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steddieasitgoes · 1 year ago

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written for @eddiemonth Day 16 Prompt: Library & Curious a/n: This one might be my favorite one I've written yet! It's set at the start of season 2! read on ao3 | link to my ao3 Edde Month series

Eddie’s well aware there are a lot of stupid classes that Hawkins High requires its student body to take. Algebra (there’s no reason for the alphabet and numbers to mix, except in very rare cases, like D20 type cases), Physics (what more do they need to know beyond what goes up, must come down), French (as if anyone from Bumfuck, Indiana could afford to go to France — okay maybe some can, but Eddie’s certainly not one of them that’s for damn sure), goddamn Physical Education (only way he’s running is if someone is chasing him, thank you very much). But the stupidest class of all has to be Study Hall.

An entire class dedicated to doing work for other classes? What kind of idiot dreamed this one up? Instead of letting them out an hour early, some guy, probably in a suit because all bad ideas come from guys in suits, decided to hold them hostage to do more work. It’s ridiculous. Not to mention, it’s one of the few times, outside of lunch, that the grades get to mingle with each other. Sure, lots of studying goes on in between freshmen drooling over seniors and sophomores paying juniors for last year’s test answers.

The only time Eddie actually liked study hall was during his sophomore year when he had it first period and could do all the homework he neglected to do the night before. It’s the only time it actually made sense. And the only time, thus far in his high school career, that Eddie actually turned in more assignments than not.

But now, he’s a senior stuck with study hall as his last class of the day, and he wants to die. Okay, maybe not die die. But die in the sense that he’d rather risk bodily harm escaping the hellscape that is the Hawkins library during 6th-period study hall than sit here. His freedom is so close — nothing but a few windows and a brick wall separating him from the brisk late-October air. Eddie can’t risk it, though. He’s already reached his detention quote for the semester, and if he wants to keep using the drama room for Hellfire meetings, he has to sit in this damn library seat and at least pretend to get some work done.

Which, honestly, isn’t the worst thing in the world. At least it gives him time to work on his latest Hellfire campaign without the prying eyes of Jeff and Gareth or the unnecessary questions from Freak. Sure, he’s supposed to be working on an essay for English Lit, but he doesn’t think Ms. Washington is going to appreciate his take on Frankenstein, so he’ll worry about coming up with a dumbed-down idea another day.

Besides, even focusing on his new campaign is hard enough with the idle chatter going on that the librarian is either pretending not to hear or is too tired of shushing them for.

It’s the usual sort of study hall gossip. Who’s screwing who. What teacher is going to pull a pop quiz tomorrow and become the biggest asshole at Hawkins High. The occasional nervous whispers of the geeks actually studying.

It’s all mindless chatter that drifts into the background when the topic of Tina’s Halloween Bash comes up. That’s the real gossip of the night. Who got the keg, and what other alcohol is being provided? Who is going to be the best dressed? What couple is going to get caught screwing in Tina’s parent’s bed? Are there going to be any good fights or breakups?

Eddie rolls his eyes. Jesus H. Christ, can’t anybody be original around here?

Unfortunately for Eddie, there’s no escaping Tina’s Halloween Bash since he’s been summoned to provide some extra party favors, as the “cool” kids like to call them. Eddie, never one to back down from being a thorn in a “cool” kid’s side, always responds with the same spiel: “Drugs. What you want is drugs, right? Or should I go raid Melvald’s for you?”

Whatever. Money is money, and Eddie can take all the money he can get his grubby hands on if he wants to get out of this shit-hole town when he graduates in June.

Glancing at his watch, he tips his head back in a silent groan of annoyance. Only ten minutes have passed since he slunk into the uncomfortable library seat. Christ, why does time move so slow, sometimes? Eddie tries to focus on his Hellfire notes in front of him, and he’s successful for all of thirty seconds before something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.

Nancy Wheeler and the former Hawkins High King, Steve Harrington, are whispering to each other by the pencil sharpener. He rolls his eyes. Of course, no one else in the library is paying them any mind. And why would they? Harrington fell from grace last year, and Wheeler isn’t exactly the “look at me” type. Still, Eddie finds them morbidly interesting in a way he finds all the tragic heterosexual couples in this stupid small town interesting.

Before Eddie has a chance to fall deeper into his cynical outlook on this stupid Hawkins High couple, Wheeler starts tugging Harrington toward the private study room in the back of the library. It’s a move that shocks Eddie to his core. Don’t get him wrong, he’s heard all bout Harrington’s little trysts in that very room over the years (thank you gossip mill for the very cheap porn), but he never would have assumed Wheeler would be the one tugging him toward it.

It’s that detour from who she’s supposed to be that has Eddie peeling himself off his chair. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he saunters toward the stack of books in the back of the library closest to the private room. If he hears moaning or anything remotely sounding like they’re hooking up, he promises himself he’ll leave. He’s a freak in many ways, but a creep, he is not.

Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie can see the two of them in the small room. They’re close but not close enough to be doing anything beyond talking. From the look on her face, doing anything of that sort isn’t even on her mind.

Interesting.

Eddie creeps closer.

“Barbara. It’s like nobody cares. Except her parents. And now they’re selling their house.”

“Nance—“

Wheeler rants about something, but he misses most of it. Only catching the very end.

“It’s destroying them.”

No shit, Eddie thinks with another dramatic eye roll. Of course, losing their only daughter is destroying them. The Hollands are one of the few families around here that actually have a heart. At least they did before Barbara tore it from them by running away. Or so the story goes. Eddie’s always been a bit suspicious of Holland’s disappearance. He knows the runaway type, and a straight-A girl, with a well-off family who loves them like Holland had doesn’t fit the bill.

“I know. Okay? I get it,” Harrington says, glancing away from Wheeler to peer out the window. Eddie grabs the first book on the shelf and buries his face in it. It must fool Steve because he starts talking again. “But listen, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, we could tell them the truth.”

“This isn’t some game, Nance. If they found out that we told any…” He trails off again, and Eddie reaches for another book.

Eyes peering over the pages, Eddie watches as he shuts the blinds before presumably returning to Wheeler. With the blinds shut and their voices even lower, he can no longer hear what they’re talking about. Which is a damn shame because Eddie’s never been more curious about what the disgraced King was about to say than right now.

+ + +

“M’telling you guys. It was weird,” Eddie says through a mouthful of Doritos.

They’re hanging out in Gareth’s garage. Jeff sits in the old recliner while Gareth stays perched behind his drum kit. Freak is running late, as usual, though Eddie’s not too pressed about it today. Too distracted filling the boys in on what he overheard in the library.

“I don’t know man; it sounds like she was just concerned about her best friend,” Gareth says, lightly tapping his drumsticks on his snare.

“Yeah, those two were inseparable, remember.”

“All the more reason why it’s weird she’s been mopping around lately. Obviously, she knows where Holland is. Or what happened to her.”

“Not this again,” Jeff groans, sinking further into the recliner.

“Yes, this again,” Eddie retorts, throwing Jeff an intense glare. “This town is weird as shit. If the Byers kid can come back from the dead—“

“I thought they proved it wasn’t actually Byers they found in the quarry,” The Freak says, finally joining them in the garage.

“They did, but Eddie still thinks—“

“Shut up!” Eddie shouts, taking a moment to throw a Dorito at all of their heads. “Let me level with you for a second, okay? Yeah, sure, they said that kid wasn’t Byers, but they never said whose kid it was, which is weird. And then right after that, they “find” Holland’s car? It’s too coincidental, man. You know a story isn’t right when it’s too easy.”

“This isn’t one of our campaigns,” Gareth sighs. “Sometimes things really are just accidental coincidences.”

Eddie shakes his head, running his Dorito-stained fingers over his face. “Nah, man, m’not buying it this time. Harrington and Wheeler know what really happened to Holland. And I think they’re responsible for it.”

“So, what?” Jeff asks, leaning forward so his elbows rest on his knees. “You think they made her disappear or something.”

“Maybe Harrington got Holland knocked up, and his family gave her money to leave.”

“See!” Eddie shouts, slapping his hands together as he jumps on the balls of his feet. “Freak gets it! That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

“Okay, but if Harrington knocked Wheeler’s best friend up, why would she still be dating him?” Jeff asks.

“And why would they both be hiding her from her parents?” Gareth adds.

Okay, so maybe these are valid questions, but Eddie doesn’t appreciate the doubts they’re throwing at him. “I don’t appreciate you doubting me,” he says plainly. “You’ll see. M’gonna figure this out.”

“Right, just like you figured out that Ms. O’Donnell was actually failing you for a reason and not because she had some vendetta against Wayne for not dating her.”

“Hey. That was a good theory, okay. One I still think is true, by the way.” Turning his back on the boys, Eddie crosses the room and tosses the empty bag of Doritos into the trash bin before heading towards his badly parked van.

“I thought we were practicing!” Gareth shouts after him.

“Just let him go,” Jeff sighs. “He’s impossible to work with when he’s in conspiracy theory mode.”

Eddie flips Jeff off, climbing into the van. “I’ll see you boys tomorrow.”

+ + +

Eddie’s been at Tina’s party for an entire hour and a half, and there’s still no sign of Harrington or Wheeler. Not that he’s actively searching them out, of course. He’s just had some downtime in between upselling Hagan for the world’s shittiest pot he could get his hands on, and explaining to some cheerleader how Special K hits differently if you snort it. Plus, his supply ran out about ten minutes ago, so he’s just buying time before someone notices him lingering and kicks his ass to the curb.

He’s about to save himself and whatever jock gets thrown his way the trouble, when he spots Harrington and Wheeler arguing by the punch bowl. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he has a sneaking suspicion it has less to do with the conversation he heard in the library and more to do with Wheeler’s drunken state. Case in point: the red liquid she just spilled all over her blouse.

Chasing after her, Harrington cuts through the crowd and makes his way toward one of the bathrooms. Eddie waits a minute before following them down the crowded hallway. Thankfully, no one is in line for this bathroom — still too early in the night for the alcohol to have hit their bladders — so he’s first in the unofficial bathroom line. Leaning casually against the wall, Eddie angles his ear closer to the door so he can hear inside.

It takes a minute for his ears to tune out the music and nonsense chatter, but when they do, he can clearly hear Wheeler slurring her words.

“You’re pretending like everything’s okay. You know, like we didn’t… like we didn’t kill Barb.”

Eddie’s never experienced shock before, at least, he doesn’t think he has; the early days of his life are a little hazy around the edges, but that’s the only word he thinks fits what he’s experiencing right now. Part of him wants to shove his ear closer to the door to continue listing, while the other part of him wants to run for the hills, screaming in victory. And if he’s straight with himself, maybe screaming in fear a little, too. Harrington and Wheeler murderers? Who knew?

He knew, that’s who!

He knew there was something shady going on between those two.

Pressing his ear closer, he can hear Wheeler slurring more words, though he’s not exactly sure what she’s saying. Honestly, he doesn’t really care what she’s saying. He’s listening for Harrington’s response right now. What does the mighty King have to say about the bomb she’s just dropped?

“This is bullshit,” she slurs.

“Like we’re in love?” Steve asks.

Huh, clearly, Eddie missed a step or two in his shocked state. He’s not exactly sure how the conversation strayed from them killing Holland to their, clearly, toxic relationship, but the fact it did is all the proof Eddie needs. If they didn’t kill her, Harrington would have been vehemently denying her claim. And yet, he sounds like a kicked puppy dog right now because she doesn’t love him.

Join the club, Harrington.

The doorknob starts to jiggle, and Eddie bolts. It’s not that he’s afraid about coming face-to-face with the two who apparently killed Holland. It’s just that, well, he needs a minute to think about the information he’s just learned.

