#every place i could think of has been thoroughly explored

[citizen-of-the-fandom]

so I made the funniest error in baldur's gate 3. my playstyle is very much "loot everything not nailed to the floor" and "left alt is my friend" and "if there's blank spots on the map I haven't played the game correctly" which means:

I'm constantly struggling with inventory

I discovered that if you extract alchemical ingredients they weigh less, regardless of if you're actually crafting potions with them

there's an 'extract all' button

I have so many sublimates of autumncrocus, you guys. feather fall for days.

I've gotten through almost all of Act 1, leveled my party to level 7, and when I interact with shopkeepers they sell like tier 3 alchemy ingredients

INSTEAD OF the tier 1

So! When I get to the Underdark and want to lay autumncrocus on the dog's grave, I can't, because I have literally looted every single autumncrocus on the entire map, extracted it, and I'm too high level to buy more!

[oftenwantedafton]

A New Afton - Stepfather Steve Raglan/William Afton x Stepdaughter Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, daddy kink

Also available on AO3

taglist @yellowbunnydreams

William Afton thinks, perhaps, he is moving things along a little quickly.

It’s only the first night; it’s barely been a few hours. And here you are, your school uniform clad body pressed against him, your soft lips touching his.

He could argue that time was of the essence, there’s no time like the present, whatever other platitudes there are about that elusive entity that enslaves mankind, but he’d recognized that look in your eyes. You’ve been devouring him all evening, consuming his face and his body as thoroughly as you’d knocked back those beers. Coveting.

He knows about coveting. Intimately. It starts with the children at the arcade. A higher score. A bigger prize. Continues to the dining hall. Another slice of pizza. Another piece of cake. Outside. The Emily girl bullied. A kind of hum in his ears, as if her blood has a frequency. He wants to silence it. He craves revenge. He covets the power it brings.

Then there’s the simple fact that, well, he wants to fuck you. So yes, things are progressing rapidly. It’s just the nature of things. Fate taking him along by the hand, guiding his path to you.

The warmth leaves his lips as you and he draw apart. “Steve…”

He frowns. This won’t do at all. “There’s going to be a new rule around here. You won’t be calling me that when we’re alone together. You’re to refer to me as what I am. Your stepfather.”

You blink at him, looking uncertain. “You…want me to call you Stepdad?”

His teeth flash. “Nothing so proper. We can shorten that right down to Daddy.”

A little hitch of breath, a flutter of lashes. God you were gorgeous. He can’t wait to see what other sounds he can elicit from you.

***

Your stepfather has just kissed you.

Closed mouthed, it could almost be considered chaste and innocent except it’s everything but. You know you’re supposed to feel guilty. You know it’s wrong. But you like it. You like the warm hand on your shoulder and how he cradles your bare knee. You can smell the shampoo from his recent shower and the cologne stirs your pheromones.

You’ve gone on a few dates over the last couple of years, but have never really had a steady boyfriend. You’re still a virgin. You wonder if Steve knows this, if your mother has ever mentioned it. About your boyfriend situation, or lack thereof, that is; not the virgin thing. That would have been weird.

Not that cheating with your mom’s new husband isn’t weird in and of itself. When he suggests you call him Daddy something thrills within you. You feel the place between your legs throb and tingle. You’ve had a couple of guys try a few clumsy fumblings there but nothing serious or experienced. You think this man in his fifties must be quite the opposite.

“Ok, Daddy.” You try the phrasing out. You feel his body shudder beside yours. He kisses you again, his mouth lingering this time. The kiss becomes wetter. Lips parting. His tongue probes gently. Your stomach flutters and your pussy throbs again to remind you of the growing need within. You lay a hand on his cheek, sliding over his beard. This texture is new to you. All of the boys you’d been with have been clean shaven. The tendons in his neck are taut beneath your fingers. You’re too shy to explore any further just yet. His mouth tastes like mint. The scent of his cologne is heavy in your nostrils. It’s intoxicating. You have a pleasant buzz from the beer you’d imbibed earlier and in your body from your arousal. Every touch of his tongue against yours strums another chord inside you.

He sucks your bottom lip, tugging gently with his teeth. You feel the smile before you see it. “You like doing this?”

“Yes, Daddy.” It still feels a little silly and awkward. Or maybe that’s just you. You want to sound sexy for him. You’re just not sure how.

“Good girl,” he says, and the pulse in your sex is palpable, demanding attention. “I’m sure a good girl like you is still a virgin, right?”

You like the praise. Your body likes it too. “Yes, Daddy. I haven’t…I haven’t done very much of anything.”

“What have you done?”

“A little touching. And kissing. On the mouth,” you add hastily.

“Do you ever touch yourself?”

You worry your bottom lip, cheeks flushing. “Sometimes.”

“How? Show me how.”

You face grows even hotter. “I…I’m not sure…”

“Suddenly shy are we?” He laughs softly. “Its ok to feel a little embarrassed. You’ll get over that. What if I were to touch you instead? Would you like that?”

Your pussy immediately answers yes, throbbing and sending another wave of fluid. You know your panties are wet. You nod.

“If you don’t like it, tell me to stop, okay?”

“Ok, Daddy.”

He kisses you again and you feel the hand at your knee shift, stroking up your thigh, first on top, then shifting to the inside. “Open up a little for me.”

You part your legs, letting out a little whimper when you feel his fingers stroke you through the crotch of your panties. Only the first touch and it’s already a million times better than anything you’d previously experienced.

“You’re quite wet already,” he murmurs. He traces the outline of your clit through the cotton fabric and your hips jerk involuntarily, grinding you against his hand. His caress is electrifying, the nerves sizzling and snapping. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You gasp when his hand moves and shoves beneath the waistband, his fingers now touching you directly. A needy sound escapes you. You pant beside his mouth.

“Is this how you touch yourself?”

“No, I…it’s so sensitive I just use a pillow or a stuffed animal between my legs. With panties on. It’s…”

“Have you ever cum?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“I’d like to make you cum. Either with my fingers, or…my mouth.” His tongue darts out to stroke your lips and you moan. “What do you think, sweet girl? Which do you prefer?” His middle finger teases your entrance while his thumb strokes your bundle of nerves. It’s all very gentle and slow. You can’t even stop yourself from pressing against him in search of more contact.

“Whatever you want,” you respond breathlessly, forgetting to add his new favorite title, but if he minds he doesn’t show it.

“What I want, hmm?” Steve withdraws his hand and sucks on the fingers damp with your juices. “Oh, you’re fucking delicious.” He shoves the coffee table back and kneels in front of you, lifting your skirt to admire the tiny pink bows printed on that delicate bit of fabric before hooking thumbs into each leg hole and the rest of his digits curling over the waistband, jerking your underwear down, over your hips and thighs and knees and calves and ankles. He flips the skirt out of the way and grabs your hips, tugging until you’re barely still sitting on the couch, the edge digging across your ass cheeks as he pushes your legs back for you to hold, your cunt presented to him. He spits on your sex—completely unnecessarily, you’re already soaked—but you find the gesture filthy and erotic. “Tell me what you want, baby girl.”

“I want you to…please eat my pussy Daddy.”

He plants a trail of kisses along your inner thighs, teasing you, his beard tickling your skin. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Are you going to cum in my mouth like a good girl?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He rests a hand on the space below your navel, fingers spread over your mound, pulling slightly to draw the skin over your clit taut. His tongue slides across the nub in a sharp lick and you see stars. His mouth presses against you and he sucks and you moan. Better than anything you’ve ever tried, far better than anything anyone else has ever offered you. He’s slurping on your pussy like it’s the best meal he’s ever consumed, moaning at the taste and the vibrations echo within your core.

You release your grip on the back of one of your thighs and slide your fingers into the older man’s hair. So silky soft. Slightly damp, from the shower or sweat; you’re not certain which. It’s overwhelming, the feel of that ravenous mouth on your private place, all lips and tongue mashing and sucking and laving. You keen and whimper and mewl against him, insensible noises of pleasure, of need, of lust. You feel perspiration spark at the back of your knees. There’s a coiling knot of pressure building within your core that’s becoming unbearable. His eyes meet yours, dark and depthless and it sends you over the edge, spasming violently against him as he focuses all his attention on sucking your aching clit relentlessly. Your trembling legs fall and your thighs reflexively try to clamp down on him, the sensitivity skyrocketing. The fury against your pussy lessens and he laps more slowly, letting you ease down off your high, your body still wracked with spasms until he finally, finally emerges from between your legs.

***

Your stepfather wasn’t kidding when he says you’re delicious. Forget the best pussy, it’s the best fucking thing William’s ever tasted, period. Honey sweet. And the sounds you create. It makes him want to eat you out somewhere with vaulted ceilings so he can have that sound echoing around him. Fucking incredible.

So good he’d had to unzip his fly in the process and stroke himself to completion while he was devouring you. As much as he wants you to touch him—and fuck does he want that, those delicate hands and your sensual mouth and that tight virgin cunt wrapped around his cock—he’s not so far gone over in the lust that he doesn’t realize he needs to pace himself, for your sake. He likes you being needy, but he doesn’t necessarily want you reluctant or fearful. He wants you to want it. To beg, like you just had. It’s so much more satisfying to corrupt than to simply force. It takes skill and patience and Afton has plenty of that.

So for this evening, he’s settled for his hand accompanied by the flavor of your inner essence on his tongue and it takes the edge off. He shuts off the television and retires to the bedroom he shares with your mother while you shower and get dressed for bed. Perhaps you’re lying there awake right now, heart pounding, sex still tingling, limbs still feeling the aftershocks of your release. Not so much the young innocent girl anymore, the one who had chosen to wear pink ribbon patterned panties that morning before going to school, perhaps admiring the row of plush toys from your childhood lining the bookshelf beneath the window gone now, left behind, a relic of the past. Maybe you’re staring into the dark void above your head, cuddling whatever stuffed animal you’d previously used to pleasure yourself, wondering if he’ll come to you again.

The taste of you still floods his mouth and he thinks perhaps he will. Or perhaps he will wait.

It is only the first night, after all.

[kisakis-boyfriend]

I'm so glad your requests are open again! Hopefully this counts towards the winter theme, but I was hoping to request the reader going on a date with Hakkai, going to see holiday/winter decorations, when they get home the reader suggests they warm each other up with their bodies, making sure to explore every inch of him to ensure the 'cold' has been thoroughly worked out of him.

Author's Note: This is a cute idea! Hakkai is so much fun to tease too, what a cutie 💙

Pairings: Hakkai x male reader

Warnings: Male!reader, dom/top!reader, sub/bottom!Hakkai, a bit of cockwarming, teasing

Even with the sun shining brightly on the glittering snow, it was still rather cold outside. Cold enough for the two of you to see your breath as you chatted in front of the food stall. Laughter filled the air when Hakkai's teeth chattered together as he tried to speak. You teased him for this, but before you could say much more the same thing happened to you. Which in turn caused Hakkai to tease you right back, placing his hands on his hips and sassing you while you smacked his arm playfully

Walking around carrying a cup filled with a nice, warm drink to prevent your fingers from freezing off, you and Hakkai strolled through the city admiring the beautiful holiday decorations strewn about the various shops and buildings. There was even a massive Christmas tree set up in the middle of the shopping center! Adorned with all sorts of ornaments in red, green, gold, silver, and even some blue

Everything is so gorgeous this time of the year. Definitely worth the freezing noses and cheeks that plagued the two of you. It was so worth it to see Hakkai's eyes sparkle, pointing at the snowmen and other snow sculptures created by the large crowd of people. Crude sculptures crafted from the hands of young children, simple snowmen thrown together on a whim, and a handful of highly artistic sculptures from some very talented individuals

As fun as your day has been, you did have to head home eventually, lest you two turn into living ice sculptures yourselves...

The door to the Shiba house closed and you stepped inside, following Hakkai. A burst of warm air hit your exposed skin and it was absolutely heavenly. “Ugh that feels so good. The vent is blowing right on me.”

Hakkai gasped softly, quickly heading over to where you were standing. “I need some of that too! Seriously, I can barely feel my face!” Both of you giggled at his remark, rubbing your ungloved hands together while you let the heat work its magic. Seeing your boyfriend like this — with red cheeks, lips parted in a sigh — caused your mind to wander to a dirty place. I mean, when else would Hakkai be flushed and moaning the way that he was? You can't be blamed for thinking of that!

“I know of a better way to warm up...” You mumbled, swiftly pulling Hakkai's scarf down so you could capture his cold lips in a kiss– He had no time to react as your hands traveled to the back of his neck, grazing against the hairs at his nape. Removing his scarf and tugging at his winter jacket. Having cold fingertips made it a bit difficult to unzip the coat, but you managed regardless, stripping your boyfriend of his layers and literally taking his breath away

“Mmm, mmph~ W-wait, y/n....” Hakkai tried to say between your heated kisses. “What're you doing...aah!” A cold hand found its way underneath his shirt, causing him to yelp from the sudden change in temperature on his skin. It does feel good though; firm hands all over his back and chest, exploring his skin as if it were uncharted territory and your fingers were the ships sailing forth

At some point, you had to pull away for air, gasping and panting into Hakkai's open mouth as you explained, “Heh...you wanted to get warm, right?” Your partner tilted his head, eyes half-lidded already. “Just trust me, ok? I'll warm you up nicely~”

Before he knew it you had dragged him over to the couch and pushed him onto the cushions, stripping the two of you down to nothing, then throwing a large fuzzy blanket over both of your bodies before crawling on top of your boyfriend. Your lips soon found Hakkai's neck, earning such cute whimpers from him while you hungrily kissed the tender flesh. Sweat has already begun to cling to his skin from arousal, building up most prominently on his back and the palms of his hands

“Hey, I need ya to warm something up for me, babe. Think you can do that?” Your question registered about halfway in Hakkai's fuzzy brain, nodding along with a breathy “O-ok–”

Without warning, Hakkai's hole stretched around something big and slightly wet; surprising the poor guy so much that his voice cracked. Arching his back and whining as you fully slipped inside

“Ooh shit– God you're so damn warm inside, Hakkai. Mm, I love it~ ” You moaned, just taking a moment to stay still and relish in the warm, tight walls of your baby as he so kindly warmed your cock up. Hakkai's hands wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you down towards him for more kisses. Of course you obliged him, letting more of your weight lay on top of his body like a weighted blanket, rubbing his chilly shoulders until the skin felt warm again

After you parted for more air, you moved down to caress more of your boyfriend's body; sliding over his toned abs and stomach and admiring how strong Hakkai was. His thighs were next; squeezed within your grasp so adoringly. His thighs were too perfect, especially when they were within range of your mouth~ Your nails scratched the insides of Hakkai's thighs and he let out a slutty whine, unable to stop his hips from jerking

“Baby, darling– Isn't this nice?” You asked, cupping Hakkai's cheeks and rubbing them with your thumbs. He hummed a content response, holding onto your wrists and nuzzling his face into your warm palms. Between your body heat and the large blanket surrounding yourselves, he was sufficiently warmed up now

“Told ya! Told ya I would warm you up nicely. Gotta make sure your insides are warm too~” You teased, humping his ass a little bit. Even the heat from your cock inside felt blissful; Hakkai's walls clung onto the gland deliciously as it throbbed every so often. But he was growing impatient...

“Please...”

“Hm? What is it, baby?” You heard something come out of Hakkai's mouth, but it was kinda muffled and said under his breath

“Please...y/n...s-start moving already–” Your boyfriend whined, wiggling his hips against your dick. His glossy eyes peered into yours; like a sad puppy begging for treats. And how could you ever deny that adorable face of his?

You scoffed playfully, leaning down to nuzzle your nose against his. “Anything for you, love. Anything for you~ ”

[marciaillust]

How long does it take for you to finish drawing?

I'm an artist (beginner) and i unconsciously set unrealistic goals for myself and need a reminder of how long it takes to complete a drawing, Thanks.

Hi! In the context you presented it in, that is a really interesting question, so I'll try to approach it thoroughly. I hope I won't make you roll your eyes too much.

Where to start, where to start... I guess the first thing I should say is that there is a difference between time I spend preforming the action of <drawing>, and the time I spent <working> on a particular piece. The first would be counted in hours, the second one - days. I'm a big believer in slowing things down, and giving things time - going through options, gathering research and references, taking breaks every 1h of sitting and drawing - and seeing things through until I achieve the goal I set at the beginning of the process.

The goals are usually different each time: "quick design", "character exploration", "analysis of an artist's linework and experimenting with the knowledge gained", "creating an aesthetically pleasing image", and so on and so forth. Of course I don't write these down like it's a school assignment, but knowing in the back of my head what I'm actually doing helps me manage my expectations. I also enjoy being conscious of why I create - when I was younger regardless of what I was doing I had the thought "AND IT MUST LOOK GOOD AND PRESENTABLE! BECAUSE PEOPLE WILL LOOK!" ...and I think that obsession is the cancer of creative process.

Since the goals for each picture are different, the time I'll spent on achieving each one will be different as well, because the "satisfactory results" lay in different places. For example, the Marcile sketchpage was created in one afternoon, and took approximately 3 hours. The goal was to play around with a brush that has no opacity forcing my lines to be more decisive. I did that and so it is "finished". There's nothing else I want from it.

On the other hand, the cover of Asterism took about 10 days to create, the goal of which was to make "an aesthetically pleasing cover picture taking colour inspiration from the works of (specific list of artists)". I took my time designing it so that it looks aesthetically pleasing, made sure the anatomy is "correct" (a nebulous statement when it comes to stylised humans), took my time masking, and picking colours, and shading. I wanted it to "look good" to my own eyes so if something was not working I would go back, change it, alter it, move it around... that's the wonderful thing about personal art, you can take as long as you like making something satisfactory.

