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"you shouldn't bite the hand that feeds you" if you insist on treating me like a beast then you can't be shocked when i play the part

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Buzzcut

For @klausinamarink ‘s birthday. I’m sorry this is late, my friend 💗

Eddie’s gonna kill him. Gonna murder his uncle and bury him in the backyard so he can never embarrass Eddie ever, ever again.

“This one,” Wayne the Betrayer continues, leafing over to the next page, “was Eddie’s eighth grade talent show.”

Steve makes a particularly strangled noise that lands somewhere between a coo and a laugh, pointing at the photo that Eddie is positive he’d set fire to last year.

Wayne must’ve made copies.

“Look at your hair!” Steve giggles, downright bouncing in his seat as he points to Eddie’s hideous buzzcut, “you were so cute!”

Eddie makes another grab for the photo album but his stupid jock boyfriend with his stupid, hot jock reflexes dances away, getting up from the couch to turn to the next page, which only makes him giggle louder.

“Look at you!” Steve downright coos this time, holding the photo album so close to his face it nearly rubs at his nose.

“I will never forgive you for this.” Eddie grumbles, Steve practically bouncing on his toes as he takes in Eddie’s woeful eighth-grade haircut, and Wayne has the audacity to scoff.

“Your boy asked. I ain’t about to refuse him.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Eddie whines, and Wayne rolls his eyes.

“Not when you’re bein’ an idjit.”

Steve dances back over, keeping the album a safe distance away as he shows Eddie another photo, this time with him at a table covered in dice and miniatures, his hair still cropped close to his head. “I’m framing these.” Steve announces, tapping at the photograph, “look at you!”

And Steve’s smiling so big and wide, so obviously enamored, and Eddie, despite himself, feels his irritation shrink.

“We’re burning it.” Eddie counters, but it’s without heat, and Steve sits down next to him, no longer afraid for the albums safety.

“I love them.” Steve maintains, and Eddie softens more at the heartfelt way his boyfriend gazes on his awkward, gangly phase, on Eddie’s shaved head and how it accentuates his too-big ears and buggy eyes, Steve cradling the pages like those years are something precious.

“You’re biased.” Eddie grumbles, but he scoots a little closer to Steve. Presses their shoulders together. Their thighs.

“‘Ve got baby photos.” Wayne suddenly announces, and Eddie nearly topples off the couch, “you know he didn’t get hair until he was three?”

My permanent tag list (sorry yall are getting tagged twice in one day I am overdue on some gifts!!!) 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

#still screeching over this. just like Steve #steddie

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Saltwater Prayer  |  Explicit |  54.4k

My project for the 2023 Steddie BigBang! @steddiebang

Author: Asgardian_Pirate (AO3) / ghostlypallor (Twitter) / @fenfics (Tumblr) Artist: @werew0rm (Twitter) / @werew0rm (Tumblr) Artist: glitterfangart (Twitter) / @glitterfang (Tumblr)

Fragile things need a tender hand. In the height of a Georgia summer, Steve visits a small town painted with memories of Eddie’s childhood. Wayne welcomes Steve into an unfamiliar pace of family life—with good food, good company, and a boundless wisdom. The slow crawl of the heat helps to open his heart and the river is there to catch what spills out.  But the water doesn’t promise gentleness as much as it promises change. Desires simmering beneath the surface push at the seams of his glued-together pieces. As he learns the shape of Eddie’s mosaic, Steve slowly unravels the tapestry of his own golden soul.

Fic | Art | Art | Playlist

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington; Eddie Munson; Wayne Munson; Original Characters; Minor Characters Tags: AU — Canon Divergent; Post-S4; POV Steve Harrington; Slow Burn; Friends to Lovers; Drama; Angst; Trauma; Suicidal Ideation; Internalized Ableism; Domestic; Nostalgia; Eventual Smut; Wayne Munson Lore; Munson Family Lore; A Touch of Southern Gothic; Non-Traditional Spirituality; Happy Ending

#i can't even express how much i adore this fic #it's stunning and so emotional and among the best fics I've ever read. and it hits close to home #steddie #steddie fic #and the ART 😭😭😭💕💕 they're absolutely gorgeous #steddie fanart #steddie playlist #moodboard

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This is the best one

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THE LAST DAY GUYS

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@stcreators event 07: comedy

#i love him. actual silly sunshine man. emotional support goof. that's my favorite right there that's him #joseph quinn #eddie munson

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Bros, from the 5+1 fic

#🥹🥹🥹 they. #steddie #steddie fanart #steddie fic #gonna save that for my lunch fic! 🥰

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Tumblr Top Ships Bracket - Round 2 Side 2

This poll is a celebration of fandom and fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

#doing my civic duty 🫡 #steddie

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Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind? - Chrissy Cunningham

#chrissy cunningham

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#ii #sleep token

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Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

#lex!! bee!! BASEBALL STEDDIE #this is downright delightful #steddie ficlet #steddie au

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is that...

is that a tiny bit of hair i see????????

#WELL HECK #iv #sleep token #dang his guitar is 🔥 #the dark one

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me: hmm i havent made any new posts in a while

also me: made these months ago and just. immediately forgot about them lmao

[more here]

#these are all gold #steddie

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All of ’em together! Poor Steve… beaten to a pulp every god damn season

#oh HELL YEAH back on the dash!! hello again to these gems #steve harrington #steve harrington fanart

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truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle

#steddie #steddie fanart

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SAM ELLIOTT in Road House (1989)

#hair of all time. i was obsessed with it then and I'm still obsessed with it #that scar shot is lovely too wtf #sam elliott

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Surprise! I drew another lil something 🥰 this time for @pearynice from her fic I Want To Hold Your Hand

This moment was burned into my brain ever since I first read it. I love this fic.

But Eddie’s walking a half step faster than him, Steve’s own tipsy legs unable to carry him as quickly. So he reaches, and hooks two of his fingers through Eddie’s belt loop.

Eddie starts, arms jerking, and Steve pulls him close, knocking them gently together. “You’re too fast.” Steve complains, softly, and the blush returns to Eddie’s cheeks at the words, his dimples, too, and Steve grins, the pop rocks in his chest fizzling at the sight.

#AHHHHH 🥹❣️❣️ #steddie fanart #steddie fic #steddie