#prompt: new

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiemicrofic.

Mordor It Was

Steddie Microfic January Prompt: New || Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 517 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Post-Bat Attack | POV: Eddie | Tags: S4 Fix-It, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Will Make Sure Of It, And Then Not Go Away. Pre-Steddie

The darkness takes hold faster than Eddie imagined. He didn't think one bite, followed by another, and another, could fuck up his whole world this much. But it has, and now he's faced with the reality that he's gonna die here. On the ground, having run in the wrong direction.

Having failed.

And that's something he's gonna have to live with. Just, not for very long. He can feel his pulse hammering, beating in his chest. His neck. As the blood pulses out of him, spilling onto the filthy ground below.

He wanted to do better, wanted to not run away this time, but he still managed to fuck it up. 

Goddamnit.

He's made peace with it, even if Henderson isn't as accepting of what's coming. Maybe it's the blood loss making Eddie feel serene when he should be fighting, panicking.

It doesn't matter.

Steve Harrington is here, fighting for him. 

Eddie kind of wishes he wouldn't. He's floaty, no longer feeling pain, and anything Steve can possibly do will disturb that, surely.

"Eddie, for fuck's sake," Steve's saying, and Eddie tries to open his eyes.

"Eddie!"

His eyes snap open. Steve is hovering, "Good. That's good. I'm going to pick you up. Don't fucking die."

He's definitely gonna die, but he nods. He'll try his best.

Steve tugs on him, and the pain that sears through him is above and beyond anything he's ever felt. He lets out a hoarse scream.

"I know, I'm sorry," Steve says, throwing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all, repeating his previous order: "Don't fucking die."

But Eddie thinks he'll do just that.

When he wakes up, he's in a sterile hospital room. Machines are beeping, whirring, and he thinks this has to be the calm before the storm.

But Steve Harrington's sitting in the chair next to him, looking comfortable, his feet propped up on Eddie's bed, reading a book.

Harrington reads? 

Eddie squints, tries to look closer, to see what he's reading, and realizes it's not a new book. No, it's his own copy of The Return of the King. He recognizes his own paperback's well-worn, dog-eared cover.

"My book," Eddie croaks, and Steve startles so bad, the book goes flying, skittering across the tile floor.

"I'm sorry. Wayne left it. I was bored," he starts, then immediately changes direction, "You're okay, it's okay," already pressing the call button, hammering it with his thumb, as if he's convinced Eddie's gonna drop dead in the next five seconds without help. 

The way the room fills, maybe he will. Steve has backed up against the wall, the book clutched to his chest. 

There's poking, and prodding.

Wayne rushes in, and Steve still stands there.

Finally, the crowd thins. Apparently, he's gonna live.

Steve sits back down.

"So, what's new?" Steve teases, and Eddie laughs. His throat is hoarse, dry. Steve pours water from the pink, plastic pitcher, directing the straw to his mouth. 

Eddie takes the longest, best drink of his life, then says, "Not much. You?"

Steve holds up the book and grins, "Learning about Mordor."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for these challenges, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

[mrsjellymunson]

Something Old, Something New

Written for the @steddiemicrofic January challenge prompt ‘new’ || WC target: 517 || Rating: M || CW: very brief and vague allusion to sex, self-doubt, sentiment, fluff || Tags: nervous!Eddie Munson, background Steve Harrington, Wayne Munson, very background Al Munson

OLD

Eddie reaches into the collar of his shirt and runs his fingertips along the tarnished chain. It’s his old guitar pick necklace, the one he was wearing the day they met. He remembers how Steve asked about it, nervously. How he fiddled with it when they first spent time alone. How it swung over his face and chest when they finally—

“How are you doing? Really?”

Eddie looks away from the hotel mirror to regard his uncle. He tries to sound confident, but his voice cracks a little.

“I’m fine, honestly. You’re here, my friends are all here. It doesn’t get much better than that, right?”

NEW

“You look good, son.”

Eddie turns.

“Thanks, Wayne. But honestly, I think this suit is doing most of the work.”

He fusses in front of the mirror again, smoothing the black fabric and adjusting his tie for the dozenth time.

“Steve insisted I go to the same tailor he used, but also get something that was really me. I dunno though, I feel like a penguin.”

