#happy birthday ish

[birdhand-art]

He was the handsomest guy ever and I miss him more every day <3 finally got his likeness down the way i've always wanted to

Sweet dreams, Merlin

[iamenits]

Screenshots of McCoy smiling (and a few where he isn't) from every Star Trek episode in production order.

[hitlikehammers]

Kas!Eddie versus the Upside Down Steve Harrington

(it's still steddie though don't worry)

The plan was to send him through the cracks remaining around the gates, and simply let the beast in him, in this new resurrected version of him, do what it was bred for.

The flaw in the plan was believing that this creature was a novelty; that there wasn’t a beast inside Eddie Munson long before the bats had picked him clean.

It left certain things—little things, nothing so vital as to truly override his commands—but it left the man who was Eddie Munson certain capacities to control. Mostly idle ones, inane memories of being himself. He thinks it’s worse, that way.

Like how he remembers grabbing Steve’s arm in the woods, not knowing why, what his next move was going to be but his heart hand been pounding—so human, a scathing voice echoes in him now, taunting; patronizing—but he’d pulled hard enough to draw Steve’s bare and bandage chest to his only to freeze when their lips brushed entirely by accident and Steve had spoken without moving back an inch:

Later. Let’s make him pay first, then we’ll have time.

And Eddie had half-gasped on weak lungs: Im gonna hold you to that, baby, wholly missing salacious and sticking on squeaky-breathless with his tone, knowing he didn’t have the balls to follow through, if they managed to crawl out alive.

But it is why his parting words were what they were. Make him pay.

A coward’s way out to beg it: give us the chance in the after.

And Steve’s eyes had widened, dilated even in the dark and he’d nodded. He’d agreed. There was a future for them worth fighting for and—

Eddie remembers these things.

The beast in him, that’s he’s become more than any other thing, the creature whose master reference to ask Kas: that beast laughs.

The beats Eddie’s always carried in his chest, for all the wrong and hurts he’s already survived: those beasts long desperately to tear this Kas-thing to shreds.

But the Kas-beast holds the reins; the other beasts can seem to wrangle them free.

Which is how he ends up at this house. This window sill. Slithering up the siding to crawl inside.

His landing could be silent; Kas has the capacity. And the deed could be done instantaneously—Kas could do that but won’t.

Eddie’s beasts, and the heart with wishes beyond merely housing dragons; Eddie makes his landing hard, to draw attention.

The Kas-beast growls and vows a slow and painful show.

Eddie steels himself inside himself, bites at his tongue and hates that the taste feeds Kas as it repulses all that Eddie still is—bur Kas’s promises mean time.

More time. More time to try and grasp some control, some capacity to fail and not, not—

“Eddie?”

Eddie snaps his attention, turns toward the voice: he’d made noise to wake his prey on purpose.

He hadn’t expected even Steve Harrington to be so skilled as to know his shape even so altered, what’s left of the face of him under every scar and shift—impossible.

But Eddie’s breath catches anyway.

Weakness. Failure. He means nothing. Why hesitate, cretin? Atta—

“Eddie,” and Steve’s standing, his full height still matched to Eddie’s own, the Kas-beast had transformed his shape but he doesn’t tower, even if he’s broader—he’s built for speed now. An efficient tool, the Kas-beast was called by its master.

Eddie, for whatever he’s worth, for whatever what’s left of him could possibly be worth: Eddie shudders, feels sick when he hears that voice. Knows the touch of those vine-wrinkled fingers tracing his face and—

“Fuck, god,” and the hands on Eddie’s face—whole hands, warm and unhesitating, tracing his cheeks, testing his pulse where is slower, deeper, thunder-like except now it’s a tempest, like two different creatuely muscle vying against themselves inside one chest because Eddie’s human heart’s racing, Steve is touching him, is eyeing him like a muscle and it’s heady hit horrific Bevause Eddie didn’t come alone.

And the beast in control has no attachments; shows no mercy.

“I’d,” Steve blinks, when he moves his hand from Eddie’s neck back to his face, framing in both splayed palms but Eddie still whines at the loss of the feeling of a delicate touch at his throat—it comes out as a growl, menacing, and a piece of him wants only to cower inside himself; from himself.

Steve, though. Steve doesn’t even fucking flinch.

“I thought, Eddie, I couldn’t have even hoped, you were so,” and oh, oh, Steve almost looks like he’s going to tear up, he looks flat out fucking overwhelmed and Eddie wants to reach, he wants to reach out and hold but his hands are indelicate, and the claws—

“Are you in pain?”

Of course Steve sees the way he grimaces, the war inside him to reach but no, no because it will tear through flesh like paper and then the voice, ehe thunderous tattoo building reach, reach, end him—

You have your orders.

“Steve.”

Eddie realizes he hadn’t really bothered to try his voice above ground, hadn’t paid attention below. He should have. He sounds ragged, half gravel and half bat-screech.