+ + +

With Gareth and Freak both busy supervising their siblings around Hawkins and Jeff on candy duty for his family’s house, Eddie has no one to share the good bad news with. RIP Holland and all that, but he’s sitting on some serious dirt right now.

The good part of Eddie’s brain knows he should head straight for the police station. Pull good ole’ Chief Hopper aside and gloat about how he did his job for him. But Eddie’s spent enough time at the stuffy station to know no one is going to believe him especially not against Harrington and Wheeler. He’d have better luck marching in there and turning himself in for her murder. Not that he’s going to do that.

He supposes he could tell Wayne about it, but he doesn’t need to be dragging his uncle into any more of his messes. And since Eddie has no proof beyond overhearing a drunken confession, a mess it’ll surely turn into.

So, he opts for the third option and heads out to Skull Rock to do some thinking.

Maybe Freak is right, and it was some sort of jealous rage brought on by a Holland-Harrington pregnancy. Or maybe Holland saw something she shouldn’t have; the possibilities are endless, and Eddie’s imagination is limitless.

Eventually, he circles back to what he’s supposed to do with this information. Should he turn them in? Maybe not Wheeler; she seems like she’s experienced enough guilt as it and the girl has a bright future or whatever it is the teachers are always talking about. Harrington, though? Harrington, he should turn in, right? I mean, he didn’t even seem phased when Wheeler brought up the murder. Eddie’s watched enough horror movies to know that’s psychopath behavior right there. Besides, it would be nice to see the King behind bars. But then again, he hasn’t been the King in a while. And Harrington’s never really done anything to Eddie beyond standing idle while Hagan threw slurs at him. But he’s not hanging out with Hagan anymore, so maybe he should cut him some slack.

Though they did murder someone.

Jesus H. Christ.

Maybe this is why they say curiosity killed the cat — Eddie’s head is throbbing. He’s about to take another hit from his joint when he hears leaves crunching in the distance.

Shit.

Someone’s coming.

Snubbing out his joint against the rock, Eddie tries his best to make it seem like he’s just here, escaping the busy Halloween night. Which, like, he definitely is, but he can’t be too safe. Especially not when there are two teenage murderers on the loose.

“She thinks m’bullshit? She’s bullshit! Bullshit.”

The voice is unmistakable.

Jesus H. Christ could tonight get any weirder.

Eddie’s only escape is to run deeper into the forest, and he’s not about to do that so he makes himself comfortable on top of Skull Rock like a fucking sitting duck. Searching the pockets of his vest, he yanks out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Neither of which he was looking for. Of course, he left his pocket knife in his van. Stupid. So stupid!

There’s a moment of silence before Harrington emerges from the clearing. The moon is bright above them, making Steve’s tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes glow in the otherwise dark forest.

Maybe he is feeling guilty after all.

“Ah, fuck,” Harrington groans, stumbling to the ground.

Eddie watches as he rolls around for a moment, struggling to find his footing. If Eddie were a mean person, he might let Harrington suffer. But something about his behavior reminds him of a wounded animal, and Eddie’s always had a soft spot for bruised and broken things.

“Shit, Harrington, you okay?” Eddie asks, jumping down.

Eddie’s boots crunch against the leaves, startling Harrington. He manages to pull himself into a seated position and brandishes a near empty beer bottle in Eddie’s direction. “Stay back!”

“Woah, man,” Eddie yelps, hands raised in surrender in front of him. “Don’t kill me.”

“Oh, s’you,” Steve says, slumping against the tree behind him. He tosses the beer bottle aside and runs both his hands over his face. “Jesus. Why does everyone think I would kill s-someone?”

“Uh,” Eddie stutters, glancing around. Now’s his chance to make a break for it. Put those hours of physical education to good use and sprint to the van before Harrington has a chance to make him his next victim. But there’s something in Steve’s sad eyes and dejected voice that makes Eddie stay. “‘Cause you have killed someone before?”

“Man, what the hell are you talking about?” Harrington snaps, fumbling to get out of his jacket. “I’ve n-never killed anyone.”

“So, you didn’t kill Barbara Holland, then?”

“No! Jesus, ‘course not. Barb was… Barb was nice. She was good. Like Nance. Better than Nance, maybe. I don’t know,” Harrington whines, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Barb she’s… yeah, man, she’s dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with that. N-not in the way you think I did, at least.”

Harrington’s not making a lot of sense, which only spurs Eddie’s curiosity on more. Closing the distance between them, Eddie hops to a squat in front of him. “But you did have something to do with what happened to her?”

“Shit, man,” Harrington groans, words slurring more more. “S’complicated, okay. I can’t talk about it with you or her parents or anyone. Or else they’ll come for me or Nance or our families and then we’ll all be toast like Barb. And that… that thing that came out of the Byers’ wall.”

Complicated? Jesus H. Christ, Eddie’s never heard anything more complicated than the jumble of words that just left Harrington’s mouth. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the realization that they’re alone in the woods talking about something someone doesn’t want Harrington talking about.

“What?” Eddie says more to himself than to Steve. “Harrington, what thing in the Byers wall? You’re not making any sense!”

“The thing. You know, the… the,” Steve hiccups. “The thing we can’t talk ‘bout, else they’ll come for us next.”

Someone will come for him and his family if he reveals what happened to Barb? And the thing in the Byers wall? He wants to ask who would come. What would happen? Is he being blackmailed? There are so many questions dancing on the tip of his tongue, but none of them win the war.

“Harrington, man,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “Are you in trouble? Do you, like, need help or something?”

Finally, freeing himself from his jacket, Harrington lifts his head and looks up. There’s a moment where Eddie’s life flashes before his eyes, but then the sad replay of his life is interrupted by Harrington’s hand on his cheek. A dopey-looking grin on his face as he squints up at Eddie.

“You have pretty eyes, M-m-munson. Anyone ever tell you that?” Steve slurs before promptly passing out against the tree.

What the hell has Eddie gotten himself into?

#eddiemonth #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #nancy wheeler #nancy wheeler fic #nancy wheeler ficlet #stancy #stancy ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things season 2 #implied steddie #steddie #dani writes

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sammy8d257 · 1 year ago

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Did you know that in a recent video Alan made with DJ he confirmed that TSC, Green, Yellow, Red and Blue are around the ages of 10 to 12 years old. He also said that they are just really smart children. I really like that they just young kids, makes their mannerisms and child like behavior make more sense.

Hmmm... okay, I want to preface with saying that I'm happy you find joy in headcanoning the Color Gang to be 10 to 12 year olds. I'm glad you like thinking they're kids.

BUT

I've seen a lot of people use that clip of Alan saying they're 10 to 12 year old kids as canon. And like, frankly, I don't see how it can be.

(Goddamn, this is long as hell. Click on the "Keep Reading" if you want to see my entire rant but

TLDR;

It's fine if you see the Color Gang as kids in the range of 10 - 12, more power to you, but I don't see it as canon because it doesn't make sense to me and I personally can't relate to them. So I see them as young adults. )

First off, I honestly don't trust anything Alan has to say when it comes to what is or is not canon to the videos because Alan has said via his Members discord that there isn't any concrete "lore" for the characters and the world aside from a paragraph of personality traits for the Color Gang. While I myself, am not in the Discord, I have a friend who sometimes talks about stuff in there with me. A lot of the things story and lore things he and the team make up as they go. He will just say stuff without really considering previously establish canon.

(Trust me, I know. I've spent so much brainpower trying to connect the stick figure world together in a cohesive manner, its not even funny anymore aldkglsjsgs /lh)

No knock to Alan and his Team though. I understand that AvA/M is an on-going series with SO MANY videos to keep track of. It'd be hard to keep everything inline with lore if you don't have a dedicated keeper of it. But that's the reason why I take anything Alan says outside of the animations themselves, with a grain of salt.

SECONDLY,

Let's break down this "canon" scene shall we?

Actually, lets start a little bit before the scene, so everyone can get some context:

( https://youtu.be/Oz5mDcDK9I4?t=4668 )

The scene is Purple going off with King, to which DJ says:

DJ, voicing over King: Come on son, let's go

DJ, voicing over Purple: Bye guys! I'm gonna go hangout with my adopted dad. I'm 32.

[Alan and DJ laugh]

Alan: Maybe he is.

DJ: That'd be so weird if you find out all the characters are like in their 30s. [more laughs]

Alan: Yeah even though the internet hasn't been around that long.

DJ: Yeah, that's true. How old are they, like since their creation, I guess?

Alan: Huh, good question. ... 14?

DJ: 15? No...

Alan: Probably like 10, 12, 13,

DJ: Yeah, yeah. Which is cool because I feel like they act around then

[Alan laughs]

Alan: Yeah, they're just very smart children.

[END SCENE]

Just reading this, it looks like Alan confirmed that they're 10-13 year olds right?

Yeah if you ONLY look at this and not take into account the joking and non-serious tone both Alan and DJ had throughout this entire conversation. They like joking around and saying things. That's kinda their whole thing during their reacts. Alan is a more dead-pan but he was definitely making a lighthearted joke or comment playing off of the statement of them being 10.

Actually, lets go look at the question leading up to this.

"How old are they, like since their CREATION, I guess?"

Since their creation. AvA 4 is the video where Second and RYGB were first introduced and can serve as their creation date (assuming we're not taking about lore because while AvA 4 is Second's creation date, I'd argue the Stick Fighters were created prior and would in fact be older). AvA 4 premiered in 2014

Which is almost 10 years ago.

There is a high likelihood that both Alan and DJ were using the upload date of AvA 4 as the Color Gang's "creation date".

And if you want to headcanon a stick figure's age is how many years since their creation date, then more power to you.

To me that makes no sense because then that'd mean King is 2 years old. (AvM Parkour released April, 2021) Which is insane. alskdjglsjglsgd

I much prefer the idea that stick figures are created with an age in mind (baring the born stick figures like Purple).

And yeah, maybe Alan "intended" to make the Color Gang 10-13 year olds, but as I stated above, with how joking Alan and DJ were while discussing it plus Alan's whole thing about making things up as they go, I don't really believe it.

ALSO

Not to get too personal, but I just want to address something that's been bothering me with this whole thing.

The idea that because the Color Gang act childish = being children.

Because the sticks are heavily neurodivergent-coded

And as someone who is also neurodivergent, can act childish, see aspects of themself in these sticks, and is an ADULT.

Saying that people who act like this are children??

FUCKING SUCKS

Now I know, DJ, Alan, and probably even yourself Anon, don't mean any harm when you say the sticks act like children so they must be children.

But there is a LONG history of neurodivergent people getting infantilized because they display more "childish" behaviors like stimming or hyperfixating on specific topics.

So for at least me, someone who headcanons the Stick Figures as young adults, this who "age discourse" feels icky to me.

Plus, I personally can't relate to kids because I myself, am an adult. It's easier for me to relate to characters around my age range.

Listen, this rant is getting too long but here's the long and the short of it

There is nothing wrong with headcanoning the sticks as kids if that's what you want to believe that it's canon,

But it just ain't for me.

#Sammy8D answers #anon #anonymous #Alan Becker #Animator vs Animation #Animation vs Minecraft #ava shorts #avm #ava headcanons #ava headcanon #Anon I'm sorry I just went off on you #But holy shit I was holding more thoughts about this whole thing than I thought I was #Especially about the whole neurodivergency bit #Sammy8D queues #Sammy8D Stick Stuff

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lamialamia · 4 months ago

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a, g, i, and o for hbo war ask game <3

a. make a moodboard/edit/headcanon for who you think is underrated for any of the shows.

