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whisker-biscuit · 3 months

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Sonic Big Bang 2024

Close Encounters of the Grim Kind

Rating: Gen

Summary: Sonic did end up telling his friends about the Shatterverse, but it’s clear to Tails that he's still hiding something. In an effort to find answers and with Shadow’s reluctant help, he uses the Paradox Prism to create a device capable of jumping dimensions. When he sends it out, however, what was meant to be a one-way trip returns to him with a cryptic greeting from a stranger who seems interested in researching the dimensions with him.

Now, Tails finds himself trying to solve two mysteries - why Sonic is acting so weird around him, and who this unorthodox, anonymous cross-dimensional pen pal really is.

It's a lot harder than it looks.

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Chapter 1

The day Sonic finally told his friends about the Shatterverse and all that entailed within it, Tails had no idea how significant it would truly end up being.

He, his brother, Amy, and Knuckles were gathered together at the beach. The fox was in the pilot seat of the plane, adjusting some of the inner controls, while everyone else lounged about. They all listened with rapt attention as Sonic described the disaster that would have happened had he smashed into the Paradox Prism – the disaster that had already happened, if events were to be believed.

Frankly, it wasn’t very hard to go along with the idea. Weirder stuff went on in their lives at least twice a year; dimensional and/or timeline shenanigans sounded like par for the course.

“A bunch of miniature dimensions, huh?” Tails drummed his fingers against his screwdriver, thinking about the logistics of such a thing. Alternate universes were an aspect of quantum physics that he’d never delved very deep in.

“Yep! There was a pirate dimension, a jungle dimension, and even a dimension with five Eggmans!” Sonic shuddered and stuck out his tongue. “I always thought ours was bad enough, but then I met an Eggman baby. That’s one memory I’ll never be able to get rid of.”

“Did you kick the Eggman baby’s butt?”

“Knuckles!” Amy scolded.

“What?” The echidna asked defensively. “It’s a valid question! If that version of Eggman was still evil, then I don’t see why you wouldn’t also teach him a lesson.”

“Oh, trust me, he was definitely evil. Kicking his butt was extremely satisfying.”

Knuckles folded his arms with a self-satisfied smirk he tossed Amy’s way. She huffed and rolled her eyes, gesturing for Sonic to continue his story.

“There weren’t just other versions of Eggman, though,” he said with an excited gleam in his eye. “Every dimension I visited had new versions of you guys! Even Rouge and Big and Froggy!”

“Ooh, really?” Amy clasped her hands together. “What were we all like?”

“Well, the pirate versions of you all talked with these funny accents and were on a ship’s crew together. Knuckles was your captain but he was a big bonehead.”

“Hey!”

Tails smiled, going back to the wiring in the Tornado as he listened to the hedgehog tell them all about this strange new adventure that he’d found himself in. One eye he kept on his work, the other he kept on Sonic to show he was still paying attention, tuned into the rhythm of his brother’s storytelling just as much as the words themselves – and that was the only reason he caught the stumble.

Sonic was in the process of telling them how the Chaos Council had put the entire Shatterverse in jeopardy by punching holes between dimensions using shards of the Paradox Prism, and that he, Shadow, and an alternate version of Tails had stolen the shards back and were planning to put the prism back together. Then he paused, very briefly, and sheepishly admitted that they were unsuccessful before the Council had caught up.

That pause had been barely half a second long, but for the hedgehog it might as well have been a full minute. Tails stopped working as Knuckles began teasing Sonic for letting any version of Eggman be faster than him. He watched his brother carefully, noting the tension in his quills that the fox could only see from his place in the cockpit above. To the others, it seemed like Sonic was embarrassed about his failure, but Tails knew that wasn’t what it was.

Embarrassment was fidgeting in place and wanting to change the subject immediately. It was not standing rigidly with fingers twitching like they wanted to curl into fists, nor was it too-loud laughter at the ribbing his friends were giving him.

The fox quietly placed his tools in his lap and turned his full attention onto his brother.

When the teasing finally stopped and Sonic got back to the rest of his story, it felt different than before. More pauses, shorter descriptions of events, and vague answers to questions about how the Shatterverse was saved from ripping itself apart. The hedgehog’s expression was tight with sadness as he told them of the goodbyes he’d shared with all the different versions of his friends before he and Shadow found their way back to Green Hill.

“Don’t get me wrong, I was so excited to see you guys again – the real yous instead of those weird ghost holograms – but I also knew it was a permanent goodbye for them. All those different versions of you…they were still their own people, with their own goals and dreams and lives. I got to know each of them, and it was hard to walk away knowing I’d never see any of them again.”

“It’s not like you to dwell on goodbyes,” Amy said gently.

“I know. I just…” Sonic glanced up at Tails, then looked away immediately before their gazes could properly meet. The fox narrowed his eyes in confusion. “It was really bittersweet, in the end. I wish you all could have met each other.”

As Amy pondered over what her “sisters” might have been like and Knuckles pointedly declared that the other hims would have probably just gotten on his nerves, Tails’ namesakes curled around each other in a slow mimic of his flying movements. It seemed like the hedgehog was simply melancholy over the loss of his new friends, but it still felt…off. Like there was something he hadn’t told them, or even something that Tails had missed, that was obscuring the whole picture of his experience.

He briefly considered asking Sonic outright when they were alone later, then immediately nixed the idea. His brother was open about nearly everything right up until he suddenly wasn’t, and then pulling information from him was just as hard as convincing Knuckles to part with the Master Emerald for more than a week.

“Do you think the other dimensions are still out there even though you put the Paradox Prism back together?”

Everyone fell silent as they all looked up at the fox. Sonic’s mouth pulled sideways like he wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I mean, I assumed they are. Don’t really like thinking of the alternative.”

“I’m sure they are!” Amy was quick to reassure. “You can’t just unmake a bunch of worlds once they exist, right? And you said it yourself, Sonic – the Shatterverse collapsing only happened because the Eggmen misused the Prism Shards. All you did was make them whole again.”

Tails tapped the end of his screwdriver twice against the Tornado’s steering wheel. An idea was starting to develop in his mind, formed from a swirl of thoughts and his admittedly shallow knowledge of Quantum Physics. He kept it to himself, however, as he continued to study his brother’s body language and the tension still present there.

Just a few days later, that particular tension was gone from Sonic but the idea was still firmly in the fox’s head. He took every physics book he had that touched the subject, plus several that were “liberated” from one of Eggman’s laboratory libraries, and began researching. It didn’t take very long for him to conclude that no matter what theories he read about, or potential blueprints he began to draw up, he wasn’t going to make it very far on speculation alone.

If this idea was to become tangible, then he needed the Paradox Prism. And achieving that, Tails remembered with a grimace, would be more difficult than any mathematics he puzzled through.

He could only hope that its keeper would be in a good mood.

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Contrary to popular belief, Shadow was not particularly difficult to find. He was a creature of habit, much like Sonic. The real issue was that those habits tended to seem erratic at best and completely nonsensical at worst to anyone who didn’t know them well. To the average person, Sonic was flighty and never settled down in one place for long, and Shadow just couldn’t be found to begin with.

But Tails was not an average person, and he had a lot of experience in tracking down speedy hedgehogs.

There was a large waterfall in Green Hill that overlooked an even larger lake. It cascaded constantly down from a giant cliffside that was difficult to climb and get down from. Sonic avoided the area entirely unless absolutely necessary, but Tails loved to practice his aerial maneuvers there. It was for those three reasons – his many visits, the general seclusion, and the consistent lack of Sonic – that the fox knew how much Shadow preferred the place, too.

It was here that he looked for the black hedgehog first. He started at the base of the cliff, shielding his eyes against the sun as he peered up past the waterfall while lake water lapped just a few inches short of his shoes. After a minute or so of squinting and scanning, Tails caught sight of a dark figure standing at the very top of the cliff, arms folded and looking out at the scenery.

Excited, the fox began to fly up towards him, making his presence known as obviously as possible so Shadow knew he wanted to talk. He felt the moment those piercing red eyes snapped over to him. The fur on the back of his neck prickled by instincts honed from years of Eggman battles before settling down immediately afterward, recognizing the gaze as non-threatening.

That didn’t mean the hedgehog was happy to see him, though. Irritation was visible in every line of his face when Tails touched down a few feet away from him.

“Is Sonic with you?” Shadow asked, in a tone of voice that suggested he was going to teleport at the first syllable of a ‘yes.’

“No, he doesn’t know I’m here. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

One black-furred eyebrow rose in mild surprise. He tilted his head the tiniest bit forward to acknowledge he was listening.

Tails took a deep breath and took the plunge without wasting another second. “I know you have the Paradox Prism. I was hoping to run some tests –”

“No.”

The answer came so strong and curt that it made Tails’ mouth click shut before he even registered what was said. He blinked, caught off guard by both the reaction and the way Shadow’s entire body seemed to tense. It almost looked like he thought the fox was going to attack him, which was as bizarre an assessment to make as the realization that Shadow saw him as a viable threat.

“Why not?” He asked, thoroughly confused. “I didn’t even tell you what kind of tests I’d be conducting.”

“It doesn’t matter what kind; the answer remains the same. The Paradox Prism isn’t something to be tampered with.”

Tails resisted the urge to let out a huff. “I’m not going to tamper with it. I just want to learn more about those other dimensions Sonic was talking about.”

“Then ask him about them and stop wasting my time.”

The hedgehog turned on his heel and began walking away. The hum of his hover shoes coming to life threatened only a few seconds left before he disappeared entirely. Tails knew his one and only chance was slipping out of his grasp.

He didn’t think; what came out of his mouth next was pure panic.

“I think something’s wrong with Sonic!”

Shadow froze mid-step. The fox blinked and then suddenly they were an inch apart. That unreadable glare seemed twice as potent now as it searched his face for any kind of deception.

“…Elaborate,” the hedgehog finally said in a quiet yet uncompromising demand.