Wayne tries to quash Eddie’s self-doubt, which is clearly about more than the suit.

“Listen, I know you’re not used to someone taking care of you like this. But he’s good for you. He’s helping you to see your worth. And you’re good for him too. You keep him grounded, and will always remind him of how much he’s loved.”

Eddie gives him a thin-lipped smile.

BORROWED

Wayne clears his throat as he reaches inside his jacket. Pulling out a worn velvet box, he murmurs,

“I wanted you to have this, for today.”

Eddie takes it, a confused look on his face. He’s seen it at the back of Wayne’s closet, but never asked what it was.

He lifts the lid to reveal a watch, clearly antique. Gold or brass, he neither knows nor cares; it’s beautiful.

“It was your grandfathers. I managed to hide it, keep it from, well, you know…”

Eddie frowns and nods. Had his father known about this he would’ve pawned it without a moment’s thought.

Eddie places it on his wrist as his uncle fastens the clasp.

“I got the strap altered for ya. Had to measure one of those darned leather bracelets one day when you were in the shower. I felt like a goddamned secret agent’r somethin’.”

Eddie snorts as his uncle shakes his head.

He regards himself in the mirror again. The suit, the watch. He stands a little taller, a little straighter. Maybe Wayne’s right? He can do this. He deserves this.

BLUE

He glances out the window to where Steve’s baby-blue pick-up truck sits gleaming in the parking lot.

The Party’s decorated it with white satin ribbons, soda cans on string, and ‘Just Wed’ on the rear window in chalk marker. Eddie makes out geometric shapes, and wonders who suggested drawing D&D dice instead of hearts.

Wayne checks in one more time.

”You sure you’re okay, son?”

Eddie looks at his uncle and nods assertively, smiling.

“Definitely. It’s a new beginning. I’m marrying the love of my life, and I couldn’t be happier.”

A/N: You could take this literally, where the Something Old is Eddie’s necklace and/or the heirloom watch, and the Something New is his new suit and/or Steve’s pick-up. Or, you might prefer that Something Old is Eddie’s lingering self-doubt, and Something New is his burgeoning self-confidence and self-worth, or their new beginning, as they step into their new life together. Or you might pick both, or something different, it's entirely up to you.

A/N2: I initially wrote this to imply Eddie was getting ready to read the eulogy at Steve’s funeral, only to pull an abrupt switcheroo near the end. But quite frankly I couldn’t bring myself to write anything sad right now, even if it did end happily, as I think we all need cheering up given current world events.

And in case anyone’s interested, here’s the meaning behind the old rhyme:

“The Old English [Victorian era] rhyme is all about good luck charms, "Something Olde (symbolizes continuity), Something New (offers optimism for the future), Something Borrowed (represents borrowed happiness), Something Blue (purity, love and fidelity), and a Sixpence (maybe a 5 cent piece) in your Shoe (prosperity).”

Tagging my general list (open, just ask): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean @mediocredreams @in2tswft @micheledawn1975 @littlebebebunny @12thatsanumber @alastorssimp @the-baby-angel @eddie-is-a-god @wolfqueenxxx @losingmygrasponreality @richter-raccoon @1deverland @evileyeandthecattywhumps @3rd-conchord @bellalillyrose

More Eddie & Steddie on my masterlist

[nine-one-wanton]

Prompt: New

Rated: g | Pairing: bucktommy | for @118dailydrabble

Tommy had been staring at his phone all day, as if some external force might unite his hand with it - and call Evan.

Text him.

Something.

He hadn’t meant to, he hadn’t planned it.. but in his haste to protect himself, he’d treated Evan the same way everyone else that he’d ever cared about had.

Once Tommy had realized that, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

But maybe there was still time.. To not be another ex that went through the same tired old routine of leaving Evan behind.

Tommy could be something different.

Something new.

He could be the one that went back for him.

On purpose.

He could be the one to love him.

On purpose.

Read my collection of these prompted drabbles on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4501327

[queeniewithabeanie]

Pickpocket for Hire

Dpxdc Prompt #61

It started off as a joke.

No really, it was something that Jason felt the Bats would laugh about, while also helping out some street kids along the way.

He put out a job for the kids of Crime Alley, anyone who could pickpocket the entire Wayne family would get all necessities paid for them by Red Hood until they turned 18.