Bill Leyden is so underrated! I love that little man who just don't know how to quit. My HC for him: Leyden loves melodrama, after he gets a tv, he would be an avid watcher of soap opera.

g. masters of the air and generation kill both seem to have more discourse surrounding them than the other two. which did you enjoy more, and why?

oh this is a hard question. Because I enjoy the writing of GK a lot, it's so fantastically written but i'm not very fannish about it (i do ship BradRay and read their fics, but overall probably not that fannish). On the other hand, MOTA frustrates me with a lot of its writing decisions (enough for me to write meta analyses for it), but I definitely I'm more fannish about that show.

In conclusion: MOTA wins 'being entertaining'. GK wins 'satisfying writing'. Which make them both enjoyable lmao

i. tag some of your closest mutuals and choose a show portrayal from any of the miniseries' that reminds you of them.

ashdsahkj

@blood-mocha-latte Ray, with a little Roe in the mix. fun-loving but also intense and dedicated ;)

@ewipandora is it weird I think you are quite Talbert? idk but i see it

@gorgeousundertow i know you think you are similar to Nix, but I actually give you the joy of reminding me Burgie haha, with some serious Lipton vibe uwu

@screwby straightforward and very awesome. Doc Bryant. No doubt about it.

@ep6bastogne Malarkey! but maybe more introverted haha

@the-cinnamontography-is-amazing my partner in crime and other stuff. keep fighting the good fight! and for that, I see ack-ack in you, especially with his speech about 'war worth fighting for' xD

@staud harry welsh. he's fun, you're fun. such a darling, the both of you :D

o. say something nice about a ship that you don't understand.

this is hard, mostly because ship I don't understand i would just don't remember. but i guess i don't really understand Speirs/Nixon? however, goddamn those two are hot together, like their genetics might make some crazy out-of-this-world beautiful kids.

Ask me anything from this cool thing

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istherewifiinhell · 9 months ago

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[thing im thinking about all the fucking time] i have my g1 megs tag as 'hold that man who is a gun' in honour of funny thing said by someone not prepared to watch an 80s cartoon where a man does in fact hold another man who is a gun. but rather its my tag for the SPECIFIC vibe of. well. when he is held. as a gun. but its a tag i cannot rb posts into cause its apparently TOO specific a vibe.

youd think well, hes a man who is a gun. techicnally this puts him semi under popular tropes of 'living weapon [person dedicates their life to the purpose of violence]' and 'living weapon [person who is objectfied and wielded in violence (comma, literally)]'

but do u know what the god damn problem is. [not with the tropes just with me wanting populate this tag] the gimmick with the first is often about like. regret and remorse. oh theyve become a weapon but life is so much more than that. oh theyve done horrible things thats sad. and worst of all [again for my purposes] now lets heal them from this. lets see them not be this thing any more.

this does not work for my purposes cause. well. He's a gun. and hes a gun cause he wants to shoot people. hes pretty good at it when hes not a gun too. im positive in the grand scope of tf land theres A Megs who fits that kinda vibe. you know. the war is long. or its over. and hes left with the thing hes made of himself. but, to use a phrase from my fav tf toy review. g1 megs is Bad Bastard. hes a warlord. hes a goddamn cartoon villian. the only thing that ever forces his hand imminent treats to his life. which are usually, 1. whatever planet hes currently on is moments away from collasping, imploding, or exploding. 2. literally the most powerful forces of raw power or malevolence in the setting.

thats it. at all other times he seems pretty cool and of his own volition of the whole. Being a gun thing. also he tends to solve those other problems also by Being a gun. a gun that can talk and negotiate and compromise when needed but. still. the necessity of Being the Gun is pretty strong.

the second trope, the mismatch is completely on the objectivified versus object part. if someone is literally objectived and wielded, they are no longer in control, but they are still the instrument of violence. if metaphorical, perhaps the location of violence, the means of violence, but not the true perpetrator. either way. often a feeling that the body is not their own.

but with megs its like, yeah he turns into a hand gun! not a tank. or an automated cannon or turret (thats galv. aka purple megs, which interestingly is him being reformated to one of those malevolent forces will). so hes is an object. that other people can hold, and fire. someone else infact, needs to fire, (well give or take for loose continuity). but the thing is, this is not really a predictament that OTHER people put him into. hes a Man. who is a gun. part of his body is that he is also a gun. he can choose when he transforms, and Be a Gun. And then held, and fired. the depiction of it is usually quite authoritative. and just personality wise. hes not gonna let people forgot that HES THE GUN.

and i mean. to address the holding. specifically to single out oppie. thats someone who is supposedly. less about this whole shooting everything business. i mean. dont get me wrong he very much has a gun and uses it often. its War and hes the Good Guy™. but well he is Not a Gun, and he would not Want to be a gun.

so like. what u have is instead this dynamic of a very bossy gun that takes delight in Being the gun, that sometimes needs to throw himself into the hands of a guy who in the perfect world wouldnt shoot anything.

now granted. extant examples of this are more like 'shoot thing into space' or 'shoot the thing before it explodes' than, more pointed violence thats posed by the presence of The Gun. but go with me here. vibes.

The gun is the means of violence. But to be 'willing to pull the trigger' is to be willing to allow yourself to be the cause, the catalysts of that. so really it is the person who is NOT the gun who becomes implicated in the violence. he is forced to under circumstance, but not, importantly, literally forced, controlled or otherwise overriden.

and ofc. also regarding the intimacy of this arrangement. to complete this act of violence is to hold another person, or to fling yourself towards them and be held. completely fitting into the hands. but its a choice to be held and a choice to catch. and in showing this in smooth and compotent action, implies the not just physical prowess but automatic cooperation and perhaps comfort in the circumstance.

and The Gun is completely fine with this whole situation and is probably gonna laugh at the guy who isnt a gun and say something funny and innuendous as soon as possible.

#some shit #its not called cisformers #collasping on a chaise cause i CANNOT infact make everything about blorbo from my shows. im trying.#UNFORTUNATELY thing that those bad machinmas got so right was having a like. retired megs that was not regretful or remorseful at all #he was just kinda a bored shitkicker fucking around in an abandoned gladiator ring fighting for fun. completely confident in and happy abt #his ablity to do violence Better Than everyone else. and ingeneral was just kinda a tactless asshole.

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the-irreverend · 2 years ago

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Has the latest episode of Helluva Boss left you a little conflicted about Loona? Well, you’re not the only one.

There’s no doubt that this episode has had some of the best Loona scenes in the show. From her backstory of why Blitzo adopted her, to that goddamn scene with Octavia.

It's no wonder my supply of tissue paper has suddenly depleted.

But while there are plenty of sweet and touching moments involving our favourite hellhound, it’s also been overshadowed by some scenes that are a little more… bitter-tasting.

I mean, when you see Loona talk to Octavia about how she should learn to understand your father despite his flaws and then in the following scene get physical with Blitzo (twice) after he finds her, it would certainly leave a bit of a bad taste in the mouth.

And don’t even get me started on what happened at the beginning.

You know, the part that tried to brutally maim Blitzo just because he wanted to talk to her about her work behaviour and spent more time complimenting her throwing skills than giving actual criticism.

Also, body-shaming Moxxie.

That's just not cool.

All of these scenes certainly make a tough pill to swallow for even the most dedicated Loona fan. But despite everything, I'm still gonna swallow said pill anyway, and I'll explain why (because, funnily enough, this isn't the first time I've written a post like this).

First of all, just look at where she was raised.

This isn’t an orphanage. It’s a goddamned prison (literally, because, you know, it's in hell). And it should come as no surprise that a place like this would be a hotbed of neglect and abuse, things that are not conducive to healthy emotional development.

So it should also come as no surprise that a person who was raised in an environment where care and affection are hunted to extinction would have difficulties processing care and affection as well as expressing it. So the fact that she can feel love and affection despite all the trauma she went through is nothing short of miraculous.

(Y'all remember this scene? Still a favourite)

And believe me, there are plenty of moments that show Loona does care for Blitzo, even if she doesn’t show it as much as she should. But I said earlier. There’s a lot more that’s holding her feelings back besides teenage angst.

But the real reason I’m still standing by Loona despite her problematic relationship with Blitzo is not just because of what caused the problems but that she is more than capable of resolving them.

Look at what happened with the relationship between Stolas and Blitzo.

Anyone paying attention to Helluva Boss knows that Blitzo’s relationship with Stolas is ANYTHING but perfect, as there has been plenty of questionable behaviour and unreciprocated love. Just look at the shit that went down in the finale of season 1.

Take a look at where we are now, and you'll see just how far these two have come.

Of course, their relationship still could use improvement, but rest assured, it is improving. And if the relationship between Blitzo and Stolas can improve, why can’t the relationship between Blitzo and Loona?

This is certainly not going to be the last appearance of Loona, nor will it be the only time that the show focuses on their relationship, which can only mean that there's gonna be plenty of opportunities for things to get better.

I know Loona (and Blitzo as he’s not quite a perfect father) still have a lot to get through. But they can get through. They are getting through. And they will get through.

Because as I said in a rant not unlike this one: sometimes when a character’s progress takes a step back it’s because it’s about to take a bounding leap.

So don’t judge a book by its cover...

...and don’t judge a character before their arc is finished.

P.S. Also, if you have your own thoughts and opinions to share about the episode or the characters, by all means, feel free to do so. I'm eager to hear what you have to say.

#helluva boss #loona #helluva boss loona #helluva loona #helluva boss seeing stars #seeing stars #helluva boss season 2 #blitzo #helluva blitzo #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss s2 #helluva boss stolas #stolas #helluva stolas #helluva boss season two #stolas goetia

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stillness138 · 9 months ago

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can i ask for two characters: gezras of leyda and thaler? if not you can choose one of them xD

oooh nice, thanks! gonna do both

and cut it because it's gonna get long :D

Thaler

first impression:

i think i first saw him in gwent actually, and that was when 'silver spies' were still a thing. he was a pretty good card back then. only learned about his character once i watched a witcher 3 playthrough on youtube though. i don't recall it that well, but if i thought anything particular, it was probably "i hope he'll wash his hands at some point soon" because he's literally peeing at the start of the cutscene.

impression now:

he's cool! questionable hygiene aside, i love characters that have like, a thing? as in, a simple but fun premise or at least a surface reading. he's a spy, but very dedicated to the shoemaker cover, and that's how he manages to get by in an occupied land. i like that there's a little throughline with him about appearances often being deceiving. the shoes are one thing, but even further, he seems like a crude, self-serving bum, yet his loyality to Temeria is something so integral it's not even a question. This country really lucked out on devoted spies. Foltest was just that charismatic.

favorite thing about him:

willingness to do anything, no matter how uncomfortable, for the country. i think i like it because it's different from Roche's brand of servitude. again, cdpr is pretty good at writing ocs.

thinking about it now, he reminds me of a few guys i know. rural Temeria is, from an outside view, a cold, wet, kinda bleak bumfuck middle of nowhere, yet Thaler has this air of loving the physical country for what it is - he even mentions that he prefers the travelling more than a different cover like being an innkeep. like it doesn't bother him that it's cold, it seems he finds comfort in it in his own way. i find that kinda sweet.

least favorite thing:

seriously mate wash your hands 😭

i'd also rather cdpr didn't make him a vessel for racist jokes in the first game. (i swear i was looking for the exact clip where he talks about Azar and couldn't find it, i need to play the first game properly...)

favorite line/scene:

[how are you doing?] "A bit like a potato beetle. I keep quiet, stay outta trouble, and live on fucking potatoes."

i saw only a few scenes from witcher 1 and they were dubbed in czech, which adds to the hilarity of it to me, but his voice actor probably had a field day with it. "Nedělej si ze mě kurva srandu, seš zasranej amatér." [Geralt: will you play poker with me? Thaler: Don't fucking bullshit me, you're a goddamn amateur.]

