penny00dreadful

[penny00dreadful]

Fic Nostalgia Tag Game

Tagged by the lovely @tinytalkingtina and @hbyrde36

Rules: Share the fic you posted as close to exactly one year ago as possible. You can just post a link if you like, but feel free to talk about it too! How did you feel about this fic then, how do you feel now? Do you love it, hate it, has your writing changed at all? Anything you’d do differently in hindsight? Go nuts!

This time last year I was in the middle of posting my Mummy AU with Rick!Steve and Evie!Eddie, written for my darling friend @hbyrde36's birthday.

I think my writing is ever evolving and it has probably changed a little since I wrote it, but I don't think there's much I would change. I tried hard to change some of the more racially charged messages of the movie and tried to give the Egyptology of it all a bit more time to breathe.

I think the thing that has changed the most in the last year has actually been my artwork which is interesting as it will be more artwork Holly will be getting for her birthday this year 👀👀👀

AND it's technically another AU but also not really? But also kinda? Have fun decoding THAT, Holly! 🤣🤣🤣

The Mummy WC: 33k Rating: M Tags: 1920's, no homophobia universe, mutual pining Full tags on AO3

Steve gestured him down lower, like he was wanting to share a secret and Eddie supposed he was, in a way. Eddie crouched down, hands out of his pockets, elbows on his knees, leaning a little further in, desperate to know, to learn, to have the thing that would finally put him in amongst the other archaeologists. But then he didn’t even have a moment to react, a moment to think. His chin was grabbed in between firm fingers and he was pulled forward, sending him off balance, only barely managing to catch himself against the bars of the cell. Eddie’s mouth was open in a gasp and his eyes were wide as a set of dry and chapped lips pressed against his own and there was the barest swipe of a tongue entering his mouth. “You’ve got a deal.” Steve hissed, pulling back to speak into his mouth before it was all over and Steve was ripped away by the two guards behind him. OR It's a Mummy AU baby!

[penny00dreadful]

Oh, okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don’t know, that gaslight gatekeep girlboss meme, for instance, because you’re trying to tell the world that you think modern feminism has been co-opted by corporations. But what you don’t know is that that meme is not from Instagram, it's not from Twitter, it's not from Tiktok, it’s actually from Tumblr. You’re also blithely unaware of the fact that in January 2021, Tumblr user missnumber1111 posted, "today's agenda: gaslight gatekeep and most importantly girlboss." And then I think it was a-m-e-t-h-y-s-t-r-o-s-e, wasn’t it, who reblogged it with an image of the phrase edited over a piece of "Live, Laugh, Love" wall art? And then gaslight gatekeep girlboss showed up in the feeds of eight different Twitter repost accounts. Then it filtered down through Instagram and then trickled on down into some tragic “alt side of Tiktok” where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that meme represents millions of notes and countless Tumblr users and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you’ve made a choice that exempts you from Tumblr when, in fact, you’re wearing the meme that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of “stuff.”

[penny00dreadful]

🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️🏍️

🏍 Smutty Sept Wk 1 (hate sex)

Eddie's mouth twisted, like something sour had settled on his tongue. "You tell me. You’ve always been real good at saying the right thing. Whether you mean it or not’s another story.” Steve blinked, thrown enough that it took a second for his mouth to catch up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

[penny00dreadful]

Tagged by @beingmissbatty and @sourw0lfs

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write & share 3-ish sentences for that WIP!

Here's what I'm working on this week:

👻 Fuggi Regal Fantasima (Ch 6)

🏕 Midsummer Nights (Ch 6)

🏍 Smutty Sept Wk 1 (hate sex)

🚗 Smutty Sept Wk 2 (Done! Posting Sept 8th)

🐮 Smutty Sept Wk 3 (secret, knees, spit)

He pushed off the counter, rolling his shoulders like he was psyching himself up for a fight and headed towards the stairs. He expected Eddie would still be up there, rooting through the bedrooms like a feral racoon in riding boots, or else just hiding away so he wouldn’t have to see Steve’s face.

Maybe he could just shout the bad news up the staircase and retreat to the den and make it his own hidey hole for the night. It wasn’t such a stretch to think they could somehow avoid interacting with each other for a measly twelve hours.

Except, Eddie wasn’t upstairs, was he?

No, of course not.

Steve stopped dead on the threshold to the living room because Eddie was right fucking there, sprawled out across the living room couch like he’d lived there his whole life. He took sips from a small silver flask as he leaned back, one arm thrown across the backrest, his rings glinting faintly in the orange and pink wash of sunset spilling in through the windows.

“Oh,” Steve squeaked, a horrifyingly high-pitched and completely unworthy sound to come out of a grown man’s throat. Apparently his brain had decided now was the perfect moment to abandon all of his hard-won language skills. Why did being around Eddie always made him feel 19 again?

“You’re down here,” he managed, finally.

“Observant as ever, Steve-o.” Eddie tilted his head, curls brushing his shoulders, and smirked. "I thought I'd check out the amenities instead of hiding in a room like a sulking teenager. You did tell me to make myself at home. Or was that just one of those fake polite things you say but don’t actually mean?”

"Why would I say something I didn't mean?" Steve shot back defensively, purposely choosing to ignore that he had, in fact, been irritated that Eddie was making himself comfortable.

No pressure tags 💜 @penny00dreadful @pearynice @sidekick-hero @vthx @tinytalkingtina

@turinspeachjam @yesdangerpls @pentapoctopus @cloudsurfing42 @mission2mordor

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @eternal-sunflowers @augustjustice @mrsjellymunson

[penny00dreadful]

System start

Written for the August 2025 round of the @steddiemicrofic challenge

Prompt: experiment, 398 words

Rated: G

Tags: SciFi AU; Droid!Eddie; Human!Steve; Eddie needs a hug; Steve needs to stop digging in the trash; Robin needs a break

“I don't believe you,” Robin says. “First day on the job, and you steal company property? If the CEO finds out, you're fucked.” 

Steve huffs. “Please, Creel doesn't care about random interns. And it wasn't stealing. I saved him. Everything else in that storage room is probably a puddle of molten metal by-”

“Him?” Robin hisses. “You assigned it a gender? What's next? A name? Do you know anything about droids at all?” 

“Only that you've been wanting one for ages, to help with the household and stuff.” 

Robin glares.

“It's the twenty-second century, you'd think they'd be more affordable. Still. You found it in a pile of scrap metal, so there's probably something wrong with it.” 

Steve follows her gaze to the limp figure on their sofa and fails to see what could possibly be wrong with the boy. Because it very clearly is a boy. A ridiculously pretty one with a dark mop of shoulder-length curls framing a pale face, yes. But still a boy. Flat chest, slim hips, tiny ass. So much like the real deal Steve thought he'd stumbled upon a crime scene at first. Until he discovered the large patch of skin missing from the guy's neck and jaw, and the tangle of wires below. 

“Only one way to find out,” he mutters, rounding the sofa and leaning over the boy to brush his hair from his neck. 

Robin hovers closer, curious against better judgement. "Hey, is that a serial number?”

Steve squints at the tiny letters embossed into the skin of the boy's neck. 

“Looks like it. ED-86.” 

Robin flinches. “Oh no. No way. I read about this in the company archives. That's short for Experimental Droid Line, one of their very first prototypes. They discontinued it because they ran into issues, Steve, and I don't wanna find out- What's happening?” 

“I dunno,” Steve stammers. “I didn't do anything.” 

It's true, technically speaking. Untechnically speaking, a glowing control panel just appeared under the serial number, and the lifeless body is starting to stir. 