The funny thing is, with what the Asterism cover actually is (a cellshaded image), it could have been done probably in 4 days by the me 4 years ago. But that person was willing to sit 8-10 hours a day to draw with no breaks, she had little social life, and treated herself as a little circus seal performing tricks so that people clap around her, and the clapping was soooo nice because it meant that people remembered her and she mattered. And it worked for her! For long 10 years! Until her arm gave out, and the reality of never being able to draw again became more tangible than ever, and it's been following her like a fog ever since for the past 4 years. The me today works about 4 hours a day and every hour I take about a 30 minute break. I also don't post half the stuff I draw. There is also another aspect that dictates the speed of creating and that is familiarity with the subject matter. The less you know something, the fast you'll draw it! But as you get to know the intricacies of the process, and see all the building blocks, it will start taking *longer* because you will start accounting for every block. But then you'll eventually get familiar with the blocks and so the time spent on a picture will go down again! The cool yet overwhelming thing about art is that, there are always hundreds of building blocks. Form, composition, ambient occlusion, saturation, hue, light balance, line form...... and those are just the *some* of the generalised *categories*. And each category will have it's own subsection of building blocks! And then those blocks will interact with each other to create completely new area of expertise! This is crazy! Marcille sketch page took me only 3 hours to create because I am already quite familiar with linework - I have drawn 3-4 comicbooks worth of linework. This also means I am familiar with believable anatomy, more or less, which got utilised in the Asterism cover - the main bulk of linework got created during a 3h livestream. So.... what's the answer.... "It's all relative" is so unsatisfactory and probably not what you looked for. But you can draw something in 3 days and kill your body over it. Or you can become an expert in a field and dish the same picture out effortlessly in 8 hours. You can also split that 8h block over multiple days bringing you back up to 3 days. You could even add a whole day of visual research which might make your picture only marginally better. And even if we calculate it in terms of raw working time, pen-to-paper, like a self-inflicted capitalist tumor, that time can fluctuate still due to personal visual library and knowledge base. If I asked Tom Fox how long it takes for him to create his sketch pages his answer would probably be downward of 30 minutes. Yet I need whole 3 hours to create something *less* anatomically correct than him. And so here we are at the end of this perhaps unnecessary essay. And all we learned is this: it depends. Dry, not nuanced tl;dr, my personal timings: single sketch - 30mins; single linework pic 1-2h; Cellshaded illust - 16h; Rendered illust: 20-25h.

[markantonys]

wotseries posted an alleged elaida audition script about 1) her telling presumably leane that she's at the tower to look for elayne and also that siuan's in a big mess and she could use elaida's help in cleaning it up, and 2) her discussing prophetic powers with min.

the first scene is pretty standard with what we've been predicting for elaida and the white tower plotline in s3, so i don't have any commentary on that one for now (though it does imply that, indeed, we'll be setting up the coup to be a slowburn season-long event with elaida weaseling around for a while before making her big move, rather than a shock event that happens early in the season, but i think most of us were thinking this already anyway).

the second scene is interesting because a different leak had placed min in tanchico. wotup's leaks have been flagrantly incorrect before (said faile would be in s2) and wotseries' audition scripts have also been flagrantly incorrect before (said gawyn would be in s2), so at this point it's just a question of which source i distrust more, and i can't answer that haha so for the time being i'll treat both Min Locations as equally plausible. (i'm assuming it'll only be one or the other because i find it hard to imagine that she could make an appearance in both locations during the course of the season, but i suppose you never know.)

looking at where s2 left off, both are equally plausible. min is in cairhien, and both siuan & co and liandrin are also in cairhien. i could see siuan snatching min back to the white tower because she knows about her powers and wants to use them, and i could also see liandrin snatching min over to tanchico because she considers her a liability after min betrayed her/didn't follow through on the deal/figured out she's a darkfriend.

looking at min's established story in the show and where her story goes in future in the books (lmao at the statement that min has a story in the books), both are equally plausible. tanchico would put her back into contact with liandrin and mat to follow up on her story with them in s2 and set up for her future seanchan story with mat (and doubly so if there's a seanchan presence or even tuon herself in tanchico in s3). the white tower would return her to her book storyline and, based on this scene with elaida, potentially give her the opportunity to have a storyline exploring the nature of her powers and her relationship with them. either storyline would allow her to go on to cross paths with rand in the next season or two.

(edited to add that tanchico would also have min interacting with elayne to help set up the polycule. i've so thoroughly made the polycule rand/elayne/avi/mat in my mind that i kinda forgot min is the canonical fourth member when i was making this post djkfg)

i will say that in the books, the tower coup has absolutely 0 bearing on min's overall character/story because she has 0 stakes in any of that stuff and 0 connection to aes sedai. it makes for an interesting 1-book storyline for her, but it's never relevant to her again (vs. someone like gawyn who is dealing with the repercussions of the coup in his storyline for pretty much the rest of the series), and so for that reason i wouldn't be sorry to replace her book storyline with an invented tanchico storyline that might have more long-term relevance to her (re: seanchan stuff). however, if the show expands her white tower storyline to include an exploration of her powers, i'd love that because min actively struggling with and trying to navigate and learn more about and figure out how best to use her powers is something that should have been part of her current story rather than her pre-series backstory. and compare/contrasting with elaida and how SHE uses her prophetic abilities would be super interesting!

that being said, i will never again trust any wotseries audition scripts after the utter betrayal that was the gawyn one, so i'm taking this all with a grain of salt! every time they post a new one they're like "disclaimer that scenes could be invented just for auditions and won't appear in the actual show, but most of our past audition scripts have appeared in the show pretty close to the audition version" and i'm like "what about that time you misled me to believe a whole-ass boy would be present in s2 and then he wasn't???? is gawyngate a joke to you???" lmao i wish they'd be a bit more cautious with their audition script disclaimers bc *i* think they've been pretty hit or miss, not Usually Accurate (even the aviendha one, only 1 of 2 scenes made it into the show iirc).

[apuckishwit]

"Sorry! I only speak English."

Steddie

"Sorry! I only speak English." Eddie offers what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic smile, holding his city map a little higher and offering it to the thoroughly unimpressed-looking cashier in the little shop he'd ducked into. "Train station?" he asks, racking his brain for any of the helpful phrases Gareth had tried drilling into him before the guys let him go wandering alone. "See-voo-play? Train? Uh, ho-hotel de...uh, fuck, Grand Vista Hotel?"

If he can get back to the rail station, he knows he'll be able to make it back to the hotel. The cashier tilts her head, now looking a little insulted as well as unimpressed and FUCK. It had seemed like such a romantic idea, exploring the French countryside by himself for a couple days before the show. He's been working on a few ballads for their next album...looking for ways to keep their sound fresh, keep their fans on their toes...and this had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some inspiration. Quiet his head a little, get into a writing mood.

Only now he is lost as shit in this quaint city where there are hardly any signs in English and everybody seems to only speak French and he's supposed to be back in Paris TONIGHT and he has no idea how to fucking get there. And like, yes, he's very aware that he's living up to some very bad American stereotypes right now, but Gareth will actually kill him if he fucks this opportunity up for them (they're in motherfucking PARIS, opening for a motherfucking HUGE music festival...this is big for them) and he's frustrated enough that he thinks he might actually start crying and what is he going to DO???

"Hey man, you need some help?"

He is so startled by the thoroughly American voice behind him that he whips around, fast enough that he dislodges the baseball cap he's tucked his hair up into. He barely catches it before it goes flying, dropping his map in the process.

"Shit, sorry, let me..." The stranger shifts his basket of charmingly-wrapped cheese and wine bottles to his other arm and crouches down, gathering up the map. He looks up at Eddie as he holds it out to him and all Eddie can think is that there is a great deal he would give up in the world if he could have this vision on his knees in front of him every night.

The guy is fucking beautiful. Eddie can feel song lyrics bubbling up inside of him--an ode to those perfect lips, that creamy, mole-dotted skin, the way his jeans stretch enticingly over the muscles of his thighs as he stands, still holding the map out. Eddie's staring, but he can't help it. He takes the map in a daze. The guy cocks an eyebrow.

"Didn't mean to scare you, you just sounded like you needed help." He turns towards the cashier with a bright, charming smile, placing his purchases on the counter and starts speaking with her in what sounds like damn near perfect French. Eddie swallows hard at the lilting, beautiful language in that voice. Fuck. He guesses he has a language kink now. Who knew?

"Um, I do! Need help, that is," he blurts after the stranger has completed his transaction, whipping out a black AmEx card like it's nothing. "I need to get back to Paris tonight, but I'm, um, I'm lost as fuck." He laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck and ruffling his now loose curls. His breath catches when the stranger follows the movement, a slight gleam of what Eddie VERY much hopes is interest lighting those honey brown eyes. Fuck, forget the French countryside--Eddie's got a goddamn MUSE standing right in front of him.

The guy smiles, just as charming, just as friendly, but is there a little bit of flirtatiousness in there as well? "Well, it just so happens my friend and I are heading into the city tonight for some music festival she's been dying to go to since, like, before we met. I'd be happy to make sure you get back."

Heaven really is smiling on Eddie today.

"Oh? I'd be...grateful," he says, taking a risk and laying on some innuendo. Wants to fist pump when the smile widens. That is definitely interest in those eyes now. The guy sticks his hand out.

"Steve," he says, his grip firm and sure when Eddie takes his hand to shake.

"Eddie," he says, and God, wandering around the French countryside by himself is the BEST idea he's ever had.

"If you are not going to buy anything else, please step away from the counter," the cashier huffs. In perfect English.

[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, girls kissing, boys kissing, smut, cooperative oral (m receiving), fingering (v), p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy

chapter four: touch tank (16k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the song for this chapter is #15.

You took my breath away

So now I can't suck in my stomach 

around you anymore

Touch Tank — Quinnie

The dingy apartment hallway has never looked so luminous in the late afternoon sun as you return home from your afternoon of shopping. You're swinging your little striped bag, its treasures concealed beneath pink tissue; the fingers of your other hand are closed around the lid of a smoothie, mouth currently too occupied by a brilliant smile to keep sipping fruity goodness right now. 

You can't wait to show off your recent purchase to your boyfriend.

Inside, Steve is seated at the kitchen table, fingers tap-tap-tapping on the keys of his laptop, old coffee cooled beside him. You drape your arms around his shoulders from behind, peering at the mind-numbing spreadsheet with its rows of number-filled rectangles. You wrinkle your nose at it, tightening your arms; your bag crinkles against his chest, and your smoothie drags condensation across his shirt with the force of your hug.

Steve huffs amusedly through his nose, gently taking the plastic cup from your hand and placing it beside his mug before affectionately clasping your forearms. "I take it your girls' trip was a success?" 

"Yes," you say, eyes bright, grinning cheek pressed to his. "We each got something new for Friday night."

 "Oh?" Steve's thumbs rub teasing circles against your skin. "And do I have to wait until Friday to see your 'something new?'"

"Mmm…" You hum thoughtfully, playful as you wiggle your hips. "I suppose I could be persuaded to offer a sneak peek."

Apparently, that's all Steve needs to hear. The way he closes the laptop so unceremoniously makes you laugh, arms releasing him so he can eagerly pull you to the bedroom.

The four of you have been playing together for a few weeks now, and it's been good. Quite good, actually. You've found yourself growing more comfortable with both Eddie and Chrissy with each successive encounter, sexual and otherwise. You don't know whether all couples who swing also go on double dates to restaurants or solve escape rooms together, but considering Steve's friendship and long acquaintance with them, it seems natural for you all to spend time together outside the bedroom. You enjoy spending time with Eddie and Chrissy— they're warm, sociable, and fun. And you trust them. Eddie had proven himself trustworthy when he'd promised not to tell anyone about your secret; you know he'd kept that promise because there's literally no way Steve would've kept quiet if he'd found out you've faked every orgasm he thinks you've had with him. Though you've never gotten as close to orgasm as you had that first time with Eddie, you've been thoroughly enjoying yourself since. No complaints from any of you, as far as you can tell.

So it hadn't been difficult to decide as a group that you were ready to take things to the next level: that you wanted to explore penetrative sex together for the first time. This Friday had been chosen for the occasion.

Friday nights had unofficially been designated as group play since that first time you'd gone to Insa, and though you'd sometimes see one another on other days of the week, Fridays were a given. This gave you a little less than a week to prepare for the next step in your ongoing journey of sexual debauchery; a little less than a week to imagine what it would feel like for Eddie to be inside you for the first time. To some extent, the promise of the unknown makes those nerves squirm in your chest, but mostly, you're excited about it. 

When Chrissy called today and asked if you wanted to go to the mall with her, you eagerly accepted. An afternoon filled with powdery-soft smiles, shared giggle fits, and eager shopping ensued as you prepared for this upcoming weekend. You'd gotten mani-pedis, visited Lush to explore their offerings of natural facemasks and body butters, and, finally, spent an inordinate amount of time browsing for a new set of lingerie, one worthy of the occasion.

Shopping for lingerie with Chrissy was not like shopping for lingerie with Steve or by yourself. For one thing, Chrissy is much more adventurous than you regarding her undergarments: her preference is for as much edge and as little coverage as possible. You are slightly more conservative, gravitating towards cheeky panties over thongs and floral lace over faux leather. She'd chosen her own lingerie fairly quickly— a fuchsia v-string that was more strap than fabric, crotchless and with a satin bow in the front, with a matching push-up bra. For you, she'd held up many potential options that you quickly dismissed, but one set she suggested caught your eye. With Chrissy's keen encouragement, you'd tried it on; when you'd heard her squeal of excitement and gazed with wide eyes at your reflection in the mirror, you'd gathered enough courage to step out of your comfort zone and try out some adventure for yourself. 

Now, you're cloistered in the walk-in closet, twisting your body to examine it from all angles before emerging to show your barely-patient boyfriend your new lingerie.

"You gonna come out soon?" Steve's voice is muffled through the door, and you picture him sprawled on the bed, hair flopped over his brow, full lips in a pout as you make him wait. 

"Yes, Steve— honey, dear, darling one," you say with sing-song playfulness, biting your bottom lip as you run your eyes one last time over your body in the closet mirror before cracking the door. From the sliver, you see him sit up from his sprawl, head whipping toward the closet.

"Finally, jee—" He cuts off, eyebrows nearly to his hairline, hazel eyes wide, mouth falling comically open as you push the door open fully to reveal your body. You flush warm, a little smirk stretching on your lips as his gaze rakes over your body, devouring the sight before him.

The first thing that attracted you to this set was the color— a deep red, rich and heady like sweet fruit. The panties are embroidered with tiny flowers, delicate and feminine, not quite a thong but with less coverage than you'd usually choose. The bra is stitched with matching embroidery, but it's not a push-up like Chrissy's. You don't need that; you've got enough going on as it is. Instead, it's boned with underwire for just the right amount of support, and it's unlined— sheer, so your nipples show through, dusky and darkened beneath the red fabric.

When Steve recovers, he just husks a simple direction: "Come here, now."

It's a little brusque, but you chuckle as you approach him, pleased that he's so affected by the sight of you. When you climb onto his lap, Steve seems unable to decide what to do with his hands— brush them over your waist, palm the swell of your breasts, squeeze your hips, or cup your jaw and draw you in for a kiss.

But when you gently capture one fluttering hand, guiding it down to show him that your new panties are crotchless, same as Chrissy's, that decides it for him.

You gasp sharply as his finger plunges into you, his other hand grasping at your jaw to pull you in for a searing kiss. You're already wet from the anticipation of him seeing you like this, so he slides in with no resistance, groaning against your lips as he feels the evidence of your excitement. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, fingers drawing through thick strands as you open your mouth for him. His tongue in your mouth moves in tandem with his finger, stroking you inside, kindling the heat in your lower belly until you're rocking your hips into the heel of his hand. He presses it tighter to you, rubbing friction into your clit as you moan, pushing your breasts into his clothed chest.

Clothes. You realize then that Steve has on far too many clothes.

Pulling abruptly from his lips, you pant, "Take off your clothes, Steve."

Your hands accompany your direction, tearing at his shirt before he's even pulled his finger out of you. Together, you make quick work of it and his pants, hand finding his hard length as soon as his tight boxers are revealed, fingers wrapping around him as best you can through the fabric. He hums, hazel eyes dark with desire as he palms the back of your neck, pulling you into greedy lips that suck at your throat. "Wanna do you from behind," Steve rasps against your skin, and his words make your pussy throb with anticipation. That's your favorite position— face pressed to the sheets, ass in the air, Steve's cock reaching so deep inside you you nearly see stars.

You get wetter just imagining it. 

"Mmm," you moan, and Steve smiles broadly, huffing a chuckle that puffs warm against your skin. 

"Knew you'd like that suggestion, baby." 

"You like it, too," you remind him as you climb off, crawling across the bed until your head is resting just below the pillows; you drop your shoulders, widening your knees, peeking back at him as you sway. "I know you like to watch my ass bounce." You're teasing, but it comes out breathy and desperate as you see the way Steve's looking at your exposed pussy still framed by berry-red lace— like he wants nothing more than to stuff you full, to pound you until all you can do is cry out for him. 