favorite interaction he has with another character:

befriending and handling the three trolls. game Lambert has something to learn from him in that regard.

a character that I wish he would interact with more (or at all):

imagine if he appeared in the second game in any capacity, that would've been fun. in wild hunt, it's the same as with Roche: i wish the entire politics plotline was better. if i had to pick one character, it'd be Letho. there would be a lot of profanities but i actually believe Thaler would have more to say than even Roche at Kaer Morhen.

another character from another fandom that reminds me of him:

again i only know 5 things, and the only method acting spy in elder scrolls is Caius Cosades from Morrowind, whose similarities to Thaler pretty much end at taking a cover story too seriously.

as a side note though, i went to tv tropes to look at character lists in case i forgot about someone i actually do know, and in "sir swears-a-lot" subpage for videogame characters i found Thaler twice; gwent has its own separate mention. legends only.

a headcanon about him:

if Roche likes architecture, i think Thaler really enjoys music. maybe he even plays the lute. i'm also really curious about his youth and how he ended up a spy, but i do think it's quite different than Roche's background. i imagine he had a lot of friends as a kid and a comparably normal home life, but always showed talent for remembering what people say and for getting them to say even more.

a song that reminds me of him:

it's more vibes based than anything, but this czech song, most known from a movie. zmrzlinář means ice cream seller. it's all kinda... reminiscing, nostalgia and trying to find something nice or poetic in ordinary things (and in the case of the movie, in a shitty political regime). short movie version isn't on youtube, so i gotta upload it here.

an unpopular opinion about him:

this is less about the text and more meta, but i genuinely think he has a load of potential for exploring loyality, northern politics, motivation, and tropes or trope subversion (like the appearance thing i mentioned), but people sleep on him because Roche is right there. that's not to say dissecting Roche doesn't have merit - like i said, they're similar, but each has a different approach to what they do and what they believe.

favorite picture:

probably the gwent card. it says what it needs to and is surprisingly fun or even whimsical for a character most known for swearing on every third word. i think that's a neat choice though.

Gezras

first impression:

the cat school is, beside manticore, my favourite, so when the witcher expansion dropped i was curious who the leader will be next to Erland or Ivar. i wasn't disappointed. pretty sure i thought he's cute.

impression now:

*gently holds*

where Erland continued performing the trials to create a knightly order, Gezras and the growing cat school did it to protect themselves. it's the witcher dissected towards its core; a cycle of abuse maintained as something deemed necessary despite its harmfulness, out of desperation, out of a sense of belonging, out of losing touch with what's enough and what's too much.

and all that in pursuit of autonomy. Gezras; sold, experimented on, discarded, hunted. the fact the formula used on him was meant to suppress emotion yet ended up doing the opposite is a testament to that - this is about being treated as human. the trials are literally reclaimed, to strengthen other abandoned and thrown-out stray kids. to enact revenge. it's no wonder then that they'd seek refuge with the elves. the cat school was the one that took systemic oppression the most personally.

favorite thing about him:

that he's a unique exploration of the things i just mentioned. i find this very compelling and him relatable on that level, as an abuse survivor myself.

also his gwent card art and the bags under his eyes. that's relatable too.

least favorite thing:

it's meta again because i'm near incapable of judging the character without judging the writer: the little bit there is in gwent leans too much towards the edgy. he does have one voiceline about elven sages which i find especially interesting, but given that his trial ended up enhancing all emotions, if you want to show that somehow, give me rapid mood swings or something like that. gimme nuance!

this is me wanting every minor character to have dimensions.

favorite line/scene:

his flavor text; "Take a contract from Aen Seidhe over a dh'oine any day, as you’re far less likely to receive a knife between the ribs in place of coin."

favorite interaction he has with another character:

i think he actually has no lines or scenes with any named characters apart from the expansion key art where all the founders are together, because unlike the other three, he wasn't in the tabletop rpg books. i do however like his card's interaction with the bronze that happens to have my most favourite card art. there's awesome fanart about it too!

a character that I wish he would interact with more (or at all):

any named elf of his era, naturally, and especially the sages, but i am actually curious how he'd react to all of the other founders. Erland, i think i can imagine, but given both Arnaghad and Ivar ended up opposing Erland, that'd be more interesting. and even Iwan, the founder of manticore school as per the trpg, maybe he'd be the one Gezras would find most common ground with actually. If only for leaving the other three to their squabbles and seeking work and protection in a more equal society.

another character from another fandom that reminds me of him:

this is weird and i'm going to bring it up again, but Gezras reminds me of Allinall's work. weird because these are takes or adaptations of other media - particularly elder scrolls and berserk - but he specifically brings forth similar themes; conflicts of humans and elves, othering and otherness, cyclical abuse, coping mechanisms. the concrete characters i'm thinking of are Allinall's oc from the elder scrolls project and Rosine (and by extension the in-world fairytale character Peekaf) from the berserk project.

the nameless oc, mostly referred to as "One-Ear", had mixed parents, their human father cut their ear off in an attempt to hide their identity, even though their yellow sclera is undeniably elven. they join (or rather, their vulnerable state of trauma is exploited and they're indoctrinated by) a regime that aims to end material existence. Rosine is also a domestic abuse survivor, a village girl who comes across a promise of power in the form of an evil artifact that turns her into a moth-like elf monster. she starts devolving into bloodthirst and allows for horrible stuff to happen in order to maintain a fantasy of comfort and freedom.

a headcanon about him:

i didn't come up with it, but i love the idea that him and the saber-tooth tiger were buddies.

i think it's safe to assume that he's not actually from Leyda. if he was mutated at Stygga, he more likely was a local kid from Ebbing. I do also think he stayed in Dol Blathanna at some point when the school was wandering around, though.

and maybe that's too shallow, but i like to imagine he did genuinely enjoy being in nature. and if he ever conducted any trials by his own, he might've been notably good at herbology.

a song that reminds me of him:

'To Die' by Allinall (relating to One-Ear), and Peekaf Song (to Rosine).

as for more personal picks, my forever favourite, Nihilist Blues by Bring Me The Horizon (and Grimes); "do you mind if i'm exhumed?"

and Unraveled by Lorn, which is kinda ambient, but i like the harsher noises and associate it with my own search-for-identity oc.

an unpopular opinion about him:

Gezras is more interesting to me personally because of that focus on abuse, autonomy and revenge, and he's already a bit on the side because Erland and Arnaghad's conflict is at the forefront when this era of witchers comes up, but i think Ivar Evil-Eye needs even more love. despite being in the trpg, no one talks about him (he has that in common with Thaler i guess) and that's a disservice to the viper school as a whole, i think it's just as fascinating and has just as much unique and profound stuff to say as the cat school's story.

favorite picture:

his gwent card is in my top 20, but i especially like his reward tree portrait; it's the most detailed likeness we have. the mega tired eyes just draw me in.

#*spongebob time skip voice* it sure did get long lol #i hope it's comprehensible. i'd hesitate calling it character analysis because i perceive everything via vibes i think #but i sure do like ruminating on these little guys. hopefully it's at all enjoyable to read.#the witcher #shut up elis #ask game

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embossross · 10 months ago

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2023 in anime

i give ratings out of 10 stars based on a rubric that considers the following:

2 points / ambition of what the anime is trying to achieve 3 points / effectiveness of the anime in achieving its aims 4 points / my personal, subjective enjoyment 1 point / pacing +1/-1 miscellaneous

so with that said… ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (2 anime)

revolutionary girl utena – heavy breathing panting crying what a fucking roller coaster nanami the child you are anty the child you were utena the child you choose to be – just one of the true masterpieces of all anime. took a few episodes to realize that this show understood tone and comedy perfectly and wasn’t just a wonky children’s show and by golly! the nanami in season 3 gutted me unlike anything else

attack on titan: final season (for real this time) – decent conclusion to maybe my favorite anime of all time

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (10 anime)

school rumble – so goddamn funny and i cared about every goddamn character. it’s witchcraft!

trigun – good ole saturday morning cartoons

golden kamuy s3 – how does it keep getting better???!?!

fruits basket – i was a certified hater after s1, but slowly but surely i gave into the melodrama. akito and shigure were EVERYTHING

nana – the most disappointing ending of all time! for one of the greatest anime of all time. manga pls save me!!!

rascal does not dream of bunny girl senpai – i’m embarrassed. i cried.

princess tutu – expressionistic, dedicated to storytelling, tremendously kind-hearted. you have to let it move you

blue lock – i’m officially a sports anime girlie

cyberpunk: edgerunners – this was just so slick!

chainsaw man – nothing needs to be said here

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (8 anime)

yamada-kun to lv999 no koi wo suru – adult romance that hasn’t been stripped of all conflict and maintains momentum nearly to the end

oshi no ko – my expectations were non-existent after ep 1 but then it crept up on me. i can’t even fully put my finger on what works so well? but it does! it knows when to take itself seriously and when to be nonsense.

demon slayer s3 – best season of demon slayer to date, i actually cared

durarara!!x2 shou – this is a confession. my inner edgy teen loves durarara. i appreciate huge casts of characters acting in opposition in atmospheric tokyo.

gintama – i finally finished gintama one of my favorites of all time. the end pulls all the threads together but it does so at the expense of the laughs so loses some points

chihayafuru – amazing background anime. just consistently fun and engaging.

perfect blue – i feel stupid and uncultured to not give this a 10

vinland saga – askeladd is so hot wow

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (7 anime)

buddy daddies – funny and sincere in degrees but a truly annoying little girl character

serial experiments lain – god you’ve gotta appreciate the wild swings creatives were taking in the 90s

durarara!!x2 ten

great teacher onizuka – ugh he’s a creep but also heh he’s funny

trigun stampede – they yassified them!

mob psycho 100 s3 - meandered a bit but the characters are forever favorites

to your eternity – the first 3 arcs are extraordinary. march is one of the great child characters of all time. the end drags.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (8 anime)

zom 100 – crazy good first episode that earns its premise and then a slow descent into mediocrity; cool colors though!

terror in resonance – utterly forgettable

dororo – way too long with way too many hit or miss episode arcs

bungou stray dogs s4 – the cracks are showing but the rampo backstory is dope

lycoris recoil – those cute girls shoulda been lesbians

classroom of the elite – is it edgy? yes. are the quotes frustratingly misused? oh yes. is it fun? ugh yeah actually

romantic killer – pretty cute and the edge of danger at the end really sells it

free – solid watch but it left my brain like sand in a sieve

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4 anime)

wolf’s rain – what passes as deep when children are your primary audience

hell’s paradise – boring and i liked the manga so.

durarara!!x2 ketsu – the conclusion falls short

land of the lustrous – bold but was too slow for me

⭐⭐⭐⭐ (3 anime)

tomo-chan is a girl! – sometimes funny but the conceit does not justify 13 episodes and it loses steam fast

mushishi – some of the vignettes were beautiful but felt repetitive

bleach: thousand-year blood war – sleek, hype, plagued by all the old bleach problems

no game no life season 1 - confused that this was such a phenomenon when it came out. it’s fine i guess.

⭐⭐⭐ (5 anime)

kamisama kiss – trite imo

given – god save us from anime about perfect people being perfect with each other – but this time set to music!

tokyo revengers s2 – 🤷

natsume’s book of friends – i don’t need vibes this cozy

sasaki to miyano – and i really don’t need vibes this cozy

⭐⭐ (0 anime)

⭐ (0 anime)

& then ongoing shows that i’m not going to rank until i finish them (but actually all are pretty good so far) – skip to loafer, heavenly delusion, spy x family s2, apothecary diaries, jujutsu kaisen s2, frieren: beyond journey’s end, vinland saga s2

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gasha40k · 1 year ago

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Recently I’ve been trying to focus on getting through my incomprehensibly massive amount of unpainted models, so here’s another quick little painting update.