Steve stills, then, but doesn’t back away. Doesn’t move his own hands from Eddie’s face. His own face softening, like, like…

Maybe he didn’t expect his first name, versus his last name. Maybe he didn’t expect Eddie’s voice at all, nevermind bastardized like this. Maybe he…didn’t expect Eddie to remember his name at all, maybe he sees the changes, maybe he...

Whatever he sees. He can’t possibly…understand.

“I’ve come to kill you.”

Eddie thinks he means it to come out pleading. The beast that’s not him wants it somewhere between a threat and a promise.

It ultimately lands flat. Almost tired.

Steve just tilts his head, the gorgeous moron.

“That’s what you’ve decided?” Steve runs a thumb across Eddie’s scared cheekbone; “or that’s what you were told?”

Eddie stills. Screams in his own mind. The Kas-beast snarls; writhes, howls.

“So much to tell you, now,” Steve leans closer, runs a thumb along Eddie’s lower lip, exposes the fangs Eddie knows are pointing lethal from the top; “so much, baby, we—“

Eddie’s hands move without his own conscious choosing; yet he Kas-beast doesn’t even seem to know what the body they share is aiming on doing as it pushes Steve into the nearest surface: the bed, folding Steve at the knees back onto the mattress and falling to straddle his hips, the claws drawing red lines on Steve’s skin, the glow of it almost precious, the dotting of stars Eddie can’t see down below; the temptation of it delicious, the beasts in him all ravenous, his own and the interloper alike just…

Different kinds of ravenous as Steve’s chest rises and falls beneath him.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie whispers, sandpaper over ice, like the low pitch will hide the words from the enemy; “but he will end me if I come back without your head.”

Which ‘he’ Eddie means isn’t clear, even to himself. Which enemy is uncertain.

But Steve’s cheat just rises, falls. He doesn’t pull away from the dig of claws into the skin of his arms, the gloves of his shoulders—leans into it further, in fact. Like he wants Eddie to break, and the beast that isn’t his to win out, to fulfill its mission, its purpose but how could he? He can’t want to die—

The human heart left in Eddie’s chest skips: Steve did throw himself to danger. In the stories Eddie barely believed before and in the flesh of it all, here and now. What if, what if—

“Oh darling,” Steve coos, and it’s not, it’s not blind to the danger, or the horror. His hand reaches back to the spaces Eddie knows his wings burst free from in agony and traces the scarred-up lines: “you half-died there weeks ago,” and none of it, he realizes, sounds lamenting. Or hesitant.

It’s almost…patronizing.

Steve blinks, and his eyes don’t darken like Eddie’s ever seen before; his voice pitches in a way that forgoes what’s left of Eddie and speaks straight to the foreign beast:

“I’ve learned what it means,” Steve, or, or: maybe the beast that lives in Steve Harrington, that maybe always did, that’s piquing something in the Kas-creature for its timbre, something that makes it draw back for the first time. That scares it, in a way Eddie can’t be quite scared, not by Steve and yet he’s trembling anyway, and the Kas-creature isn’t even vying for the blood beading where Eddie’s new-grown claws dig into Steve’s flesh—whatever is dark in Steve’s eyes, sharper than usual in his features, and glistening when the kids of his gaze close the wrong fucking way, blink side-to-side as Steve seems to sense it, like whatever’s in him seeks to snuff out the Kas-creature for Eddie’s sake like protection, almost possessive even but beyond that like it’s sough out less as a threat and more like a nuisance as Steve bares his teeth and Eddie’s still straddling him, but he feels no sense of control, of power, here, as Steve circles a vice grip on Eddie’s wrists, their own sharp edges more like a firm caress somehow before Steve hisses again:

“I’ve learned what it means to live there,” and he sneers, and Eddie feels almost wholly himself, almost his human heart alone threatening to burst for the way it pounds when Steve’s teeth reveal themselves like the mouth of a whale, the soft sifting parts just razor sharp behind Steve’s lips.

And it really just feels like Eddie, then, above Steve but wholly at the mercy of him and his beasts alone, and maybe they were some of what Steve had said he’d wanted to tell him—so much baby, so much to tell you now—as Steve blinks wrong again and snarls, like life stripped raw:

“For years.”

🖤

For @medusapelagia, who requested 'Dark AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here

[iloveacronix]

You guys won't guess whose birthday it is today

Mine AND it's also @geoxstxrs birthday!!!! Make sure to say happy birthday to him as well, HAPPY BIRTHDAY GEO!!! ^^

[sometimesanartdragon]

[thatoneluckybee]

Unfriendly (yet lighthearted) reminder that if we consider Your Turn to Die to take place in 2017, Shin Tsukimi is likely turning 28 or 29 years old the strange man is almost in his 30s God Bless

[strayheartless]

🎶Prompto headcanons!🎶:

Secret boy genius? Secret boy genius. Prompto is an incredible marksman. His mathematical ability is off the charts. He’s never actually failed a piece of homework and thus Noctis has never failed a piece of homework. Prompto does, however, have the worlds worst imposter syndrome so he downplays his ability so much that people think he’s slightly dim.

He went through a phase of aggressively straightening his hair and dowsing it in hairspray to make it sit flat. Humidity has always been his worst enemy.

