#was expecting it to be shit but it was really funny

[aelfgiure]

"For the last time," the person holding the gun to your head sighs, trying to sound reasonable, "where is Cheengwun? You're only -"

You hear a distinctive popping noise, louder than you were expecting, and the person threatening you gets a funny, confused look on his face before falling to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Your brain bluescreens for a moment, trying to interpret what happened through the fog of adrenaline and terror.

When you come back to yourself, you're sitting in the kitchen, a cup of tea with cream and honey in your hand. You've downed half of it, it seems, without thinking, and when you look up from the cup your housemate is standing there, regarding you with a look of fondness.

"Need more tea?" he asks, and refills the cup, topping it off with more cream and a spoonful of honey.

"Ah. Dude. What -" you start to sputter, and he holds up a hand to stop you.

"Finish that tea first, okay? It's going to be a minute before you calm down enough to have a coherent internal narrative, let alone rational conversation."

Okay, fair enough. He seems to know what he's talking about, because after you finish the tea and have a shaking fit that feels more like a seizure than anything else, you actually do feel ready to talk.

"Dude. What the FUCK?!" Not the classiest conversation starter, but it's the most appropriate question you can come up with right then. "And do we need to expect more of this shit? Will we have to move? Ah shit, we gotta clean that mess up or I'll never get the security deposit back, what do we do?"

He blinks at you, surprised, then throws his head back and laughs. "oh my god, Jim, you're the best roommate ever. Save questions till the end, okay? It's a long story."

With that, he launches into a narrative that would make Ian Flemming take notes and Tom Clancy swear in frustration that he hadn't thought of it first. By the time he's done, the sun has set and your brain is full, the information sloshing around like Legos in an industrial washing machine.

"You've been a great roomie," he concludes, "and the Agency owes you a big one, not even touching on my personal debt to you. If you want to move out and move on, that's fair. It'll be covered.

"However, you handled that really, really well, especially for a first time. That asshole came after me because my old boss is getting the band back together again, and, um. We could really use a computer toucher on our team now, so there's a job opening, if you want it."

Well.

You think about it. Your day job is customer facing, which sucks (and also explains how you could stare down a gun without flinching, you'd dealt with homicidal douchebags before) and it never paid well. Besides, you liked having him as your roommate. Liked how he would out of the blue start talking about random stuff, or how he would tidy up after himself without being asked. He paid his part of the bills on time.

"Does this come with dental? because yeah, you're cool. I'd like to work with you." You grin at the expression of relief that crosses his face, and stand up. "But first, you're buying me a goddamn steak dinner and a new pair of pants, because damn. That was one hell of a job interview."

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Steve keeps dropping his heart.

Somewhere buried deep inside him there's an edge of terror that he's going to damage it even worse - but it also makes a muffled schloop sound every time it hits the ground that is, objectively, the funniest sound he's heard all night.

Robin thinks so too, because she keeps giggling every time it happens - first these tiny little snorts, then somewhat hysterical giggles, then a full on bark of laughter, and then he's dropping it again because he's laughing, too, and she's so cute, how is he supposed to not be a little in love with her?

Dustin and Erica don't seem to find it that funny, though.

"Oh my God, Steve, put your heart in your chest!" Dustin hisses at him the next time they have to slow down to wait for him to scoop it back up.

The very idea sends a chill through him, and he makes a face at Dustin.

"No!" he retorts.

"No? Are you serious? It took me weeks to get you comfortable taking it out around me and now you want to wave it around? No, that's not what I - stop that," Dustin scolds him.

Which is rude, considering Dustin is the one who told him to wave it around in the first place.

But maybe he also has a point, because Steve's grip on his heart slips on a downward wave and this time he doesn't so much drop it as toss it, sending it skittering over the floor.

"Oops," Steve says.

Robin bursts into a sharp bray of laughter.

He loves her so much.

Dustin's gone chasing after his heart, and he flinches when the kid picks it up, expecting it to hurt, to feel wrong the way it had when -

But no.

It feels nice.

"Huh," Steve says, watching Dustin bring it back over.

"Why is it all wrapped up?" Erica asks, wrinkling her nose at it.

"So it doesn't explode," Steve replies, then giggles when Robin nods solemnly and mimes an explosion with her hands.

Dustin rolls his eyes, trying to shove it at him. "Put it away!"

Steve twists away. "Nooo," he protests. "I can't breathe."

Dustin's expression goes from frustrated to concerned so quickly it gives Steve whiplash. "Your ribs? Did they break something? Shit, Erica, can you-"

Erica's already at Steve's side, tugging up his uniform shirt and squinting at his ribs. "What am I supposed to be looking for?"

"Can't breathe with my heart inside," Steve clarifies, even though he's actually pretty sure he does have a broken rib or two. It doesn't hurt, so it's a way lower priority. "I hate it, it feels like it's trapped and hollow and alone."

Dustin and Erica look at each other. Steve doesn't think they look irritated, but he can't really tell.

"Steve," Dustin says softly. "Since when?"

"Since always," Steve replies.

There's silence in response, and he worries briefly that he's said the wrong thing. But then Dustin sighs and pops open his chest, nudging his own heart aside so he can drop Steve's next to it. He closes it up again before Steve's even managed to get a fully formed thought, let alone words, and -

His heart gives a little stutter, and it's weird to feel the emotion that causes it without feeling the corresponding pounding against his own chest.

Dustin apparently feels it, though, because he squints at Steve. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Steve returns.

“You felt something!” Dustin retorts.

“Wait, you can feel what I'm feeling?” Steve demands.

“Of course I can,” Dustin scoffs, like it should be obvious. “I have your heart, don't I?”

He looks over at Robin, to see if she knew that, too, but she's too busy snickering at something the light is doing in the fountain, and -

Oh.

Wow.

Okay, that's much better.

He feels so much better, and even when he's handed his heart again after he and Robin are deposited in the movie theater -

The feeling lingers.

—

In a too bright bathroom that smells like bleach and vomit, Robin holds out her hands for his heart.

“Let me see,” she insists, and Steve doesn't think twice about handing it over.

She might as well have just put her own heart in his hands, after what she just shared with him.

Still, he feels trepidation when she unwraps it, even more when she blanches at the sight of it. But -

“Hey,” Steve says, leaning in to look more closely at it. “It looks better.”

“Better?” she demands. “This is better?”

“I guess I should put it back in my chest if it makes it better,” he says reluctantly.

Robin frowns. “But it hasn't been in your chest. Just Dustin's.”

Wait.

That's right.

“I learned about this!” Steve snaps his fingers, trying to place it. “Science class. People survive things they shouldn't if they give away their hearts?”

Robin, bless her, either remembers it better or has figured out what he's trying to say. “Your heart heals better if someone's keeping it safe for you?”

There's barely a second before she's opening her own chest, taking out her heart and putting his in instead.

“Here,” she says, handing her heart to him almost carelessly. “Watch this for me.”

The moment it's settled in his chest, though, he can feel - how scared she is, how terrifying this all seems. The edges of it are still dulled by the drugs in both their systems, but it's there.

“I'm sorry,” he tells her quietly, guilt twisting from him to his heart in her chest.

“I'm not,” she replies, sharp and stubborn.

And the thing is -

She isn't.

—

The paramedics don't insist on keeping him.

Steve thinks they might, if they could hear his own heart, but it's Robin's heart beating strong and steady in his chest, so they assume that no matter how bad he looks, he must not be in any danger.

He doesn't know what his heart sounds like, but judging by the look on the guy checking over Robin - it's not good.

But she's physically unharmed, so they must assume it's more emotional damage than anything else. He and Robin are two halves, right now, but put them together and they make a somewhat stable whole.

God, he loves her.

She must pick up the echo of his love, because she looks up, meeting his gaze. Her smile is a little sad, and he feels a rush of affection so strong that it almost takes his breath away, even if it's a little bittersweet.

"It's not like that," he tells her, as soon as she and him can huddle together away from the paramedics.

She frowns at him, a clear prompt to continue.

"I don't know if I know how to love someone this much, if it's not like that," he admits. "But I'm learning. I'm going to learn."

For Robin, he'll learn how to love someone so much he doesn't want to know what life is like without them, in a way that isn't romantic at all.

—

Robin comes home with him that night, their hearts still in each other's chests.

Steve almost can't bear the thought of taking his back at this point, and what he can pick up from Robin tells him she feels the same way.

There's a blinking light on the answering machine, and when he presses play, he smiles a little at hearing Eddie's voice.

“Hey, Steve, it's, uh, Eddie. Know I haven't stopped by in a while, but I saw the news tonight about the mall, and - can you just let me know you're okay? Okay. Yeah, okay, bye.”

He sounds a little like he's trying not to panic, and Steve feels himself go soft and fond.

“...huh,” Robin says, clearly getting an echo of what he's feeling. “Steve?”

Steve shrugs, a little helpless. “I don't know,” he admits.

She considers for a moment. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“You don't have to know,” she tells him.

“Okay,” he agrees.

He calls Eddie back while she showers, propped up against the bathroom door with the cordless phone in his hand.

“Hey,” Steve says when Eddie picks up. “It's Steve. Sorry, I know it's late.”

“No!” Eddie rushes to say. “No, it's okay, I was up. I saw - are you okay?”

“I've been better,” Steve admits. “There was some explosions, some rubble from the building collapsing. I've got cracked ribs and a concussion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters. “If you could stop getting beat up, it would really give my heart a break.”

Steve grins a little. “You worried about me? Thought it was my job to look out for you.”

He can't see him, but he's pretty sure Eddie's rolling his eyes. “Yeah, and who looks out for you, huh, asshole?”

Steve hums. “It's good to hear your voice. I missed you.”

Eddie's quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want - do you need someone to come keep an eye on you, make sure you wake up every hour?”

He kind of wishes Eddie'd finished what he started to say, because yeah, he does want him, but that's not the question Eddie ended up asking.

“Robin's here,” Steve says. “She was caught in it, too, but she didn't get too injured. She's going to stay over tonight.”

There's a moment of silence.

“Right, of course,” Eddie mutters.

“Can you come over tomorrow?” Steve finds himself asking without really thinking about it. Eddie's never been over - he's technically never hung out with Eddie outside of school or work - but shit, he wants it. “I think the drugs'll be out of my system by then, so I won't be too annoying. You can meet Robin.”

“You do know I've met her, right?”

Steve makes a tsk noise. “You've met Robin from band, just like she's met Eddie from the lunch tables. But you don't really know each other, not like I-”

He cuts off, because he's not really sure he has the right to say that. Does he really know either of them like that?

Whatever. If he doesn't, he wants to.

“You do better as part of a trio, huh?” Eddie asks quietly.

“Well, yeah,” Steve agrees. “But this is different, this is better.”

Eddie snorts. “Sure, you're not the third wheel anymore.”

“It's not that,” Steve protests. It feels important for him to get this right, though he's not sure why. “I don’t care about being a third wheel, it never bothered me. But Tommy and Carol… there were always conditions, with their friendship. The older we got, the more there were. And I love Nancy and Jonathan-”

His heart spasms. He can't feel it, but he feels the emotions, and Robin's heartbeat in his own chest kicks up. He mutes the phone, for a moment, knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m okay!” he calls through it, feels a wave of relief coming from her, and lets himself feel simple, uncomplicated affection.