Missile launcher bro thinks he’s part of the team meanwhile it’s a completely illegal model

Our first little squad of Berzerkers is coming into shape! I’ve got a bit more painting to do before this squad is done, but everyone’s got their trim, at the very least. Most of them also have red, which, when combined with the brass trim and the black primer, technically counts as battle-ready, since it is 3 different colors. Does this mean I can put them on the tabletop and play with them? Not without feeling ashamed of myself for never painting, no!

Brother Kardon the Eternal, veteran of the Long War, possibly over 10,000 years old. So old and presumably powerful that he could easily be a Chaos Lord if he wanted to, but is so dedicated to killing at all times that he can’t be fucked to actually lead anything

Wally is one of my better minis, I think. He’s a tame but distinct kitbash and a fun way to pay homage to the ugly ass past of the World Eaters. He’s also one of the better painted models that I own. This, I think, is for two reasons: I changed how I use washes, and I started thinning my paints more.

Firstly, I finally ditched the fucking Nuln Oil. The new formula is garbage and doesn’t look good on anything except for metal. Deeply disappointing! But being left with no go-to wash left me wanting, so I’ve made the switch to Agrax Earthshade. Agrax Earthshade is magic. With almost every one of my models, I’ve been finishing their base colors and then promptly slathering them in mildly thinned Agrax Earthshade. Once it dries and stains the mini, I take a small amount of the base color and fill in the broader surfaces, brightening them and cleaning up messier spots where the wash had dried. This makes the recesses a lot darker while maintaining the cleaner look on the armor panels, and that contrast generates a very serviceable illusion of depth without having to bother with highlights.

You can also experience a glow up like this, all you need is a cape, trust me

Color-wise, I tried to paint Kardon as close as close possible to the original Wally model. For example, his Mark of Khorne belt buckle (that’s cute) is brass and his belt is red, just like the old model. His backpack is mostly red, with the… wing-connector thingies being brass. And while it’s hard to see in the reference image, Wally’s right kneepad has a silver Mark of Khorne on it. Kardon noticeably lacks kneepads, having a MK6 torso and legs. To maintain that cool little splash of silver, I moved it onto the Khornate emblem that Kardon uses to pin his cloak to his shoulders. Most of that shit is meaningless, I just felt like talking about my decisions because I thought they were cool if I’m real.

The Raijin’s targets rarely foresee the Interceptor’s attacks as it stalks its prey from low orbit before diving from the highest heavens to strike. Once its locked in, it moves so swiftly that quarry aware enough to catch a glimpse of the plane see nothing more than a few red falling stars before they’re annihilated.

Anyways, enough about Kardon and his friends. Here’s an update on my Interceptor. This thing has taken so much goddamn paint and, frankly, doesn’t look super great, but once I’m done brightening and highlighting the panels, I think it’ll look great. I think the golden guns are really good and funny, because that’s so unnecessary, they’re fucking aircraft guns. It feels very 40k, like, of course they’d make their plane guns golden. I’m really satisfied with the Raijin, as well, and I wish aircraft were better so I could actually use it.

As a closing thought, I’d love to, one day, do a big ass 4000pts game with a full aircraft layer transpiring. Multiple gunships and Interceptors dogfighting, occasionally dipping from the chaos in the sky to raze the surface with earthshaking strafing runs. Would be cool.

#warhammer 40k #miniatures #painting #adeptus astartes #chaos #thunderbearers #world eaters

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loverontheleft · 9 months ago

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Strip Poker (revised)

Original request: ooo I have a suggestion. So what if b is hosting like a poker night or some sort of game night with his guy friends and the reader is bored watching so she pulls up a chair beside him and then starts messing with him under the table and gives him a hand job? Haha sorry if that’s stupid - O DAMN BUT WHAT IF poker turns into (totally consensual, all parties very much cool with it) strip poker which just makes b hot because he knows he’s the only one who actually gets to touch you, his friends might get to look at you, might even fantasize about you, but it’s his bed you’re in, and goddamn if he doesn’t wanna flaunt that fact occasionally

Brendon x reader.

Warnings: language, dirty talk, arguably public sex, voyeurism, sex.

Word count: 3.8k➡️8.6k

-||-

You’ve had a very long day shopping with your sister and her children at the mall, and while you love them, they’ve exhausted you. All you want now is to curl up in Brendon’s arms. He’s wonderful at taking your stress away just with his presence, plus you love his hands on your body. The way he strokes your hair, caresses your waist and holds you close, or just spoons you on your couch makes any tension melt away.

You can picture your evening now: the two of you intertwined on the couch, Sinatra playing in the background, a bottle of wine and whatever he’s made for dinner on the coffee table, and the way his kisses turn more urgent and his whispers more suggestive before he takes you to bed. You can practically feel his soft tongue working between your thighs and his hands all over you; Brendon gets you so hot and desperate for him, but he always delivers.

“Brendon, love, you home?” You enter your home from the garage, drop your purse on the kitchen island, and listen, head cocked to the side. Your gaze shifts; through the kitchen window, you can see that his car is in the circular driveway behind the house, along with several cars belonging to his friends. You can hear a low rumble of chatter from downstairs now, and you remember: Brendon’s hosting a game night in the lounge of your newly remodeled basement.

It’s a huge space; what used to be one massive unfinished area has been renovated into multiple rooms. The stairwell opens into the lounge and game room, which in turn connects to the hallway with its multiple doors: there’s the theater with a fully stocked wet bar and walk-in wine fridge, three guest suites, a soundproofed recording studio and office space, and, behind a double-locked door in the studio, is the only room that isn’t quite done yet—what Brendon playfully calls your sex dungeon.

It’s a dark, luxurious space, and while you both agree you didn’t really need a separate area designated for sex—because you regularly fuck all over the house—it’s still nice to have an ultra-private retreat that’s dedicated to each other’s pleasure. With the walk-in closet’s shelves for toys and accessories installed yesterday, you can finally start unpacking the dozens of packages strewn across the floor and actually organize the space. Brendon insisted on stocking the room with duplicates of all your favorite things, mostly because he didn’t want either of you to be searching for something, only to realize it was two floors away in your bedroom. Nothing, he’d said, would kill the mood more than pausing to walk up, and then back down, two flights of stairs.

The only thing that’s left to add is the furniture; the rope rigging is arriving in the next few days, and the bondage-friendly headboard and frame should be here within a week. Meanwhile, the California king mattress and box spring are on the floor, waiting more patiently than you. You’ve told him that he needs to be stretched and hydrated whenever the bed is officially assembled, because you will be dragging him to it and keeping him there for many orgasms. You’ve been fantasizing about being cuffed to the headboard while Brendon works you over with a paddle, and you know he’s game to act out any scenario you suggest once the bed is ready.

“B,” you call as you head down the stairs, beaming when you find your husband, Spencer, Zack, Jake, and Dallon gathered around the card table in the lounge. Brendon has a deck of cards in hand, and there’s several empty beer bottles on the table.

Brendon’s eyes light up when he sees you. “Hi, sweetness! You’re home!” He beckons you over, but quickly abandons the cards to meet you halfway as you cross the room. He scoops you up as you fling your arms around his neck; his hands curve under your thighs, and he kisses you longingly. You cling to him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squealing a little when he moves to settle back in his chair with you in his lap.

“I’ve got you, my love. Don’t worry. So happy my sweet girl’s home,” he murmurs against your lips. You love when he holds you and uses his petnames for you around others; it’s just one of the ways he makes you feel special and brings a little intimacy to everything he does.

Once he’s seated comfortably with you straddling him, he kisses you deeply, his hands framing your face and tongue teasing yours, and you both ignore the reactions of his friends. They’re used to how affectionate you two are, and you’re used to their over-the-top responses. They always tease that you two are shameless, while Brendon always retorts that you’ve got no reason to be ashamed.

When he pulls away now, he strokes a thumb over your cheek tenderly while his eyes meet yours. “Damn, you are so beautiful, sweetheart. You had a good day? It’s late—did you all get lunch out? I’ll make dinner later if you’re not too hungry now. Or we can order in. Whatever you’re feeling. How’s your sister? The kids?”

You fill him in on your day, and he leans over to kiss you again, just as intently. “Sorry to pepper you with all the questions. I missed you today, babydoll. Now that this tour has been announced, I feel like I’ve got to take advantage of every moment I’ve got with you. Love you so much.”

You murmur it back to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re all breaking in the game table.” You turn to eye the pile of chips. “Poker?”

“We just now started another game. You want me to deal you in?”

“No, that’s okay; thank you though.” You snuggle in closer. You’d wanted alone time with him, but he’s great at making you feel special even in a crowded room, and you get along well with the guys. It’s a change from your anticipated evening, but not a bad one. And after all, they’ll go home eventually, so you can use this time now to work Brendon into a horny mess—you know he won’t mind. “I’ll just watch for now. You need another beer?” You twist in his lap to glance around the table. “Anyone need one?” The guys look at Brendon, and Brendon shrugs.

“If you’re buying.” He grins and swats your ass when you hop off of his lap, making you shriek with delight as you head for the small kitchen in the corner of the lounge.

“My love, I’ll always ‘buy’ for you.” You crack open the fridge, grab five bottles and return to place them squarely in the center of the table for everyone to grab. “As long as we keep the fridge stocked. But the next round will require a trip to the full bar in the theater, because this fridge is now empty. We should really think about putting a full bar in here too.”

Brendon murmurs that he’ll get the next round and talk to the contractor tomorrow, and then he pulls you down into his lap again, one arm draped over your waist with his other hand holding the cold bottle. You settle back against him happily as he kisses your cheek, but then realize you might be blocking his view. “Will you be able to play with me on top of you? I can pull up a chair,” you offer, and Brendon reluctantly nods.

“That’s probably a good idea,” he sighs. “As much as I love having you on top of me and in my lap, playing will require my full focus. I fear having you on me will draw my attention elsewhere, making me crave a different game—one for just me and my pretty girl.” He nuzzles your neck with this comment while his fingers stroke your waist.

Zack groans under his breath at the innuendo, and you grin, standing to grab another chair and dragging it to Brendon’s side. You might not need to do too much work to get him where you want him; his mind seems to be headed there already. “Oh, we’ll play later, don’t you worry. I’ll try not to be too distracting for now though,” you promise, leaning your head on his shoulder and resting your hand on his thigh.

-||-

“Shit,” Brendon groans, and Spencer chuckles, leaning forward to drag the pile of chips towards him. “I really thought that was a good hand.”

“It was a good hand,” Spencer concedes. “Mine was just better.”

“Fair enough.”

You rub your husband’s upper thigh soothingly. Zack and Dallon both folded in the second round, while Jake and Brendon both pressed onward enthusiastically, only to fall short of Spencer’s straight flush.

“Sweet baby, that feels so good,” Brendon murmurs against your hair as he turns to kiss the top of your head. You smile, slipping your hand up higher, pinky pressing along his zipper. You know he can feel it, because he inhales sharply, coughing to cover it up.

“Just doing my wifely duty to cheer you up,” you reply softly, eyes closed as you move closer and adjust your hand to cup him fully. He knows how much you like to tease, and you know how much he likes you to tease him. “Is it working?”

“Oh baby, you know it is. Alright, Dallon,” he sighs. “Deal.”

-||-

“Read it and weep, boys; read it and weep,” Brendon declares, showing his hand, and the others swear as they realize he’s got a royal flush. “You,” he declares, pulling you in for a long kiss, “are my good luck charm.”

