#prompt ficlets

[charles-leclerc-official]

Add a little bit to the Max multi-universe time travel prompt—I may be mean but I can't help laughing when I think about a more "red bull" style, free to be evil Charles and the strictly pr tightened "Maxiel be decent be elegant smile and wink!" Max.

Enjoy the hiking!

"Max what are you doing?" Silvia asked.

"Making my post about the race," Max held up his phone, "what does it look like."

"That caption is going to give the wrong idea," Silvia made to snatch his phone.

"What?" Max barely kept his phone out of reach.

"Look at this," Silvia managed to pry Max's phone away from him. "You are going to make people think you aren't happy about P2."

"I'm not," Max said flatly. Why would he be happy about losing?

"Yes, you are," Silvia said, erasing his caption, selecting a better picture with him smiling and she changed his emoji to a smiling face.

What the hell?

"Okay, well that's done, come on you have a video to shoot with Carlos, we need to get you into makeup and remember to smile. Last week people were getting the wrong idea."

Makeup? Smile? Video? Did he not get to rest?

"Oh and people are worried you and Carlos aren't getting along, so make sure you stand close to him. I don't care if you flirt, just make sure you are happy teammates. Just for five minutes," Silvia added.

"Fucking hell," Max muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Max made sure to smile, his cheeks already hurt.

This is the comedy gold of the prompt, anon you are on to something!

Part one of the alternate timeline au concept

[thebat-musicman]

Bruce is working at the McDonalds in the Wayne Enterprises cafeteria as he’s trying to uncover corruption.

Tim is working at the Taco Bell because the show Undercover Boss sounded fun

Babs is pretending to work at Panda Express in order to access their cameras because SOMEHOW the fucking Panda Express has the only camera in all of Wayne Enterprises that she cant access

Jason is working at the Starbucks because he’s trying to poach employees from Bruce, but doesnt want to do any actual business stuff.

Steph is working in the Waffle House because it was too on brand for her to not take the job when offered.

Duke is working at the Burger King because this is literally just his job.

Damian (and Jon stacked on top of Damian to make them seem like adults) is working in the Popeyes as Dick hopes this will make him connect with people more (it will not).

Dick is working at the Smoothie King because he honestly just got lost and this is more fun than his real job.

Cass stole uniforms from every single restaurant in the cafeteria and is pretending to work at all of them. She hasnt been reported yet because the workers dont care and no one can find the boss (rip tim)

None of them have noticed.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Alt Rock to the Rescue

[Inspired by this art]

"...Alright, I might have an idea," John Constantine, who was seemingly busy texting someone for the past ten - or twenty, no one really counted - minutes, puts his phone away and snaps his head up.

The room falls silent. Superman blinks in surprise, Diana frowns slightly, and Batman's mouth is pressed into a thin, stubborn line. Flash recovers first.

"You have an idea?" He huffs a short, disbelieving laugh, "No offense, but I'm not sure a magic trick can help us against, you know, an alien fleet." He gestures to one of the screens on the wall, where said fleet is approaching Earth on live.

The rest of the Leaguers present don't exactly agree with him, at least not verbally, but the mood in the room shifts from tense, anxious alarm to an almost palpable annoyance. To be honest, no one was even sure why or how John Constantine of all people ended up in the meeting. It's not like JLD could actually help with an ongoing, massive invasion that was about to happen in less than three- Correction, less than two and a half hours. Besides, it's John Constantine. The man that never shows up unless outright bullied into submission.

The magician winces briefly and starts rummaging through his pockets under the weight of everyone's attention.

"I said I might," he amends gruffly, getting a cigarette out of one of his pockets and sticking it in his mouth but not lighting it. Seems like it wasn't what he was looking for, though, because after that, the man keeps going through the various places on his coat, patting himself down. "I know someone who can deal with it. Granted, I already owe him a great deal, but he won't say no," he pauses and grimaces, "At least I hope he won't."

"I do not think it would be wise to call upon gods in our situation," Diana tries carefully, but John pays her little mind.

"Or demons," Green Arrow adds, crossing his arms on his chest, "I'm not selling my soul to get rid of some rocket ships or whatever they are."

Now, that makes the magician bark a laugh. Or, maybe it's the piece of lime green paper - a sticky note, actually - that he finally finds in the depths of his pockets.

"Oh, your soul's gonna stay where it is."

"Constantine-" Batman starts, but John cuts him off instantly.

"Mine will stay wherever it is as well," he reassures the man, "It's not that kind of entity." And with that, he promptly sets the green note on fire - green fire - and uses it as a lighter for his cigarette.

The next moment after the note is reduced to ash, there's a shift in the air in front of him, and, before any of the heroes have a split second to react, there are two people floating in the middle of the room, backs pressed to each other.

Two teenagers, to be exact. A girl and a boy, both of them so pale that their skin looks gray, and both dressed in grunge, like they just came from a rock concert. Yet, that's where the 'normal' parts of their looks end - the boy's hair is so white it looks blinding, and moves in the air slowly, undeterred by gravity, and the girl's hair is neon blue, her ponytail flickering up like a flaming torch.

The boy nearly topples over as the girl leans her back on him harder and kicks her feet up slightly. The movement is awkward, like both of them were taken by surprise by the sudden relocation, and maybe the guess about the rock concert was not so far from reality; there are drumsticks in the boy's hands, and the girl is holding an electric guitar in her hands.

"The fuck?.." The boy asks no one in particular, as the girl makes an annoyed groan and straightens up, still floating in the air. Her guitar makes an aborted sound. Meanwhile, the boy's eyes land on Constantine, and his whole face scrunches in disgust, "John, for the love of Ancients, I was in the middle of something."

The girl takes a look around while her friend is busy expressing his annoyance and elbows him in the side, "Oi, look, it's the whole Comic Con in the flesh here."

Green Arrow sputters. Flash makes a wordless but very offended sound. The floating boy looks around, taking stock of faces in the room, and the disgust on his face morphs into exasperation.

He turns back to Constantine, "Really? I thought I told you I want no part in your furry parade."

"Alien invasion," the magician decidedly doesn't address any of that, instead pointing his finger to the screen behind him. "Thought you ought to know," he adds, a bit of sarcasm bleeding into his tone.

"Ooh, is it my turn to be your world saving buddy, Phantom?" The girl perks up, turning around and draping herself over the boy's shoulders with a giddy laugh. Her guitar shifts to hang in the air on her side all by itself.

The boy - Phantom - rolls his eyes. Bright green, glowing eyes that definitely don't belong to a human being.

"If I had a nickel every time I had to save the world, I'd probably be able to buy myself my own guitar," he grumbles and looks back to Constantine. "Do I, like, have to? Right now? You know, I don't get paid for this bullshit, and the studio we rented for rehearsal has an hourly rate, so if we can postpone this for about an hour and a half, that'd be real nice."

"The fleet is only two hours away from Earth," Batman supplies suddenly, and, when both floating kids turn to look at him, adds, "I can pay for your next rehearsal. Or a few of them." Evidently, Phantom's comment about nickels struck a nerve. Or, maybe, the man just likes throwing money at any teenager he encounters. Who knows.

The boy blinks, taken aback by the proposition. But the girl grins, sharp and wicked, and shoves her drummer - if the drumsticks are to tell - in the side again.

"Hey, free studio. Better than the last time."

That snaps Phantom out of his stupor, and he groans, "Don't remind me." With a weary sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and leans back in the air, almost like reclining on it. "Okay, fine, sure. Do you want them, like, away from Earth- um, this is Earth, right?" He turns to Superman, surprisingly, looking for confirmation, and the man nods, thrown off guard. The boy nods back and continues, "Or you want them blasted into oblivion, or what?"

"Whatever suits your mood, kid," John waves his hand at the screen as if making a welcoming gesture, "But all the aliens gotta go."

Unexpectedly, that makes the girl's grin even wider, and she reaches for her guitar, floating around Phantom and looking him in the face. The look she gives him speaks of mischief, and the boy seems to understand what she's implying before she as much as opens her mouth.

"Ember, no," he pounts a drumstick at her.

"Ember, yes," she wiggles her eyebrows, "Come on, your wail is boring as fuck as it is, why not spice it up?"

"I'm not wailing," Phantom scrunches his nose, "My throat will hurt for weeks."

Ember runs her fingers over the strings of her guitar, and it makes a comparatively quiet, vibrating sound. A few cords shoot out of the bottom of her instrument, like ones used to plug an electric guitar to an amp. She raises her eyebrows, still looking at Phantom, a silent conversation between them.

