#90s steve

[formlessformless]

Kurt Cobain photographed by Steve Gullick - 1993

[imanisays]

[theereina]

Halle Berry photographed by Steve Schapiro (1990)

[venusimleder]

Biba, October 1998.

Ph. Steve Hiett

[pencilscratchins]

i have reached the part of the steddie hyperfixation where i make them domesticated men in their 50s. having a blast! (twitter) [ID in ALT text]

[2jihiir0]

“ going commando under those tight pink jeans.. You really are a slut, uh Stevie?”

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Full uncensored version here

[bylertruth3r]

90'S BYLER AT A RESTAURANT BAR IN THE EPILOGUE IN 1990 they're definitely already together in this scene and Jancy, Jopper and Lumax are there with them, what if we get Mike and Will drunkenly flirting with each other? What if Mike and Will live together??

DRUNK BYLER

OMG??

1987 Byler riding bikes with Holly, 1987 Byler on a field together,1987 Byler in high school together, 1989 Byler graduating together and going to college together and maybe living together, 90's Byler going to a bar together with Jancy, Lumax and Jopper,now all we need is 90's Byler at a gay bar together and dancing with each other and them kissing each other

mlvn is bones meanwhile Mike and Will are at a bar together in the 90's and still attached at the hip😭

Maybe we're gonna get 90's Byler going to college together and them living together as boyfriends in the epilogue?

Noah might be filming at the Radio Station today

90's Byler, Jancy, Lumax and Jopper all in the same place (endgame couples)🙂‍↕️

before people start saying stuff the wrap party happened yesterday

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie strangers to lovers. They meet because they commute on the same train everyday. Eddie has the NYT crossword and he does it everyday. One day after 2 months of them riding together he asks steve for his help.

Eddie’s like ‘u look smart what do u think?’ And Steve who has been told he is an idiot or stupid or dumb every day of his life is like “its just the suit I’m not good at smart stuff like that.”

And Eddie is like ‘no way I bet you can help with the sports section at least. I mean look at me, if we’re going off stereotypes I’m hopeless.” It get’s Steve to blush and he cracks and helps.

Everyday after that they do the puzzle together, Steve eventually helping outside of just the sports section so Eddie can prove to him just how smart he knows he is.

[stephengloversgf]

This picture is everything and more

[hailthedoll]

ryans laugh. stoppppppp itttttttt😭😭😭😭😭

[bangaveragewhitewine]

tender is the Friday night

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

January 1998  Friday nights used to be all about going out - dive bars and karaoke and feeling young and alive. But now, you would not wish to be anywhere other than your sofa in the suburbs.

Part of At Home with The Harringtons

Word count: 3k

Contents: Sickeningly tender casual romance with Mr & Mr H. Parental domesticity with our love birds and their two daughters. Tired parents. An adorable baby and mentions of an exploding diaper and a nosebleed (just in case those are icks for you).

Author’s Note: Well, this has been sitting (mostly finished) in my GDrive since March 2024. I hope it warms your heart on these cold January days! If you see any typos...no you didn't

A warm feeling radiates from deep within your chest as you watch the candle flame flicker and dance on the coffee table. The scent of lavender and bergamot blends with warm milk and baby lotion and the lingering scent of Friday night spaghetti. 

For the first time all day, there is no one touching you. No baby swaddled against your heart’s centre, or resting her squishy cheek against your shoulder.  No toddler tucked against your side with her curious little fingers poking and stroking at you or her sister. There’s no passing hand squeezing your shoulder or your hip, and no brushing fingers or quick kisses as you pass one child or the other over like a baton so the other can take five minutes to pee in silence or eat a snack without having to share it.

Instead, right now, you are cradled by the soft squish of the sofa beneath you. Untouched. Missing it. 