“Do something, switch it off,” Robin pleads, but it’s too late. A hand closes around Steve’s wrist. Large, brown eyes flutter open and lock on his. Those pretty lips tug into a smile. A toothy, dimpled one that pulls on the wired scar.

“Hey there, big boy,” the droid purrs. 

Robin was right, Steve thinks. He really is fucked.

Something something, Steve names him Eddie, catches feelings, and is dragged into Creel's sinister affairs as he tries to uncover the story behind the prototype line.

More microfics

[penny00dreadful]

Written for @sidekick-hero's 3,333 Tumblr follower celebration!

Congrats on 3,333, bestie 🥳 I'm so proud to be among the lucky many!

In your post you said "I'm totally Team #WhateverFloatsYourBoat..."

Which IMMEDIATELY gave me this dialog inspo, and thankfully it was easy enough to adapt to one of your actual prompts.

Specifically: Running | G | 333 | AO3

Whatever floats your boat, Harrington

The world had gone back to normal.

Technically.

But Steve still dragged as many of the party as he could out to the high school track once a week, insisting that running-for-your-life cardio training shouldn't stop just because the world didn't end.

"This is totally unnecessary," Eddie groaned, arms crossed tightly over his chest while Steve, Dustin, and Will went through a series of leg stretches around him. "I'm in great shape."

Steve raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You smoked two cigarettes just walking from the van."

"And I keep telling you, Mountain Dew isn't a replacement for water," Will chimed in softly.

"I'm lean," Eddie countered, glaring at all of them while gesturing down his body like Vanna White. "Lithe. Catlike."

"Right," Dustin snorted. "Cause cats are known for tripping over their own feet."

"Can it, twerp."

"Okay then, Eddie. If you're so in shape—prove it," Steve said, already bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Sounds like you just want an eye-full of this sweet ass in motion."

Steve shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe I do."

Eddie blinked. Was Steve actually flirting with him right now? Or was his commitment to fitness just that intense?

Only one way to find out.

"Alright," Eddie said, trying to play it cool as he shucked his jacket, tossing it on the bleachers. "Whatever floats your boat, Harrington."

Steve smirked, like he knew he'd won, and gave Eddie a not-so-subtle once over. "You have no idea what floats my boat, Munson."

Oh shit.

Beside them, Dustin leaned into Will, whispering, "What do boats have to do with running?"

"No idea," Will whispered back.

By the halfway mark of the first lap, Eddie was convinced he was dying, every breath accompanied by a horrible wheezing sound, pouring sweat like a whore in church.

Meanwhile, Steve—the bastard—barely looked winded.

"I thought you were catlike?"

"I am," Eddie panted. "Cats don't jog. They pounce!"

"Okay then—" Steve winked. "prove it."

Eddie grinned, wicked and breathless. "Anytime, sweetheart."

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @sidekick-hero @firefly-party

@bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1

@rocknrollsalad @eternal-sunflowers @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething

@theintrovertedintrovert

[penny00dreadful]

I've never celebrated a milestone before, but this one is too cool to pass up. I love prime numbers, and although 3.333 is not prime, 3 is. Furthermore, 3.333 is composed of 3, 11, and 101, all of which are prime numbers.

I brainstormed with @firefly-party and @runninriot (with some input from @just-my-latest-hyperfixation) on how to celebrate this milestone and say thank you to all of you 💜💜💜

To celebrate, I'm challenging all my followers to write a short story. A microfic, if you will (big shoutout to @steddiemicrofic) with exactly 333 words.

I'm totally Team #WhateverFloatsYourBoat but for the purpose of this challenge, please write Steddie or Platonic Pairings, and you can (but don't have to!!) choose one or more of the following prompts: Dog, Coffee, Running (my 3 favorite things).

The challenge runs from August 1 to August 17. Then, I will randomly draw one winner who will receive a fic commission from me (Steddie only, sorry!)

Please tag your submissions with #sidekicks3333 so I can find them and reblog them. If you have any questions, feel free to send me a message!

[penny00dreadful]

You need to move off of Google Docs!

I know some people have seen the news recently and may be doubtful of it. To the uninformed, Google Docs has started using AI to find "inappropriate" and "problematic" content, scraping your documents and deleting it. I know some people are unsure if this is real or think this is not going to affect them.

I regret to inform you that this is real.

As I was on a call with some writers and we were moving our documents as a precautionary measure, one person discovered entire pages missing that they did not delete themselves. This is happening to us, it's not a hoax or a rumor, it's happening right now. You need to move everything if you want to preserve it.

If you're a writer with writer mutuals, please reblog this so they know. I rarely write on Google Docs anymore, but I started my fanfics on there, and I would be devastated if I lost works more than ten years old because people decided marketing appeal is more important than creative freedom.

[penny00dreadful]

Blonde Boy

This is entirely @runninriot's fault for sending me this video and enabling me to write a silly little idea about Eddie going blonde and Steve's dick being very into it. I also blame Joseph Quinn for going blonde for his Fantastic Four role.

(steddie | rated e | cw none | 2.7k | AO3)

“Steve! Hurry up! We’re already late, so stop fixing your hair and come on.”

Even in his twenties, Dustin still manages to sound like the snotty-nosed, demanding teenager he was when Steve first met him—telling him to help with his pet monster when Steve had just been on his way to talk to Nancy. Not asking, no. Telling him.

Now, it’s very much the same. Eddie told them about his latest video shoot, and Dustin decided that Steve would be the one to take him to visit Eddie on set.

Not that Steve minds taking Dustin—he’d already cleared with Eddie that the shoot didn’t include anything too gory or sexual. Because even though Dustin is a legal adult now, Steve will probably always see the baby-faced twelve-year-old with a toothless grin and wild curls when he looks at him.

Still, it would be nice to feel appreciated sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your horses. It’s not like we’re missing anything. Eddie’s probably still getting ready.”

It’s not Steve’s first time visiting a shoot. In fact, he’s been to every set so far, watching his boyfriend do what he loves. To Steve, Eddie is always beautiful—but when he’s in his element, forgetting the world around him and losing himself in the music, he’s radiant.

It’s even better on stage, but seeing him perform for the camera has a magic all its own. It’s made Steve think more than once about recording a video of their own. He even bought a camera after the last shoot... and then chickened out.

Maybe he’ll ask Eddie tonight.

He’s still thinking about their little home video when they power walk into the building where the shoot is supposed to take place. It’s an old warehouse, dingy in a way that’s probably meant to be metal, but screams health hazard to Steve.

Inside, they’re greeted by a young woman around Dustin’s age with huge glasses she keeps pushing up her nose. Her hair is falling loose from the messy bun on her head, and she looks a bit frazzled when she asks if one of them is Stevie—radiating the kind of stressed energy Steve has come to associate with professional sets. More often than not, his beloved boyfriend is partly responsible for that aura, just by being his chaotic self.

He’s not doing it on purpose—he just has a hard time following rules. Or routines.

It drives Steve nuts sometimes. But it’s also how Eddie pulls him out of his own rigid ways and habits. Makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t since the whole Upside Down mess stole his sense of safety and control over his life.

Before Steve can respond, Dustin pipes up. “He is,” he says, jerking a thumb toward Steve. Then he thrusts out a hand and beams. “I’m Dustin, Eddie’s best friend.”

Some days, Steve wonders if it’s possible to give yourself a concussion from rolling your eyes too hard.

Reaching out to shake her hand as well, Steve says, “I’m Steve, Eddie’s—” He hesitates for a moment, and hates himself a little for it. Even after almost ten years together, it’s still hard sometimes. It’s not shame, just fear. He’s seen what people do to guys like him and Eddie—or Robin. He’s heard the vile things people like his father, or even strangers on the street, say about them.