Steve pulls his boxers down his legs, lifting one knee and then the other to drag them impatiently off and let them drop to the bedroom floor. He's long and straight, with a pale pink head that disappears into his fist as he strokes himself once, eyes still intent on your pussy as you watch him. As hairy as Steve's chest is, he's very fastidious about keeping himself well-trimmed beneath the waist, which only makes him look longer as he draws closer until you can no longer see him. You drop your head, fingers tightening on the bedspread as something brushes against your swollen lips.

You anticipate the head of Steve's cock, but instead, you feel the press of his fingers; and though it's not what you expected, you sigh in pleasure as he dips inside, stroking and working your inner walls until you're burning for more. "Steve…" you whimper, and he knows what you're asking for. You feel him press a warm kiss to one plush cheek before he withdraws, knee brushing your calf as he lines up with your entrance. 

The initial stretch is always the most delicious, and today is no exception: you moan, a long, low sound of relief as he presses inside until he nudges up against the end of you. "Fuck," you hear him say, voice husky with need as his palm finds the middle of your back, the fingers of his other hand digging into the heft of your hip. You obey his silent request, pushing your chest down to the bed until your back is arched further for him. "So fuckin' hot, baby," Steve murmurs. And then he slides almost all the way out of you before thrusting sharply back in, finally beginning to fuck you.

Your fire burns bright, stoked by the quick, deep drag of Steve's cock inside you, his hips slapping into your ass, his balls swinging against your mound, his fingers gripping tight to your hips, holding you in place so he can fuck you hard. It's really intense, this angle; your toes curl, and your fingers fist into the bedding as you pant and moan out your pleasure. Steve is even more worked up today than usual, and the knowledge that he's so excited by your body just adds to the twisting flames and the tightening of your abdomen as he jolts against that spot inside you. 

"Oh, Steve," you whimper, breath heaving, body rocked by his deep thrusts. Through the thin material of your bra, the bedspread drags against your nipples, making them harden and igniting tiny sparks of pleasure that kindle the burn in your belly.

Steve's breathing hard, too, with ragged gasps as he works to pleasure you, groaning when you squeeze around him as he hits especially deep. And maybe it's the fact that you'd just spoken— just whined his name— but Steve chooses then to remind you of what you'd agreed to try with him.

"Baby," he says, voice hoarse and a little breathless but still careful, "Do you think you could, like… try, uh, talking more?" 

You've had your eyes scrunched closed, entirely focused on the feeling of Steve's cock pounding you, but they pop open at that. "Oh," you say, a little wobbly as your body continues to rock under the onslaught of his cock. "Yeah, o-okay." 

You try to think of what to say; you really do. Little snippets you've heard from Chrissy knock against each other in your head: 'bad girl,' 'punish me,' 'lick my cunt,' 'fuck toy,' 'dirty slut,' 'shit— goddamn— cock— whore—' 

They swirl together until they're whipping by, stinging your outstretched fingers as you try to grab one. They stick in your throat as your eyes dart, freeze spreading in your chest the longer you stay silent. Just say something, you plead with yourself, anything, anything at all. Just say, 'Fuck my dirty little pussy, Steve.'  

But you can't. The words won't come out.

Your nostrils flare, your eyes prickling with frustrated tears as Steve's hips slow slightly. Quickly, you try to speak, but all that comes out is a stammer: "I… I—"

Steve's fingers loosen on your hips, rubbing gently along the plush of your ass, and you whimper in response to his soothing touch— a small, almost pathetic sound. "It's fine, babe. Don't worry about it." 

The softness in his voice makes the tears prick more insistently as your stomach churns with guilt. It's all he'd asked of you, and you couldn't even try to do it. "Are you sure?" You ask, voice tiny.

Rather than replying, Steve stops moving inside you, pressing close, draping himself over your back, wrapping his firm arms around your middle to hold you tightly. His body covers yours, warming you instantly, lips pressing to your shoulder blades, dropping kisses wherever he can reach. You can feel him murmur against your skin, bangs brushing you as he speaks. "Of course. I'm sorry I brought it up." Quietly, tenderly, he adds, "All I care about is being with you."

You melt at the sincerity in his voice, breath escaping in a sigh as the freeze drips away. "Okay," you say, more assured now. 

Steve drops one more kiss to your back, lips warm and dry and lingering there as he presses his hips experimentally tighter to your ass. You hum, flame flickering again as his length shifts inside you. "You really look so fuckin' hot right now," he rasps quietly against your back, and you hum as the compliment kindles the flame higher. "I can't get enough of you."

You bite your lower lip, pressing back into him, encouraging him as he rotates his hips against you, grinding his length deep. "Mmm, Steve," you murmur, breath quickening. "That feels really good."

"Yeah?" He grinds against you again, groaning as you whimper, pressing back in kind. "You ready for me to fuck you how you like it again, baby?" 

A moan slips from your lips, pussy throbbing as the silk of his words caresses you. "Yeah," you say, and though the air is cold when his warm skin leaves your back, the fire that reignites is hot when he grabs hold of your hips again, pulling back and thrusting into you hard. 

"Ah!" You cry out as burning pleasure twists in your belly; Steve resumes his pace, fucking you fast and hard, cock reaching so deep it's almost too much. "Steve!" You whine loudly, fingers clutching desperately to the bed, holding on as his hips pound into you. He's sticking to you now, skin clinging with damp sweat on every impact, groans nearly constant as his pace turns frenetic, losing that consistent rhythm as he gets close. 

"Fuck, y/n, you're gonna make me cum, baby," Steve moans, and his words flare low, increasing your pleasure as you cry out for him again.

And then you feel Steve's cock jerk, hips slowing as he gasps a ragged breath, stifling those groans in his throat, jaw tight as he cums inside you. You moan with him, panting with exertion even though he'd been the one fucking you. As he finally stops moving, holding himself inside, you press further back against him, wanting him as deep as he can get, relishing that point of connection between you. 

"Shit," Steve sighs, a sound of deep contentment as he carefully pulls out of you. You tilt further forward, raising your ass higher as you hear Steve's hasty footsteps pad out of the bedroom, presumably on the way to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth. That's confirmed when he returns, and you feel the warm brush of soft wet fabric against you, gently wiping as you lower down and walk your hands back until you have enough leverage to kneel up on the bed. "Thanks," you say, twisting to take the washcloth from him. Your eyes run over pink cheeks flushed from exertion, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, and those roguishly disheveled brown waves flopping over his forehead. You smile, leaning forward at the same time he does for a soft kiss. When you part, Steve cups your cheek affectionately, pressing one more kiss to your temple before you head to the bathroom to finish cleaning up. 

You return to find him lounging on your rumpled bedding, scrolling on his phone; as he spots you, he drops it on the bedside table, opening his arms wide with a charming grin. You smile, climbing onto the bed, giggling as his strong arms close around you, pulling you down against him. You rest your chin on his chest, fingers playing in puffs of hair as he looks at you fondly. "Hey," he murmurs, arm slung across your back, fingers trailing lazy patterns as you lay half-across him. "I was thinking we could try that Indian fusion place for dinner tonight. I heard they have this habanero chicken tikka that's apparently knock-your-socks-off good."

You gaze into your boyfriend's face, whose eyes— their flecks of green, brown, and amber— are so comforting. So cherished. You feel a sudden surge of appreciation for him: for his sense of adventure, for the fresh experiences he provides you, for the plans he always makes for you to enjoy together. 

Your lips curl with a tender smile. "Sure. That sounds perfect."

-

It's around eight o'clock on Friday evening, and you're reclining on the loveseat, casually turning the pages of the novel you're currently reading called The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches. It's a cozy little fantasy about an orphaned witch and her journey to find a new family, and you aren't too far in, but you're very much enjoying the writing style and the main character. You find yourself so absorbed that your eyes don't even once flick to the clock in anticipation of your guests' arrival or to the television where Steve is watching some college sports game with rapt fascination.

You've long been ready for tonight by now— since seven, in fact. You'd showered, shaved, exfoliated, and moisturized; dried and styled your hair, applied light makeup, chosen your outfit— a casual pair of ripped jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt, soft and clingy, low-cut and shirred at the bust— and slipped your red set on beneath it. It feels a little delicious to be wearing such casual clothes atop such sumptuous lingerie, like you're a precious stone wrapped deceptively in old newsprint. It really is a beautiful color, you'd thought as you pulled it out of your drawer, laying it gingerly out on the bedspread. Though the thought had occurred to you that the shade seemed awfully similar to the gash of red you'd once seen on stage, you dismissed it as happenstance. You were more concerned with the impact it would make tonight. Considering how Chrissy and Steve had reacted to you wearing it, you're curious to see if it will have a similar effect on Eddie.

When there's a knock at the door, you're the first one up, padding over before Steve has torn his eyes away from the television screen. It sounds like someone may have just scored the game-winning basket, judging by the raucous cheering that bursts from the speaker as the door swings open to reveal a lopsided grin and dark frizzy curls standing tall beside baby blue eyes and bouncy blonde waves.

"Hi, Chris!" You say warmly, and the television goes silent as you embrace her first, arms closing affectionately around her sharp shoulders. Bow lips kiss your cheek, and you press a return kiss to powdery-soft skin, giggling as she squeezes you extra tight before letting you go. She's dressed casually, too, in a pair of yoga pants and a thin fuzzy sweater. You meet eyes, pursing your lips against identical grins loaded with the knowledge of what's concealed underneath your hang-out clothes. 

You hear the greeting Steve and Chrissy exchange, followed by the soft smack of their lips, but your eyes don't stray from the black and white of the man before you: white Reeboks, black joggers, white t-shirt, black ink, pale quartz skin, midnight-dark curls. Casual, comfortable, not just in the way he's dressed, but also in the way his lips crook, one dimple emerging, brown eyes bright as he steps closer and pulls you in with one arm slung around your waist. 

"Hi," Eddie says, smoky and warm, chin tilting down.

"Hi," you echo, smile instinctual as you tilt up to kiss Eddie hello.

It's not a particularly long or deep kiss, but the press of Eddie's lips against yours makes those moth wings flutter nonetheless, swirling the smoke of his voice you've just inhaled.

Steve takes your place to greet his friend when you step away, and they clap each other roughly on the back as you look for Chrissy— she's in the kitchen, fridge door open as she bends to look inside. "Hey," you call to her, "can you bring over the fruit salad?" You fold yourself onto the big couch, one foot tucked comfortably beneath you, the other leg swinging as you sink back into the cushions.

"Sure!" You hear her reply, but your eyes are again drawn to Eddie as he approaches with a quirked brow, brown eyes twinkling as they bore into yours.

"You're gonna eat fruit salad during a horror movie? And here I thought I was the weirdo. Clearly, you've got me beat." 

You scrunch your nose, sticking your tongue out at him as he flops into the corner of the couch, legs spreading comfortably to own the space like he always does. Eddie huffs at your attitude, making your gesture his own but dialing up the drama— broad tongue lolling, stretched out to his chin as his brown eyes go wide. You try to stifle the snort in your throat, but it comes out anyway, just half-choked and squeaky. You look pointedly away, but not before seeing his lips curl with a tiny smug grin.

The sight of Chrissy carrying your glass bowl of fruit salad along with her hummus and pita chips is a welcome one, and you smile sweetly as you reach to take it, cradling it in the crook of your thighs. She drops her snacks to the coffee table, wry as she tells you, "I'm gonna supervise the drink-making— Steve tends to be a little heavy-handed on the vodka."

"Don't I know it," you reply, equally as wryly, eyes happily dipping to fruity goodness— mixed berries and plump purple grapes all crowded together, succulently tempting. You choose a grape and pop it into your mouth, relishing that first firm squish as your teeth burst the skin.

"Ugh." An exaggerated sound of disgust has your gaze slanting to the left, expression flat as you take in the crinkle of Eddie's soft nose and dark brow. He's well in the throw of his theatrics as he rants, "Where are the shitty snacks? Hot dogs, pringles, gummy worms. I'd even settle for the long-time partner of motion pictures: popcorn." He sounds like he's complaining, but as you see his eyes dance, you know he's just feigning it. "Is this really how you treat your guests? Fuckin' hummus and fruit?"

You roll your eyes so he can't see the mischief in them, plunking the bowl onto the coffee table with a sigh. You make sure to sound utterly fed up as you retort, "Oh, just eat a strawberry." Without giving him any time to react, you push the fruit past those smirking lips and into his mouth.

His suddenly slack face fills you with delight, and your suppressed smile breaks free as he stares you down while he starts to chew. You can tell he wasn't expecting you to do that, but that he isn't mad about it either. "This… is actually good," he says, talking through the mushy mouthful of red fruit, struggling to chew while his lips want to smile, face all puckered with effort, brown eyes fond.

"Could've told ya that," you say, reaching delicate fingers into your bowl and leaning casually back like you haven't just forcibly shoved fruit into a man's mouth. You pick out a raspberry, then a blueberry, then a blackberry, cycling through all the fruits until you get to another strawberry. 

But on its way to your mouth, your wrist is abruptly snatched and diverted toward that plush set of smirking lips. "Hey!" you exclaim, feigning outrage as Eddie tugs your arm toward him. Your elbow lands on his thigh as you unbalance; in your distraction, he steals your fruit with his teeth, expression utterly devilish as your mouth falls open indignantly. 

"What can I say? You've converted me," he quips, words thick with half-chewed fruit. "Just can't get enough of these strawberries. Who knew?" 

Your breath catches as his lips close over your index and middle fingers, playfully sucking any remnants of juice from your skin. You're torn between amusement and fluttering attraction as you feel the wet warmth of his mouth, the slide of his tongue against your fingertips, and the squishy mush of fruit inside that somehow manages to be both disgusting and just the slightest bit erotic at the same time. Eddie seems never to swallow before he starts to speak, perhaps because he's speaking almost constantly, and you're seeing the evidence of that first-hand now.

You're torn for a moment, trying to decide which impulse to act on— amusement, arousal, or disgust. In the end, playful amusement wins out.

"Ugh!" You echo his exclamation from earlier, yanking your fingers from his mouth and wiping them off dramatically on your jeans. You wag a finger at him, expression stern like you're reprimanding a dog, though a chuckle breaks through as you scold him. "Now stop that! Get your own fruit!"

Grinning widely as if he's delighted you've decided to play with him, Eddie leans toward you, folding his expression into an exaggeration of petulance. "But I want your fruit—!" You dodge his grabby hands, snatching the bowl and turning away, stiff arm against his chest, giggling as you deny him.

A soft voice, tinged with exasperation, interjects. "Children, children," Chrissy says, and Eddie withdraws immediately, lounging back into the corner of the couch, elbow casual against the armrest as if he hadn't just been nearly wrestling you for the fruit bowl. You shift over to make room for her, tilting towards her as she sinks between you, primly handing over the plastic cups she's carrying and keeping one for herself.

You peer into your cup, lips puckering at the transparent liquid inside. "If I drink this, it's not just gonna be straight vodka, right?"

She smiles fondly, weaving her arm through yours. "Don't worry, I kept Steve under control."

"You're supposed to wait for the movie to start, dude. That's the whole point of a drinking game." You look at Steve as he sits down on your other side, puzzled for just a moment until you glance to the left to see who he's talking to. Of course.

As he lowers his cup, Eddie grins wolfishly. "Just getting a head start, Stevie," he replies, and Steve shakes his head as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. It's a snug fit on the big couch with the four of you— Steve's thigh is pressed up against yours, hip warm where he's squishing you between his solid side and Chrissy's thin frame beneath her soft fuzzy sweater. But if you have to watch a horror movie, this is how you'd prefer to do it: enveloped by comforting warmth, surrounded by limbs you can latch to when your heart inevitably starts to hammer in your chest. 

"Are we gonna turn off the lights?" Chrissy asks, sounding eager, and you suppress your reluctant whine as Steve extricates himself from you to oblige. As the apartment is plunged into darkness, you nestle back into the couch cushions, plastic cup under your nose, somewhat trying to hide behind it.

"How scary is this movie?" You ask, carefully neutral though your stomach is already squirming with nerves. No one seems to be as distressed as you, not even Chrissy, who, though she's already clinging to Eddie, has an excited gleam in her eye. So you keep the extent of your discomfort to yourself. Mercifully, Steve soon settles back beside you, the comfort of his citrus and sea salt cologne smooth in your nose.

"I keep forgetting you've never seen Halloween, babe," he says, and you glance at him to see his hazel eyes are shiny with the reflection of the television— the only source of light in the room. "It's, like, a classic."

"Well," you grumble, "I'm only here to get drunk. What is it again?" Your gaze darts to the ceiling as you try to remember. "Drink when you see a knife, drink when you see a pumpkin—"

"How 'bout you just drink when you get scared," Eddie suggests, lips crooking with a playful grin as you glance at him, pouting. "That way, it'll get less scary the drunker you get."

You huff, torn between amusement and exasperation. "Sounds perfect," you say, voice edged with sarcasm.

Chrissy's arm tightens around yours. "It'll be okay," she says, shooting you an encouraging smile. "Just hold onto Steve and me." 

Her sweetness warms you, and you snuggle into her side, taking a subtle bracing breath as Steve starts the movie. Here goes nothing.

Halloween isn't nearly as terrifying as some of the other modern horror movies you've had the displeasure of seeing— it doesn't seem to be trying to induce heart attacks through jump scares and gruesome effects. Instead, it smolders with tension, though some shocking moments still have your hand frantically clutching for Steve's fingers and your head ducking against Chrissy's shoulder. You drink when you see the others drink and take some little sips in between, too, falling into a state where your body is half-loose with alcohol and half-wound tight with adrenaline. Midway through the movie, Eddie stretches his arm along the back of the couch, and when you notice it, you toss a wary glance his way, anticipating an attempt to scare you. It preoccupies you, the promise— or the threat— of his calloused hand, a constant presence behind your head, though when he doesn't return your glance, you go back to halfheartedly watching the screen. 