The dancing flame is eclipsed and you are snapped back into consciousness, back into the room where your husband treads across the rug in slow steps on socked feet, gently patting the baby’s back as she fights valiantly against the dragging need for sleep. He is still in his work shirt and slacks - the sleeves are rolled and creased, and there’s a spaghetti sauce stain that is a problem for tomorrow. Steve’s eyes are tired behind his glasses, but you think he might be the most handsome thing you have ever seen.

Ava’s huge eyes peek at you over the breadth of Steve’s shoulder, like a tiny tired marsupial. Despite her Dad’s warm tapping fingers, she’s holding back a burp to eke out just a little more time before bed.

You get it. You do the same thing, resisting the urge to close your eyes and say good night to Steve. You always want one more minute with him, one more kiss. 

Steve gets it too. One more thing to tell you, one more ‘love you’, his voice sleep-slurred. 

“C’mon, bubba. I know it’s there,” Steve’s voice is low and quiet as he kisses Ava’s head. He nuzzles against her silk soft baby hair and you watch his own eyes blink in that same sleepy way.

“Want me to try?” 

Your voice makes his eyes pop open again. Steve pushes his bone-deep tiredness behind a little smile as he adjusts Ava and the muslin cloth to his other shoulder. 

“Mm-mm, I got it.” 

It takes a few more minutes before his coaxing and patting pays off and Steve tells the baby how wonderful she is as he wipes her milky mouth. Ava looks so small still in his arms, a tiny thing in the strong and steady cradle of her Dad’s arms. She has given up the fight to stay awake and your heart pangs already for the newborn she was a few weeks ago. 

Steve dips down slowly on cracking knees so that you can kiss her good night before he brings her up to bed. 

That intoxicating baby smell makes your chest flutter as you brush a tiny kiss on her cheek. It will only be a few hours before she is awake again, needing to be changed and fed and soothed. Despite how wrung-out you feel, your heart yearns for the way Ava gazes up at you during her feeds; her eyes can focus a little more now, and her smiles are plentiful for her favourite people. 

“Goodnight, sweet girl. Love you.” 

Steve ignores the pulling ache in his lower back so you can dole out a few more butterfly kisses. He is rewarded with his own lingering cheek kiss; you nuzzle the stubble there and tell him to go on up before you ruin her sleep schedule with your massive affections or consume her whole because she is simply so delicious. 

He talks to sleeping Ava quietly as he ascends the stairs, his voice getting further away and more quiet until it picks up on the baby monitor.

“How ‘bout it, kid? You sleep really good tonight so Mama and I can not be zombies tomorrow? S’a no brainer to me, sweetpea. We’ll be way more fun tomorrow if we get a little more sleep. Promise you.” 

You listen, feeling full-hearted as you try not to melt into the couch and you vow to get up in just a minute to fetch him a well-deserved beer and something from your candy stash. It was a beyond-deserved treat after a long week of work and a full evening of Beth not wanting him to be out of her sight, wanting to always hold his hand or be held by him in this new bout of separation anxiety that had come with big-sisterhood. Beth missed him terribly when he was not there - a heartache you knew all too well. 

It stung too when she wanted him instead of you; when her face fell a little when she looked around or called for him and Steve was not there, when she was stuck with second best again (at least that is how it felt some days). You had all been totally spoiled during his paternity leave, which bled into winter break at Steve’s school. And then January came and Steve returned to work (with a heart full of reluctance and dread), and you had evenings and weekends to get you through the dark winter days. 

Over the baby monitor you hear Steve’s foot on the squeaky floorboard and the barest hint of the breath he holds as he waits and watches to see if Ava will wake. You smile, seeing it all play out in your mind's eye as he backs slowly out to check on Beth before grabbing the quickest shower and changing out of his work clothes hours after returning home. Finally, finally, he is on his way to you and you don’t have to share.  

As he washes the school day off, you make yourself get up so you do not succumb to sleepiness. You could follow him up, sit on the toilet lid and talk through the curtain of steam, or get distracted gazing at the sleeping girls when you could be gathering laundry. After a once around the kitchen, tidying the detritus of another day, you return to the sofa with a cold beer for Steve, a peppermint tea for yourself and two packs of Reese’s Crunchy Cookie Cups to satiate the post-dinner sugar craving. The couch cradles you once more and you hear Steve’s steady tread on the stairs. Perfect timing. 

