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urhoneycombwitch · 3 months ago

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Ok ok hear me out I have a different idea now after reading your phone sex blurb

What about after Eddie comes back from his tour they're out with friends and some other girl is chatting him up, trying to rub up on him in front of reader. And she wants to stake her claim but she can't because he's not hers, not technically; and he isn't into the other girl's attention because he just wants reader, but he can't be too earnest about that bc it'll scare her off.

Do I want them to grind on the dancefloor or have sex in the bathroom? Yeah maybe

foreword: more roommate!Eddie x reader filth. secret situationship fucking at a party style. ty anon <3

wc: 1.8k

cw: secret FWB, Reader with breasts + vagina, femme pet names used, fingering (R receiving), the return of Eddie Cums-In-His-Pants Munson, wee bit angsty, lots of hidden longing

____

This party is the most sound your apartment has ever heard- speakers thrumming bass lines through the floorboards, drunken friends’ laughter echoing off walls.

You and Eddie planned ahead, started plotting weeks ago to bribe various neighbors in the building to avoid catching a noise complaint- scratch brownies for the floor below, some pre-rolls handed off across the hall, party invites extended to whoever was in earshot.

Informal karaoke kicked off around midnight, as the room rose in heat from extra bodies and alcoholic flush; Robin and Steve are bringing down the house on the other side of the bathroom door, charming the crowd with a belligerently intoxicated rendition of a Beastie Boys hit.

Eddie’s got you pressed against the sink, your ass to the unforgiving marble of the counter while he teases his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“No marks,” you whisper, fist seizing up at the root of his hair, tugging. He stifles a moan into your skin while you continue to tell him off, voice just under the protective layer of music. “It’s bad enough there’s only one bathroom in this place. Someone’s bound to notice we’re both gone-”

Eddie suddenly drops to his knees, nosing at the strip of skin above your jeans that he lifts your shirt to reveal. Your breath stutters, and he grins before popping the button with his teeth, chocolate eyes eclipsed by the black-lust of his pupils.

“No one’s gonna hear you, ‘cuz you’re not gonna make a sound. Got it?”

The gush of arousal that meets Eddie’s fingers is invitation enough. You rock into his hand, and he angles his fingers up- you take two of them like a dream, as if your cunt had just been waiting to be filled by those long, dexterous digits, cold rings quickly warming to the skin-temperature of your thighs.

“That’s it,” Eddie mumbles, never more mouthy than when he’s face to face with his favorite pastime. And then, as if reading your mind- “Been waitin’ for me all night, hm? Poor thing. So wet…”

Outside, the song rises into a fast guitar solo bridge, quickening along with your breaths. Hoping there’s enough sound barrier, you brace yourself with one hand on the counter while the other buries itself into the heat of Eddie’s scalp.

Soft, dark curls slip between your knuckles, your thumb brushing gently under the layer of bangs to touch the bare skin of his forehead. It’s too tender, too endearing for what the moment calls, in direct contrast with the way Eddie’s plunging into you, the insistent, budging slope of his nose near the pounding apex of your thighs.

“Becca’s gonna notice.” Your thumb tracks a path to Eddie’s temple, so now you’re just cradling his head as he fingers you into oblivion. “You know- ah- Becca? The girl from down the hall that you invited, specially?”

If it wasn’t for the public setting, you’d take more time to calculate which buttons of Eddie’s to push; as it stands, you’re sort of flailing around in the dark, hitting random ones and seeing what lights up.

Seems to do the trick, though- in one fluid motion, Eddie shoves your jeans the rest of the way down and takes one of your knees over his shoulders, giving himself enough room between your legs to dip forward and latch onto on your clit.

His plush lips suck, fervently, in time with the rhythm of his curled fingers, managing to hit into that gummy spot that buckles your knees.

“Well Becca- isn’t- here, right now,” Eddie says, around lapping mouthfuls of you, hand on your hip near-bruising with the force it takes to keep you upright. “Besides, she invited herself.”

“I dunno… you seemed pretty excited to see her.” The muscles of your abdomen clench, then release, your head tipping backwards to thunk against the mirror.

There’s an arch in your spine, now, enough space for Eddie’s hand to migrate from your hip to low back, pulling you more insistently onto his tongue and fingers.

In response, the spot behind your navel tightens again, pleasure swelling with the music. It’s irritating that Eddie thinks you’ll drop the subject in favor of an orgasm, so you aim for another button, lashes fluttering at the ceiling, voice stretched thin as your resolve- “She gonna stay the night? Use the same bathroom you’ve finger-banged some other b-”

The wet, hot pressure on your clit disappears, a whine of protest crawling from your throat before Eddie can smother it with his palm. Luckily, the living room speakers are kind of shitty, crackling with feedback as the song reaches fever pitch volume.

Eddie’s fingers still within you, stretching to depths that make your eyes roll back as he rises to cover the length of your body with his own. His hand is big and warm over the lower half of your face, breath an angry huff by your ear as he growls, low- “It’s probably in your best interest to not finish that sentence.”

It’s some consolation that you have the option to bite. Tempting as that is, you let your glare speak for itself, brows knitting together as Eddie draws back to look at you.

There’s a bead of sweat running down the side of his jaw, disappearing into the curls he’s let loose for the night. The eyeliner you’d carefully applied for him pre-party is blurred from the humidity and exertion, a rosy flush in his cheeks to match.

Eddie crowds your vision, close enough for you to note the tiny freckle under his left eye twitch, and for a moment, everything is just him- all you can see, hear, touch, smell, dopamine flooding in a head spin of hormones that respond despite your best efforts to tamp them down.

The background noise fades away, and it’s just you and Eddie, panting and straining against the other. A squelch, as he adds a third finger, your breasts pushing into the solid expanse of his chest as you squirm up, mindlessly seeking release.

“Be good and come ‘fore this song is over,” he’s saying, thick fingers scissoring, your resounding moan stifled by his palm. “Then I’ll kick everyone out and let you come again.”

It’s the promise of another that undoes you, thighs shaking with the growing wave, lashes tickling Eddie’s knuckles as your eyes slam shut.

He keeps all the points of pressure that you need, plus more- hips pinning the frenetic rolls of your torso, tips of his fingers coaxing bright spasms from the channel of your cunt, forehead pressed like an anchor to your own as your body sings.

The whole time, he’s talking you through it, deep timbre just for your ears with rasping praise and encouragement. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, that’s it. That’s it. Good. Let it all out. S’just me here, yeah? Just you and me. Fuck…”

By the time your hearing returns, Eddie’s dotting soothing kisses up the curve of your neck, apparently trusting you enough to let his hand drop from your mouth. You take a few deep, shuddering breaths, hand still buried in Eddie’s hair like a lifeline.

He doesn’t seem to mind, taking his sweet time pulling out of you, disentangling himself with lingering touches to any remaining bare skin.

While he tugs your shirt back into place, you turn to face the mirror, smoothing over flyaways and making sure you look somewhat presentable. You let Eddie’s hands roam as your heart rate stutters, working itself back down to normal while he refixes the button of your jeans.

His chin settles on your shoulder, arms twining around your middle; you let him take some of your weight, relaxing into his hold, eyes catching his in the mirror as you ask, quietly, “You want me to wingman for you? She seems nice. And it’s never a bad idea to sleep with someone who lives in your building.”

Eddie snorts, your dry attempt at a joke working wonders, grin on its way to devastating greeting your reflection. “You seriously think I’m the one who needs help? After the time I just showed ya?”

“Well based on my limited data-” your hips grind backwards without warning, and Eddie stiffens, smile slipping from his face as your own wicked grin takes over- “-I’d say you’re the one who came in his pants just from touching me.”

You wriggle in his arms to turn around, noses bumping, lips hovering in a not-quite-kiss as you whisper, “Say please and I’ll run and get you some new pants. Hand-delivered.”

Even with the wall of party noise, there’s a distinctive click as Eddie’s jaw ticks. He acquiesces, though, stopping somewhere just shy of grateful to grit out, “Please.”

You hum, pleased and thoughtful, leaning out of his space to lift a brow- “I think Becca’s into blue-collared boys.”

This fact, you’re basing off the one time you saw a UPS guy at your neighbor’s door. Sounds a lot better if you act like you know what you’re talking about, though, as if the list of things you know about Becca is longer than black hair and occasionally receives packages.

Distance, safety, one and the same, even though what your body begs for is to get closer, to soak all your senses in Eddie again. You wind a particularly pretty curl of his around your index finger. “Those khakis you wore once to Robin’s grad party and then never again- bottom drawer?”

When Eddie nods, he fixes you with a glare, nostrils flaring like he’s about to tell you off.

Before he can, though, you’ve wriggled from his grasp, reaching for the door handle with strict, hissy instructions about locking it after you’re gone and only opening for your special knock.

He obeys, deadbolt sliding into place, door swallowing the noise of the party in your absence.

It’s just Eddie now, leaning into hands over the sink, breathing hard like he hasn’t already blown a load three minutes ago.

The entire length of his middle fingers shimmer in the light, still coated with your arousal.

Eddie’s mouth waters. He thinks about you; how for a second, you were the only thing on his mind, how rare that is, for him to be so singularly focused.

Then he thinks about Becca. And stupid tight fucking dress pants.

The sink water gushes to a start as he jerks the handle on, sudsy hand soap scrubbing away at the smell of you, carrying it down the drain.

By the time you’re back, dreaded pants in hand, Eddie’s fixed an easy smile on his face, bickering at the ready. Almost normal, and certainly familiar.

It’s just simpler to keep some distance. Close quarters aside.

#lu’s anons #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #roommate!eddie #roommate!eddie x reader #mdni #eddie munson x you

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internetskiff · 3 months ago

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I've sometimes seen this sentiment, especially among reviewers, that SOMA's WAU ""monster plot"" contributes nothing to the main game's story, and that the storyline would infact benefit from the WAU's removal. If you ask me, that couldn't be further from the truth. The WAU is at the root of everything. Frankly, it's the main reason the game's moral dilemmas are.. well, dilemmas at all. If the WAU wasn't making monsters, wasn't there to warp the life around Pathos-II as it saw fit, the game wouldn't have even started. Pathos-II would've just remained dormant forever. Simon wouldn't be there, and neither would any of the obstacles he faces on his journey to preserve humanity. The main reason the WAU isn't directly beneficial to Earth is exactly because its understanding of "life" is so skewed. Its not just bringing things back - its bringing them back incorrectly. Every single "monster" we meet builds a case both against and for the WAU's continued existence.

The Construct shows the WAU's failure to understand humanity in the physical sense, shoving a Human brain scan into a misshapen robot body and calling it a day, leaving it to babble to itself as it aimlessly wanders the halls of Upsilon.