“But things are complicated with them,” he continues after he unmutes the phone. “I think they always will be.”

“And what, I'm uncomplicated?” Eddie asks, but he sounds more amused than anything else.

“You're something,” Steve agrees, not bothering to try not to sound warm and fond.

Eddie blows out a puff of air. “I have band practice tomorrow,” he says. “But I'll call you sometime later, okay?”

No, that doesn't sound okay.

“Is this one of those things where you're not really asking me if it's okay, you're just saying it so it sounds better?” Steve asks. “What would you do if I said it wasn't okay? If I said I really wanted you to come over?”

Eddie's quiet again. “Do you want me to come over?”

“Yes,” Steve replies immediately, because he's had it saved up since Eddie didn't finish asking him it in the first place.

If his heart were in his own chest, he's pretty sure it would be thumping in anticipation.

“Not tonight,” Eddie says finally. “But I do want to be friends with you, okay? I'll call you.”

He hangs up after that, and Steve stares at the phone until Robin comes out of the bathroom and finds him like that.

She doesn't have to ask what happened - probably because she felt what happened - she just sits next to him a while.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

-----

Part 7

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @thewickedkat @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy @missmagillicuddy @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @ollyxar @cringe-culture-is-dead-99 @thedragonsaunt @makewavesandwar @cryptid-system @ajeff855 @mae-liz @the-fantastical-asexual @jettestar @warlordess @persnicketysquares @samsoble @my-love-of-books @mydysfunctionallife @dreamercec @holyangelstudentuniverse @breealtair @shunna @xtraordinarally

[luckyofthelawnvariety]

You know what sure, I'll make a list of things I didn't realize about Etho before, after watching his entire Hermitcraft s10:

he is really good at designing little aesthetic details

he enjoys being a little menace to the other hermits (and is used to them giving him shit back, he actually expects it)

(an interesting example of the above is him attempting to tease joel with the statues, but when he realizes joel took it seriously he backs off and gives him his own statues)

he'll branch out on occasion and try something new he hasn't done before (the statues of hermits, armor stands)

he is such a perfectionist my goodness

he isn't a fan of overloading a space with details. he IS a fan of smoothing out build details so they flow into each other as much as possible (see how much he messes with the details on the bridges and gateways, making things the same colors etc)

he will kind of just poke at a problem until he figures it out. this applies to things other than redstone too.

ngl a lot of the redstone goes over my head (I break technology on a good day) but he's very good at breaking it down into chucks, to where I feel I could replicate a lot of what he makes, even if I don't entirely understand it.

on a similar note, the way he and tango both will just...put things together in such a way where you just stare at the result. frogger is insane and wonderful.

also, hilarious how worked up he gets defending his silly setup and decisions. tbf I am the exact same way but it's fun to see (I have a computer that I used until, I kid you not, it couldn't go longer than 10 min without shutting itself down. I am also the problem, mr. mic-stand-tissue-box)

he has his favorites to go bother, of course bdubs, but gem is also a favorite now, and doc and beef you can tell he thinks are fun to mess with

he has a lot of respect for other hermits? honestly it's in a chill way but he likes to go check things out and he'll back off if he feels he's overstepped. which should be standard but still, glad to see it.

he will join in on the bit, but he's normally pretty calm about it unless he likes it

disclaimer: don't mean anything by this, but sir you eat the same sandwich for lunch every day and will mimic sounds and vocal inflections you like. why are you me.

he is so petty. it's easy to miss if you aren't paying too much attention but he is SO petty, he is cleo levels of petty and judgmental.

he also will compliment people when he is genuinely impressed. sometimes it will be only to his viewers, but honestly the hermits are etho fans anyways so they'll probably get the message.

this man LIES. it's more obvious in the life series, and it ties into the pettiness and being a menace to other hermits, but he will straight up lie, especially if he thinks it's funny

he's a builder as much as he is a redstoner. it's not this way in every series but he has an eye for design and is good at enacting it, he just also has the ability to just make a build without making it super nice. (some builder hermits I'm pretty sure are incapable of letting themselves build something genuinely ugly. even bdubs stupid house in secret life is good...while etho can value practicality over pretty)

he'll pick up little things from other hermits, either in videos or actions. he's really open to learning. unless he's currently being petty. (see: he does intros similar to gem now, he'll adapt little redstone things he sees other hermits using, or little build details)

he is also really chill about teaching and giving advice, in that he'll tell you what he thinks could be better, same as he judges himself pretty much. sometimes he'll hold back, but he's in it to help you out and help you improve

he likes puzzles :)

he is always thinking of ways to improve, either himself or what he's making or the game of minecraft itself

he gets irritated with himself when he's having trouble with something. he's extremely stubborn and will sometimes out stubborn himself

on a very similar note: he is EXTREMELY competitive (see: giving himself a nosebleed doing cub's maze, not stopping until he gets the highest possible score on impulse's grass game, ALL OF DECKED OUT)

he likes doing things for his friends tbh. he really liked making frogger for the hermits, he likes figuring out new things that the hermits will use. I notice this more as a gem watcher, because the way etho was pretty much like "look at this, look what I did!" to gem about the trident farm...the hermits are hilarious

overall, here for a good time, and a slightly petty and perfectionist time, but a good time. and if he gets to bother the other hermits, or has to put up with the other hermits bothering him, so be it

in summary: I've always been a gem main, but I guess I'm a gemboy and an ethogirl now

[melliemell]

Pairing: Akutagawa x reader

Contents: SFW, hesitant reader (for intimacy), little shit to actual good boyfriend akutagawa, crappy braiding attempts, fluff and make-outs, Approx. 1.3k words

“I don’t see the point in this. It is absurd.”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering in the slightest to answer that question. Getting Akutagawa to agree to… this, was a hard enough quest to begin with. No way were you spoiling it by wasting time on useless arguing.

You had him exactly where you wanted. 

“Just keep doing it, no buts,” you sighed, leaning further back. Feeling Akutagawa’s body embrace you from behind was simply too pleasant; and sinking deeper against his chest, your head huddled under his chin as he struggled to detangle another failed attempt at a small braid– it was simply heaven in the flesh. His cute, scrunched up face of concentration-bordering-on-annoyance was the highlight of the show. You found yourself glancing up more often than not, making his attempts at braiding even more bothersome with your movement.

“If you have expectations from this, drop it.” Akutagawa said, gaze narrowed as another lock came loose. His eye twitched. “I can think of better ways to spend my time than this. It will not lead to anything.”

“That’s not the point.” You stretching lazily against him. He was way comfier than the couch you sat on. Having such quick access to his chest made it all the easier to turn and squish your face against it. “The point’s that I like it,” you said, voice muffled. 

“You’re a creature of simple pleasures. What are you, a cat?”

You snorted. “Well… I could purr for you all night long, babygirl.”

Akutagawa’s hands stopped. You never quite knew how far you could go with your teasing. That was the fun of it, really, seeing how he’d react each time.

Akutagawa sighed. He cupped your cheek, drawing you up until he held your chin between his thumb and index finger. Cool gray eyes locked into yours. “I can’t even begin with deciding which part of your statement to address first. Was that a bad joke?”

“I would never joke on such matters. Never,” you said, voice filled the severity found only in honest men. Almost. You’ve been getting quite good at bulshitting lately, you couldn’t deny it.

Akutagawa hardly seemed fazed though. But he was used to your antics, so it scarcely counted. “You’re being ridiculous. At least it’s amusing you.”

You sat straighter, pulling his hand from your chin to rest against your nape instead. “I’m a hard worker. Being funny for two drains a lot out of you, I’m afraid.” 

“Are you by chance implying something?” Akutagawa said, eyes boring into yours. His other hand landed on your waist, pulling you in gently.

He never quite managed to pull his trademark intimidating guy facade since you became partners. But you humoured him still. “Believe what you want to believe, I see.” You ran your fingers through Akutagawa’s hair, drawing a quiet sigh from him. 

“What, are you calling me a bore?” he asked, looking down to your lips/looking down his nose..

Your hand found the hem of shirt. You smiled. 

“Yeah. What you gonna do about it, mister uptight?”

“You leave me no choice on the matter, you scoundrel,” Akutagawa said and your smile grew wider as he leaned in.

The kiss was a chaste, delicate thing. Akutagawa’s lips brushed against your, pointy nose grazing against your cheek as he tilted your faces closer. He was all angles and no tenderness… usually. Drawing out this side of him had specific requirements, and even then it was a hard-pressed battle to win. Even holding his hand for the first time was an adventure; one of many failed attempts and sharp glares of warning. Especially in public, god forbid. 

But now they engulfed you, Akutagawa holding you firmly against him. You could never figure out how to efficiently keep him warm, but it didn’t matter now because every light brush of a cool finger against your nape sent pleasant shivers down your spine. You snuggled closer, your hands sneaking around his waist. Akutagawa hummed in approval against your lips.

You liked those moments, melting into the comfort of it easily. You could have gone on forever, tasting Akutagawa against your lips. Until you noticed a cool hand trail around your back, slowly prying the hem of your shirt loose to stroke against your belly. You tensed involuntarily, feeling his thumb brush beneath your waistband.

“Hey… quick question?” you breathed in between peppered kisses.

“Yes?”

“Are we…” you searched your mind for the right words, only to feel your face begin to flush. “I mean, where are going here? Doing stuff wise.”

Akutagawa pulled back, considering you with a blank face. “Judging by my quite sharp memory–”

You groaned, flopping against his chest. 

“Allow me to finish, please,” Akutagawa said, voice even. “You stated the ability, and I quote– to purr all night for me. Whatever that would imply. How creative.”

You huddled closer, nose poking at Akutagawa’s lower neck. “...yeeah,” you grumbled.

Akutagawa stroked your hair, falling silent for a moment. Too long. You were about to ask if something was wrong when Akutagawa continued. 

“Now,” he said. “I’m not opposed to you making a fool of yourself, it is a frequent occurrence after all–” He shushed your huff of protest. “–but I’ve also acquired a very useful ability of recent. Care to hear of it?”

Akutagawa was guarding his expressions to the notch, ever the image of nonchalance. If it weren’t for the way he spun around his words, drawing out their conclusion with eloquent filler, you would’ve been more worried. 

But this here? Yeah, you were unavoidably being teased by a man who thinks dry–commenting how funny your jokes are is essentially the same as laughing at them.

Please.

You rose up languidly, drooping your head to the side as you eyed Akutagawa warily. Here we go. “Do go on, then.”

Akutagawa leaned in, expression serious. His hand reached up to poke a finger between your creased brow. “I can see this.”

“This what?” you said, feeling lost.

“It’s not there now, but nonetheless– it was.”

“Okey, mister cryptic.”

“Now, now” Akutagawa began, drawing a surprised uhh from you as he spun you around, his chest to your back again. “I believe I was busy with wasting my time.” And his hands trailed to your hair, his clumsy attempts at braididng starting anew.

“But–” you shut your mouth. As pleasant as this was, it didn’t answer anything. You huffed in annoyance. “You’re being the weird one now.”

For a moment no answer came, Akutagawa’s hands stilled to brush liggtly against your shoulders. You glanced back curiously. 

His hands resumed their braiding, eyes focused. “I don’t wish for you to feel… uncomfortable, around me. You were worried earlier. And you’re too expressive; an easily exploitable weakness. Just because I’m not as skilled at reading people it doesn’t apply to you.”