“Boyfriend,” the young woman finishes, with a smile that actually looks genuine. “He told me everything about you. Did you really bite off a bat’s head like Ozzy Osbourne?”

Oh dear lord, Steve thinks, but keeps smiling. “Eddie loves to exaggerate. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a bit of a drama queen.”

She laughs—not mean, more like she’s relieved someone else is saying what she’s been thinking.

“I’m Lisa, Mr. Munson’s PA on set.”

Dustin, who’s been surprisingly quiet during their exchange, suddenly speaks up, clearly out of patience. “Can we see him now? Are they already shooting?”

The sigh that leaves her mouth tells Steve everything he needs to know. They should be shooting already, but something—something to do with Eddie—is holding them up. And from the look on her face, it’s taken a few years off her life.

“Not yet,” she says. “Mr. Munson asked for ‘his Stevie’ first. Something about needing a second opinion before we can start.” She looks at Steve apologetically, but he waves her off.

“Between you and me,” she adds under her breath, “we really need to start.”

“I’ll get him ready as fast as I can,” Steve promises, and she gives him a grateful smile before leading them through what he assumes is the actual set, toward a cordoned-off area in the back of the room.

A door labeled Dressing Room stands at the end of the path. Lisa walks up and knocks three times. “Mr. Munson, I found your Steve.”

Dustin clears his throat loudly behind them, and she sighs before adding, “And Dustin.”

“Thank God!” someone calls out—Steve’s pretty sure it’s Gareth. “Come in.”

Lisa opens the door and ushers them inside. Jeff is the first person Steve sees—right at the entrance, already dressed in ripped jeans and a black, sleeveless shirt. Steve’s gaze drifts left, landing on Gareth, who’s helping Grant drape some chains over his shoulders.

He steps further into the room, scanning for Eddie.

And then he sees him—and freezes.

For a moment, his brain flat-out refuses to process what it’s seeing.

There’s Eddie—his features as familiar to Steve as his own. He’s wearing skin-tight leather pants, combat boots, and a flowing white shirt that looks like it belongs in a Renaissance fair or a particularly flamboyant vampire movie.

But what makes Steve’s jaw actually drop is Eddie’s hair.

His wild, dark curls—softer now than they used to be, thanks to the haircare routine Steve introduced him to—are—

“You’re blonde!” Dustin blurts out, voice sharp with disbelief.

Eddie’s blonde.

It’s completely disorienting. Like looking at Eddie’s evil twin, or a version of him from some weird alternate universe. The Twilight Zone. Something.

The sight leaves Steve feeling unmoored, like he just missed a step on the stairs.

Which only makes it more confusing when his dick decides it’s very into it.

It doesn’t help when Eddie spreads his arms wide and spins on his heels, showing off his newfound, light-haired glory. Then he crowns the whole little performance by headbanging, sending his blonde curls bouncing and flying.

It gives Steve ideas. Very specific ideas. Like how those curls would look bouncing because he was the one making them move—with deep, hard thrusts...

“Stevie?”

His boyfriend’s voice rips him out of his dirty, dirty daydreams, yanking him back to reality—and reminding him, unhelpfully, that they are very much in public.

“Huh?” Not his most eloquent moment, but frankly, he’s proud he managed any sound that wasn’t a moan.

Eddie gives him one of those confused-puppy looks—big brown eyes, head tilted. “I asked what you think.”

Steve blinks. He’s still wrestling with the fact that his brain and his dick have completely different reactions to Eddie’s new look, and the pause stretches a little too long.

Eddie’s face falls.

“You hate it, don’t you? Goddammit, I told them I wasn’t a blonde—that it would look stupid. But they insisted, said all the big rockstars are blonde—Jovi, Mustaine, Axl Rose—so I said okay, and now I look like an idiot and you’re never going to want to have sex with me again and you’ll break up with me, and then all my songs will be about how sad I am and how much I miss you, which isn’t even metal, and then the band will break up because no one wants to listen to sad breakup songs and it’ll all be because of this stupid blonde hair!”

It’s one of the most impressive spirals Steve’s ever seen—and that’s saying something. And even though the devastated look on Eddie’s face tugs at something deep in his chest, he can’t help the amusement curling in his stomach.

His boyfriend really is the biggest drama queen.

“Eddie,” Steve says, trying to get his chaos gremlin’s attention. When that doesn’t work, he grabs him gently by the shoulders and repeats, louder this time, “Eddie! Take a deep breath for me, okay? In on the count of three, hold for four, out for five—just like we practiced.”

After almost ten years of nightmares, panic attacks, and Eddie occasionally working himself into a full-blown frenzy, they both know how to calm each other down. For Steve, it helps to describe what he sees, hears, feels, or smells. For Eddie, it’s breathing techniques.

This isn’t a full panic attack, so Steve lets him run through the 3-4-5 sequence only a few times before giving his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

Then he leans in close, his lips brushing just beside Eddie’s ear, and murmurs, “That’s a good boy. Well done.” He finally greets him properly, with a soft, grounding kiss.

When they part, Steve leans back just enough to get another look at him. Eddie’s sheepish now, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispers, eyes cast down.

Steve can’t help kissing him again.

“Don’t be. That was a very you thing to do. And I love you. For the record—I would never break up with you because you’re blonde. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says quietly, calmer now, the first hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Steve leans in again, mouth at Eddie’s ear. His breath is hot, and it draws a visible shiver down Eddie’s spine.

His voice drops. “When this is over, you’re gonna change your hair back.”

Eddie flinches, but Steve doesn't let him pull away. Not yet.

“Not because I don’t like it—although it’s… weird, and I do miss your dark curls. But because it’s taking everything in me not to bend you over that table and fuck you until your hair’s bouncing like it did when you were headbanging. It’s a problem.”

He hears Eddie swallow, the sound thick and audible.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie whimpers, voice low and needy.

Steve shushes him gently. “Quiet, baby. You go out there and be as metal as you can possibly be. Then you meet me at the back of the building. We’ll find a room. I need to fuck you once with you looking like this, yeah?”

Eddie nods, the movement brushing soft against Steve’s cheek where they’re still pressed together.

“Yes. Please.”

Eddie, good boy that he is, does exactly as he’s told. He gathers himself, kisses Steve breathless one more time, and then strides out to give it his all.

The band rocks—of course they do. Dustin is in heaven, practically vibrating with excitement as he studies every camera angle, asks the sound guy a million questions, and hovers around the mixing booth, soaking up every detail behind the scenes.

The whole shoot takes hours, and Steve thought maybe his intense reaction to Eddie tossing that ridiculous blonde hair around would wear off.

He was wrong.

Instead, he’s been walking around with a semi all day, silently thanking his past self for grabbing a light jacket that now does double duty draped over his lap, protecting the last shreds of his dignity.

When they wrap, the crew and a few guests crowd around to congratulate the band. Eddie eats it up, of course—he always has. Whether it’s a cafeteria table in high school or a stage or a studio, he lives for the spotlight. The attention fuels him.

But when his eyes find Steve’s across the room, everything about him shifts. That blinding, cocky grin softens. He bats his eyelashes—actually bats them—then flips his hair back with a wink meant just for Steve.

And Steve snaps.

The next few minutes blur like he’s possessed by some horny demon. One second he’s crossing the room, the next, Eddie is meeting him halfway. He doesn’t know what excuse they made, or how they ended up in a cramped storage closet at the back of the building.

And honestly? He doesn’t care.