The same could be said for Carl Semken and the other Mockingbirds, though to a lesser degree - though capable of speech, they're still very delusional and oftentimes end up going insane. Still, in some ways you see the WAU's understanding of human psychology progress with each new mockingbird - they become increasingly coherent and increasingly sane, Catherine and Robin Bass being great examples. While the Construct has lost so much of itself you can no longer tell who it used to be, the other Mockingbirds have their sense of self intact. With the WAU's unreliable nature cemented, we move on to its attempts at preserving humans physically, with Amy Azarro being the first proper example Simon gets to witness.

She's kept alive in what seems to be a perpetual state of discomfort, and judging by the structure gel slowly overtaking her I believe the WAU may be slowly converting her into one of the Fleshers. Its keeping her alive, yes, but its doing so at any cost necessary - it doesn't matter if she's in constant pain as long as she doesn't flatline. Its treatment of actual organisms is practically an inversion of its treatment of the Mockingbirds - instead of prioritizing the mental wellbeing of the subject, the WAU prioritizes their physical wellbeing with little to no care for the mental state its "patient" is in the entire time.

Fleshers live and breathe, but they seemingly aren't "all there" at all. The lights are on, but no one's home anymore. All they do is wander the ruins of the CURIE and lash out at anyone who enters their territory - the WAU has basically reduced them to animals.

Terry's been driven insane from all the structure gel infesting his insides, and though his goal was "technically" benevolent (putting everyone into a permanent dream state where the WAU could make them live the best possible versions of their lives), he achieved it through incredibly violent means, conducting what was basically an attack on Theta and causing its downfall. So far, its attempts at preserving humans physically have simply resulted in increasingly grotesque and violent monstrosities - but I would argue you see that begin to change when Simon reaches Omicron.

When you reach it, you see the aftermath of a particularly gruesome procedure WAU had carried out - everyone's blackboxes have exploded, turning their heads to mush. We find out that one of the employees, with the help of someone particularly close to the WAU, had figured out how to poison it. They have been receiving "visions" and "messages" from a comatose Johan Ross - the WAU's "AI psychologist", someone it desperately tried to restore from a comatose state by manipulating structure gel with electromagnetic fields. Either the WAU deliberately retaliated when it figured out the poisoning plot, or it had simply overdone it when restoring Johan Ross - sacrificing an entire station's worth of lives to bring someone back. Either way this shows a tremendous amount of intelligence on the WAU's part - and also paints it as either exceptionally cruel or exceptionally empathetic depending on the perspective you view it from. Either it considered Johan so important to it that it was willing to sacrifice most Omicron staff, or it was willing to violently retaliate in order to preserve itself. Either way, Omicron houses what I believe to be a sign of the WAU's steadily improving understanding of humanity - Dr. Johan Ross.

He has been restored with both his physical health and mental faculties (relatively) intact. He isn't violent, and he perfectly understands what condition he is currently in - but despite that he doesn't seem to be physically suffering. He is still driven to eliminate the WAU, but it seems to be less out of personal suffering and more out of fear in regards to the suffering its other creations may go through. I believe he's an example of a semi-perfectly restored human - both him and Simon himself. They're both cases of, as Catherine puts it, "a sound mind in a sound body". But although the signs are there, there is no outright definitive proof that the WAU's creations will only continue to get better.

And that's what makes the game's final moral dilemma so compelling to me. The whole game has been providing us with both evidence and counterevidence towards the WAU's idea of restoring humanity. Now, it's up to you to act as its jury and executioner. By killing it you either stop it from torturing the memory of humanity, or you doom humanity to extinction in all senses of the word. By keeping it alive, you either doom the remnants of humanity to an eternal torturous existence, or you give the WAU a chance at creating something new. There is no way of knowing what choice is correct - because you don't know what the WAU is thinking. You never get to. You don't know its plans, you don't know if it even has the capacity to actually learn from its mistakes, hell, you don't even know if its capable of thought - but here it is. Making things. Terrible things, but there's a chance that it'll only get better with time. Simon himself is evidence of that chance. It has already managed to make what could be classified as a "complete" person. And if you kill it, Simon's going to be the last "complete" person it managed to bring back.

#soma #soma (2015)#soma game #the WAU #soma WAU #WAU #frictional games #rambling #simon jarrett #johan ross

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grison-in-space · 1 year ago

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Currently rereading Eric Flint's 1632 and reflecting on just how influential Flint was to me and my approach to both praxis and politics as a teenager. I found Flint when I was about thirteen or fourteen, around the time I found Pratchett I think, and he's left an equally wide thumbprint on my soul. Isn't that the most wonderful thing about stories, that people you've never met can help shape our adult selves? Mother of Demons I often recommend for its SFF worldbuilding--Flint built a species with at least four genders, only some of which are reproductive, and associated "normal" sexual orientations, and then proceeded to write in a textually intersex character and queer the hell out of it.

1632, though, is the one where a little West Virginia town in 2000 gets picked up and dropped in the middle of Thuringia, Germany in the eponymous year--right in the middle of the Thirty Years War. The local United Mine Workers of America chapter plays a major role, particularly its head.

As I write this I'm listening to the scene where the little town of Grantville, having admitted after a few days that they are probably not ever going home, is crowded into the high school gymnasium listening to the mayor lay that reality out and suggesting an interim council to help the town set out a sort of constitutional convention so they can work out what on earth they're going to do moving forward--especially since there's a bunch of displaced refugees collecting in the forests nearby. Sensible of them, really; the Americans murdered the shit out of the local soldiers that displaced them, on account of how the shaken mine workers that went out to figure out WTF happened not being super down with suddenly running into a bunch of fuckheads raping the locals and torturing people to find out where their valuables might be. After that, said Americans proceeded to retreat into the town boundaries and gibber quietly to themselves. I would go lurk in their woods, too.

Anyway, the mayor sets up this proposal, everyone agrees, and a CEO who was visiting for his son's wedding at the time steps forward and says: look. I know how to lead, and I'm probably the most qualified person here. I lead a major industry corporation effectively and I did that after my time as a Navy officer. I put myself forward because I'm qualified. Now, we're going to need to circle the wagons to get through the winter, tighten our belts, but we can get through this. We can't support all these refugees, though; we'll have to seal the border so they can't bring disease--they're a drain on our resources we can't afford--

and the UMWA guy, he gets really mad listening to this. There's this Sephardic refugee woman he's real taken with who got swept up in the town first thing, and she's sitting in and listening; he's thinking about throwing her out, thinking about how much she knows about the place they're found in, and he's furious. But he gets a good grip on his anger and he marches up and he says, look. This dude has been here two days and he's already talking about downsizing?! You're going to listen to this CEO talking about cuts, cuts, cuts? Nah. Trying to circle the wagons is probably impossible, it's stupid, and if you think my men and I are going to enforce that, you can fuck off. That proposal is inside out and bass ackwards. We've got about a six mile diameter of Grantville here; how much food do YOU think we're going to grow? How about the soldiers wandering around, do you think we're going to be able to fight armies off on our lonesome? Look at the few refugees we already have in the room, they'll tell you how those armies will treat you! We could do it for a while, the amount of gun nuts here, but so what? We don't have enough people to shoot them! Not if we're going to do anything else to keep us going! We have about six months of stockpiled coal to keep going, and without another source or getting the coal mines working, we're screwed. We have technical strength but we don't have the supplies or resources we would need to maintain it. Those refugees? They're resources. We need people to do the work we will need to keep ourselves. The hell with downsizing; let's grow outwards! Bring people in, give them safety, see what they can bring to the table once they've had a moment! He invokes: send us your tired, your poor!, and the CEO yells in frustration: this isn't America! so he yells back "it will be!"

And of course everyone cheers. I love Flint for many reasons but he is unapologetic about affection for the America of ideals--ideals, he freely admits, that are often honored in the breach rather than the observance, ideals that are messy and flawed, but nevertheless ideals that can work to inspire us to become the best version of ourselves. For Flint, history is as valuable as a source of stories to inspire ourselves as it is a repository of knowledge, and on this I tend to agree with him. We must learn from our moments of shame but equally we must learn from moments that show us how to be our best selves.

It's been twenty three years and the text is now an interesting historical document in its own right, hitting points and rhythms in beats that are sometimes out of place today. It's not perfect. But the novel contains a commitment to joy and to emphasizing the leaps of faith and understanding that regular, everyday people make every day to try and support each other that I routinely try to match in my writing.

Anyway, one of the strengths of the novel, I think, is its gender politics: it's a very ensemble kind of novel, lots of characters, and it's preoccupied with positive masculinity in a lot of ways. There's a lot of these hyper masculine characters--Mike Stearns perhaps more than anyone else--and--and...

... And Flint's characterization of Stearns, as he sketches out who the man is--his pivotal American leader, ex boxer, working class organizer, big man.... well, it lands equally on "he is delighted and astonished to find a local woman who quickly assesses how the cushion of air in tires works," and "he considers who to set up a Jewish refugee in the middle of Germany up with and he thinks to ask the Jewish family he grew up with to host her and her ill father because he thinks she'll be most comfortable there", and "he views people as potential assets rather than potential drains." A younger man asks him for advice on whether to pursue a professional sports career because of the boxing and he says no, you're in the worst place of not being quite good enough and you'll blow out your knees without accomplishing safety. He frames that interaction such that he allows his own experiences to make him vulnerable and invite the younger man to understand when a struggle have worth it.

It's actually a really deft portrayal of intense masculinity that also makes a virtue of a bunch of traits more usually associated with women: empathy, relational sensitivity, the ability to listen. As a blueprint for what a positive masculinity can look like, vs the toxic kind, it's very well done. I think sometimes when we look at gender roles in terms of virtues, and when masculinity is defined in terms of opposition to femininity, people get lost by arguing that virtues assigned to one gender are somehow antithetical to another gender. In fact that's never been the case: virtues are wholly neutral and can appear in any gender. What the gender does is inflect the ways we expect that virtue to appear in terms of individuals' actions within their society.

Gender isn't purely an individual trait, basically; it's a product of our collective associations. Two characters with different genders can display the same virtues and strengths, but we imagine them expressed in different ways according to our cultural expectations around gender. And I just think that's neat.

#Eric Flint #1632

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ufopigeon · 9 months ago

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Continuing the series of "drawing the very first image that comes to mind when listening to a song", we actually dont have a full song, just the ending bass riff to "Macaque" by Failure. I really struggled with the composition on this because it was tough conjuring a precise image that matched my feelings, so I guess this technically isn't the FIRST image that came to mind because this was also partly inspired by looking at some of the original loading screens for the game.

#postal dude #postal #postal 1997 #death #its PISSING rain outside rn #go listen to that song plz

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theclaravoyant · 6 months ago

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fireworks - bucktommy (T, ~1000wd)

AN ~ now taking prompts! because i can't help myself . in the meantime please enjoy this little hurtcomfort, inspired by the prompts "late night conversations/anxiety" for upcoming @evanbuckleyweek <3 (I couldn't wait that long!)

also on AO3.