When you jolt as Michael suddenly appears in the kitchen to kill Bob, and Eddie's hand shifts, dread spikes as you assume the worst. But his fingers are gentle on the back of your head, and he cradles your skull in his broad palm. Your breathing settles as he plays with your hair, scratching your scalp affectionately while a knife pins Bob to the wall in a gravity-defying display of violence. Truthfully, it's a welcome distraction, and you lean into his touch, eyes flickering from Michael's eerie head tilt to Eddie's shadowed face. When he notices you looking, a smile soft on your lips, a corner of his lips crooks back at you before his attention returns to the movie. Though his hand withdraws not long after, you sigh a slow breath out of your nose, strengthened now despite the lingering suspense of the film. You even find yourself cheering Laurie on with the others when she has her final showdown with Michael, nerves almost entirely forgotten as you get caught up in your desire for her triumph. And the ominous final image of Michael's missing body, complete with his signature heavy breathing, has you grinning instead of cowering at the twist.

"So," Steve asks you when it ends, "what did you think?"

"Mmm." You twist your lips, begrudgingly admitting, "I guess it wasn't that bad." You don't want to encourage Steve too much, lest he thinks you'll be willing to watch more scary movies with him after this.

"Did you get drunk?" Chrissy blinks at you innocently, and you peer down into your cup to find it mostly empty. You feel warm and loose and a little floaty, but not excessively so.

You answer noncommittally. "Kinda?"

She beams. "Then that's all that matters." You chuckle, setting your cup on the coffee table as the guys get up from the couch. 

Steve stretches his arms above his head, cracking his neck to the side, and your eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin between his t-shirt and the waistline of his jeans. He eyes you and Chrissy where you still sit on the couch together. "Shall we move this into the bedroom, ladies?" He asks, trying to be suave as he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms against his chest in that move men use to show off their biceps.

You share a look with Chrissy. "Despite how lame that line was," you tease him, "I think we're probably still in." She giggles as Steve pouts. 

"Hmmm…" Chrissy plays along, waffling her shoulders. "I'm not sure… that may have been a little too cheesy for me. I might just head home."

"Aw, come on," Steve says, face falling at your teasing. You take Chrissy's hand in both of yours, shuffling backward as you pull her lightly toward the bedroom— guiding more than pulling her, really, since she's giggling as she walks forward with you. 

"You can do it, Chrissy," you coax, eyes wide and encouraging as your heels hit the bedroom carpet. "Persevere through the cheese. You're so close… almost there—"

"Rah!" Your heart leaps into your throat as hands clutch your shoulders from behind, accompanied by a playful, gravelly shout. 

Your scream is not so playful— you screech, loud and genuinely afraid as your chest spikes with icy panic.

Chrissy frowns, stalking past you as the hands quickly release your shoulders. "Eddie!" She growls his name sharply, face all scrunched up as you twist to watch him back away. He heaves with chuckles even as he eyes Chrissy plaintively, gasping,

"Wait, Chris, come on, I'm sorry, I'm— ow!" Eddie braces an arm protectively against his stomach to ward off further smacks, looking simultaneously amused and rueful as he cowers from his much shorter girlfriend. It's the first time you've seen Chrissy actually get upset, and you can't help but think she looks somewhat like a pissed-off chipmunk. She'd be scary if she weren't so cute.

"Don't apologize to me," she says hotly, crossing her arms and cocking a hip. "Apologize to y/n. Now." And after leveling him with one last withering once-over, she stomps away with a sharp huff, leaving you with Eddie in the bedroom.

Your heart is still racing, but the panic has eased now that you're past the initial shock. Eddie peers at you, face falling into sheepishness as he takes in your tense expression. He edges toward you slowly, mouth pulling into a crooked line of contrition, but you don't budge. Eventually, he stops a short distance from you; his head tilts, eyebrows raising as he opens his arms in silent offering. It seems he's letting you decide whether or not to accept his offer of a hug.

For a second, you just stare at him, annoyed that he would scare you when you thought he'd known how nervous you were during the movie. But those brown eyes are gentle now, the way you've noticed they get sometimes. And you know Eddie was just trying to play around with you; you suppose that, in his mind, he was continuing what you'd started when you shoved a strawberry in his mouth. So you close the gap, looking up at him dully as you draw near. 

The crooked line of his mouth tilts with a tiny smile as Eddie hugs you, arms wrapping snugly around your back, and despite yourself, you sling your arms around his narrow waist, chin propped against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," Eddie murmurs, voice puffing like hushed smoke against the side of your face and rumbling through his chest and into yours. "I didn't think you'd scream like that." 

You pout for one more moment in sullen silence before you relent. "It's fine," you grumble. "Just don't ever scare me again."

You feel Eddie's chest jump against yours as he chuckles once, but despite his laugh, his reply is sincere. "I won't."

And you expect him to let you go then— after all, his apology has been accepted. But Eddie doesn't release you yet. Instead, he sways you back and forth, just slightly, long enough to get you to sigh deeply as you relax into him. Your nose tucks against ticklish curls, inhaling smoke and delicate apples. "I'm sorry," he says again, quieter than before, lips grazing your temple as he turns his face toward you.

Your breath catches as his lips brush your skin, belly fluttering with wild wings as you feel his arms shift, palms dragging across your back in a slow caress. "It's okay," you whisper. And you've had your fingers wrapped around your wrist, locked behind the small of his back. But as Eddie shifts, as he touches you tenderly, after a moment, you touch him, too. You release your wrist to press your palms against his back, skin hot through his t-shirt. When you run them slowly upwards, smoothing over the plane of his back, Eddie's ribcage expands into yours in a deep breath, adam's apple bobbing as he presses you closer to him. And that earlier fear is nowhere to be found now; instead, you feel held. Cradled. 

Safe in Eddie's arms, like his calloused fingers are tending you somehow.

You can hear footsteps behind you, and you both loosen your arms and turn towards the bedroom doorway, where Chrissy is leading the forge with Steve close behind.

Her gaze whips directly to Eddie. "Did you apologize?" 

"Yes, yes, Chris, I apologized," you hear him say, though you're preoccupied with the soft embrace Steve wraps you in, citrus and solid limbs enfolding you against a broad torso. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," you sigh, and you mean it. "I'm fine. He was just joking around. He didn't mean to be mean."

Steve chuckles against your hair. "Sounds like Munson," he says, dry and fond. "As long as you're good."

You pull back slightly to smile as you meet Steve's hazel eyes. "I'm fine," you say more firmly, and Steve seems to accept that, smiling back as his arms release you gently.

As you pad across the bedroom carpet to wrap your arms around Chrissy's shoulders from behind, tucking your chin against her fuzzy sweater, any lingering tension is dispelled. Voice lightly teasing, you say, "Thank you for coming to my defense, my knight-ess in shining armor, but I think our good bard here has been thoroughly vanquished. He's sworn never to frighten me again."

You grin up at Eddie from your place on Chrissy's shoulder as his lips crook, cheek dimpling at you. "A solemn vow," Eddie says, palm on his chest as he dips into a shallow bow. "One that shall never be broken upon pain of excruciating death."

You feel Chrissy huff a chuckle. "So dramatic," she says as she clasps your forearms, squeezing once before letting you draw away. As she turns, you detect the glint in her blue eyes as they fall on your boyfriend. "Well," she says, bow lips curving in a sultry smile, "In that case… Steve, would you like to do the honors of unwrapping this present?"

She motions down her body with a delicate hand, and you watch as Steve's eyebrows shoot up, face lighting with zeal. As she saunters over to him, you turn back to Eddie to see his dark eyes watching you, assessing. But the weight of his stare no longer overwhelms you with nerves like it had the first few times you'd spent together. You aren't hesitant to draw close to him, eyes on your fingers as they reach out and dip beneath the hem of his white t-shirt, dragging lightly along his waist. 

When you look up at him again, Eddie's brown eyes are warm as he allows you to push his shirt up his stomach. You gather the fabric as it reveals pale quartz skin and the dark obsidian of his inked body armor. "Are you nervous?" he asks quietly, slowly drawing his arms through the sleeves as you guide the shirt up to his neck. Gently, you pull it over his head as you consider the question. You can't deny that some nerves writhe in your stomach as you think about what you're all preparing to do— why you're undressing one another, how this occasion will become something more than what you've all done together before. You've pleasured each other in other ways, but there's something… different about knowing that Steve would soon be inside Chrissy and Eddie would soon be inside you.

"Just a little," you answer truthfully, laying Eddie's t-shirt on your nearby dresser. Your fingers dip to the waistband of his joggers, fingers pulling the string to unravel the bow as you admit, "But mostly, I'm excited."

You can hear the smile in Eddie's voice as he replies quietly, "Yeah, me too." His words flutter those moth wings again, and a small smile blooms on your face as you carefully lift the elastic of his black sweatpants, tugging them down his legs to reveal a loose pair of checkered boxers. He steps out of his joggers as they pool around his feet, pale legs long and gangly as he extricates himself, hand landing on your clothed shoulder for balance. He chuckles at himself as he finally kicks the pants out of the way, and a fond smile tugs at your lips as you meet his eyes, warmed to deep amber in the soft light of your bedroom. "Okay if I take these off?" he asks, thumb rubbing lightly against the button of your high-waisted jeans.

You swallow thickly, fluttering wings and nerves kicking up at the sudden imminence of your new lingerie finally being revealed to him. Still, you nod, voice quiet but unwavering as you confirm your permission. "Yes."

Eddie's calloused fingers are careful as he pops the button and tugs down your zipper, reaching inside to find the hem of your black shirt tucked into your jeans. He peels the soft fabric up your torso and over your breasts, and your nipples harden behind the sheer fabric as they're exposed to the cool air. As your shirt joins Eddie's atop the dresser— albeit in a little crumpled pile of Eddie-typical carelessness— you stare at it, suddenly shy, delaying the moment where you'll look at Eddie's face and see his reaction. Eddie pauses before his fingers find the waistband of your jeans again, moving slightly faster now as he works to remove your pants. You feel the denim drag down your legs until it's gathered around your ankles. 

"Lean on my shoulder." Eddie's voice is hoarse as he rasps his instruction, and your eyes dart to his face, widening as you see him: he's on his knees before you, dark curls wild around his face and kissing his shoulders, plush lips pink and parted slightly as he stares up at you with those eyes. They're startlingly dark now, dark with heat, with smoke and promise as you obey. Your fingers twitch against his warm skin as your hand covers the ink of his shoulder, and you lift your foot for him. Eddie stares at you for a moment longer before his eyes dip almost reluctantly to his hands as he pulls the jeans from one foot and then the other. His fingers briefly skim the back of your soft calves, raspy touch featherlight as you take a sharp breath— and then he's rising fluidly, towering over you again, nearly-bare body close to yours as you tip your chin to maintain contact with his face. Because you couldn't tear your gaze from him if you tried— from that sharp jaw, that strong chin, that soft nose, those full pink lips, and those eyes, wide and framed by long lashes, lit from within as he devours the sight of you in delicate red lace. His gaze lingers on the swell of your breasts, the dusk of your hardened nipples, the softness of your belly, the curve of your hips, the red embroidery that conceals the promise of your heat.

And the way Eddie is looking at you— when you'd imagined how he might react, you hadn't envisioned this.

Eddie's fingers trace the curve of your waist, trailing fire in their wake, and you tingle as they meet your skin. "Wow," Eddie says quietly. "You look…" He trails off, and a crease forms in your brow, expression hesitant, vulnerable. His eyes find yours as he finishes his thought. 

"You're beautiful." 

And Eddie's voice is husky with desire, but there's something more— something gentle, something sincere, something you can almost taste on the back of your tongue. 

Your smile blooms, sweet and melty. Roots stretch, quivering further down into the fertile peat at the bottom of you. But now, a tendril of green also peeks through the dark, striving to emerge from the earth. Small, fragile. 

Alive.

Firm arms snake around your waist from behind and the trails of fire fall from you as a bare chest presses to your back. As Steve hugs you, you turn your head to watch Chrissy's sensuous approach as she draws close to you and Eddie. Her fuchsia lingerie set looks incredible on her— breasts succulently lifted by her push-up bra, straps crisscrossing her trim hips, the bow sitting low on her mound to reveal the smooth skin underneath, teasing a glimpse of her bare shave. Steve kisses the curve of your neck, and Chrissy twirls showily as she sees you and Eddie looking, shoulder cocked, delicate hand bracing on the willowy curve of her waist.

"C'mere," Eddie says playfully, and Chrissy squeals, giggling as he snatches her around the waist, tugging her against him and dipping her in his arms. Steve drops more kisses along the column of your throat, squeezing you close as Eddie's hand cups the nape of Chrissy's neck, plush lips pressing to the happy curve of her smile.

Steve's voice is awed and nearly incredulous behind you. "Shit, you two really look so fucking amazing."

Chrissy presses her cheek to Eddie's, blue eyes brilliant as she tips her chin down coquettishly. "Why thank you, Steve," she replies, voice pitched low and sultry. 

Steve hums, and your breath catches as his lips skim your ear, quickly finding that sensitive place at the corner of your jaw. "This look still hits hard, babe," he murmurs to you. "Can't wait to get my hands on you again." A slight breathy moan escapes your lips as he cups your breasts, palming their weight as you lean back against him, eyes falling to half-lidded. 

Your buzz hits you suddenly as Steve touches you while Eddie and Chrissy watch, flooding warm through your veins as he guides you to the bed. Hazy, floaty, and loose, you fall against the duvet, and Steve follows you closely. The king-sized bed is more than big enough to accommodate Steve as he hovers half over you, cupping your jaw as his lips descend on yours. It's more than big enough to accommodate Chrissy as she lays down on your other side, bouncy waves tickling your bare shoulder, thin arm brushing yours as she shifts. And it's more than big enough to accommodate Eddie as he stretches out on the other side of Chrissy, smoke voice rumbling in the barest moan as you hear the unmistakable sound of their kissing— lips smacking, mouths moving like yours and Steve's are. Steve runs an eager hand down your body, wasting no time to dip between your legs, and your knee falls open for him as he begins to explore you, rubbing slow, teasing strokes up and down your pussy without dipping inside, without lingering where you need him most. Your eyes close and your hand blindly seeks the edge of Steve's jaw, holding his face as you kiss him deeply, trying to encourage him to touch you where you need it with the fervor of your lips. After a long moment, after he's teased you enough to make you feel a little desperate, Steve obliges. He starts to touch your clit, one finger brushing lightly against it at the same time that you hear Chrissy sigh, high and feminine, "Yeah, Eddie, right there…." 

The sound of her pleasure encourages your own, and your hips twitch up into Steve's hand, tongue searching for his as you moan again. And in an undulating kaleidoscope of moving bodies, heavy breaths, quiet groans, airy moans, wet tongues, hot skin, and pressing digits, you all encourage each other's pleasure until Steve is fingering you deeply, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit as you throb, as that fire begin to smolder inside. Beside you, you can feel the slight rhythmic shifting of Chrissy's body as Eddie fingers her, too; and as your head falls to the side while Steve sucks on your neck, Chrissy's warm breath ghosts your lips as she pants lightly. 

"Mmm," you hum as Steve adds a second finger, stretching you open, insistent in his demand for your fire to increase. The sensations are almost overwhelming as your heart thumps hard in your chest, pumping desire and alcohol through your veins: the warm brush of Chrissy's body against yours, the wet sounds of the fingers moving inside you both, the hint of Eddie and Steve's subtle grunts and groans as they enjoy giving you pleasure. You feel Steve unlatch from your neck as your nose brushes Chrissy's, your mouth half-open as you sigh, a hairs-breadth from her pink bow lips.

"You should kiss," Steve mumbles, and your lashes part to reveal the sight of baby blue eyes, hazy and heated beneath strawberry-blonde bangs. "Kiss each other," he encourages, his other hand finding your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as he continues to finger you deeply.

In the languid heat of your drunken pleasure, the idea of feeling someone else's lips on yours as Steve fingers you is appealing, and the smoldering flames flicker, spreading at the thought. You blink, searching her expression for a moment until her gaze drops to your lips. And when she tips her chin, you lean in, shifting closer to press your mouth to hers.

Chrissy's lips are delicate, and the experience of kissing her is distinctly feminine compared to kissing Eddie or Steve. Maybe it's the softness of her skin, or the scent of her perfume, or the flavor of her mouth— sweeter than theirs, a sweetness you've already tasted after Steve kissed her during Strip or Dare, just stronger now.

After a moment, Chrissy's mouth opens, tongue swirling against the seam of your lips as she tilts her head— and you notice that Chrissy is much less careful than Eddie was when he kissed you for the first time. When Steve groans low in his throat, she instantly becomes bolder, pink tongue darting into your mouth as soon as you open your lips, licking wet and sloppy. You're taken off guard at first, but you try to keep up with her as she sucks your lower lip into her mouth, the aggressive sting surprising you as she nips it. "Shit," you hear Steve groan, and Eddie hums as Chrissy releases you, lips pink and slick as you both withdraw, resting your heads back against the sheets, still facing each other. 

Steve's fingers are pressing harder into you, your body rocking with the force of his hand as your gaze darts from Chrissy to Eddie— his eyes are half-lidded and hazy as he drops kisses against her shoulder, the dark ink of his arm draped across her body, pale hand moving rhythmically between her legs as her hips undulate up into him. You watch Chrissy's face as you feel Steve prop up on an elbow behind you, husking an eager question. "Can you do that again?"