Then, the boy huffs and rolls his eyes, twirling a drumstick in his fingers.

"Fine."

The cords fly at him like snakes, aiming at his neck. None of the Leaguers watching the encounter get to say even a word as the metal pins insert themselves into the boy's neck, acting like some twisted kind of collar. Phantom doesn't even flinch.

Ember's guitar, on the other hand, reacts to the connection quite violently: it makes a high-pitched sound all on its own and then changes color from black and blue to white and green, with lightning bolts instead of flames for design. The girl's ponytail flares up higher as she softly murmurs in delight.

Then, she turns to the people around them and smirks, "Which way is the evil alien fleet?"

Flash wordlessly points his finger to the right and up. The girl nods in satisfaction, turning in the air so her guitar is facing that way.

"You might want to cover your ears," Phantom advises, a sly smile on his face and a glimmer of anticipation to his eyes. John Constantine follows that direction immediately, and, taking his move as the best course of action, the other heroes follow as well. Except Batman, who only narrows his eyes and looks at both teens in the air apprehensively. Phantom shrugs, "Or don't, I don't hold any responsibility for your shattered eardrums."

"Pick up where we left off, then," Ember tells him, and the boy blinks:

"Wait, I thought you'd just-"

[For some wholesome experience, put your headphones in and listen to 'KULT' by Jisaiah, grandson, and Steve Aoki]

But the girl has already started a tune, nodding her head to the rhythm of it and slowly picking up the pace. Phantom huffs, but doesn't protest any further, floating up as much as the cords allow him and spinning a drumstick in his hand.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

That the world's a fucking circus

That my life feels fucking worthless," he spits the words out with a sneer, slowly rotating in the air until he is hanging upside down. His eyes are closed, and his voice becomes more and more staticky with every new sound. The volume of Ember's guitar gets up, higher and higher, until the walls and the floor of the room around them start to vibrate.

Then, Ember's voice joins Phantom's, and the boy brings his drumsticks down on thin air, mimicking the moves. Only, even with the actual drums not there, the air around him ripples like they are, and they all can hear the beat.

"Maybe I should join a cult

At least they'll tell me it's not my fault

When it all comes crashing down

We'll see who's laughing," both kids pause, just for a beat, and Ember uses that split second to spin the volume knob to the max before strumming her guitar in one wide, sharp move.

"NOW!"

The sound wave is not only palpable, it's visible. A wave of toxic green ripples through the air, knocking everyone present - sans the two kids in the air - to the ground, and goes beyond. The screens on the walls flicker and turn off, sending sparks in the air, and the comms give off loud, screeching noises, and-

The following silence feels almost deafening.

Batman, unsurprisingly, is the first one to stand back on his feet and see a few of the screens come back online.

Just in time to see that same green wave of... sound? energy? power?.. decimate the entire fleet like a wet cloth over a chalkboard. One moment, the spaceships were there, and the next they are gone, wiped out of existence.

Ember laughs, leaning back and almost doing a backflip in the air.

"That was nice, dipshit!" She shoves Phantom in the shoulder, and the boy snorts, plucking the cords out of his skin and grinning.

"Yeah," he agrees with a smile, not even looking at the screens around, "Maybe we should try rehearsing in space next time. Sing to the stars and all that crap."

"Sing to the stars?" Ember raises her eyebrows mockingly as the rest of the heroes scramble to their feet, bemoaning their ringing ears. "Na-ah," she clicks her tongue and turns to Batman, "You still up for paying for our studio?"

The man just grunts in a semblance of affirmation.

"Sweet," the girl grins and offers Phantom a hand for a high five, which he returns instantly. "Cheers to the world being saved once again!"

The boy just rolls his eyes and turns to Constantine, "Next time, be a dear and text me before summoning, or I'm going to sell your soul to Morpheus, and who knows what he'll do with you."

John Constantine grimaces. "I did," he offers grudgingly.

But both unearthly teenagers are already gone without a trace.

[Edit: I want everyone to know there's ART now!!!]

[Edit 2: There's more art!!!]

[clioerato]

One of Steve and Eddie’s kids decides to practice video editing… which, naturally, spirals into complete chaos.

The result? The Munsons (yes, the Munsons—“I was never the Harrington my parents wanted,” Steve had declared 20 years ago before taking Eddie’s last name. Eddie cried, back then. There was something quietly tragic about someone choosing to take the last name of a man once suspected of murder and satanic rituals… instead of keeping the one that opened every door. Steve did it with pride. Which, honestly, says more about Steve’s parents than anything else ever could.) now run the most unhinged YouTube channel on the platform.

It’s a bizarre but delightful mix of:

“Dad, how do I?”-style tutorials from Steve, where he teaches you how to change your car’s oil or hang a shelf without crying,

Guitar lessons from Eddie, complete with wild hair and chaotic energy,

And a full-blown video diary of the Munson household—including all six of their kids.

(Did they adopt them? Have them biologically? Was there a surrogate? Did they just… find them? No one knows. There are six. That’s all we know.)

Weirdly? It goes insanely viral.

Like, “overnight cult following” viral.

Hundreds of people start commenting, sharing how the Munsons remind them that family doesn’t have to mean cold silences and unmet expectations. Steve sobs over every single comment that ends with “...you make me believe I can have a family someday.”

And then—because chaos is the family brand—Eddie, bored on a Wednesday, uploads some old Corroded Coffin tapes to the same channel…

And the entire internet combusts.

Suddenly, 45-something Eddie Munson has major label execs showing up at his door like,

“Hey, remember rock? Yeah, you’re the future of it.”

[hello-sweetheart]

Somewhere, in some universe, Steve Harrington is sitting on a lawn chair with sunglasses on, eating over -done steak that Hopper is grilling, watching young teens and grown ass adults running around like headless chickens looking for the Easter eggs he hid

(i.e. harassed into hiding)

Mike ‘I’m not a fucking baby’ Wheeler somehow got on the roof and is searching the gutters cuz last year Steve hid some up there, Will is on the ground with his arms out like he has a chance of catching him in case he falls

Lucas tapped out after being charged at by a squirrel (Max called him a pussy)

Dustin is stuck on a tree and everyone is pretending not to hear him yelling for help

Jonathan has been trailing behind Argyle, who is now sticking his hand in a rabbit burrow. They’re both completely blitzed.

Nancy and Robin are m.i.a (probably making out somewhere) after sneaking off under the guise of getting more colas

El has found the Golden Egg, which is huge and solid chocolate. She’s holding it like a proud mother.

And Eddie has Max locked in a duel with stick swords when they both reached for the same egg.

And yes, steve is jealous that Erica got to escape this circus to hang out with her friend Tina (he bets no one over there is at risk for rabies after having a stand off with a squirrel)

[mynameisjag]

For @ace-in-disgrace and their prompt: Danny gets mistaken as the love child of the disasters known as Wolverine and Deadpool.

Okay, it was not Danny's fault, he swears!

He was just experimenting with his ice, playing around with some of the younger yetis in the Far Frozen for fun. So shaping his ice to cover his hands to copy the paws of the others and seeing how well he could cut through solid hard frozen ice was just a game. The rough housing was to be expected, everyone tossing each other to see how far they could be thrown was fun.

Being picked up and tossed at the right exact moment a portal opened up was not fun or expected and he blamed Clockwork. The entity had to be responsible somehow for him not being able to enjoy a day of hanging out with Frostbite and the others.

Landing right in the middle of a what looked like a swat happening in an abandoned warehouse, armored people instantly aiming their rifles at him as he stood up wasn’t even surprising given his luck.

Fair though, he was currently looking more on the feral side to match his playmates then his normal ghost form.

“Hey, what’s with hostility? Can’t someone just pop in somewhere without-“, and he was shot in the shoulder, cutting his sentence off, “rude.”

It was just a regular bullet, so it was easy for his form to just…push it out and heal the hole up.

One of the men reached up to touch a device attached on his ear, “Unknown possible mutant has breached the facilities, age around 12-15, regeneration showed, animal like features-“

“You know it’s really rude to talk about someone like that to their face, no manners at all.”

“Unfortunately satirical.”

There was a crash from above as red and yellow forms busted through the glass, the guns swinging their aim at the two men landed.

“Sassiness is always welcomed!”, the red man had his own guns out and was already firing as he talked.

Danny had decided to dodge over to a pile of crates as all the attention was on the new intruders, eyes wide as an arc blood barely missed him as the one in yellow unsheathed long blades from his knuckles.

He glanced at his own hands, he couldn’t make a working gun from ice but…concentrating…he slowly watched as ice built up into copies, looking very much like it was growing from his skin.