“W-Well, he told us about the Shatterverse, and you guys trying to get home, but I feel like he’s…omitting things?” Tails paused, thinking over the last week or so. “He’s been clingier, too. He wants to hang out with everyone more than usual. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him plan so many get-togethers before now.”

Bringing everyone together had usually been Amy’s or Tails’ idea, and Sonic always popped in at the last minute or stumbled into the group in the middle of a run. Now, he was asking them all to hang out so often that Knuckles had threatened to slug him if he didn’t leave him alone for at least a day.

“And then, yesterday…he got really upset when he couldn’t find me.”

Tails remembered it vividly. He’d made an impromptu trip to the nearest junkyard in search of parts for his idea, forgetting to leave a note for potential visitors because of how short the excursion was, and had come back to his workshop in disarray and one agitated hedgehog looking ready to tear down the walls in search of him. His brother had grabbed him in a tight hug without any words, visibly shaking, and had stayed with him in the workshop for hours afterward. There hadn’t been any explanation; Sonic had remained tight-lipped in embarrassment and so Tails had assumed it had to do with the brief loss of his friends during his Shatterverse adventure.

But putting that odd encounter alongside the clinginess and simultaneous avoidance now, it was starting to paint a much more concerning picture. The fox wanted to kick himself for not connecting the dots sooner. Hyper-fixating on a new invention was no excuse.

Shadow was still watching him. Tails took a deep breath and spread his hands out in an honest, pleading gesture.

“I’m just really worried about him. I think there’s stuff he’s not telling me, and I don’t know how to approach him about it.”

“What makes you think studying the Paradox Prism will help with that?” The hedgehog’s voice was flat but no longer as harsh. He had a funny look in his eye that was impossible to place.

“I want to figure out whether those other dimensions are still out there. If they are, I think it will perk Sonic up. But the only way I’ll know for sure is with the Prism’s help.”

Silence floated between them for a long time. Tails swallowed the urge to continue making his case, and instead waited as patiently as he could for Shadow to come to a decision. A myriad of emotions flitted across the other’s face, all small and fleeting and unreadable.

“…Fine. I’ll let you look at it.”

“Really?” The fox gasped, excited, but Shadow held up a hand before he could say anything else.

“On three conditions. One: that I’m present the entire time you’re with it. Two: that you do exactly what you told me you want to do and nothing more. No using it to power machines unless it’s explicitly for finding other dimensions, no tampering with it or trying to break it apart, and no additional investigations. I don’t care how fascinated you are with it.”

“Okay, I can do all of that. What’s the third condition?”

“That you don’t involve Sonic in your studies.”

Tails frowned. “Why would I involve –”

“Agree to all the terms, Fox, or you’re not seeing a hint of that crystal.”

“I agree!” He replied, quick as he could before the hedgehog changed his mind. “You’ll be with me the whole time, I won’t mess with it, and Sonic stays out of the process.”

“Good.”

With the deal struck, Shadow nodded once before walking off again. The fox watched him, uncertain, until he threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Are you coming or not?”

Tails didn’t need to be asked twice.

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And so, two hours later, they were both back in Tails’ workshop with the Paradox Prism floating innocently in the middle of a containment chamber. Shadow leaned against the closed garage door – which he had demanded stay locked while they were working – eating out of the can of raw coffee beans he’d requested when Tails had offered food. It would have been quite the sight if he wasn’t already used to the bizarre black hole of a stomach that belonged to his brother.

Maybe liking weird food was just a hedgehog thing.

The fox, meanwhile, was in the middle of making complex calculations as he studied the Prism, adjusting for energy levels and power output with every spike that appeared on his scanner. He was quickly realizing that developing technology that could reliably run on this energy was going to be a careful balancing act; it fluctuated sporadically in seemingly indecipherable patterns, and every sudden jump was volatile at best, downright dangerous at worst.

If not for all his research into chaos energy, handling the Prism would’ve been infinitely harder. Their properties weren’t all too dissimilar, now that the thought crossed his mind, and it took a lot of willpower not to get sidetracked by that line of theorizing. The promise he’d made to Shadow was one he intended to keep no matter how painful it was for his scientific mind to ignore every other possibility.

“What are you doing now?”

The hedgehog’s question broke the melody of furious pencil scribbling. It was a common occurrence while Tails worked; he barely even glanced up when he answered.

“I think I’ve finally isolated the most benign wavelengths of energy the Paradox Prism is giving off. Using that, I can power the interdimensional device without risk of it exploding.”

“What is this interdimensional device for?” Shadow asked, suddenly right behind him.

Tails absolutely did not jump, but the grip on his pencil went tight as he pulled back from his blueprints a bit to blink owlishly at his suspicious companion. “I told you already – it’s to determine whether those miniature dimensions still exist.”

“How is it going to do that, exactly?”

The fox resisted a great urge to sigh. “It’s just going to be a probe. If prism energy is capable of making things jump between dimensions like Sonic said, then even a tiny amount will make my invention cross the theoretical inter-dimensional barrier and hopefully tell me what’s out there.”

“Hmph.” Shadow’s eyes darted across the schematics laid out on the table. It was hard to tell how much of it he understood, but Tails had a feeling it was more than most people usually could. “Remember: only for this function.”

“Loud and clear, sir,” he mumbled with a roll of his eyes before he could stop himself. The hedgehog’s glare sharpened considerably, but he went back to his place against the door to finish off his coffee beans without another word.

Now that Tails had successfully found a safe power source from the Prism, it was time to actually build the device that would make use of it. He wasted no time getting to work – grabbing scrap metal and wiring and as many tools as he could carry, then starting the process of putting together his newest invention piece by piece. Just like with anything powered by the chaos emeralds, the probe couldn’t simply be built and then pumped full of Prism energy. Every aspect and every addition had to be tested for durability. If it could channel its power source without issue, then he moved onto the next section and repeated the testing process. If it couldn’t, then he had to rework his calculations completely until it wasn’t at risk of frying from a single jolt of energy.

A tedious endeavor, but one he enjoyed wholeheartedly just for the way it occupied his mind. The fact that success meant a new, fully-functional invention was just the icing on the cake.

When at long last the fox was satisfied that his interdimensional probe wouldn’t blow up the moment he turned it on, he swiveled in his chair to hold it up triumphantly. Shadow, to his credit, had not made another sound nor moved a single inch through the hours it had taken to complete the device. He peered at it with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

“Are you going to send it out, now?”

“Yeah, but first…”

Tails turned it around in his hands to reveal a tiny screen and keyboard on one side, pulled straight from Knuckles’ most recently-busted flip phone. He typed in a string of code and watched with a satisfied snicker as a message appeared on the screen in response.

– Hello Worlds! –

“What is the purpose of that?”

“Tech joke.” He placed a solid metal cover over the keyboard, but left the screen visible. “I doubt anyone is going to find this, because it’s supposed to only travel through the space between dimensions, not actually visit them, but it’s funny to think about.”

“Hm.”

If Sonic were here, he probably would have told Shadow to lighten up. Tails, on the other hand, was much more aware of the precarious state of their arrangement, so he didn’t do that.

Was definitely thinking it, though.

Before turning the device on, the fox double checked that its connection to the Miles Electric was strong and secure. Sending it out without a way to relay information back would have been a silly mistake to make. Confident that there was nothing else to be done, he flipped the single switch on its underside, and they both watched as it hovered out of his hands for a few seconds before disappearing in a flash of rainbow light.

Shadow eyed the spot where it had just been, expression tight, then lifted the Paradox Prism’s container with ease. “Keep me informed on what you find. I’m…curious, as well.”

“Okay.”

Their gazes locked for one brief moment before the hedgehog also disappeared with his charge – in a green flash instead. Tails let out a long exhale. He was exhausted but in a good way, like running a marathon and beating your best time.

He checked the Miles Electric. Nothing yet. That was to be expected; interdimensional travel was probably not as instantaneous as Sonic made it out to be. All he had to do was wait.

So, he waited. And waited.

And waited.

A week passed with no signal. Not a single, shallow blip on his radar to show that the probe had survived its attempt at escaping the barriers between their dimension and whatever lay beyond. Disappointed but not entirely surprised over the possible failure, the fox stopped checking for it as often. Every hour dropped to a few times a day; a few times a day dropped to only once per day. As yet another week began creeping by with nothing to show for it, he finally took the Miles Electric off his desk and put it away to make room for other, more pressing projects.

The device might have ended up a bust, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other ways to confirm the existence of the Shatterverse. Tails began sketching up tentative ideas for his continued research. He didn’t have any Prism energy left to work with, though, and Shadow probably wasn’t going to be as generous if he asked for help again. The power to cross dimensions was going to be the biggest hurdle.

Just as he was debating whether chaos energy would work as a potential substitute, there was a sudden flash of rainbow light to his left. The fox startled, whirled around with his hands up in preparation for a fight – and stopped.

Stared.

There was his device, hovering in the air. Tails’ ears twitched as the Miles Electric suddenly let loose a muffled cacophony of sounds from within the desk drawer; the familiar, loud pings that meant a probe had been successfully connected to. Stunned and unable to think of doing anything else, he slowly reached out to stop its hovering and hold it instead.

From the way he had grabbed it, the little digital screen was visible. Tails looked down at the message and felt his heart skip a beat.

[ hello stranger ]

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A/N: Several months ago I joined the Sonic Big Bang event, and today is the culmination of that event where we flood the fandom with fics and art! We are Sonic Fans and we cannot be stopped lol. Expect a chapter release every day until the fic is finished!

The fantastic artists paired with my fic are @currantlee, @phantom-howl, and @dewdropdraws. I'll link their artwork when it's all posted, please please check them out cause they're all wonderful! Thanks so much to @sthbigbang for hosting this and letting me participate! I had a blast!