Most kids that saw the challenge would think it was a joke.

Most kids that believed it was real would think it wasn't even worth trying.

Most kids that tried would be caught immediately, and subsequently get a meal paid for by their Wayne of choice and suddenly have some doors opened for them, because Jason knew his family and knew they had a soft spot for kids.

Except the one thing he didn't account for was Danny Fenton, who most certainly was not most kids.

[lousysharkbutt]

drama queens, both of them

[somanyfandomsorkinafs]

(I am ~buzzing~ with ideas…. Allow me to release some)

Once Danny was an adult, he decided to join Ellie in her ‘permanent world tour’. It’s better than staying in Amity where the opinion of Phantom hasn’t gotten much better. Besides, the portal caused the veil to get weaker, allow ghost to wreak havoc where ever they want.

He’s met a lot new ghost cause of this too. Old as Mycenaean Greece to non humans who came to Earth and died there. Danny’s learnt so much from them that he’s basically a walking in Encyclopaedia.

So, Danny’s decided “fuck it.” and has it became a part-time history teacher. It’s fun! He knows the details by heart and is able to make it more fun than just droning on about the same old wars and whatever. He enjoys it, the kids enjoy it and the ghosts having their stories told!

Of course, this does cause some problems when people try to correct him. Danny’s argument? “I got them correct sources.”

And when anyone asks him how knows his sources are correct? “My source was there when it happened.”

Cue the dc world thinking that Danny’s just some immortal guy whose decided to use his immortality for good(TM)

[stars-obsession-pit]

…Dannny Phantom fics often talk about Amity being chill with ghosts and whatnot, yet I don’t think I’ve ever really seen the logical conclusion of that:

Dying but just… keeping going.

A kid at Casper High dies in an accident and comes back in for class a few days later. Moves the memorial off their desk to make room for their notebook.

An elderly book club member shows up to the new meeting semi-transparent. They laugh off any concern with something along the lines of “At least my back pain’s gone!”

Someone calls in to their job like, “Hey, uh, I died. Does… does that mean I get the day off?”

No one quite knows how to react. Phantom shows up the first few times to ask if everything’s alright, but then starts to leave them be.

It’s… fine?

At first, people very carefully walk on eggshells around the topic of death, but it gradually fades into the background. People just treat it as a new rule of polite conversation. The world goes on. It’s still just Amity Park, the most haunted city in America.

They’ll have to address it eventually, they know. It’s far too big not to. But for the moment, things just keep going as they were.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Damian paused when his phone pinged, indicating a message. He tried to ignore all his siblings looking at him with surprise.

In thier defense, they had never seen him casually texting someone outside of the family, and with Bruce, Alfred and the rest of thier patchwork group already present it was clear he wasn't chatting with them.

Damians' expression changed from annoyance to confusion, then to consideration before turning his gaze to Alfred the cat. Without warning, the youngest Wayne walked over and began kneeding the cat like a kitten would do to its mother or a soft blanket.

The reaction was immediate. Alfred let out a startled mmrp, looked confused, then shocked before purring louder than any bat had ever heard a cat before.

Dicked looked over at the screen of damians discarded phone to see two text messages from someone labeled in the contacts as "Nightingale"

<Stop whatever you're doing it will be worth it I promise!>

<Go kneed your cat>

Dick had questions, and by the looks of things, so do the other bats

[wtfforged]

...?! (zsweekd1)

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Silly drunk dialogue

Can also be under the influence of other stuff.

"Oh, look at the stars! Ursa Major… so beautiful!" "We're inside. Those are just ceiling lights."

"Please don't leave me!" "I'm just going to the toilette." "Can I come with you?"

"My arm is floppy. I'm like a puppet."

"Can you be my girlfriend?" "I already am." "Oh, lucky me!"

"Let’s go play baseball!" "Your shoulder is dislocated, maybe not right now."

"You look almost as pretty as this moon." "That's a street lamp." "And you're almost as pretty."

"Have you ever thought about penguins? I think we should think more about penguins."

"You have a stupid face and it's my favourite one to stare at."

"I will definitely remember this tomorrow! How could I ever forget?" *doesn't remember anything in the morning*

"Oh, I think we haven't met before." "We have been in a relationship for five years now."