You grin against his mouth. “So now would be a bad time to ask to be dealt in?”

He groans, and you laugh, speaking quickly to reassure him. “I’m just kidding; I’m happy to stay arm candy and your good luck charm.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “You’re so much more than just arm candy or a lucky charm. And you’re more than welcome to play. Double our odds of winning.” You nod, standing to retrieve another round of beers for the table, and you’re considering a glass of wine for yourself.

“Wait,” Brendon protests, standing after you and catching your hand. Your fingers now interlocked, he pulls you close. “I said I’d get the next round.” He seems to read your mind, because he adds, “and I’ll get you a glass of wine, doll. That case of the 2011 Malbec you like so much was delivered earlier. But feel free to walk with me; I love your company, and I’ll need help carrying everything.”

You give him a quizzical look, because you have no idea what wine he’s talking about. Instead of giving any clarification though, Brendon just wraps an arm around your waist as he walks you out of view of the table and down the hall.

In the back of the darkened theater, he grabs you by the hips, lifts you easily up onto the bar counter, presses a quick kiss to your lips, and then whirls around to grab more beer from the fridge. “Don’t move, babydoll. I’ll be right back. Let me just get them their beers first, so they don’t come looking and interrupt us.”

“Interrupt us?”

Instead of replying, Brendon winks at you and disappears back to the lounge where the guys are waiting. When he returns moments later, he moves with purpose towards you and captures your mouth in a deep, heated kiss.

“Thank god this is what you meant,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his waist and grinding against his growing erection. “Need you, B. Missed you so much today. I fucking need my man. You promise they won’t interrupt?”

His hands are in your hair, his tongue is exploring your mouth, and he groans your name when you scratch at his back longingly, begging for his fingers. “They won’t interrupt if we don’t take too long, so we don’t have much time,” Brendon murmurs, sliding a hand down the front of your leggings. “My best girl, always so damn wet for me.”

“Always,” you whimper, rubbing against his fingers desperately. “God, I’ve needed this so badly. Want to come all over your hand, fuck!”

Brendon nods and curls his fingers, smiling into the kiss when you whine. “That’s it, baby. All over my hand. Grind on your husband’s fingers; let me feel your pussy when you come for me. You gonna come on my fingers, all hot and wet? Wish I could lick and suck your clit, get you coming on my face and tongue, but—shit, you like that? Can feel how wet that made you. Yeah, you love the dirty talk, don’t you? Be my dirty girl and come on my fingers; let me lick them clean. Want to taste my girl.”

He hisses in a blend of pleasure and pain; you’ve dragged your nails down his back and are biting at his lower lip as you come. You’d apologize, but you know he loves the pain. Your thighs are tense around his hand, and you’re trembling from the way Brendon’s got his fingers still curled and flexing. When you finally go limp and are left clinging to him, Brendon slips his hand from your panties and slides two fingers into his mouth. He winks at you playfully as he shows you his tongue twisting around them, and you groan, scratching at his chest.

“That’s not fair,” you whine, making him laugh. “Don’t tease. My underwear is already soaked.”

Brendon raises one eyebrow, but chooses to say nothing as he finishes sucking his fingers clean. Instead, he helps you slide off the bar and holds you close for a long moment. You relish his warmth and the firm pressure of his body against yours; you’re already fantasizing about getting him alone after the guys leave.

He seems to share your thoughts, pressing his lips to your temple and promising you can have him soon. His hips rock forward a little, letting you feel how hard he is for you. “Soon,” he repeats. With that, he adjusts his erection in an attempt to hide it a bit better, ducks into the walk-in wine cellar, grabs a bottle to pour you a large glass of wine, and leads you back to the lounge.

-||-

You eye the pair of cards you’ve been dealt and consider, glancing at the three community cards. “Call,” you finally declare, nodding at Brendon, and he looks at you with interest as your other hand slips over the bulge in his jeans. He pushes more chips into the center for you, and Jake raises his eyebrows.

“Why are you handling all the chips, Brendon? It’s your wife’s bet.”

Brendon grins, saying nothing; his hips rock ever so slightly when you squeeze. “Y’all are probably being gross. We should do a hand check,” Jake muses and calls as well. You wonder if he has any idea of how right he is. They can all almost certainly see your arm disappearing under the table at an angle, clearly reaching toward Brendon’s lap. One thing you don’t miss about touring is the spontaneous ‘hand checks’ the band implements for you two; the ones that inevitably mean Brendon slipping his fingers from you or you releasing his cock during movie nights and any other group activities on the bus where you can get cuddled up together under a blanket. Fortunately, Jake seems to be kidding for now.

Zack calls too before standing to go to the bathroom, and you know now is your chance. Once the toilet flushes, you quickly unzip Brendon’s jeans under cover of the sound. He glances over at you, and you smile innocently, wrapping your hand around his length through his boxers. Brendon’s hips raise ever so slightly; you can tell he’s enjoying your touch.

Spencer deals the final community card, making you laugh merrily. “That’s a little scary,” Dallon comments, and you give him a wide grin. “That’s not helping. Okay; two pairs,” he states, sounding only somewhat confident.

Jake tips his cards. “Three of a kind.”

Zack laughs grimly. “Three of a kind.”

Brendon looks at you, and you look back; your fingers tighten a little, and you raise an eyebrow. He caves. “Flush.”

You smirk, stroking a hand over his cock to ease the blow. “Four of a kind, gentlemen.”

-||-

At Brendon’s nod, Zack has made a trip to the bar and returned with a large bottle of Jack Daniels and a single can of Coke. That round of strong drinks, plus your glass of wine and the men’s multiple beers, means you’re all more than a little tipsy. Brendon is leaning back in his seat; you’ve worked your hand into his boxers and are stroking a little faster. It’s probably the liquor’s influence, but you’re not worried about the rest of them seeing anything. Honestly, they’ve all been on tour with Brendon, which means, even with their hand checks, they’ve seen much dirtier behavior from you two than a handjob under a table.

Jake and Dallon once found the two of you contorted around each other in an empty storage closet, Brendon’s hand down your leggings as he loudly encouraged you to come on his fingers.

You’re positive they also witnessed The Germany Incident, in which Brendon had been laying naked on a green room couch with you, also naked, reclining against his chest in his arms and on his cock. He’d been fucking you with deep, urgent thrusts; you had your head tipped back to rest on his shoulder while he used one hand to tease your breasts and had the other stroking over your clit while he worked his cock into your wet cunt from beneath you.

You can still hear his voice, telling you to use your man, use his cock, come all over it, all over him, just let go, really soak him and the couch. He’d pinched a nipple then with wet fingers, making you squeal and cling to his arms. It only became an ‘Incident’ with a capital ‘I’ because you’d come hard and promptly lost consciousness—you later blamed the intensity of the orgasm, but also sleep deprivation from travel, plus some mild dehydration.

At the time though, Brendon had naturally freaked out when you went limp on top of him after shrieking his name, and—according to Brendon’s recollection of the Incident—Jake and Dallon had been there almost immediately to help get water, ice packs, and whatever else Brendon could think of—before he’d even had a chance to call for help.

When you’d regained consciousness, you were laid out on the couch, still naked but covered in a fleece blanket from the merch table with an ice pack wrapped in a t-shirt on your forehead. Brendon had tugged on sweatpants and was seated on the floor by your head stroking your hair, and Jake and Dallon hovered in the background. For the rest of the tour, neither could look at you without flushing deep red.

In hindsight, Brendon admitted, they’d probably been watching from the cracked doorway that had a direct line of sight to the couch. This had made you laugh; you’d kissed him hard and agreed that seeing you sprawled on top of him, legs spread wide while he fucked you desperately, noisily from underneath almost certainly had something to do with their awkward behavior.

As for Spencer, he'd walked in on Brendon eating you out in a dressing room post-show. You’d dragged your husband back there, begging for his tongue, and he’d dropped to his knees without hesitation. Leaning against the wall and hitching your dress up, you rolled your hips forward; Brendon had taken the invitation readily. The tip of his tongue on your clit with two fingers thrusting and spreading and curling in you had driven you wild.

You hadn’t seen him in six weeks at that point, and you were climbing the walls with desire. He’d been on edge too: you heard the zipper of his pants followed by the urgent sound of his hand stroking over his cock. Your eyes were closed in bliss, one hand cradling his head as he worked his tongue over you, and the other reaching down to spread yourself for him with two fingers.

Your eyes were still squeezed shut as you came with a sharp cry, your hips bucking and back arched off the wall; Brendon, his face still buried in your pussy and tongue moving frantically, let out a desperate groan that told you he’d just come all over his hand. At that exact moment, you heard the door open, followed by a low swear and the door slamming shut again. The only way you and Brendon knew it’d been Spencer was the set of drumsticks on the floor.

You can’t even pick the filthiest moment Zack has witnessed in your relationship. He’s found you both in various and complete states of undress in bus bunks, hotel rooms, showers, dressing rooms, elevators, cars, and, on one memorable occasion, an inflated lifeboat on a friend’s yacht.

Brendon had been on top of you, his swimsuit tugged down in the front just enough to get his cock out, and he’d pulled your bikini bottoms to the side so he could fill you. You can still hear the urgent squeak of the rubber and Brendon panting over you, telling you how badly he needed to feel you come for him. His low groan in your ear after you came and he finally spilled into you is still one of your favorite sounds. You didn’t love hearing Zack swear when he came around the corner and then mutter, “you fucking perverts,” but Brendon laughing in that exhausted, post-orgasm way of his and rolling off of you to bury his face in your neck is always fantastic, no matter the circumstances.

Now though, here in your basement, they all might get a live and up-close viewing of Brendon coming all over your hand. It’s not ideal, but you have no intention of stopping, of leaving your husband throbbing and in need of release. Brendon bites his lip, and you’re not sure if he’s close or if he’s just reacting to the newest community card. His hips are twitching though, and he’s giving you a long look, as if to ask, ‘how?,’ and also, just as important, ‘where?’

These are things you hadn’t considered when you started this little tease. You really can’t make him come like this; he’s wearing a dark shirt, and the way he’s slightly sunken down in his chair means he’d definitely come all over his chest. You’re pretty sure it has to be in your mouth. Not that you mind—you love swallowing for him. It’s just the logistics of your current situation.

You briefly consider dropping your phone and crawling under the table to let him finish in your mouth, but there’s a few problems with that. It would probably take too long, Brendon probably wouldn’t be able to keep silent, he definitely wouldn’t be able to maintain a neutral face, and it would just generally arouse his friends’ suspicions. Although, and you glance around the table, you can get rid of them temporarily by appealing to their stomachs.

“Jake, I got that French onion dip you really liked,” you say, trying to control your voice. “You and Dallon should head upstairs and get it. I’m too tipsy to try the stairs.” They nod and stand, and you smile to yourself.

“Zack,” Brendon mumbles, his eyes locked on yours, “will you show Spencer the list of new tour locations? They’ve added a few since we last talked. The complete schedule is in my office.” Zack gives him a confused look but nods, and he and Spencer head down the hallway to Brendon’s office and studio.

As their footsteps fade, you slip out of your chair and under the table. Brendon shoves his jeans and boxers down his thighs, groaning and coming the moment your mouth closes over him. “Jesus fuck, that’s it; swallow for me, babydoll,” he grunts, both hands in your hair as you suck greedily; your head is bobbing as you take him deeper and swallow happily. “This is exactly what I needed; goddamn, my gorgeous wife sucking my cock—making me come, yes, that’s it, swallow, honey—fuck, you make me come so hard; that’s all for you—my cock is all for you, it’s all fucking yours. God, you’d better believe I’m gonna eat your pussy later til you’re screaming my name; I need to get your sweet cunt all over my face before I fuck you the way you deserve.”