An armored body was flung his way and he instinctual reacted…there were now two halves of a one man and he was covered in the viscera.

He froze…did he…oh…oh no…he had to go, he had to go now.

“Ope, looks like someone's first kill! Look at you Jack Frost,” the red guy with guns was now standing above him on a bigger crate, waving down at the teen, “awe, tiny puppy claws!”

Danny took a swing at the crate, watching as it collapsed and the man fell, laughing the entire time he went down.

He quickly turned to run, only to run into a wide chest where he promptly bounced off and landed ass first on the floor, “What in the-I have literally ran into steel walls softer then you.”

Claw man snorted as he reached down and picked Danny up by the scruff, “You alright kid?”

Said kid just hissed at him.

Claws was chuckling, “Cute, now put back your claws, I think it’s time for a chat.”

“Is it finally our turn for the found family and misunderstandings trope,” the red man was back and had swaggered up to the other two, an arm being thrown over his partners shoulders, “Hi, there and welcome, I’m Deadpool and this is Wolverine and we’re your new dads.”

“No.”

“No?”

Danny smiled, all sharp teeth, “No,” and promptly went invisible and intangible, escaping out of the warehouse while he could, leaving the other two behind.

He had to find a portal home.

Wade went limp, using Logan as a brace, “But I wanted to pull a ‘Batman’…”

The response was a snort and Wolverine sniffing his own hand, growling as he took the child’s scent in, “Don’t know what your talking about but, I can track him down, we probably need to before more of these fucks show up and get their hands on him.”

Hope you enjoyed it!

[kitchen-spoon]

Recently found out the house in the Slipknot duality music video was actually a fans house. they gave the band permission to film their music video there and have a mob of people destroy it.

Now imagine Dustin being a huuuuuge corroded coffin fan and hearing the band is going back to their hometown Hawkins. They are looking for a house to film one of their music videos in. Issue is they want to trash the place and invite all their fans to do it with them. In comes Steve who was given his parents mansion but left Hawkins years ago. The house has been sitting and rotting for almost decade. Naturally Dustin BEGS Steve to let them use his house so Dustin can meet the band and of course do them the honour. After weeks of pestering from Dustin and forced googling by Robin, Steve agrees. And its definitely not because he has a giant crush on the lead guitarist Eddie Munson.

Months later the band come to Hawkins and Dustin’s dreams come true. He, Steve, and Robin all get to be in the video. And once Eddie hears about the circumstances of the house (through some over sharing on Dustin’s part) he insists Steve be the one to at least kick the door in and destroy his old bedroom. Steve is nervous though so Eddie is given the camera and they go alone.

Steve leaves the shoot that day with years of repressed anger and resentment relieved as well as the phone number of a famous rockstar.

Dustin never shuts up about being the reason they are together.

[ailithnight]

DPxDC Prompt #18

Inspired by reading this prompt from @nerdpoe and my brain randomly deciding to mash it with this prompt and reblog from @stealingyourbones and @moodycow210. Basic premise is the Nerdpoe prompt with the backstory of the Bones prompt. Do read those for full context of what my brain was trying to do here.

Danny was sent on a mission by Clockwork and missed his window back home, getting stuck in a vast, dark (twilight), oceanic place; with only the company of fish-like beings that can only communicate empathically very basic desires and intents.

After a while of panic and searching for a way back, he ultimately settles in and waits for rescue, occupying his time by playing with and training his powers. He discovers an ability to shapeshift and decides to make his form into something more comfortable and camouflaged for where he is.

The form he settles in to is somewhere between human and fish. Hands and claws and fins and webbing and gills.

It saves his life when Danny loses his hold on his ghost form, discovering that the changes transferred over to his living self.

And Danny waits.

And waits.

And drifts along, avoiding the attention of anything with teeth and intent to eat, while searching for his own meal.

And forgets what he's waiting for.

Danny has been there so long now. His memories of before are nothing but vague, indistinct impressions. Like the shadow of the other creatures that sometimes brush against his own. When the green, swirling thing appears in front of him, he almost swims away from it. But something about it brushes him, like those shadows of before. It calls to him, urges him to approach, to swim through.

On the other side of the green thing is light. So much light. It's so bright. And full of fish. More fish and more light than he can remember ever seeing before. The other fish swim around, swimming with a suffocating shadow of urgency and fear. And the green thing is gone.

Confused and disoriented, he cannot avoid the massive thing, like a strange tangle of kelp vines, sweeping through the water collecting anything that does not avoid it's path. It pulls him and many fish up and up and up. To a place too heavy to swim, where some instinct has him changing the way he breathes from his gills to his mouth and nostrils. He didn't know he could do that. And yet, some part of him is quite certain that he did.

There are strange shapes beyond the strange vines. They bark noises that brush against those shadows of memory, but he does not understand them. He should, he knows he should. He should understand a lot more about this situation than he does. But he doesn't.

"Is that one of them fish people?"

"Looks like it. Seems a young one too."

"Should we toss it back?"

"Why? Pretty little fish, bet we could find a buyer. He oughta fetch a pretty penny. Might even get nough to actually retire."

[the-angst-chronicles-fanworks]

Steve likes to take dates to the carnivals and he always tries to win them stuffed toys because he’s cheesy and romantic and proud of it thank you very much

Only, he’s absolute ass at the carnival games. He’s only ever managed to win an ugly little cap, and Tiffany had not been amused when he’d presented it to her. It never stopped him from trying of course, but it’s a little discouraging

Fast forward to now, when he’s recruited by Claudia Henderson to drag the party out to the carnival. Robin refuses to join him because “I finally have a date Steve, I’m not going to spend it chaperoning your walking headaches”. So he recruited Eddie

Of course, the party doing want to be chaperoned and they’re really old enough to go to a carnival by themselves, so he agrees to let them go off by themselves as long as they stay out of trouble.

So he and Eddie go on a few rides and grab a bite to eat, and Eddie eats like three ice cream cones and feels too queasy for more rides. So Steve decides to practice carnival games so he can win something for the next babe he brings on a date.

With Eddie cheering him on as obnoxiously and flirtatiously as he can, Steve starts playing. And he starts winning. Not just the little prizes either. Along with normal sized stuffed bears and bats and what-have-yous, he also gets a comically large stuffed rainbow unicorn wearing sunglasses, a long dragon plushie that’s taller than he is, and other oversized paraphernalia

Since he isn’t here with a date, Steve just gives all his winnings to Eddie. Eddie jokes about how this was the most romantic date he’s ever been on (only it’s not really a joke, this not-date is more romantic than any of his trysts). Then Eddie starts complaining that Steve needs to stop winning because how is he supposed to carry all this? By the time they meet up with the kids, Eddie isn’t even visible behind the mass of prizes in his arms. He stumbles over, guided by Steve’s hand in his back, wrapped in the giant dragon, and the kids mock the both of them ruthlessly

Eddie keeps all the toys and names then after the party just to bug them. Steve delighted with that, and together they always tease the kids (“wooow, rainbow unicorn Dustin would never do this” is a favourite because it makes Dustin apoplectic)

When they start dating, Eddie keeps telling people that Steve “gave me 6 kids before finally putting a ring on it”

[buckevantommy]

From the prompt list: “Breathe. Hi, we found you, just breathe for me, okay?”, please? Thanks in advance!

👀 it's gotta be injured Tommy + worried Buck to the rescue.. send me a prompt or two..

Tommy's awoken by turbulance, jostled in his seat from external forces, except..

It can't be turbulance. He can't be in the air. He's a decent pilot but he can't sleep and fly at the same time. The last thing he remembers was flying over downtown L.A, Lucy saying something about windsurfing, before—

A metallic banging snags his attention, his head throbbing and neck protesting as he tries to turn towards the sound.

The whir and grind of tools, muffled voices yelling— and then a great groaning sound and— bright lights blind his already poor vision, the voices are louder. There's a flurry of activity around him, the hurried capability of professionals doing their job, cautious touches to his body, inspection of his seat. Someone moves behind him, probably to get to Lucy—

"—Tommy?"

"..'van?.." His eyes are screwed shut against the torchlight but he'd know that voice anywhere.

"Tommy!"

"..Y're here.."

"Yeah, yeah I-I'm here— we're here, we got you— we're gonna get you out, okay? Just— just stay with me."

The other voices filter in and out of his awareness. He zeroes in on Evan: he's close, right by Tommy's ear, voice strained but beautiful. He hasn't heard that voice since..

Since Bobby's funeral. Since that night everything went to hell. Since the morning after they..