#sonic big bang 2024 #sonic the hedgehog #miles tails prower #tails nine #shadow the hedgehog #fanfiction

71 notes · View notes

skzooweemama · 11 months

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Hello!!! Omg I've recently been obsessing over your posts 😅 I love your writing style!

If you're not too busy, could you do a thing that's like skz's reactions to finding out you're ticklish?

It's totally fine if you don't want to, take care!! 💕

yes ofccccc!! i'm so glad you like my writing!

formal apologies to all my not ticklish stays- just pretend for this one :) <33

two posts in two days? who am i? guess i’m on a writing kick lol- unfortunately i do not think this will continue (but also i don’t want it to be another month before i post again so i’m gonna do my best)

anyway- hope y’all enjoy!! this was super fun to write! still experimenting w formatting too so stay tuned 😵‍💫

~~~

Bang Chan:

channie definitely figured it out quick

literally he is always touching you

we've been over this

of course he is a gentleman

his love language may be physical touch, but he had to make sure you're okay w that first!

waits until you begin to initiate affection more often before he gets clingy

but then he's kind of all over you :)

you invited him over to your place one night, and even though he had just been working for hours, he was just too excited to see you

he was super tired though, so you took it upon yourself to set up a cute movie date so the two of you could just chill out and cuddle

at first, channie was just happily cuddled up against your side, an arm lazily slug around you waist while you petted his hair

it was cute and sleepy and perfect

until he just had to go and mess it up

chan's musicality seemed to get the best of him as he began to drum the rhythm to one of their tracks out on your waist

your very ticklish waist

there was a noble and valiant effort to stop yourself from freaking out, but alas

you let out a squeal and suddenly chan perked up, his exhaustion completely gone

safe to say you got pinned to the couch and tickled within an inch of your life

praying for you babe, he is a true monster

Lee Know:

minho wasn't really on the hunt for your tickle spots tbh

honestly, it's not something he thinks about a lot

unless it's happening right in front of him or he's feeling mischievous and he can take it out on someone in his direct vicinity (ex. our maknae on top)

his interest has to be piqued first

that's why when he figured out that you're ticklish, it was literally in the most cliche way possible

that's right- you got stuck in your shirt

it was a cute top that was way too expensive, but you had splurged a bit because you wanted something nice to wear on night outs

unfortunately, it was also incredibly tight and hard to get on and off

especially for your tipsy post-date brain... you were struggling

that's how minho found you, with your top half off, arms trapped in the fabric pulled over your head

he scoffed at you, shaking his head and tutting that you should've asked for help

just like him to be condescending at a time like this smh

but he does help you, grasping at your fabric cage and yanking upwards

and it was so helpful, except for the fact that he just barely brushed your underarms

which made you squeal and pull away from him

which made him curious

minho helped you out of the top completely before he decided to explore what made you squeal like that

after that, though, he tackled you onto the bed and found every single tickle spot you had before he even thought about letting you go

and he's a meanie too... idk if you'll survive :)

Changbin:

changbin has definitely tried to tickle you before

he just never found the spot

yk how sometimes you'll see vids of idols "tickling" their member's forearms or like shoulder?

he did shit like that, fully expecting you to laugh

safe to say you did not

so he had mostly given up, content with the fact that you aren't ticklish

however

he did start to take you on gym dates

and on one of these gym dates he discovered just how wrong he was

you decided to try to do an unassisted chin up, which you had been building up to by using resistance bands each time you tried

changbin was standing close by for moral support (and also to catch you just in case)

you made sure to remember the proper technique and pulled yourself all the way up, chin just meeting the bar

changbin cheered when you dropped down, grasping your waist and kissing your cheek proudly

you felt so victorious! but when changbin's hand just brushed against the skin of your stomach from beneath your shirt, you froze and let out a squeak of surprise

despite my earlier comments, changbin is no dummy

you can be sure that later that night he decided to see just how sensitive you really were

you'll never have a moment of peace with him now ;))))

Hyunjin:

hyunjin is a poker

for some reason, those long fingers of his are just drawn to exposed skin

changbin is a frequent target, but tbh all of the members have fallen victim to his shenanigans at some point

and ofc, there's no special treatment, even if you're dating him

you will be poked, and it will tickle

your first mistake was wearing a new shirt that had those slits going diagonally down the front of the top

you hadn't even thought anything of it when you put it on that morning

i mean, it's a shirt and you were under the assumption that your boyfriend wasn't a weirdo

(you were wrong)

that night, hyunjin decided to help you make some dinner

and by "help" i mean he stood behind you with his hands around your waist and his chin on your shoulder while you cooked, talking your ear off about whatever came to his mind

he's annoying

anyway, eventually he got bored

you were too focused on the food! how could you ignore him?!

as he stewed in his boredom, his fingers found their way to the slits in the front of your shirt and brushed up against your warm skin

and then, he delivered one firm poke

right to your bellybutton

immediately, you let out a strained giggle and tried to move away from him, but unfortunately he had you trapped between the kitchen counter and his body

before you could even devise another plan of escape, his hands slipped beneath your shirt and began to wreck your tummy, shirt slits be damned

you nearly died that night, and it was certainly not the last time something like that happened~

Han:

jisung was shy

really he was, especially at the beginning of your relationship

it took him a while to even work up the nerve to kiss you after you began dating, and even then he was kind of drunk

but somewhere around the 3 month mark, a switch flipped

he began to touch you more and he was more playful

introverts are funny like that

it stands to reason that he discovered how ticklish you were not long after

i mean, how were you supposed to respond when he asked to give you a foot massage? say no?

you tried that, but he pouted and you caved

you sort of accepted the fact that he'd find out, especially when you got out of the shower to find him on your bed with lotion and foot masks

and he looked so fcking cute too, curse you jisung >:(

safe to say he knew something was up as soon as you sat down to offer him a foot to massage

you were bright red, stuttering, and even sweating a lil bit

and when he started teasing?! telling you how cute you looked?!!?

oh no, you were done for

he couldn't even start massaging, you collapsed in giggles as soon as his fingers grazed the bottoms of your feet with lotion

your silly boyfriend started laughing at you, and the next thing you knew, your feet were headlocked beneath his arm and he was going to town on them

you screamed and thrashed, and eventually pulled a foot away and gave him a good kick

bad idea, because now he's gonna get revenge by finding out what other spots make you scream <3

Felix:

felix was totally curious

like you knew he was ticklish (you reminded him of that fact frequently), so shouldn't he know if you were too?

he thought he should

his investigation began one evening when he came over for a sleepover

you, ofc, were expecting nothing but cuddles and romantic cutesy stuff

after your last week of midterms at university, it felt more necessary than ever

felix, on the other hand, was nothing if not conniving

it wasn't his fault that you just looked so cute in your pjs

perfect to test his theories on as well

you had dragged him to the bathroom so you could do skincare together, and then made him sit through a face mask, and then you two finally went to bed

but felix still had to wait for the perfect moment

and he wasn't gonna stop you when your lips found their way to his, small kisses blossoming into a lazy make-out session

emphasis on "lazy" because honestly you could hardly keep your eyes open by the time he pulled away

he giggled and brushed your hair from your eyes, thumb tracing your kiss-swollen lips as he whispered about how pretty you were

you flushed, scolding him about being a tease before you reached to turn off your bedside table lamp

felix suddenly remembered his mission

and his time had arrived

you just barely clicked the light off before felix stuck his fingers right into your armpit, massaging deep circles into your flesh

you positively squealed, unable to stop yourself from falling into witch-like cackles

felix's investigation was a success, and you can bet he'd use these findings again and again

Seungmin:

seungmin tickles you to get what he wants

or at least, he does after he finds out about your weakness

and it doesn't take long really

technically, the two of you weren't even official yet when he makes the discovery

the night before, one thing kind of led to another during an after-party, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in the same bed

wearing very little

anywayyyy

seungmin was the first to wake up in the morning with a raging headache

no lie, he felt like he had been run over by 20 tour buses

somehow, when he saw you, cuddled into his chest snoozing peacefully, he felt less gross

it was probably because he was in love with you, but he wasn't really ready to admit that to himself yet

and he did really have to pee, and he could not do that with you koalabeared onto him

no time to think about emotions or anything

at first, he tried to shake you awake, which proved to be futile

next, he tried prying your arms off from around his waist, but your grip was like iron

finallly, he tried poking and prodding you because he didn't have any other ideas

almost immediately you began to squirm away, trying to fight off the tickles in your sleepy state

eventually (partly because you were too cute gently giggling and partly because now he really needed to pee) he finally dug into your sides and really gave you a good wake up call

you woke up laughing loudly from the tickles, and when your vision cleared, you saw a blushing seungmin making his way to the bathroom

I.N:

Jeongin tickles you when you annoy him

which you do a lot

it's like you were built to push all of his buttons istg

the first time he ever found out you were ticklish, you were making fun of him

it was a personal favorite pastime of yours

(definitely not because you thought jeongin was hot when he was frustrated, no ofc not)

today had just not been a good day for him in the slightest

his voice was a bit hoarse so he couldn’t record, he kept missing steps in their dance practice, and to top it all off he was breaking out from the stress of a new comeback

so really, why were you adding gas to that fire?

usually you only bugged him because you wanted to get his mind off of whatever was bothering him

your teasing was light hearted, and you never had bad intentions