Since you're watching Chrissy's face, you see the moment her blue eyes suddenly glint, a little cheeky smile tugging at her bow lips. "Only if you and Eddie kiss."

The rhythm of Steve's fingers falters inside you, and Eddie's head pops up, brown eyes widening, dark curls brushing Chrissy's porcelain skin as he looks past you at Steve. His face is skeptical, and you know without looking that Steve is sporting the same expression behind you. When they're silent, Chrissy adds, voice low and sultry, "Come on… it's only fair."

You're not especially invested in the idea of them kissing, but since Steve is the one who suggested you and Chrissy kiss, you do agree with her. "Kind of a double standard otherwise," you point out.

Eddie eyes Steve, brow still furrowed in a doubtful frown, and you hear Steve swallow hard behind you. "I guess…" Steve says non-committally, clearly unsure.

Chrissy's cheeky smile widens as she stretches out, legs long and shapely against the sheets, head cocking as she glances between Steve and Eddie. You've never seen her look so devilish, words sultry and loaded. "If it's a good kiss, I promise we'll make it worth your while."

You wonder what she means— her voice seems to tease at more than just another kiss between you. But you don't have long to dwell on it as Steve's hand suddenly stops moving between your legs. When he pulls out his fingers, you glance to see him with eyebrows raised, head rearing as if to say, 'Why not?' And when you look back at Eddie, he's no longer frowning or quite as skeptical. Instead, his mouth is pressed into a long, thin line of acceptance. "Are we doing this?" Eddie asks, half-disbelieving, and despite your earlier ambivalence, heat sparks low as you hear Steve say,

"Yeah, I think we're doing this, man."

Steve kneels up, and you bend your legs to make room as Eddie does the same. You and Chrissy cuddle close, eyes rapt on the forms of your boyfriends as they shuffle towards each other on their knees. Your gaze dips, catching on cocks still half-hard behind tight black briefs and loose checkered boxers, and you drape an arm across Chrissy's waist as your heart begins to race with anticipation. 

You've never been especially turned on by the concept of men kissing. You know that other girls find it hot, and you don't have any problem with it, but it's never been particularly arousing for you. But suddenly, the concept of these two men— whose mouths have explored your heat, whose tongues have dipped into your pussy— kissing each other with those same lips is wildly erotic. 

Of course, this is still Steve and Eddie, so you almost can't hold back from rolling your eyes as Steve stops moving closer and exclaims, "Dude, stop staring into my eyes like that." 

The exclamation is followed by Eddie's typical wide smirk. "What, like this?" He flutters his eyelashes coquettishly, pursing his lips, exaggerating a kissy face as he leans close. Steve shoves his shoulder hard, but Eddie just laughs, husky and deep in his amusement. You feel Chrissy shake her head in exasperation beside you as they push each other around a bit before Steve gets fed up. "All right, come on," he says.

And then they're close enough to touch, a careful distance between their waists and bottom halves. Steve's hand lands on Eddie's upper arm, and Eddie braces against Steve's shoulder as they lean in. Eyes wide, you watch raptly as they draw close, hesitating for a moment before their lips meet. 

It's tentative, light, about as chaste as chaste can be until Chrissy reminds them in a sing-song, "Make it good.” And then Steve and Eddie mouths begin moving more firmly. And at the sight of those masculine faces pressing close— Eddie's plush pink lips on Steve's, the tiny flash of Steve's tongue— your pussy pulses hard, heat throbbing insistently in your lower half, thighs rubbing together to try to bring relief. You hear Chrissy sigh a breathy moan, fingers drawing down your side as she watches them with you. Steve and Eddie don't kiss for long, but when they break away, you can feel how much slicker you suddenly are.

When the men glance at you both, their cheeks are stained pink, unimpressed as you and Chrissy titter with glee, clutching at each other. "Hope you enjoyed that," Eddie says wryly. 

"Oh, we did," Chrissy says with wicked delight, and you nod your enthusiastic agreement. "Go stand next to each other," she adds, voice almost a purr, tipping her chin to indicate the end of the bed. "And take out your cocks."

The men scramble to oblige, and Chrissy guides you by the arm toward them as their boxers are unceremoniously dropped and kicked away. She slinks to the floor, and you follow her, albeit a little less fluidly. Still, any concern you may have felt about your awkwardness whisps from your head as you take in the sight before you: Steve and Eddie side by side, solid tanned bulk next to limber predatory paleness, their lengths bobbing closeby. You kneel, still unsure what Chrissy has planned; you glance at her to see dainty fingers wrapping around the base of Steve's long cock, bow lips smirking sensually as she murmurs, "Join me, y/n."

Your eyes widen, and a thrill tingles down your spine as you suddenly understand her intention. And Steve seems to realize at the same time you do; he exhales a sharp breath, hips twitching slightly as Chrissy's tongue outstretches, wagging tantalizingly near the pale pink of his tip but not yet touching. Your face draws closer until you can detect the heat radiating from Steve's throbbing head, feeling utterly naughty as you stick out your tongue to match Chrissy's.

And then, together, you lick up both sides of Steve's cock.

Your eyes dart to Steve's face as his mouth falls open and he watches with helpless fascination as you and Chrissy lavish his length. You lick along his side, base to tip and then back again, lips curling as you watch Chrissy tongue lazily at his slit. "Oh, fuck," Steve groans, head tipping back as you suck underneath the base before drawing your lips to his tip, face close to Chrissy's. Together, as if you'd coordinated it, you begin to lick kittenishly at his head, tasting the salty musk of his precum, tongues brushing as you drag them against his heated flesh. "Shit, that feels so—" Steve cuts off with a desperate grunt as Chrissy wraps her lips around him, sucking sharply as you latch to the side.

As Steve's breathing becomes ragged, you register a second set of labored breaths. Your eyes flick to Eddie's as if by instinct; his gaze is locked on your faces, on your lips as you and Chrissy suck Steve's cock. You flush hotter under the intensity of his stare, and automatically, you reach out for him, hand drawing lightly up his calf, fingers tickled by his sparse hair. Chrissy pops off Steve then with a wet smack, pressing one last teasing kiss to his head. "Worth it?" she asks, looking up at him with a foxy smile. 

Steve runs a hand roughly through his brown waves, disheveling them. "Yeah," he replies, wide eyes darting to his friend as you and Chrissy shift your attention. "Dude, this is so fucking hot," Steve mutters, and you watch Eddie's adam's apple bob in a hard swallow as you and Chrissy settle before him, dark eyes flitting back and forth between you. You throb as your gaze settles on his thick length, which sticks proudly from that thatch of dark hair that trails upward to his navel. You lick up the side as Chrissy takes Eddie's head into her mouth without hesitation, bobbing deep as he moans hoarsely. But the sight of those dark curls ignites something carnal in you, so after a moment, you lick back down to Eddie's base to shove your nose, your face against the hair there. Eddie's scent is musky, heady, tantalizing as you kiss his heated skin, tongue darting out to taste the underside of his cock as Chrissy continues to suck him insistently. 

You glance up to see the evidence of your attentions, the reactions you so desire: that pink flush on Eddie's cheeks, that jaw tightened with tension, those eyes dark and inky. Eddie hums, higher than usual, as you mouth downwards, seeking more of his reactions. You suck one of his balls into your mouth, pulling lightly as you watch him with rapt attention. A little desperate crease forms between his brows; his nostrils flare, and his plush lips fall open in a delicious moan. The sight and the sound have you pulsing, desire twisting in your belly at the sudden desperation in his expression.

Abruptly, his calloused fingers are in your hair, tightening against your scalp, and when you moan around Eddie's ball, his hips jolt as he gasps. "Okay, okay," he rasps, voice tight and high as his other hand finds Chrissy's head, stilling her movements. "That's…" he chuckles breathlessly, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out as a sharp sigh. "Shit." 

Chrissy giggles as she pops off his tip, and you release him gently, instinctually leaning into his touch as his fingers flex against your scalp, scratching slowly. "Alright," Chrissy says, looking up at the two men. "We've had our fun. I think it's time for the main event."

Your stomach flutters at her pronouncement, wild wings and nerves mixing as you watch her rise fluidly, blue eyes locked on hazel. Your gaze flicks to amber brown. Eddie's eyes are deep and heated with desire as he stares down at you, his hand finally falling from your hair as you stand up. 

You're all silent for a brief moment before Steve runs a hand through touseled brown waves. "So, how are we doing this?" His eyes dart around the group, landing on each of you briefly. "I could flip a coin," he offers. And it strikes you as almost ridiculous— that you should decide which mixed couple will have sex first with a coin toss. But, considering the very prescriptive plan for how you're about to have sex, you suppose it doesn't make things much odder.

When you'd decided to try penetrative sex for the first time, Steve had been adamant that it be structured as follows: that one couple would have sex while the other watches and that you'd then switch roles— observers and performers. This was to ensure that everyone could enjoy the experience of both watching and participating, Steve had said. The logistics of it— how the guy would stand at the end of the bed and the girl would lay down on her back, surrounded on both sides— felt a little… Handmaid's Tale -esque to you. Unnatural. Almost a little transactional. But Steve had invested a great deal of time and energy in convincing the group of this, so you weren't going to question it.

Steve manages to find a quarter, and the sight of his hard cock bouncing as he flicks the coin in the air and slaps it onto the back of his hand is almost comical. "Call it," he tells Eddie. 

"Tails," Eddie says, and the flutters and nerves surge wildly in your stomach. 

Because when Steve reveals the toss, there's a fifty-fifty chance that Eddie's about to fuck you.

Steve lifts his palm, peering down at the result. Your eyes don't leave his face, breath caught in your throat until his gaze darts to Chrissy. "It's heads," he says, hazel eyes wide as Chrissy beams, blue eyes shining. 

Steve watches her, grinning as Chrissy flounces onto the duvet, taking his place at the foot of the bed as you and Eddie lay out on either side of her. And your head is thoroughly swimming now when you pillow it on Chrissy's shoulder and she wraps her thin arm around you. You blink slowly as you watch her reach down, pink-painted fingers wrapping around Eddie's thick length; your eyes catch on Steve's broad hand as he presses Chrissy’s thighs open for him. And then they dart restlessly, catching on fuchsia and ink and skin and skin and skin until they settle, finally, on your boyfriend's face as Steve lines the head of his cock up with Chrissy's entrance. 

It's surreal— the moment Steve pushes inside, disappearing into Chrissy as his hips cant forward, long bangs falling in a tumble over his forehead, dusting his eyelashes. You can feel her body shift against yours with the press of his hips, almost as if it's you he's fucking. But Steve's not fucking you. He's fucking Chrissy, sweet Chrissy with her powdery-soft smiles and her expensive perfume and her trim waist and her bow lips that open in a long, feminine moan as Steve slides home to the hilt. And it feels like there's a brief pause, a moment where things hang suspended, motionless, like the last few silent seconds of a song before the next track begins. In that pause, you suck in a slow breath, mixed emotions swirling as your gaze drags over the familiar curve of Steve's biceps, the thick hair on his chest, the breadth of his torso, the dip of his navel, and then the thin, pale legs spread open by his hands, splayed apart for Steve to take what he wants. For him to give Chrissy what she wants.

And then he's moving.

You can feel the brush of Chrissy's hair against your forehead, the sway of her body as Steve begins to thrust into her, strokes long and even as she arches her back against the duvet, a seductive stretch that accentuates the lithe lines of her body. You can see Eddie on the other side of her, the darkness of his wild curls as he ducks to her neck, kissing her there as Steve rocks her body. "Mmm," Chrissy moans, a sensual purr of satisfaction. "That's it, Steve— fuck me hard. Give it to me good, baby." 

He groans, lips pulled into a crooked smirk as he increases his pace, fucking Chrissy harder, hips slapping into flesh as the rocking of her body against you intensifies. "Oh fuck, you're so goddamn tight—"

So that's the kind of talking Steve was looking for. That swirl of emotion flares within you again— amorphous, scrambled, not entirely pleasant as you watch your boyfriend's eager eyes lock on Chrissy's perky breasts bouncing within fuchsia padding. Chrissy whimpers, fingers tightening against your waist and around Eddie's cock as she whines, "Touch me." 

You realize quickly that she doesn't mean Steve— he's already touching her, fingers pressing into her thighs, holding on tight as he drives into her. She must mean Eddie; she must mean you. So you oblige her: you gently touch her trim waist, fingers dragging featherlight against smooth skin as you draw your hand toward her belly button, up to her ribs, tracing random patterns. She sighs and hums, filthy words of encouragement spilling from her lips, egging Steve on. 

You don't watch the path of your hand as you touch her; instead, your eyes are locked on Steve's face, on the pinch of his brow, the heat you can see swirling behind his hazel eyes as he voices his desire. So it takes you by surprise when you feel the brush of calloused fingers against yours— fingers too rough to be Chrissy's, too far away to be Steve's. Your hand pauses, eyes darting to see limber fingers beneath ruddy knuckles, ghosting softly over yours.

Your breath catches as the raspy touch tingles your skin, fluttering low in your belly as Eddie's hand touches yours while you both caress Chrissy like she'd asked. You lift your head slightly to peek at his face, and your heart thumps as you see him looking back— dark eyes like molten ink, thick and drippy with promise. 

Eddie's fingers leave yours after the briefest moment, continuing their journey across Chrissy's body, and you do the same, tracing a path low on her hips. But the contact has shifted something within you. Whereas before, you'd been torn watching Steve fuck Chrissy, emotions swirling into a cloud approaching unease, you're now more focused on the tease of Eddie's touch, the anticipation of what's soon to come. You let your hand wander back towards Chrissy's middle, exploring, testing, hoping to feel the rasp of Eddie's fingertips again. And as his hand mosies across her skin— cupping her breast briefly, dragging over her side, dipping to her hip and then back up— it happens again. His hand finds yours, warm and rough as he draws his fingers over your hand, and your heart thumps as you feel it, a new feeling emerging within the emotional swirl inside. You tease Chrissy's ribs, dragging the backs of your fingers up her side before curving over to meet Eddie's hand again. And this time, you're the one to touch him: you stroke across the back of his hand, thumb brushing ruddy knuckles as your eyes flit to meet his again, finding molten ink as if by instinct.

Chrissy tilts her head then, and Eddie's eyes break from yours as she nudges toward him. "Mmm, baby, you're so hard," she murmurs sensually. "Is it turning you on, watching him fuck me like this?" 

You watch Eddie's full pink lips quirk with a tiny smile, but he doesn't reply; he just kisses her. You blink, eyes darting away to watch the rhythm of Steve's hips instead. You curl a little closer to Chrissy's rocking body, head slipping lower as you gaze up at your boyfriend. It strikes you how handsome he is then— how strong he looks as his abdomen rolls, skin damp with sweat, hair tousled attractively over his brow and against his neck as he works Chrissy to their mutual pleasure.

You hear the soft smack of Chrissy's lips as she separates from Eddie to moan loudly, back arching again against the bed. "Yeah, yeah, Steve, fuck me," she whines, drawing out the words, and Steve's hands shift suddenly— your eyes widen as you're jostled when he lifts Chrissy's hips, planting one knee against the bed, strong and proud as he fucks her even harder. 

Chrissy's eyes brighten with delight, lips curving with an eager smile. "Ooh, Steve," she squeals, "That's it. Fuck my naughty cunt, stretch me open—"

Her airy feminine moans mix with the impact of Steve's hips and his groans, hoarse and deep. "Yeah, baby, oh, shit—" His even rhythm begins to falter in a tell-tale sign of his approaching orgasm, and Chrissy giggles, purring,

"Is my tight little pussy gonna make you cum, Steve?"

You can see the desperation in Steve's face as his lips fall open, moaning, panting, cheeks flushed as he groans, "Yeah, yeah, fuck—" 

And then he's pulling out, wrapping one arm under the small of Chrissy's back to support her as his other hand grips his length, tugging quickly. You watch his pink head disappear into his fist once, twice— and then he grunts, hips canting, groans stifled in his throat as his cum paints Chrissy's porcelain stomach. It spurts in lines as he strokes himself evenly before slowing, squeezing tight near his head, and you watch it drip from his slit into thick drops above Chrissy's fuchsia thong. 

And the sight of Steve's cum on Chrissy's abdomen makes your stomach flutter with excitement— because it's hot and erotic, but also because it means that it's your turn with Eddie next.

Chrissy's arm tightens around your back, hugging you closer as Steve lowers her back down. She tugs you and Eddie close as she says, sweet and bright, "Mmm, that was fun!" 

The delight in her soft voice, coupled with the flutters in your stomach, make you feel affectionate. You smile, nose nuzzling against her collarbone, arm wrapping just underneath her breasts to hug her back, careful to avoid the mess of Steve's spend on her skin. 

"I'll get you a towel," Eddie offers, and the sudden sound of his smoky voice has your heart thumping as you feel the mattress shift when he gets up. 

Another hand squeezes your arm, and you twist away from Chrissy to look into Steve's face, flushed and radiant as he beams at you. You smile automatically back as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pressing kisses to your cheek. Steve seems happy, making you happy as you draw away, smoothing back his bangs as the mattress dips again— likely from Eddie returning with a towel for Chrissy. You chuckle as Steve’s bangs flop back into the same position, nearly covering his eye.

Steve's smile softens as he gazes into your eyes before kissing you tenderly. "Did you like watching me?" he asks, a quiet murmur close to your lips.

