I got to collab with @arelliann on this piece for a line art exchange for the @steddiebbang while we waited for art claims to roll around. They did the linework and I did the color!
a drag path but it's harry and louis communicating via their tattoos and songs and the rainbow bears all throughout because they couldn't otherwise, and the fans understanding it
I DUG MY HEELS INTO THE GRAVEL AS EVIDENCE FOR YOU TO UNRAVEL
i am happy to announce that I was a artist for this year's @sthbigbang event!
this drawing is based on the scene that @nautical-nova wrote for their event’s fic “One Last Race” starring our FAVORITE robot shard!!! And sonic too ofc
check out the other artist @larabar ‘s piece for this this fic too!
Link to the fic "One Last Race"
Link to larabar's art piece
I’m so happy to be working for my first big bang! Check out the fic and the art and y’all also check out the other artists and writers for the Big Bang too! I’ll be posting a BTS process of my art piece soon so look out for that one!
“—Oh, you filthy liar,” Eddie teases and leans over her to snuff the butt into the ashtray on the bedside. She's forced to rise to her knees and reach over, and Eddie feigns innocence as her bosom becomes eye-level with Stevie. Eddie's eyes stay fixed to Stevie's face as she scrambles, enjoying witnessing the shift from a tense busybody into a hypocritically scandalized mess. She’s astonished she could knock Stevie on her ass like this. When she plops back down, Stevie’s eyes lock on her, defiance behind them. Eddie leans in curiously, “Why’d you do it?”
~
Chapter 4 of my f/f steddie 50s academia AU is up!!!
Cowboy!Steddie | PBR | Enemies with Benefits | Strangers to Lovers
Team #058 for @steddiebbang || @oriarts @lihhelsing
Now that the anonymity ban has lifted, here's a little sneak peek of my first steddie bang.
banner by @oriarts & moodboard by myself
🔞 Excerpt Under The Cut
8 seconds is all it takes to change Steve Harrington’s life.
To give the woes of his past the potential to slip through his fingers and to finally find a sliver of happiness. To find someone that could bring him the joy in life that he lacks beneath the suffocating weight of his father's thumb.
7 to enter Nachbar on Charles in Louisville, Kentucky.
A bar he's frequented ever since he was two years shy of old enough—having been a patron simply for the fact of convenience and the pleasure of another's body pressed against his own. He wonders what his father would think if he knew every time Steve came to town with a load of cattle or horses that he too managed to find someone to swallow the stress of his life along with a shot of bourbon.
6 to order a beer and a shot of his usual in an effort to shut off his mind, hoping that at least he can get a few minutes of silence and a shitty drink out of such a worthless day doing his fathers bidding.
5 to choke the fucking thing down and chase it with half a bottle of Coors, trying his best to not shiver as the awful combination makes its way over his tongue and down his throat.
4 to notice the guy at the end of the bar whose eyes have yet to leave his lips. Who has an amber bottle of his own lazily clasped between ringed fingers, easily drawing Steve's attention to the porcelain skin of his hands.
3 to feel the rush of heat that floods his cheeks as he takes in those onyx eyes, that mess of whiskey curls, and the way sharp teeth bite into a plump bottom lip as Steve absentmindedly licks his own.
2 to take the first step in Mr. Brown Eyes’ direction.
And 1 to decide fuck it.
Falling into the wobbling barstool next to the mysterious young man, Steve feigns confidence as whiskey-sweet words fall from his lips.
“Aren't from around here, are ya?” His resolve fractures only in the slightest as that damn bitten bottom lip pulls into an enticing smirk.
Before he knows it, he's a second bourbon in with his tongue down a beautiful man's throat and his hand shoved down the front of tight black Levi's. Feeling the warmth and weight held in his palm, he can't find it in himself to complain about the uncomfortable angle or the way his wrist feels like it just might fracture in-between them.
It's not like his usual bar bathroom hookup—not that he does this all that often—but Eddie—as Steve learned only sheer seconds before their lips collided in a desperate crash—is attentive, and somehow manages to be sweet and gentle even while rutting his swollen cock into the grooves of Steve's palm, and sucking on his tongue.
