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#also sometimes they make me happy
machinerot · 3 months
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iwoulddieforienzo · 5 months
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Personally I think percabeth is at its best when Grover is in it. I don’t necessarily mean in a polycule way I just think it’s great when he’s around
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ruporas · 1 year
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tri-trans! happy#tdov 💘
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aquanutart · 2 years
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chomp
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rakkuntoast · 11 months
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i like doing silly self indulgent low-effort comics
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flowercrowngods · 1 month
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🤍🌷 happy 1st birthday to what’s probably the fluffiest silliest most feel-good thing i’ve ever written in this fandom
nice to meet you, where you been?
aka. 12k of meeting again later in life schmoop featuring soft-ass steve, smitten trans!eddie, and hellcheer bestieism that is to die for
“Steve Harrington?” 
Eddie would cringe at his loud voice or the sheer and absolute bewilderment that can probably be heard three blocks down, but he’s too busy rewiring his brain. 
“Uh, hi,” Harrington says, pulling black nitrile gloves from his long fingers and dropping them into the bin before fixing Eddie with a mildly amused but definitely confused look. “Can I help you?” 
No. No he can’t. Eddie cannot be helped, because apparently Harrington isn’t even here just to get tattooed, but instead— No. Nah man. That can’t be. 
“What are you doing here?” Eddie says intelligently after a whole lot of staring, dumbfounded. 
Steve looks around for a second, doing all those face gymnastics he always used to do in high school when he was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. 
“This—This is my shop?” 
It should be insulting, the way he enunciates every word like Eddie needs the whole world explained to him in very slow, very easy words. Which, actually, he might, because apparently the world is a really fucking weird place in which Steve Harrington wears pastel sweaters and owns a tattoo shop. 
Eddie is pretty sure he hit his head. Or stepped into an alternate dimension. Or both. Considering his luck on, like, an existential scale, it’s probably both. 
“No way, man,” is all Eddie says, and this time Harrington is really leaning into the amusement, though judging by his face, he must also be wondering if Eddie requires medical attention. The jury’s still out on that one, though. 
Harrington looks around his shop again, squinting at Eddie with that fucking smile still in place. “This… is not my shop?” Oh, he is sassy. Mister pastel-wearing sassy man Harrington, who is smiling at Eddie in a way that is entirely too contagious. 
None of this makes sense and Eddie just sags, tearing his eyes away from the vision of Harrington in his bright clothes, the golden afternoon sun catching in his hair as a light breeze comes in through the window. 
Eddie crosses his arms in front of his chest, because if he doesn’t, he would probably do something stupid like play with his hair or hide behind it. And Steve shouldn’t have that power over him anymore. They aren’t stupid teenagers anymore, and he does not have a crush on the golden boy!
“I might sound like a complete dick right now, but finding out that Steve ‘The King, The Hair, The Legend’ Harrington apparently inks people for a living was not on my bingo sheet for this week. Hell, even for this lifetime, I think.” 
read the rest on ao3
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mostlymaudlin · 1 year
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i know kevin is a wet rag of a man but he is also so cool. he is charming! he knows how to make people like him! he is a sourpuss baby around people who let him be a sourpuss baby but he is also like.. The Man. spine is straight, chin is high -- he's the deadliest piece on the motherfuckin board. he's comfortable in the spotlight. he's keeping a cool head and shaking hands and kissing babies. he's tapping the butt of his racquet against the floor before switching hands, because he knows how to make a visual that will be included in every Greatest Sports Moments in History compilation for the rest of time.
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radiotrophicfungi · 3 months
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by the way, are there any disability-specific blinkies anyone would particularly like to see? my inbox is probably going to remain closed for the sake of my own sanity, but you can always drop a reply down below. :-)
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crystallizsch · 2 days
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*kicks down door* ehehehe it's luxe couture yuusha and rabbitwear yuuna :3
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ballpitwitch · 9 months
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Keanu Reeves performing at Saint Rocke in Hermosa Beach, CA - August 10, 2023
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javelinbk · 2 months
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A little bit of heartbreak for Valentine’s Day…
A Little Bit Yours - JP Saxe / The Beatles: Get Back
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sincapjelly · 9 months
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Thinking about Gwen visiting Miles' dimention randomly, it's a usual thing for them by then, but she is super tired because she did not have enough sleep + she had to deal with a last minute super villain problem. She arrives at a time Miles has a class and Ganke is about to leave for his. She drops in and lets herself on Miles' bed, Ganke jokes about her situation and she tells him she just wants to sleep so she sleeps until Miles comes back from his class. He finds her sleeping and lays next to her.