but when you wouldn’t stop asking for kisses, started whining at him after he said he didn’t wanna give you kisses, and then sat yourself right on top of him and refused to move… that’s when he got fed up

and yet you kept it up

jeongin decided he needed to do something drastic

and of course he’d never hurt you and he wasn’t truly mad, but he did need to teach you a lesson

so… he set his hands on your hips, looking up at you from where you were seated on his lap, facing him

and he asked if you would move

when you said “no” once again, he squeezed your hips like his life depended on it

you shrieked and fell to the side, trying to squirm away from his evil hands as they tickled you mercilessly

as jeongin pinned you down and made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t help but think about how you deserved this

whatever, it was fun so you just decided to be even more annoying in the future :)

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trans-axolotl · 1 year

Text

"I've been playing music my whole life. It started with banging out or seeking out rhythms. Guitar at age 12, bass (which would become my life's focus) at age 17, and bits of piano and drums on the way. Music has always been an integral and guiding light in my life…

Music is that thing that has always been.

Then one day, it was taken from me.

No instruments to reach for in times of elation or crisis, no computer software to allow me to compose and play back those symphonies I hear. It was all gone.

I lost music as soon as I stepped inside a prison.

My six years of traumatic, wrongful incarceration are the basis for a Grammy-winning album. One that is written in my head, existing as barely scribbled-out lyrics and notations on handwritten music staff, scattered throughout so many thousands of journal pages.

I often wonder what this experience of being wrongfully convicted and unlawfully incarcerated after being the victim of police brutality sounds like. When I really get the chance to sit down with my bass again, what will it sound like? Maybe the off-sounding minor/major of a locrian scale that leads with the major seven as a root? It has a discordantly melodic tone. It would be easy to say prison is all blues or a simple minor scale, but it is so much more nuanced, subtle… insidious.

There is more to it than flat 5s, diminished 2nds, and suspended 11ths. All the notes, and even well-placed silences, cannot convey the emotion of this trauma and oppression. What does "oblong" sound like? I feel oblong. Feel oblong. Off-center. And I wonder how to translate that into a cohesive sound.

Ironically, it is never quiet in prison. I long for that moment when a solid snowstorm begins. The live weather maps show a raging of color, up drafts, tumultuous winds that should howl ….. outside, all things go still ….. quiet ….. silence, well-placed, screams as a whisper ….. I wish I had my bass.

Sometimes I think the overwhelming frustration would be best sounded by hitting my open strings hard—at full volume—before tuning my instrument and just letting that noise reverberate until it ends on its own accord."

-OUT OF MY HANDS: A musician in prison pines for his bass.

by David Annarelli

#prison abolition #abolition #quotes #personal #scalawag magazine has some really amazing featured writers. you all should check them out #prison literature

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awingedinsect · 6 months

Text

-Flood me like Atlantic-

Chapter 9

Word count: 2k

Warnings: slight past trauma, cursing, the briefest of allusions to SH again, III is mean but he’s getting softer. I swear.

“Are you really okay?”

His eyes peeled off the keyboard, growing instantly unfocused as she opened the door and stared at him. He sat crossed-legged on the bed, the slats of the window shades casting him in stripes.

“What?” His fingers fidgeted with the loops of a big, prominent white bow stuck on the corner of the instrument. His sleeves fell to his wrists. “Of course I am.”

She stood silently for too long, brows knit. His heart struck up a quicker beat.

“You know, you don’t have to lie to me.” She said. “I want you to talk to me. I’m your mom, for god's sake.”

“I’m fine, I swear.” He said, trying to look assuring. “Just tuning this thing, right now.”

His eyes met the carpet at her feet. She was thinking about it too, he knows. He’d memorized the crimson trail on it, now faded a dark meaningless brown that even his sisters eyes follow sometimes.

Even his sisters.

He swallowed, lashes fluttering. “…I’m gonna take her to the beach.”

“Sure you don’t wanna come?” II’s eyes wander back to him one last time as he stands in the doorway, IV holding it open with a set of keys in his hand. He waits patiently as Vessel shoves his hands in the front of his hoodie, swaying casually on his bare feet. “It’s gonna be a good time, and I know Matt would love to meet ya!” He grins, a laugh in his eyes. “Pretty sure he thinks we’re making you up.”

II has brought his friend Matthew up a couple times now. An old friend from school, now playing drums in his own garage band. The three of them were gonna go bowling today, and of course both II and IV had asked him to come along. But he politely refused. Today is the day he’s gonna take the bandage off of his forehead, and maybe talk to III about the upcoming gig, since he’s still not positive he’s even involved. Though by the end of the conversation he might need a couple new bandaids.

“I guess he’ll have to keep wondering.” Vessel says, a soft smile on his lips. He truly does love the drummer, and he hopes he’s not too disappointed. “I’m not really feeling it today, man. But next time for sure.”

“Well, try and have a nice day around here.” II says, taking a step further out the door and nodding over Vessels shoulder into the house. “You got mister grumpy pants all to yourself, bruv.”

Vessels not sure whether the look II and IV share is sympathetic, amused, or just generally deeper than he understands. But they both have stupid smiles that make him wish he was in the know.

But instead of questions they finally step outside, crunching down the gravel path as he waves them off.

He locks the door behind them.

It’s not what he was expecting.

He holds his bangs up off of his forehead, dropping the cloth into the sink and turning his face slowly in the overhead light.

To be fair, this isn’t the first time he’s taken it off. He’s been showering and waking up to it on the floor beside the sofa, making him wonder just how much he tosses and turns these days. But he always puts it back on before the mirror can beckon him.

There’s something that terrifies him about the whole thing. About the gap in his memories of that night, in which the damn thing must have been carved into him in the first place. The voice in his head feels like it hums from behind the simple scrap of cloth. And the idea of his reflection also being part of the same nightmare in his head would truly prove that, whatever this is, it’s something that won’t leave him.

His shaking fingers graze the raised flesh, following a perfect line that crosses and knits with a few others. He’d say it was a burn, if he didn’t so clearly remember the blood dripping into his eyes. He doesn’t know what it means or what it says, but the meaning is clear;

Mine.

It means that he is owned.

Swiping the hair back into his face, he gives himself a final inspection. You can barely tell it’s there now, and there’s a definite relief at the sight of an otherwise regular bloke in the mirror. With the last few weeks, the dodging his reflection and the ever growing estrangement from his own body, he’d almost forgotten he’s not a monster.

He looks nice.

He almost looks good.

“Alright then,” he says, brushing some lint of his hoodie and picking a dead flake off his lips. “Alright then.”

He treads quietly toward the door at the end of the hallway. There’s not a sound in the house, apart from the faint shuffle of his jeans and a distant flicker that he can’t place. He’s almost scared to breathe wrong, so he really doesn’t at all.

His knuckles rap three quick taps on the door.

His tongue presses the roof of his mouth, mindlessly preparing a “thhh” after he’s met with nothing but silence for a few seconds. But when his weight shifts on the floorboards in what must be the most obnoxious noises known to bassist he hears a quiet “bloody hell” on the other side, followed by a “come in.”

He turns the knob, almost embarrassed by his timidity. Why the fuck is he so nervous? He’s been carried completely naked and unconscious by this guy, he’s been poked and prodded and felt his hot breath on his tear-stained cheeks. he’s been punched in the eye hard enough to floor him and he’s made stupid fucking sounds while quite literally being bathed. So why in god’s name is standing like an 6’4” shadow in the same man’s doorway about the most awkward thing he’s ever been through?

“Um… hello.”

III’s bedroom is about exactly what he expected. On the smaller side, eclectic piles of knickknacks, clothes and colorful decorations all around, not to mention enough incense to knock a person out. There’s a record player spinning lazily by the window, the needle scratching the middle of the vinyl like it’s been forgotten for hours. And on the floor- crossed-legged with his back to the door -is III, hair sprawled all over his head like it hasn’t seen a brush in days.

“What are you doing?” Vessel asks, shoulders getting less tense as he stands curiosity drinking up the sight. He stares at III’s closed eyes in the floor-length mirror.

“Shhh.”

“Meditating?”

“Shhhh.”

“Why would you tell me to come in if it’s a bad time?”

A distressed groan comes out of III and he turns his head, spindly body twisting around to lock him in a glare. “You need something, blud?”

Vessel looks at his feet for a minute, gathering his thoughts. III’s face is bathed in the colors of the several stained glass ornaments in the window, sifting through his long lashes and glowing in his stern eyes. There’s a few candles flickering around the room.

Instead of answering, Vessel decides to just walk in and sit down on the bed. Not something III was expecting, proven as he twists around and straightens fully to eye him. Vessel pulls his feet up onto the bedspread, sitting like an obnoxious cat while still retaining a bit of uncertainty. And it gets just the right reaction out of III.

“I wanted to ask about the gig. II told me one’s coming up and I… was curious about my role.”

III’s eyes are boring into him relentlessly. But again, it feels like a challenge over anything else. Vessel stays put, meeting the stare. A hard swallow tugs on his throat.

“You hoping we’ll let ya sing?”

Vessel’s face flushes, and he can’t help but break the eye contact for a second. He dismisses it by picking at a loose thread in his jeans. “Well I’ve got an extremely flexible schedule. And I’ve been singing with you all, now, for a bit.” He says, offering an awkward sort of smile. “I thought maybe… I was official.”

“Official.” III rolls the word around his mouth, tasting it for a second out of courtesy. But it’s obviously a bit sour. “You think you’re number one all the sudden, blud?”

That’s definitely not what he said. That’s definitely not what he insinuated. God, having a conversation with this man is insufferable. And here he was trying to be polite.

“Well I have been pouring my heart and ass into performing for you guys these last few weeks, crazy to think it wasn’t just for shits and gigs, right?”

III stands up to his full height at that, casting a long shadow down the bed that makes Vessel question his choice of words. “You’ve been fuckin crashing here, you twat.” He bites. “Hiding from the cops on my fuckin sofa and havin fun with a borrowed mic in the meanwhile. You’re welcome, by the fuckin way.” He rests his fist on a sharp hip, throwing a gesture of Vessel’s head. “Looks like you're good as new, now. Ready to go home.”