"Yeah," you say softly, fond as his eyes brighten at your answer. "You looked hot," you add, and when he beams at you again, you press one last kiss to his cheek. And then, you feel a soft touch against your hip. 

You turn your head quickly but keep your arms around Steve's neck, heart leaping until you register the pink-painted nails and delicate fingers. Your eyes find Chrissy's baby blues, her bow lips flushed and pulled into an encouraging smile. "Your turn," she says, and you feel Steve kiss your temple as you realize that her abdomen is clean, she's shifting over on the bed, and Eddie's standing at the foot, watching you silently.

Ink on quartz, black on white.

Steve gently removes your arms from around his neck. "Lie down, baby," he says, one hand applying gentle pressure to your shoulder.

But when your eyes dart from black and white to the soft indent of the duvet in the center of the bed, you frown. That feeling of unnaturalness hits you again; the prescriptiveness of just laying flat, waiting with Steve and Chrissy by your side for Eddie to fuck you. 

You don't want this to feel like some transaction. You don't want to just lie down. 

"Wait," you say softly, pulling from Steve's light grip and shuffling over until you're kneeling in front of Eddie. He watches you as you approach, hands hanging by his sides. And his cock is sticking from that thatch of dark hair, but you don't reach out for that. Instead, you cup his neck, drawing closer until you feel the press of his hot head against your belly, the rasp of his hands on your hips as they settle there. Eddie's brown eyes are deep as you gaze into them for a moment before tipping your chin and pressing your lips to his.

You can feel his warm breath tickle against your upper lip as he sighs slowly, leaning into your kiss. Eddie's lips are plush and soft as you move your mouth against them, coaxing him until his hands shift, smoothing over your skin until they meet at the small of your back, holding you closer. You drag your fingers up as he deepens your kiss, burying both your hands in the curls at the nape of his neck, belly fluttering, pussy pulsing as you feel his length twitch where it's pressed between your stomachs.

"They shouldn't have all the fun," you hear Chrissy say behind you. And then she giggles, lips smacking as she kisses Steve. You press a little tighter to Eddie, relishing the feeling of his warm chest against yours, the rasp of his thumbs as he rubs them softly against your back, the heady, tantalizing scent of him in your nose— smoke, apples, and musk, that scent that's growing ever more familiar, ever more comforting every time you inhale it. It swirls down, filling you inside, transforming into plumes of rich, heady feeling as you open your mouth for him, leaning into the soft brush of his tongue against yours. 

And once this moment no longer feels unnatural or transactional, you pull back to gaze into warm brown eyes. Eddie smooths your hair back, and you sigh, leaning into his touch as he murmurs, "Are you ready?" 

Your answer is immediate. "Yes," you whisper, and Eddie smiles softly as he kisses you one last time— so light, so delicate that it nearly makes your eyes sting. 

And then you lay down.

Steve's arm is underneath your head, your hair fanned across his bicep as his other arm rests just beneath your breasts. Chrissy's head finds your shoulder opposite Steve, and your arm curves almost automatically around her as she lays out on her side, arm resting in the curve of her waist, hip cocked, limbs long and willowy against the duvet. "Put your legs up," Steve tells you, and you rest your calves against Eddie's shoulders as he shifts closer. 

You feel a little exposed like this; your brow creases, vulnerable eyes peering at your painted toes— white nails even paler against the backdrop of Eddie's dark curls, which tickle the bottoms of your feet as he cocks his head. 

"Your feet better not smell," Eddie says, and your eyes flit instantly to his face, to those warm eyes dancing with his tease.

Scoffing, you retort, "They don't!"

Eddie snatches your foot suddenly, pressing his nose to your toes. You tense and squeal as he snuffles against your skin, trying not to squirm and kick him— but almost instantly, he releases you, hand returning to its place on your thigh. "Nah, you're good," he says teasingly, and his playful smirk spreads when you giggle. 

Steve presses his naked body tighter against your side; Chrissy's waves brush your skin as she turns her head slightly, staring between your legs. And when you see the playful smirk slide from Eddie's face, as you feel him shift a little closer, your own mirth fades as your gaze darts to Eddie's cock— somewhat shorter than Steve's but thicker, head blushed dark pink, bobbing just above the red embroidery of your crotchless panties. 

Your heart begins to thump hard in anticipation, sparks smoldering low as you watch Eddie's hand wrap around the base of his cock, guiding it toward your heat. Your hips shift as you feel his tip brush lightly against your slick flesh; you bite your lip as you inhale slowly, a little shakily. And when Eddie pauses, you meet his dark eyes, and you nod, hair brushing Steve's arm underneath you.

Steve's hand suddenly is at your cheek, turning your head to capture your lips in a deep kiss. Your eyes slip closed as you feel Eddie nudge against your entrance, hot and silky and unyielding as he presses closer and closer and closer—

And then you whimper into Steve's mouth as Eddie's head pops inside you.

The first stretch is always the most delicious with Steve, and it is delicious with Eddie, too. But though you already know he's thicker than Steve, you hadn't realized just how much thicker until he's stretching you open, inner walls burning as he eases in. It's a tight fit, and you suck in a sharp breath as he presses forward evenly. Eddie's not moving particularly fast, but it's still a little too intense, a little painful, so you pull from Steve's lips, brow crinkled as you glance up at Eddie to ask waveringly, "C-Can you… go slower?"

Eddie stops moving immediately, fingers tightening on your thighs. "Of course," he says quickly. And you make a tiny sound in your throat as he soothes his hands up your legs, rough skin rasping up your soft shins and down again to your thighs. It gives you something to focus on as you adjust to him, and you sigh, eyes slipping closed as Steve presses kisses to your cheek. Steve's lips and Eddie's hands relax you, and before long, the burn fades to a pinch. And when the pinch fades, too, you open your eyes, shifting your hips to encourage Eddie to move. 

You watch him as he presses forward again, eyes dragging over his features in a soft caress— the wild tangle of his curls, the softness of his nose, his full pink lips, the strong column of his pale throat, the ink of his dark armor as it cascades over his shoulders and chest and down his arms. And as you swallow him up with your wet warmth— as Eddie pushes further and further into you until his hips are snug tight to your skin, and his dark hair is pressed to the red lace of your panties— you feel that flickering flame burn hotter until you finally ignite.

You moan quietly as Eddie pulls out and then again as he presses back in, setting a gentle pace. And the drag of his thick cock inside you makes your breath quicken, your desire licking up your belly as Eddie starts to fuck you slow and even. 

Steve's voice is right in your ear, but he isn't speaking to you. "Does her pussy feel good?" he rasps, and the puff of his warm breath against your skin, coupled with the feeling of Eddie's cock inside you, makes your hips squirm. 

Eddie's fingers tighten on your thighs as he feels you move. "Y-yeah," he replies, and your breath catches as you hear his voice— it's rough but higher than usual, a little shaky, and the idea that being inside you affects him like that makes your desire coil tighter in your belly. Steve hums, sounding pleased as his lips trail over your jaw, dragging down until he's sucking at your throat. His hand finds your breast, kneading it lightly; on your other side, you feel Chrissy shift as she lays on her back, twisting her hips attractively, lifting one hand to play with your hair as you sway slightly with Eddie's gentle thrusts.

Suddenly, you no longer need gentleness. 

You build your courage up until you can say softly, "You can go faster now. If you want," you add shyly. Instantly, Eddie speeds up, and you moan as each impact of his hips begins to jostle you in Steve's grip. It's exactly what you'd wanted— Eddie's pressing in deep now, the steady, quick drag of his cock stoking your fire, pale hips smacking against your thighs. 

It feels good. It feels really, really fucking good.

"Mmm, I love watching you," Chrissy purrs, voice a sultry hum, and you glance to see her staring intently up at Eddie. "You're so fucking hot, babe." 

Your eyes dart to Eddie, too, and you watch as he chuckles breathlessly, jaw tense, nostrils flaring as he glances at Chrissy. Steve pulls your face to him, tongue snaking between your lips, and though you kiss him back, your eyes dart to Eddie again. And when that inky stare flicks to you, seeing you watch him as you kiss your boyfriend, Eddie groans quietly, a low rumble in his throat. 

Your hips twitch at his sound, excitement increasing at his reaction; as you shift, Eddie jolts against a spot inside that sparks deep in your belly. The sensation makes you gasp— your lips open wide against Steve's mouth, muffled against his lips as you whimper. You hear Eddie grunt, throaty and deep, as his fingers tighten on your legs. Your desire twists hotter, tighter as you elicit his reaction, at the knowledge that your sounds, your gaze, and your body give Eddie pleasure. That knowledge sinks inside you, sticky and thick, moving syrupy through your veins until you're burning with satisfaction.

Your gaze returns to your boyfriend as Steve pulls his lips from you. He strokes back your hair, cups your cheek, pupils swallowing hazel as he rasps, "That's it, honey, make him feel so fucking good."

And it's exactly what you'd just been thinking. But to hear Steve voice it….

He kisses you deeply again, and you let him, but that swirl of emotion begins to cloud within you as you ponder his words. Steve hadn't asked, 'Does his cock feel good inside you?'. And he hadn't said, "I want him to make you feel so fucking good.' And even his fingers kneading your breast or the sensual warmth of his tongue as it brushes yours can't distract you from that sudden realization.

You pull your mouth from his, head tilting as you sigh, hoping the curve of your neck will invite Steve's lips. And it does— he seems not to notice, mouth dipping to suckle at your throat as your body rocks with Eddie's thrusts and Chrissy trails her fingers up your side. And it's so much sensation— so many bodies around you, so many hands on your skin that you can't focus on any one thing, pulled along by the current of lust and desire surrounding you.

But then Eddie's nose brushes softly against your ankle, and you meet his eyes again. He nuzzles there, and his lips are plush, nearly ticklish, as his mouth ghosts your skin. You can feel his breath as he asks you a quiet series of questions, voice stuttering slightly with the rhythm of his hips: "Is it good? You want it faster? Slower?"

Eddie is standing at the foot of the bed. He's towering over you as you lay spread out on the duvet below him, feet to either side of his head. Physically, he's about as far away as he could possibly be while having sex with you.

And yet he's never felt closer.

That amorphous swirl of emotion transforms, blooming with heat and pleasure and flutters and more as you stare into Eddie's face. "No," you reply, "it's— it's good like this." Your voice is almost a whimper as you add, "I-It feels really good, Eddie—" 

You hear his breath catch sharply in his chest. And as you watch his face twitch, dark eyes wide as he stares down at you, you wonder at this reaction, at what may have elicited it. As Eddie fucks you a little harder, brow now contorting in pleasure, face beginning to flush, you realize: 

It's the first time you've said his name while you've been intimate. 

It may even be the first time you've said his name to him at all.

The knowledge that Eddie's name on your lips made him react— made him feel— ignites within you, and you're suddenly desperate for what you'd imagined that first time you’d been with him: how he'd sound and what he'd look like when he cums while you're having sex. And you've seen him cum before, but this… this is different. 

And you want it. You want it so bad that the burn in your belly turns to an ache that only increases as you moan, and Eddie moans, and your hips shift into him, and his fingers tighten on your thighs, holding you closer as he pounds you deeply. Steve is sucking on your neck, and Chrissy is humming eagerly as Eddie's rhythm starts to stutter, but they don't matter now. All that matters is the feeling of Eddie's length as it twitches inside you, the heat of his eyes as they bore into yours. His plush lips fall open, and that pink starts to spread on his black and white—

Clambering, shifting— the mattress dips, and suddenly the back of Chrissy's strawberry-blonde waves are all you see as she straddles your waist. She's sitting low on your stomach as Eddie thrusts into you, and the pressure sharply increases your pleasure. But you're bewildered, disoriented at the sudden change, eyes darting over her sharp shoulder blades as she asks, "Are you close, baby? Are you gonna cum?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, tight and high, and your breath catches as you feel him twitch inside you again. 

"Cum on me." Chrissy's sweet voice is whiny with need. "Please, Eddie, I want it."

"Okay, sweetheart," you hear Eddie say. And then that delicious stretch inside you is suddenly gone.

Abruptly, Eddie pulls out of you, and your hips jerk, pussy pulsing reflexively around nothing at the sudden absence of him. From behind, you can see Chrissy's arm moving as you stare at her back. Your brow crumples as you hear Eddie— that smoky voice moaning out his release as Chrissy hums with satisfaction. 

But you can't see him. You can't see anything but Chrissy.

In the aftermath of Eddie's release, everything calms, settling like a wave receding back into the ocean. The burn in your belly eases, the ache inside you fades, and the desperate want sinks into a quiet sense of emptiness as Chrissy kneels up, her weight no longer resting on you as she kisses her boyfriend. As Steve pets back your hair, you turn your face to him, looking into his hazel eyes— warm, comforting, familiar. He cradles your cheek, and you lean into his touch, relishing the softness of his hand against your skin as he kisses you tenderly. "That was so sexy, honey," he murmurs, sighing contentedly. "Fuck, I love you." 

You smile as his praise trickles into that small space inside, beginning to fill it. "Love you too," you reply, wrapping your arms around his torso. You ignore the soreness in your lower half as you shift your legs out from under Chrissy, draping one over Steve's hip in a full-bodied embrace. 

And as Steve envelops you with citrus and strength, you bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, hoping his scent will chase the lingering emptiness away.

-

Once everyone has cleaned up and returned to the bed to cuddle, you're wedged between Steve and Chrissy, warm and languid. Your body is soft with the afterglow of spent pleasure as Steve tucks his nose against the nape of your neck, arms wrapped around you from behind. You're warm and languid, but you aren't relaxed— you can't stop thinking about that tiny formerly-empty place inside, prodding at it with morbid fascination, trying to figure out the source of your unease.

Because it's filled now, but not with Steve's crisp scent, or his strong arms, or his praise, but with a vague sour tang that clings bitterly to your gums as you watch Chrissy lay half-across Eddie's chest, fingers playing in his dark hair. 

The feeling isn't overwhelming; it's small, barely there, really. You prod at it again, and it clings viscous and rancid to your fingertip. You know what it is because you've felt it before— typically when you happen upon pictures of gorgeous women with perky breasts and tight stomachs and trim thighs.

It's jealousy. You feel jealous.

You sigh slowly through your nose as your gaze runs over Chrissy's baby blue eyes, her pink bow lips, the softness of her strawberry-blonde hair as it cascades over Eddie's skin. Though you have felt insecure when comparing yourself to Chrissy, it's never been directed at her— just internally at yourself. She's never made you feel sour before. 

You decide it must be because your boyfriend has now had sex with her. You're resentful since she'd been able to talk dirty to him like he wants, since she can fulfill that desire for him when you clearly can't.

Yes, that must be it. 

You assess the weight of your feelings, measuring it against the memory of your girls' trip to the mall, your enjoyment of Chrissy’s company, and how her eager kindness and encouragement make you feel. And you consider the fun you've had with her— the fun you've had with Eddie and Steve, too. You'd grown to really appreciate the time you all spend together: singing karaoke, going on double dates, or even just hanging around your apartment. Steve seems happy with your arrangement, and so are you. You're enjoying yourself immensely, and if you're honest, you aren't ready to give that up just because you've gotten a little jealous.

I'm a big girl, you think. I can handle my feelings. It's not a big deal.

So you reach out, drawing your hand down the back of Chrissy's head, fingers stroking silky blonde waves as she glances at you. Eyes brighten; smiles are exchanged. And when she shifts toward you, thin arms wrapping around your neck as she tugs you closer and you giggle, the sour tang begins to fade. 

-

Late at night, once Steve's snores fill the dark quiet of the bedroom, you pull out your phone. The blue light illuminates your face as you swipe it open, navigating to the Spotify app. 

It's your turn to send a song this time.

You do this often. Every few days or so, your fingers will search blindly for your phone on your bedside table, bleary eyes peering at the screen once Steve's form is motionless beside you. And if there's a message on your lock screen, you'll carefully tug open your drawer, pull out your headphones, and listen to the song Eddie has shared. And if it's your turn to share, you'll pull up Spotify, searching for a track you're in the mood to share that night.

You know already which song you want to send Eddie tonight: Touch Tank by Quinnie. You discovered it about a week ago and have been listening to it often. It's sweet, floaty, and upbeat, and you like her voice because there's something soft and unpolished about it. You think she's an indie artist— it sounds like maybe she'd produced the sound herself. But the lyrics….

You'd smiled the first time you listened to them, perking as she sang, 'question your tattoos,' because you'd immediately thought of Eddie. But when you'd gotten to the chorus, you'd flushed and giggled, pressing cool palms to your heated cheeks, trying to ignore the curious glances from the other passengers on the subway. You couldn't help but think of Eddie again: his wild curls, bright brown eyes, and manic grin. That word had already floated up when you looked at him— pretty— so when Quinnie sang, 'He's so pretty when he goes down on me,' well… you couldn't help yourself.

You'd been debating whether to send it to Eddie, wondering whether he'd think the song was weird or awkward. But tonight, there's something different about you. Something new has emerged at the bottom of you, and though you don't consciously know it, it emboldens you. It guides your fingers to copy the link; it sprouts against the letters as you tap out your message. 'There's a line in this song that reminds me of you,' you write. And then, before those familiar nerves can freeze you, you send it.

You stare at the message, chewing on your thumbnail as you're struck suddenly with doubt. There are any number of lines Eddie could think you're talking about— the 'tattoo' line or the 'pretty' line, which you'd been intending. But what if he thinks I'd been thinking of the bridge? 'You took my breath away, so now I can't suck in my stomach around you anymore… Do you wanna wake up to me every morning…?'  