Can't make it tonight babe :( Not feeling so hot.

Buck is running late, but not so late that he doesn't have time to stop by on his way to the Grant-Nash gathering for a little bit of boyfriending. Tommy had sadly had to pull out of this one, but not to worry, Buck has brought over his favourite meatball sub in case he's feeling like a pick me up.. and a bottle of ginger ale in case he's not.

Either way, as he approaches the front door Buck is surprised to hear music so loud – albeit muffled – that the bass in it shakes the windows.

“Tommy?”

He frowns. He, for one, isn't one to blast his workout mix when he's stuck in bed, or bent over a toilet bowl, or whatever other nastiness supposedly awaits him. The lights are off inside.

Brought dinner, he taps into his phone. All good?

He bounces on the balls of his feet.

Babe, let me in x

There's no response, not even those little bouncing dots. Buck is definitely not thinking about Tommy passed out on the living room floor or kidnapped or something. But he does pull up Athena's number before he reaches for the spare key. Just in case.

“Babe!” he calls, looking around. The house is dark. This still feels like something he shouldn't really be doing. “Tommy!”

He follows the sound toward the basement stairs, where light is coming through. From down below, he hears the grunts and slaps of rigorous exercise... or something else, and it dawns on him that well, he and Tommy haven't technically agreed, haven't really discussed, if they're exclusive or anything and he might be intruding on something and that little voice in the back of his head that tells him nobody's ever all in is getting so loud... He freezes at the bottom of the stairs, just before he can turn the corner and see something. What the hell is he doing. How fast can he back track without Tommy noticing that he's being jealous and weird and-

The music stops.

Well. Here goes.

“Evan?”

Tommy can't help it, his face lights up at the sight of him. Which is weird, because Evan looks sort of mortified. Probably because Tommy had bailed on something important to him under the guise of being sick and here he is, very much not throwing up or hiding from the light or anything, slicked with so much sweat his hair has dropped a few shades in colour.

“Tommy. Y- You're feeling better?”

“You brought a sandwich?”

“Botticelli's.”

Damn it. Tommy throws his head back, closes his eyes as a pang of guilt punches through him. The kid went and brought his favourite sandwich. He just wants to make sure he's okay. Damn it, damn it.

“I can explain.”

“Is this because you're not ready to meet Athena? 'Cause she can give one hell of a shovel talk but she's cool, really.”

“I've met Athena,” Tommy assures him. In spite of himself, a smile touches his lips, because that was kind of a significant part of this whole thing. “Evan – I promise, this has nothing to do with us.”

It seems to help a little bit. At least, enough that Evan trails after him into the basement proper while he paces and takes a swig of water and tries to wrangle the courage to say it.

“The fourth of July is just... not my thing,” he manages. “I don't really like fireworks.”

He looks Evan in the eyes as he puts it together. Maybe he knows Eddie doesn't either, maybe he knows it's a common trigger for veterans, maybe he just knows what it's like to try and pack the depths of unspeakable horror into words. Especially when you're meant to be a badass fearless firefighter.

“I'm sorry,” Evan says. The fear and confusion and anguish melts away, his expression painfully earnest and concerned as he closes the distance between them. Part of Tommy wants to bury his face, to freeze like a rabbit or run and hide, but something about Evan, as always, makes him stay.

“I'm sorry,” he breathes. “I didn't mean to lie. I'm just … used to dealing with this by myself. And you- you're so- I mean, you died? You actually, for real died in a thunder storm and you got in a helicopter to fly into a hurricane like it was nothing. I guess I worried you wouldn't get it.”

Evan cups a hand around the back of his neck and it's grounding, it's nice, and Tommy's forehead falls forward against Evan's. He takes a ragged breath. Evan's phone starts ringing.

“You don't have to tell me,” Evan says, “what you've been through. But I'm here for you, okay? If you want me.” He glances at his phone and adds- “It's Maddie. Just checking where I'm at. Want me to tell them I'm not coming?”

Tommy shakes his head. “No. Go. I'll be alright here, have a night in. My boyfriend brought me my favourite sandwich."

He smiles. Buck smiles back, and presses forward a gentle, comforting kiss before they part. Tommy shakes it off as he heads back toward the stairs, but there's a long stretch of silence. The muffled whistle and echoing boom of an airbomb sails overhead and he can hear Tommy's breath quietly catch and it's almost as if it pulls out the words from his chest.

“I can't remember the lightning.”

“Hm?”

He turns back. Tommy is watching after him.

“I can't remember the lightning, Tommy. That's probably why I can fly into a hurricane. It's- actually it's pineapple jello for me. It was all I could eat for weeks after they took the tubes out. Pineapple jello and vanilla icecream. The first time I smelt a piña colada after I got out, I thought I was going to die.”

I get it.

Tommy nods. After a beat, he adds-

“And hey, Evan. This is something I kind of like to keep to myself. So if anyone asks-”

“Violent gastro. Got it.”

He rolls his eyes, and huffs, and smiles as he tucks the little foam earplug back in place.

“I love you, too.”

#bucktommy #tevan #911 fic #buck #tommy kinard #clara's fic tag

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hypnoneghoul · 4 months ago

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when you listen to the rhrn album can you please give your thoughts about like the mixing? Live albums typically don’t always have the greatest mixing but this one like confuses me

alright anon, I'm using your ask to make my official HYP TALKS RHRN SOUNDTRACK post

tag list: @devilsandstarlight @jazz-bazz @skele-bunny @azureseacloud @lilhoechlinsbae @delusionalbitchinthehouse @fallen-iii-ghost

A disclaimer, any negative-leaning take is not hate or "I would've done a better job" (because I would not), it's only my opinion that I was asked for multiple times due to what I do here on tumblr

Okay so I can divide the tracks in two categories when it comes to mixing and all that stuff:

1. Awesome mixing – more depth, better instrumental and vocal balance – Spillways – Cirice – Call Me Little Sunshine – Twenties – Marry On A Cross – Kiss The Go-Goat – Dance Macabre – Square Hammer

2. Less fortunate mixing – some flatness and chunkiness, less balance – Kaisarion – Rats – Faith – Absolution – Watcher In The Sky – Rats – Miasma – Respite On The Spitalfields

I’m not putting If You Have Ghosts into any of these categories because it’s a different world entirely. It’s actually just brilliant, but it’s not as hard to find balance with so few and such instruments as with the other songs on the album. I think Copia is a little too sharp for this vibe and I'm pretty sure they tried to help with reverb. It was a nice touch, but I think it could’ve been more smoothed out. But also I kinda hear Terzo in the second half of it, not Copia, SORRY. The vocal ghoulette could’ve been put either fully on the middle or all stretched all around to surround Copia and the instrumental and fill the space, if that makes sense

In general the mixing is strange in some places, even in the better made songs, it’s just like they lose the plot sometimes. It's possible (and very likely) that it was prepared with vinyls or CDs in mind, not headphones, but that doesn't explain why sometimes it's better and sometimes worse. Some general stuff about mixing I picked out:

1. Dew isn't really on the right, he's more to the middle than Aeon who's totally to the left. Dew could be louder actually in some places, Aeon could be stretched more to the middle 2. Bass has a great definition, we can finally hear how nice some fillers are and how good Rain actually is 3. The girls got some very much deserved highlights, but they did Swiss dirty. I’m outraged for my bbg, but not only because I love him. It would be a genuinely better technical decision if he was louder and/or placed somewhere else. The entire thing is very off balance. It's lead guitar and strong female vocals on the right, and rhythm and basically nothing (Swiss) on the left. It just doesn't make any sense!!!

Now some stuff about specific songs:

1. Rats – So dirty, the mixing failed a little here, the audience just sounds like noise instead of actual good background – DEW DID A PINCH HARMONIC (I manifested it) – Cirrus!!! It’s hard to hear her most of the time and she rocks here – Aeon and Dew had a very good harmony, they work so good together wtf (sorry Aether but they win here)

2. Faith – Aurora and Cumulus completely slay – I adore Dewdrop’s little addition to the 1st solo – But he missed a note in the 2nd solo heh

3. Spillways – FINALLY Swiss in Spillways – It’s the best mixed song in general and I’m not only saying that because of Swiss (who I love), all the instruments and voices are balanced so much better and so much more fluid – There’s less tone definition on bass though

4. Cirice – Dew does some fancy lil harmonic tricks in Cirice, I LIKE – It’s also very well balanced when it comes to instrument, SWISS IS AUDIBLE – Something went WRONG with Cirrus’ synth here, like omfg they did my girl dirty

5. Absolution – I talked about Absolution extensively here

6. Watcher In The Sky – Love the synth on it, why not do that setup for Cirice pls – But also Swiss is always the loudest at the beginning, why not here!? – It’s on the worse list, but it’s not horrible, the backing synths fill it nicely so it’s not as chunky as Rats for example – I think someone forgor Dew is lead, not Aeon, but at least we can appreciate the bug’s skill some more like that – Mounty slamming those bitches at the end, go baby!

7. Twenties – Very glad they highlighted the drums and the bass so much in this one, it’s what Twenties is FOR – Both Dew and Aeon’s palm muting game is so yummy here – Oh, Swiss how I love you – But what are they doing with the solo mixing, why is the bitch moving at the beginning? It’s like someone was late to press some buttons (It might have been on purpose but trying to do some fancy effects doesn’t always work)

8. Miasma – Miasma lands somewhere between the worse and better mixing category but that might be the lack of vocals which takes away some of the needed balance, but it is rather chunky – I don’t like the synths shoved totally into my left ear but that’s just me, not an actual flaw – But then what are they doing at c. 3 minutes??? Again, more fancy doesn’t always mean better and Miasma is fancy and full enough as it is – I think the mixing in Miasma changes from worse to better along the way because the ending is so much better and smoother, around when the sax comes in so they might’ve adjusted some things just to fit it – OMG RAINY GO FANCY AT THE END (the tiniest solo ever <3)

9. Mary On A Cross – Cumulus oh my fuckckk – The vocals before the chorus is such a good touch, nice ascend into the change in melody, love it – Same with Aurora’s solo part the next time, it’s so good that they put her on the middle for that, it’s perfect – The girls do slay the end but Swiss could balance it nicely if only he were just a tiny bit loudeeeeer – And again what are wed doing with these weirdly sustained layered synths??? That’s just slightly unnecessary

10. Respite On The Spitalfields – Swiss should be louder here, too – Respite is in the slightly worse category because this one sounds very flat to me for most part, it’s like only the drums and bass give any depth (or rather force some depth into it) – Once again Aeon’s palm muting is top tier – Girls slaying as usual – I’m not sure why the strings are just forcefully shoved behind Dew but okay… – The mixing here is a crime!!! It’s so flat and this is a song that deserves to be all around and fully immerse you. I’m actually sad about that one – And where are the solo vocal parts???