Not when his entire body is buzzing with the need to get them both off now or die trying.

“Fuck, baby, you have no idea what you’ve been doing to me,” Steve groans into Eddie’s ear, fumbling with the stubborn leather of his pants. “I wanted to take my time—fuck you slow—but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

The pants finally drop to Eddie’s thighs. Good enough. Steve yanks off the flowy shirt, then shoves his own jeans open, the stiff fabric barely accommodating his harder-than-hell cock. He exhales sharply when he finally frees himself.

“This is gonna be quick, I’m sorry,” he mutters, already flushed and frantic.

Judging by the strangled noises Eddie’s making without even being touched, he doesn’t mind.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck, Steve—come on. The way you were looking at me, Jesus. I felt like you were fucking me the whole time. I don’t know how I got through that shoot.”

Steve spits once, twice, right at the crack of Eddie’s ass. “Okay, okay—lemme get you wet first, baby.”

He smears the spit with the head of his cock, mixing it with the pre already dripping down the shaft. Still not slick enough. He lifts his hand to Eddie’s mouth.

“Spit.”

Eddie obeys without hesitation, and Steve adds it to the mess, groaning when the glide finally feels right. He slides between Eddie’s cheeks in a series of slow, hungry thrusts, not inside, just rubbing—almost teasing.

Then he snaps his hips forward like he means it, like he owns him, and Eddie lets out a broken gasp, bracing himself against the shelves. He’s not even inside Eddie, but it feels like he’s fucking him hard.

“Baby,” Steve grits out, “bend over. I wanna see your hair bounce.”

It takes Eddie a beat to process the command, but when he does, a full-body shudder rolls through him. He lets go of the shelf with trembling hands, shifts, and bends, presenting his ass with a sinful arch while his hands grab the shelf once more for leverage.

“Do your worst, sweetheart,” he purrs, tossing a wink over his shoulder—and that’s all the invitation Steve needs.

He slides back into place between his cheeks and fucks upwards. Deep, harsh thrusts that rock Eddie’s body, punching breathy, high-pitched moans from his lips. His lean frame jolts with every movement, hair swinging, flying—just like Steve imagined it would.

It’s so good, so hot, so visceral, Steve’s vision whites out at the edges.

“Touch yourself, baby. Be my good boy and come for me.”

It’s mean, asking that—Eddie has to let go of the shelf with one hand, sacrificing most of his balance—but he does it anyway. Of course he does.

Steve tells him he’s perfect. So good. The rhythm falters a little with how Eddie’s body goes pliant beneath his hands, but he doesn’t stop.

Eddie comes first, crying out as he spills across the floor, keening like a song only Steve knows. The sound alone nearly finishes him, but it’s Eddie’s next words that push him over:

“Pull my hair, baby—come on me.”

Steve barely has time to grab himself after following Eddie’s demands and fists his blonde curls, yanking at them, hard. One, two, three strokes and he’s coming in hot, thick stripes across Eddie’s back, painting the pale skin and dark tattoos in something obscene and holy all at once.

It’s art.

And Steve definitely thinks about the camera in their closet.

Tonight, he’s bringing this idea up to Eddie.

They’re still catching their breath when they hear Dustin’s voice, loud and indignant, echoing down the hallway.

“Where the hell did you two go?!”

They exchange a breathless, almost manic grin.

“We’re coming!” Steve yells back.

Eddie snorts. “You mean, we came.”

Steve leans in, nips at his neck, and grins. “Oh, we’ll definitely be coming again soon, darling.”

[penny00dreadful]

WC: 846 Rating: G Tags: Modern Setting, Dog Dad Steve, Meet Ugly @steddiebingo prompt: Spring Full tags on AO3

“Oh shit, Nana! Look out!”

Despite Eddie’s immense theatricality, he had not been blessed with the finest of reflexes. So while he would have loved to heed the warning being shouted at him a little further down the shore of the lake, he instead found his legs being taken out from under him, landing hard on his back in the wet mud.

To be fair to whatever the fuck had just happened, Eddie hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, content to mope around in his own misery, stuck back in Hawkins again after finally getting out. 

But now he was freshly single, freshly unemployed and freshly covered in mud, his head spinning and his body aching and cold while there was a whine of distress next to him, something cold brushing his face.

As he opened his eyes, still feeling breathless and delirious from the fall and the sound of running footsteps got closer, hovering over him was a large mass of shaggy black, a wet nose and drooling tongue, anxious paws tapping against the stones by his shoulder.

“Big boofer.” Eddie muttered to himself with a silly smile, raising a hand up to try and pat the truly gargantuan dog's head, though he was knocked off course when the dog immediately snuffled against his palm.

“Oh my god, fuck. You okay, dude?”

A face came swimming into view then, strong nose, swooping hair, moles and big concerned eyes. 

Pretty. So very pretty.

The guy was vaguely recognizable but Eddie couldn’t place him right at that moment, even as his eyebrows raised and he huffed a little, almost identical to the way his dog had, a thought which made Eddie giggle.

The impressive flop of hair moved as the guy shook his head, petting at his dog who was still anxiously pawing at the ground and trying to nuzzle Eddie’s face again.

“You don’t know your own size do you, babygirl?”

Is he calling me babygirl? I would let him call me babygirl.

“I think we should probably get to know each other a little better first, Munson.”

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” Eddie warbled, still a little loopy, lying back on the wet mud and pebbles of the lake shore, the spring air sending a chill through him.

“I guessed.” The guy held his hand out and gently helped Eddie to his feet, taking his weight like it was nothing, helping to steady him with warm, large, hands on his shoulders.

Warm fur bumped against Eddie’s side and he looked down to see the big giant bear of a dog nuzzling against his limp hand, still anxious and whimpering slightly, her big giant eyes drooping and sad and breaking Eddie’s heart immediately.

Almost as soon as tall and handsome let go of him, Eddie dropped back down, determined to lavish as much comfort and love upon the big cuddly beast that had accidentally run him over like a truck.

“It’s okay, honey, you’re a good girl. You didn’t mean to, did you? You’re the best girl, you’ve never done anything wrong in your life.”

The dog's tail had begun wagging so ferociously as soon as Eddie had begun talking to her, as soon as he had his hands on her head, scratching her ears, her whole rump was moving with it.

She was drooly and panting and Eddie was starting to get slobber on him but he didn’t care, he was just maybe a little bit in love already.

“Eddie, Nana. Nana, Eddie.”

Eddie looked up at the guy, completely unconscious of the fact that both his and Nana’s big brown eyes were almost mirror images of each other. 

Finally taking him in for the first time, it clicked.

“Steve?” He asked. “Steve Harrington?”

Steve blinked, almost surprised that Eddie remembered who he was but honestly in what world would Eddie not know who Steve Harrington was?

They were both from a small town and both went to the same school for years.

And also Eddie had a raging hard on for the guy for most of his adult life. 

Like the rest of the town, probably.

At least, that was his justification.

What was more surprising was that Steve remembered who Eddie was.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I feel really bad about that-”

Eddie waved him off.

“I’m fine, Stevie, don’t worry about it. It was an accident and Nana kissed it better.”

“I could’ve-” Steve started, but clamped his mouth shut with an almost audible clack, his cheeks burning bright.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, a small smile creeping over his face as Steve bit his lip, eyes darting down to Eddie’s mouth, his blush spilling down his neck when he realised he’d been caught.

“You could’ve what, sweetheart?” Eddie grinned at him, batting his eyelashes. “Kissed it better for me instead?”

Steve met him with a smile of his own and a coy shrug of his shoulder, his eyes a little more hooded than they had been.