That's a little more… vulnerable than you'd been intending. And you hadn't even meant that part of the song. Why would you tell Eddie you want to wake up with him when you're waking up next to Steve? This was a mistake.  

Eddie hasn't seen it yet, so maybe you can—

Your chest pangs immediately with panic as the blue checkmark appears. You suppress a dismayed whimper. Why'd I waste so much time deliberating?!

You know there's no way you'll be able to go back to sleep now that you're waiting for Eddie to give his feedback on the song. When the bubble appears to show he's typing, your heart leaps into your throat. You scrunch your eyes closed, fingers nearly quivering around your phone as you wait. And then, when it buzzes once in your grip, you crack one eyelid, face contorted in a wince as you peek tentatively at the screen.

It's a short message; they typically are. But where Eddie normally would explain his score, tonight, there is no explanation. There is simply a row of six skulls out of five.

You blink, both eyes opening as you examine the screen. Six skulls out of five. That's… obviously good, right? You purse your lips, attempting to interpret why he'd chosen a skull emoji. 'I'm sorry,' you type, 'did I kill you with that one?'

There's the briefest pause after you send it, and his reply appears shortly afterward. You can almost hear Eddie's smoky voice murmuring in your ear as you read it: 'Nearly, sweet girl. A mortal wound. But, worry not: I will recover.'

'Good,' you reply, following it with two smiley faces. 

And the smile that grows on your own face is verdant. Your cheeks are supple and pink. Your skin glows.

You're just beginning to flourish.

[bitter-sweet-coffee]

What theory do you have regarding Babylon's loss of wings? I can understand if it's just how their species looks, but Rouge having wings while they don't seems strange to me. Sega even gave Honey the Cat white feathered angel wings, but not the actual bird species. 🫠

(I myself put slits on the back lol)

Okay Anon, this may seem like an easy answer question, but (un)fortunately, it is not! I have a lot to say on this, so much so that I whipped out my laptop and a word document to answer you, so let's delve into my personal lore for Babylonians, birds, and mobian-human relations: this isn't my official post for it, but until I have time to write a 900K word document on what the hell my canon is, THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS!

CONTEXTUAL NOTE: I wouldn't classify this as a disclaimer, but I want to explain to the other people in these large tags what this post is. No, I am NOT claiming this is canon lore. No, it is not an AU. This is my personal canon-adjacent lore that has been carefully crafted with thoroughly intense regards to every piece of relevant source materials, going as far back as concept pieces from development. In order to make things work for MY canon, details have been changed and will sometimes contradict fragments of regular canon. Could I make everything cohesive and non-contradictory? Yes, and that's a different project of mine. This is my sandbox, you don't have to play in it (but it would be REALLY fun if you joined me :p) ONE LAST THING: I started writing this the second you sent it to me, then abandoned it until now where I did 90% of the writing. I am tired and slightly incoherent but I wanted it done, so sorry if it's rushed. You can send me more asks to clarify but I mean... i will probably make it worse lmao

THE CURSE OF BABYLON: OUR FALLEN ANGELS

HISTORY

1.1 Babylonians in Space

The Babylonians originate from the planet Babylon (lol duh), which is currently too far away from the major galaxies around Earth/Mobius to pinpoint an exact location, or who their neighbouring planets were. (Translation: one day I will design the star systems of the Sonic universe, but today is not that day!)

While most of the Babylonians reside on their home planet, exploration ships did go out in search of new technology, as these aliens pride themselves on their Treasure and Greatness. One of the common misconceptions about Babylonians is that 'treasure' translates to items of monetary value, but what they actually sought out was new technological advancements so they could pull from other developing planets and take what they've learned to improve their own inventions. This distorted sentiment is a tragic detail that spoils the reputation and ambition of the Babylonian descendants who have lost the true meaning of their heritage, but it's safe to say that some of them still think this way (cough, Wave and Tekno, cough).

Circling back to the point at hand though, I want to make it very clear that the Babylonians of Earth/Mobius are NOT the entire species, nor are they pure Babylonians. The real Babylon exists lightyears away, lost to the vastness of the universe, and Babylon Garden (Astral Babylon) was merely one ship that had been scouting various galaxies for new technology.

While it is not inherently relevant to the topic at hand, there was a brief moment in pre-crash Babylonian history where they were in alliance with the Black Arms. This took place before the war on Argentium with the Xorda, as the Babylonians tend to remain neutral during conflicts that do not concern them, but back on Babylon there are a separate class of Babylonian-Black Arms hybrids known to us as Corvids. The black pigment of these birds combined with their superior intelligence and durability was given to them through the power of chaos energy, something Babylonians do not possess in concentrated amounts when compared to other alien species, but was the result of crossbreeding with Black Arms. While there were some Corvids on Babylon Garden, the ship that crashed onto Earth/Mobius, many were made once more once the Babylonians had settled on the planet, welcoming a new, less potent version of this genetic branch. These Corvids are less powerful due to the weakened genetic purity of the Earth/Mobius-bound Babylonians, but they are still exceedingly brilliant, albeit near-extinct by present day.

1.2 Babylonians on Earth/Mobius

After travelling to the Nameless Zone and having a close call with the Berzerkers, Babylon Garden (the ship known as Astral Babylon) managed to emergency warp one last time to Earth/Mobius, the nearest dominant zone. Because of the damage caused by the Berzerkers, they disconnected the Ark of the Cosmos which had been used to manipulate gravity and warp them anywhere in space. This particular vessel was thus stranded on the planet, but their hopes of being found by other Babylonians who could bring them back home are the reason why Babylonians (and anyone in general) are inclined to make wishes on shooting stars. Making do with an 'inferior' planet, the Babylonians got somewhat of a negative reputation for their reclusiveness on their island, and superiority complexes when interacting with the planet's other inhabitants.

As the Babylonians split into different factions based on 3 major dogmas (which we will examine later) they developed a range of reputations. Because humans look down on mobians, the Babylonians which assimilated with other mobians were treated about as poorly as them. Contrastingly, Battle Kukus and the Battle Bird Armada are praised, respected, and in alliance with human society, especially the government. Their alienness has long been forgotten as Babylonian in origin, but their distinction from other mobians makes humans trust them more. If anything, the dominant public opinion is that "these ones aren't so bad, they can keep the inferior breeds of mobian in-line" which is fucked up to say the least. The Babylon Rogues are still regarded as Babylonian, and yet, hardly known, so they are as invisible and neutral as you can get. The modern reputations of these factions will be brought up again later from a current point of view, but it is safe to say that we have a full range of Babylonian reputation spanning from negative to positive.

1.3 Humans

Humans are racist, big shock! I won't dwell on it too much since this will eventually get its own post, but humans and Babylonians are biologically compatible, meaning there are plenty of humans who have Babylonian heritage. I don't mean like our REAL Babylonian descendants, which I feel like I should clarify. The non-fictional and historical city of Babylon (located in modern day Iraq) was named after the alien Babylon/Babylonians (in Sonic, obviously) because the biblical Tower of Babel depicted the tale of humans trying to reach heaven by building vertically: this sentiment being shared with the Babylonians who looked to the stars and longed to return home to Babylon. So, essentially, the history is reversed here!

Some humans worshipped the Babylonians, and there were a good number of them who had Babylonian-Human children. They turned out normal, arguably more normal than the ones who ended up with mobians, but the racism kinda discouraged this. There was a good deal of fetishization of these hybrids so they don't exist anymore, not to mention how the recessive nature of Babylonian traits discourages this practice. BASICALLY, a lot of humans have some percentage of Babylonian DNA, but it's barely detectable in the modern age… it DID happen though.

GENETICS

2.1 Babylonians

Even back on their home planet, the trait of having full sets of wings was recessive. You can see even by looking at murals of Babylonians provided in the games:

Wings? Where are the WINGS?!? I mean, there's this:

... but if we zoom out:

it is clear that while full sets of wings exist, few Babylonians had them, and the ones that did were ranked higher and even worshipped for their abilities, making them angelic to some extent.

So, considering that only a "small" (subjective) portion of Babylonians were on Babylon Garden when it crashed, it is safe to say that our starting numbers for the winged gene are… actually not as minimal as we might initially think. (But I just mentioned a hierarchy???)

More specifically, there are two types of wings we are going to examine: forearm wings, and back wings. The former are more common albeit still not universally inherited, and the latter were always persons of great status and power, as marked by their organic ways of flight. Since our Babylonians could not go back home or attain more fully-winged persons, this immediately impacted social hierarchies with even more emphasis being placed on genetic superiority.

I am going to simplify the genetics, but essentially, the rules are as follows:

Back-wings are an AUTOSOMAL RECESSIVE trait. This means that both parents must be carriers for there to even be a chance of inheritance. Here is a handy dandy visual I stole from google images because I am too lazy to draw you a punnett square:

Armed-wings are an AUTOSOMAL DOMINANT trait. Look at the chart above, any square with a dominant letter (R) inherits the trait. Essentially, unless both parents are recessive with no forearm-wings (rr and rr) a Babylonian will inherit the trait.

Carriers of the Back-wing trait have a 50% chance of having armed-wings. Don't ask how this works, assume it is magic if you don't know genetics that well (genetics are magic anyways LOL)

From this, it is quite evident how traditional (back) wings phased out of the genepool. While it is true that non-Babylonians can carry the back-wing gene (mobians who have wings), Babylonians by nature are almost always recessive! Birdness? Recessive. Tall, humanoid proportions? Recessive. So while mating with a winged-mobian increases the likelihood of having a set of proper wings, the offspring will almost always be the same species as the mobian parent. Thus, it is far more likely for a modern day Babylonian descendant to have armed-wings as opposed to back-wings, which require a very lucky combination of genetic makeup to present as a trait.

Forearm-wings are capable of gliding and sometimes flight, but are very limiting in terms of regular mobility since the arms would have to be somewhat underdeveloped to work as wings. It's also a bitch to try and hold things or wear shirts when your long feathers take up so much space, not to mention how you'll have to choose between flight and non-restrictive clothing. Weight is also a factor, as there is not enough power in arm-flapping to fly, unless one is very light. Furthermore, while a Babylonian child may fly with forearm-wings, they will probably grow out of it.

2.2 Evolution via Assimilation

The recessive nature of Babylonian genes also explains how they evolved to look more akin to mobians than humans. The modern day Babylon Rogues and much of the Battle Bird Armada pass as mobians, hence why Babylonian heritage is long forgotten and perhaps extinct according to most. However, the genes swing both ways: many non-birds (both mobian and human) are also some percentage of Babylonian, the traits are just recessive (making them carriers). There's a huge mutation that I'm about to cover, but it is safe to say that foxes are probably the utmost carriers of it!

2.3 Mutated Genes

There are two main mutations I want to talk about, so I will section them off. I'm sure people can think of more, and I do have a handful in the works, but the ones that are interesting and important to my lore are as follows:

a) Blue Eyes

Ever notice how essentially, across the comics and games, basically every single bird has blue eyes? Speedy and Soar are the only two who are given eye colours outside of blue (they have brownish-red eyes) with the rest having either no colour (black) or blue. When you take a look at who else has blue eyes, basically all the foxes do! Look deeper, and a lot of the characters with heightened intellect/wit or innovative skills have blue eyes. I'm not saying all innovative characters have blue eyes, that's racist, but all of the characters with blue eyes are either birds, smarties, or both. Some of this is character design prejudice, as I am a sucker for beautiful brown eyes mwah, but the pattern does exist.

Wait… what about Eggman? Maria? ELISE, WHOSE ROYAL CREST IS ALSO A BIRD? Need I remind everyone that the real life blue-eye mutation was traced back to a common ancestor? BLUE EYES ARE ALSO RECESSIVE, JUST LIKE ALL OTHER BABYLONIAN TRAITS! I SAID IT FOR A REASON, GUYS! I've constantly brought up how Babylonians are equally compatible with humans and mobians, and it is because this genetic mutation was the result of breeding with Babylonians. Blue eyes are an alien trait that for Earth/Mobius, was Babylonian in origin. It goes beyond blue eyes though, because these inventor-types with blue eyes also tend to be taller and leaner, making them somewhat comparable to the original mural depictions of the Babylonians.

Take it or leave it, I'm not claiming this was intentional or intended to be canon… but it is. To ME. When you combine real genetics with anthropomorphic furries, you're allowed to take some liberties and come up with fun ways to explain certain genetic traits. (I also failed to mention earlier that foxes exist in the Nameless Zone and were tied to the fall of Babylon, so it makes sense that Babylonians upon crashing to Earth/Mobius would seek familiarity in the mobian foxes already inhabiting the planet, thus tying the wit of kitsune to the innovation of Babylonians on a historic level.) Oh and before I move on, blue eyes are a recessive trait in almost every circumstance... the exception is to Babylonians, where it is a dominant trait. Brown eyes, if you are a bird, are recessive, hence why we only have 2 instances of brown eyes! Okay, there might be a few other background character birds I'm missing, but we either cannot see their eyes, or they're black (stylistic) or BLUE! Let me have this lol

b) Ovisanguitan Testalysis (OT)

Wow, that's a fancy name for "eggs no work" isn't it? This may come as a surprise, but Babylonians did not lay eggs, they are viviparous: need I repeat myself on how they're humanoid? Anyways, while Babylonians have viviparous births, mobian birds that are NOT Babylonian still exist. It might feel like I am pulling this out of nowhere, and perhaps it is a bit hypocritical for me to say "not all birds are going to be Babylonian!" after attributing an entire recessive trait to them two seconds ago, I firmly believe that birds exist outside of Babylon with no genetic ties. This is because… (inhales) BABYLONIANS ARE NOT BIRDS! THEY ARE BIRD-ESQUE, BUT THEY ARE HUMANOID BIRD-ESQUE CREATURES! Wanna know what else look like birds? BATS! DINOSAURS! DRAGONS! CERTAIN INSECTS!

Just because the Babylonians pride themselves on their birdness, it does not necessitate that birdness is exclusive to Babylonians. However, if modern day Babylonians are birds who have assimilated to be very mobian in composition, it would seem that they would be conceived and developed via eggs, not viviparously. As I established though, Babylonian traits are recessive, and therefore still possible (though not probable) given the right genetic composition.

Some modern day Babylonians then, have a reproductive disorder called Ovisanguitan Testalysis, known as OT. While egg-laying mobians develop about 1/3rd of their offspring inside their body before laying, with the latter part of development occurring independently inside the egg which hatches when completed, Babylonians initially gave birth at the end of term like humans do. Modern day Babylonians with OT will "lay" the same time regular egg-laying mobians do, aka after the first trimester, but because of their Babylonian genes, their body does not physically form a shell around the embryo before it is expelled. Without a shell, this is essentially a VERY premature birth that cannot be incubated or salvaged, and is more comparable to an abortion or miscarriage resembling a bloody clump of cells than a premature child.

There are very few instances where Babylonians with OT are able to prevent their bodies from expelling the embryo prematurely with enough calcium supplements and full-time hospitalization that prevents the premature rejection of the fetus, but because the Babylonians with this disorder are almost always Rogues (I'll probably explain that later) it is essentially just a very rare disorder which affects a small population that aren't even registered as legal citizens to any country. It is not IMPOSSIBLE to successfully have a child with OT, just highly unlikely, and they will probably be underdeveloped in some areas (the most likely defect being a lack of immune system… so the child will probably die from disease even if they make it to term).

Also, if someone with OT were to carry a child to term via medical intervention, the strain this puts on their body will most likely kill them, and if by some miracle they survive, they will be incapacitated as they will never fully recover from the nutrient drainage and overall stress this puts on the body. If this rant feels completely out of place in this response let me have it please, where else am I gonna mention it!?

DOGMAS

With regards to the Babylonians on Earth/Mobius, there are certain branches of absolute belief (dogmas) that they dispersed into, each one thinking they are superior over the other two. These might not seem directly related to your question, but it provides so much scope for how genes are relevant to the three dogmas. Also, with all these groups splitting off, the genetic odds of back-wings decreases significantly.

3.1 Assimilate

Most Babylonians assimilated with the mobians… okay, and the humans. There are humans who have Babylonian DNA even in modern times, but I think we all know who the more obvious choice was, considering the racism and all. These Babylonians found no reason to fight internally about their blood purity or distinct alien features because birds already exist in the universe outside of Babylon. Being more bird-like has nothing to do with surviving as a species, so the truth of the matter is that a lot of Babylonians couldn't care less and therefore didn't! Due to most Babylonians adopting this dogma, the physical, recessive traits disappeared almost immediately, with wings being first to go.

3.2 The Battle Birds

Initially, the only group that existed outside of assimilation were the Battle Kukus, or the Battle Bird Armada. They believed in Babylonian supremacy, and still exist to this day with the same dogma more or less. However, the way Kukus go about defining "Babylonian" is… based on their birdness, combined with regular eugenics, of course. Kukus pride themselves on strength and unity as a faction, with defected birds being snuffed out and eaten up until recent decades… that we know of. They probably still are cannibals lol.

Despite their disdain for other creatures of flight, non-birds with wings can produce viable children for the Kukus and are permitted to do so, as the Kukus only desire the FITTEST members, not the ones with the most Babylonian DNA. More on this in a second, let's circle back to the non-bird policy. I want to make it clear that this is not a good thing, because the Armada is only using winged-mobians for the increased likelihood of the recessive wings trait! They need to be the ones carrying by the way, so it gets prejudiced and sick from every angle: come on now, we can't just use winged mobians for breeding farms… doesn't stop them though! However, only birds can join the Armada, and because of how it is often one or the other (you either are a bird or have back-wings) most of these "outsourced" offspring are not Kukus.