Oh, hell no. None of that. Vessel’s mouth twists in a scowl, since he’s not sure how else to react to that slew of shit. His throat tightens.

Home.

“First of all, the fun I’ve been having with you guys could of got me enough money by now to call that goddam motel home for another fucking month, if I wasn’t up here singing for the damn squirrels. Second I didn’t ask for any of this shit, I didn’t ask for the fire or these new scars, or any of the things you’ve blamed me for. I’m just fucking tired, man.” The knot in his throat is no idle threat anymore, and he goes quiet, staring up at those deep, frozen eyes. “…Why do you hate me?”

III is silent for a long moment. His lips form a thin line, hair shadowing his features as he bows his head and contemplates something. Most likely, just how he’ll murder him.

He steps closer. And then he fucking shoves him in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. He thuds back on the springy mattress, arms falling at his sides and gripping the quilt awkwardly as III towers over him like a goddam predator.

“You’re a bloody good singer.” He says, watching Vessel’s mouth fall open with some short breathes. “The boys like you.”

Each word seems carefully chosen; a gift he only has half a mind to give. The bassist sighs long and hard out his nose.

“You can get up there with us on one fucking condition.” He says. “Cover your fucking face. You might say your innocent, but until I get a whole story and some proof out of your ass, none of us fucking know you. Understand?”

Vessel nods against the bed, something serious in his face now. He doesn’t want to be seen.

“I need a keyboard.” He says, moving on impressively fast from the demand. There’s simply something atrociously fitting about the idea of a mask.

“And there’ll probably be one, too.” III says. “Just make a half decent sound either way.” He moves towards the door now, lifting a weight off of Vessel, who props up on his elbows and watches as he leaves.

“Don’t fuck up.” III says, locking him in one last stare. “Anything.”

He doesn’t have to mention II or IV to make his point. It’s clear as day, and so is Vessel’s resolve to prove that yes, he can be trusted. He can be liked. It doesn’t matter if he’s wearing a mask or not; he wants to be authentic and knowable. Something he’s not sure he’s ever been before.

Besides, the mask will cover up the scar.

It’ll keep the voice inside.

He’s suddenly left alone in the bedroom, unsure of what to do. The record player keeps scratching and the candles keep flickering, and slowly he gets up, wandering to the window. He picks the needle up gingerly, setting it on the rim of the vinyl.

The static is such a familiar sound.

“Clock strikes, upon the hour, and the sun begins to fade…”

#vessel #vessel sleep token #sleep token art #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iii #art #sleep token #vessel art #sleep token ii #sleep token fanart

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hounds-and-stars · 2 months

Text

Your Rhythm

Summary: The Death Korps of Krieg has no place for music- or most kinds of rhythm and relaxation, really. So what happens when a Korpsman, after spending months on garrison duty, finds himself fraternizing with another soldier and trying to follow their rhythm?

Tags: gender neutral reader, male character, Death Korps of Krieg, original character, breathing focus, non-sexual intimacy

Disclaimer: This is my first attempt at a reader-insert story, which I wrote this at 3-5am on a Friday night where I couldn't sleep. I still think it's good, but I figured I should give a heads up.

Enjoy.

Music was an almost alien concept to the Death Korps of Krieg, and your Kriegsman was no exception to that rule.

Oh, sure, they had instruments and made noise with them, but they didn't make music. In Krieg's vast underground cities, every man, woman, and child was well-accustomed to the thunder of a marching drum and the roar of a trumpet, but they were tools, nothing more. A trumpet blast heralded the start or the end of a workday, and the simple, unchanging beat of a drum was how they kept pace throughout their long, grinding shifts. Like every other aspect Krieg's life and culture, their instruments were purely utilitarian, devoid of any other use.

When the 44th Siege Regiment first arrived at your garrison and set up their barracks nearby, there was friction right away as your troopers' cadence songs disrupted the Death Korps' drills. When your officers explained why your comrades were shouting back and forth for no seemingly no real reason, the Kriegsmen just looked confused and asked why such behavior was allowed in the first place. The Korpsmen seemed to think that any singing or recreational rhythm was a waste of time and energy, dismissing it all as distractions that took focus away from more practical matters.

Line Trooper Beta 0440- or, as you called him, Otto -shared this opinion. Months ago, when you two had somehow pulled watch duty together, he'd rather obviously been annoyed by how you whistled to pass the time, going rigid at the sounds blowing through your lips. Even through the expressionless lenses of his gas mask, you could feel how his eyes narrowed with irritation whenever you started a new tune, though he never openly voiced that thought.

In fact, he rarely voiced any thought. It was a miracle you two became friends at all, considering how little the Kriegsman said at first. Over time, bit by bit, Otto had opened up to you, but even at his most talkative, he preferred to lend you his ear and listen, only speaking when he felt particularly strongly about something. Still, for a soldier of the Death Korps, that made him almost legendarily sociable.

The fact that you two had, somehow, become more than friends was almost certainly divine intervention. The word "love" had never and probably would never pass Otto's lips, since admitting you cared for anyone in the Death Korps was a scandalous thing indeed, but he clearly felt something for you. Day after day, he sought you out whenever he could, even getting his quartermaster to put him on your work crews now and then, just to spend some more time at your side. Your squadmates often joked that he followed you around like a lost puppy, loyally dogging your steps you wherever you went, and to a degree, they were right- not that you minded, really. He was a good listener and rarely complained, which made him a much more tolerable companion than the average Guardsman.

The only thing he did complain about with any regularity was the music. Even after close to a year of cohabitation with non-Krieg regiments, Otto still hadn't adjusted to that kind of noise, no matter what the source was. The regimental bands, the local vox-stations, the cadences, even your whistling still irritated him to no end. He would grumble about the racket whenever it became particularly grating, usually making a snide remark about how "off-worlders spend too much time banging sticks together instead of working,” or something to that effect. It made your midnight watch-duties (or, as you liked to call them, dates) rather painfully quiet when you had nothing to talk about, but that wasn't strictly a bad thing.

After all, all Kriegsmen wore heavy woolen greatcoats, and they made for excellent pillows.

One particularly long, uneventful shift had seen you lean against Otto's side, take a deep breath, and close your eyes. You didn't intend on taking a nap while you were supposed to be keeping watch for intruders, but your body had decided that it was time to sleep and before you knew it, you were out. It took Otto a good few minutes to realize that you had dozed off, only taking notice after you had started snoring next to his ear, but to his credit, he didn't try to wake you up.

The Kriegsman leaned back against a wall and, for a while, just stared off into the distance. He did debate with himself about if he should wake you up or let you sleep, but that argument came to a swift end when he saw how relaxed you looked at his side. With a quiet sigh, he decided that he'd let you rest for now and give you an earful in the morning, when you would be awake to hear it. Then, he let his shoulders sag and took a deep breath.

Then another. And another. And another.

Eventually, Otto noticed his breathing was falling into a particular pattern, but he didn't know why. It was strange, feeling his body trying to keep a pace he hadn't intentionally set, but at first, he didn't think to question it; the human body was a strange and fickle thing, after all. It was only after he paused for a moment and listened to the world around him that it struck him, realizing what he was unconsciously trying to do.

Turning to look down at you, still quietly snoring beside him, Otto watched intently as your chest rose and fell, rose and fell, with the same unchanging tempo to each and every breath. You'd pause for a second or two, holding on to the air in your lungs, then slowly exhale and start again. As the seconds passed, he saw that your pace remained constant, like a musician repeating the same melody on their instrument over and over again- only, the instrument was you.

Otto realized he was trying to mimic the rhythm of your breathing, if only subconsciously so. Normally, he would never have paid attention to such a thing; there was a slight difference in how long each of his breaths lasted compared to your’s, true, but it was a very small difference at any rate, usually too small for him to notice. But, with nothing else around to focus on except you, he had started trying to match your pace, for Emperor knows what reason.

"Why?" Otto murmured, tilting his head as he looked down at you. Behind the cold lenses of his mask, two deep, dark brown eyes narrowed on your face, on your lips, and for a brief moment, he could almost hear your whistling again and tensed, waiting for that sound.

Instead, all he heard was your breathing.

The Kriegsman said nothing as he looked away and tried to think about something else, attempting to ignore the odd tightness in his chest and the soft, steady rhythm that felt like the only sound in his world.

In the end, that was all he could think about that night.

#warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #x reader #death korps of krieg #imperial guard #astra militarum #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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mercurygray · 4 months

Note

Hi Merc! How do you feel about prompt nr 16 (daybreak) for my Clubmobile girls? Doesn't have to be anything romantic if you're not vibing with it, just the girls

Thank you 💜

- your Fred Friend

I hope this works for you, Fred Friend!

Technically, it was Mary's fault.

Mission days were always early starts - 3:00 a.m. to roll out of bed in the old, crumbling mansion the Red Cross was renting for them, and pull the truck out from the shed to be on the road and catch the end of the 5:30 am run on the equipment shed with hot coffee and a mix of yesterday's leftovers and today's starter batch, usually too doughy as the oil came up to temperature.

It was cold out before the sun came up, and they kept the windows of the truck closed while they started the oil and heated the urns for coffee, the small space cramped but warm enough, with the four of them and the fryers going. Moods were infectious, in a small space like this, and Tatty seemed to have slept on the wrong side of the bed the way she was banging pans and slamming doors and grumbling about how she'd like to shoot the man who invented early mornings and gas stoves that wouldn't light.