"You should go, otherwise I'm doing something stupid. Like kissing you or falling asleep on the bathroom floor."

"Let's get you home." "Oh, mine or yours?" "Ours." "Oh, wow!"

"I'm totally, absolutely, not at all drunk at all. Like... at all."

"Why are you all laughing? That is not very nice. I haven't even told my joke yet."

"How many drinks did you have?" "Yes, yes I am."

"You are too beautiful for me." *starts crying*

"Why are you undressing?" "Because it's hot! And I'm hot!"

*starts singing a remix of all their favourite songs*

*then starts crying, because their own voice is too beautiful*

[breesperez139]

DC x DP Prompt #8

“Danyal?” Damian almost couldn’t believe it. His dead little brother, alive, right before his eyes.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” His confusion was palpable. Danyal did not know who Damian was, did not remember, but he could. Damian could take him back home to his father and siblings and—”

Danyal’s phone rang startling them both. He glanced down at it and quickly answered, “Hi mom—sorry—no I’m headed there right now—it’s fine, I’ll be there soon—okay—okay—bye mom, love you”.

Ah. So he already has a family.

“Sorry about that, uhh, is something wrong?”

“Apologies. You merely look like someone I once knew”. Not the truth but not a complete lie either. He and his brother have not seen each other since they were both children. They are practically strangers now.

“Oh, no worries dude! I got to go now before my mom sends out a search party to find me” he jested. How very Danyal of him. If only they had a little more time together, perhaps things could have been different.

“Yes, of course. It was nice seeing you”. Danyal gave him a hesitant smile before he ran off, but seeing it made Damian inexplicably happy.

“Why’d you let him go?” Timothy asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. His presence was not welcome at the moment but he supposed answering a question or two wouldn’t hurt.

“I took away my brother’s happiness once before. I will not make the same mistake again.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics.

When I Think About Seventeen

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Ball | Steddie Song Fics Prompt: New (Springsteen by Eric Church) | Word Count: 2795 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Sexual Innuendo | POV: Eddie | Tags: Baseball, Big Dreams, Canon Divergent Interactions: Childhood, Post-S1, Post-S4, Time Skips, Eddie Munson Lives, Crossing Paths Over The Years, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers

Also right here on ao3.

I bumped into you by happenstance, You probably wouldn't even know who I am, But if I whispered your name, I bet, Still be a spark, And back when I was gasoline, And this old tattoo had brand new ink - Springsteen, Eric Church

1974

Eddie wiggles his four fingers, calling the pitch from behind the plate. A change-up. Harrington's the only pitcher on their team that even has different pitches. With everyone else, Eddie just needs to try and catch whatever wild throw comes free of their hand as they pretend they did it on purpose. 

Not Steve Harrington, though. Steve can place the ball, and it's no different today when the championship is on the line.

Steve nods, accepting the call Eddie's made.

The final pitch hits Eddie's mitt, a strike, the third out. 

It's over, the Hawkins Hawks are finally done for the summer.

And Eddie's done forever.

The rest of the team is jumping all over Steve Harrington on the mound, Tommy Hagan hanging off him, as they all wait for their little gold trophies, and Eddie waddles back to the dugout. He starts stripping off his catcher's gear. The leg guards, and the chest pad. It's all borrowed, not his own, and never quite fit perfectly, anyway.

He lays it in the corner, up next to the chain link fence near the bats. Coach will take it, get back where it needs to go.

Because he's done.

Eddie promised Wayne he'd make it through the season, and he did that. 

But now he's done.

He doesn't like these boys, or this sport, not anymore. And he's not going to force himself to play next year.

Or ever again, for that matter.

He exits the dugout, not sticking around for the trophy presentation or the group picture. 

Wayne doesn't try to make him, just puts an arm around his shoulders as they walk towards his truck. 

"Proud of you, kid. You did it," Wayne says.

Eddie did do it, and now he'll never have to do it again.

1984

Someone is playing Springsteen. Loudly. Eddie doesn't recognize the songs, but the voice, definitely. School's out for summer. Eddie should be done for good, but he failed his senior year and now he's moping about it. 