“If you’ll let me.”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

AO3

As always, my biggest thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the beta work with this and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation!

[penny00dreadful]

Steddie | R: Explicit | WC:5102 | Ch 5/8 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 <-

Chapter 5: The Phantom of Loch Nora

Eddie didn’t even remember closing his eyes.

He’d been laying there on the bed, watching the rise and fall of Steve’s chest like an adoring puppy as the other boy slept. There wasn’t so much as a wrinkle in his forehead or an ounce of tension left in his body. A good orgasm will do that to you. It was the most relaxed he’d ever seen Steve, and he’d done that. Somehow, from beyond the grave, he’d managed to rock Steve’s world… or so it had appeared anyway. 

Maybe he could do this. 

Maybe they could be something.

Were they already boyfriends? It sure sounded like that’s what Steve wanted, and technically they’d already, like, consummated the relationship. If that was even a thing for dating. But, did Eddie need to formally ask him out? Or complete some kind of all-american mating ritual to make it official?

As much as he’d always despised jocks and the like, Eddie was almost sad he’d never be able to wear Steve’s letterman jacket.

That’s what he was thinking about when the darkness came for him again.

Just like when he fell asleep in the hospital he felt himself ascending into the nothing without panic, floating away as though his mind was detaching from the reality he’d left behind, feeling less and less tethered to his own sense of self the longer he drifted. Still, he had enough presence of mind to hope that this dream, or whatever it was, would take him somewhere more pleasant than the last. 

It was a fool’s wish.

The smell hit him first, earthy in the worst way, mold and rot and burning ash. By the time that leaden sky with its familiar yet alien landscape below came fully into form around him, Eddie already knew he was back again.

The Upside Down.

His vision swayed as his body moved forward, arms swinging, legs marching on without his permission. His chest felt hollow, as if his insides had been scooped out like ice cream, leaving only the soggy, empty carton behind.

The sounds came to him next. Chittering, growling, breathing.

Wrong breathing. 

He rushed past a small playground choked in vines and knew, or rather, felt that he should know where he was. He’d seen that little jungle gym before, but not here. Back there, in the place where the world had color and the sun still shined.

In a vague sort of way he knew that a hunt was afoot, but he wasn’t quite sure if he was the predator or the prey in the situation. That alone should have chilled him to his core. And he was afraid, but it was a distant thing. Dampened. He couldn’t focus on it no matter how hard he tried.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he felt the tug. And like an old television switching off, his surroundings shrunk down to a pinpoint of dim light as he was wrenched away, his surroundings collapsing inwards, fading to nothing and leaving him adrift in the endless dark.

He came back to himself in the corner of Steve’s living room, sure that if he could still produce sweat, his skin would be coated in a cold layer of it. He really hoped these dreams or flashbacks or whatever was happening to him, were a temporary part of his afterlife. 

No matter who he was, or what sort of life he’d lived, it felt like cruel and unusual punishment to make him revisit the place that had killed him over and over again.

The sound of a car pulling up outside snapped him out of his thoughts, and had him booking it back upstairs to Steve's room. It had to be Robin, it was too early in the morning to be anyone else.

Right?

He certainly hoped so considering Steve was still out cold, still naked, and still sprawled out on top of his sheets with his ass in the air, as Eddie discovered when he reached the bedroom only seconds before the front door squeaked open. 

Not to mention the crusty towel sitting in the middle of the floor.

Eddie tried his best, but he couldn't manage to grip the blanket that’d been pushed to the side last night to offer Steve a little modesty. God forbid, if it wasn’t Robin, and instead Steve’s perpetually absent parents had chosen now to come home, it was about to be a very awkward reunion. 

At least Steve was face down.

Eddie gave up, perching himself up near Steve’s head, and settled in for the inevitable show.

A single set of footsteps climbed the stairs, padded down the carpeted hallway, and stopped abruptly in the open doorway as a haggard Robin came into view, rubbing her eyes. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she said through a yawn.

Steve began to stir at the sound of her voice, lifting his head just as Robin seemed to finally take in the scene before her.

Eddie stifled a laugh.

“Oh, ew!” She squawked, rushing into the room. 

Giving the towel on the floor and its damning residue a wide berth, she grasped the end of Steve’s blanket with one hand, shielding her face with the other, and flung the covers over his bare, plump ass with a relieved sigh.

“There, that’s better.”

“Maybe if you knocked,” Steve grumbled, rolling over now that his dick was covered.

A travesty.

Robin pursed her lips, letting out an unimpressed huff. “Maybe if you weren’t such a slut.”

Steve sat up like a shot with an indignant gasp, the sudden move making him wince subtly, but nothing like he’d been the days prior, thankfully. Still, Eddie’s hands twitched with the frustrated desire to reach out and support his back.

“Wait a second, how did you two even—” Robin started to ask, her narrowed gaze scanning the room looking for god knew what, before she cut herself off. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and finally glanced over at Eddie.

“You stayed,” he said, his voice soft and vulnerable, a clear reflection of the look in his eyes.

“Where else would I go?” Eddie shrugged, trying for teasing and playful. 

He could have added that he’d somehow fallen asleep again, and that sleep had sent him back into the same nightmare he seemed destined to never fully escape. But, something about the way Steve watched him made his chest ache. He should probably have told him anyway, but then Steve was ducking his head adorably, with cheeks gone a little pink. 

And Eddie figured—yeah, it could wait.

Steve’s lips twitched, curving into a half-smile. “You know what I mean.”

Eddie did. Just like that, any lingering thoughts he might have had about last night being some fluke, heat of the moment, desperate one-time fling, melted away. What they’d done together meant just as much now in the calm light of day as it had in the dark. It was written all over Steve’s face. 

“Of course I stayed.”

Robin groaned, turning on her heel and walking back to the doorway. “Okay, if you two are done being gross, maybe we can finally have a look for those journals.”

The attic door opened with a long, ominous creak that could have been recorded and sold as a stock sound for an atmospheric audio tape labeled: Sounds of Halloween, Haunted House Vol. 1.

Steve went up the steps first, the rickety boards barely attached by old rusty nails providing more of that delightful foreboding ambiance. Robin went next, glancing around warily while mumbling something under her breath about wolf spiders and tetanus.

Eddie lagged behind, letting the living, breathing humans take the lead up the wooden steps and into the dark, creepy attic. He could say he was only positioning himself to ogle Steve’s ass from its best angle, and he absolutely was doing that whenever Robin wasn’t so rudely blocking his view, but he was also suffering from a mild case of the heebie-jeebies.

He recognized that it was a little ridiculous for him, a ghost, who’d gone through literal hell and died to tell the tale, to be unnerved by something as mundane as the attic of a suburban home in Loch Nora. But something about the silence, and the dust, and the stale air made his skin crawl and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

At the top of the steps, Eddie leaned in to look over Robin’s shoulder, careful not to let his aura—or whatever his body was made of now—touch her, unsure if she’d be able to feel him the same way Steve could. Right now didn’t feel like the right moment to find out. 

Just inside the doorway, barely visible in the darkened room, hung a long, thin chain. Steve reached up high, the hem of his baby blue polo hiking up to give a quick flash of bare skin, and yanked down hard on the pull switch, illuminating the single bare bulb in its socket that hung overhead. 

Though, illuminating might have been a strong word.

The weak glow of the light flickered like a dying breath, casting long dancing shadows down the length of the attic, making it appear like its collected contents and clutter, coated in a decade’s worth of dust or more, had minds and lives of their own, moving around in a place no one was ever meant to see. 

Steve pressed on into the gloom, one slow step after another with Robin on his heels and Eddie not far behind, until something brought him up short. 