Anyway, she was a little ridiculous, like early mornings had only just been invented and they hadn't been doing this for months on end, and Mary had started humming, and then Helen was doing it too, and by the time the tune got to Fred it had harmony and a rhythm section with the tongs and a measuring cup until Tatty turned around, blazing, and Fred could only grin.

"Oh, she kicked out my windshield," she started, still drumming along with the tongs, and the rest picked up, "And she hit me over the head She cussed and cried and said I lied And she wished that I was dead! Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down."

The coin could have fallen on either side, but Tatty, it seemed, had complained enough for one morning. She rolled her eyes and declared she was going to let the mess hall know they were here, leaving the three of them to open the windows, still laughing about their improvised jam session.

It seemed they already had a customer - or an audience. Captain Brennan was waiting in the half-light of dawn with a cup of coffee already in hand and a clipboard under her arm, uniform beautiful and crisp. (She was always well dressed, whether by habit or practice - all the girls said so. Not too many women could make the green and pinks look chic, but by god, would Marion Brennan try.)

"You're all very chipper this morning," the intelligence officer observed, waiting a respectful distance away as they rolled up the windows and started putting out the doughnut racks.

"Sorry, ma'am," Helen offered quietly. (Brennan intimidated her, for reasons Fred couldn't ever quite understand - but then, perhaps she was a little intimidating, with her beautiful hair and her rank and her surety about her station. And how many other women were walking around air bases with captain's bars and the complete trust of the C.O.? Brennan's word was law and her good opinion gold.)

Brennan chuckled, her smile rare and warm. "Why are you apologizing? It's good to see smiles this early."

"Get you a fresh cup, Captain?" Mary asked, gesturing with the pot she was holding.

"You may, Mary, thank you." Brennan shook the remnants out of her cup and onto the grass, and offered Mary the now-empty mug. "If we're being honest, I like your coffee more than I do the mess hall's."

"Isn't it a little early for you, ma'am?" Fred asked, leaning over the window holding the sugar shaker so the Captain could help herself. It was only the flight officers in the earliest briefings, pilots and bombardiers and navigators, and Brennan certainly wasn't one of them. (Any minute now they'd all be done suiting up, and those doors would open and the whole lot of them would begin the hike out to the trucks that would take them out to the hardstands.)

"You know what they say about early birds and worms. I need to review today's run with Major Bowman, after they've sent them all out so I can brief my team. And we have photos from yesterday's run to review and send on to wing."

"Those worms won't know what hit them," Fred replied with a smile. Another smile from Brennan.

"What worms now?" Colonel Harding appeared from the direction of the briefing hut, hat tucked under his arm, Jack Kidd following close behind him.

"The worms the group's going to bomb today, sir," Mary offered, holding out a fresh mug. "Coffee for you? Major Kidd, some coffee?"

"Thank you, Mary. Mighty kind." Harding took it and drank deeply before anyone could offer powdered milk or sugar, watching as Kidd stepped away to speak with Brennan.

The song was still stuck in Fred's head as she continued setting the mugs and doughnuts out for service, glancing up to see Harding's face in the dim of daybreak, watching the conversation between his XO and his intelligence captain with an expression that Fred thought she would call pride, and, in another space and a different light, perhaps something like love.

Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down.

#asked and answered #Anonymous #freda torvaldsen #marion brennan #i have written a thing #mercurygraypresents #tds cinematic universe #masters of the air OC

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emesis-nemisis · 3 months

Text

Corodded Coffin Fest Day One

First - Rehearsal

Word count: 998, Rating: T , Pairings: None, CW: Language, fighting, boys being incredibly nerdy, author taking creative liberties and making Eddie a year or two younger for the sake of this making sense (Its their first rehearsal before the Hawkins Middle talent show he gushed to Chrissy about.), Dialogue heavy. Featuring: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Frankie.

@corrodedcoffinfest

This is my first public work ever lol, I hope you enjoy! (Cuttin it real close here with the time)

“You guys, this is not working…” Eddie hollered behind him.

Frankie’s plucking and Jeff’s strumming halts, but the sound of heavy bumps and pangs continued from behind them.

It all sounded awful - The rhythm wasn’t right and the timing of the guitars fell all over the place. It made a mess of sound, and Eddie was sure he was developing a stress headache.

Gareth is still playing.

“Could one of you-” Eddie wipes his hands over his face trying to compose himself, taking a deep breath and turning around so that he could pull his hair in peace.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Frankie moves over to the drum-kit, biting a laugh at the look of his friend still smacking the life out of the set. Eyes closed and head banging, ginger curls flopping all over the place. His hand comes up to hold the symbols still, and when Gareth moves his sticks over it, slapping them and not getting his desired sound, he double takes.

“Dude, what gives!” Gareth frowns up at him, beet red and hair drenched in sweat.

“We’re taking five.”

“Again?!” He pants.

The air was stifling in the garage, and it didn’t help that they kept the door closed. The heat of the sun’s been cooking them like a brisket all afternoon, but Gareth stays on his shit - refusing to let them open it. Practically locking them all inside of a slow cooker during an abnormally hot day of spring.

“I don’t understand, the song sounded fine when I practiced earlier.” Jeff’s eyebrows screwed tight, staring down at his guitar with a remorseful frown.

Frankie rolls his eyes, pulling the strap over his head and setting his bass down gently. “I think I’m actually starting to hear what my mom hears- this really is just... noise.” He plops down on the ratty sitting chair with a huff, wiping his face of sweat and leaning back in defeat.

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Gareth exclaimed, “I’ve been practicing too.” Sitting up straighter, he swivels on his seat, glaring accusingly at Frankie where he was resting.

“Come on man, do you even have to ask?” He says with his head cocked slightly.

Gareth shrugs “It’s not like you bothered to tune the damn thing before you got here.”

The boy’s eyebrows raise high and stiff, “What, you mean like how you thought to have your shit put together before we pulled up.”

“It was like one bolt that needed tightening.”

“We’re in your garage!” Frankie shouts, “You’re really gonna point fingers at me when your kit wasn’t fully set up either-”

“Woah, guys let’s just calm down a second- '' Jeff interjects. A nervous tone to his voice that goes ignored as his loudmouth friends refuse to let up on each other.

“Your timing is shit! Are you even paying attention to the rest of us?” Frankie continues over Jeff's pleas unremorsefully.

“You wanna talk about timing so bad? How bout you go mouthing off to your mother for bringing you here late.”

“You guys!” Eddie shouts, “Stop!”

The garage fell silent. Frankie’s arms tightly crossed against his chest and Gareth’s glare didn’t leave him once, but they quieted down to listen.

“It’s not any one thing, alright. It’s not just the timing, it’s not just the tuning… it’s all of it.”

“The hell do you mean, Munson?” The glaring boy’s gaze shifts, finding a new target for those piercing blue eyes to melt.

“If you’d cool your britches down long enough for me to tell you, you’d know what I mean, Emmerson.” Eddie retorts.

Gareth’s chest continues to puff out, but he bites his tongue from causing further damage.

“This is our first rehearsal, right?” he starts, “I mean, we’ve all played before, but this is the first time we’ve all tried to mesh together.”

“So?”

“So, how’d the first campaign we ever tried to run go?.”

“Terrible.”

“Catastrophic.”

“A real shit show, if you ask me.”

“You mean things weren’t perfect right off the bat?” Eddie muses with wide eyes. Fake gasping and clutching pearls he’ll never own.

It’s rhetorical, that much is obvious. But Jeff answers him anyway.

“It was new… the campaign was written too specifically and we messed up the whole quest within like… an hour.”

“We didn’t even make it to the dungeon before we were all either dead, or lost with no way back to each other.” Frankie chimes.

“Or the story.” Eddie supplies.

“Or the story.” He parrots, nodding.

“Yeah” Eddie tsk’s with a lopsided frown “that was my bad.”

Gareth chuckles at the memory, “God we were awful.”

“We were new.” Eddie says, laughing too. “We were allowed to be awful.”

“But, we’re not new at this?” Jeff says, “We formed this band because we’d all heard each other talking about instruments we already played.”

Gareth side eyes him wholeheartedly, “We formed this band so we could enter in the talent show and impress girls.”

Frankie’s arm whips up to heave a small smack across the back of his head. “Enough arguing, dipshit. Listen.”

“But we’ve never played together though, have we?” Eddie continues.

Gareth has enough mind to look embarrassed for jumping the gun. “No…”

“And we’ve never had to face the struggle of keeping up with each other's time before. Just like I never had to face the struggle of watching a carefully crafted quest go up in flames because I relied too heavily on the checks all working out the way I planned for them too.”

“So what I’m hearing is, this is all your fault?” Gareth's eyes squint small, eyeing Eddie down with mirth.

Eddie retaliates with a shove, because no, that’s not what he was saying, but he smiles when Gareth shoves him back, laughing. Not even a full minute goes by before the other boys jump in, altogether forgetting the fight that started this mess to begin with.

We’ll get there, Eddie thinks to himself. He’s sure of it.

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #eddie munson #gareth #Unnamed freak #Jeff #Stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fic

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illegally-blind-and-deaf · 1 year

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The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock was about to drive Tintin mad. It wasn't even: the pendulum hadn't been set straight, causing the clock to tick like a heart beat. Just like Tintin's, but his was faster, about to break through his ribs. Pinpricks of tingling pain fired through his ankle, reminding him that his crouched position behind the broken drum was growing increasingly uncomfortable the longer he waited. He almost went to change his position when the tap of Italian leather on the old floor echoed through the room. He froze.

"Where are you hiding?"

A shiver ran down Tintin's spine as the leather shoes stopped inches from his face. "It's like looking in a rabbit's burrow in here. A maze."

Sakharine's deceptively soothing voice bounced around the endless bric-a-brac and it felt to Tintin as though he was surrounded. He didn't move, holding his breath as he watched the shoes move on.

"Come on out, little rabbit. I promise I won't shoot."

It was moments like these that made Tintin regret leaving his revolver at home. Even his faithful dog Milou was nowhere to be seen, trapped outside with the ferocious guard dog in the garden. All he wanted was his model ship, but now he was being hunted by a madman. Surprisingly not the most unusual moment of his career, but certainly blood-chilling.