He had a small crush on Ignis for a while. Noctis is the only one who knows and has ribbed him mercilessly for it. Now that crush is a hero worship fuelled by professional admiration and a general like of being fed good food.

His favorite colour is yellow and the very specific shade of blue that is Noctis’ eyes. That second one is a secret.

He is surprisingly neat. After living alone for so long he’s pretty clued in about domestic tasks like steam cleaning carpets and scrubbing grout. Living on the road, he is usually the one who straightens the tent out or does a cursory straighten up of whatever motel/ hotel room they are in.

Prompto is a formidable air guitar champion. He prides himself on his prouesse in making it look like he actually knows how to play guitar. It took a lot of staring at moogtube videos and practising in the bedroom mirror.

He loves the idea of having kids of his own but has no idea how to actually deal with kids. He does get there eventually but there’s always that awkward ten minute period where he’s wondering “is it too soon to offer to teach them blackjack?”

He has a lot of random photos of Noct on his camera and and his phone. Some stupid and blurred, some of them candid and beautiful. Some of them he’s specifically made Noctis pose for. His highschool photography project hinged on putting Noctis in the royal pond in a floaty elvish type black robe and almost giving Noct hypothermia. It was worth it for the “Ophelia of the lake” style shots he got of him.

He likes Chocobo’s better than people. And he and umbra “understand eachother in a spiritual level”. Noct says he’s full of shit. Prompto says Noct is just jealous of their connection. The fact that Carbuncle is ALSO very fond of Prompto is just the icing on the cake really

[wegettinsillyhere]

13 going on like 31 today I love you Amy Rose <3333

don't mind sonic there I didnt want amy to be alone on her special day so here's her bestie with her ((( This totally isn't because I can't draw Metal sonic )))

[partiallypearl]

There was this campfire you see. You and me. I was in a faraway place. There was a million stars in the sky. 

happy birthday @relentlessescapism!! i love you so much, and it's crazy to me that we've been friends for almost a year. it's you and i babe <3

[soutsuji]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TSUJIMURA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

More versions under the cut

[artstantpansies]

hbd hazza and all that

every so often The Horrors lodge themselves in my brain and won't let me rest until i've drawn Blue Jay Way George Harrison. so here he is

[edupunkn00b]

Spaced

WC: 1416 - Rated: T - CW: mild swearing, minor angst, happy ending

Happy Birthday, Roman. The moment I saw the video explaining Roman's birthday celebration would be late, I couldn't get this out of my head, so, here we go…

Illuminated only by the fairy lights draped along his walls, and the dull blue glow of his phone screen, Roman sat up in bed and scrolled through Thomas’ mentions. 

No big deal, just going feral…

Dayum, the LACE! Those HEELS!

Not to be a lesbian but…

Logan is the HOTTEST side, hands down!

Growling, Roman flung his phone across the room. Lucas popped up and caught it in one hand just before it hit the wall. “Temper, temper, my Prince,” he tutted before launching the phone up into the air and smashing it with his baseball bat. “You could break your phone like that.”

Roman conjured a new device and let his head fall back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. If he didn’t look at him, maybe he would just leave.

It didn’t work. 

“Get out,” he said, listless. Roman had burned up all his rage on throwing the phone and now he just felt… tired.

“That’s it?” Lucas chuckled. Glass crunched underfoot as he stepped closer to the bed. “Where’d that fire go?”

“Catharsis.”

Laughing, Lucas tapped his bat against his orange Doc Martens, knocking away bits of glass and shattered plastic from the chipped and dented wood. Roman glared at him. “Why are you here?” 

He scooped up a handful of the glittery remains of Roman’s phone from the floor. “Do you really have to ask? Or do you just enjoy stupid questions?”

Eyes fixed on his new phone, Roman did his best to pretend Lucas didn’t exist. Switching apps, he scrolled through his history until he found today’s video.

“…This month has been wild and I’ve just been so focused on the Logan skirt photoshoot that I’ve been working on… I completely forgot there were Sides birthdays comin’ up this month…”

Roman’s thumb hovered over Thomas’ face on the screen, ready to pause but knowing that wouldn’t stop the next words from coming. Wouldn’t stop them from playing on a loop in his head as they had for the past four hours.

“…Hopefully it’ll come out the week after? I’m working on it… I completely spaced.”

Three brief knocks broke his concentration and his phone fell to his lap. Roman looked up to where Lucas had stood, but he and the destruction he’d caused was gone. Three more knocks. “Roman?” Logan’s voice outside the room was low, but modulated to be heard through the door. “Roman, I wanted to apologize.”

“What for?” he asked, filling the air as he moved to the door.

“I am in charge of the schedule,” he said, voice clipped. “I should have alerted Thomas to the tight timeline and predicted that—”

“It’s fine, Specs,” Roman muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sash. “I don’t blame you.”

“Lies, lies, lies, lies, lies…” Janus sang quietly, close enough his breath ruffled Roman’s bangs.

“Don’t you ever knock?” he hissed back, adjusting his hair.