Oh, you stupid man. “So you were worried?”

“I was merely paying attention,” Akutagawa retorted. He stubbornly kept his gaze on his work.

You… hadn’t really noticed, but you did stiffen up a moment ago. It’s not that you disliked his touch, the contrary even. But uncertainty was there and demanding, and pushing things too fast when they shouldn’t be was a tendency you had. A bad one.

You leaned back further, signing contently as Akutagawa brushed against your neck with deft fingers. He really was shit at braiding. But you wanted this, it was the plan. And so what, you were in no hurry for anything, were you?

He was a solid presence behind you; a promise of staying exactly where he was. Maybe you’ll smooch him later again. 

Or not.

Okay definitely you will, but that wasn’t the point. The point was you could just rest against each other here as well, and it would still be enough for both of you, no expectations or pressure.

Man, what a life indeed. 

[rederiswrites]

Alright, I've got to get the gripes out. Doesn't mean you have to read it. If you love the game you probably shouldn't. This is for people who are really disappointed or angry about...things and would like to feel like they're not alone.

This is not about the absolute value of Veilguard. I enjoyed the game and I am, if anything, enjoying it more on the second playthrough. Like all the other installations, inevitably it is its own thing. Some franchises are just logical continuations of their previous installments, but Dragon Age has never been like that and I sure wouldn't expect it after this long since the last installment.

[Edited to add that I reblog locked it but 100% encourage sharing your feelings in the replies or even my dms. It's fine to talk about it! I want to talk about it!]

That said, my biggest gripes about Veilguard:

The sanitizing of the Crows

Come on now. I even defended you, Bioware! Before the game, I said, nahhhh they won't make the Crows Good Guys just because of Lucanis! Lucanis was tortured too! Well, they didn't do that, I guess. They did it as part of a much larger pattern of ironing out the moral grey areas the franchise was formerly known for.

The Crows are Patriots! Well, they are. And also, though you wouldn't know it, slavers and torturers and murderers of children. You'd be forgiven for not realizing that, considering the creation of the feel good House for orphans who really wanna be contract killers. But it is pretty foundational lore and all. There is the like, one previous Crow character, whom they wrote as going on a righteous mission to kill Crows, because of the whole them being bad thing.

What was being raised by the head of the Crows like, Lucanis? Torture? Hahaha funny oh you mean literally. Literally your grandmother tortured and starved you and never gave you the slightest choice in your life and you've accepted that because you accept the logic that it was necessary. But again. That's based on my knowledge of material outside this game.

Any previous game would have reveled in that! Do you ally yourself with these people, this objectively bad organization full of people who don't see themselves as bad at all? Because they are very good at killing, and that's what you need! But this game just makes them good guys. No moral dilemma needed. Nope, we like black and white now.

And speaking of which,

The dehumanization of the Antaam

Ew. Ew ew ew.

Gimme a minute and I'll come up with something better to say but seriously? Ew.

They neither look nor sound like any of the other qunari characters. They sound like animals, literally. Exactly once does one make the slightest attempt to do anything but attack you--and then he attacks you anyway. Not a single one deserts. I guess the lesson here is that apparently qunari really do become mindless beasts without the structure and discipline of the Qun??? Ew. No thank you.

I know, you gotta have faceless mooks. In Inquisition we fought rebel mages for absolutely no good reason but that they attacked us. In da2 thugs literally fell from the sky. But the absolutely comprehensive way in which the Antaam never spoke for themselves, as actual people... Wow.

Imagine. Imagine if we could have actually negotiated an agreement with a group of them, for that final battle. Would that have been so impossible? To fight mages?! Imagine if we'd had a former Antaam companion. Imagine if he'd been mulling over what the Arishok, Sten, the OG proof that qunari are NOT animals outside the Qun, said before the Antaam rebelled.

Mythal: basically a nice mother goddess!

What. What. What.

In this, the culmination of her sins, the finale of Solas' millennia of taking the blame for shit she set in motion, Mythal is... Flat as hell. Millennia of her scheming. Surviving. Using and abusing her children, arguably using and abusing Solas, seducing and manipulating and whatever it takes to nudge things her way. And now she's just... Kinda imperious I guess? And Morrigan just has her memories and nothing is bad about that ever. Huh.

The thing is, I was never against Mythal, in all her complex nastiness. We didn't know what her game was! I just wanted to know! What made it all worth it? What was the plan?

Well I guess the plan was--nothing? Don't worry about it. I guess.

Side note, the design work on the Mythal fragment was some Computer Animation Is My Passion, early 2000's Barbie straight to VHS looking shit. Profoundly disappointing. Did you even try.

Tell, don't show

Is the strange new voice in the blight coming from over there really horrifying? Or did you just say it was roughly fifteen times, but then actually it was just a big blob of Blight that you had to shoot extra times? Is the Butcher cruel? Or did Teia and Viago just tell us he was cruel with absolutely no detail whatsoever? Is Minrathous really blighted if you choose to save Treviso? Or are there just more beggars and some rubble and literally one blighted character? And so on, and so forth.

Remember that popular post not long ago, about how one of the great joys of Dragon Age was the sifting through unreliable narrators? Piecing together Avvar epic poetry and fragments of ancient elvhen runes and Andrastian canticles to try to guess what actually happened. The unique and unusual (in fiction) joy of the historiography of it all? We got to actively engage with the discovery. We got to piece together that Solas was the Dread Wolf, bit by difficult to find bit.

The fridge horror of it all could be really incredible. Making us work it out for ourselves meant that we experienced it much more intimately. It was an incredible storytelling tool.

Yeah I guess we just watch movies about it now. Just plug in the DVD Wolf statuette and now we know. And the codexes are reduced to flavor text and puzzle clues.

And last but definitely most,

Flat writing

Look man I know that's subjective as shit but it was. A lot of it was. You either agree or you don't, but for me, it was never more obvious than in the moments of contrast, when it was up to standard. The conversation with the Butcher. Every minute with Solas. Spite.

Contrast the Butcher (intense! Passionate! Creepy fucken pale face Harkonnen vibes! Deranged but genuine love for Treviso!) with the Dragon King (I don't even know what to put here. You don't even have to fight him! He just...blusters, and then there's a dragon, and then Taash shoves him and he falls over.)

It's just...I could probably forgive a lot of the stuff that went before if it was just more compellingly written.

Even here I absolutely will not be getting into character complaints. Those are too personal, and frankly I think people should keep them to private conversations. They have too much potential to hurt people for too little gain.

Sigh. I'm done now. I will try to focus on the good and the creative because I think that contributes a great deal more to everything and everyone. But for now, let me contemplate what could have been.

[floralcavern]

Charlie and Vaggie are BORING.

For a while, I was a Charlastor shipper. Then they were like “but what if Alastor had a maturity level to be her dad?” so I was like “Oh, nevermind-“ and now I’m highkey a Charlie x Emily shipper. But why, why, WHY is Charlie x Vaggie so damn BORING?! Well, here’s some good videos to watch on that before I discuss-

So, what could have been done to fix this? Because I usually LOVE the black cat x golden retriever ship? But the fun part of it is seeing how they bounce off each other/affect each other. We kind of get that, but like… every characters’ relationship in this series is so shallow that we don’t get it much. And Charlie is just a bad protag overall, but, whatever..

So, Charlie being THIS naive pisses me off. She is the Princess of Hell!!!!! Why is she so clueless about everything? There’s a difference between positivity and seeing the best in everyone vs being… kind of stupid. And what makes it more annoying is that Vaggie is more self aware of how this place works than Charlie, THE HELLBORN. I think it would not only be more fun, but also make more sense, if Vaggie was more naive than Charlie about how this place works. They can still keep their same personalities, of course, but Vaggie still thinks and remembers how Heaven functioned and worked and Charlie, trying to be ever so positive, is just like “Oh.. ya.. another turf war. But hey! Only 100 people died this time! Ahaha.. ha..” and Vaggie, being an exorcist Angel, is like, “Ya, aha… WAIT, WHAT-???” because she’s still just not entirely used to that idea and then she’s like, “Oh, right.. ya, that’s not that bad,” when she remembers just HOW bad this place is. Like, she goes in expecting the worst because she already thinks everyone here is awful, but then she’s always thrown for a loop for just how awful it really is. I can imagine this would be pretty funny.

“You disgusting sinner. I can only imagine the absolute vile things you did, you-!”

“Ya, I exploited babies.”

“….You what?”

“I exploited. Babies.”

“….H-How? How do you do that? What? Why? What the fuck???”

Also, MAKE CHARLIE CRASS! But, like, in such a sweetheart kind of way. If characters are going to swear, give them their own ways and cadences for how they do it, rather than making them all sound like middle schoolers. That was something I really liked they did with Alastor.

Charlie, when she swears, it just doesn’t sound mean at all. When she says bitch, it sounds like she’s saying “sweetheart”. When she says fuck, it’s purely out of excitement and joy. But, she is crass because she was born and raised here and Vaggie, meanwhile, never swears (because in my version, the angels never swear, not even the exorcists) until the series goes on and she does it more and more with more aggression. I think that’d be funny, especially if it was Charlie’s influence that rubbed off on her.

Also, one thing I’d find interesting for a good arc between their relationship that would make them come out stronger in the end is if Vaggie was, like.. accidentally racist toward Charlie on multiple occasions. Charlie, being a sweetheart, is like “Oh, no, pffft, i-it’s fine! She didn’t mean it!” and everyone else at the hotel is like “🤨” but after Vaggie being an exorcist is revealed, Charlie snaps more at Vaggie when she undermines Charlie for being hellborn, eventually calling her out. I can believe Charlie forgiving Vaggie fast for being an exorcist, that’s in character, but that’s the problem! Because then, it feels kind of… ‘eh’ and like it really didn’t do much to develop their relationship. Giving it some sort of barrier that’s been around since the very beginning that Charlie now finally has the courage to call Vaggie out on will make it feel like there’s actual change in the relationship.

And now… SHOW THEM DO COUPLE SHIT! Or, at the very least, them having an actual dynamic rather than just “I protect youuuuu…” I swear, background handholding and stuff is fine, but it’s all fluff!!! Show what they’re actually like as a couple. Show them getting ready for bed together! Charlie cursing up a storm when she’s really excited and Vaggie is so shocked, but also kind of into it, but also kind of horrified because she just is still in that mindset of full, complete purity. And, most of all, PLEASE JUST SHOW THEM FLIRTING! Please, please, please!!! It’s not that hard, PLEASE!!! It does wonders for showing the characters’ personalities and relationships. How do they flirt, how do they react to flirting, what makes them uncomfortable, what makes them flustered, what’s considered common flirting between them, what’re some inside jokes they have? Just… SHOW THEM BEING AN ACTUAL COUPLE, PLEASE.

If I have to rely solely on fanwork for me to find the MAIN COUPLE even remotely interesting, then you’re doing a bad job writing them!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.

Men Are All Lining Up, to Put Me on a Pedestal

Prompt: "I'm not standing in line for that." | Word Count: 8160 | Rating: E | CW: Explicit Sexual Content | POV: Eddie | Relationship(s): Established Steddie, Eddie/Corroded Coffin | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, Future Fic, The Struggle of Fame, Steve Takes Care of Eddie, Kink Exploration, Multiple Partners, Barebacking, Running a Train, Safe Sane and Consensual, Eddie Wants to Be Railed By Multiple Men, And He Gets Exactly That

Also available right here on ao3.