It's been too long. There's been too much complication and hurt. He misses hearing Evan's voice happy and unburdened. He doesn't want to add to his worry or stress.

As he shifts to try to move— pain lances through his side.

"Woah, woah, easy Tommy," Howie says. He must be the one evaluating Tommy's condition. Which mustn't be great, considering the pain.

"Just hold still," Evan says in his ear, voice wobbly. His hands— they must be Evan's hands— are braced on his shoulders, holding him steady.

He's missed those hands, strong and capable and eager. He'd do a lot to hear that voice again, feel Evan's touch again. Like stealing another helicopter, or..

..crashing one?

"Try not to move, just breathe for me, o-okay?"

Nodding seems like a bad idea and requires too much energy anyway— and he's so very tired —so he settles for humming in the affirmative and focusing on the grounding, heavy warmth of Evan's hands on him.

Lucy groans off to his left, reminding Tommy he's not the only one who's fucked up right now. "..Luce?.."

"..Wha' h'appen'd?.."

Good question.

"Civilian drone," says Howie.

An attack? It's not unheard of, people tend to target police helicopters but from far away it's hard to tell what's LAFD unless you know.

"Dumbass was tryin' to get an aerial shot for his stupid ass zombie movie," says Hen, condescending as hell.

Tommy's missed her, too. And Howie. All of them. He misses Evan's people, his old friends, misses being in their orbit almost as much as he misses Evan.

"Oh m' god— w're gonn' be in a zombie movie, T'mmy!" Lucy snickers as Hen chides her to hold still.

A laugh bubbles out of him, ending on a groan as another flare of pain shoots through him like a lightning bolt. Evan's hands grip him tighter.

"Chim—"

"Buck, just keep him steady— Ravi, get in here with that saw—"

Through slitted eyes, Tommy glimpses a long, metallic shard protruding from his midsection. So that explains the pain. As Ravi takes the saw to the metal, Howie and Evan hold him down.

Just before he blacks out, Tommy could swear he feels lips press to his temple, firm and desperate.

+ + +

There's murmurs and hushed conversation, but it's Hen's voice saying, "He's stable," that are the first clear words Tommy hears as he gradually resurfaces from unconsciousness.

The pain has subsided to a dull ache. He's comfortable, horizontal, and there's the telltale sign of a heart monitor beeping quietly nearby.

He's in a hospital bed. His hand is clasped between two strong, warm hands. Familiar hands. Hands clutching at Tommy like his only tether to this world.

Hen's a great medic, Tommy trusts her assessment, so if Evan was worried about him slipping away it sounds like he doesn't need to anymore. Not that he deserves Evan's concern, but he could probably let go of Tommy's hand now.

Tommy doesn't want Evan to let go. He squeezes Evan's hand.

"'m not a fan of deathbed confessions, j'st for the record," he says, voice low and raw.

"You're not dying," three voices say at once. A smile tugs at the corner of Tommy's mouth. Howie and Hen sound a little exasperated, but fond. A hint of humour colors the latent urgency in Evan's voice.

Tommy blinks his eyes open to find Evan smiling, tentative and gorgeous, blue eyes big and red-rimmed, brow unfurrowing as tension sloughs from his shoulders on a sigh, his messy curls limned by the morning sun. Evan could put the brightness of the sun to shame even when he looks exhausted.

"m' sorry, 'bout us. I shouldn'.. shouldn'..ve.. left." His brain is still a little foggy, words coming a little slow, but he can't wait for it to catch up. He needs to say this now, needs Evan to know.

And he'd forgive Evan for asking: which time? because he'd deserve the jab for being a coward more than once, for not fighting for them.

"No— I'm sorry," Evan says instead. "I didn't mean to push you away, and I-I should've reached out sooner."

Why didn't you? Tommy doesn't say, because he's not sure he wants to know the answer. But he knows for certain that Evan has been grieving Bobby's death and so doesn't blame him for their lack of correspondance following the funeral. It's a two-way street, Tommy could have picked up the phone but he didn't. Maybe he was giving Evan space after everything or maybe he was using circumstance as a scapegoat so he could stay couched in his own fears.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Evan says, eyes shining, brow furrowed.

Tommy squeezes his hand again and manages a small, sad smile. "M' neither." He wants to pull Evan in, hold him close, beg for another chance, promise to never run away again. But he doesn't know if it's welcome, and he doesn't know if he can trust himself anyway. He'd want to, for Evan. He'd do his damndest to not screw this up a third time, to stay despite his fears.

Evan adjusts his grip, strokes a thumb reverently over the back of Tommy's hand. "I've missed you."

Tommy's heart flutters. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. You were open and honest with me that night, and I-I should've said this then— I wanted to tell you, but I-I needed— and then I—" Evan shakes his head, clearing it to refocus. "In the helicopter, I decided. Afterwards, I was gonna ask if we could talk, but.."

Tommy squeezes his hand.

"Everything's been so messed up, Tommy," he starts again, "for so long—" He pauses to take a steadying breath, "I don't wanna lose you. I wanna fix this— us— because I miss you, and.. I love you." His hands cradle Tommy's. "I love you."

The second I love you — and Tommy's head spins at the words — seems to settle something in Evan. Tommy's heart is soaring. His eyes are welling up, voice cracking as he says, "Yeah?" lips twitching up.

Evan nods. "Yeah."

"Well, then.. y'should know I love you, too."

Evan breaks into a watery grin. "Yeah?"

Tommy blinks, a tear tracking down to his hairline as his own smile breaks free. "Yeah."

It's just the two of them, hand in hand and laying their hearts out on Tommy's hospital bed.

"Thought you weren't one for deathbed confessions," Howie chimes in.

Tommy totally forgot he was there. Hen tsks and half-heartedly whacks his shoulder as she and Evan both say, Evan chuckling now, "He's not dying."

Hen's eyes are glistening and she's trying to hold back a smile. Howie looks touched, too.

"Hey," Tommy tugs on Evan's hand. "What're y'doing Saturday?"

Evan laughs and ducks his head. "Uh. Today is Saturday."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And I, uh." Evan threads their fingers together. "I was hoping to spend the day with my boyfriend."

Tommy beams. "Lucky guy."

"Yeah, I am." Evan's smile turns soft and intimate.

Tommy adores him.

Buck blinks in surprise.

"D'I j'st say that out loud?"

"Uh-huh," Hen and Chim pipe up in unison, but Tommy only has eyes for Evan.

"S'true," he says, knowing he'll say the words again with intention and feel just as content in having them known.

"I'm kinda crazy about you. Hope that's okay?"

Tommy was lucky enough to glimpse a bit of Evan's crazy during their first try at this. The thought of being the focus of that intense emotional spectrum makes him giddy. "I like y'r crazy."

"You two are sickeningly adorable," says Howie.

Tommy lowers his voice to a stage whisper. "Wan' make out in front of th' peanut gall'ry?"

Evan laughs, the sun flaring above the city skyline behind him nothing compared to his light. "Yes, yes I do."

"So this is the thanks I get for saving your life, huh?" Howie balks.

"Ravi handled the saw with expert precision, I gotta say," Evan tells him.

"R'mind me t'.. send him.. muff'n bask't.." The exhaustion is creeping back in, trying to pull him under.

"Buck's got you covered on the baked goods front," Hen adds.

"..Hmh?" His eyelids are heavy as he blinks in slow motion, trying to focus as his brain slows down again, urging him to rest.

"Just, uh. Some of my crazy," Evan admits, a shy note in his voice.

"Hm.. g'd.." Tommy hums happily as his eyes lose the battle to stay open.

There's whispered voices around him as his breathing deepens and evens out.

"Call us if either of you need anything, Buck."

"I will. Thanks, guys."

There's footsteps and rustling. A dip in the bed and a warm solid presence at his hip. Evan takes the hand covering Tommy's to brush back some wayward curls from his forehead.

Evan likes his curls. He said it more than once, but it was his hands and even his eyes more than his words that clued Tommy in.

Plush, bitten lips press a lingering kiss to his brow, Evan's hand cradling Tommy's skull, thumb scritching against his scalp.

"Get some rest," Evan murmurs between them, the gentle pressure and comforting warmth of his forehead pressed to Tommy's.

I love you, Tommy thinks, and a warm puff of air ghosts over his lips.

There's a smile in Evan's voice when he says, "Love you, too."

Tommy surrenders to sleep, his last nebulous thought being that he can't wait to wake up to this.

[shushmal]

from @skepsiss: Steddie (obviously), prompt = one of them is trying to convince the other to go to the hospital for a minor thing (needs stitches from a fall, stomach bug).