11. Kiss The Go-Goat – Now why is KTGG deeper and more melodic than Respite??? We’ll never know ig, but yeah, it’s on the better category – Did Nihil fucking mix this album or what??? – Cirrus’ solo in KTGG should be as loud as Dew’s, period

12. Dance Macabre – Dance Macabre is on the better category too, you can even hear Swiss – Glorious bass here

13. Square Hammer – Now Squammer, very good mixing for the finish but I still think that the girls should be more to the middle and wider, especially in backing vocal heavy tracks like this one – YES Dew bestie go ham on it at the end, slay, make your tech angry – OHHHH AEON’S THING UGHGFHNGHGHHG (he was probably wobbling his pickup switch with one of them turned off so it was basically sound on–off–on–off)

Also not really from the technical side but they cut out some strong tracks and it's honestly a big shame :(

Some gear stuff nobody will hear but me (/hj): 1. Rain definitely still has steel strings ‘cause COME ON, the TONE!!! 2. Aeon’s palm muting skills rock 3. The difference between Aeon’s ceramic humbuckers on the Fantomen and Dewdrop’s Hot Rail single coils is on the Strat so prominent AHHH 4. Aeon missed on the CMLS solo a little but Dew covered him up hjfgsdh 5. Slightly funny addition, but I love that Aurora’s voice and Dewdrop’s guitar can be mistaken for one another sometimes because of the tone and pitch lmfao

And that's it heh I'll gladly elaborate on some aspects or answer any questions that might come up so you know, my askbox and dms are open :3

#hypnone's asks #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #hypnone gear talks #rhrn #ghost rhrn

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super-ion · 2 months ago

Text

The Voyages of the Padua

Chapter 4

(1, 2, 3 | next)

The second time in her life that she woke up was significantly gentler than the first.

For one, she was warm. At some point, she had acquired a blanket. It was rough and scratchy where it touched bare skin, but it provided comforting weight on her body.

For another, she seemed to be surrounded by all manner of whispering noises. Clicks and beeps and hisses and a distant bass hum that she could feel more than hear. They were good noises. As long as those noises were going, it meant the ship was alive.

Ship…

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up with a gasp.

She was in what appeared to be a small cramped med bay. Most of the paneling was white with a high contrast red stripe around eye level. Well, white was a bit of a stretch, most of the paint was chipped and worn, with the most egregious damage painted over with what she assumed was available at the time.

Shoved into one nook was a collection of apparatus, all folded up, bearing the label “Auto-doc”. It was the sort of generic medical robot that could be found on most starships too small to have a dedicated medical team. The only difference here was that someone had glued a pair of googly eyes on it.

The mattress underneath her crackled as she shifted her weight around to get a better look of the room. Not very comfortable, likely waterproof.

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

She yelped and toppled out of the bed.

Something tugged painfully - an IV line plugged into the port on her arm. Except hadn't she been forced to bite that one off?

Panic flared. It was attached to her. She needed it out. She needed to…

“Hey! Whoa! If you break that, you gotta pay for it! Also, please don't break yourself!”

The disembodied voice cut through her panic. This wasn't the Eosphorus. She wasn't waking up alone this time.

“You good there?” the voice asked.

She let out a breath and disengaged the port with slightly shaking hands. Unlike before, it slid out easily and she dropped it on the bed.

“Yeah, I think so…” she replied.

She looked up to see someone floating in mid air. No, not floating, it was a projection on a sheet of plex, one of those holographic displays that created the illusion of space. She noted the black strip on top of the plex that probably housed cameras and microphones and whatever else was needed for this interaction.

The person was watching her with an expression of intense, playful curiosity. Wild bushy hair framed a round youthful face and an oversized pink sweater obscured most of her body except where sparkly leggings poked out.

“Um… hello?” the woman said.

“Hi! I'm Ria!” the hologram replied with an impish grin. “I use she/her usually, but anything’s good.”

Ria, or the image of Ria, stood up straight and offered a hand to shake in a show of mock solemnity.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Obviously she couldn't shake, seeing as Ria was technically a two dimensional projection of a virtual being. She settled for an awkward wave.

“I don't know what my name is,” she admitted.

“Huh… auto-doc did say there were some anomalous readings in that brainpan of yours. I really thought you might be a Cassidy, seeing as your jumpsuit says Cassidy right there on that patch there.”

She glanced down at the patch.

“Oh… this isn't mine. I'm just borrowing it… I'm sorry, what do you mean, anomalous readings?”

“Ooooh… yeeeeaaaah,” Ria let out in a long breath before sucking on her teeth. “I'm not really qualified to discuss medical diagnoses. You're gunna have to take it up with Aela, but she's defragging right now. The drift kinda scrambles her up for a bit, takes her platform a while to recover.”

That answered exactly zero questions and raised so many more… which in all fairness was about on par with her short life so far.

“So, if you're not Cassidy, who are you?” Ria demanded. “I mean, you literally just said you don’t know, but that just means you can be whoever you want. We gotta call you something... I mean, going around referring to you as “mystery woman” or whatever would probably get tiring after a while, you know?”

“Oh… I guess not,” she replied.

Ria was watching her expectantly. Oh, did Ria want an answer right now? She felt a sudden intense pressure to get a good grade in self actualization, something both normal to want and possible to achieve.

The seconds dragged out in awkward silence as her mind raced. She needed to say something, anything.

“Uh… call me... Cass?"

"Cass? As in short for Cassidy?"

"Yes... I mean no... I mean sort of. Maybe," Cass replied.

“Alright, Cass it is!” Ria replied clapping her hands in excitement. “Oh, by the way, all your stuff is over there.”

Ria gestured to a duffle bag in the corner of the room. Cass stared at it for a long moment before finally recognizing it. Somewhere between terrifying creatures and security androids, she had lost track of it. By all accounts, it should still be back on the Eosphorus… unless someone picked it up and carried it here? Who or why she didn't know.

“Tre wanted to ransack it and see if there was anything valuable inside,” Ria explained, “but Mina wouldn't let them. Whatcha got in there? Is it gold?”

Well, that answered a who… maybe. But it didn't exactly provide a why. But then, why had she packed it full of things in the first place?

Cass approached the bag and pulled the zipper open, letting out a tiny relieved sigh at the sight of the teddy bear and everything else.

“Awwwww,” Ria gushed. “That's so cute!”

Cass glanced back at her to see an exact copy of the teddy bear clutched in Ria's arms. How has she…? Oh right, hologram.

“Can I keep this copy?” Ria asked, holding out the holographic version. “I mean, you're allowed to say no. I don't want to make things weird or anything. People sometimes get weird about personal stuff like this.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cass replied tentatively. “Hey… um…”

She wasn't sure how to ask this next question politely.

“Are you… I mean… why are you…?”

Ria let out an affronted gasp.

“Cassidy! You can't just ask someone why they're a hologram!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

Ria burst into laughter.

“Your face! Oh my gosh! No, it's cool. I'm the ship AI. Well... sort of. My official primary function is navigation. I'm not technically integrated with the Padua, but I interface with a lot of her lower systems. She's really friendly, like a big fluffy dog.”

Cass looked around the room, trying to imagine the starship as a large friendly dog.

“Hey, so…” Ria said. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but you really look like you could use a shower. Do you want a shower?”

Cass very much did want a shower.

Unfortunately the shower booth that sat across the hall from the med bay was nearly as tight as the cryo tube and the reality of being trapped in a tight wet space somewhat soured the experience.

Aside from that, the water was warm and it was still quite literally the most luxuriant experience of her life.

At least until she discovered the small patch of shaved hair at the base of her neck, and the slightly raised edge of a surgical scar that had been hastily cauterized shut. It was fresh… or had been fresh whenever Cass went into the cryo pod. She still didn't even know how long ago that had been. Days? Years? Longer?

“Anomalous readings,” Ria had said. Someone had clearly been inside her head, relatively recently in terms of biological time.

She didn't even realize she was crying until the water shut off abruptly at the end of her allotment and she found herself leaning her head against the tile, shoulders shaking slightly from the emotion.

She couldn't remember anything. That fact had been more of an abstract academic fact while the wake up drugs swirled around in her bloodstream, when staying alive and reaching safety was the only thing that mattered. Now the reality of her situation hit her full on, bringing a profound sense of loss.

She depressed the dryer mechanism and closed her eyes as assorted vents blasted her with warm air from all directions.

She was alive. She was safe (probably).

As the dry cycle wound to a finish, she opened her eyes and once again, she found herself on a strange ship, staring at a reflection that she didn't recognize. She looked better, slightly less haggard and the self inflicted scratches were healing. The cheeks were still sunken and the eyes still ringed by dark circles.

She needed a meal or three and a proper night's sleep.

And she needed answers... if there ever were any. What if there weren't? Or what if there were and she didn't like them?

The face in the mirror looked even more bewildered and lost than before if that was possible.

Maybe Ria had been right and she really could be anyone she wanted.

“Well,” she told her reflection with a weak smile. “I guess it's time to figure out who Cass is.”

#my writing #writers on tumblr #scifi #the voyages of the padua #original fiction #original characters #spaceship #science fiction

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mytheoristavenue · 5 months ago

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Hello, I was just thinking about your alt band au for mha and I wanted to ask, do you headcanon the guys as sounding like any particular artists? I recall one of your posts stating that they each do vocals to some degree, so I was wondering if you had any thoughts about specific singers or songs that you feel would match their voices/vocal styles.

I've been so excited to answer this! I was actually planning to post about this soon anyways!

Fallen Angels!AU Voice Claims HCs

Summary: Musicians that the guys sound like or are inspired by, as well as their tastes in music!

Warnings: Mentions of music about sex/drugs, mentions of late musicians

Fumikage Tokoyami:

🎤 Of the three, Tokoyami has the deepest voice, speaking and singing wise. However, Shoji's voice goes deeper, but he can't hold lower notes as consistantly as Toko can.

🎤 His voice is increadibly clear and smooth. He lacks the same gravel that the tohers have, but their fans adore him for it. He holds long, passionate notes that taste like melted chocolate.

🎤 Toko is a classically trained baritone, and tends to take his biggest vocal inspirations from many who are as well, though it isn't a requirement. These include but are not limited to Claudio Sanchez of Coheed and Cambria, Amy Lee of Evanescence, and David Draiman of Disturbed.

🎤 As for who he actually sounds like, his voice has been compared to that of Adam Gontier of Three Days Grace more than anyone else. He has also been told he sounds like Benjamin Burnley of Breaking Benjamin. On the tracks that Ojiro takes the lead and Tokoyami raps, he takes after Mike Shinoda of Linkin Park and Fort Minor.