“Oh,” Steve squeaked, stopping suddenly in his tracks, eyes trained on a spot in the far corner. He lifted his hand with one finger raised, a gesture that Eddie could only assume was meant to warn them back.

What the fuck?

Eddie frowned, his metaphorical pulse quickening.

“Steve?” Robin asked, her voice low and careful. She shivered, wrapping her arms tightly around her middle.

Steve didn’t answer, taking a few more careful steps away from them, and towards whatever lay in the distance. “Hey there, what’s your name?”

With a growing sense of dread, Eddie shuffled around Robin and up to Steve’s side to try and see what or who he was addressing. He squinted hard, following Steve’s line of sight, but saw nothing except a large box—presumably the box—which was actually more like a small wooden crate.

Although… there was maybe something a little unusual about the air around it, like a staticky haze or a whisper of fog, but that could have easily been due to all the dust.

Please, please let it just be the dust. 

“Steve?” Eddie whispered, keeping his eyes glued to the corner. It was as if the longer he stared, the more solid the air became until he could almost make out the blurry shape of someone standing beside the box. 

Someone small.

Great. So now it wasn’t only a creepy attic standing between them and some answers, but some equally, if not more, creepy ghost kid or some shit to contend with too?

 “Steve!” Eddie said again, hissing from the corner of his mouth. “Who are you talking to?!”

Finally, Steve snapped back to attention, turning to him with pinched brows. “Wait—you can’t see her?”

“No?” Eddie admitted, hesitantly. “Not like, really.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between him, and whatever was looming in the dark. “What do you mean—not really?” 

“I don’t know, man, it’s just—” Eddie flailed his hands uselessly in the air. “It’s kinda like, there’s something there, but the signal is bad?”

“Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!” Robin cut in, loudly, her arms still crossed and a look on her face that was some combination of freaked out, and completely over this shit. 

“There’s a girl,” Steve said quietly. “Over by the box.” He took another step forward, crouching slowly, like you would when trying not to scare a skittish animal, or a very small child. He leaned down to the unseen girl’s level. 

Eddie’s heart sank. 

Oh god, he really did mean little. Four, maybe five years old, judging by height.

“I’ve seen her before. I think… I think she’s been here a long time,” Steve went on, his voice low and his head cocked to the side, listening. “Lillian?”

“I’m sorry—what?” Robin asked.

“That's her name—Lillian.” Steve’s answer was quiet, distracted. He paused, listening again, and added in a painfully gentle tone, “wait, sorry, she likes to be called Lily.”

“What’s she doing up here?” Eddie asked.

Steve’s attention never left the shape of the girl while he spoke. “She wanted to make sure I took the box this time, now that I'm a grown-up,” he murmured, voice thick like something was caught in his throat. “She wants me to read about our family.”

“Our?” Robin asked. “You’re related?”

“Apparently.”

It made sense, Eddie thought, why else would she be here in this particular attic. Of course, he seemed to be tied to Steve's house as well, and they certainly weren’t related, thank god for that. 

Eddie tilted his head, trying again to see past the static-like blur of the space Steve was staring at. “Can she see me?”

After a brief pause, Steve turned to him, letting out a surprised laugh. “Yes, and she likes your pretty hair.” Then he glanced back at the shadows, adding, “yeah, I like it too.”

Eddie blew out a breath with a muttered curse, before pulling himself together. God, that was cute. Weird as hell, but still cute.  

“If she can see me, why can’t I see her?”

“I don’t know.” Steve pushed himself to his feet, wiping his hands off on his pants. “Maybe she has—had—the gift like me? And, um, that’s why she can see you, not just because you’re both ghosts?”

Robin groaned. “I’m getting tired of not knowing things.”

“Ditto,” Eddie agreed.

Steve nodded as he looked between them, then hitched his thumb over his shoulder back at the box. “I guess we should get started then.”

No matter how much Robin argued that she could do it, Steve insisted on carrying the box himself. He made it look easy at first, light even, and Eddie might have believed it were it not for two things. First, the fact that he was well aware of how heavy books could be, and second, he was watching Steve obsessively enough to notice the way his face pinched whenever he readjusted his grip on the wood. 

They made their way carefully down the attic stairs, out to the hallway, and finally down the next flight, and all the way to the aggressively curated pastel hellscape that was the Harrington dining room. Eddie hovered behind like a mother hen again the whole time, itching to help, but utterly useless as always.

Steve plunked the box down on the long table, breathing a little heavier than the amount of activity really called for—especially for someone so annoyingly fit—and dropped into one of the stiff-backed chairs. 

Eddie was about to tear him a new one for risking his wounds, but Robin, towering over Steve where he still huffed and puffed in his seat, beat him to the punch. 

“You ready to admit yet that you should have just let me carry it, dumbass?”

Steve didn’t even hesitate. “What are you talking about? I’m fine!”

“You’re not fine. You’re sweaty.”

“It’s warm in here!” Steve argued

“It’s fifty degrees outside,” Robin deadpanned. “Barely.”

Eddie snorted and hoisted himself up on the edge of the table, resting his chin in his hands. “You really gotta stop using that line, sweetheart. At this point, you saying—I'm fine, is a dead giveaway of the opposite.”

“You’re taking her side?!” Steve hissed, and had the audacity to look betrayed. “Don’t you have some chains to rattle or something?”

“This is the modern version of chain rattling.” Eddie raised his hands, wiggling his fingers like a cartoon spectre, and pitched his voice down into a low, breathy drawl. “ooooohhhhhh nagging from beyond the veil.”

Steve shot him a sharp look, softened slightly by the hint of a grin peaking through.

Robin huffed, but seemed satisfied she’d won this round. She flopped down into a nearby chair and gestured at the box.

“Do you want to do the honors?”

Steve rolled his eyes and reached out to pull it closer to him. One by one he began lifting out the journals, an endless stream of books that he laid out in messy rows across half of the table.

Each one was different, like a reflection of its writer, carrying its own distinct personality. Some were leather-bound and expensive looking. Others were soft and frayed, their edges worn down by time and touch. A scant few were vivid and colorful, bold in a way that refused to be ignored. While others looked like they were trying their best not to be noticed at all. 

Eddie could do little more than squint at the various hand-scrawled covers, trying to decipher the Harrington family’s apparently genetic curse of messy cursive script. Robin, unfazed, reached for the largest volume, a drab gray cloth-covered thing so big and dusty it could have been a stage prop. 

“Maurice J. Harrington,” she read aloud, lifting her gaze just long enough to give a flat, unimpressed look. “The Early Years.”

“Jesus,” Eddie muttered. “I’d hate to see what The Midlife Crisis Chronicles looks like.”

Steve stifled a laugh, eyes raking over the books nearest him. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I don’t see another one here with the same name on it.”

Robin hummed curiously and flipped to the back, frowning as she scoured the final, mostly blank pages.

“Well, when you’re right, you’re right,” she said, snapping it shut. “He got flung from a horse when he was twenty. The last entry is from his sister Ethel. She woke up to a cloud of mist standing at the foot of her bed a few nights after he died. She figured it was his ghost waiting to say goodbye.”

“That’s horrifying,” Eddie said under his breath.

Robin set Maurice aside and picked up another journal, skimming the opening pages with increasingly raised eyebrows.

“Okay, this guy was a little intense. Ryland Harrington, late 1800s,” she began, pausing to squint down at the page she’d stopped on. “He was deep into the spiritualism movement, despite the fact that he knew most of his colleagues were fakes and grifters.”

Steve let out an interested hum, while Eddie hopped down from his perch and moved to stand behind her. 