"Stevie, please."

"Oh my god," Steve sighs, wrapping the gauze tight around his hand. It blooms red with blood. "It's fine, Ed."

"It really isn't." Eddie is a little pale when Steve looks up to glare at him. "Steve, please baby, I saw the bones in your hand."

"You're being dramatic."

"See," Eddie whines, high pitched and panicked. "I do understand why you're saying that. I know this is a case of boy who cried wolf. But I am begging you here. Please, let me drive you to the hospital."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "It wasn't that deep, I promise you."

"Steve."

"Ed—"

And then Eddie does this thing—where he pulls himself up to his full height, crowding up into Steve's space, until they're nose to nose, his eyes wide and intense—and it shuts Steve up every time. It's stupid, and horribly embarrassing, but it works and Eddie uses it to his advantage, pressing Steve into the edge of the counter and boxing him in, his hands tights against Steve's hips.

"Steve," he says, low and serious. "You can bitch at me all you want in the car, but I'm taking you to the hospital. Okay?"

"Okay," Steve says, against his will, face burning as Eddie pulls away. As soon as he has breathing room to think, he scowls at him. "But if I don't need stitches, you're on the hook to do dishes for the next month."

Eddie doesn't even grimace—he hates doing dishes—and gently starts herding Steve out the door. "You got it, honey," he says, distractedly. His face turns green when a line of blood drips down Steve's wrist from beneath the bandage. "Whatever you say."

Steve ends up getting 15 stitches. Eddie's stuck doing the dishes until it heals anyways.

[steddielations]

makeup artist youtuber steve who gets famous and does interviews with celebrities while doing their makeup

rockstar eddie who released a grungy eyeshadow palette and does a video with steve to promote it and their chemistry is crazy and all the comments are shipping them

the kick is that eddie didn’t even know he’d be going on steve’s show, jeff asked their manager to set it up because steve did a solo review of eddie’s palette and they’ve all been teasing eddie about watching steve’s video over and over

now they’re all watching eddie get flustered as steve softly touches his face and holds him by the chin, complimenting his eyes and letting him ramble about music and what he likes to wear on stage because steve is actually a really good interviewer

and his last question comes after the cameras shut off and he asks for eddie’s number

[corkinavoid]

Hey, @confused-they, this is for you and for everyone else who wanted more of this AU. Merry Christmas.

DPxDC Ring of Rage? More Like Ring of Engage [pt. 4]

[<- part 3 | additional notes ->]

[Written to 'Tantrum' by Ashnikko]

TW: mentioned mild gore (some inside parts become outside ones, nothing graphic)

Tim can't breathe.

Joker's mad laughter is ringing through the darkness of the warehouse, echoing in his head, the screeching sound straight out of nightmares. Hood should be nearby - as in, somewhere in this darkness along with him - but Tim can't think about that, his own maniacal giggles bubbling in the back of his throat, a grin tugging at his lips.

He has to get up. He has to stand, he has to fight, and it really shouldn't be this hard.

But he can't breathe.

Tim clutches his fingers on the fabric of his suit on the chest, distantly wondering if this is how Danny feels when he is more human than ghost. Probably not, he mentioned that breathing is only optional.

He really wants his boyfriend right now. His fiance. Whatever, he wants Danny, he wants his cold hands on his cheeks and the faint, humming purr of his core that Tim finds nice to fall asleep to, and-

Maybe later. He can't exactly summon him now, not in the middle of a fight, especially not in the middle of a fight with Joker of all people.

There's an angry growl somewhere to Tim's left, staticky through the voice-modulator. Then several sounds of gunshots and a gleeful, taunting yell of the madman.

Hold on.

Tim snaps his eyes open - not that anything changes, everything is still pitch-black around him - and blinks.

Why not?..

It's not like Danny is a civilian. Tim tends to pay little attention to the fact since the King of Infinite Realms doesn't hang out with the whole superhero convention on principle. But Tim is pretty sure he won't mind it this once.

Besides, Tim is so done with Joker that it's not even funny.

A few breathy chuckles escape his throat as he lets his body fully slump back on the floor and brings his left hand to his face, placing a quick kiss on the Ring through his glove. He doesn't need to do that, not really, but it's kind of a ritual at this point, and the gesture somehow makes him feel better.

"Danny," he whispers.

For a long moment, nothing happens.

Then, there's a soft, popping sound, and his beautiful boyfriend is floating right over him, faintly glowing and a little sleepy. Tim is momentarily distracted by his bare feet and pj pants with tiny rockets on them.

Danny yawns and tugs the hem of his t-shirt down as it starts to float. "Whas'sup," he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clearly not fully awake, and Tim's heart melts instantly. He loves Danny. He just... He loves him, okay? He loves that Danny didn't question his summons for a moment, he loves that he came even though he was obviously sleeping, and he loves that Danny is wearing a tee he stole from Tim.

Unfortunately, before he is able to get his shit back together, another sound of gunshot ripples through the air, and Danny startles, blinking himself awake and looking in the direction of it. Then, his eyebrows shoot up, and his mouth makes a soft 'O' shape before he turns back to Tim and tilts his head in question.

"You want me to deal with him? The clown, I mean, not your brother," he asks, and it's so casual and off-handed that Tim actually huffs a laugh.

"Sorry, I was just- I'm really tired of his ass," Tim should probably sit up, this is not a talk they should have while he is lying on the ground. On the other hand, Jason is somewhere out there, and he has guns and doesn't have a clear visual around him, so maybe Tim shouldn't sit up.

Danny hums, "Is that a yes?"

Tim just nods. He is pretty sure Danny can see him despite the darkness. "I promise it's a one-time thing, I don't plan on calling you every time one of local lunatics acts up. I just... I fucking can't with him," he admits with a defeated sigh. But, before he can spiral any further into the abyss of unworthiness, Danny's cold hands are cupping his cheeks, and his icy eyes are looking right into Tim's sky blue.

"Love, I don't mind getting rid of each and every one of your Rogues. Granted, it would probably fuck up the timeline, and Clocky would be mad, but I'd do it if you want me to, no questions asked." His voice is quiet, and Tim has never been more grateful for his domino mask, because he can feel his cheeks heating up and he doesn't want Danny to see the exact effect his words are causing.

"I- Okay," he quietly agrees, and then blinks, backtracking, "Wait, no, don't fuck up the timeline. Just deal with the laughing bitch this once, and that's it. We can handle the rest."

Danny is smiling at him in that adoring way Tim recognizes as 'I really want to kiss you, but it's not the time or place'. Then, he nods and lets go of Tim's cheeks, straightening up in the air, and his clothes shift all at once, like a magic trick.

Gone are the stretched out t-shirt and the pants with rocket ships. In their place, Danny's body is head to toe covered in stars and galaxies that hold the vague shape of armor, and there's a slightly shimmering, blueish-green translucent cape over one of his shoulders.

The Crown over his head, the sentient artifact much like the Ring on Tim's finger, appears from nowhere, and, after a brief pause - Tim swears it was debating on whether or not the situation is worth the effort - promptly sets itself on fire. Blue flames cast long shadows on Danny's, no, King's face, making him look older and his cheekbones sharper.

Before, the boy was only faintly glowing, and, evidently, the others present in the warehouse were too distracted to notice him.

But now, with the flaming Crown casting dancing shadows on the walls of the warehouse, it's really hard not to see the otherworldly being making an appearance.

"Holy fuck," Tim hears Hood's quiet, astonished voice, and almost cracks a grin.

Yeah, he wants to say, that's my boyfriend. Although he suspects he and Jason are having vastly different reactions to Danny's presence. Because Tim kind of wants to take all his words about dealing with Joker back and take Danny home, straight to bed.

...He is going to have to strangle Jason in his sleep if his reaction is similar. No, that's a wrong thought, this is so not the time for it.

"Who are you, flying glowstick?" Joker sounds rightfully pissed off by the interruption, "Does Batsy employ alien kids now?"

Danny chuckles, the starry freckles on his cheeks glowing brighter, "Okay, just because you compared me to an alien, I'm not going to completely erase you from this plane of existence."

Tim snaps his head up.

"Wait, no killing," he reminds, not because he actually cares but because B would throw a fit. Danny brushes him off with a wave of his hand.

"No worries, he'll stay alive," he smiles at Tim, and to everyone else, it probably looks like stuff of nightmares, sharp, pointy teeth and lips stretched out far beyond human capabilities. But Tim sees it for what it is: a face of mischief.