🎸 When it comes to guitar, he's increadibly well rounded, being able to play accousitc, electric, and bass with not only ease but extreme skill. He perfers electric most, just because it's what's easiest to sing with and it garners him the most attention.

🎸 Has a massive guitar collection and is VERY particular about his instruments. Nearly everyone he uses on stage after the hit it big is custom made and he chooses a few to take on tour with him so none of them get too used. His favorite two are a red flying V electric that fades to black at the tips, and a black bass with indigo feathers airbrushed up the side.

🎸 When it comes to inspirations, he craves complicated solos, and looks to Claudio Sanchez of Coheed and Cambria and James Hetfield of Metallica. Though Tokoyami isn't as into classic rock as Shoji is, he has taken a liking to the dramatic solos that Metallica is known for, and he's caught himself staying up for days trying to learn riffs like 'Welcome Home', by Coheed and Cambria.

🎧 Out of the three of them, Tokoyami enjoys the heaviest music and the darkest themes. He's a bit of a gatekeeper when it comes to bands he likes, so he'll for sure make sure he knows all their most underground songs. He likes raw, unfiltered anger and emotion in his music. He's not particularly interested in the 'sex, drugs' and rock n' roll' type of lifestyle, so it doesn't interest his taste in music either. He prefers depressing, thought-provoking lyrics, but he can overlook vulgar words if he likes the instrumentals.

🎧 Ranging from heaviest to lightest, his preferences are:

Rammstein

Rob Zombie

Coheed and Cambria

Three Days Grace

Skillet

Breaking Benajim

Flyleaf

Evanessance

Paramore

Mezo Shoji:

🎤 Shoji actually has the highest voice in the group, but Ojiro is a very close second. He also has a surprising range, dipping even lower than Tokoyami's with the same high note limit as Ojiro. His voice has significant gravel, even in his normal speaking voice.

🎤 Because of his quirk, he can duplicate more mouths for a small choir-like effect, which lets them all harmonize beautifully. It also makes their overall sound really unique and recognizable as the band tries to utilize Shoji for reprises, bridges, and choruses as often as possible.

🎤 They also like that they need to use less technical effects to match their studio recorded music while playing live because they don't have to record over their voices to get the effect like most other musicians. Shoji did it himself in the studio, and he loves doing it onstage even more.

🎤 Shoji doesn't tend to put much stock into who he wants to sound like, since he does the least amount of singing of the three. He mostly just repeats what the others say or gives background feedback. However, he is a big fan of classic rock and he really digs vocal twang. One of his biggest vocal inspirations is Dave Mustaine of Megadeth. He likes to practice calls and responses with himself, especially when he drums and Sweating Bullets is one of his favorite songs to do that to. Often times during downtime in rehearsal which Ojiro and Tokoyami are songwriting, Shoji starts in on the drums to the song saying: "Well me, it's nice talkin' to myself," with a big grin while one of his dupli-mouths says: "A credit to dementia."

🎤 As for what Shoji actually sounds like, he is perfect for that gravelly, cocky dad-rock vibe. He's been compared to Matt Walst of My Darkest Days and Three Days Grace, as well as Johnny Vanderhoven of Good with Grenades.

🥁 Just like with his vocals, Shoji takes full advantage of his quirk when it comes to drumming. He has an incredibly complex setup with multiple snares, kick drums, and symbols. He doesn't tend to you more than two pairs of sticks at a time so he can still sing, but for a few songs with especially complicated solos, he's been known to use up to three or even four.

🥁 Almost never uses the same pair of sticks twice. Not only does he lose them, but he snaps them very frequently. He keeps extra pairs near him, stuck in crevices between drums and stuck down the back of his shirt so he can toss the broken ones behind his head and reach back for new ones seamlessly. He also loves tossing them into the audience or giving them to cute groupies after shows.

🥁 He absolutely loves performing and all the attention that being a rockstar gets him. He was at first very reserved, but when he realized how many fans he- not just the band as a whole- had, he was instantly addicted to it. He contanstly shows off to his fans, spending his free time on the bus or backstage teaching himself tricks like twirling his sticks in his fingers.

🥁 Just like with vocals, he doesn't so much take inspiration from other drummers but, by far his favorite is Josh Eppard of Coheed and Cambria. He admires his skill and outlook on the rockstar life, and has spent weeks trying to learn certain parts in his songs.

🎧 Shoji really likes anything fun. He's not as stuck up about lyrics as Tokoyami and Ojiro are. He likes music about sex and drugs, even though he's not acutally that experienced in the former and would never be tempted with the latter. His playlist matches that of a divorced dad.

🎧 Ranging for heaviest to lightest, this is what he likes:

Rob Zombie

Megadeth

Metallica

Coheed and Cambria

Three Days Grace

Van Halen

K.I.S.S.

ACDC

My Darkest Days

Nickleback

Mashirao Ojrio:

🎤 Ojrio has the second highest voice in the group, after Shoji but he can hold high notes a lot longer than he can. He also has a really nice screaming voice that has a lot of passion behind it, and a significant gavel that gets raspier the louder he gets. When he's just casually singing or singing something other than rock, he has a really pretty, soothing voice.

🎤 Ojrio didn't sing at all at first seeing as Tokoyami was already the lead singer of the band, and Shoji can do backups with his quirk. But, when it was discovered how naturally talented he was, the others insisted he sing at least occasionally. Now, him and Tokoyami write at least two songs on every album where he takes the spotlight.

🎤 Despite being the lead singer on a few tracks, he still perfers to do duets with Tokoyami, because the thought of all the attention being on him scares him to bits. Though he'd never admit it, he does slowly begin to fall in love with the publicity off it all over time. He loves screaming a chorus and having the crowd echo it with just as much enthusiasm. And from the frint of the stage, he can see the audience better, its such a good time. He can't handle it all the time though, so he's content with his few minutes of fame before going back to the side lines.

🎤 His biggest inspirations, by far are Chester Bennington of Linkin Park and Marcus Mumford of Mumford and Sons. Luckily for him, these are also the voices he's compared to most often. Ojrio has the skill of matching his voice extremely well to others', so with practice, he was able to make his voice similar to his inspirations.

🎸 Ojiro doesn't really take as much of an interest in inspiration when it comes to the instruments he plays, but as for bass, Tokoyami got him into the lighter side of Coheed and Cambria's music and he fell in love with Zach Zooper's style of playing immediately. He listened to 'Number City' relentlessly for days on repeat, obsessed with the basslines and trying to recreat them.

🎸 Though he doesn't use the skills much in the band, Ojiro can actually play quite a few string instruments including bass, acoustic, and electric guitar (though not as well as Tokoyami can), cello, violin, and banjo. He learned classical strings in elementary school where he was placed in an orchestra class. His mother wanted him to learn violin, but he always performed the cello, he was very talented with each, though. In middle school, he had a folk-rock phase where he became obsessed with Mumford and Sons. That led him to learning the banjo, which is his favorite instrument by far.

🎧 Ojrio has by far the lightest taste in music of the three, perferring softer, catchier tunes with deeper meanings behind the lyrics. He likes songs that make him think about real world problems and make him feel empowered to face them at the same time.

🎧 From heaviest to lightest, his favorite bands are:

Coheed and Cambria

Three Days Grace

Breaking Benjamin

Poor Man's Poison

Linkin Park

Of Monsters and Men

Mumford and Sons

Fish in a Birdcage

Hozier

So sorry this took so long to finish! I wanted to think each one of them out heavily since this is one of the first big things I've posted for the AU! I'm always excited to talk about this AU so if anyone has any questions please drop them in my inbox!

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tfp-enthusiast · 1 year ago

Text

[Exactly what i need right now, i love writing things like this.]

[Made it GN if that bothers you then let me know.]

[Thanks for reading this and have a good day/night!]

[Can be seen as platonic or romantic]

[I left Airachnid out because technically she isn't a con. and the max count of images was reached]

Cons X Reader who has an unexpected music taste

[this took longer than I expected, sorry for that, but i hope you like it!]

[Have a good day/night and stay healthy!]

××××××××××××××××××××××

Megatron

The last cycles where stressful for everyone, the Autobots blew once again an energon mine up, but finally you had a breem or two for yourself.

So you just flew around, just a few miles away from the nemesis just in case, and heard your music so you could enjoy the moment.

What you didn't know was that Megatron decided to check in on you. He worried about you, just not openly in front of others, and thought that you two could have a nice chat while flying.

Even while you where traveling at a high speed he could hear your rather interesting music playing, more like blasting, in your vehicle mode. Just a reminder that he still was, quite a big, airplane so he of course maintained a safe distance and he could still hear every word. Every Word.

It took quite some time before you noticed the warlord and when you did you paused the music and asked in your normal, polite, tone how he is and some other smalltalk stuff.

You both talked normal but just before you got back onto the Nemesis he let's you know what he heard and thinks.

"(Y/n), you have quite an interesting music taste if i can say that."

You knew if you could see his face then he would be smirking and raise an optical ringe.

"You listen to the music relatively loud, it was quite shocking to hear such music from you considering the way you normally act."

You wanted to say something, you where close to saying an excuse, but before you could you heard an laugh that had an playful, and teasing, undertone in it.

"I won't do anything about this but do me a favor and don't play that kind of music near me."

××××××××××××××××××××××

Starscream

You where on the way to an mission because they requested backup/help and where near it.

You where alone and just turned put on some music like you always did when you're all by yourself.

What you didn't see was Starscream approaching from your left. It normally didn't really interest you but you had the music turned up to the max and he could almost feel the bass/vibrations through the air.

You didn't see him or heard him so he just tapped your wing with his (maybe a little too rough but he didn't mean it)

"(Y/n)! Do you listen to me? What is this 'music' your listing to?? I didn't expect such music from you-"

He got interrupted in his, friendly/teasingly, rant by an message over the com saying that the problem was solved and you could go back to the Nemesis.

The flight back was a little awkward for you. But after Starscream stopped talking you asked him if he couldn't make such a big thing out of it.

Of course he would never do anything when you are uncomfortable but you will be teased when the two of you are alone.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Soundwave

You where on your way back to the Nemesis after another battle with the Autobots. You listened to your music like always on flights but this time you where just pissed off.

You turned the music up to max volume so you could calm down easier. You often did that when you where mad or overwhelmed about something and it didn't bother anyone right now.

Soundwave flew next to you, you often just listened to music on flights, and it didn't bother him because he didn't talk anyway.

But it did worry him about you being okay, he knew about this habit and learned that this meant that you weren't happy, and he sent you a small message.

[Do you want too talk about it?]

You explaind him that you where okay, just a little mad at yourself because you couldn't win that fight and of course because the Autobots hurt both you and Soundwave a little.

The flight was quiet from both sides until you got back. As soon as you landed you got a message from Soundwave.

