CAN SHARE THIS NOW FINALLY

My piece for The Stranger Things Fanzine! @strangerthingszine

Extras of the zine are being sold at strangerthingszine.bigcartel.com/ so be sure to go pick yourself up a copy if you havent already!

#SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!

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# worth a try

[naranha]

surfer boy pizza was billy's first job and argyle was one of his bffs growing up and u cant change my mind about this

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billy sketch + style practice! ✨

#billy hargrove #harringrove #billy hargrove art #very unsure working on this style but it’s fun! #no reference this is just what he looks like in my head

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back at it again with the billy hargrove memes

[more here]

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BILLY HARGROVE + Guide to Troubled Birds (insp)

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there is such a thing, steve supposes, as having seen too many monsters. after a while it gets old. you just—you get used to it.

stuff like billy hargrove, grave-muddy and swiss-cheesed and by all means not meant to be alive, fridge-illuminated in his kitchen and slurping mortadella slices like he didn’t die, like, three weeks ago, is ranking pretty low on steve’s shock scale.

‘oh,’ he says, ‘you’re alive.’

hargrove doesn’t exactly face him, but he does sort of growl in acknowledgment of steve’s existence. he also doesn’t stop the fridge raid, so. ‘jesus,’ he slurs, around a mouthful of italian sausage and what steve fears is molding lasagna leftovers, ‘curb your enthusiasm next time.’

‘next time you—come back from the dead?’

‘not my fault you hicks are grave-happy and buried me without checking for a pulse.’

‘oh, we checked,’ steve says, inching closer. three-am lasagna does sound pretty tempting. ‘you were definitely croaked.’

a visible shudder wrecks hargrove’s form. he looks—taken aback, and way too red-cheeked for a dead boy. that’s one more thing about the horrors they’ve seen. steve forgets, sometimes, how young they’re meant to be.

the fork hargrove has only been half-using clatters to the ground, makes them both jump like banshees are after them. for all they know, right? this is hawkins.

steve feels momentarily triumphant, but it immediately bleeds into guilt. how unfair is that? the asshole he traded high-school punches with saved his life, and now he can’t even gloat guilt-free. with a heavy sigh, he flips the switch. the neon cracks and fizzes and settles, falls mercilessly on hargrove’s blinded ex-corpse. he looks—well, steve’s peripherally watched enough zombie flicks by now to draw the parallels. as long as hargrove’s satiated by mr. harrington’s imported delicacies and leaves steve’s brain alone, they’re good.

he pulls two questionably clean forks out of the dishwasher, hands one to hargrove. that lasagne stopped being edible a week ago, he decides, forking a bite anyway. hargrove flinches when steve leans over his shoulder to assess the rest of the fridge’s contents, but doesn’t pull back. steve doesn’t, either.

‘how’d you get in, anyway?’

hargrove turns around, smirking. he elbow-leans on the counter, crosses a leg over another. the very picture of nonchalance, if you don’t have a clue. steve—knows better. he fights the urge to lick a thumb and wipe the mud off hargrove’s cheek, see if he’s real.

‘window was open, harrington,’ he drawls, chuckling at the way steve allows himself to get caught staring. ‘you should be more careful. never know what’s lurking in the dark.’

steve gives him a look. ‘don’t i?’ he regrets it, instantly. the shadow of shame on hargrove’s face isn’t half as satisfying as it should be, not anymore. ‘locks won’t keep the monsters out, man.’

‘would’ve kept me out, anyway,’ hargrove mumbles. he’s swapped the lasagna for his hangnails, maniacally having a go at them.

‘liar,’ steve tells him, and waits until hargrove’s insulted enough to look at him, ‘nothing would’ve kept you out.’ he gets a laugh, a real one, for his trouble. he bites his cheek and hopes this isn’t a dream.

hargrove tries, ‘your place is close to the cemetery,’ already wincing from the lie.

‘it’s really not. a for effort, though.’ steve takes the tupperwave from him, empties its contents in the trash. ‘look, are you, like, existentially opposed to a bath now? it’s just, the carpet in my room, it’s—it stains, alright? you’ll drag mud all over it, and cleaning it is a nightm—’

‘you gonna carry me to the bathtub, rich boy?’

steve—barely has time to feign offense, before a blood-crusted shirt lands on him. hargrove is standing half-naked in his kitchen. pointedly staring at his earth-stained feet. ‘don’t—don’t move,’ steve groans, ‘i’ll get you some old slippers.’

hargrove’s laugh follows him out of the room. ‘bet you were the type of brat who used to drag strays in all the time. fed them, bathed them, the works,’ he’s saying, which is unfair, and not completely untrue.

the strays usually ended up curled up in bed with him, anyway, so.