“Now why would I do that?” Janus arranged himself on Roman’s chaise, legs crossed and one arm draped over the backrest. “When I can simply make myself at home.” Roman stepped closer, prepared to tip the Lord of the Lies right out of his seat.

“Roman?” Logan was still outside his door. Could he hear Snakeface?

Roman shook his head and let out a slow breath before approaching the door again. “Truly, Logan, we have the birthday video planned for the day after tomorrow. You made sure of it. Ultimately it was Thomas’ choice. I am fine—“

“Oh, sweet, sweet lies…” 

Roman shot Janus a look, jaw clenched, but he kept his voice even and calm. “And I will be down momentarily. I’m nearly done with this script.”

Janus shrugged and disappeared.

“Very well.” Logan was either mollified or else he correctly determined further argument would get him nowhere. “We’ll see you shortly, then.”

One hand pressed to the door, Roman listened to the retreat of Logan’s footsteps down the hall.

“I thought he’d never leave!” Remus cackled from behind him.

Roman spun around. Remus lay sprawled on his bed, head hanging off the side, a series of red and purple splotches running over his neck and down his chest.

“Your hickeys are showing.” Roman rolled his eyes and sat at his vanity. “Here,” he said, offering a golden compact and a beauty blender. “This tone suits you. Cover up.”

“Why would I want that?” he laughed, shoving the compact back at him. “Everyone downstairs will understand how I ended up with these.” Remus locked eyes with his reflection. “Today the whole world saw how hot our Nerdy Wolverine really is.”

Avoiding his brother’s gaze, Roman opened the compact and dabbed at the shadows under his eyes.

“Or didn’t you notice?” Remus added, chin propped up on his fists and kicking his feet.

“Of course I noticed!” Giving up on his makeup, Roman snapped the compact shut and stomped over to his bed. “He looks amazing but that’s not the point! This is the beginning of June and tomorrow’s my—“ Roman’s voice cracked and he plopped down on his bed, hiding his face against the cool satin duvet.

“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere…” Remus purred, inching closer and tilting Roman’s face so he wouldn’t smother himself in the plush bedding. He tapped his brother’s temple. “I could hear you all the way from my room.”

“Apparently so could Janus,” he mumbled.

“Hey,” Remus laughed. “At least you weren’t feeling murderous enough that Lucas could—“

Roman heaved a sigh and flipped over onto his back. “He was here, too.”

“Pretty fly for a Light guy.” When Roman merely shrugged and closed his eyes, Remus snaked too-long nails through his hair, like a bonobo searching for lice.

Roman shuddered. Remus would just as likely put lice in his hair just to pick them out again. “You know Tommy-gun admitted to forgetting both of our birthdays,” Remus sing-songed.

“Yes, I know,” he breathed. “You’re right.” Roman opened his eyes just in time to catch his brother’s frown. Just before he plastered his face in another manic grin. “But he has time to do something proper for your birthday.”

“You know he’ll make it up to you,” Remus said, more serious than Roman would’ve expected. “Jannie wasn’t lying. You’ll always be his hero.”

“I know,” Roman muttered, nearly believing it.

“Do you need me to go get Jannie?”

“No!” he said, louder than he intended. “No, I mean…” Roman shook his head, out of words. Out of any words worthy of a prince, at least. Laying back, hands folded over his belly, he let Remus pick at his hair and they both fell quiet. Quiet enough for the sounds of the others preparing an impromptu party for Logan to filter through the gap between his door and the hallway.

Sudden laughter rang out from downstairs. Logan’s laughter. The brothers’ eyes darted to the door in perfect unison.

“Now when was the last time you heard that?” Remus murmured.

Roman sighed. It’d been far too long. “I don’t remember, actually.” He sighed again and turned to his side, head pillowed on his brother’s knee. “I know I can’t begrudge him this celebration.”

“Well, you could,” Remus drawled, scratching his head.

“I’d be a real dick if I did.”

“Ah! Language!” Remus scolded, tone serious. But when Roman looked up, his brother was grinning. “You know what’ll make ya feel better?”

“What?” Roman tried not to smile but Remus’ grin was infectious.

“LIke pus,” he winked, reading his mind. “A little tromp through my side of the Imagination will turn that frown upside down. Slaughter some slimy demon spawn?” He wiggled his eyebrows and conjured his morningstar. “I’ll even let ya borrow Lucie…”

Roman narrowed his eyes to hide his excitement. It had been a long time since he’d let loose in the Imagination. Nearly as long since the last time Logan himself had let loose.

The voices in the living room grew louder and two sets of footsteps skipped up the stairs. “Come on, Kiddos! We’re waiting for you!”

Roman stood and pulled his brother to his feet, as well. “Tomorrow we shall hunt your orcs. Tonight?” Squaring his shoulders, Roman took a deep breath and caught a glance of his own reflection. He nodded. Very nearly the picture of regality. “Tonight, we celebrate Logan.”

Remus bumped his shoulder and flung his morningstar in the air. It lodged itself into Roman’s ceiling just before disappearing. “And you really have to wonder why you’re anybody’s hero?”