She flipped ahead to the middle of the volume, licking her thumb to separate a few stuck together pages. “He performed seances, did automatic writing sessions, and even claimed to be able to astral project.”

“Does all that stuff really work?” Steve wondered aloud.

Eddie leaned in closer to try and read over her shoulder, suddenly a lot more intrigued. If Steve could learn to astral project to whatever plane of existence he was stuck on, would that mean they could touch more easily? 

Maybe. It was a long shot, but just the thought of it gave him a bit of hope.

Robin shrugged, not looking away from the passage she was reading. “Depends on how you define, worked. Looks like he used a blend of parlor tricks and his own real abilities to earn a pretty good living off the upper class.”

“Guess that explains where the family money came from,” Steve mumbled.

“He really could hear what ghosts were saying,” she went on. “When they actually showed up with his clients, at least. He’d pretend to be channeling them and just repeat what they were really saying to the loved one who was paying him.”

“Hang on,” Eddie cut in, turning to meet Steve’s eyes over the top of Robin’s head. “She said hear, but not see. Could he see them, like you see me?”

“Oh, good question,” Steve said, head tipped to the side, and quickly relayed it to Robin.

“I’m not sure,” Robin said, and started flipping the book’s pages faster, skimming over the written text with a finger trailing under each line. “He mentions moving shadows and cold spots, the feeling that he wasn’t alone in a room. Like, listen to this…” 

She cleared her throat, putting on a pompous turn of the century accent.

“I felt the temperature change before I heard her voice behind me. I knew she was there, though I could not see her face. Only the shape of something darker than the dark.”

“Very dramatic,” Eddie commented.

“So, I'm gonna say, no,” she concluded finally, dropping the accent. “He never saw them clearly, not the full figure of a person. Is… is that what you see when you look at Eddie?”

Steve shifted his gaze back to Eddie, and for a long second he didn’t answer Robin’s question. He only stared, raw emotions flickering through his eyes like light through a kaleidoscope. Sorrow, longing, a fondness bordering on something stronger that Eddie didn’t dare to name. It was like Steve was trying to memorize him all over again, as if afraid Eddie might disappear if he looked away. 

“No,” Steve said finally, his lips curving into a sinfully soft smile that threatened to make Eddie’s heart start beating again. “He’s a little bit see-through, I guess? Especially if the light hits a certain way, but otherwise he looks like he did before—”

“Before he, um—”

Steve’s voice caught, his smile faltering as he cleared his throat. 

“Just… before.”

Eddie stood still, the weight of those words wrapping around him like chains and warm arms all at the same time. He wondered if it meant something, for Steve to see him the way he did. If they were connected on some fated, cosmic level.

Except… It seemed like Steve had seen Lily’s ghost just as clearly, and he’d never acted like Eddie’s presence was unique in that way. Steve’s abilities must be stronger than his ancestors were. That’s all.

Just more wishful thinking then.

“Right, okay,” Robin said, with a little huff that was meant to sound casual but cracked ever-so slightly. She blinked hard before turning another page. “Um, Ryland mentioned something in here about haunting rules, but I can’t find a list or anything specific.”

“What, like, how to keep ghosts away or something?” Steve asked.

“Could be,” she muttered, tossing the book aside with a thump. “Maybe someone else wrote more about it. Pass me another one?”

Steve slid a smaller, leather-bound journal towards her, his attention still focused on Eddie as he did. 

“You know,” she said, glancing up briefly. “This would go a lot faster if you read some of these too.”

By the time the sun dipped low enough to cast amber shadows across the dining room, the table was buried in a chaotic quilt of journals, scraps of paper, and Robin’s increasingly messy notes. She had a pen tucked behind her ear and a glare sharp enough to kill as she scrawled on a fresh page of a spiral notebook.

“Alright,” she announced, sitting back with an exhausted sigh. “Let’s recap. What we now know about ghosts, according to your freaky, borderline-cultish family tree.”

“I want to defend my ancestry,” Steve said, sounding equally as tired as Robin. “But after reading all of these… I cannot.”

Eddie lounged back on his elbows where he’d been sitting cross-legged on top of the table for the past hour, watching the two of them like they were the stars of his own personal paranormal TV show about a mismatched investigative duo. Robin—the whip-smart scholar doing most of the heavy lifting, scribbling away like a sleep deprived grad student. And Steve—used to being a man of action, slouched in his seat, running his hands through his hair every five minutes in despair, looking like he’d rather be doing literally anything else. 

My boyfriend, the reluctant ghost-whispering academic, he thought wryly, though he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to use the word boyfriend just yet.

Robin gave Steve a pacifying pat on his knee before turning back to her list, tapping her pen against the page. “Ahem, one: most of the journals talk about hearing things—sounds, far away hard-to-define speech, fragments of words—but only a few of them mention carrying on full conversations with the dead.”

Eddie raised his hand like a kid in class. “Ooh! Ooh! I’ll take full credit for ruining the curve!”

Steve gave him a sidelong glance. “Congratulations, you're officially valedictorian of the afterlife.”

Robin smirked without looking up from her notes. “Two: I’ve got—feeling a presence, dream visits, and disturbances in the air. But nothing that mentions a ghost being able to touch a person or move an object, even temporarily. Knocking on the seance table notwithstanding, and open to interpretation."

Eddie sat up straighter, hooking his hands around his knees. “So I'm like, ultra-talented, then?”

Steve bit at his lip, his cheeks tinged with pink as he opened his mouth to speak, but sadly, to Eddie’s chagrin, Robin chose just then to look up, and cut him off.

“Whatever you were about to say, I have a feeling I don’t want to hear it.”

“I never knew you were such a prude, Buckley,” Eddie grumbled. How dare she ruin his extremely limited fun.

Steve snorted. “You should see her whenever I say boobies, it’s hilarious.”

“Don’t say boobies!” Robin made a face like she was sucking on sour candy, leveling her pen threateningly in Steve’s face. “Listen up, Munson, I take it all back, and give you my blessing. Do whatever you want. You deserve each other.”

Eddie fell over sideways cackling, accidentally knocking over a wobbly stack of the books.

Robin jumped from her chair with a gasp, hand over her heart like it was racing.

Figures, when he wanted to flip pages and help read, he couldn’t make contact, but then he goes and wrecks the place by accident. If only these journals had instructions on how to control that, so he could do it on purpose.

“Exhibit A,” Steve said eventually, with a wave of his hand.

Robin eyed the stack of books warily, retaking her seat. “Every time I think I'm getting used to the fact that Eddie really is hanging around, he goes and actually proves it and freaks me out all over again.”

“Sorry,” Eddie whispered softly.

Steve relayed his apology, adding, “so, bottom line—Eddie’s weird.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Eddie threw a hand up, raising his middle finger two inches from her face. “Please tell her I'm flipping her off right now.”

Steve grinned but didn’t translate, letting Robin carry on.

“I think the bottom line is, we don’t really know if this all means Eddie is different, or if you are, Steve.”

Steve shifted in his chair. “What else do we have?”

“There’s really not much else to go on,” Robin said, doing a final scan of her notes. “Um, we kind-of already talked about this one, but further accounts report that ghosts don’t usually appear fully formed or even remotely solid.”

“So not one of these mentions seeing someone like they were just—there?”

Robin shook her head. “Not that I found. But again, we don’t know if that’s something to do with Eddie, or with you.”

Steve rubbed at his jaw, his tired eyes beginning to look bloodshot. “I hate to say it, but Lily looked just as real as you do—” he trailed off for a moment, lost in thought.