Steve’s tired smile, when he skids into the living room in his socks, reminds you of the golden glow of the setting sun. 

“Hi.” 

He is nearly breathless after his change into clean sweats, speedy so that he can melt into the sofa and into you without waiting another moment. Steve is greedy for his time with you, that peaceful pocket of you that he does not need to share. His hair is a damp riot after tugging his hoodie on, towel-dry and tangles combed out, and his glasses are slightly skewed on his face. You are besotted with him.

“Hi.” 

Your arms open wide for him and Steve thinks that this must be how sailors felt after months at sea. He lays his body mostly on top of yours, making you breathless and giggly as he noses at your neck; he is shower-warm with the clean scent of his shower gel. A small voice in your head reminds you that you are still un-showered, contaminating him, but when Steve kisses from your pulse point all the way up to your lips, that thought easily ignored. You hold him to you, winding your arms and legs with him so that he never ever can leave. 

“Missed you.” His voice is warm and tickling and so tender. He kisses your laughter away before pulling back just enough to look at you. ��Did you get more beautiful today? Damn…”

You had not felt particularly beautiful today but under Steve’s toasty gaze, you feel like a precious gem. 

“I think I have oatmeal in my hair since this morning and I put on deodorant three times.” Your fingers find their home in Steve’s thick hair, sliding and pressing against his scalp. “That really does it for you, huh?” 

You watch him melt a little and he smiles up at you, nodding minutely. “Oh yeah. You have spit-up on your sleeve too. That’s hot, babe.”

Tired eyes roll as Steve rests his head on you again, guided down to rest by your gentle hand. This was dangerous territory, getting comfortable like this when you were both totally wiped of energy. More than once, you had both dozed off just like this and woke to a crying baby or toddler with little time to nurse your sore neck or dead arm. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me yet,” you murmur, wobbling Steve’s head gently. “Barely seen you.” 

His closed eyes open slowly and he rubs his face before slapping his own cheek. “M’awake. Promise.” 

Steve moves enough to reach his beer on the coffee table, chugs a third of it and settles down on you again, careful not to rest too heavy on your tender chest. 

“Missed you today, Mrs H.” 

He had called you from work on his lunch break, needed to hear your voice after a particularly challenging morning of check-in appointments and lesson plans with the kids who needed his help and meetings with concerned parents. 

“Missed you more, handsome.”

Your call had been cut off by an explosive diaper and the tears that ensued (Ava's from her discomfort, Beth’s because she did not get to speak to Dada, yours because everything felt utterly overwhelming). By the time you could call him back - once everyone had calmed down and there were smiles all ‘round - Steve had a kid with a nosebleed to deal with and you left him a voicemail (mainly of Beth) for when he got back to his cellphone. He had listened to it three times before launching into the final furlong of the school day before the bell signalled freedom for the weekend. 

“Shitty day?” you ask, knowing already that it was. You had asked earlier how Steve’s day was and he had sighed and brushed it off, took the distraction of Beth wanting uppies so she could put a clip in his hair instead of releasing that pressure valve that had been tight and tense all day. 

“Yeah. Fridays aren’t supposed to be crazy.” Your sweater muffles his voice as he rubs his cheek against washed-soft cotton, one of your daughter’s comfort tics, a tell of tiredness even when she insists that she is no tired, Mama!

“M’sorry, big guy.” You kiss his head, closing your eyes as you pour all of the love you have for him into the crown of his head. 

Steve feels that love, the warm wash of adoration and goodness that spills forth from you, and he soaks it up. 

“S’just hard some days. I try to make a difference and just when you get somewhere with a kid before the winter break, they come back to school and whatever’s going on at home has pushed them back like four steps.” 