“Shut up,” Roman muttered, still smiling. “Hero.”

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

Happy Birthday to the lovely @estrellami-1 I hope you're feeling better and that you're having a wonderful day ❤️

Eddie wasn't sure who the party was supposed to be for, he wasn't sure Steve knew either to be fair. It was someone's birthday party, he'd seen a sash on one of the girls, couldn't say for sure which one though. And of course it was hosted, as all parties were these days, at the Harrington residence.

He remembers Wayne telling him that no-one had seen Harrington Senior or his wife since just after the Byers kid went missing, so Eddie supposed that made this massive mansion all Steve's.

And it'd been obvious since his massive blow up with Wheeler that he'd just stopped giving a fuck.

So Tommy and his band of merry fuckheads organised parties in Steve's house, and made a fortune out of it too, even though Steve wasn't really even friends with any of them anymore.

Not that Eddie cared. He didn't. The bigger the parties, the more parties they had, the more money he made. It was all the same to him.

Just sometimes, Steve would catch his eye across a classroom or like now across a party and Eddie thought that he looked kinda… lonely. Not that he was sure why Steve would choose to be that way, he might've fallen from grace but the guy was still gorgeous, he could have anyone he wanted; but he just seemed to wander ghostlike around the edges of life these days.

It seemed like forever since Eddie had last seen him smile, not sneer or grimace like he tended to now but a proper eye crinkling, dimple showing smile. Not for a lack of trying on Eddie's part of course, he'd taken to acting like a jester trying to get the fallen king to even so much as smirk, but his attempts haven't worked so far.

He thought he'd managed it earlier, during English when they were discussing male protagonists and he'd said Steve would make a pretty good Mr Darcy and winked exaggeratedly at him but his face had just gone through a multitude of expressions before he'd huffed in annoyance and leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed, staring grumpily out of the window.

Eddie didn't know why he was so determined to fix him. They weren't friends, they were barely even acquaintances, but Wayne always said he had a tendency for strays and even though Steve's house was brimming with people, Eddie knew as well as Steve did that if he didn't have all this, he'd be well and truly alone, which thinking about it was probably why he was letting the dickhead jocks walk all over him.

Tonight was the third party Eddie's worked here in as many weeks and he's made a fortune but Tommy decided to start a fight with the birthday girl's boyfriend, which is one way to kill a party he supposes, so now everyone's starting to make their way home, groups of teens staggering their way down the middle of the road; which is just plain stupid really, they're all going to get caught, not that Eddie gives a fuck, keeping the cops busy on the main roads gives him chance to get away unnoticed.

He knows better than to draw attention to himself like that, he learned a long time ago to only work parties with a good escape route, so he heads straight to the sliding doors, that way he can slip out through the backyard and take his chances with whatever creatures live in the forest.

That's the plan anyway.

Until…

"Eddieeee!!" Steve yells, drunk as a skunk and half dangling out of the sunlounger he's supposed to be sitting in, reaching towards him and making grabby hands.

"Harrington," he greets wearily, he's been surreptitiously watching Steve all night, he knows he's had four too many and knows all too well how unpredictable drunk people can be, if it wasn't for the fact that he and Wayne need the money he wouldn't even be here.

Steve just sulks, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout, all big sad eyes, "Don't call me that," he mutters. Eddie doesn't say anything, just rocks on the balls on his feet and watches as Steve tries and fails to right himself, "Help?" he pleads like a toddler and Eddie can't help feeling endeared, he sighs, shaking his head to himself as he walks over to the sunlounger, picking Steve up under the arms, like the baby he's acting like and gets him settled properly.

"There you go," Eddie mutters, patting him gently on the head.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles, a surprised look on his face and a blush spreading across his cheeks, tapping the space in front of him in invitation for Eddie to sit and as much as part of him thinks it's a terrible idea, he knows if he leaves he'd be leaving him alone in this state and he just can't do that, so he sits.

"Hi," Eddie says, for a lack of anything else to say.

"Hi," Steve greets, a dopey smile on his face blinking owlishly at him, but then his face shifts like he's just remembered he's supposed to be annoyed with him, "Why'd you call me that earlier?" Steve asks petulantly.

Eddie frowns, he hasn't called Steve anything, at least not that he can remember, "Your name?" he clarifies.

Steve shakes his head excessively, "Mr Darcy!" he spits with a snarl, like it's a swear word, "You've been nice to me for weeks and then you went and said that!" he whines.

Suddenly the weariness is back in Eddie's stomach, tries to think why Steve might be insulted and comes up empty, "I don't know, does generous, kind and good looking not suit you?" he babbles before he can really think about how that sounds coming from another guy.

Steve's face does something complicated, he opens his mouth to say something, shuts it, his face changing expression, opens and closes his mouth again before settling on a confused but soft little "oh".

Now that he knows he's not about to get punched, Eddie relaxes a bit, and curiosity killed the cat or whatever because against his better judgement he asks, "What did you think I meant?"