“Now that I think about it, Barb did too.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, Steve’s jaw clenched like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

“Wait,” Robin said, sharply. “You’ve seen Barb?”

Steve froze, his hand curling into a fist where it rested on the table. It was the most haunted he’d looked about anything since Eddie had been brought into the fold. After a long beat, he gave a small nod. 

“She… appeared,” he said, quietly. “Out by the pool, a few months after that first run-in with the Upside Down.” His voice wavered a little as he met Eddie’s steady gaze. “I lied, a little, when I said you were the first ghost I ever talked to. I’m sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, giving Steve a small lopsided smile, and hovered his hand over his tightly wound fist.

Steve didn’t smile back. He looked down to their barely touching hands, his expression clouded with regret. “She was so mad at me. I knew she hadn’t liked me very much before but this was… I-I didn’t know. If I'd known what was out there, maybe—” 

He snapped his mouth shut abruptly as a shudder ran through his body. “She grabbed me and it was like being dunked in ice water. I couldn’t even breathe.”

“She was cold?” Eddie asked gently.

Again, Steve gave that small nod, finally letting his hand relax, holding it palm up against Eddie’s.

Eddie almost bit his tongue. He hated to push when Steve had just shared something that was so obviously painful for him. But this was news to him, and it felt important somehow. “And the girl in the attic?”

“I didn’t get close enough to touch her, but the closer I got the colder I felt,” Steve said, considering. “I didn’t really think about it at the time.”

”And you said I'm warm, and it feels good to touch me, right?” Eddie prompted, unable to stop the words from tumbling out before he could second guess them.

“When we touch it feels like… like the first time you wake up to a sunny spring day after a long shitty winter. Warm, buzzing—alive.” Steve’s mouth curved into the barest of smiles. “Maybe you were right all along.”

It was exactly what Eddie was thinking too, and yet he couldn’t bear to let the hope come into full bloom. He wanted to—god, he wanted to—but the disappointment he’d feel if he was wrong now, after accepting his fate, would be unthinkable. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Robin cut in, startling them both as if Steve too had forgotten she was there.  “And I’m almost afraid to ask, but what am I missing here?”

“I think we have our first concrete piece of evidence that Eddie isn’t your average ghost,” Steve said slowly, hesitating like he too was afraid of holding the fragile thread of hope too tightly. 

“Maybe he’s something else.”

Chapter 6 (coming soon)

Thanks as always to the lovely @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @sidekick-hero @firefly-party

@bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog  @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1

@rocknrollsalad @eternal-sunflowers @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @estrellami-1 @travelingtwentysomething

@theintrovertedintrovert

Fic taglist (open): @geekymagicalpotato

[penny00dreadful]

#steddie 🤝 #SuperBat

Full version.

[penny00dreadful]

it's a sign.

written for ‘sign’ @steddiemicrofic | wc: 507 | rated: mature | tags: hockey au (we're all shocked, I know), hockey player! eddie munson, minor injury, minor hurt/comfort, established relationship, dreams coming true a/n: the ECHL is one tier below the AHL. each NHL team has an AHL team that feeds to the NHL team. that's it, you know everything you need to know about hockey to enjoy this fic.

"Don't freak out," Eddie starts, lopsided grin apologetic. "It's looks so much worse than it is."

If Eddie's knee wasn't wrapped in six feet of ACE bandages, Steve might kill him. They've been over this so many times: it's the ECHL, not the NHL. It's okay to duck a check if it looks like you might get crunched into the boards when you aren't making big league contract money.

"Okay," Steve takes a steadying breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, free hand on his hip. "Tell me how this makeshift knee brace isn't as bad as it looks."

"Well Stevie, my beloved, my knight in shining armor," Eddie grunts and swings his legs over the table. "They don't think I tore anything and I can put weight on it; it just feels a little wobbly. No big deal. I just have to follow up with an orthopedist to confirm."

"Just feels a little wobbly?" Steve repeats, stepping closer to keep Eddie on the table. "You're a person, not our shitty kitchen table with the folded up napkin under it to keep it stable. What the hell happened?"

"To be fair to our table, it wasn't wobbly when we got it. It wasn't built for so much activity," Eddie winks.

Steve knows Eddie's his soulmate because he's half-dressed in his sweaty gear with elastic bandages stretched haphazardly around his knee, and Steve's cock still twitches at the reminder of how they'd broken the kitchen table. Most of the hockey romance novels leave out how disgusting hockey players are after games, and Eddie's a walking biohazard before he gets into the shower. Any sign of life from his dick at this point is an indication that Eddie's it for him.

Not that he doesn't already know that.

"You're trying to distract me," Steve shakes his head, brushing stray back from Eddie's forehead. "What happened?"

Eddie groans and rolls his eyes.

"It's just hockey. I got hit and fell kinda weird against the boards. I've had worse; I'm telling you, it'll be fine."

Steve smiles and helps Eddie to his feet, carefully watching as they make their way to the car.

Sometimes, Steve wishes Eddie would hang it up. It sucked when they both went undrafted— Eddie in hockey and Steve in baseball. Steve would've bet anything back then that he'd be the one struggling to let it go, to just play for fun in a rec league and hold onto hope that one day, someone would come calling. He wouldn't have guessed it'd actually be Eddie playing in the ECHL, hoping that an AHL team would notice him.

Sometimes, these injuries feel like a sign. Steve loves Eddie too much to say that though.

Three days later, Eddie's cleared to get back on the ice.

Two weeks later, Eddie's team wins their championship and he lifts the Kelly Cup.

That summer, Eddie gets the call from the Boston Bruins' AHL team in Providence and Steve watches Eddie live his dream.

Maybe it was a sign after all.

[penny00dreadful]

Do you have ANY IDEA how difficult it was to pick just one????

So I didn't 🤣

💫 🏍

You never have to choose, bestie. You get whatever you want 😘

Forever After (sequel one-shot to It's Only Forever Labyrinth au)

Steve’s hands ghosted down the front of his negligee, the delicate fabric parting to show even more of the hard lines of his body underneath—the flushed skin of his stomach, the trail of hair pointing home. His fingers found the rosette at his groin, and with a practiced touch, unfastened the hidden clasp stitched into its center. A faint click cut through the sudden hush of the room, but still barely audible over the pounding rhythm of Eddie’s own heartbeat in his ears.

From Fuggi Regal Fantasima:

By the time the sun dipped low enough to cast amber shadows across the dining room, the table was buried in a chaotic quilt of journals, scraps of paper, and Robin’s increasingly messy notes. She had a pen tucked behind her ear and a glare sharp enough to kill as she scrawled on a fresh page of a spiral notebook.

[penny00dreadful]

Tag Game!

pinterest -> search kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, living room -> post the first pins you get

Thank you for the tag @sidekick-hero!

I understand that these spaces are almost definitely AI slop and I'm hoping there's at least one image in here that is real.

Regardless, if this is where you want to picture me writing and drawing all of my steddie, then I won't say no 😅

This is definitely the kind of vibe I'd be taking inspo from to recreate in my own spaces

Tagging: @hbyrde36, @pearynice, @firefly-party, @spectrum-spectre, @tinytalkingtina, @little-annie

[penny00dreadful]

☀️☀️☀️

[penny00dreadful]

💦 secrets shhhh

Ooooh okay! So I worked a little on the secret and then here's a little moment from 🕰️ Games

Eddie thought that Steve maybe gave him too much credit for being the most dramatic one in the relationship because come on. In what world would that be a reality? Eddie leaned back in, whispering between the two of them, their lips bumping as he muttered into his loves mouth, “The devil himself could not scare me away.”