There shouldn't be anybody at the school right now. He's only here because he had a meeting at the picnic table earlier, and just stayed to draw some. But now Eddie stands near the edge of the woods, and watches Steve Harrington practicing all by himself. He's pitching into a net, and then having to collect all the baseballs himself before starting the whole process over again.

This goes on for several rounds, until Eddie finally can't take it. He's too nosey. 

"What are you doing?" Eddie hollers, and Steve jumps, clearly having no idea he wasn't all alone on the field. His head whips around, looking for the voice that startled him.

"Goddamn, you scared me, Munson," Steve says, when he lays eyes on him, finally.

Eddie chuckles, walking across the field towards him, "Isn't baseball over?"

Steve nods his head, "Yeah. I just…"

"What?" Eddie prods. There's no way Steve Harrington is worried about his starting position for next year. It's summer. He should be playing Babe Ruth, and enjoying his last summer league season before he ages out. Even with whatever weird vibes he's got with Tommy Hagan and the rest of the asshole jocks these days. Eddie has eyes. He knows something is up with all of them.

Eddie doesn't give a shit about sports, the jocks and their problems, but even he knows that Steve Harrington is captain of the swim team, a basketball starter, and has been the starting pitcher since before Eddie got dumped in town.

This is all non-negotiable.

"They're having exhibition baseball at the Olympics this summer."

Eddie laughs, "And you thought, what? As a high school pitcher from Hawkins High, you'd be a shoe-in?"

Steve laughs at that, "No. Not at all. I just, well, what if it isn't an exhibition in 1988? Or 1992?"

Eddie can't argue with that. It's a lofty dream, but shit, Eddie's got some pretty absurd dreams himself. But as far as Eddie knows, Steve isn't even being recruited for college baseball, or anything else for that matter, so the Olympics seem a little far-fetched.

"Well, good luck, I guess?" Eddie says, and turns to head back towards his office in the woods.

"Hey, wait. Would you want to catch a few pitches?"

Eddie thinks Steve must have lost his mind. 

"I don't know anything about baseball, Harrington."

Steve cocks his head to the side, looking more like a confused dog than anything else, "You didn't catch for me?"

Eddie nearly chokes. He'd catch for him, all right, and all the filthy jokes rattle through his brain, like a rapidly fluttering Rolodex, where he can't decide which one to choose. Which one would make Harrington stumble over his words and blush and–

"In Little League. When we were kids? That a different Eddie Munson?" 

Instead of any of those witty comebacks, what comes out is, "You remember that?"

Steve laughs, and offers up a grin, "Was I not supposed to? You were the scrappiest catcher I've ever played with. Nothing snuck between your legs."

Well, that's an image.

Eddie thinks he might be the one blushing. Sports weren't for him. But it's true, balls rarely hit the dirt with him behind the plate. He gave it up because he hated the team aspect. Hated the other boys, and never really felt like he belonged with any of them. Not after losing his mom. Not after moving to this shitty town where the only bright spot has been Uncle Wayne.

But he was good behind home plate.

His own island. Them, all facing one way, and him facing the other.

Seems apt, maybe even more so today.

"I'm sure I'm rusty," Eddie answers, because, you know, it might be fun to see if he's still got it. Just for a minute. What could it hurt, besides his ego and pride? He just failed high school. Those things have already been trampled into the dirt.

"Rusty's fine. You gotta be better than the net," Steve teases, and digs through his baseball bag until he finds a catcher's mitt, tossing it to Eddie.

Eddie squats down, getting into the stance he hasn't been in, in a long time. He pounds his fist into his glove and really hopes he doesn't take one square between the eyes.

Or in the shin. That fucking hurts.

Or, god forbid, his nuts.

He doesn't.

It's like riding a bike. Steve throws strike after strike, dead-on, and Eddie catches them. Steve's better now. Can throw faster. Harder. But Eddie still keeps up. It's muscle memory, even if those muscles haven't been used in a very long time.

"What is this?" Eddie hollers, as Springsteen shouts about baseball and glory days. It's all very on the nose. 

"Springsteen," Steve hollers back.

"No shit, Harrington. What album?"

"Oh," Steve says, "I stopped by Klein's today and bought it."

Steve reaches down and grabs the tape case and brings it over to Eddie. It's Springsteen's ass in blue jeans, a hat shoved in his back pocket. Eddie's pretty up to date on music, all music, and he's never seen this in his life.