Steve shrugs and looks forlornly at the ground, "What everyone else thinks. That I'm an elitist, condescending wanker. That you'd been being nice to me as a joke so it'd hurt all the more when you were mean. I got drunk because I was sad because I thought we were friends but you were just playing a prank on me," Steve tells him and there's such sincerity and pain in his eyes it hurts to even look at him.

But Eddie can't help it, he's beyond surprised so he can't stop his eyebrows hitting his hairline, "Friends?" The fallen king of Hawkins High wants to be his friend? Was hurt when he thought Eddie wasn't his friend? Cares at all what Eddie thinks about him? That's way beyond his comprehension.

Steve just smiles dopily at him, lifting Eddie's chin with a gentle finger to make Eddie look at him and it's like being gut punched because who'd've thought this sweet, vulnerable guy was hiding inside Steve Harrington this whole time?

"Yes, friends! Do you wanna be my friend, Eddie?" And all Eddie can do is nod because he's been thrown back into a memory long since forgotten, of two little boys playing together in the forest, games of pirates and cowboys and aliens and those same hazel eyes looking deep into his soul and asking that very same question.

Jesus H Christ!

A gust of wind blows through the yard making Steve shiver bodily but given his clumsy movements earlier, Eddie wonders how to get him inside without risking him falling in the pool, because everyone else has definitely already left and Eddie can swim but not well enough to rescue someone who's drunk and not fully in control of all their limbs.

But Steve for all his height and his muscles isn't actually all that heavy, not in comparison to band equipment, he could probably manage…

Eddie twists slightly away from Steve, "Right, hop on," he instructs, tapping his shoulder. Steve just gives him a puzzled look, Eddie smiles encouragingly, "I'm gonna give you a piggyback indoors. I don't want you to drown!"

Steve smiles then, really smiles, and if Eddie knew it was this easy he'd've done it weeks ago, and wraps his arms loosely around Eddie's neck and his legs tightly around his waist.

Eddie tries not to think too closely about it, he's known for a long time that he's queer, knows full well endearing, pretty jocks are his type, knows that tightening in his chest isn't because Steve is heavy but more because their cheeks are smushed together and they're sharing the same breath and Eddie can smell his aftershave and the beer he's been drinking and for some reason when it's coming from Steve it isn't making him want to hurl.

The house is an absolute shittip but whoever was last out at least had the decency to turn off the music and turn out all the lights, so Eddie just slides the door shut behind them and heads straight for the stairs. Steve grips a little tighter, leaning into Eddie making balancing easier but other than that he makes no effort to leave Eddie's grasp.

He's waddling up the stairs but only because Steve's long, long legs are in the way. A secret part of Eddie thinks about doing this regularly, having Steve this close, so pliable and snuggly. Eddie feels a little guilty about it but he can't help himself from filing the memory away for rainy days when he feels sad, it's just such a priceless moment, chances are this is never gonna happen again.

"Which one's yours?" he asks when they reach the landing and he's faced with several closed doors. Steve doesn't say anything, just sighs heavily and points Eddie in the right direction.

Eddie steps forward, twisting the doorknob, the door swinging open, and flicking the light on to reveal his room looks… exactly how Eddie expected it to and suddenly he can't keep the fond smile off his face, because of course Steve has plaid wallpaper and matching curtains, it's so cliche it's adorable.

He walks over to the bed, turns so he's facing the door and drops Steve unceremoniously onto the mattress making him giggle uncontrollably. Eddie turns back to watch him because how can he not? He made Steve giggle! It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, even when he breathes in too fast and he snorts, his eyes are all crinkled in the corners, showing off his dimples and his perfectly straight teeth, he really is just perfect.

Eddie tries not to let his affection bleed through onto his face but he must do a pretty poor job because when Steve opens his eyes to look at him, his breath hitches and he stops laughing. And Eddie kicks himself because the house is far too silent without Steve's quiet laughter. He needs to get out of Steve's bedroom but he can't leave without getting him some provisions for the morning. He glances around and spots the ensuite in the corner, nipping inside and grabbing a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol from the medicine cabinet, wandering back out to leave them on the bedside, dragging the wastepaper basket closer to the bed just in case.

Steve is now more settled in bed, head on his pillow, snuggled up under the covers, Eddie smiles, putting on his persona so he can make it out of here alive and hopefully with his heart still intact because if he gets any cuter Eddie isn't sure he'll be able handle it.

"Okay, my liege! Now thou art safely in thy bedchamber, I shall bid thee adieu," Eddie says with a bow, he feels okay about leaving him now he's got him all set up and safely in bed.

Steve grins at his dramatics but frowns when what Eddie said sinks in, "Wait!" he yells unnecessarily given Eddie hadn't really made any attempt to leave, even though that's what he said he was going to do.

Eddie's eyebrows raise all by themselves, reaching new heights when Steve pats the bed beside him, "Stay," he whispers and how is Eddie supposed to deny him? He can't even use Wayne as an excuse because the poor bloke's at work, all Eddie would be going home to would be a cold trailer and crap TV, how could that ever compare?

He tries to think of a reason because this is so far from a good idea but Steve wants to be friends and he so clearly needs a friend and Eddie can do that, he can be here for his friend.