"Do I get a vote in this?" Jason's deadpan voice comes from somewhere on the other side of the warehouse at the same moment as Joker screeches in rage, "Who the fuck do you think-"

"Nope," Danny pops the 'p', and Tim is not sure if he is answering to Hood or refusing to listen to the clown's monolog by it. Maybe it's both. It's probably both.

The next moment, Danny is gone, disappeared from the place he was floating at, and Tim hears a wet, very unpleasant sound followed by Joker's scream of pain.

"You see this?" He hears Danny's nonchalant, unfazed voice above the clown's pained cries, "This is your rib, bitch- Hey, quit whining and listen to me, it's important."

There's a slap, a rustle, and a sound of ripping fabric, and Joker's voice becomes muffled, like someone put a gag in his mouth.

"You're like Adam now, you know, lacking one rib," Danny continues, "Only I'm not making you a girl out of this one, I'm pretty sure you don't deserve to reproduce. Anyway, going further down that metaphor, I'm the God almighty in this situation, so if you want to keep the rest of your ribs - and the rest of other things that are supposed to stay inside of you - to yourself, you gotta do a thing for me, okay?"

There's some muffled groans that Joker makes in response, then an enraged growl, a sound of a struggle, another slap, and then that same wet, disgusting squelch.

"Two ribs, wow, okay, you're really being difficult about this!" Danny sounds so innocently dumbstruck about it that Tim suppresses a laugh. "Are you listening now?" There's a quiet, choking wheeze that answers him, and Danny sounds quite pleased when he says, "Great."

Tim debates if he should look. He doesn't exactly want to since the sounds provide enough context, but it might be somewhat cathartic for him.

And then the air around him inexplicably shifts, becoming cold and oppressive, weighting Tim down like a heavy blanket and pushing him into the floor. The dancing shadows and the blue light of flames on the walls twist and churn, like taking aim, and Tim doesn't know what Danny looks like right now but he knows he is as far from human as possible, his voice coming with a staticky, echoing whisper, a threatening hiss slithering inside Tim's ears.

"Play your little games all you want, Fallen Jester, but know that you can not win. The punchline to your joke is long overdue, and your soul has belonged to me for quite some time now," his words are cold and uncaring, and in all the time Tim has known his boyfriend, he has never heard him speak like this: with a sense of lazy power, like he is only humoring the people around him.

Like they mean nothing to him.

"I will not kill you, or at least not here and now. My Guiding Star doesn't want to see my hands dirty with your filthy remains. Besides, death is only a moment, and you don't deserve only a moment of suffering," he huffs a short, humorless chuckle, "But, luckily, I am the Eyes of the Universe, the Titan's Bane, the King of the Dead, and everyone will meet me once their eyes fall shut for the last time," there's a smile in his voice now, full of cold and merciless anticipation. Tim feels a shiver run down his spine.

"So just you wait, Jester, and I will meet you on the other side. Then we'll see how whatever is left of your soul is going to spend an eternity."

Tim's ears are ringing with the pure, somehow gleeful hatred that laces those last words. He didn't know he could literally taste the disgust and the promise of pain, and yet, here he is, with a hint of something sour on his tongue.

And then, the heavy, weighted air that has been charged with power is lifted, the shadows and bright blue lights are all gone, and Danny, wearing his pj's and smiling, is standing over him. His feet are planted on the ground for once, and the Crown is gone without a trace, but his t-shirt is still trying to float up. The boy tugs it down again, offering a hand to Tim.

"Wanna go out for a burger since I'm already here in Gotham?"

Tim had never breathed easier in his life. He laughs a little and reaches up, taking his beautifully unhinged boyfriend's hand and standing up.

"I thought you'd never ask."

[clioerato]

Three times Eddie was broken (one time he paid back a debt.)

Gas can and sandwich.

“…shit shit shit shit shit…”

Thoughts swarmed through Eddie’s head like a flock of pissed-off birds. He banged his forehead against the steering wheel of the dead van a couple of times, but not out of despair — no, that emotion had long packed its bags and left. This was just exhaustion. Bone-deep, soul-crushing exhaustion that weighed as much as a whole damn life.

The van had broken down somewhere between Indy and Hawkins. Old faithful — except it hadn’t been faithful since the late 70s. The fuel gauge had been unreliable for years, part of the van’s charming, self-destructive personality. Normally, Eddie kept an emergency gas can in the back. Normally, he was ready for this.

Not today.

He’d burned through the last of the gas on the way to Indianapolis, chasing the fool’s gold that was Corroded Coffin’s first ever real gig. A suicidal move, financially speaking. They hadn’t made a dime — just torched through every cent the band had scrounged over the past six months. Gareth had thrown in the last $30, hard-earned mowing lawns for Hawkins suburbanites.

And now, on the way home, Eddie was stranded on some godforsaken stretch of road. Nearest gas station? Miles. Dozens of them. And even if he could get there, he was already twenty bucks in the red. His stomach twisted painfully — not just from stress, but real, angry hunger.

“…fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…”

Eddie had a couple of options. None of them good. He could try to find a payphone — which meant abandoning the van and wandering god knows where. Or wait and hope someone drove by. This particular road wasn’t exactly busy, though. It was a forgotten thread leading into Hawkins, not even connected to the main highway.

And anyway, Eddie Munson hated asking for help.

He let his hands fall onto the wheel and dropped his head, eyes burning. But he blinked the tears away, refusing to cry. Not now. Not over this. The memory of the warm, buzzing crowd in Indy still clung to him — how for one second, they’d made him feel seen, like he mattered. Now, life was back to rubbing his face in the dirt.

Just… give him a minute. One damn minute to mourn his broke, miserable life.

His last cigarette had been smoked yesterday.

A knock on the van window made him jolt.

Eddie blinked. Another knock.

He turned his head — and no freaking way. No. Freaking. Way.

Somehow, in the cacophony of his own mind, he hadn’t noticed another car pull up. A shiny, spotless BMW. He’d recognize that car anywhere. The royal chariot of King Steve. And there he was, in the flesh, knocking on his window like this was normal.

Eddie (exhaling, trying to gather himself): “Harrington?”

Steve (frowning slightly): “Um… do I know you? Sorry, you look kinda familiar. You okay in there?”

Eddie: “Oh, do not concern yourself, Your Majesty. This humble peasant has merely run out of fuel. Go on, ride off into the sunset. I’ll just rot here in your kingdom’s ditch.”

Steve (still frowning): “Uh…”

Eddie wasn’t expecting anything from Steve Harrington — the golden-boy jock, rich kid, probably still coasting on daddy’s money and senior year glory. Mercy wasn’t exactly part of the Harrington brand.

So when Steve just… turned, got back in his car, and drove off?

Well.

Yeah, that’s right, Eds. What the hell were you expecting from that guy?

A fresh wave of helplessness washed over him, darker than before. He wasn’t even mad. He just… had nothing left. He slumped back against the seat, letting it swallow him whole. Maybe if he sat there long enough, the universe would forget he existed.

Time blurred.

Another knock at the driver’s door snapped him out of his haze.

Eddie turned, heart suddenly tight in his chest — and there was Harrington again. Except this time, he wasn’t just standing there awkwardly. He was crouching down, placing something by the van.

Eddie looked.

Two gas cans.

Eddie: “…uh…”

Steve: “Sorry, I’m kind of running late. Think you can pour it in yourself?”

Eddie: “…uh… yeah? Thanks?”

Steve: “No problem. Try to get home safe, alright?”

Eddie couldn’t speak. His throat locked up with a stupid mix of shame and gratitude. Meanwhile, Harrington walked back to his BMW, opened the passenger door, grabbed something, and came back.

He handed Eddie a brown paper bag through the window.

Steve: “This is for you too. Don’t know how long you’ve been out here. Sorry I can’t stay — really gotta run. Take care, man.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Eddie sat frozen for a second, the paper bag crinkling in his hands. He watched the car disappear into the distance, the heat of embarrassment still burning behind his eyes.

Inside the bag?

Two sandwiches. And a cherry Coke.

2. Stitches and Insurance

It happened after that gig—the one with the bigger stage. Their band was starting to make waves, at least in the kind of circles that lived off bootlegs and basement posters. Steve helped with this, oddly enough. Eddie simply left him in the bar for half an hour on their last trip to Indy, and returned to a table where three people were sitting with Steve, one of whom was the owner of the music venue. But bigger stages came with bigger risks. And this one bit back.

Eddie cut his hand. Badly.

He swore he’d stitch it up himself. Ever since the whole Vecna nightmare—the hospital, the endless tests, the morphine haze—he’d sworn off hospitals entirely. What he hated even more than the IV drips and fluorescent lights was the bill. He’d caught a glimpse of it once, a flash of paper on Uncle Wayne’s cluttered kitchen table. All those zeros behind a number no one in Hawkins should ever have to see.