With the taste of cheap cigarettes and shitty bourbon dancing over his taste buds, Steve hears himself moaning with every slow roll of his hips as he grinds against the solid line of Eddie's body and his groping hands.
Tangling in his hair and wrapping firming around his waist—while one hand seems to be preoccupied edging him nearer and nearer to his end—Eddie's other hand feels as if it's everywhere all at once.
Each grip, dizzying. Every caress, tantalizing. The very feel of those ringed fingers gliding over his skin and beneath the fabric of his shirt only pushes Steve nearer to his climax.
Pale blue light buzzing above them, somehow even in such artificial rays Eddie's the most beautiful thing Steve’s seen.
The lighting of a dive bar bathroom has never seemed to do Steve justice, but with raspy words slurred over his tongue calling him every version of beautiful in the book—well—maybe he could consider himself wrong.
He's never had a hookup moan against his lips purely due to the fact that his neck is littered with moles or that his ‘eyes glitter like the gold scattered through the Arizona desert.’
Nor has he had anyone notice the skip in his heart rate when his shoulder flares with pain upon raising his arm—ghosting gentle fingers over the still-clothed joint, only to pull the fabric aside to reveal the raised pink of scarred skin and press gentle lips to the still-healing riding injury. Then to his neck, his cheek, and back to his lips.
Something about Eddie's kisses taste sweeter then. As if in his detour to lay affections to Steve's skin, he somehow managed a spoonful of sugar in-between.
He can't remember the last time someone's lips had tasted so sweet.
Greedy for every grain of sugar-sweet that he can bear to stand, Steve hums and tries his damndest to not devour Eddie entirely.
In his restraint, time slows. Though only for a short while as Eddie pulls away to gently cradle Steve's jaw in his grasp. Brushing his thumb along Steve's bottom lip and looking him in the eyes, he tells him—for not the first time—just how beautiful he really is—as if he says it enough, Steve will have no choice but to believe him.
Leaning into Eddie's touch to nose along his palm, Steve thinks it's a wild thing to feel so cared for in an otherwise shit-hole of a place.
The lights are flickering, the stall door hardly concealing them is hanging uselessly from a single hinge, and lord only knows what their boots are standing in—but with Neon Moon by Brooks and Dunn playing over the speakers, and the smell of cigarette smoke and bourbon flooding his senses, Steve feels so easily adored and hungered for at the same time.
He hopes Eddie feels a similar sort of comfort, even if all Steve believes he can offer the man is a good time and words just as sweet as the ones falling to his kiss-bitten lips. There's no way he's going to let Eddie leave this bathroom without.
Eventually they get off—Eddie into Steve's palm and Steve into the cotton of his underwear—and surprisingly, it's not awkward from then on. Not as they wash up, not as they sit back down at the bar, and not as Eddie chooses to stay when Steve offers him the easy out he does to all of his one time hookups.
He can't remember the last time anyone bothered to stay—can't remember the last time he didn't feel like somebody's one-and-done either.
They don't stick around for long—what with the bar growing busier and the night stretching on—and find themselves taking a cab back to Eddie's apartment before the clock manages to strike midnight.
The drive is short and though they know to keep their affections from the eyes of their unknown cab driver, they still manage to trade knowing glances, brushed fingers, and a handful of whispered words when they know the driver is otherwise occupied.
Eddie repeats his earlier praises of Steve's beauty, and Steve—while helpless but to blush what Eddie tells him is a stunning shade of pink—presses a quick kiss to Eddie's cheek and lets him know exactly what he plans on doing when they reach his home.
As we know, build a bear doesn’t made the iconic one direction bear anymore & since I don’t have $500 to buy one, I’ve made my own.
My friend helped me figure out a way to set up a shop (shout out @fookinhellcurlyy) to commission some custom bears! It’s a fully customizable project and I’ll link my shop here.
I’ve made the pricing as cheap as possible as well. Starting price is at $50usd to cover the cost of the bear and supplies. You can add on clothing for a small fee!