He cares so much, and it makes you heartache to see how frustrating his work can be and how frustrated he gets when it all feels futile. 

You trace swirling patterns on his back “Those kids are lucky to have you, Stevie. You’re always on their side. M’sorry it was a hard day.”

Steve rests his chin carefully on the shelf of your breasts, smiles softly. “Thank you,” his voice is quiet. You never brush off his frustrations, his moods. You listen and Steve knows you see him, all of him. You never placate or pander, and you are never afraid to try to talk him around or be a little bit blunt when he’s being thick-headed.

“You had a hard day too,” Steve says after a moment. “I can tell.”

You shrug a little, as much as you can with your human blanket weighing you into the sofa (you have not felt so comfortable all day). “There were hard bits, but it wasn’t bad. Beth was kinda clingy, and then when Ava was down she didn’t want me at all.”

There is an almost imperceptible wobble in your voice, but Steve hears it and holds you tighter. 

“She was really helpful with Ave though. Super big sister,” you promise. “Just a few tricky parts.” 

You do not say how much you missed him, how much Beth missed him and how, without his magic touch, it had been hard to work the rattling gas from Ava’s milk-filled belly. He knows, and it kills him. He missed you too, and he missed Beth’s clever chatter and Ava’s gurgling and gassy smiles.

Both content to sit in silence, you are too tired to reach for the remote and choose something to watch (or ignore), comfortable to just listen to the sound of breathing over the baby monitor and the crackle of your burning candle. 

Steve lifts his head after a few minutes, a dreamy smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes. “Remember when we used to go out on Fridays?” 

As if you could forget. When you first got together, your Friday nights were spent bar hopping or holed up in a booth in your favourite dive until the need to do karaoke pulled you out onto the streets singing What’s Up and Achy Breaky Heart. Dancing in sweaty clubs to Rhythm Is a Dancer and hosting dinner parties in your apartment which often ended up with a late-hour idea to go out again, or at least venture out to get more wine and beer from the shop on the corner. 

A face-aching smile spreads across your face. “Remember when Corroded played that gig at Lounge Ax? The metal night?” Steve’s face tells you he will never ever forget it.  “Nance and I ran that merch table like marines.” Your voice is giggle-filled, remembering the all-hands-on-deck weekend when Eddie’s band got a headline spot and he almost puked from nerves and a pre-show shot of whiskey.

“You were the hottest roadie ever,” you tease, squeezing his bicep. 

There is an album of pictures in the photo trunk, a mix of your own snaps and Jonathan’s professional shots. If you were not so comfy, you would make Steve haul it out. But for now, in your comfy state, you are content with the memories.

“Two words.” Steve’s laughing now, body shaking as he tries to hold it in. He keeps his eyes on you to see your reaction. “Frozen daiquiris.”

Immediately you are brought back to the summer of ‘92 when you and Robin overdid it on fajitas and homemade frozen cocktails in the tiny kitchen of your apartment near Logan Square. You had truly never felt worse.

“Don’t, I’ll puke.” You shudder at the thought of artificial strawberry and white rum, of dancing on the coffee table to Baby Got Back and crying when the pizza place forgot the mozzarella sticks with your takeout order. 

Steve muffles his laughter, hoping not to wake the sleeping girls upstairs. 

The urge to get him back becomes too good to resist. “Okay, Mr Flaming Sambucca, simmer down.”

His laughter turns to a groan and he hides his face against your chest. “Nooo. Don’t even go there.”

You dissolve into laughter with him, sharing little memories of Friday nights past. Of making far too many fajitas for a Mexican-themed dinner party and accidentally crashing someone’s wedding photos at Navy Pier. There were quiet nights to balance the crazy ones; date nights with just you and Steve, when he took you to your first Cubs game and you were spotlighted on the KissCam, and a night out in a far-too-fancy wine bar that left you hungry for greasy burgers and fries in your nice clothes on the way home. Nights like this one too when you lay together on a too-small sofa, too zapped of energy after the work week to go out again or socialise, when being quiet with each other was exactly what you needed. 