Eddie had let out a string of expletives so strong, it probably cracked a window. And then he drove straight to Hopper’s office, still limping. The government owed them. Hell, wiping out Eddie’s medical debt should’ve been the bare minimum for silence. A couple stitches? They should’ve thrown in a house in the suburbs and a damn parade.

But no—Eddie had learned the hard way: it’s cheaper to die at home than heal in a hospital.

He told all of that to Steve—who, incidentally, was at his very first Corroded Coffin show. Eddie kind of felt bad. Ruined the guy’s night with blood leaking down his arm like a horror movie prop.

Steve didn’t argue. He just drove him to the hospital.

Two hours later, Eddie stormed out, still cursing under his breath. Bandaged. Stitched. And holding a fresh, infuriating piece of paper.

Then he found out it had already been paid.

Eddie: "Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

Steve: "You were bleeding and rambling about stardust and destiny. Sorry for grounding you, Vulcan."

Eddie (irritated but begrudgingly charmed): "You spoiled, trust-fund prick."

Steve: "I work at a video store."

Eddie: "You have a checkbook with no bottom, Harrington."

Steve: "Idiot parents. Occasionally useful. But I’m actually pretty decent at saving."

Eddie (quieter now): "Steve..."

Steve (more serious): «Eds… did you really think I’d let you bleed out just because you’re too stubborn to ask for help?"

Eddie swallows hard. He doesn’t answer. Just stands there for a second too long. Then, as Steve walks back toward the car, Eddie tosses it over his shoulder like it costs him nothing:

Eddie: "Thanks, Harrington. I’ll pay you back. As soon as I sign with a label."

Steve (grinning): "I’m holding you to that, rising star."

3. Ice Cream and Laundry Detergent

Steve just shows up at Eddie’s trailer, arms full of grocery bags, fumbling with the door and trying to kick it shut behind him without dropping anything.

Eddie: “What the hell is all this?”

Steve: “You said you were out of detergent. And coffee. And, swear to God, I watched Henderson steal your last bag of chips yesterday. I’ve been picking the kids up from your place three days in a row, and your cabinets are still a desert.”

Eddie: “Wait—have you been snooping through my cabinets?”

Steve: “It’s the kids.”

Eddie: “Jesus, Steve. That’s not a reason to throw money at me. I’m not your kept man.”

Steve (half-lies): “Eddie, I did it for the kids. Max hangs out here more than at home, she feels safe with you. Dustin’s over like every other day. Will’s finally planning his first DND campaign after the break. This—this is life happening. Kids.”

Eddie doesn’t buy it. Yeah, his finances are a dumpster fire the size of Indiana, but that doesn’t mean Steve has to play savior. He’ll figure it out. He’s an adult, goddammit.

But something about it hits him in the gut—something ugly and hot, tangled in guilt. He feels like a loser, like he’s bleeding self-worth out of every pore. Writing their first real album is eating up every hour, and even then, he’s behind. Part of him wonders if things would be easier—for both of them—if he just gave it all up. If he shelved the band, got a normal job, stopped pretending the dream meant something.

He knows none of this is Steve’s fault. But that ache in his chest—the thrum of self-hate and fear—is louder than reason. It’s just another reminder that Eddie has nothing to give Steve. Not really. Nothing but his stupid, breakable heart, which probably isn’t worth a damn. All he ever does is take.

Eddie can’t…

They differ. Loudly.

Steve leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

Ten minutes later, Eddie pulls out a pint of chocolate hazelnut ice cream from one of the bags. His favorite.

He sits on the windowsill, eats straight from the tub, and whispers into the dark:

Eddie: “You’re an idiot. And I love you. But you’re an idiot.”

+1. The Key to a New Life

It’s been almost two years. Eddie’s now the frontman of Corroded Coffin, a rock band climbing charts faster than anyone saw coming. His posters hang in teenage bedrooms across the country, and cassette tapes with their live recordings sell out weekly. He’s got a voice that cuts like broken glass and a heart that only beats for two things: music and Steve.

Steve smiles during their last call before Christmas. Eddie’s on tour. Steve—now officially the band’s manager, somehow infuriatingly good at handling everything from venue bookings to financials—isn’t with him for one reason: the kids. It’s senior year for their shrimp troop, and Christmas is just around the corner. Eddie promises to be back in three weeks, just in time for the holidays.

The call comes when Steve expects it the least. He picks up the phone, already half-distracted.

Woman: "Richard Harrington?" Steve: "Hi, this is Steve Harrington. Richard’s not home. You might wanna try his assistant—should I give you her number?" Woman: "No, I’m at the right address. Hawkins, [street name]?" Steve: "Yeah... that’s right." Woman: "My name is Abigail Richardson. I’m a realtor. I’m calling to let you know we’ve found buyers for the house. They’d like to schedule a viewing next week. I’ll call the day before to confirm." Steve: "...Wait. Abigail, sorry—what buyers? I didn’t know the house was even on the market." Abigail: "It’s been listed for two months now. I have all the notarized paperwork. I’ll bring them by so you can take a look. I’d recommend contacting Richard Harrington directly." Steve: "Right. Okay. Thanks." Abigail: "I’ll be in touch. Have a nice day."

Steve lowers the phone slowly, like it’s too heavy for his hand. His eyes roam the room as if he can anchor himself with a single glance. His parents had been here two months ago. Said nothing. Had they already known then? Had they already planned to erase him like a smudge?

There weren’t many good memories in that house. The few warm ones he had were wrapped in Eddie’s cigarette smoke, long talks with Robin on the staircase, and the laughter of kids who saw him as something solid. Still, it was his house.

The only one he’d ever had.

The following week passes in a haze. He can’t reach his parents. The viewing happens. A young couple, bright-eyed and expecting, signs papers that same afternoon. Steve hopes they break the curse of the cold Harrington mansion.

Hopper helps go over the paperwork. Then claps a firm hand on Steve’s back and mutters, “There’ll always be a room for you here, kid.” He’s given a week to pack. It all fits into three boxes, which he hauls to the Byers-Hopper place.

Everything blurs. Steve moves through days like they’re underwater. He retreats into himself, thick with the echo of old voices: Useless. Forgotten. Nothing. Now he’s homeless, too.

He doesn’t tell Eddie. He can’t. The guy’s on tour, living off adrenaline and noise. He doesn’t tell Robin either—she’s got finals, and anyway, he doesn’t want to say it. Words make things real, and Steve’s not ready to admit how badly it all hurts.

Christmas creeps closer, slow and bright.

One afternoon, Steve hears tires crunching on gravel. He looks out the window and sees it—Eddie’s new van. Not the old rustbucket, but the one they bought with their first real tour paycheck.

Eddie (storming inside): “Steve, what the hell? I go by your house and there are strangers living there! What’s going on?” Steve (half-laughing, half-crumbling): “Well, guess I’m officially free from the Harringtons. Like the wind. Or decaf coffee—completely useless.” Eddie (smirking): “Jesus, Steve. I had plans for Christmas, sweetheart. You’re messing with my whole script here."

(He pulls out a small box.)

Eddie: “So, uh... I’ve got a two-bedroom in Indy now. It’s not much. But... I figured it was time to return the favor.” Steve: “Are you... asking me to move in?” Eddie (offering the box): “It’s yours. A key. To a place where someone waits for you. Where you’re home. I know you weren’t planning to leave Hawkins yet—hell, kids. But… I want you in my life. Always. Forever. If you want me to. But if you don’t, that second room... it’s yours. Whenever. However. We can even make it legal if that helps. Because, Steve... it’s my turn to give back.”

Steve stares at him, eyes stinging.

Steve: “You don’t owe me anything. But somehow... you’ve already given me more than my parents ever did.” Eddie (softly): “Because you deserve it. Every damn thing. And more. I love you.»

Steve: "I love you too. Let's get out of this town after Christmas. We'll be just a phone call away from the kids."

[hello-sweetheart]

Spirit medium! Steve

Guys, it’s almost Halloween (I say in March) so I was thinking of Steve being a medium but not really knowing. He works completely on vibes alone and just never questions them.

This, of course, concerns Eddie who, despite his dark aesthetic, really does not fuck with the paranormal. He’s Appalachian, the general rule is: if you see something, no you didn’t.