He's suddenly nervous, and Eddie's never nervous about anything. Not anymore. He's spent too long in front of the watchful eye of the public, the media, society, until he's felt like he's not even himself anymore. Like he had to turn over the keys to his whole personhood, a fiddle of gold against his soul, for this life they live. He's somehow become a character being watched from the outside in, until he couldn't feel anything at all anymore. Like nothing about himself was even his own, just for his own wants, needs, and desires.

Instead, he's public property.

A brand.

Everything is a business decision. A group discussion, involving far more people than he feels comfortable with.

He wants to be Eddie again. Just Eddie. Not Eddie Munson, the face of Corroded Coffin. And more than that, he wants to feel something. Something that brings him pleasure just for the sake of existing. Something real.

Something they can't take away from him like they've carved away nearly everything else, bit by bit, a sliver at a time.

Something that the outside world can't touch.

And to do that tonight, he wants to feel this.

All of this, with all of them.

So, he kneels, his knees sunk into the mattress of the hotel bed. He meets Steve's eyes, as Steve sits in the chair across the room, his leg crossed, dangling. Watching, waiting, loose and comfortable. Shirtless, jeans slid back on, but unbuttoned and hanging open.

He looks effortlessly comfortable in his own skin, but he always does. Eddie may be the one that performs in arenas, commanding attention under the hot stage lights, but it's Steve that's truly confident. That unwavering surety of knowing who he is drew Eddie in, and it's probably unfair to the rest of the world that Eddie is somehow the lucky one that charmed the pants off of him, locking him down, years ago.

Tough shit. 

He's Eddie's. And Eddie is his.

Seeing Steve sitting there, relaxed, strong and calm, is the last confirmation Eddie needed, the last permission or reassurance. Eddie bows his head, leaning all the way forward, cheek against the soft cotton sheets.

Steve had gone first, marking him, inside and out, but now the palm that runs over his bare ass is warm, calloused and very much not Steve's. It's funny that he can tell the difference, but he can. It's been so long since anyone else has touched him in this way other than Steve.

Steve's hands are assured, firm, never a hint of hesitation. These hands now are full of wavering nervousness.

"Eddie?" Jeff asks, a fucking full sentence of a question being asked in his name alone, and Eddie nods, silently telling him: Yes. Nothing's changed. Do it.

And he does. 

The blunt head of his cock presses into Eddie's already loosened hole and Eddie fists the sheets under his hand. Oh shit, they're really doing this. It feels different, maybe more so than he'd expected. He hasn't been fucked by all that many people, he was usually the one doing the fucking, back when casual sex was still on the menu. Before Steve. But now it's just Steve, and sure, Steve's fucked him, because they've fucked each other in every way anyone could ever imagine. But more often than not, Steve wants to be fucked, and Eddie has always been more than happy to fulfill any desire Steve may have.

Tonight, Steve's fulfilling one of Eddie's.

Eddie feels incredibly lucky that he's met his match, met someone with maybe an even filthier mind than his own.

But this isn't Steve, not this time. Eddie knows what Steve feels like. He's memorized him. His dick, his body, his hands.

And this is different.

The hands holding his hips are firm, but it's an unfamiliar dick starting to slowly fuck into him. It's nice. It's not Steve, but it's good. Grounding. Different. He asked for this, so he closes his eyes and just enjoys the new sensations. The stretch. The fullness. The slightly different curve that touches different spots inside him, in different ways. He focuses on how good it feels, on how it was the right decision to trust enough to let someone else inside him, even if it's just Jeff. Someone else he loves and trusts, wholly. Fully. 

Not in love, but love. And he wants to be loved, wants to be filled with it. Wants to feel. Wants to be taken care of, and treated as who he is, down deep. Just Eddie. Not some famous guy in a band. 

So, he enjoys the slide, the drag, breathing through it, zoning out, taking pleasure from the white noise until he feels the stuttering unevenness, the fingers digging into his hips harder, as Jeff presses deep.

Two men, back-to-back. He's never. Didn't even think about it, until recently. 

And then that's all he could think about. He'd get himself off on the fantasy of it, and when he finally told Steve, he'd expected him to laugh. To not take it seriously, and even if he did, to say no way, not ever, no chance in hell. 

But he'd agreed to talk it out. Was willing to help give Eddie anything he needed, anything he desired. And they talked over the options. But nothing seemed right, or safe. Eddie didn't want his perversions spread to the gossip rags, didn't want strangers knowing anything more about him, especially not this. 

So, strangers were a non-starter. 

And Eddie didn't want to hire it out anyway, he's never paid for sex, and wasn't ready to start now, for this. 

Which made it seem impossible. Steve faked it. Fucked him, then fucked him with different toys until he could go again, and it just…wasn't. 

It wasn't.

This was an itch, and Eddie needed it scratched deep in his brain.

And that's when Steve came up with this idea, this plan, that at first Eddie thought seemed crazier than anything else they'd workshopped to make this happen.

But-

It's just sex. 

That's what Steve had said. It's just sex, like it's that easy. And Eddie had thought no, it's not, can't be, especially when they were talking about involving these guys that he loves, knows, and has tied his whole life to, permanently. 

His bandmates. 

His best friends.

He worried this would ruin it. That even the mention of it would make them look at him differently, and in a worst case scenario, with disgust. That even one night of scratching an itch would be too big of an ask, too messy. Eddie was scared. So, Steve did the negotiations. Started the conversations, took care of it behind the scenes, took care of Eddie, managed them all, their wants and needs, just like he always does. 

And Eddie wasn't wrong. There was hesitation, lots of questions, and discussions. 

But nobody laughed at the idea once explained, Steve promised him that nobody said no right off the bat. They all listened, and asked questions, and talked it through with Steve. Eddie's sure that helped. Them all knowing that Steve was not only aware, but on board. Facilitating it, negotiating, just like it was any other part of his job.

Because when Steve talks, they listen. All of them.

He's kept them stable, on solid ground. Corroded Coffin, the brand, if not the band itself, would have died screaming decades ago without Steve Harrington there to guide the whole operation.

Steve is right here, within arm's reach, where he's been for all the years that have mattered.

Secure in his experience, his body, and in their love. He's had to be, with the world trying to claw parts of Eddie away, at any given opportunity. If he was jealous, he would have flown the coop years and years ago.

He's not. They love each other. They trust each other.

Even today.

It's just sex.

And the guys must have agreed it was just sex too, because an agreement was reached. A decision. A date set, and a plan laid out. Testing, and results, and then required abstinence after, so yeah, it's not spontaneous, not a bit of it, but that's okay. Eddie'd rather they cover all the bases, to protect Steve, protect himself, protect all of them, as best they can if they were actually gonna do this.

And now, Jeff is fucking him. It's really happening, he's fucking Eddie right after Steve has finished inside. 

It feels wrong.

It feels good.

Jeff's hands are cupping his hips, holding on lightly, as he's scrunching his fingers, balling his fists, right against Eddie's skin, a nervous habit he's always had. Showing he's anxious right now, but fuck, so is Eddie. But Eddie's trying to relax into it. To enjoy this thing he's fantasized about so goddamn much it was rotting his fucking brain.

It's different, the feeling of him. 

Jeff's breathing heavy, hard, and Eddie wishes he could feel him beyond his hands, and the snap of his hips against his ass.

Then his tempo is stuttering, and he bottoms out, coming with a groan. Eddie's dick jumps at the idea, more than any actual feeling. But he pictures it in his mind, and it sends a shiver through him.

Jeff pulls away, cock sliding out wetly, and he picks up the marker to make his black tally mark on Eddie's ass cheek. Tugging off the cap, and then pulling it across his skin, Eddie feels good, like he's been taken. Claimed. Marked.

Then the bed shifts. Jeff climbs off, and Goodie climbs on, taking his place. 

Goodie was the most reluctant to agree, but now he works himself inside Eddie, with no fanfare. No hesitation. No additional questions. Eddie's pretty sure that today, he's just a hole to Goodie, and that's okay. He wasn't asking for anything else, anything more, not from any of them. He has more, he has everything, right across the room. A perfectly arched foot, bouncing ever-so-slightly as Steve watches.

It's thrilling, having Steve's eyes on him. It always has been, but this way is novel, and Eddie's learned something new during all this, especially today: 

Steve likes to watch. 

And Eddie likes to be seen. 

Goodie braces one hand against Eddie's back for leverage as he guides his cock inside, and Eddie breathes out through his nose. He's been fucked twice already, but this is a new stretch and burn, even after all that.

"Oh," Eddie breathes out.

Goodie laughs, "Told you so."

He brushes his fingers against Eddie's spine, just one reassuring graze.

But that's it. He's in, and then he's just driving into Eddie, chasing his own orgasm, using him, and that's exactly what Eddie wanted. 

It's quick, fast and dirty. 

Goodie's weight slamming against his ass, Eddie really feeling the stretch around his stupid girth as Goodie hammers away, unrelenting.

Steve's got a big dick, so Eddie thought he was prepared for anything, but he wasn't prepared for this. Not really.

Eddie barely has time to adjust, barely has time to slide into the rhythm of it, before Goodie shoves in once more, coming with grunt, before pulling out and scratching his tally to the growing total. He slaps Eddie on the ass afterwards, and he's gone. The bed shaking with his exit, Eddie digging in, just to keep upright on his knees.

Eddie sees Jeff grab a clean hand towel from a stack on the dresser, handing it to Goodie. They work together silently, Goodie wiping himself down, then Jeff handing him his boxers, Goodie pulling them up and on. They're in sync in that way only best friends can be, and even the first steps they both take to leave the bedroom are synchronized.

He breathes through the throbbing at his center, a reminder of what has happened so far. Three men, three totally different experiences. 

And he's ready for the fourth. 

But the bed is still now, and nothing's happening.

"Gare?" Eddie questions, unsure, and then Eddie finally feels the bed move. 

"Right here," Gareth says crawling up behind Eddie on the bed, and there are suddenly hands, smaller, but still firm, rubbing all over his skin. 

Rough calluses from a lifetime of gripping drumsticks. 

He doesn't know what the pause was, hopes it wasn't hesitation, and focuses on his touch to not allow himself to spiral. He meets Steve's eyes, and Steve smiles and gives him a reassuring nod that settles him, instantly. 

It's okay, because Steve says it's okay.

Then two fingers are pressed into him, and Eddie bows his head again, smiling into the bedding. He's already loose. Looser than he's been in his whole life, most definitely, but Gareth is still fingering him open with a politeness Eddie never would have imagined him possessing. 

He knows this kid, inside and out, and polite wouldn't be on a top twenty-list of descriptors. 

But tonight, he's being considerate. Soft. 

"Look," Gareth says, and Eddie looks up, finding the mirror on the wall across from the bed. He knows Steve chose this penthouse suite, this hotel, very carefully. It's private, squirreled away, and it has this large, ornate mirror across from the bed so Eddie can see what he asked for. 

In the reflection, Eddie sees when Gareth pulls his fingers out, both shiny and slick, showing them to Steve, to Eddie.

Steve shifts in the chair and palms his own crotch. He's hard. He's been hard, and that is a bolt of lightning along Eddie's spine.