You can feel his hips tense as he finishes—he’s fighting the urge to thrust in between your lips. Normally you’d gladly let him fuck your mouth since that’s a good way for him to get hard again, but you both know you just don’t have the time. The guys could be back any moment.

Instead, Brendon’s petting your hair and breathing hard; you’re still between his legs, tongue softly licking him clean and your hand stroking his length gently when you hear footsteps.

“Shit,” you hiss, pulling off of him. Zack and Spencer come back just as Dallon and Jake come downstairs with bowls of chips and dip. You crawl out from under the table while Brendon tries to catch his breath. His friends stare between you down on your knees and Brendon, with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, face flushed, and his lips slightly parted. In your mind, it’s pretty obvious what’s just happened, but your pride requires an attempt at a coverup. “I dropped my phone,” you offer casually, wiping at your lower lip with your thumb.

“It’s on the table,” Zack points out dryly, and you shrug.

“Whoops. I’m drunker than I thought. Could’ve sworn I dropped it.”

“Where were we?” Brendon asks the question loudly to distract the group, and they settle back in their chairs, picking up their cards. “Spencer, I think it’s your turn to act on this round.”

He folds, and Zack deals the last card. It’s your turn; you fold. Brendon and Jake eye each other. Brendon ultimately folds too, and Jake turns his attention to Zack, who tips his hand. Three of a kind. Jake sighs and shoves the pile of poker chips to Zack before downing the rest of his drink. You stand and grab the bottle of whiskey, refilling the drinks in front of each of you.

-||-

“Dammit,” You swear as Brendon flips the fourth card. “Shouldn’t have folded.”

Brendon grins and eyes you. “You know,” he drawls, “you can get back in. For a price.” You arch an eyebrow, and he laughs. “Piece of clothing…or a truth. No dares when we’re this tipsy.”

Jake leans forward, rubbing his hands. “Strip poker; excellent.”

Zack snorts, while Dallon sits back in his chair and says nothing, but his eyes are bright. Spencer nudges Jake hard and looks between you and Brendon, who shakes his head a little, clearly amused by the silent conversation happening between the guys.

“I’m not opposed,” Spencer finally says. “I just don’t want…anyone to feel uncomfortable.” He’s clearly offering this to you; Dallon and Zack agree. You shrug, telling Brendon he plays dirty while tugging your hair tie out and freeing your ponytail.

He leans over and ruffles your hair affectionately. “You love when we get dirty together, doll. The hair tie will work to get back in for this round, but just know that if you lose…you owe another piece.” He looks at the rest of the group. “Are we doing all losers or just the lowest hand?”

You scoff. “All losers.”

Zack laughs. “You’re feeling confident, aren’t you?” You nod smugly as Brendon flips the fifth card. Spencer doesn’t react, Jake calls, you call, and Dallon and Zack both check. Brendon studies his hand, your face, and the community cards before calling as well.

Dallon and Zack both have two pairs, while Spencer sits comfortably with his three of a kind. Jake reveals his flush and you grin, showing off your full house. Brendon shakes his head with a smile. “Sorry, sweetness.”

He drops his cards to show his four of a kind. “You can take the truth if you want,” he offers casually, and you glance at him.

“Do you want me to take the truth?” You’re pretty sure you know the answer, but Brendon appears to consider the question as he takes a long sip of his drink.

“If you’re comfortable stripping, then I’m comfortable with you stripping.” He looks at you meaningfully as he sets the glass down, and you nod. You knew he’d say that. What’s left unspoken is that he knows his friends won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you; you both know that the possessive part of him loves when others can’t stop staring at you.

You both also know it’s a little backward, but you love knowing that they’ll look at you, think about you, and even want you —yet, ultimately, everyone at this table understands he’s the only one you’ll take to bed; he’s the only one you’ll ever want. You pull your cardigan off, letting it hit the floor.

The other guys are more modest and each sacrifice a sock, and you roll your eyes. “You’re all lame.”

Brendon laughs, leaning back in his seat. “They’re just starting slow because they know it’s gonna get a whole lot worse for them. Like you with that hair tie.” He throws a glance at you. “But someone feels confident—going right for the cardigan, hmmm?”

You nod, accepting the two cards you’re dealt and wait patiently.

-||-

“Take it off, baby!” You giggle, helping Brendon get his shirt off before standing and wriggling out of your tank top to reveal your blue lace push-up bra. If the guys notice Brendon’s jeans are still unzipped and half-open from your interlude under the table, they don’t comment on it.

“I don’t even mind losing, because you’re getting naked with me,” you say, reaching out to stroke his bare chest while he traces a finger over your bra strap.

“Gross,” Zack deadpans, crossing his arms. He’s won this round, while Jake has lost his other sock at this point, Spencer too, and the rest of you are shirtless. Brendon is gazing at you steadily over the edge of his drink, and you wonder what he’s thinking. Fortunately, you don’t have to wait long.

He sets his drink down and turns to Zack. “You’re just jealous,” Brendon tells him with a smile, and Zack grins, shaking his head. “You don’t have to admit it; I already know. Everything my wife brings to the table and she looks like this? Fuck, just look at my girl. We don’t mind you guys looking. How could you resist? She’s fucking gorgeous.”

You stretch and preen under Brendon’s praise, and he watches you hungrily. “Yeah,” you murmur, “you can look all you want—just remember I’m all his.”

Brendon finishes your sentence. “And more importantly, I’m all hers, which makes me the luckiest guy at this table.”

He beckons you into his lap, cupping your face as you straddle him. “I can’t even say I lost this last round when you’re on me like this,” he murmurs while he draws you in for a deep kiss. You return the kiss eagerly, moaning into his mouth when his fingers start caressing your breasts. “Can’t ever lose when I’ve got my girl half-undressed and on top of me, rubbing against my—shit, guys, go get more beer. I need a minute with my wife.”

“Only one minute?” Dallon teases in a slightly strained voice, but Brendon is already kissing you again, one hand working its way into your bra and the other grabbing at your ass to keep you moving on top of him.

“Go away,” you moan, grinding down against Brendon urgently while flinging a hand at Dallon and the rest of them. “Go get beer or something, and then count to three hundred.”

“You heard the lady,” Brendon mumbles, rocking his hips up to press his cock into you. “My wife needs five minutes with me.”

You hear their chairs push back, and you rise up high onto your knees above Brendon’s lap once they’re gone.

“You’ve got me alone for the next five minutes. Now what?”

“Now I make my girl come.”

Brendon slides a hand down the front of your leggings. “Fuck, your panties match this bra, don’t they? Can feel the soft lace; wanna get you out of them with my teeth and then lick your clit until you come on my tongue.”

“We have like four minutes left,” you murmur, rocking back and forth on his hand urgently. “You know I want you to eat me out, but we’re running out of time.”

“Grind on my cock then, babydoll; come on your man, get off from rubbing your wet pussy all over me. God, but what I wouldn’t do to get my cock in your perfect cunt right now and feel you lose control.”

He slips his fingers from you; you’re moaning loudly into the embrace, tugging at his hair, and pressing down onto his cock throbbing under you. It feels so good, but you both know that in order to come the way you both want to come, you need to really ride him. “Need you in me,” you groan, and Brendon nods desperately, telling you to do it, take whatever you need, he’s yours. His jeans are still open from earlier; it’s easy to grasp his cock and pull him free. You consider just shoving your leggings down slightly, but you know you won’t be able to straddle him as long as you’re dressed. Instead, you slide your leggings and underwear off fully.

Finally, you spread your legs over him again and, grabbing his cock to press it against your pussy, you sink down onto him. You gasp, tossing your head back as you take him inside you, whining as you settle in his lap. You can feel every inch of his cock, and it’s creating the perfect amount of pressure. Moving urgently, desperately, you grip his shoulders. “Bren, tell me—”

“Fuck yes; you’re so damn hot. That’s it, ride my cock, you’re my best, dirtiest—”

He’s cut off by Dallon yelling from down the hall that you have two minutes left.

You’re both breathing hard. “Running out of time,” Brendon groans. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock.” Order given, Brendon buries his face in your cleavage, licking and suckling at the exposed skin. You know you both need more, so you abandon his shoulders to shove your bra cups down. Your nipples now exposed, you gasp happily when he closes his mouth over one and starts rolling it with his tongue.

“I’m gonna fucking come,” you whine, grinding down against the base of his cock while he thrusts up into you. “Shit I’m close; right there, give it to me just like—give me your cock, yes, Brendon yes! Fuck me, oh shit, oh fuck I’m—Bren, now!”

He sucks hard at your nipple, and you shriek, tugging his hair and riding out your climax.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, still moving on him as you come back to full awareness. “God, you’re so hard—you gonna come in me, B?”

“Could,” Brendon grunts, gripping your ass with both hands. “Just need—fuck, a little bit more t—”

“Time’s up,” Zack yells, and you both groan. Brendon rests his forehead against yours and lifts you off of his cock. You make a small sound of protest, but you know it’s no use. Brendon gives you a longing look, and you know he’s just as disappointed as you are. You love when your husband makes you come, but you’d always rather come together. “Fix your clothes, you freaks,” Zack adds. “We’re coming back.”

Exhausted, you guide your bra back into place, slide out of Brendon’s lap, and tug your underwear and leggings on. Before you can get both up over your hips, Brendon slips a hand down between your thighs and moans low in the back of his throat. He loves feeling you after you’ve come for him, loves getting you sprawled out in bed so he can explore your body and see all the different reactions he can coax from you post-orgasm. You both know Zack means it though, and you don’t have the time.

Brendon pulls his hand back, you get your clothes back on, and you curl into his side, nuzzling his bare shoulder. He drapes an arm around you, kissing the top of your head affectionately. “To be continued, sweet baby,” Brendon promises in a low voice before sucking his fingers clean.

The guys walk back in, and Brendon gives them a not-entirely-playfully dirty look. “You guys are the worst. Not even a little grace period?”

They pile back into their chairs, and Dallon shrugs. “She came, didn’t she? What else was there to do?”

You roll your eyes and lean on Brendon’s shoulder, fingers grazing over his cock slowly. You love the way he throbs at your touch. “She could’ve gotten her husband off too,” you tell Dallon, who mimes gagging. “He was close, and you all cock-blocked him. But I’ll take care of my man later. Now,” and you direct this at Spencer, “it’s your turn to deal.”

-||-

You glance at the two cards on the table and wait. You don’t really want to fold, but you don’t have a good feeling. Sure enough, you end up with one pair; you sigh, going for the waistband of your leggings. Brendon’s eyes flit between your face and the delta of your thighs, and it dawns on you.

You can feel how wet your lace panties are, which means the guys would probably see how wet you are through them. That’s a little more than you want them to get right now. You make the decision. “I think I’ll opt to answer a question. Does Spencer get to ask it because he won this round?”

Spencer glances around the table, unsure of what to ask. “I yield the floor,” he jokes, and Dallon leans forward to claim the question.

“What were you really doing under the table when we came back downstairs with the snacks? We know you didn’t drop your phone.”

You exchange looks with Brendon, who just grins and shrugs a little. You take it as permission. “Sucking my husband’s cock,” you say casually, and Jake chokes on his drink. Brendon starts laughing, and Dallon points out that Brendon didn’t actually need to come during your five-minute interlude earlier, since you’d already gotten him off.

“I knew it,” Zack says triumphantly, prompting questioning looks from both you and Brendon. “I mean, I suspected. I didn’t know for sure, obviously. Although you did crawl out from under the table, wiping your mouth with that smug smile.”