[I think you did great you did your best. <3]

××××××××××××××××××××××

Shockwave

You where on the search for predacon bones across the world and you where currently on your way through an old desert.

Shockwave was right next to you, he always came with you when you left his laboratory, and he was quite like always. He never talked much, especially on missions, unless necessary.

So you decided to listen to an playlist you made yourself for long drives and turned the music just a little louder.

Half an hour later you where almost at the location and you turned the music off. Just in time to hear Shockwave talk about the bone.

He heard the music, he was about to tell you to stop it but decided against it. It didn't bother him, at least not much, and he knew you weren't as patient as him and if this helped you with being patient on these drives then he won't interrupt you unless he deems it necessary.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Breakdown

You where driving through Nevada looking for any sings of Autobots or their human friends, you actually treated them good, and listened to a Playlist you found in the human internet which you turned to like.

What you didn't know was that almost every human could hear you, good thing you where driving on some less populated roads, and Breakdown was around.

He was surprised at this music, he won't judge you for it but it was quite a shock, considering how shy you where and quiet when talking with others.

He drove next to you and when you noticed you turned the music off so you could talk to him. He tried to hint the whole conversation at the fact that he heard your music but you didn't seem to get it.

Just before Breakdown drove away he said something that made you a embarrassed mess.

"I would say see ya, but i think I'll hear ya first-"

Yeah, he will definitely be teasing you. Not openly for others but you will get it.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Knockout

You where waiting for Knockout to finish one of his race's again because you both wanted to go to a drive in theater after that.

It took a little too long for you so you decided to just listen to some music, there was no one around to hear it anyway and you would spot Knockout soon enough to turn it off.

Or that's what you thought. Knockout came from behind you, cause he knew you where a little jumpy, and went the long way just for a little teasing material.

"Aww~ You thinking of someone while hearing that?"

Cue you having a sparkattack and then being a blushing embarrassed mess. He now got brand new teasing material and he won't let you have a break from it.

Btw. he would ask you for the Playlist because he lowkey liked it too.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Skyquake & Dreadwing

You where on your way back to the Nemesis after, yet another, lost battle against the Autobots. You where glad you at least found an energon mine while on the way back.

You decided to listen to some music that you found on earth. Normally you wouldn't listen to music while on a mission/on the way back because it could be unsafe if you don't hear an enemy approaching but you decided to just make an exception this time.

After some time Dreadwing and Skyquake joined you because they where also on their way back from a mission and thought you looked lonely.

They could hear the music and almost every word even though you played the music inside your vehicle mode.

They where shocked but mostly didn't want to interrupt you because you seemed happy while hearing your, rather scandalous, music.

They both decided to just not talk about it too much. But Dreadwing still wanted to tell you it was unsafe because you didn't see/hear them approach you.

××××××××××××××××××××××

Predaking

Predaking knew you liked earth music after you both talked about earth and it's inhabitants but after doing some research he learned there was a lot of different music.

He didn't think it would be too important considering it's just music but he still was a bit curious about what you like.

He found out when he walked by your private room in the living quarters and searched for you because the both of you had finally some time to talk.

He heard your music through the metal confines of your room and was surprised to hear such music from you considering the way you normally act.

But he still came in after knocking so he could talk to you and tell you that even though it doesn't bother him you should turn it down because others could bring you in trouble, Starscream and Knockout most likely, and he didn't want that to happen.

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maddascanbe-blog · 9 months ago

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Miracu-class girls are done! It took less time than I initially anticipated, thank goodness. Let's talk re-write's and re-designs shall we?

Sabrina so freaking cute, give the girl her hat. It was probably a gift from Chloe. For her redesign I thought she would be the kind to dress in cute blouses and flowy skirts. She has tennis skirts in every color for every occasion. As for her re-write- anyone who saw how I changed Chloe probably will guess that their dynamic is drastically changes as well.

Sabrina met Chloe when they were in their tween years, Officer Roger having worked security for the Bourgeois on multiple occasions. One day he had to bring his daughter into work and Chloe found her wandering the halls. When a kidnapper tried to abduct Chloe, Sabrina sprayed him with pepper spray her father gave her and then kicked him in the dick for good measure. Chloe then declared that Sabrina should be her full-time body guard, and she technically is being paid to hang out with Chloe. But Sabrina would have done it with or without the money since Chloe is actually very endearing once you figure out how she works.

Alix is next! Alix's violently pink hair could not be ignored, so I kept it (albeit a little less saturated) Also she is in fact still short. Her outfits are probably all variations of sports gear unless she has an event to attend at the museum. I also tanned her up since I imagine she spends a lot of time outside, girl is sunburnt. She is actually a year ahead in history, having gotten too bored with junior level classes. So she's friends with some of the seniors too. I won't get into Bunnix anytime soon but- let's just say it's a lot more tragic than cannon would ever admit. The rabbit's powers are changing, and Alix still has to live with that.

On a lighter note, Juleka, as stunning as ever. Tall queen. She is a year behind since her lack of participation in classes ultimately tanked her grade in several subjects. Her band director was more then happy for her to stay an extra year though, since she is trained classically as well as electrically on the bass. She may not like talking, but she has little fear of performing when the music can do the talking. Her twin brother actually graduated early, and he's working now to help pay for the band the two want to start. Her design doesn't change much from her cannon one other than the fact I switched her ripped leggings for lace ones. I imagine she actually has many outfits in this color pallet, since Chat Noir quickly becomes her favorite hero.

Mylene, okay the change I made here is pretty obvious. I debated for a long time on whether or not I change her skin tone. And when I did the line art? Wasn't planning too. But changed my mind last second, since I thought it helped the color pallet more. This would imply she is mixed, with her dad looking pretty much the same as cannon. it's hard to tell her unless you look closely but I gave her freckles that just cover every inch of her. She is Sunkissed. He character isn't super different, she is still easily startled, but she knows what she believes and will fight for it no matter what.

And finally, Rose! The lovely Rosey! The flower child! Her nonspecific illness still definitely happened, but I like to think she has actually recovered. I do not know enough about most chronic illnesses to make any sort of specification on what she has so nameless headache disease it is! She struggled a lot as a kid, but now she's planning to start a non-profit to help kids who are going through hard times of their own. She definitely still has her down days, the fact that she nearly died so young is not something she is quick to forget. But she will do whatever she can to give other people hope, sinee she knows all too well what it feels like to be hopeless.

As for her design, she had a bucket of pink upturned on her. She did have to have her hair shaved as an affect of her illness but now it's growing back faster than ever. She gets it cut every time it gets past a certain length to donate it.

Luka is next!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous redesign #miraculous fanart #sabrina raincomprix #alix kubdel #juleka couffaine #mylene haprele #rose lavillant #akuma class #sabrina raincomprix redesign #alix kubdel redesign #juleka couffaine redesign #mylene haprele redesign #rose lavillant redesign

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mudandmire · 2 months ago

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Eris Week: Free Day

~ drip drop, gimme what you got ~

Eris has an itch, a burn he cannot out-run or fight. Azriel has hands, and cunning eyes, and most importantly for tonight, teeth.

This isn't going the way it sounds.

Technically this was supposed to come out on AU day for @erisweekofficial, but homework ended up kicking my ass :/

---

They find each other, like all mistakes do, at a bar.

Down the street—a right and down one block a sudden left—from the gym Eris frequents. The Jig is a building scooped out of the red bricked fronts of the town houses lining the street. Its door is a dark stained cherry, the swinging sign above a weathered green that reminds him of oxidized copper. Black metal patio chairs sit askew behind the iron railing, one little umbrella shading the tables. It's not often people sit outside The Jig, mostly because the inside feels like a dragon's lair.

Warm and heavy with air from the patrons and boisterous laughter jingling like fallen coins. A faint smoke, not from cigarettes, but no one truly knows where it comes from, lingers along the pockmarked beams above in strands of gray ivy. Light reflects oddly in the cavern of the bar. Great glass bulbs, so clear the intestines of the electrical work can be seen even by the drunkest patrons, hang from the ceiling. Their gaze is warm, a yellow balm that makes the sable colored liquor in their bottles on the shelves sparkle.

Outside, night has fallen, and The Jig continues to glow like a homely hearth. Eris had found his way hours before the gym closed—a rarity for him—and now remains firmly planted on a bar stool at the black quartz counter.

His knuckles ache. Raw along the joints, soreness stretching its tired limbs up into his shoulder, cresting the back of his neck. Rolling his head, tilting it at an angle where his bones pop, Eris sighs long and low. The fighting for the day had been less than satisfactory. His usual opponents either were completely off their game, or their heads weren't in it enough to give him their all.

Even Anton, who Eris can usually count on to give him a good run for how much he runs his mouth, hardly touched him in the ring.

He sucks his teeth after taking a sip of his drink. The lingering sting of his victories melding with the bitter bite of the alcohol.

How selfish they could be, he knew, allowing him win after win with only a conceding smile. Wrapped hands held above their head as though surrender was what he was after.

Now he nurses his victory like one might cradle their broken pride. But all that's between his numb, ice-chilled fingers is his glass.

The rubber sole of his loafer taps on the metal bar that runs under his stool. It rattles the whole of his seat, but there's a kind of comfort in the constant bounce of his knee.

The only annoyance is that he wanted that itch, that energy, kneaded and pressed out of him like one meticulously and brutally folds dough.

Eris is used to the current in his body. The call and the silent cavern that never answers back. Jolts of bone-deep prickling in his legs, a restless picking and skinning and rapping in his fingers.

It makes him agitated. Unfocused. A liability.

The fact that no one understood this was mainly the reason he ended up in The Jig in the first place.

Eris sneaks through its cherry wood door, a thief in what hardly can be called night for how alive it is. He steals into the lair, bruises and hurts donning his frame like scales, and pretends his heart doesn't patter a different beat than the bass drum of whatever plays on the speakers. He'll tuck his hands into the cuffs of his green turtleneck sweater, and ask for his drink—heavy on liquor, make it sweet so he can't taste the underlying bite when it hits his tongue.

Eris' breathing will never even. The drink will turn into two, and still—his hand will fall to his chest. Fingers pinching at the soft fabric of his turtleneck, as if maybe they'll hit an exposed wire and restart something.

Or break him entirely.

By the second glass, the bar lights going glossy, it doesn't sound so bad. A reset, a break, an end to the quiet, relentless, drive in his chest—

Someone falls into the stool next to him. Caught from the corner of his slowly clearing eyes. There's a hint of dark blue, maybe black but it's hard to tell with the dim golden glow. The knees of the stranger spread wide, feet resting on the bar of the stool with a kind of mindless ease Eris can only hope to imitate.

His arms lay casually on the bar, skin bronzed in the golden light. Eris catches sight of something curious with a gaze that would not be as obvious if he weren't two cups deep.