Gareth's playing to the audience, doing what he does best, and Eddie loves him for it, desperately, and he feels put at ease. 

Then, Gareth lays over Eddie's back, and it's different from Jeff and Goodie's approach. Gareth uses his hand, and carefully guides his dick to Eddie's used hole, rubbing the head against him, teasing him, gathering up the remnants of lube and come from everyone else, before pressing forward, sliding smoothly inside. Eddie can hear, can feel, the come being displaced inside him, making room, being forced out, leaking down as he groans, hanging his head.

He knows it's mostly wet and thin now. That's just how it works, even if he wishes he was being filled with large loads that could somehow stay thick and in place.

Gareth's touching him all over as they're pressed together in every place they can be, and it feels normal, even if they've never done this before, because they are always joined at the hip, have been for years. Gareth's his best friend. Steve and Gareth, he trusts and loves them both differently, but equally.

Eddie knows he and Gareth have their own unexplainable rhythm together, always have. It's natural, and innate. Like Eddie's musical creativity curled outward one day, got tangled up with Gareth's, and just never let go.

Today, they're exploiting that connection in a different way.

"God, Gare," Eddie whines, and Gareth chuckles, softly.

This is new, a change, and Eddie hopes it doesn't break them. He's suddenly worried that this idea of his, this perversion he begged for, will be their undoing. Especially with Gareth. He's not as worried about Jeff and Goodie for some reason, but Gareth? He can't have Gareth looking at him differently because of this. 

But Gareth brushes Eddie's sweaty, wet hair off Eddie's neck, and leans his face close to Eddie's.

"I love you," Gareth says, "you're my best friend. Thanks for letting me take care of you for a change."

And Eddie hangs his head, tears prickling behind his eyes, as Gareth finally starts to fuck him using slow, but powerful, thrusts. It's hard, but still feels soft, at the same time. 

Gareth's shifts, and on the next thrust, he drags the head of his cock right over Eddie's prostate and Eddie groans. That hadn't. It wasn't part of the plan. The other two hadn't tried. That hadn't really been the point. He'd wanted to be taken, used, over and over. Filled.

So, maybe it's an accident, a fluke.

Three more perfect strokes before he realizes, no, it's just steady accuracy. Controlled. Precise.

Gareth is all of those things and more behind a kit, and now he's those things behind Eddie.

Eddie claws at the bed with the realization that Gareth is keeping time, even here, doing this for him. Gareth's been trusted to keep the tempo, to stay in control, to get the job done right, night after night on stage, and Eddie feels immense comfort in that familiarity. If Eddie could concentrate, he thinks he could even work out the BPM.

The relief that Gareth knows the rhythm, that he can keep them in sync with each other, even if it's a brand new song, is palpable in Eddie.

That the beat of this is safe in his hands. 

Eddie clutches at the sheets, and feels the tears running down his cheeks. He sucks in a shuddering breath, and Gareth falters, a hiccup of hesitation behind him.

"He's still good, I promise," Steve says from across the room, a step ahead as always, and Eddie nods, agreeing.

He's more than good.

He feels whole.

And Gareth hardly misses a beat, falling right back into the rhythm he's been setting.

Eddie's orgasm builds, the tightening, the pull of it, but he's pretty sure he won't come untouched, not at his age, and he jumps when Gareth's fist closes around his dick. Gareth stutters, stills, and starts to pull his hand away, like he's realized maybe that wasn't, isn't, okay. Eddie catches his wrist, holding his hand to him, helping with the next couple strokes, giving his permission, and melts back into the overwhelming sensations. It somehow still catches him by surprise as he comes all over the sheets beneath him. That hadn't been the goal here tonight. Not really. Eddie wanted to be filled, wanted to get off on this, but hadn't particularly thought about actually coming himself.

He's clenching down on Gareth's cock, and being sucked out to sea with the waves of it. He's drifting, floating away, an immense relaxation overtaking his body. He's not sure he can even stay upright.

Gareth's hand has slowed, but hasn't let go, and Eddie still feels it as he pulses on Gareth's cock, spasming with the last waves of pleasure that are rolling through him.

"That's it," Gareth says, and his fingertips press into his skin, squeezing as he stills, groaning near Eddie's ear. Eddie's slick, and open, but he can still feel Gareth harden further, tensing, and Eddie moans at how much he likes it as Gareth finally comes. Gareth keeps thrusting, just gentler now, even as he begins to soften, the joint mess slicking the way. There's no fucking way he could stay in if Eddie wasn't this open, and that's a good thing, Eddie supposes, as Gareth feels reluctant to leave, and Eddie feels reluctant to let him. So he clamps down, as much as he can, and Gareth keeps moving inside him. Not pulling out, because if he does, he'll never get back in. So, he stays deep, little rocking motions that are steady, just softer. Which is hard to do, Eddie fucking knows. You need a rock hard fucking cock for this. 

They just keep moving with each other in small, controlled motions. Give and take, give and take, while Steve watches.

Eddie expects Gareth's dick to soften fully, to slip free, but he feels the rigidity returning as Gareth keeps grinding into him, the slide becoming easier again.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, clawing at the sheets. He doesn't know if can take more of this.

Gareth pulls him upright, until he's sitting back on Gareth's thighs, fully-seated. He feels so goddamn full like this, and Eddie sags back against him. Wrapping his arm backwards, hooking it behind Gareth's neck. He's so fucking deep. It's too much. Way, way too much.

"I got you," Gareth says, "look at Steve."

And Eddie does. Opening his eyes, finding Steve's.

Eddie is full. Of cock, of come, of love, so much love. The love of his goddamn life is looking back at him with wonder, and his best friend is playing a measured, steady beat against his over-sensitive prostate, like it's a goddamn drum.

It's slow, not very active, so it lasts forever, just near tantric movement as Eddie hangs his head back, closing his eyes again. Just feeling it. 

This wasn't in the script in his head. Eddie imagined five. The five of them. Five marks, branding him.

But if Gareth wants to keep going, wants to keep filling him in this way, Eddie's not about to stop him. Not when he feels this good.

"Fucking hell, Jonesy," Eddie says, and Gareth laughs. He hasn't called him that in a while. He's just Gare. Or the kid. 

Even now, their teen years in the distant rearview.

"I got you, always," Gareth breathes back into his ear. "Me and Steve."

Eddie nods against Gareth's neck, and stretches out his hand. Beckoning Steve, he supposes, even he hadn't planned on it. 

He hears Steve stand. 

Then he puts a knee down on the mattress in front of Eddie, "I'm here."

Eddie isn't sure what he was asking for, because he doesn't really want to turn this into a threesome or an orgy. None of that was negotiated, not that he thinks either of them will do anything they don't want to do.

Gareth's breathing in his ear, hot and heavy, and then he suddenly says, "Your turn."

And he pushes Eddie forward, into Steve's chest. Steve catches him as Gareth pulls out. Eddie whines, nails digging into Steve's skin.

Then he hears Gareth's hand, moving slick and fast against his dick, and Gareth shouts as Eddie feels the first shot of come hits the small of his back, and Eddie fucking keens. Desperate. He actually got to feel that one, and it feels so fucking good.

He's been marked inside, and out.

"Look at that," Gareth says, "goddamn."

Steve helps Eddie back down onto his hands and knees, and stands back up at the edge of the bed as Gareth slides his fingers back inside Eddie, and when he brings them out, they are an offer to Steve, but Eddie isn't sure if Steve's gonna take it. Steve doesn't move, so Eddie catches Gareth's wrist, sucking them into his own mouth. 

It's heady, and doesn't taste like Steve at all. It's different, but he sucks on Gareth's fingers until he's gotten it all. 

Then he thinks Gareth is gonna go, but instead he feels him slide down the bed, and then his tongue pointed against Eddie's hole, pressing in. 

Fuck. Goddamn. 

And Eddie moans, "Oh, Jesus Christ."

Then, Gareth's face is next to his, and his tongue is curled, come shiny, waiting. 

Eddie opens his mouth, accepting it. Sliding his tongue against Gareth's, kissing him. He's never. They've never. But Eddie tangles his hand in Gareth's hair, tugging him closer, needy and wanting. He rolls onto his back, and Gareth crawls on top of him. 

Gareth's laid on top of him hundreds, thousands, of times. But never like this. He's never tried to eat him alive before.

Eddie hears it, the click and ejection of the instant picture, and Eddie had forgotten about the Polaroid camera. He's not sure if Steve's been taking them all night, or if this is the first.

And when they separate, Eddie's breathing hard, fast, and Gareth winks at him, pats him on the hip to get him to roll over, and then carefully makes his mark, the fourth one on Eddie's skin, and leans down and kisses Eddie's sweaty back, and then switches places with Steve. The other two left once their part was done, and Eddie is okay with that. If watching him get railed by Gareth wasn't something they'd enjoy, he wasn't about to ask more of them, but Gareth? Gareth, he's clearly staying. Seeing it through. 

That feels dirtier than anything else has, all night. 

Eddie's worn out, used up. But he crawls back onto his sore knees one more time, as it's Steve's hands that find his body now. They're gentle, loving and a familiar comfort. Fingertips running along his spine. 

His thumb brushing against his hole, pressing the leaking mess back inside. He's wet, wetter than he's ever felt in his life.

And when Steve eases back in, Eddie feels how sore he is, now. Not sore enough to say stop, not even close, but he's finally feeling it in the way he'd hoped, imagined, when he'd screwed up the courage to ask for this. Not only from Steve, but from all the others. 

"You're so wet for me," Steve says.

"I am. For you," Eddie says.

"They got you ready for me, didn't they?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods.

"So ready. Just for you."

They're talking dirty, but it's the softest fucking of the night. The first time Steve had claimed him, had marked his territory. Now, he's just loving him. Soothing him, bringing him back to reality, back to where he belongs.

A soft roll of his hips, firm lips pressing to his neck, then teeth biting down until Eddie's sure he'll be marked there, too.

This is his life, his love, loving him back, unconditionally.

Talking to him, telling him how he feels, how he's the last, always his last, always here.

Eddie wants to cry about it. 

Steve loves him. As he is, as he'll be, always.

When Steve finally comes, he pulls out and picks up the discarded marker on the bed and crosses the previous four tally marks on Eddie's ass, making five. A perfect set. 

Steve the first, and the last.

Then Eddie can hear him, feel him, moving around the bed and then feels his hand framing his ass, and the click, whirr of the Polaroid picture being spit out of the camera. And another. Another.

Until one is slid under Eddie's nose, and he can see it, the tally marks, framed by Steve's familiar hand. Five loads, four different men that he loves in wildly different ways. He wanted this, and wanted it from them, or not at all. Getting fucked by randoms wasn't appealing, wasn't the draw, wasn't what he needed.

But this feeling? It's what he needed. 

He wanted to be used, but not discarded. 

Another intrusion, and Eddie whines at the feeling of Steve's finger in him, but he hears the camera, and knows whatever it is will be worth it.

It is.

Steve's upturned hand, his ring finger slid into Eddie to the second knuckle, showing off the gold band and the come leaking down into his palm.

"Fuck," Eddie says, crumpled into the sheets.

And Steve laughs, a beautiful, familiar sound. Eddie's eyes find him in the mirror, just so he can look at him.

In the reflection, he sees Steve crook a finger at Gareth, beckoning him. 

He watches, feels as Steve positions Gareth's hand with his own, both of them touching his ass cheek as Steve takes more pictures.