"You sure?" he checks but when Steve nods vigorously in reply all his misgivings leave him, he sits on the edge of the bed as far from Steve as he can get, leaning back on his hands, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

Except Steve doesn't say anything, he just gets a hold of his wrist and pulls knocking Eddie flat onto his back, his head landing in Steve's lap and it happens so quickly all Eddie can do is blink up at him. Steve smiles like he's won the jackpot and starts running his fingers through Eddie's hair like he's petting a cat and Eddie daren't even breathe let alone move but it feels so good his toes are curling in his Docs and when Steve starts to giggle again he realises it's because he's enjoying it so much he's making little noises in the back of his throat.

"Sorry," Eddie mutters but Steve just shakes his head fondly and continues his ministrations, just watching Eddie watching him but it's been a long day, between school and the party and Eddie can feel his eyes drooping no matter how hard he tries to fight it.

He isn't sure how long he lays there for but his legs have been dangling over the edge so long even his shins have pins and needles when Steve rouses him with a gentle tugging of his hand and a whispered "C'mon, get in!"

Eddie does as he's asked, absentmindedly kicking off his Docs and getting settled on top of the blankets, both of them laying on their sides facing one another.

"Night, Stevie," Eddie mumbles, already half asleep, only just feeling Steve place his hand into his own, interlinking their fingers and leaving a kiss on his knuckles with a whispered, "Goodnight, love."

(I hated this fucking ending so much because I did the typical thing of thinking of it without writing it down and not to give tmi but whilst in the shower I just remembered I wanted it to be "Goodnight, Teddy." and now I'm just mentally kicking the crap out of myself because I posted it with the wrong ending 😭😭😭 sorry @estrellami-1)

[hitlikehammers]

'who did this to you?' established Steddie, post-S4 🖤💙💜

The bruising’s stark, like footprints on new-fallen snow punished through to the long-dead grass. It draws the eye, insistent; screams to be seen:

“Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, voice low even as he delicately moves Eddie’s stretched-low collar to follow the line of broken vessels near the surface, a few stray snags of already rusty red, lines that follow the trails of mottled purple-blue. Steve smoothes barely a touch from the pad of his thumb just below the marks to trace them where they color neck to chin, up to the silver-light scarring on his face.

And honestly: it’s a ritual almost, now. But, like, it’s so different from how it used to be. Or even how it was before that, before them at all.

Before things ever ended like this.

“Names, babydoll,” Steve coaxes, but demands all the same; he’s learned over time not to bring the full weight of his steel to the fore in every moment—the resolute promise in his bones to protect Eddie at all costs doesn’t disappear, maybe does the opposite even, maybe just grows strong as what they have has grown, too; but it doesn’t burn so bright when it’s expressed in Eddie’s vicinity. Maybe to spare him.

Maybe as a strategic move on Steve’s part, who’s maybe finally learned that if he’s going to go beat the shit out of anyone, he should one-hundred-percent not let his boyfriend or his platonic soulmate—or also Wayne—about it in advance. So:

“Sweetness,” he nuzzles carefully, where Eddie’s skin’s not water-colored in burst-blood; “give me names.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, so easily softened and lulled by Steve’s careful adoration, the way he rubs his nose, his cheek against Eddie and just breathes—it carries Eddie into a soft, comfortable space always, no matter what’s happened; no matter what’s been done.

“Don’t have to,” Eddie sighs out, kinda pathetically desperate in how he leans into Steve’s…just Steve. Steve-Steve-Steve. So he just kinda sighs, because…Steve.

“You know damn well who it was.”

“Don’t play coy,” Steve warns, though its airy, diaphanous, even though Steve doesn’t stop for a second from nuzzling into Eddie’s skin; even but Eddie knows better than to entangle Steve’s softness for Eddie with his broader intentions, the heat behind his words, and the ultimate question:

“Who,” and Steve’s breathe so hot, so close to Eddie’s ear as he whispers, sends fucking shivers down Eddie’s spine; “did this,” and then he’s leaning to run his mouth back along the bruising, the damning trail of damage: “to you?”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, can’t help but crane his neck to Steve’s careful attention, almost cataloging of the dark splotching, and Eddie can’t help it, it’s not like it even hurts, not really, Eddie knows hurting—

He’s not weird if he kinda feels like most hurting’s worth the high of Steve’s tender care like this, the buzzing flame-like licking across his skin.

Steve doesn’t even make contact with where it could even possibly sting, but fuck if it doesn’t make Eddie light up wild from the pit of his belly.

And fuck if Steve doesn’t know it.

“Mmm-nope,” Steve pulls himself back when Eddie’s reckless, lets out a full-ass fucking moan. “No distracting me,” Steve bites with a glare before he catches Eddie’s gaze and looks down pointedly, points so only the whisper of his touch follows the trail:

“Who did this,” and Eddie is weak, he’s weak because he shivers and when Steve draws his barely-a-touch back, away, he whines. Fuck, yes: he whines, Jesus.

Weak, you understand?