The hands of the stranger are scarred, a mottled clay work. Eris' finger traces the counter top, lazy and thoughtless, mirroring those patterns in the marked skin like landmarks on a map.

Hands like that do not belong in a lair like this.

Not when Eris is hungry. Not when he is desperate.

Apart from the obvious nature of their otherness, Eris finds them to be entirely too distracting. Large, encompassing, a glinting silver watch on his wrist.

They move suddenly under his stare and Eris hears the low rumble of his voice.

"I'll have whatever he's having." He gestures to Eris' glass—empty, has been for a while—while the bartender in shades of shadows Eris can't make out, acquiesces and slips away to make…

His mind poses his own question, wary eyes peering down into the dry bottom of his glass. What am I having?

Eris knows the taste, the stale reminder that he definitely had alcohol, the way it lays on his tongue.

He knows it better by how fuzzy his head has gotten. To the point he doesn't mind when his back begins to bow, shoulders slumping forward into the fold of his arms. A collapsing kingdom of cards until he's resting his head; the hard line of the bones in his forearm pressing against his temple.

The stranger, man, with wonderful hands, is even more enticing from a sideways angle. Wide lens: the two black bars, a roof and floor. The tip of Eris' tongue ends up between his front teeth.

Eris doesn't get a chance for his gaze to meander past his shoulders, broad and heavy-set. The kind that looks earned, that could barge through walls and all that would be evidence is a dusting of drywall like powdered sugar.

Eris is caught. When the stranger gets his drink and takes a small, modest sip, he says, "you stare a lot, you know that?"

Somewhere between the first and second drink, Eris lost his ability to feel shame. Maybe it dried up along with the last dregs of his sanity.

He shrugs, and it must look weird hunched over and meek as he is, because the stranger laughs. Sort of—a breath of air from his nose. But it's more in the way creases form at the corner of his liquid dark eyes. The pupil absorbs every scant inch of light and holds it captive in a flicker of candlelight.

"I'm out of drink," Eris tells him. "You're very stare-worthy," the alcohol adds.

There's no little breath lost to the general hum of The Jig. His mouth, pink and soft, tips up. From the angle Eris sits at, he thinks it's a smile. From the way the stranger's shoulders straighten, and the breadth of his chest leans just that much closer—a stretch of dark cotton over skin—the challenge becomes clear.

Of all the things Eris tries to plan for him to say—though the script of dialogue is lost to the buzz in his head—he cannot predict what comes out of his wonderfully formed mouth.

"Who'd you hit?" He asks, gesturing with the soft openness of his hand at the raw, scabbed knuckles on Eris' fingers.

The wounds are scaled, Eris wets his lips with the tip of his tongue and draws back the bitter taste of alcohol.

"My opponent," he says honestly. "In the ring."

Eris still gazes up at the stranger from the cradle of his folded arms. There is an insistence to his presence, kept secret and safe at the end of the bar. Back pressed to the lacquered wooden paneling that runs around the perimeter of The Jig. His front, however, remains entirely exposed to the strangers gaze, though he keeps his knee bouncing under the overhang of the counter top.

In a smooth movement, the man steps one foot solidly onto the ground, and shifts his chair closer with the other still propped on the metal rung. He ends up closer than before. A dark, raven-slick curl dancing on the hard line of his thick brow.

He takes another sip of his drink. Eris follows the path with his eyes, his tongue. His longing coiled like a fire-breathing beast in his chest.

"You're a fighter?" His head tilts and the glass sets down on the quartz top with a delicate sound.

Eris shakes his head, then frowns to himself. "I box at the gym down…" he loses track, hand held up in front of his face as he tries to map the streets of the city from his vantage. "The one on Main, that's where I go."

Mindless, his hand falls to the bar top. The cold of the stone sinks into the sensitive warmth of his palm—stealing it away as he watches the condensation bloom to trace the outline of his hand.

So enraptured by the sight, the dichotomy of feeling warped under his skin, Eris completely misses when the stranger ducks his head low.

His breath, lost between those plush lips, pools on the quartz. So low is his mouth, Eris can feel the heat of it on his fingertips, his knuckles, and freezes. It is not ice that runs in his veins, it is not sobriety that steals away the pleasant buzz of alcohol. The stranger stares up at him through the dark curtain of his hair, and with a flicker of something in those liquor colored eyes—something that Eris finds mirrors the stirring of the beast in his chest—his teeth close gently around the raw knuckle of his pointer finger.

Eris' lungs stall for a heartbeat. When they refill, he is the gust of air blowing into a forge—expanding and feeding that internal flame that refuses to be doused no matter how he taps his foot, or twists his body in the ring.

"I don't even know your name." He says. If it comes out more breathless than he'd like, the stranger doesn't seem to notice.

His teeth release from around Eris' knuckle—not that it had pressed hard on the sore wounds, or dug into sensitive joints.

"Azriel." His eyes glance up at Eris, curiosity curling in their depths. "Did you win?"

Eris doesn't have to ask what Azriel means. His name swirling like thick, heavy smoke in his head. This man seems to jump around, subject to subject with no real destination, at least not one Eris can predict.

His finger twitches, cold in the exposed air. Azriel catches it, and with little more than a flutter of his sooty eyelashes, pupils blotting darker, he dips down and takes his knuckle in his teeth again.

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Eris whispers. "And I don't believe you are, either."

Azriel hums. The vibrations course through Eris' bones, and his foot abruptly stops tapping.

"I did win." His eyes dart away from where Azriel's lips spread to hold his finger. Heat, a kind apart from the warm blanket the alcohol laid on his shoulders earlier, grows claws and begins to dig into the tender inner-lining of his stomach.

Azriel draws away again, but this time not without a gentle press of lips to his knuckle. A brief goodbye, before the weight of his gaze is pinned solely on Eris.

He shifts in his stool, straightening slightly so he's not fully hunched over. Eris leaves his hand spread out on the counter, though, and he doesn't want to think of why.

"You won the fight." Azriel repeats, something dawning in his tone. His glass is all but forgotten, the whole of his attention fixed on Eris who flushes belly to cheeks at the idea of being an axis point.

"Fights." Eris corrects him.

If anything, Azriel's small grin widens. The sharp threat of his canines pressed to his lower lip. "Never would have guessed since you've been drinking like a home-sick sailor."

Eris' eyes narrow. "How do you—" his head swivels, looking over the line of his shoulder at where the rest of The Jig flourishes with its tacky, oak tables and low-hanging bulb lights. "How long have you been watching me?" He asks, waiting for the weariness to set into his bones and smother the flames, yet the heat doesn't abate.

Azriel's eyes crinkle, and his arm reaches over for Eris' empty glass he had completely forgotten about. The curl of those fingers, scarred and warped though they are, around the cup sends lashes of warmth to his stomach.

"Don't need to watch you, the fact that you're drinking a Manhattan says enough, honestly." He brings the glass to his nose, sniffing it and scowling.

Eris blinks a couple times, before saying, "but you ordered the same thing?"

"Ah," he gestures with a stern finger, "but unlike you, I've lost today—so I earned it."

The vagueness of his statement leaves Eris wishing for more. More information, more specifics, more intimate knowledge about this man and how exactly he lost.

Unwittingly, his eyes dart down for a heartbeat to rest on Azriel's hands. The knots of his knuckles, the whitened, tight ridges of skin along the back of his hand. Thin enough that the veins stand out stark like a mountain range.

Azriel catches his gaze and follows it with a quirk of a dark brow. "You gonna ask?"

They've leaned closer over the span of their conversation. Map-less and without a compass, it has led them here and there, yet still Eris finds himself momentarily floundering.

His nose scrunches up. "I would think that rude." He says haltingly, and Azriel doesn't take it any other way he meant it.

He shrugs, and then his legs spread wider, closer, and suddenly Eris can feel the hard pressure of his knee against the outside of his thigh. It takes a moment for him to understand the heat of it, the kind only naked skin can give off. A single glance at Azriel's legs reveals wide, lengthwise cuts in the black denim of his jeans. Dark, coarse hair on his leg and knee.

Eris swallows thickly at the spike of his pulse at the sight. He knows his cheeks have gone pink, can feel the heat of it under his skin, around his eyes, the coiling cunning of a beast that lets its tail flick lazily from side to side in his chest.

Azriel leans closer. Perhaps drawn to Eris' sudden bout of flushed skin and glazed, amber eyes. One of his hands lays out on the bar top, fingers spread, half way between Eris' body and his.

It takes a moment, and the dawning idea is so ridiculous it nearly draws a crow of a laugh from his lips.

Whatever it was supposed to be, comes out a choked wheeze. Dilated eyes dropping to the exposed hand and back up again.

Azriel raises his hand, elbow to counter, until it rests like a veil between the two of them.

"Ask." He says, and then peers through the slits between his fingers as if daring Eris to creep closer to the enclosure of his restraint.

Eris has never been very good at lines drawn in the sand. Or palms meeting as nothing more than condensation on a black quartz countertop. But he knows what drew him to The Jig in the first place, the burn under his skin that he could not deplete no matter how many times he rolled his sore shoulders, flat on the canvas floor of the boxing ring. No matter how he kept his feet light, his body aware. No matter how many times he won; easily, stupidly, without challenge or complaint.

He turns in his stool, facing Azriel completely. A lock of his copper hair comes tumbling to rest on his cheekbone, light and ticklish. A pulse of victory—the kind he's been searching for—rushes through him when Azriel's shadowed eyes do nothing but follow the path his fingers take to tuck it away.

"What happened to them?" Eris asks, hardly more than a whisper, and then shifts closer.

It's very easy then, the liquid courage of alcohol wholly unneeded, to tip his head forward and hold Azriel's gaze as he parts his lips. His teeth come to rest around Azriel's knuckle on his pointer finger.

Azriel's smile is sharp, splinters of glass shards Eris gets stuck in his skin. "A fire happened." He replies easily, nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders. As if it was merely a prick of heat; a match that burned too long till the pad of his fingers stung, and not the whole of his hands to his wrists.

Eris swallows, trying to clear the uncomfortable feeling of saliva pooling in his parted mouth. Yet he does not want to draw away—not yet. The action brings his tongue closer, enough to brush against Azriel's knuckle for a second before it's gone.

There's something more to his words, a lingering blade kept hidden behind his tongue. The inner corner of Eris' eyes tighten, narrowed, and his teeth pinch with just enough pressure to draw out a hum from Azriel.

"Well," he drawls, and Eris is struck with a shock of heat when his head dips closer. "A fire my half-brothers started." Azriel reveals, giving Eris no chance to react before his face is a breath away from Eris'—paralleled completely.

Azriel sighs, Eris can feel the heat of it flow over his parted mouth. There’s a boundary between them, but Azriel’s eyes are lidded low, wholly locked on the bow of his top lip. Bringing his face closer, he brushes their noses together gently. Eris doesn’t breathe once.