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[Click for ALT image description]
Thinkin' about Caleb and his pottery (and clay sculpture) hobby that I've implied and mentioned in rambles, but that serves no purpose in this AU's story
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softerhaze · 8 months
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"side quests" in act 3 be like....what if u were faced with the most complex moral dilemma ever.....for the 3rd time today
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flowercrowngods · 1 year
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✨🤍 some steddie softness for @thefreakandthehair's birthday, i hope it's the very best so far! 🤍✨(please please your day comes first, read this whenever you have time and space to breathe 🤍)
Eddie is not a religious man — far from it, actually. But there are a few things that make him believe in higher powers. In angels. In destiny and luck and a love so strong it could conquer everything. 
This very moment is one of them. 
Stevie, soft and sleepy beside him in the back of the car as Nancy is driving, the dim light of the passing street lamps painting his face in hues of gold like the light itself favours Steve Harrington, caressing his features with the softest of shadows. 
He’s beautiful. Ethereal. Perfectly angelic with his eyes closed, his whole body turned towards Eddie in the warmth of the car.
It takes Eddie’s breath away, his heart taking up space where before there were his lungs and ribcage, growing in size until he feels like he is about to burst. And even then he keeps looking, staring at that pretty face that looks so at peace with the whole world right now. Eddie has never seen Steve like this, but now he understands why people start wars. Why people defy gods and death itself to be with their one true love. Why Orpheus looked back. 
He understands. Because Steve, his Stevie, warm and safe and perfectly fine in the backseat of a car? That is everything. He doesn’t even need to kiss or touch so long as he just gets to look. And be. Oh, to be at the same time that Steve is. 
That might just be life’s greatest gift to him. 
A tiny sigh falls from Steve’s lips and Eddie really, really might be about to burst. 
“Hey, angel,” he whispers, because moments like this aren’t made for anything but hushed words, their truths too heavy, too sincere for the world to hear and keep on spinning. He doesn’t need the world to spin as long as there is Steve. 
“Hi,” Steve whispers back, his eyes still closed but the smile lighting up, luring Eddie in like he is but a moth drawn to the flame. 
Eddie leans in and rests his forehead against Steve’s, his hand coming up to cradle a light-kissed cheek. Steve leans into it, following Eddie’s hand like maybe they are twin stars pulling each other closer until there will be an explosion of light and creation. Steve nuzzles against his palm and leans further into Eddie’s body until they share the same breath — but still it’s not enough. 
Eddie wants to say so many things now that their hands are entangled, their soft exhales mixing. But after a while he notices that Steve is humming before gently singing along to the song coming quietly from the speakers. 
“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze. Take your time, make it slow. Andante, Andante. Just let the feeling grow.”
Eddie knows the song, recognises it instantly, and his breath gets stuck in his throat once more. Because he has a secret. He loves it. He has imagined for the longest time that one day, someone would make it his song. Sing it for him, to him. 
He’s never told anyone because he has a reputation to uphold and more than enough metal music to listen to, but of course Steve wouldn’t care about his secrets being secret, and just oh so casually make his deepest, most private of dreams come true. 
He’s an angel, that one. A hero. Myths and fairy tales should be woven around that heart of his, folklore speaking of his name until history itself wouldn’t dare to forget. No one can convince Eddie otherwise. Not in that moment, not with Steve singing so quietly, so gently, so adoringly. 
I think I love you. I think I can’t ever stop, not when I’ve seen you like this. Not when you’ve just shown me what life can be about, what it should be about. Gods, I love you and love you and love you. 
That’s what he wants to say. 
But all that comes out is a marvelled, “Shit, Stevie.”
It has the desired effect of a huffed breath, an even wider smile, and Steve cuddling further into Eddie’s side, eyes still closed. Eddie brushes a kiss to Steve’s forehead and feels like maybe his love can make it into the fairy tale, too. 
It will. Oh, it will, when Steve finally lifts his head from Eddie’s shoulder and looks at him through hooded eyes, all soft and sleepy and safe. A moment passes like this and Eddie can’t breathe, maybe he can never breathe again — but it only lasts until Steve slowly, so very slowly begins to lean in to claim Eddie’s lips with a kiss so gentle it could bring him back from the dead. 
Eddie kisses Steve back just as slowly, because in moments like this there is no rush, no hurry. There’s only them, there’s only this. Only a kiss until there is another. 
And with Steve, there is always another. 
Nancy smiles as she is taking the long way to Steve’s house, rounding Loch Nora twice because she knows how comfy Steve gets in cars at night when he doesn’t have to drive and there is soft music playing. 
Eddie kisses her goodbye on the forehead, fully aware of what she’s done. He doesn't tell her about the sun and the myths and all the wars he would start for Steve.
Nights like this are not meant for telling anyone about them. They can hardly be believed as it is. They can only be lived, hand in loving hand.
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