"Is it new?"

"Yeah, out today," Steve says, taking it back.

They reset, Steve throws him another fastball, and Eddie throws the ball back again. It hurts a little, he'd just gotten a new tattoo over the weekend. Black bats, stark against his skin, on this throwing arm. He ignores it.

Then, Eddie calls pitches. Sometimes Steve will agree, and sometimes he'll argue silently. Holding up his glove, waving it to indicate what he wants to throw. Eddie lets him. This is his rodeo. Eddie's just along for the ride.

They play, and Eddie feels ten years old. It's actually kind of fun. He's not into sports, not anymore, but there's no pressure here. Just the two of them. Batterymen.

It all ends when it finally gets too dark to see. 

"I know it's a pipe dream," Steve says, soft and low as they pack up the equipment, "I just need out of this town."

Eddie glances over at him, "Me too, Harrington. Me, too."

They part ways, and Eddie doesn't really think about Steve Harrington again until two years later, when he's in a boathouse, running for his life, a broken bottle pressed to Steve's neck.

He lives, they all live, and then part ways.

Such is life, he supposes.

1996

Another bar, another gig on this never ending van tour they've been on for years. It's not good money, but they can make a living playing music, and not everyone can say that. They've been making it work for several years, and they'll keep at it until the wheels fall off.

They aren't famous, will never be famous. But that's okay. They get to do what they love.

Eddie looks up at the television mounted on the wall behind the bar, and it's the Olympics. Baseball.

He smiles, because it suddenly makes him think of Steve Harrington. Makes him think of him at seventeen, at nine, at nineteen. He wonders if he made it. Wonders if he's doing what he loves. Wonders if he'd even remember Eddie if they ran into each other. It's been ten years.

"Hey, it's baseball," Eddie says, and the guy behind the bar chuckles.

"It is."

"Is there, like, a lineup? Who's pitching for the US?"

The guy next to him turns, like he's been waiting for this his entire life. He starts listing off players, and where they're from, what colleges, giving far more information than Eddie wants, but Eddie quickly realizes they're all about twenty-one. College kids, headed for the draft, maybe. 

Steve's nearly as old as him.

There are definitely no thirty-year-old former high school pitchers on Team USA.

Eddie's a little disappointed, and he doesn't know why. It wasn't his dream. He's living his dream. He just thinks Steve should have gotten to live his, too. That's all.

He sits down on the open stool, then gets right back up again, heading to the payphone stuck in the back corner of the bar. He calls Henderson.

"You got a number for Harrington?" Eddie asks, not giving the kid a chance to get wound up about the fact that he hasn't heard from him in a while.

Henderson harasses him, of course he does, but he still coughs up the digits and Eddie drops more change into the slot, then dials.

Steve answers, and Eddie doesn't even greet him, just asks, "What are you watching?"

"Baseball. The Olympics. The United States is trouncing Japan." 

Steve doesn't ask who Eddie is, but Eddie knows he already knows.

"Well, that's funny. Me too. And I wondered if Steve Harrington was their pitcher."

Steve laughs, "Definitely not. I can't believe you even remembered that. That was dumb."

It wasn't dumb, and of course Eddie remembered. He's never forgotten anything about Steve Harrington, especially not after that spring break. He saved his fucking life, and then waved it off like it was nothing.

It wasn't nothing. It was everything.

"You still play?" Eddie asks.

"Baseball? Well, I'm on a co-ed slow pitch softball team with Robin. She's still so uncoordinated, it's ridiculous. Nothing's changed there. But it's fun."

Eddie laughs, "Oh, that hurts my knees to think about."

Steve Harrington giggles in his ear, and Eddie's glad he called. Glad he saw that baseball game and thought of him.

They lull into a bit of silence, and Eddie wonders if this is wrapping up. If it's gonna be over as soon as it started.

"Well, if you're ever in town, come play catch with me. We'll catch up."

Eddie laughs, but mocks his bad pun, "That was awful."

Steve doesn't care. Just laughs like he's absolutely delighted that Eddie called.

Eddie decides he wants to cover Glory Days during their set, and the band goes along with his whim without asking questions. He sings about his friend that was a baseball player in high school, and the band has to know what this is about. 