Cheeks warm and abdominals aching, you feel lighter and brighter than you have in days. Remembering the past has been like a factory reset, reminiscing rather than planning grocery lists and washing baby vests, or worrying about who will look after the kids once your maternity leave ends, if you can afford unpaid leave. Thinking about those two twenty-somethings who found each other while finding their way in the world, instead of numbing your brain with reruns or falling asleep before 8pm, was exactly what you needed.

“Are we boring now? Boring parents?” you ask as you wind a strand of honey brown around your finger.

“Mm, maybe. I dunno, I think we’re still fun.” Steve smiles up at you, his eyes are warm and brighter than they have been in days behind his glasses. “Wouldn’t change this for anything.”

There’s a wave of adoration that washes over you, warming you to the bone and you squish Steve as hard as you can. 

“Even for one more karaoke night in McCalls?” you ask, dropping kisses along his hairline. The dive had closed not long after you moved to the suburbs, and Robin tried to insist that your move was the reason it shut.

He shakes his head minutely, leans closer to catch your lips in a sweet little kiss. “Mm-mm, even that. A full night of sleep would be nice, but no. M’happy.”

You smile against his lips, savouring the feeling of his lips and the hoppy tint of beer that lingers long after the bottle has been drained. 

“I like being boring with you.”

Steve lights up the same way Beth does when she’s giggly-happy, with the same pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. “I don’t want to be boring with anyone else.”

Thank you for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are cherished and adored!

[cossiemoss]

Bruce and Logan explaining to the team how throwing Wolverine at the enemy team is the best and only plan, and they don't need another healer.

[starthecozy]

WIP of Eddie roller skating (companion for this one)

[chippedshake]

latino!steve randle who tries his best to suppress any instinct to speak spanish because his mom left him when he was ten; why should he honour her by speaking her language?

and he hates that he can’t suppress the way spanish music on the radio reminds him of home

he hates that when he gets mad the first words that come to mind are the same ones his mother screamed as she walked out the door for the last time

he hates that calling soda "cielo" and "mi amor" is as natural as breathing while "darling" and "love" feel clunky in his mouth

he hates that the shepards feel inherently more trustworthy and safe than they really are just because steve's the only one who can understand their banter

but as much as he hates it, he hates all of it, he can't make it go away.

and then there's two-bit, who still curses his father out in italian five years after he's run off

and there's ponyboy, who uses his first earnings to sign up for a spanish class so he can talk to steve

and there's darry, who starts spending more time with tim and now says "mierda" instead of "shit" when he burns his hand while cooking

and there's johnny, who doesn't say much but listens, and doesn't say a word about steve switching languages mid-sentence

and there's dally, who imitates motors by rolling his 'r's, something he learned from steve himself

and then there's soda

soda who was never any good at school but pays attention in spanish class because he wants to have a secret language with his best friend

soda who can hardly string two words together, but he tries, and in ninth grade he asks steve if he wants to walk home together in spanish

soda whose brown doe eyes practically turn to hearts when he manages to coax steve into saying a couple sentences in spanish

soda who bribes curly shepard with a pack of cigarettes into teaching him common terms of endearment only to find out half of them were insults

soda who doesn't say "i love you" but "te quiero", whispered into the buzzing silence of their new apartment

and all of that doesn't make steve stop remembering his mother every time cesar costa comes up on the radio, but it helps. he can't erase memories, no one can, but he can add more. he can dilute the rotten bits of the past with the overwhelming care from his friends.

maybe one day hearing a 'kh' will make him think of long shifts at the dx, helping soda with his homework, instead of "hijo de puta" and a slam of the door.

[venusimleder]

Elle US, September 1999.

Ph. Steve Hiett

[2jihiir0]

circa 1996, somewhere in Chicago 🖤

Eddie just got out of prison and Steve hasn’t heard about him since the events of 86 ..