A low whistle sounded and Tintin nearly jumped as Sakharine became whistling a tune. Soon the whistle turned into a hum and then into an innocent tune with words.

"On the farm, ev'ry Friday

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along

I get up early and sing this little song"

The yellow beam of Sakharine's torch flashed past him, vanishing quickly as the man moved on. Tintin leaned back slowly, praying that the darkness would cloak his movements. Sakharine's red-clad back could be seen in between the dusty globe and an old statue, moving as he continued singing.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run."

Now was his chance. Praying desperately, Tintin shot out from his hiding spot and bolted between the rows of junk, glancing back at Sakharine's menacing smile. In the pale moonlight, his broad grin and wide eyes reminded Tintin of a cat.

Bang, bang.

Tintin yelped, cowering as the bullets whizzed past his ear. They sliced into the window, allowing Tintin to dive through the splintered glass and onto the overgrown lawn outside.

Bang.

He picked himself up, half-running half-falling to the crumbling brick fence.

Bang.

Tintin would never admit it out loud, but he felt like Peter Rabbit escaping Mr McGregor in that moment as he crawled through a hole in the brickwork, ignoring the dirt clinging to his skin. He ran, his legs pounding and lungs screaming. He would have sprinted all the way to the city if he could have, but after several minutes his legs gave out and he found himself sprawled on the road. Air fought its way into his tight lungs in heaving breaths. Tintin ran his hand through his hair, noticing the violent trembling that racked his body.

Milou.

In his state of sheer panic, he had forgotten about his best friend and trusty companion. "Milou!"

A flurry of white fur came bounding down the road, yapping in an almost accusatory manner at his master. Tintin could have cried with relief at the sight of his dog. Despite Milou's tiny stature, he felt safer being in his company. "Come on. Let's call a taxi and get home."

Mrs Finch's delicious apple pie could be smelt as Tintin stepped into the apartment building. He sighed, relishing the scent when he noticed the song playing on his landlady's radio.

"Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run"

No. With blood pounding in his ears, he sprinted up the stairs to his flat, slamming the door behind him. The clock clicked as he turned the key and he sighed, his knees shaking slightly. A breeze blew through the open window and he rushed to lock it, staring at the figure in the telephone box down the street. Is that... He shook his head, pulling the curtains firmly shut. He was still in a high state of anxiety, seeing things that weren't really there. Why would Sakharine follow him back home to use the telephone box? Tintin almost laughed at the idea.

The telephone rang. Tintin grew cold. Slowly, as though magnets were pulling at his every step, he moved towards the shrill ringing, his chest tightening as he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"I've got you now, little rabbit."

#tintin #les adventures de tintin #the adventures of tintin #milou #writing #oneshot #sakharine #ivan ivanovitch sakharine

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ceilingfan5 · 1 year

Note

2 or 21 with taakitz? pls and thank u!!!

“I think we should cancel the gig, I don’t remember how to play,” Taako whines from his place melted on the floor in front of the fan. His shirt, which was already too short, and also says crab rangoon slut in sparkly fuschia Curlz MT font, flops up, giving Kravitz an eyeful he’s burning trying not to react to. Every time the fan rotates, it blows a little further.

“It’ll be fine, and we’ll get paid,” Kravitz says, instead of I notice you changed your nipple piercing jewlery and I’d like to see what it tastes like, if you don’t mind.

“But at what cost,” Taako gripes.

“The price,” Magnus provides cheerfully, bursting into their private moment like the motherfucking koolaid man.

“The price of admission,” Merle adds, like that’s anything. He is, as always, right behind Magnus, and also wearing a stupid tshirt (“SUCCULENT BOD”, handlettered and decorated with dozens of little plants). Kravitz wonders, not for the first time, how he let himself hitch his wagon to this fucking circus train.

“Anyway,” Kravitz says. “We ought to practice, so we don’t flop out there and stink like dead fish.”

“I’m gonna stink regardless if I don’t stop sweating,” Taako moans. “I cna’t do it. I’m not a solid anymore.”

“Liquids can play the keyboard, probably,” Kravitz valiantly charges on. With Taako, you have to humor him to a certain degree, or he won’t even give you the time of day. But also you can only take some of his bullshit, and if you take too much of it, he loses any and all respect for you. It’s a delicate balance. Fucking circus train. Kravitz feels like he’s wearing the sparkly leotard in front of the tigers and everything. Shame he’s so into Taako, or he’d just go do something easier. Also he loves the band, but shut up.

“Nobody wants wet keys, my man.” Magnus shakes his head.

“Tell that to Florida,” Merle muses.

Everyone else boos.

“Why don’t you try, just a little, and then we can go get ice cream before the gig?” Kravitz asks. “Because if you can’t. I’m going to quit, and become a solo artist and be able to stop taking my blood pressure medication, because of all the stress you fools put me through.”

“Said like he thinks he’s not also a fool,” Merle stage whispers to Magnus, who nods solemnly.

“I want bubblegum ice cream,” Magnus says though. “So get off your ass, Taako.”

“If I die about this, you’ll all be sorry,” Taako moans, but he does peel himself off the floor and mope over to the keyboard. Kravitz takes up his bass guitar, and Merle sits at the drums, and Magnus connects his amp. “Fucking, ugh, an’ a one, an’ a two,”

“And a skiddly, idly, oo,” Merle jokes, but they start–

And it’s horrible. Taako bangs rudely on the keys, which immediately fucks everyone up, and Kravitz tries to save it but is torn between laughing and ringing his boyfriend’s neck, and it spirals from there.

“Like this?” Taako asks, over the bullshit garbage heap of a tune they’re butchering, playing his keyboard horribly, comically wrong. He’d probably have an easier time trying to use his butt cheeks.

“No,” Kravitz barely manages with a straight face. “I’m afraid that’s not what we’re looking for, and you’re fired, goodnight.”

“THANK GOD,” Taako says. “I’m going home. Music is dead to me.”

“Iiiiice cream,” Merle tempts.

Taako pouts.

“With sprinkles?” Magnus adds.

“And maybe a cold shower?” Kravitz smiles at him, letting the implication float through the air on radio waves, and not having to say, out loud, between the other two chucklefucks, that he would in fact like to join Taako in that shower.

Taako pouts harder.

“Fine,” he says. “But if any of you make me stick around to sign shit in fucking ninety-eight degrees, I’m ritually sacrificing a fan and we’re going to be on true crime podcasts for decades.”

“Goddamn,” Kravitz says. “Anything but that.”

#taakitz #taakitz fic #taz #tazb #taz balance #the adventure zone balance #the adventure zone #fan5fics #thank you!!#clearing out my inbox #little spicy here n there

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dirkjakeweekly · 2 years

Photo

Let's give a big, warm welcome to.................(consort drum roll) DIRKJAKE WEEK 2023!!! We can't wait to see all the great DirkJakes this week, just like this promo piece for the event by @dungeonsngeese !

Want to see more of this artist, many more artists, and writers to boot? Of COURSE you do! Stay tuned in today and the rest of the week when we'll be releasing our DIRKJAKE BIG BANG projects!

And remember, our theme of the day is...Retro/Futuristic!!!

#dirkjakeweek23 #dirkjake #homestuck

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thisisrealy2kok · 10 months

Link

#art #cyberdog #design #fashion #yqueuek

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memes-wearhouse · 1 year

Text

To tune of Bang The Drum All Day:

🎶I don't wanna work! I wanna read about Oceangate all day! 🎵

#titanic #the titan #the titanic #titan #oceangate #oceangategate #submarines #missing submersible

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peaktotheocean · 2 years

Text

home

pairing: steddie ao3 link: here summary: Steve showing up to a metal festival after a twelve hour shift teaching/babysitting a bunch of five year olds, not even changed or showered from his day, covered in paint that he was never going to get out of his favorite sweater vest? The most romantic thing Eddie could think of.

September was already pushing it for an outdoor musical festival in the midwest. Personally, Gareth thought it was better because metal fans quite often wore rather heavy and leather outfits. They were primed to stay warm in the chill as opposed to overheating in July. But no one asked him.

They did ask him to play drums though.

Well, Corroded Coffin was headlining the final Chicago show but same thing.

Touring was all well and good but there was something about being able to play a show in the town where they lived. Corroded Coffin could do a late set, get home on the last L of the night, and still go to sleep in their own beds, with their partners, and for Jeff at least, his toddlers who had no doubt already escaped their cribs hours prior.

It was the best of both worlds. Rock stars and the comforts of home.

Not to mention the hometown crowds got the best kind of rowdy.

It hadn’t been too long of a tour. Just three weeks of this new festival. But as Gareth got older (older, god, he was barely 28), he could see how they all felt it in different ways, the nonstop travel and shows wearing on them just a bit.

To be back in Chicago, finally, after three whirlwind weeks felt too good. Gareth shook his head. A whole three weeks for this traveling festival. They were getting old maybe.

Not too old though. The act before them finished with a bang and Gareth felt that pre-show adrenaline begin to race through his veins and a little shiver went up his spine. He raised an eyebrow at Jeff who fist bumped him and shook out his shoulders a bit. Gareth couldn’t see Eddie but he could hear him further back in the wings, coaxing his first guitar into a final tune.

The two on-stage performers stumbled into the wings. They were a relatively seasoned duo and old enough that they joined the wind-down tour bus every night with Corroded Coffin instead of the party bus with a few of the younger bands.

The only issue was that Gareth could never keep their names straight. They had always been introduced together as Tim and Dan so he kept it that way, always addressing them as a unit. Dan and Tim. Tim and Dan.

“Nice set,” Jeff complimented them, tossing them each a bottle of water. Either Tim or Dan immediately cracked it open and dumped the whole thing over his head. “Crowd is pumped tonight.”

“They are the best. Oh man. Except for—“ Dan and Tim looked at one another and burst into laughter. They both tried to talk over one another to explain, which didn’t help Gareth’s current issue of not being able to tell them apart.

“This one guy. A white dude with—“ Hands waved, fluffing up each other’s hair in a presumed imitation of the audience member.

“A dorky sweater vest—“

“Covered in paint. I thought it was the pattern on the vest at first.” Dan or Tim mimed splattered paint onto his soaked white shirt.

“Like he took a wrong turn—“

“Or popped out of some portal from another universe.”