When he transitions into I'm on Fire, he knows he'll get shit, but he doesn't care. He's gonna sit in this nostalgia for a minute. He's got a bad desire.

A couple months later, fall is cooling everything down, and the band finally have a long enough break to justify venturing away from each other, and he finds Steve in another small town, not all that different from Hawkins. Except, the bad memories aren't tainting it. It's nice. The town, his house.

Eddie climbs the steps to the porch, and knocks. Steve's not expecting him. He might not even be home. But the door opens, and Eddie just holds up his mitt.

The smile that crosses Steve's face is blinding, and Eddie has butterflies. It's unexpected, but not really. Steve swings open the screen door, letting it snap closed behind him, as he yanks Eddie into a hug, like this is something they do.

Maybe it is.

Eddie hugs back. Steve Harrington is an old friend of his, somehow. Ten-year-old Eddie, who hated everything about that damn baseball team, wouldn't believe this turn of events.

Steve ushers him inside, and digs his glove and a ball out of his hall closet.

In his nice, fenced-in yard, Eddie's knees crack when he gets into his stance, and he laughs. He's a rough thirty-one. He knows that. Muscles gnawed away at by bats doesn't leave you exactly the same, Steve knows that, too, but Eddie thinks he's still capable. Maybe. But when that first pitch hits Eddie's hand through leather, Eddie feels at home in a way he didn't even know he could. Not anymore.

Eddie tries to call a pitch, and Steve keeps shaking his head. Fine.

Steve winds up, and the ball seems to float, doing unpredictable shit, before Eddie's able to snag it at the last second.

"Was that a fucking knuckleball?!" Eddie yells. Steve didn't have a knuckleball at nine, that's for damn sure. And he didn't have one at seventeen either, at least not that he showed Eddie during that one, weird afternoon.

"Maybe," Steve teases, coyly. 

"You're trying to trip me up with a passed ball, ruin my stats, is that it?" Eddie accuses, but he's grinning. "Not on my watch, asshole."

Steve just grins, "Well, don't worry. You still got it, old man. We were always a pretty good battery. You and me."

They were. Eddie smiles, and throws the ball back. 

Maybe they've both still got it. Together.

Eddie catches a few more, then stands up, "You got a boombox?"

Steve nods, and they lay down their mitts and go inside. Eddie squats in front of Steve's rack of CDs. Not tapes, not now. Times have changed.

"What are you looking for?" Steve asks.

"Mind your own business, Harrington," he quips and Steve shakes his head.

"Fine, I'll take this out. If you find something acceptable, you bring it on out."

They aren't in any order that Eddie can discern, but finally finds what he's looking for. He knew he'd have it. At least, he hoped he would.

Outside, Eddie shoves it into the top of the boombox. Then he advances through until he gets to track ten. Steve just looks amused, and then he laughs when The Boss's voice fills the air.

"Seems fitting. I, too, had a high school friend that played baseball."

Eddie squats, and his knees don't betray him this time, but Steve's just standing there, looking at him. Not throwing the ball.

Eddie pats his glove. Only short of offering him an engraved invitation to throw the ball.

Steve just looks at him.

"What?" Eddie asks. But he knows what. That look on his face. Eddie understands that look. A hungry heart.

Oh shit.

Eddie swallows.

Steve throws his glove to the ground, and stalks towards him. It should look intimidating, but it doesn't. Eddie knows what's about to happen, and falls back onto his ass in the grass.

Steve sinks to his knees, and then crawls forward, leaning in, and he's gonna kiss him. He's gonna do it. Eddie reaches up, sliding his hand into Steve's hair, inviting him to please do.

And then he's kissing Steve Harrington, lips, tongues as Steve presses him back into the grass, covering Eddie's body with his own. Eddie lets his thighs fall open, letting Steve slot in between his legs, and goddamn.

He didn't.

He hoped.

But he didn't actually expect this. 

Eddie can't believe it is happening. Him and Steve Harrington. Though, it seems kind of fitting that The Boss is currently growling out of the speakers that you can't start a fire without a spark.