Eventually, Steve sets the camera aside, and helps turn Eddie around on the bed, arranging him on his side. And he slides in front of Eddie, and snags Gareth, pulling him down behind Eddie. This wasn't the plan, Eddie doesn't think. But he closes his eyes and goes with it. Enjoys the two sets of hands on his body, petting him, touching him, soothing him. Bringing him back to reality. Lulling him towards sleep.

And he hears the camera whirr to life, one last time.

In the shower, Steve washes him, but doesn't scrub at his ass cheek, the one that's been marked. No, that'll have to wear off with time.

"You still love me?" Eddie asks, hands braced against the tiles of the expensive hotel shower.

"Always," Steve answers, "did you get what you needed?"

And Eddie nods. He did. Maybe more. 

"You sore?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. He is. In a good way, but he's definitely feeling it.

His hand is framing his ass cheek, near the tallies. Eddie can feel it, can picture the marks visible in the V of Steve's large hand.

"Admiring your handiwork?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah," Steve answers, and then he's quiet for a moment, "maybe you should get this tattooed."

Eddie stills. Steve can't want that. There's no fucking way.

"You don't wanna look at that for the rest of our lives and be reminded of tonight," Eddie says.

"Maybe I do," Steve says softly.

"Really?" Eddie asks.

"Really," Steve confirms.

Eddie turns and leans down, cheek pressed to Steve's chest, the hair there tickling his face.

"You're mine," Steve says, confident, sure. "Nothing can change that. You think it's a coincidence we did this in this town?"

Eddie stills. Petey's shop is here. Steve planned this. 

"You planned this," Eddie accuses, and Steve laughs, holding him tighter.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Steve answers. "Petey definitely isn't holding an after hours spot tomorrow."

"Thank you," Eddie says softly, "for that, for tonight, for our whole lives, really."

"I'd do anything for you," Steve says, chin on the top of Eddie's head.

"Did you get off on this?" Eddie asks. He needs to know for sure.

"Hell yeah," Steve says, running his hand up and down Eddie's back, "Showing you off, sharing you, giving them a little taste. Watching you enjoy it."

Eddie smiles into Steve's skin.

"Who was the best?" Steve asks, fingers pressed into the small of his back.

"You," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Besides me," Steve says, rolling his eyes. Eddie can't see it, but he knows it has happened. Because he knows Steve.

Eddie has an answer, knows, but feels hesitant to say so, and that feels a little uncomfortable.

Steve does it for him, "It made a real pretty picture, him all over you."

And Eddie nods.

He's sure it did. He wants to see the pictures, the evidence. The irrefutable proof that tonight actually happened.

"He loves you," Steve says, and Eddie starts to argue, but Steve keeps talking, "Not like I love you. But he loves you, would do anything for you, and seeing that in this new way was hot, not gonna lie."

It was. It fucking was.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve, squeezing him harder than ever before.

A beat passes.

"Goodie's dick is even thicker than yours, which, fucking ow," Eddie says and Steve laughs, his voice rumbling against Eddie's cheek. "Don't tell him that. We'll never hear the end of it."

Steve giggles, "Honey. I hate to tell you this, but he knows. We always do."

"Goddamnit. This was a mistake, then," Eddie teases and they both laugh. It wasn't, somehow.

Jeff and Goodie haven't come back in the bedroom, but Gareth is sitting on the bed, hair wet and curling around his ears. He's changed the bedding, and the dirty sheets are gone, the evidence probably in the washer down the hall.

Nothing for the maid to see.

"Hey, kid," Eddie says, dropping his towel and pulling on a pair of boxers. He doesn't want anything to have changed between them, so he's gonna act like it hasn't.

They haven't slept in a bed three-deep like this in years, not since the money started flowing, but Eddie crawls in the middle. Then curls against Steve, making himself comfortable.

Gareth seems hesitant, then he just anchors his leg over Eddie's hip, laying against his back, and Eddie feels twenty-two, and on the road for the very first time. Crammed into a double bed, instead of this roomy king.

"You okay?" Gareth asks, and Eddie picks up Gareth's hand, bringing it around to his own chest. Pressing it close. Squeezing. He's great. Really, really great.

"Yes. You?" Eddie asks, a little scared of the answer.

He shouldn't have been. Gareth is still Gareth.

Gareth laughs, "I'm never gonna live down getting sloppy seconds to Goodie."

And they all three laugh, Eddie saying, "Sorry. Them's the breaks, kid." 

Gareth's face presses into his back, and it feels normal being wedged between them. He's safe, happy, and home.

"Well, Goodie was third himself," Steve says around a yawn, "so don't let him give you any unnecessary grief."

Goodie will always give Gareth grief, it's just the way their world works.

"I'm not standing in line for that," Eddie says mockingly, mimicking Goodie's dry reaction when this idea had been broached. They've all repeated it a hundred times over the past few months. A waitlist at a restaurant? A line for a bathroom? It has just become part of their lexicon.

Something that will remain, Eddie's sure of it. An inside joke.

"He did though, now didn't he?" Steve says.

He did. They all did. And only for Eddie, which fills him with an ache of love that he can hardly contain.

Gareth laughs, his chest shaking against Eddie's back, and it feels so comfortable, so normal, that Eddie closes his eyes and plans to fall asleep. Sated, and satisfied.

"Wanna see the pictures?" Steve asks, and suddenly Eddie's awake again.

Steve hands over a stack of pictures, and the three of them look together.

Jesus Christ.

They're good. Really good.

"Who took this one?" Eddie asks, because it's definitely not from the angle of Steve's chair. 

"I did," Gareth answers, and there's a good handful from a second camera, a second angle, one that captures Eddie, head hung low, Jeff fucking him with Steve watching in the background. 

Another of Goodie getting ready to enter Eddie.

One of Gareth's grinning face as he tries to get himself in the frame with Eddie being fucked by Steve in the beginning. It's just shadowy figures beyond his brightly lit face, but Eddie loves it. 

Another of all three of them as they tried to crowd in, but nobody's arm was quite long enough, but laughing like they were having fun.

Fucking hell.

They had fun. 

"You had fun," Eddie says, "all of you."

"Well, yeah, of course," Gareth says, and hands the pictures back to Eddie. "Why would you think we didn't?"

And honestly, Eddie doesn't know. But it feels good to know that they hadn't had their arms twisted into doing this for him. The proof, right in his hand.

He hopes he gets to keep them, and he squeezes them a little tighter in his grip.

"Don't worry. I have a plan, they'll be kept totally safe, out of prying eyes," Steve says as he stretches out, and kills the light on the end table, leaving them all in darkness, only a sliver of a street light peeking through the split in the heavy curtains. 

Steve always has a plan, and Eddie closes his eyes, at peace.

The next day, Eddie's pretty sure he's spent actual hours actively keeping off of his ass cheek, scared he's gonna smudge it off. He doesn't want to fuck it up before he can get into see Petey tonight. Even if it's Sharpie and he knows that's unlikely. Still. No chances.

He's sitting on the other side of his ass, tilted to the side, writing as fast as his hand can go. It's like he's been set free, like his creative block has been cleared, and the inspiration that has been tamped down by the outside world, is back, in full force.

Gareth leans over his shoulder, one arm across Eddie's chest, hugging him from behind as he tries to read what Eddie's composing. He has a magazine hanging loosely in his hand, and it's brushing against Eddie's shirt.

He reads Eddie's chicken scratch, but says nothing, and Eddie appreciates it. This phase of writing is solo work. The group aspect, just as important, comes later.

Gareth lets him go.

And Eddie keeps writing.

When it's finally dark and time to go, Eddie stands up. Jeff and Goodie are bickering while playing cards at the table in the living room, Gareth is still reading a drum magazine, and Eddie swears the kid hoards them for a year, and then reads them all in a single day.

Steve is lacing up his shoes.

It's completely normal, almost like last night never even happened. Nobody has avoided him, nobody fled for their own space, nobody has been weird at all, and Eddie feels more settled than he's ever felt in his entire life. 

They did it for him, and now they're still here. Their world is still turning on the same axis it always has.

"I got us a VIP table at Lux tomorrow," Jeff says, looking up at Eddie. 

"I thought that place was booked out for months?" Steve questions, and Eddie knows that means Steve wasn't involved in this. Which is unusual. 

"I talked to our concierge. They said they're turning over VIP rooms halfway through the night, so if we show up at about ten we'll get in," Jeff explains. "But we might have to chill while they clear out the first group."

"That's one way to try and increase profits," Steve says dryly, then adds, "but it's gonna be a shitshow, mark my words. Expect a wait, nobody is gonna wanna clear out early in the night once they've paid for a room, and settled in."

"I'm not waiting in line just to pay a grand for a fucking bottle I could buy down the street at the ABC for fifty bucks," Goodie complains.

Gareth meets Eddie's eyes, and Eddie smirks back. A broken record, he is. But Goodie's always been bristly about bottle service, and Eddie gets it. He does. And there's never been anybody with less patience about waiting than Goodie.

They've dealt with this at every nice restaurant they've ever had a reservation at over the years. If they have to wait longer than five minutes, he'd rather just go to McDonald's. 

It's maddening.

Eddie puts on his own jacket, and then gets Steve his, holding it out, helping him slide into it.

"Where're you two goin'?" Gareth asks, looking up as Eddie's adjusting Steve's collar.  

"Gonna go grab some food," Eddie answers. Which is also true, they will need to eat.

"Can I come?" Gareth asks, and well, okay. Sure. He has nothing to hide from Gareth. Never has, never will. Gareth knows the best of him, and the worst.

Eddie looks at Steve, but Steve already has an arm out, wheeling it around in an order for Gareth to come on, but to hurry it up. They are all more than accustomed to this familiar maneuver.

They step out of the private penthouse elevator, and their security meets them. Eddie balks. They are not coming along for this. But shaking security is always a hassle. They're hired to do a thing, and sometimes Eddie wants them to not do the thing, and that becomes a big problem.

But, while they might not listen to Eddie, Steve is in charge, and they will listen to him. So, when Steve has them stand down, they do. Even if they look fucking mad about it.

And then the three of them walk out of the hotel, all by themselves, like they are real people again.

Dressed down, comfortable, and nobody gives them a second glance. No paps, which obviously, since they didn't call them. But no crowd of fans either. Nobody knows they're here, somehow.

Eddie tilts his head back and breathes in the night air.

Maybe they can be real people again someday, and that idea fills Eddie with a hope he hasn't had in years. Maybe one day he'll be able to walk the streets of a city, alone, just Eddie, not Eddie Munson.

Once they're in the black SUV, Steve's fiddling around, because he doesn't usually drive these days. None of them do. He has to move the seat and the mirrors, and while he's doing all that, Eddie turns and looks at Gareth, "We're gonna go see Petey. I'm getting the tally marks on my ass tattooed. Can you be normal?" Eddie asks.

"I'll be so normal," Gareth reassures, and Steve laughs from the driver's seat, which makes Eddie smile.

Normal is definitely a big ask for any of them.

When they pull up in the alley behind the tattoo shop and tap on the heavy door, Petey unlocks it, and it's not unusual. He always works on Eddie after hours, when they come through town and Eddie's decided a new tattoo is the only thing that will make him feel anything at all.

It still feels funny, slinking in back doors like they're doing something illicit.