Brendon keeps laughing and pulls you closer. “I need another, stronger drink,” you tell him, and he nods decisively. “Shots. Tequila, probably,” you add, and he grins, gesturing for everyone to follow him to the bar.

Once in the theater, he situates himself behind the bar, grabbing a selection of shot glasses, a bottle of tequila, and pouring across the glasses.

“Come and get ‘em,” he announces, and everyone reaches for one. The tequila leaves a warm trail down your throat, and you each set your glass down in front of Brendon. “Another?”

When you all nod, he fills them and his own again. You reach for yours, and he shakes his head. “No ma’am,” he says with a teasing finger wag. There’s a longing look in his eyes, and you think you know where his head is at. “You have to earn your second one. Hop up.”

You know exactly what he wants, and you love it. Doing body shots off of each other reminds you of being on tour with him in the early days: sneaking around, fucking in dressing rooms, and generally partying without any care for the consequences. Just as in love, just as wild about each other, but even more uninhibited and reckless in the best ways.

You accept his hand and lay yourself flat out on the bar, smiling up at him. His eyes roam over your body. “Jesus,” he sighs, taking you in with hungry eyes. “You’re so damn pretty, doll. I’m so fucking lucky to be yours.” With that, he reaches for your waist, and you know what’s coming next. If he’s okay with it, you are too. You both like showing off.

Brendon guides your leggings down, revealing your very wet underwear. You glance around the room in amusement. It’s just like being on tour: Zack and Spencer are taking another shot and studying the ceiling, clearly trying not to notice the way your leggings hit the floor, while Jake and Dallon are both openly watching Brendon’s fingers tease your skin.

“Don’t move,” Brendon warns you now, moving the waistband of your underwear down just a little to lick the newly exposed skin between your hip bones.

“Fuck, I love your mouth,” you whisper, squirming. Brendon winks, grabs the salt shaker, and sprinkles the coarse salt onto you, nodding decisively when it sticks to the wet path he’s left with his tongue. You reach down to your side for a lime wedge, placing it between your teeth.

“Don’t shiver and make a mess.” He maintains eye contact with you as he pours the shot onto your stomach.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and his tongue scoops up the salt, his lips suck up the tequila, and his teeth snap at the lime, sucking hard to tug it out of your mouth. Lime sucked and discarded, Brendon’s lips are back on yours, and he’s kissing you desperately. The combined taste of residual tequila and Brendon’s mouth has your head spinning.

“You earned your second shot,” he murmurs, but you’re not interested in just taking the shot.

“Let me take it off you,” you beg, sliding your legs to the side and finding your footing. Brendon grins, tucking your full shot glass into the waistband of his jeans while leaning against the bar.

“Should’ve known my baby would’ve wanted to get her mouth on me.”

“Damn right.” You lick greedily at his collarbone, pour the salt, and pop the lime wedge in his mouth. “You ready?” You hope he is, because you’re ready to make a scene. The two of you perfected the upright body shot during his Vices tour, and even though it’s been a few years, you know you’ve still got it. Even Zack and Spencer are watching you closely now.

Brendon nods, and you run your tongue back over his collarbone before moving down his body, lips closing over the shot glass and pulling it out of his pants, knocking your head back sharply to take the shot. You drop to your knees in front of him and, finally using your hands, set the glass aside. For the last step, you grab his waistband to bring him to his knees too, so you can seize the lime from his mouth.

“Well shit,” Jake breathes, and Brendon laughs, tugging you close and kissing you deeply. He rocks back off his knees and sits, his fingers running through your hair, and you need him.

“More,” you insist, crawling into his lap, rubbing against him. His hard cock is pressing into you through his jeans, and grinding on him in just your underwear is creating amazing friction. “Get your pants off entirely, B. Let me ride you again, get you coming in my hot, wet cu—”

“Audience,” Spencer interrupts, and you groan, pulling your mouth back.

Brendon is breathing hard, eyes dark and locked on you. “I’m gonna kick our audience out so I can fuck you,” he tells you, ignoring the fact that your audience is present and listening. “Poker night is over; I’ll see you guys later,” he mumbles in their direction without breaking his gaze with you, and they head for the stairs.

“Make good choices,” Zack calls, and Brendon flips him off without looking as he kisses you again.

“Once they’re out of here, you’re mine,” he tells you, and you rock your hips against his.

“I’m always yours,” you remind him and he nods, grasping your hair and tilting your head back gently so he can kiss your neck. “Bren, your mouth feels so good, need you to bite my neck while you fill my cunt; give me all your cum,” you moan, admittedly louder than you intended, and Dallon yells back that they’re still in the house. “Whoops,” you giggle, and Brendon grabs your ass, nipping at your skin.

“Bad girl,” he teases in a low voice. “Letting our friends hear you.” Your eyes flutter closed as his lips move over your neck and down to the swell of your breasts in the push-up lace. “They were so damn turned on by you,” he whispers, running a hand up your side to pinch one of your nipples lightly. “Blowing me under the table, sending them away so you could get off on my cock, letting me lick you all over in front of them, watching you drop to your knees for me…fuck babydoll, they’ll never admit it, but they are so hot for you. Their wives and girlfriends are in for such a good fuck when they get home.”

“God, Brendon…you like your friends getting all horny from me?” You’re murmuring this in his ear as you snake a hand down the front of his boxers. He groans, and you grasp his cock, jerking him off slowly with one hand while the other shoves at his jeans. “You like that, B?”

“Yeah, fucking love it. Love letting them see how goddamn sexy you are, letting them see exactly why I’m so fucking wild about you. Letting them see how I’m wrapped around your finger, completely yours—you’re the only one who gets me, and I’m the only one who gets you.” He moves to your mouth and lets his tongue explore before pulling back. “I don’t quite remember when, except that you were in the bathroom— but Jake leaned over and asked how good of a girl you really are.”

You arch an eyebrow in question, and Brendon smirks. “I told them you let me fuck you any and every day, in any and every way I want, and you don’t just let me; you positively beg for it. You say my name so sweetly when you come and then you plead with me to come in you.” While the possessive part of him loves others getting turned on by you, the possessive part of you loves when he brags about your sex life.

His fingers slip down between your bodies, and he groans when he feels how wet you still are. “And you get so damn wet for me; you really want me to fuck you, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whisper urgently, bucking against his fingers. “Give it to me, Brendon. Fingers, tongue, cock. Anything, just give it to me.” He brushes a hand over the side of your face.

“And you beg so nicely too,” he comments, rocking up on his knees a little bit to shove his jeans down further, arm tightening around you so you won’t slip backwards. “Slide your panties to the side, honey, and ride my cock, bounce on it like we love.” You obey, body quaking when he’s fully in you. “That’s my best girl,” he groans quietly, unsnapping your bra as you work yourself along his length. “Love watching your tits move while you take my cock.”

“Brendon, you feel so good,” you whimper, and he bites your earlobe. You love being on top, because you can control the exact pace and angle; you can make sure his cock presses right where you want and guarantee you’ll come hard. Plus, the look on his face is always incredible—you love knowing he’s feeling that good just from having you on him. However, sometimes you really want him to take charge and take you.

“Want you to fuck me, B.” He nods, understanding. He curves over you with a hand pressed to the small of your back so you’re lowered gently to the carpet and he’s above you. Your hips are still twitching against his, and he kisses you hard.

“Let me take care of you.” He grabs one of your thighs and lifts it over his hip so he can fill you at a sharper angle. His hair has fallen into his eyes and he flips it out of the way, fucking you quickly with short, rough strokes. “You feel fucking incredible,” Brendon whispers, closing his eyes for a moment, relishing the way you meet his thrusts.

You’re breathing hard, panting, and your fingers are digging into his shoulders. “Incredible,” you echo, desperate for more. “Make me come,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Rub my clit and make me come.”

“Not yet,” he groans, taking both of your hands and pushing them over your head. He’s leaning over you, forehead to forehead, and you arch to kiss him. It’s sloppy and dirty, your tongues teasing and moving together, but neither of you are complaining. “You know,” he pauses to grunt sharply when you contract around him, “fuck, your sweet cunt—you know I like to come together. But I’m so close, babydoll; give me a few more moments, and I’ll come for you.”

“Brendon, I want you to come in me.” The words are plain, and you’ve said them before because you always get the same result. He gasps, his rhythm faltering. “Come in me, just let go and come inside your wife.”

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, thumb rubbing your clit gently until you grab his hand and apply more pressure. “Oh god, baby, I’m gonna—”

“Fuck Brendon, I—”

“Fuck, fuck, fu—gonna take it all?”

“Yes, fuck yeah, I need it, gimme that hot cum, oh my god, oh— fuck!”

“You want me to give your pussy all my cum? You want it filling your cunt, a hot, slick reminder of who fucks you best?”

“Oh fu—you fuck me best; oh shit, only ever you—god, Bren, fuck my pussy, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, yes, give it to me, B, fuck! Right th—oh—!”

“Coming,” Brendon finally gasps in your ear, and you let yourself go with a sharp cry as he comes, fast and hot. The heat spreads through you, and you moan, clutching his back and clenching around him. Your entire body is quivering, and his hips move in little spasms as your pussy milks his climax from him.

“I can’t—Jesus, Brendon. I can’t stop— you’re the only one who—makes me come like—” you kiss him, and he lashes his thumb over your clit. “Again; oh God, oh Brendon, baby, yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against your lips while you thrash under his touch. “I love watching you come,” he tells you and you tremble, coming down from your high. “You’re so beautiful.”

“The same to you,” you say with a grin, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath while running your hand through his hair. “Love you, Brendon. So much.”

“Love you too, babydoll. So fucking much.” He pulls out of you, groaning your name. “I’m gonna take you upstairs now, and we’re gonna take a hot bath.”

“Mmmmm,” you purr, tracing a finger down his chest. “And then what?”

“Then, tomorrow I’m going to call the contractor to have them add a whirlpool tub to our sex dungeon bathroom so we can clean up and relax there after.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he laughs, gesturing between your bodies. “Want to be able to drag my wife right to the tub after I fill her up with cum and make her soak my cock. Stairs sound miserable.”

“Agreed,” you murmur, clinging to him. “But while you’re on the phone with the—”

“Don’t worry, love,” Brendon whispers against your forehead as he presses a gentle kiss there. “I’ll also mention the full wet bar in the lounge, because that was a great, highly necessary idea. Even if it means we won’t be able to send the guys out of the room or sneak away under the pretense of getting alcohol.”

“No pretense needed. I’ll just tell them I want to ride your dick and I don’t want them to watch, so they need to go amuse themselves in the theatre for ten minutes. As we’ve learned, five isn’t enough.”

Brendon smiles down at you. “My best, dirty girl,” he teases. “So clever. But tonight, after this bath upstairs, I’m going to tease you by licking and sucking every inch of you except your pussy, until you beg for my tongue. And then, I’ll eat you out til you can’t say anything but my name. Once I’ve made you come a few times with my mouth and we’ve made out with the sweet taste of your cunt on my tongue, I’m gonna get you on your hands and knees, so I can give you my cock from behind, just like you like it.”

You whimper, clinging to him and nodding. Brendon strokes a hand over your hair, murmuring, “I know you love feeling me fill you like that, slamming my hips into your ass, working my cock deep into you, rubbing your clit with two fingers and making you lose control.” His soft voice is a contrast to the explicit words, and you love it. “What do you think of my plan, pretty girl?”

“I think you’re the smartest, sexiest, best man I could ever ask for, and I’ll come up with some very explicit ways to thank you for your hard work and generosity.”

“That’s all I ask, babydoll.” Brendon kisses you softly before nuzzling your neck and scooping you up. “Now, let’s head upstairs.”

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