Under the pressure of Azriel's knee, his thighs tighten, tensing toward each other. A band of energy lashed from the nape of his neck to his tailbone buzzing under his skin.

"But it's alright." Azriel says, and it draws Eris back. He gives a hum as if to say 'I don't see how.'

Azriel's dark eyes gleam, close, pools of the deepest drink he could sate himself to death on. "They're in prison, so I feel as if I got the better end of that deal."

A thrill trails fingers down Eris' spine. His breath shudders out over Azriel's finger, warming and soft in between his teeth.

"But, that doesn't matter." Azriel's thumb runs tenderly against the skin of his cheek, gaze firm where lips are parted. "I find myself much more interested in heading to your gym."

Though his soft touch hasn't stopped, Azriel's tone has deepened enough for Eris to feel it like a sudden swoop in his stomach.

He pulls away, eyeing the faint imprint of his teeth on Azriel's knuckle with a keen gleam in his eye. It shimmers with the trace of his tongue when the amber light hits it just so—a gem sparkling in the dim dragon's lair.

"Sounds presumptive to me," Eris says, raising a cautious eyebrow. "What makes you think I want you in my gym?"

Azriel has yet to lift his head, the sooty shadow of his lashes brushing against his cheek as he stares at the hand Eris had left. It shifts closer to his face, and Eris catches a glimpse of his eyes—and swallows thickly.

"Forgive me," Azriel does not lower his hand, voice low and dangerous and suddenly Eris is looking into the eyes of the beast coiled in his chest. Sat right across from him. Draining a glass of alcohol, resting his feet on the metal rung of his stool, drawing closer and closer to Eris like the draw of riches to a fool. This man may as well heave smoke from his throat from how utterly he's drawn Eris into his treacherous talons.

So easily; hardly a word, a breath, and Eris had taken his knuckle between his teeth like an iron bit in a horse's mouth.

Azriel is not asking for forgiveness; he is not sorry. Eris can tell enough through the glint of satisfaction in his eyes, carving his bronze features into a charming, reckless smile.

"I find myself entirely under your thrall—I think I just need to blow off steam. Long day, you know."

If Eris had walked into any other place besides The Jig, with its sticky tables and patrons crowding with their secretive smiles and low-hanging bulbs hoarding light like reflected gold coins, he would insinuate something entirely different.

Unbidden, his throat bobs. If he were anyone else—without bruised, scabbed knuckles—he'd carve his teeth into that plush bottom lip. Eris can see it, the imprint of what they would make. It is not beautiful, and it does not play across his mind's eye like a scene in a darkened film room. It would be…biting.

There is a danger, lingering like the aftermath of a lightning strike, in imaging where else his teeth could bury.

Azriel is not the only reptile in this place who craves to hoard and covet. He just wears it better.

"Pay your tab—they're open till three," Eris rasps, nodding to the one empty glass that sits forgotten on the counter in front of Azriel. He's got one hand searching his back pocket for his wallet, already pulling out the bills needed for his two drinks.

Azriel cocks an eyebrow, victory glinting in the shine of his eyes. Deftly, he obeys and settles bills on the counter as well.

"I've got the whole night," he's up and standing, taller than Eris thought now that they've left their stools. "I'm not on call." Azriel ends with a knock of his knuckle against the quartz counter.

"On call?" Eris asks.

Something crosses Azriel's face, too quick to identify fully before it slips away. Eris thinks whatever it was had just transferred to the mischievous grin that spreads across his lips.

"Firefighter." He shrugs, head bowed slightly.

Eyes falling automatically to where Azriel's hands are—one on the bar, the other half-tucked in his pocket—a low pulse of heat drops heavily into his stomach.

"You're fucking insane," he breathes. It takes effort to ignore the lack of force in his voice, and he can practically feel how his pupils dilate.

Azriel laughs, the kind where his head tips back and then his gaze comes to rest on Eris once more. Crinkles at the corners of his amused eyes.

"Glass houses, sweetheart. I wouldn't throw stones with those bruised fingers of yours."

Eris jolts at the feeling of the back of Azriel's fingers trailing over his knuckles. His next inhale is shaky.

"Let's go," Eris urges.

Eris doesn't wait for him to say anything else—sure if he did, he'd end up at the bar for another hour, a whole day. The walk out of The Jig is jarring; every laugh is too loud, the lights, which had been so soft like a calling of a reflection from afar, burn into his eyes and make them water. Azriel walks behind him, matching his pace, and he clings like smoke to Eris' back; he can almost feel the heat of his chest through his black cotton shirt.

The night hasn't changed much, if any. When Eris had first walked through the door the sun was just sinking below the strict line of the horizon. The streetlights had looked out of place at that point, muted in the dusk. Now they gild the dark asphalt street—rain-wet, the scent of damp rising with the last of the day's heat hours earlier. The air is shockingly active around them. Whatever atmosphere hung around Eris like a cloak has fallen away as sweet, chilled night air clings to his exposed skin.

Eris takes a moment to breathe it in. The faint scent of fried food, warmed concrete, and engine exhaust creates a strangely pleasant aroma as he stands in the middle of the one-way street. All but barren, the distant hum of traffic alive and well a block or so down.

When his eyes open again, they fall to Azriel. It's with a jolt he tries to keep maintained that he realizes Azriel's already looking at him. Though he can hardly stop how his eyes widen.

Eris clears his throat, hands stuffed into the tight pocket of his slacks even though the fabric pulls at the scabs on his fingers.

He winces. "Right, well, it's this way." Fumbling for the heated remnants of their earlier companionship in The Jig, Eris keeps his glances brief though he tries to re-engage Azriel.

In the brisk, night air, for some reason sobriety of the soul seems to seep into him like the coldest water.

Azriel hasn't made any movement to follow—nor has he spoken one word. The itch, burn, whatever Eris could call it, starts up again in his legs. He rocks up on the balls of his feet, the heels of his loafers coming off.

"Unless you don't…" He trails off, awkwardly abandoning the sentiment. Eris would back off, immediately and without scorn, if Azriel were to have a change of heart in the empty street.

Something of his tone, or posture, must prompt Azriel into moving. Eris holds his breath, unwilling to let it free him entirely, and keeps Azriel's unreadable gaze as he walks closer.

"Take your shoes off." He says softly.

Eris blanches, his whole body stilling in shock. "I'm sorry?"

Azriel leans in closer, the breadth of his shoulders strong, the toned muscles of his arms tense as he keeps his hands in his pockets. His eyes, now nearly indiscernible from the asphalt itself, narrow at Eris.

"Off. Shoes off, Eris." Azriel reiterates, and this time Eris rolls his eyes, a spark of heat he found and kept collecting in The Jig appearing now bright as any of the streetlights among them.

"Gods, you're demanding." Eris scoffs. He doesn't hesitate to shift closer to Azriel, keen, lidded eyes watching as his grow darker like ink spilled on paper.

Eris doesn't expect the flick to the bruised knuckle on his pointer finger. The thrum of pain catches him off-guard, and a noise slips from his throat. He refuses to acknowledge it, though the sudden heat embedded in his cheeks demands attention.

"I—" his voice breaks.

"Shoes." Azriel demands, and his rough voice is countered by the soft pad of his thumb soothing down his smarting finger.

Eris swallows hard, but obeys. He toes off his leather loafers, not losing Azriel's gaze once. Minutely, his hands are trembling—though not from any kind of lingering effect of alcohol. Everything left in his bloodstream had been scorched away in the heat of Azriel's body. His gaze, his nearness.

Bare feet on the rain-damp asphalt, Eris' toes curl. He bends down to pick up his shoes, and holds them pinched at the heel. There's defiance rising like a slowly building tide on his tongue, but everything he had been meaning to say is lost in a whoosh of air from his lungs.

Azriel had dipped down in a swift, sudden movement. And in the next second Eris had been caught, warm palms spreading across the backs of his thighs, and thrown over Azriel's shoulder as if he weighed no more than a sack of grain.

A shriek rises to his throat, pressing at his teeth now that he hangs upside down. His grip is precarious, shoes in one hand while the other grasps desperately at Azriel’s waist, the belt loops of his black jeans. This close, he smells like woodsmoke, as if it’s been sown into the fabric of his tee-shirt.

"Here, gimme." Azriel releases one hand from holding Eris and reaches behind his back.

"What are you doing!" He cries, voice thick at this angle while the blood pools in his head. "Don't lose your grip, you're going to drop me!"

Azriel hefts him higher, the muscled bulk of his shoulder pressing into Eris' ribs so hard he has to draw shallow breaths. The dizziness that comes from the angle, and the lack of air, is so delicious he has to close his eyes to re-settled his pounding heart.

"I'm not going to drop you." Azriel replies, hand still open and grasping for the shoes. Eris can practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Fine," he offers begrudgingly, "here."

Eris shoves his shoes into Azriel's hand, aware that he could stand like that the whole night waiting for Eris. Azriel thanks him with a wordless hum and a pat on the back of his thighs.

"Good," he says softly. "You said your gym was on Main, right?"

Azriel starts walking down the street, and clarity rushes through Eris. Soft and cloying as the night air around them. He breathes out slowly, trying to maintain the heat building under his skin, and the gentle pounding in his head.

"Yes." He says hoarsely, anticipation running its frequented course through his muscles; stringing him tight and ready. "Yes, it's on Main right across from the office buildings, streetlight in front—I'll tell you when I see it."

Another tap on his thighs is his reward, and Azriel begins the trek down the street Eris had walked earlier. Back when the world looked different; unassuming and vague. What they walk through now, leaving the maroon neon sign for The Jig behind to glare at them from the damp asphalt, is entirely separate. The rules Eris had followed don't apply anymore, nor does the cheating of his satisfaction.

Eris hangs from Azriel's back as they walk in quiet—every thought telling him this should be unbearable, complete madness.

He doesn't quite mind, finding it easy to think over the hushed rumble of discontented voices in his head, none of which come from the burning claws sinking into his belly. The want he had been hunting this street at dusk for; found so easily, taken so willingly back to his gym, his ring, his coveted ritual.

One last glimpse of The Jig is all he gets before they turn the corner onto the street that will lead them to Main. Eris' shoes hang from Azriel's free hand like a prized trophy.

---

...can you tell I watched the Hobbit movies on repeat while writing this.

Trying to involve myself back in the community because I love it and y'all are so wonderful and talented and sweet. Just working through things but this fic is kinda my way of sticking it to myself.

Thank you for reading ❤️, and happy Eris Week!! Very excited to read through what everyone's made and look at all the art! I've already seen some things and they're absolutely amazing no shock there :D

#azris #azris fanfiction #azriel x eris #eris vanserra #erisweek2024 #...i can't write eris without azriel i guess. whoops.

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