But Petey is the only person Eddie would ever trust to do this, to see it, to remotely know anything about anything. Petey won't ask, but if he makes assumptions, Eddie's okay with that. Petey won't comment on them. Eddie's trusted him for years, decades, and Petey hasn't sold him down the river yet. Eddie can't imagine he'll start today.

He's part of the inner circle, and that's priceless, Eddie has learned. The paring down of friends, year-by-year, until only the real deals remain.

Petey's the real deal.

"What are we doing today?" Petey asks, and Eddie's already pretty covered these days. Real estate is getting scarce. So, Eddie pulls down his jeans, his boxers, and shows him. Climbs on the table, to let him really see what they're working with tonight.

No reason to try to hide.

Petey's poker face is better than anyone else's on earth, and he just asks, "You want it this big?" A gloved finger pressing into his skin, "Or you want me to make a stencil and shrink it? Clean it up?"

None of them knew he was gonna keep it, hell, Eddie didn't know he was gonna keep it, so it's a little sloppy and a little bit big. But that's what he wants more than anything these days. The real thing. He doesn't want the fake shine and polish. 

"Exactly as it is," Eddie says.

"Relax then. Get comfortable," Petey says, and then doesn't ask any other questions beyond what's necessary. Eddie's sure he's used to him being weird by now.

Needing an appointment to tattoo his ass after hours? Must be Tuesday in Eddieland.

Petey will make it look good, and look real at the same time. Eddie trusts that, fully.

So, Eddie lays on the table, and feels Petey gently shaving him and dabbing the alcohol wipe across the marks so as to not disturb the marker ink too much, and then the needle is buzzing along his ass cheek as they make small talk. About the tour. About the next album. About Petey's work, family, and life.

And Eddie smiles into his folded arms. He can't believe they actually did this filthy thing, and now he's getting it permanently branded onto his skin.

Steve sits on the other side of the table, staring. Still watching, eyes glued to Eddie's bare skin, one of his hands gripping Eddie's bare thigh. It's loving, and maybe a little possessive, which makes Eddie feel more exposed than he does about having his bare ass on display. If the tally marks aren't giving them away, Steve definitely is by being this goddamn interested in what's going on.

He usually doesn't even come with Eddie when Eddie makes tattoo appointments with Petey. Gareth does. Or one of the other guys. So, this is out of the ordinary, for sure. Probably suspicious. He's pretty sure Petey doesn't usually allow spectators to breathe down his neck, touching his clients as he works.

But he says nothing, just works while Steve watches every drop of black ink being deposited.

At least Gareth is sitting off to the side, acting normal, as promised. Steve? Not so much.

It doesn't take long. All black, just a few lines. Some shading of the careless strokes they all took. And then it's over before Eddie has really settled into the process. Usually his tattoos take much, much longer, and are much more elaborate.

But Petey has a gift for being good, but quick. He's not keeping you in his chair for a minute longer than he needs for it to be perfect.

Eddie stands in front of the floor length mirror, trying not to flash his junk at everyone while he looks at the finished artwork. It's really there. Looking just like it did last night, Eddie's pretty fucking sure.

He lets Petey put the protective bandage over it, and then buckles his jeans, thinking they're done, but Steve is talking to Petey. Gesturing with his hands, and Eddie listens, figuring out pretty fucking quickly that Steve is planning to get a Sharpie tattooed along his hip bone. Hidden, out of sight. A secret they can share. 

And Petey knew about it. He has the design drawn up and everything. Steve's looking at it, making a few tweaks that Petey does immediately, then produces the revamped stencil. Steve nods, pleased.

Steve's not really a tattoo guy, so the fact that he planned to do this, really means something to Eddie. This is also for him. Another gift, another way for Steve to take care of him. To promise he's not going anywhere, not ever.

Eddie lays on an empty table, keeping off his ass while Steve's having his turn under the needle. 

When Petey's done, Steve stands in front of the full-length mirror himself, inspecting the new ink branding his skin just as Eddie had done.

Eddie watches as Steve's eyes shift towards Gareth as he sits in a chair, flipping through a binder of flash art, just for something to do, Eddie's sure. If he's uncomfortable, he's not showing it.

"Are you next?" Steve asks, looking at Gareth through the mirror, and at first there's no response. He tries again. "Gare?"

Then, Gareth looks up, meeting Steve's eyes in the mirror, "What? Me?"

Steve nods, and Eddie loves him maybe more in this moment than he's loved him in his whole fucking life. Steve doesn't have to include Gareth in this. He could have balked when Gareth asked to come along, not knowing where they were going. 

Steve could have re-staked his claim, but instead he's secure enough to know that what Gareth means to Eddie is different than what Steve means to Eddie. Gareth fucked Eddie last night, sure, but Steve's so confident in their love that he's willing to let Gareth have a reminder of that inked onto his skin, just like he got.

"Only if you want," Steve offers, and Eddie stays out of it. This is between them.

And Gareth nods, and gets it along his ribs, Petey acting like he doesn't know anything about anything the whole time. Like he can't put one plus one plus one together to get three. Probably five, even if the other two are absent tonight.

Eddie's gotta admit, Steve and Gareth leaving with matching tattoos wasn't on his bingo card for the day, but they pay Petey, tipping big time for him doing this for him. For all of them.

Eddie wonders if Jeff and Goodie will be mad that they weren't asked to come along. But he's pretty sure it wasn't the same to them. And that's okay. They made his fantasy come to life, all of them. He doesn't need more.

He just needs them to stay, exactly as they are.

It's late when they leave the shop, the glow of the streetlights hitting the pavement. 

"I was promised food, what's still open?" Gareth asks, and Steve motions for them both to get in the car. Steve will take care of it. Of both of them.

He always does.

Eddie has to lean crazily in the seat of the car to keep pressure off of his fresh ink, and he listens as Steve and Gareth banter over where they can get a bite to eat. Neither one sounds overly confident that they know what's open now on a Tuesday night, but they're sure debating it like they do.

Eddie closes his eyes and just listens. It's normal. His husband and his best friend, going back and forth, fussing over something as normal as what restaurants are open at this hour in this town they don't even live in. 

Like they both weren't balls deep in his ass twenty-four hours ago. 

Like they both didn't just get proof of that, permanently inked onto their skin.

Like neither one is concerned that they might regret it later. 

Like Eddie can't still feel the echo of all of them, with every move he makes.

Thing is, Eddie's pretty sure they won't regret it. Because Eddie doesn't regret it, will never regret being close in a new way to them all, at least for one night.

And unlike Goodie, he'd wait in a line for that any day.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries in this pop-up, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to see other entries for the Black Friday prompt! 🖤

Notes:

Title is from "Right Hand Man" from Hamilton.

This started as an entry for one of the prompts during Corroded Coffin Fest in July, but got way too long for the 1000 word limit. I held it back, and then fleshed it out for this pop-up event instead.

Am I thinking about the conversation Jeff and Goodie surely had as best friends once they left that room? Absolutely.

Also? Happy to see you again, Road Manager Steve Harrington, my beloved. I adore getting to write him. And Petey is also a holdover from Tuesday's Gone With the Wind. Eddie needs a tattoo guy? It's gonna be Petey. Because I said so, lol.

Thanks so much for reading! 🖤

[sandwitchstories]

hi! if I could please request an Mouse and Dad!Sukuna fic where they prank sukuna by making him think mouse is missing or that he ate her(idk if that’s too dark for you) and he goes crazy/murderous (sorry if this is such an short summary)

Hi Anon! Thank you for the request! I am not taking this particular series in a dark direction but your request gave me an adorable idea! This probably is not what you were looking for, but I hope you will still enjoy it!

Let's Play A Game

If you prefer to read it on AO3 click here !

WC: 907

Summary: Sukuna's enemies make a move on him while he is travelling home. Upon returning home he cannot locate Mouse.

CW: none really? reader is called Mama but not described, canon typical Sukuna threats of violence, not canon, Family fluff, a little angst

“Mouse!” Sukuna bellowed her name as he tore through the estate trying to find his daughter.

His heart was in his throat. Fear and rage were racing through his veins. His enemies had made bold moves on him today while he was returning home and he would not be surprised if they had tried to harm his family. He had gone from room to room calling her name calmly before turning to this fearsome roar. 

You raced into the room, holding your hand to your chest. “Suk, what’s going on?”

“I cannot find our daughter anywhere,” he told you, his lips in a tight line. 

“Suk… you didn’t say a word when you burst in through the door to the kitchen, and now you’re standing in our bedroom with our bed up in the air, in one hand, yelling for our daughter. Talk to me, please,” you said, eyes wide with concern.

“Our enemies are getting bolder and it appears getting more organized. I saw you in the kitchen, but I have been unsuccessful in locating our child,” he answered, 4 eyes staring straight into yours.

“I saw her not long before you came home. Let's not panic yet,” you reached out and touched his arm. His concern was coming off of him in waves, even if he did not say the words out loud.

“If someone has taken her or harmed her I will rip them limb from limb. I may even keep them alive to watch while I have Uraume prepare and serve me a feast made from their-”

“Papa! You took too long to find me, Urau-rau did!” Mouse called as Uraume carried her into the room with a look of utter exasperation on their face. 

They set her down and Mouse wasted no time crossing the distance, running towards Sukuna with her arms raised and a giant smile on her face. Like she hadn’t just given her father a heart attack. 

Instead of the angry scolding you expected, Sukuna scooped her up in his arms and cradled her close. Turning to face away and walk a few steps in relief. He could finally breathe again. The little menace was in his arms and safe. Her little arms were spread, trying to give him the tight hug back and he could feel her little laughs in his arms.

He huffed and looked down at her. Little shit. “What the hell is so funny? And what the hell were you doing?”

“We were playing hide and seek. I laughing cuz Urau-rau found me, not you!” She smiled up at him.

“Mouse… how the hell was I supposed to know we were playing hide and seek?” He asked, trying to process her response.

“You promised when you left!” She pouted up at him. 

He was about to deny it but then he remembered their conversation from this morning when he had been trying to leave to attend to business today. Mouse had been begging him to stay and play this very game with her. He clearly remembered now that he had told her he would when he got home. 

“I am aware I said I would play when I got home, but you are being a tad too literal. I did not mean the very second I got home,” he told her shaking his head.

“You didn't?” she pouted at him. 

“Mouse, next time you want to play a game with someone, make sure they are ready to play, okay?” You said, reaching out a hand to ruffle her hair when Sukuna set her down. You still had a smile on your face after having watched the scene before you with the two of them.

“Okay then…” Mouse clapped her hands two times and loudly asked, “Everybody ready?”

“No,” were the unanimous adult responses in the room. 

“Everybody ready, please and thank you?” She tried again.

“It’s still a no, Mouse.”

You stifled a laugh as Sukuna stared at his daughter in disbelief. “Mouse, Papa just got home. Let him relax for a moment, okay?”

“Boring,” Mouse said in an exasperated tone, it was an exact mimic of her father’s common response.

“Boring, huh?”Sukuna chuckled and scooped her up in his arms. He tickled her sides, making her squirm and laugh. “I’ll show you boring!” 

“Papa!” She laughed, trying to push his hands away.

He paused his tickle assault and asked. “Are you still bored?”

She laughed and enthusiastically said, “Yes!”

“Guess I’m not done teaching you a lesson, brat!” He said before tickling her again. 