“He seems to be enjoying himself though,” one of them said graciously. “He came prepared with earplugs at any rate.”

Gareth looked over at Jeff and they both grinned. Jeff leaned his chair back to check for Eddie but the coast was clear. He crooked a finger at the duo that had so accurately described their lead singer’s partner.

"Where was this guy?" Jeff asked excitedly.

"To the right. Can't miss him, man. He sticks out."

Jeff and Gareth both made a rush for the stage, stopping just short of stepping out of the wings. They pushed each other out of the way to get a glimpse at the crowd, all while trying their best not to be seen.

There, true to form and the description brought to them by Tim and Dan, was Steve Harrington in all his glory. Gareth knew that sweater vest all too well. A few months back, the band had drunkenly ranked all of Steve’s outfits and this vest was top ten. Though it was now tragically covered in neon orange and yellow paint all down the front.

The duo was right about one thing: Steve certainly stuck out in the crowd. If not for his clothing but also because of his actions. No head banging though there was some light head bopping happening, with a small smile and the bright green of his earplugs just barely visible. No chains or leather in sight. Just Steve.

“Oh man, he made it.”

“Eddie is gonna freak.”

“This guy do something to Eddie?” Dan or Tim asked, in such a protective and sweet way that Gareth wished he could remember their names just for that.

“Nah, that’s Ed’s man," Jeff told them. “They’ve been together since his final senior year."

“You’re kidding me. That guy?” He double-checked again, popping his head above Gareth and Jeff's own, shaking his head in disbelief.

“He's a kindergarten teacher on the north side. Hence the paint.” Gareth gestures to his own chest. Paint-covered leather wouldn’t be the worst idea for outfits. Maybe the next album cover. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d raided Steve’s supply boxes. “Last spring he came back to the house covered in glitter and they’re still vacuuming it up.”

“You mean Steve is still vacuuming it up.” Jeff shuddered. His children weren't old enough for kindergarten just yet but he could only imagine the revenge Steve would get up to once his girls walked into their uncle's classroom.

“True," Gareth agreed. "He felt bad. Kindergarten rooms need those hazmat showers, man. Like chemistry labs.”

“Do we tell him? Eddie, I mean.”

“Well, we have to warn security too cause once Eddie sees him, he might dive off the stage," Jeff murmured. Steve's schedule wasn't exactly conducive to their own but he did his best to come out and support the band whenever he could. And each time, Eddie looked at him like it was the best gift he could ever ask for.

Gareth held him back before he could flag down their main bodyguard, an idea forming.

"Maybe we don't warn Eddie. But we do warn security."

"That Eddie might jump into the crowd? That's pretty standard."

"He'll sing to Steve but I don't think he'll go complete PDA." Gareth shook his head, trying to work out a plan. Eddie tried his best to hold back for Steve in public even though that didn't stop him from talking about his partner in print or any other media..

“True. Steve is…well, shy now,” Jeff agreed. He was so unlike the jock they knew in high school. Still Steve, for sure, but more confident and a nicer guy. He kept away from the attention as much as Eddie fed off of it. And Eddie loved no attention as much as the kind he got from Steve.

“There’s PDA and then there’s PDA,” Gareth defended Steve. “There’s hundreds of people out there. Thousands.”

“So we get a security guy to wait until Eddie sees Steve and then have them bring Steve backstage." Jeff made a face, immediately realizing the logical end to the night. "Then we'll lose our dressing room to the two of them."

"Last time that happened, Steve made lasagna as an apology," Gareth pointed out. He had dreams about that lasagna. "I figure we get Eddie riled up enough, Steve will make us a four course meal."

"Cheesecake," Jeff whispered reverently. "Elena loves that cheesecake of his. She won't stop asking me for the recipe."

"Why didn't you just ask Steve?"

"I asked Eddie."

"That was your first mistake."

Jeff went to handle security and Gareth spun his sticks in his hand, not with anxiety but with excitement. Eddie wouldn't notice Steve during their first song, or even their second. He was almost positive. But right before they launched into their third song, when they paused so Eddie could say hello to the crowd and drink some water. That's when it would happen.

He knew his friend way too well. But hopefully he and Jeff and their families would get a good meal out of it.

Gareth could still tell the second Eddie saw Steve. His best friend being in love never got old.

Steve knew the second Eddie spotted him in the crowd. The slight double-take, the straightened spine, and then the laser focus— all on Steve.

Then came the smile.

A beam of sunshine on the chilly Chicago night that Eddie kept trying to talk through, even as he shook his head and stumbled over a few words into the microphone. The crowd could have cared less. Eddie could do no wrong in their eyes. The applause and cheering never stopped.

Steve wouldn’t say he was used to Eddie's delighted expression or the way he did an excited little spin, barely avoiding tripping over the microphone wire. He hoped he never would be, even though it did single-handedly extend the long list of things Robin teased him about. Eddie's energy was always infectious and adorable and made Steve grin instantly. And there was something different about it when Steve experienced it in a crowd.

He didn't get out to see the boys as much as he wanted. His own career made it hard to come on tour outside of the summer. And the migraines didn't help either. Eddie understood, they both did. But god they missed each other.

“Hello you beautiful people!" Eddie shouted into the microphone and the crowd roared back at him. "My boys! My girls! My everyone not constrained by the binary!” Eddie winked and then leered in Steve’s direction. There was sweat and hair everywhere and he had only done two songs so far. Steve loved him so much. “And a special welcome to my man!”

Steve didn't bother holding back a loud laugh and did a little wave to Eddie, who reared back and clutched at his heart, as though he felt the force from it. He quickly skipped forward again, coming to stage right and leaning over as far as he could. They were still a good twenty feet away from each other but Eddie blew Steve a kiss and the crowd went wild.

Even while knowing his face must be beet red, Steve did what he always did when Eddie blew him a kiss: caught it.

He held it against his chest and shook his head, even while smiling. Eddie did a spin again and while his partner had never been a ballerina, it sure seemed as though he was using Steve as his own personal spotting point. Then Gareth slammed them into their next song.

It didn't take long for a security guard to tap him on the shoulder and well, Steve had been expecting it. Jeff or Gareth had probably spotted him. It wouldn’t exactly be difficult in his outfit since he had to come right from the school. He'd watch Eddie from the crowd, from the wings, from anyplace at all.

Eddie was well aware that his ideas of romance were vastly different from that of the general population. Metal, for one-- super romantic music in Eddie's opinion.

His partner showing up after a twelve hour shift teaching/babysitting a bunch of five year olds, not even changed or showered from his day, covered in paint that he was never going to get out of his favorite sweater vest? The most romantic thing Eddie could think of.

Steve carefully bobbing his head along to Eddie's music? Also romantic.

These were songs that Eddie wrote with Steve by his side. First in his old trailer back in Hawkins and then in the shitty freezing loft that they shared with the rest of the band their first year in Chicago. Steve had been with him the whole time, pressed up against him, stroking his hair while Eddie scribbled furiously, trying to put into words how love made him feel like he was going to explode. There was nothing more metal than that.

Eddie could see the bright green earplugs in Steve's ears. He was usually the one to put them gently into Steve's ears whenever the band needed to jam inside their house instead of at a fancy studio. When it was still just for them as opposed to any executives or engineers.

God, Eddie loved that man.

“You knew?” Eddie yelled back to Gareth and Jeff in between songs.

“Security’s got ‘im!” Jeff hollered back instead of answering the question. “They’re bringing him back!”

Eddie automatically looked to the wings at that and there was Steve, looking just as besotted as Eddie felt. Head tilted to the side and a smile that grew when he saw that Eddie was watching him.

He was on air the rest of the set. The crowd, the band, the music. Everything had aligned for Eddie Munson and after three weeks on tour, he had come home in the best possible way. There was a heat against his left side, all from Steve's stare through the rest of their songs, including their two encores.

The crowd was still hollering for more as Eddie bounced off the stage, Gareth and Jeff following close behind. Both of them slapping Steve on the back as they passed by him. Jeff thankfully grabbing Eddie's guitar before he could smack himself or Steve with it.

“Hey sweetheart," Eddie said softly, voice raspy after a long night. He slid up into Steve's space and wrapped his arms around his neck, letting his fingers play with the long hair curling up there. He kissed Steve once, twice, and a third time before remembering he had to control his breathing just as carefully here as he did on stage.

Eddie knew sounds and Steve's laughter was the greatest of them all.

“You guys sounded fantastic.” Steve kissed him again, bringing his hands up to cup Eddie's face. He hadn't stopped smiling since the start of their set and with Eddie back in his arms, he certainly wasn't about to.

With his voice dropping to a whisper, Eddie asked quietly, "Head?" He gathered Steve in his arms, impossibly closer and Steve's head rested on Eddie's shoulder for minute, earplugs still firmly in place. Eddie stroked his hair, fluffy even after being in a hectic classroom all day.

Steve, slow and still smiling, carefully shook the head in question, rubbing his face against Eddie's shoulder like a cat. “Head is good, I promise.” He kissed Eddie's shoulder and then looked up, pressing a kiss to Eddie's lips so sweetly that his partner wrapped his arms tight around Steve's waist, refusing to let go.

They could hear the crowd leaving and roadies were packing up around them and Eddie just wanted one more quiet minute with Steve before the ride home. He had missed him so much. He didn't need Steve's arms tightening around his neck to know that he felt the same.

“A sweater vest though, really?” A voice came from the side, a few feet away. One of the previous acts, one half of a duo that Gareth never remembered the name of.

“Yeah and I can't wait to peel it off of him tonight,” Eddie growled at Dan. He could feel Steve's chest shaking with laughter against him but he didn't miss the fist bump between Jeff and Gareth. Those two were so weak for his Steve's cooking.

They'd better not be expecting anything in the next few days because Eddie fully intended to be wrapped up in only Steve and their sheets for the whole weekend. He inhaled and breathed in Steve, whole and in front of him. It was all Eddie had ever wanted.

ty for reading! -- ao3 link: here

#steddie #stranger things #my fanfic

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