It starts with something small and more confusing than creepy. Quirky even! Eddie takes Steve with him to the thrift—more like Steve has latched himself onto Eddie and now each time Eddie runs the most mundane of tasks like looking for winter coat, Steve insists on coming—and Steve drifts from his side over to the shelves of trinkets to closely inspect a small doll.

It’s tiny, palm sized, and would be cute if Eddie didn’t have an innate fear of porcelain dolls. Steve picks it up and follows Eddie around for 30minutes and all the way to the register with the thing where he proceeds to purchase it for 50 cents.

“Dude, why?”

“I just like it. She’s cool.” Note, Steve says this as he places the tiny doll in is shirt pocket, it’s creepy little face peaking out.

Eddie laughs, thinks Steve is trying to be silly. “So what are you gonna name it then?”

“Why would I name her, she already has a name. Her names Felicity and she’s an old woman, really sweet actually, used to be a teacher.”

“Okay??” Whatever, maybe robins eccentricities and imagination is rubbing off on him.

Except the next time Eddie visits Steve, the thing—Felicity—is perched on the kitchen window sill, staring out into the yard.

“So what’s she doing here?” Eddie is hovering by the door of the kitchen like a nervous dog. He did NOT expect to have another encounter with the doll.

“She likes to look at the birds.”

“The doll, likes birdwatching.” Steve kicks his shoe.

“Don’t be rude.”

At this point Eddie is throughly creeped out and just nervously laughs. He quickly and awkwardly offers a “sorry ma’am” towards the doll just in case and walks out of the kitchen.

Eddie brings this up one day with Robin who just makes it worse.

“Oh yeah, that’s just Steve’s thing. I think he can tell when stuff is haunted or something, it’s really eerie actually. I try not to think about it.”

“You believe in ghosts?” Eddie is judging hard.

“I saw a monster made out of melted people parts, Eddie. At this point, the paranormal may as well exist.” Fair.

“So you don’t mind that Steve just has a doll around in the kitchen?”

“Felicity is pretty chill, actually. Not like— Steve brought home an old teacup one day, said he feels like it belonged to a little girl named Debra. Except he kept it in sunroom and suddenly the room felt really fucking weird all the time. Like your being watched, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Anyways, one day it was just gone, I noticed cuz the room felt lighter somehow, and Steve said he had to get rid of it cuz he didn’t like that Debra gave him nightmares.”

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Felicity hasn’t done anything freaky though, so I guess she’s alright.”

Eddie does not like this little hobby thing—whatever you can fuckin call it. He doesn’t like Felicity, he doesn’t like how Steve will sometimes seemingly name random objects, and he certainly does not like how Steve doesn’t even seem to think that any of it is weird.

But Eddie likes Steve, like-likes Steve, so Eddie has learned to deal with Felicity, and Bernard (this chewed up looking teddy bear that sits on the bookshelf that apparently does not like when people don’t use their inside voices, and Cherry.

(Cherry being a mug that used to belong to Wayne, but when Steve came over and pointed to it, said Cherry liked that mug because it was from one of her favorite places on her last roadtrip, Wayne just took it down from where it hung on the wall and gave it to Steve without a word. Steve looked absolutely stoked. Neither Wayne nor Eddie have brought it up, and it’s unlikely they ever will.)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Overheated

Pop-Up Prompt: School's Out For Summer | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Recreational Weed Use, Language | Tags: Set Post S2, Car Trouble, Crossing Paths, Confident Bisexual Steve Harrington, Jim Hopper is Done With These Two Kids

Eddie scurries down the packed hallway, knocking shoulders with anyone that dares to get in his way. He slams into the push handles of both of the glass double doors, shoving them wide open. The sun is bright, blinding him, but he doesn't give a fuck.

School's out for summer.

School's out forever.

Eddie can't wait to get out of this place. He's pretty sure he failed his last final, but he's not coming back for a third senior year. No fucking way. He's done forever, graduated or not.

He runs across the parking lot, his wallet chain banging into his thigh. Swinging open the van door, throwing his backpack into the passenger seat with a thud.

Firing up the engine of the van, he puts the pedal to the metal and gets the fuck out of Dodge. 

There's a box of tapes next to his seat, and he's fiddling around. Looking for the Alice Cooper tape he's pretty sure he has. Somewhere. Joint hanging from his lip. Attempting to pull another hit, unsuccessfully trying to keep it lit while he fucks around.

Being done with school is something to fucking celebrate.

When he looks up, he's rounding the curve of the highway, and right next to the road, barely off the pavement and in a really dumb spot, is Steve Harrington.

Eddie taps the brakes, slowing. 

Harrington has the hood up, and by the look of the steam billowing from underneath, that expensive-ass car has overheated. Rich kids really are just like them, it turns out.

And Eddie shifts his foot, aiming for the gas pedal. Planning to press back down on it. Harrington isn't his problem. 

But the van overheats all the time. And Steve's got a gallon jug of water in his hand. He really shouldn't do that.

Eddie honks his horn, and Steve looks up. 

Fuck it.

Eddie pulls over, dropping the joint in the ashtray, and backs up until he's closer to where Steve's parked.

"Don't do that, dumbass, you'll crack the block!" Eddie shouts, hopping out of the van. Both feet hitting the grass of the ditch. "You need coolant."

"I don't have coolant," Harrington says.

Eddie swings open the back of the van, and starts rummaging. Steve leans over his shoulder, he can feel the heat of him, far too close. 

When he gets his hand on the jug, Eddie holds it up, victorious. Spinning around, making Steve take a step back.

"How much is it worth to you?" Eddie asks, grinning with all his teeth.

Harrington puts his hands on his hips, and the look on his face is so goddamn bitchy. Eddie's never seen anything like it on another dude. It's uniquely Harrington, somehow.

"Munson," he says, but reaches for his back pocket, for his wallet.

Eddie laughs. 

"Your car is too hot right now, anyway. You need to let it sit."

And Harrington looks dejected. 

"Just for fifteen minutes or so. Not forever," Eddie adds.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks."

Eddie puts the jug down by the front of Steve's car, shoulder bumping Steve's on the way down on purpose.

"You smell like weed," Steve says, and Eddie barks out a laugh.

"No shit. I was celebrating the end of this torture we've called high school until I saw your dumb ass getting ready to do dumb shit."

Steve laughs, and it's genuine. Eddie's stomach clenches against his will. 

"Got enough to share while we wait?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods even if he knows he should fuck right off and leave Harrington's ass here on the side of the road alone.

But he opens his arm, gesturing towards the van, even against his best judgment.

Steve Harrington's tongue is in his mouth, and Eddie's so fucking hard. His body is traitorous. Steve's hand is in his hair, and—

"Harrington! You in there?" 

Eddie jerks back so fast, so hard, at the banging on the back of the van, that he whacks his head. He is so fucked.

"Is that Chief Hopper?" Eddie asks, but Steve's already crawling through the van, swinging open the side door.

"Hop!" Steve yells, "It overheated again."

Eddie straightens his clothes, his hair, and climbs out behind Steve.

Jim Hopper is bent over Steve's hood, pouring in the coolant. Checking the other fluids, and Eddie wonders if he should run while he has the goddamn chance.

"I told you to get it into the shop," Hopper says, and Steve is making excuses. Like a kid.

They've got a weird dynamic. 

Hopper straightens up, "Start it for me."

Steve hurries around to the driver's door, and climbs in, doing just that. 

Hopper slams the hood closed, gives him a thumbs up, and Eddie hears Steve whoop with delight.

Eddie is just standing there like an idiot. He should have gotten out of here. But no, he's standing around like a fucking fool just because he kind of wants Steve Harrington to kiss him again.

Chief Hopper turns and looks at Eddie, "You smell like marijuana."

"Uh, that was a skunk," Eddie lies.

Hopper rolls his eyes, and takes a menacing step closer, "I know better. You're lucky I'm not on duty, kid."

Eddie nods, swallowing. 

Hopper walks over to Steve's driver's door, leaning down, "Have Munson follow you home and park it until you get it into a mechanic. Got it, Harrington?"

Steve nods.

And then Hopper stomps off, back to his truck, slamming the door.

Eddie gets back in the van, and he wasn't asked, just told indirectly, but he follows Steve back to his house. He pulls in the driveway behind him, rolling down his window.

"It get hot again?" Eddie asks.

Steve grins, shaking his head as he jogs over, smoothly hopping up on the running board of the van, sticking his head through the window, pulling himself close to Eddie's face.

"No. But I did."

Then he grins, like a cocky asshole. 

Eddie suddenly gets why girls always fawned, as Steve kisses him again.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

Note: I don't think Eddie's van actually has a running board. Please accept the vision for what it is, lol.