And what a spark this is.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! ⚾

Notes: If you aren't an Olympic junkie, baseball has always came and went. And in 1984 it was back, after a twenty year hiatus. So, the first time in Steve's lifetime. At first I was like...maybe? Pros still couldn't play in 1996, but then I really looked at that 1996 roster. They really were all about 21 years old, born between 1974-1976. The oldest, the catcher, was born in 1973. So, Steve was just too old. I was like, could he coach?? And even that seemed far-fetched, so I went this way, which I think turned out far more realistic, anyway.

Lots of Springsteen references abound in this one, lol. Born in the U.S.A. came out June 4th, 1984. It had the song of the same name, Glory Days and Dancing in the Dark, on it.

[chalkrub]

dinosaur in a lab coat - would you trust her with operating the centrifuge

[squshymarsh]

DcxDp prompt #7

Dragon danny (there’s art too)

Danny comes to possess an amulet like Dorothea’s. Unfortunately, dragon blood comes from his fathers side of the family and being half ghost and in possession of the magic amulet reignites the dormant dragon blood in him turning him into a very real, very half dead dragon.

Right in front of his family.

Even taking off the amulet doesn’t reverse it.

Unfortunately now being both human, ghost and a dragon sets his emotions off which then make his powers go haywire.

Danny fears their reaction and flees into the ghost zone. Only for his powers to get stronger there and for the realms themselves to spit him out into the first dimension that could handle him.

He lands in Gotham, disoriented, lost and afraid. Of course it’s not Gotham unless someone nefarious gets their hands on him.

Months later a new drug hits the market called dragons fury. It enhances a person's magical capabilities and carries a great high but comes with many unpredictable and volatile drawbacks.

Batman and Robin team up with Constantine after finding out that the drug is made with actual dragon's blood. Given the fact that a dragon hasn’t been spotted in the world in a few centuries and each one that had is very powerful. It shouldnt be in drug dealers hands, even if it’s just the blood and not an actual dragon.

Batman and John are speaking to Commissioner Gordon one night while Robin(Damien) patrols close by. Damien comes apon a drug deal and goes to intercept when he notices the target drug being exchanged. Unfortunately the dealer in a magic user and knocks Damien out. Instead of being smart and leaving the user takes Damien back to where they are operating thinking they can use him as leverage.

Damien is somewhat awake by the time he’s being dragged inside a forgotten building and the arguing about what to do with him begins. He can’t get his body to move just yet due to what the magic user used on him and he’s only barely starting to get his feeling back when the group decides what to do with him.

They decided to feed him to the dragon. Confirming the existence of an actual dragon.

Damien is tossed into a concrete cell in the basement of the building. It’s dark and he can’t move to turn on night vision in his mask. yet he can just make out the shape of the walls and the door and the man standing in the way of the dim light coming from the hall behind him. Shadows cover the man’s face obscuring his identity.

The dark and shadows don’t conceal the sound of snapping leather or deep bellowing growls. The sound like a crocodile bellowing mixed with the vicious snarl of a big predatory cat.

From the ceiling drops a dark mass. Body fluid yet coiled and stiff, ready to snap and attack. Not at the prone body laying behind it but the much larger one standing at the door. Teeth barred and poised to attack. Leathery wings spread as far as they could in the tiny cell.

The door slams shut when the long and fluid body lunges. Leaving the beast to slam its weight against it, clawing and snarling before settling with a snort of air. Folding its large wings behind its long body.

It’s hard to see now with the room in almost complete darkness. Light coming through the cracks between the door and its clawed at and scratched frame. That darkness does nothing to hide when the animal turns its attention to Damien.

Wide, toxic green eyes with vertical pupils land on him, if the magic wasn’t still freezing him then those dangerous eyes may have.

Its body moves like a ribbon flowing through the wind. Fluid, smooth and elegant. Scales darker than the room are nestled in fur equally as dark, only broken up by a mane of shockingly white fur that trails down its long neck, between alternating shoulder blades and down the dragon's long body, ending in a puff of fur at the end of its whip-like tail.

It stops in front of Damien lowering its narrow head close to his. Cold breath ghosts over him along with strong whiskers.

Dangerously close yet it doesn’t attack. Instead the dragon seems to check him over for a moment before settling next to him. Putting itself between Damien and the door.

The dragon wasn’t going to attack him it seemed, now all he had to do was wait till he could move so he can escape with his newly acquired friend.

[lungthief]

family bonding

[raynewolferune]

DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)

Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:

~

" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "

~

Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.