Also, if you don’t understand: fuck you. Eddie would like to see anyone—man, woman, or otherwise—do any better.

“You know,” Eddie keeps with the whining, Jesus fuck, seriously: “I said”

“I think mostly you’ve made noises.”

“Steve,” Eddie…does not break his whining streak. He’s tight in his thighs, and it’s not…he’s gonna need to address that soon.

He’s gonna need someone to address that for him, really.

“Hmm?” Steve leans in, and for the first time he does touch the bruises, tastes them on the flat of his tongue with barely any pressure like he’s collecting evidence, searing proof into his own flesh.

“What’s that now?”

“Steve.”

And he tilts his head at his name, which is less of a whine now—win—but breathy as fuck, still. It’s a process.

“Who did this to you, baby?” Steve asks, eyes wide, innocent and encouraging now as he pulls back and buries his hands in Eddie’s mess of curls, massages as his temples, his scalp.

Fucking dirty pool, right there.

“Steve,” Eddie bites out. Like literally bites his tongue as his head tips back, inescapable for the perfect circles being traced across his head; “Harrington.”

And yes: soon as he gets the words out, the name in full, he stops fighting how just Steve Harrington’s hands are deciding to undo him, this time.

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Steve hums a little, clicks his tongue and bites a bit at his lip; “but you say it so soft, sweetheart, like maybe you’re hesitant or somethin’,” Steve shakes his head, and tips Eddie’s face toward him a little more full-on, thumb on Eddie’s subtly swollen lower lip:

“Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Absotively posolutely,” Eddie enunciates carefully, never breaking eye contact as he lets his tongue flick out to Steve’s touch and watches those pupils dilate quick to drown that hazel gaze.

“No doubt in your mind?” Steve pushes, relentless, but leans in, leans to breath open mouthed against each bruise:

“Only one,” Eddie sighs, and maybe it sounds frustrated, over the interrogating but hell if he can be over any single goddamn thing about this man.

And it’s the truth. There’s no evidence but Eddie knows Steve leaves his trusty bat at a different angle against the wall the days after Eddie so much as mentions being hassled, or only just slipping the asshats looking to resurrect Jason’s pursuit—the coincidence of every single threat disappearing, suddenly keeping the eyes on the ground if they pass Eddie by, changing course overnight when the bat shifts ever so slightly?

Eddie’d be more concerned, if there was ever any real damage to Steve in response, but in reality he only ever went to put the fear of god in those assholes, he swears he’s never even let a single one of them move quick enough to even try to pull anything on him in return, and well.

Hop doesn’t condone it but he never works too hard to find evidence, and Steve never does anything the technically breaks any obvious laws, so. Eddie thinks it’s Hopper’s way of showing he cares.

But then there’s…this.

There are mornings, like this, when Eddie wakes with bruises around his neck like a chain, a heavy one in the center of his chest like a pendant, little red dashes here and there, barely visible but particular points of interest for Steve when he wakes Eddie up with gentle but unceasing kisses where the bruising doesn’t survive the night so bright, so tender, sucks the blood back up to Eddie lips and leaves them gorgeously numb before he inspect the purple marks: perfectly shaped to his lips.

The tiny red marks perfectly lined to ?i>his teeth.

All of them sucked and nipped so sweet, never hard enough to mark for force but only through persistence, dedication, painted with the single-minded kind of worship Eddie never even considered having focused on him.

So it’s kind of a wondering way that he reaches, reaches out and thumbs Steve lip in return, marveling a little when he tilts his head and takes Steve in for a breath, just basks in him:

“Only one man alive allowed to mark me up,” Eddie whispers, and there’s love in every syllable. Even that’s not really enough but.

They both know.

And Steve’s grin curve slow and satisfied, leaning in to presses his lips, open-mouthed to Eddie’s that he’d already kissed plump as he woke, long before the breaking light through the windows now, catching in Steve’s gaze, had dared fort with the horizon line; he leans right there and breathes hot into Eddie’s mouth:

“Damn fucking straight.”

For @cranberrymoons, who requested the quote 'Who did this to you?' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

[ambreignsfan4life]

🎂HAPPY BIRTHDAY🎂

Happy 39th Birthday to my Favourite twins Jimmy and Jey Uso one of the greatest tag teams in WWE history and hoping they reunite soon ☝️🩸☝️🩸☝️🩸

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TWINS

JONATHAN SOLOFA FATU

JOSHUA SAMUEL FATU

08.22.1985

[lilyoffandoms]

Levi & Lily

Happy Birthday, Dani!! Thank you for all you do to brighten our corner of the fandom and my life and our world!! You are the most beautiful of souls and I am forever and always grateful you are here. As Elsa said, it was the best day when you were born into this world!! I love you, my dear friend, and I hope today is the best of days filled with all the good and beautiful things!! May this be your best birthday yet with only more to come!! Love you to the moon and back 😘

I saw a post a while back where a couple used post-it notes for their eyes and I couldn’t get it outta my head for Levi and Lily.

My Art ish Tag: @storyofmychoices @aallotarenunelma @thosehallowedhalls @twinkleallnight