He looked over at you and smirked as he let Mouse catch her breath.  He said her name as he set her down on the ground and turned her towards you. “Mama looks… bored, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, huh?! Here I come Mama! Tickle tickle, please and thank you!” Mouse laughed as she ran towards you with her hands doing the tickling motion in mid air.

Sukuna laughed at the murderous look you shot him before you gave in to your daughter, before quickly turning the tickles around on her. He knew you hated to be tickled. He just couldn’t resist the temptation.

Threats to his family would always loom on the horizon, but he wouldn’t let anything stop him and his family from living their lives to the fullest. He would slaughter and dine on anyone who tried. And that was not only a threat, it was a promise.

[acupofinkedblood]

Coil x reader [Training Went Wrong!]

Not: This is a draft because I’m feeling funny

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Everyone in the underground boxing ring has heard of the renowned Hellhound. To be able to clear out such Biografts and opponents without breaking too much of a sweat, it was almost common knowledge that this man is not to be taken lightly unless someone is certain that they can take him in a fight. The boxing ring is where he shines the brightest, roar of applauses and the victorious glory - they are all his to enjoy

You on the other hand, is the definition of a feeble wimp. If Coil was a wolf, then you are a chihuahua. Even though you can’t fight for shit, you still insist on attracting troubles at any give chance. Your fierce and vocal attitude is the perfect contrast to your fighting skill

And usually, Coil has to step in to drag you out of troubles or take things personally himself

It feels good to have your boyfriend back you up most of the time, but you don’t want your problems to be his problem. Gosh, it feels annoying when you are reminded that you have to rely on his strength to get your ass out of a tough situation. You don’t like it, that’s for sure

Even when Coil insists that it’s fine, you still figure a way to argue back. And then you come to the ultimate solution - to get your boyfriend, the infamous Hellhound, to teach you on how to defend yourself properly!

Coil is, as expected, unamused because he is more than aware how much of a shitty fighter you are. Hell, you probably trip on your step before you even launch a punch at him. And oh boy was he right

“Okay smartass,” he huffed, “Time’s up, and you haven’t been able to even punch me with all your strength. Are you learning to fight or to play catch?”

You bites back a sarcastic remark before catching your breath. Coil has a point, because on the SFOTH’s souls he can swear that a kid can fight better than you. He has seen some certain kids in Playground beating each other’s asses off, and the memory makes him baffled. But that’s just how he emphasizes your amateur skills

The differences in he and you is large. He has been trained within the ring, getting beaten up multiple times and beating the living shit out of his opponents on daily basis. Not to mention the Biografts that end up becoming scarps when they try to hunt him down. His current strength and physique is the fruit of how much he has been throwing himself in danger. And as for you, you look like someone who deal with paperwork most of the time

And look, as much as he finds it adorable when you wants to learn how to fight for yourself instead of having him deal with it, your limited strength really doesn’t help with the fact you are so inexperienced

“Hey, I got you to teach me how to learn, not poke fun of me, asshole”

“Well,” he shrugs, “I’m your asshole of a teacher, take it or leave it”

Coil can’t really take you serious, you just have to understand. He is really holding the urge to laugh the hell out of his throat when he sees your attempts of throwing a hit at him. He means it when calling you a chihuahua after all: All barks, no bites. But hey, he means that in an affectionate way

On the other hand, you are not having it

“Listen here you fuck—!”

Without a further warning, you pounce onto him with frustration — which is, again, another poor attempt of yours to get him — hoping that it will work somehow. It catches him off guard. Even when you’re already exhausted, that attitude of yours doesn’t seem to falter at all. Yet being someone with professional skills, Coil can easily flip you up and throw you onto his shoulder

It’s almost comical, how you keep squirming and wriggling out of his grasp like a fish that just gets out of the water. Your vivid vocabularies definitely make the situation even more amusing for Coil. Heck, he only needs one hand to keep you in place on his shoulder

“Alright alright, you glorified chihuahua of a princess,” Coil barks out a laugh, “That’s it for today. If we keep this up any longer, you might as well kiss the ground before you can fight like me”

A playful smack made its way to your ass, which causes you to yelp slightly. Knowing that your effort of struggling will lead to nowhere, you begrudgingly accept your fate as you stay there on Coil’s shoulder

”I’m going to bite your ass”

“You know damn well I enjoy that shit. Now c’mon, let’s get back”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I was writing an essay while I wrote this and what the duck did I just write

[lyrictherobot]

You know what? 5am yap fest. I will yap about stuff because I wanna.

Tbh I think the way I got into Pressure is kinda funny!

Friend knows I like Doors a LOT

Friend is really into Pressure

Friend convinces me to play Pressure and tells me it's similar to Doors!

Friend talks about it a lot and how much he likes it in the process of trying to convince me to play it and tells me about how there's some attractive sassy fish man in it

Due to the lack of description of "attractive sassy fish man" I imagine some sort of fish man creature that has a man bun and large circular glasses. I was wrong, yes, but Sebastian would so rock that shit

I go into the game blind (which if you know me I will NEVER DO in a horror game because I am a CHICKEN) and play and get freaked the hell out.

I die and hear Sebastian's voice for the first time

I call his voice annoying and say he's only slightly less bad than Licorice Cookie

I play a few more times with friend while going in blind even though I am a scardy cat

I decide to Google everything about the game and how to play it and it's entities so I am able to properly play it without having so much anxiety that I explode

Friend starts telling me about his pressure ocs

I become more interested

Pax and Angela

I have constantly compared Curious Light to Sebastian and have had friends play a game to guess which line comes from which character and friends got more wrong than right. I stand by the stance of them being similarly sassy

I continue being interested in it but don't really super duper get into it. I am still normal. I have not gained the new hyperfixation of the century.

Another friend dms me

Friend wants to roleplay

I say sure, expecting to be asked to do CRK

She asks if I know Pressure

I say yes, I'm interested in it, but I am not super big in it and don't know a lot

She pleads for me to roleplay it

I oblige

I start roleplaying as Sebastian and pressure entities

It's going well

It's not too hard

I find it to be pretty fun actually, and find that I transitioned into it pretty well

I do lots of work to gain as much information about pressure and Sebastian and everything else as I can

It's fun

Suddenly trying to be such a good Sebastian backfires and I get fried and now he is the hyperfixation

Pressure is my new brain explosion

I feel like I am losing my mind

Is this what I felt like in 2020? I forgot what it feels like to be in a really large fandom that's really active its been 4 years

I can't stop thinking about this stupid fish and stupid computer

It's less funny when I type it out but eh

[chiantish1re]

new always sunny was … good!!!!??!

[captain-krow-drozdov]

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

[metamercury]

Have you all met my pesky husband? He told me how ugly the place was, negged me for a week, and then proposed. He winds up in the medical tent after every fight and gives the wettest kisses.

[crustyfloor]

FUCK THEM UPPPPPPP TILL OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD

The visuals of Till's splash art (in my humble opinion, the best one so far) is STUNNING. AND very interesting.

For Till specifically to cover All-In is an interesting message to give off, All-In is a song about freedom. A type of freedom that allows you to live confidently and freely, creating whatever type of world you want, the stage is yours, so make what you want of it. living confidently in YOUR OWN SKIN. And living freely "cause you only got one life to live"

Freedom is something Till fights for relentlessly, and confidence is a bravado, as by far the most uncontrolled and tested person in the cast, he still fights for his boundaries and self-expression even when he's punished, molded into something he's not, or beaten into obedience, tested far past the limit; he never loses his bite. A wild dog can never be tamed.

This is the cover that follows what becomes of Till after round 6, and still, in Till's all-in, he sounds so raw, pained, energized, and passionate desperation is evident. It's a contrast from HyunA's celebratory cheers and upbeat mood because Till isn't celebrating the idea of freedom; he's angrily proving to everyone, especially the aliens, that he isn't backing down yet and he'll still keep fighting and that he can fight for his own freedom.

Till's cover of All-in is truly the most powerful depiction of Till's fighting spirit, after everything he's gone through, the pain, the grief. It's all in his voice and the way he sings he's pained the entire time he sings and he's aggressive because the fire of his spirit is lit once again. He's going "all-in" so to speak and expressing himself.

The tape around his neck--

It's a contrast to HyunA who doesn't mind showing her brand, even proudly showing it off as a form of reclaiming her individualism.

Till is different. Because being reminded that he is and was once a pet is not something he would want to remember about himself, he will always bitterly try to distance himself from that fact in any way he can, HyunA feels free from the system when she can own it, but when Till sees his branding, he'll still always feel that collar. It's a testament to his self-deprecation, as long as the evidence of his past is present, and he still feels all the pain the aliens inflicted on him, It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel like he can relate and fit in with the other "fools" who are so free.

It'd be presumptuous to think he'd ever feel free. That's what the aliens wanted, right?

Another interesting part of this is that the name 'All-in" is actually a real-life poker reference, to go "all-in" in poker is to voluntarily bet all of your remaining chips, there is nothing else you can do but hope for the best after that point (and hope you win).

When HyunA sings All-in, she deceives you into thinking she has the upper hand or good hand, and that she will win. When Till sings it, he's giving it all away recklessly, he's showing all he has. Basically, him saying fuck it. he doesn't know if he'll win or not but says, "Let's go all-in and risk it all anyways" Even if internally he knows that this is stupid and risky, this is his foolish rebellion.

At this point he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain, it's his final stand as he lets his heart out not for the crowd, but for the family he lost, himself, a form of self-expression. He will be so nervous, so aggrieved but it's the freest he will ever feel on that stage.

The color symbolism also drives me CRAZY.

For his other two splash art, he's been represented with a color close enough to teal. In both songs, he's open when he sings and fully serene. Teal is a generally calming color, and it's not too evocative. It's more emotional (and has it's own reservations)

And then, we have green, which is a general symbol of growth, new beginnings, and freshness. After all, Till has been through all-in is a sign of his growth. And a new era of his life, or in other words a sudden tonal shift from his depressive state in round 6.

And for my favorite (it's not.) part! the head shot, (interesting how his has nearly the biggest impact out of them all.)

A bit of a theory.

It's a bit similar to one particular art of him, he has a little shape that's almost akin to impact from a gunshot near the same area.

So, I think this is tell-tale symbolism for a future injury, but the gun portrayed is a bubble gun. I believe it is symbolism for the wound being non-fatal, so even if Till loses and gets shot, he'll survive, fundamentally changed. and will probably join the rebellion, too.

/side note

The heartbeats in Till's version of all-in are faster and louder than HyunA's version, similar to CURE.

[teapetal44]

The state of the league of villains during act 3 is so sad man. Compress literally gave his ass for the league, got arrested and nobody gaf. Twice’s demise amounted to nothing, nobody cared. The whole discrimination arc Spinner was involved in was a mess. Suddenly Hori decided he cared about realism in his story so Toga dropped like a fly from a simple blood transfusion. Dabi is forced to sit and listen to Endeavor whine and yap about how sad he is about being an abusive pos, all the while nobody actually cares and he never got any real repercussions besides his family being (justifyingly) mean to him. Shigaraki was sidelined for a boring villain and was stripped off all his autonomy and agency.

[belladonazeppole]

Look at them Lucifer and Husk are so done with Alastor

....

So anyway I ship them now and be ready for!!!

Royalflush!!!!