Kukus pride themselves on their birdness, so forearm-wings are permitted for those of adequate status: you have to clip them back until you are given permission to fly. They despise the use of flight-based technology, as it makes flight accessible to non-birds, which as we know, pisses them the fuck off.

3.3 The Babylon Rogues

The Babylon Rogues were initially Kukus, hundreds of years ago that is. During the Salem Witch Trials, black-pigmented mobians were hunted to near-extinction, as witchcraft was associated with the Black Arms, and the Black Arms are the reason mobians possess the black-pigment genes. Thus, even if one was not outwardly alien, being black (hah) made mobians targets for burnings or ritualistic sacrifice by both humans AND other mobians. They were dubbed Familiars of witches, or demons from the heavens (aka Black Arms) and killed for no other reason. Remember the Corvids? HAH! Yeah, there's a reason most of them are gone, even though the Babylonian-Corvids were initially able to grow their numbers with the birds on Earth/Mobius. Praised universally for their intelligence and superiority among Babylonians, the fall of the Corvids was a hefty tragedy that struck the Kukus horribly. Despite this, most of them did not care and continued to pride themselves on their birdness.

The Rogues however, objected, and believed that the Kukus had lost sight of what was important to them as Babylonians. Cooperating with humans? Becoming bird supremacists? Establishing a militaristic, ascetic regime that limits their power to the planet they're stuck on, claiming to only rule the skies and all below it? NAH. The Rogues care more about returning to the stars, and innovating their technology. Kukus pride themselves on their physical birdness which allows them to fly, but the Rogues care more about using their intellect and innovative skills present in their technological advancements. Speedy (the Kuku) even notes in the comics that extreme gear is outdated, and most original Armada content has little to do with the boards themselves. The Rogues however, are defined by their technological feats, which is technically closer to what the original Babylonians valued.

This generational disdain for Earth/Mobius and its people has led to some… moral corruption amidst the Rogues. While Babylonians were originally travelling across galaxies with good (albeit still arrogant) intentions on their quest of technological advancement, the Rogues are more thrifty to say the least. When non-Babylonians succeed at innovation, the Rogues believe that they just got lucky and accidentally attained genius, and make it their mission to steal the good parts from others and "make better use of this technology" after thrifting it. Other times, Rogues claim that other moments of genius were stolen from Babylonian technology, and thus, by stealing back any advancements made on Earth/Mobius, they are "reclaiming the culture stolen from them" or whatever. This is far more condescending and malicious than the initial Babylonians, which the Kukus dismiss as hedonism.

They're not WRONG, dare I said both sides are partially correct? Even so, the Rogues rebelled from their Armada and continued on their quest to find the best treasures and technological advancements on Earth/Mobius, stealing them for personal usage to hopefully fuel their ambition to reach the stars and find Babylon once more.

Before we move on, I should probably relate this back to wings with a fun fact. The Babylon Rogues CAN grow forearm wings, it's not that rare of a trait as we established. However, in order to distance themselves from the Kukus and reject their birdness, they tattoo their forearms: this floods the feather follicles with ink, preventing wing growth. The Rogues literally and symbolically choose their hands (INNOVATION, TANGIBILITY, INVENTION: to reach towards the sky… and to steal with) over their wings that honestly don't even work well enough to be effective. If they want to fly, they will use technology as the Babylonians once did, hence their reliance on and pride in Extreme Gear.

The EX Grand Prix was originally a community-based initiative for Rogues to show off their advancements and push the limits of Extreme Gear Mechanics to see who was getting closer for finding a way home, but the thrill of sports deterred them and now there are too many board restrictions (cough and shitty air-tank-exclusive shells mass produced by non Babylonians such as MeteoTech) to make this actually useful. Oh, and there are not enough mechanics to sustain the educational value of the Prix, which sucks. Sorry Wave!

Finally, if it wasn't already clear, the Babylon Rogues value what percentage of Babylonian DNA you have over your physical traits. They aren't inbred, but there's a reason we only have 3 remaining Babylon Rogues…

AFTERMATH

This is more of a "small things I missed" section because if you managed to read this far, I doubt you want MORE incoherent rambling. I'm tired, you're tired, we all just wanted to know where the wings went. BUT, since we're already invested I'm going to perform a lightning-round and give some concise wrap-ups for some of the loose ends I created!

4.1 Legal Rights

Members of the Battle Bird Armada were given equal rights to humans ever since they were instated to the government on a worldwide level. Almost every country endorses the Kukus; they are government funded and given full control of the skies so long as they keep mobians "in check" and work in tandem with GUN. You might be wondering why I choose to make them part of the human government when they're supposed to be aligned with Eggman, to which I point out that Eggman is ALSO in kahoots with the human government. When Eggman took over during Forces, human cities were spared from destruction so long as they were being compliant.

It is heavily implied if not indirectly confirmed that Eggman makes all the weapons and machinery for GUN, and the reason he has an infinite amount of resources for all his projects is because he is given permission from the human governments to do whatever the fuck he wants. "Oh but why does Sonic have to defend the humans from Eggman?" It's all about how Eggman and GUN can help one another under the table. Money. The answer is money and political corruption. The Kukus and Eggman can be allies or enemies, no one gives a fuck, they're both protected by government funds anyways.

The Babylon Rogues, as they are not assimilated mobians OR Kukus, are thus not registered citizens. This is why they can commit crimes and remain immune to genuine repercussions including imprisonment, but it is also why we do not know how many of them still exist. Jet, Storm, and Wave are presumably the last 3, but we have no way of confirming this since it's not like they exist in any databases within mobian or human censuses, or services such as healthcare or residency. They have so much money that it does not even matter, but as free as they are, it kinda sucks that they are not protected by the law either.

4.2 Present Day Relations (Very Concise)

No one knows about the Rogues, so who cares!

Humans love the Kukus... usually. Don't look into the cannibalism.

The Rogues despise the Kukus and will never cooperate with them.

The Kukus despite the Rogues, but believe that some of them are of use to the Armada. Lazy, incompetent, and inferior Rogues are hunted for the kill, but someone like Wave who is very Babylonian (genetically), has a Corvid father (in my lore), and is a mechamechanical genius unheard of and unchallenged… they really want someone like her. After they lost Tekno there was a horrendous void to fill, so while they will patronize the Rogues, they think that some of them can be "fixed" for a greater purpose.

Mobians don't typically like either faction as both dogmas are too extreme (read as: rooted in eugenics)

4.3 Predator Hawk

This pertains to my lore specifically, so feel free to skip it. Ehem:

MY Predator Hawk had back-wings. Emphasis on HAD. Remember how the Battlelord threatened to clip his wings off in the comics? Well, due to a black market intervention, a certain someone used the Battlelord's anger towards Pred to convince him that the Battlelord demanded his wings be removed for failing his mission to recruit and/or kill the three remaining Babylon Rogues: a final mission given to him after he attacked Speedy as a last chance to redeem himself. In reality the Battlelord did NOT actually request this to happen and actually has no idea where Predator Hawk disappeared to, but it remains the case that his wings were twisted off of him with a wrench (I swear it wasn't Wave's) and sold on the black market. He still has the large gashes on his back that are semi hollow, as the base of the wing-bones were merely cut off, not fully extracted as that would rip his spine. Rather, the base bones lay flush inside the crevices of his back, and if he were to tense, the nubs of the bones pop out by about 7 inches. The skin healed around the bones so there's no blood, he just has permanently exposed bones.

Pred obviously can't fly anymore, but I felt like it would be really stupid if I were to come up with all this lore for Babylonian wings only to NOT have any avian characters who possess back-wings. So… I retconned Predator a little bit and made him a fucked up creature with trauma! I have a lot of other rants about Predator Hawk pertaining to my canon, but I honestly need to stop typing this, so if anyone wants more... it is on a requested basis.

FINAL THOUGHTS

I'm sure I had some final thoughts when I started this, and it was not meant to be NEARLY this long of a response. While I feel like I didn't directly answer your question, hopefully there's some catharsis dispersed in everything I rambled about here. In summary though, I do NOT give the Rogues wings because the Curse of Babylon (ehem, recessive back-wings) makes it nearly impossible for Babylonians of the modern day to have wings. If they did have wings, they would be from forearm feathers: lots of birds in the Armada have these. Due to dogmatic differences and a convoluted history of identity-based conflicts though, the Rogues tattoo away the possibility of hybrid arms in the pursuit for technologically-based flight. The exception is Predator Hawk, who HAD wings, but then had them removed against his will. He is still bitter about it.

Did anyone make it this far? If so, you're a fucking FREAK, and I encourage you to send me more asks, because I could ramble forever about Sonic lore. It does not have to be related to the Babylon Rogues, you can ask me anything, but do take into account that I am clearly a bit obsessive and might take some time to answer. But when I do… it will be a shitshow like this response was. You read to this point though, so clearly you're into it. ENABLE ME! Love ya <3

[monaluisa]

More on historical Spamano???

Okay idk how much sense this will make because that post came to me in a burst of realization and I haven’t explored Spain very thoroughly before (my speciality as a fic writer is the Ancient Mediterranean and pre-Italian Unification OCs) But there are two contexts in which I’ve discussed Spain:

The first is in “Sons of Naught”, a fic set immediately after Third Punic War, wherein Rome enslaves all of Carthage’s living descendants. Primarily, this fic focuses on my Tuscany OC taking pity on my Tunisia OC, but as Romulus is discussing his plans for his newly enslaved nations with Tunisia, this exchange occurs:

Africanus grew pale. “And what of Sakar—” he caught himself before he finished, and masking his anxiety, continued, “What of Antonius?”

“Oh, worry not, Africanus. I have no designs for him such as those you think. Recall that your father started these wars in Sicily. When we fought at Messana, my men found an infant there, who was Sicily immortal, and my own blood.

“Bearing that in mind, I declare that Antonius be given to Lovinus as an attendant.”

Lovinus looked at Antonius. Antonius looked at Lovinus. Neither spoke; it was neither’s place to do so when Romulus did.

Because Lovino’s existence is connected to the start of the Punic Wars (and because, as per a previous paragraph in the fic, Spain and Portugal are too young to really be useful as slaves) Romulus kind of just hands Antonio over for Lovino to deal with, something that Lovino must have relished.

Antonio was, for all intents and purposes, living proof that Lovino’s success as a nation was guaranteed, because Romulus was an empire who could not only kill other nations like Carthage or Etruria, but actually enslave them, something that’s implied to be especially cruel on Romulus’ part, since the enslavement will only end either when Romulus falls from power or the enslaved nations die for real.

And as we all know, Rome did fall, and Romulus’ death was a pivotal moment for both Lovino and Antonio. Everyone Romulus had enslaved in “Sons of Naught” (except for my Sardinia OC) ransacked the house and escaped to the lands they represented, knowing that Lovino was too powerless to claim ownership of them any more.

As far as Lovino goes as a character, his entire identity was constructed around being Romulus’ heir—if he has no great empire to inherit, he is nothing. The playing field has been leveled, and he has to start from scratch the same way Carthage’s orphaned descendants must. Only for Sicily, though powerful, to be conquered time and time again. Only for Feliciano (who I hc as Venice prior to unification) to totally eclipse him in wealth and trade.

And only, of course, for Lovino to end up a servant in Spain as Antonio becomes the next big power in Europe. Now, until my dying breath, I’m gonna stumble around Chibitalia because there’s no way the Italy bros specifically were as young during this period as they’re shown in the show, but I do believe that Lovino’s physical growth (his age) stunted for a while during this period. Not a good sign for a nation. (see HRE staying a child for centuries before slowly and painfully perma-dying.)

Which brings me to the second example of me talking about Spain in my fics: in “A Sicut Erat”, in which my Sardinia OC reflecting on his life and downfall while he dies at the end of WW2, there’s this section about Spain’s golden age:

And in the mansion in Zaragoza, Lovinus, then called Lovino, had been humiliated once again.

“As his grandfather renamed ourselves,” Antonio explained to Nicola in the light of the fire one night, “I have renamed him and his brother both. They bear the Spanish name Vargas.”

And how miserable time had made Lovino! Sicily had amassed wealth and power, but the boy had aged only a few human years since the last time Nicola had seen him. Lovino burned with shame wherever he went, muttering curses as he swept the floors, retorting Antonio’s every word with a biting tongue. From time to time, he was struck by fits of St. Vitus’ dance, knocking over vases and tripping over his own feet, and secretly, in the pits of the night, Nicola prayed that it meant he would see the boy’s death.

Those were the days when Spain ruled the seas, and so it seemed, the world. A slave of Rome had risen to the same level as him, if not greater: so much was the gold from the New World that its glisten became dull! The merchant ships of Genoa, who had conquered Sardinia, and Venice, Romulus’ rich and happy grandson, became powerless in the face of the brave new world that formed in the West!

Now, the whole renaming thing was just me trying to make the Italy Bro’s Spanish surname make sense 😭 but in another sense, this passage shows that the tables have turned. Antonio is now Romulus, Lovino is now Antonio, and with a new world quite literally opening up for the powers of Europe to imperialize, it seems like Lovino is just…doomed. Trade is shifting from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. A new Roman Empire can never rise again, least of all under Lovino, and to him, promised a world that collapsed under his feet, that’s a fate worse than death.

But that’s not the end of the story either! Spain declines around the 18th century, and Sicily in the 19th as Lovino gets screwed over by Italian Unification (read Brutus and Achilles if you want more insight into this and other aspects of Lovino’s character 👀) but they’re both still alive, and they’re still the people they always were. They have always been bound together for some reason or another, and because neither is nearly as powerful as they once were, they are also now even.

Idk if that made sense, but there’s a lot of twists and turns in their lives that make for a compelling relationship between the two. Not even in a shipping way, necessarily. Add in their conflicting personalities though and oooooooh baby that’s good stuff.

I need to get a life lol

[upslapmeal]

Notes from the Taskmaster S15E04 recording

I got to see this episode filmed back in September (if you were there hello from the person Mark Olver kept quizzing lol, and important question: do you have an airing cupboard?) and thought I'd make a post with some Bonus Content from the recording. Last time I did this I realised I'd forgotten loads so this time I got home, sat down, diligently made notes for until the end of the prize task, and decided to do the rest the next day. I did not do the rest. So we'll just have to see how well my memory holds up 😅

The version of Greg's aeroplane-themed intro was an alternative version filmed at the end - the original had the reveal that THEY'RE ALL DEAD!! and the second one was filmed "in case anyone dies in a plane"

Alex had three """""jokes"""" about his Italy trip, each one increasingly terrible. The one I made a note of was "I saw Stevie Wonder" turning into "I saw a wonder of the word". Needless to say, Greg was unimpressed.

When Greg went to Mae to introduce their prize task, their opening comment was "I’m excited to continue to explore our….dynamic"

The strength of the dynamic was then questioned when Greg was dismissive of their prize

Whatever your opinion of how Mae was scored for a later task, when Greg saw their prize on the stage at the end of the episode he said it had been underscored and it actually looked like a lot of fun

“Kiell you’ve been doing badly…it’s not your turn yet though. Frankie?"

"Jenny has always given a sob story just after presenting her prize, last episode leant heavily on her dead father" - we were told this after Jenny said she couldn't knit the hat because she had nerve damage in her hands

"I forgot to be funny then, sorry that was just sad" - Jenny

The ad buffers we saw in studio were filmed in Gatwick, and since this was before S14 aired there was a discussion about what airport it was based on the presence of an upstairs Jamie Oliver restaurant in one of them

[here ends the comprehensive notes]

I cannot stress this enough, but ANY angle or thought that you may have about Mae's throw(s) (or lack thereof) came up in the studio

I can't remember what ended up swinging (heh) it in their favour but it truly felt as though it was going to go on forever

Man I wish I could remember any specifics because there was So Much, genuinely every single possible take on that attempt was thoroughly and gleefully dissected

Hearing during this episode that Ivo had won the last two was much like when I saw that Bridget was in first place during the record for S13E04 lol

Right. Banana.

I think the logic ended up being that the task said to get the 'BANANA'

And they did, in fact, get the 'BANANA'

They got the word not the object

And there was definitely a debate about what it is to be a noun, which Mae weighed in on and I think almost made Ivo explode that they had no right to after what they did with a verb

I feel like this may have been cut bc Ivo used 'she' and I imagine the editors are going for consistency, but it's a shame bc it was amazing

But it was still 'BANANA'. As stated in the task. The word it said to get was the word they got.

Do with this what you will.

During the live task, Ivo kept pouring his sand, very very slowly, after everyone else had finished and after he was told his stream had broken, until the bottle was empty.

Tragically Jenny did not wear the turkey on her head at the end, despite everyone agreeing earlier that the winner would have to.

There we go then. And the moral of the story is to actually make notes on what happened before you forget everything. And by 'you' I mean me. I swear I'll have better notes about the S16 finale.

[melonteee]

May I recommend some One Piece fics? One of them has me clawing the walls and wanting to write ten billion fics about all the OP women _:(´ཀ`」 ∠): and the other fundamentally changed me as a human being.

The former is a Robin centred fic and the latter is a Sanji centred fic. If you have read these before, sorry if I’m just parroting what you’ve already read! Also please feel no pressure to read these, I just wanted to share with a fellow OP enjoyer :DDD

Sanji Fic: Custom of the Sea - 17K: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39516201?view_adult=true

So this one really, REALLY explores Sanji’s duties as a chef and how far he’d be willing to go to ensure that his crew won’t starve (if you know what the title of the fic means then you’re halfway there) and there are heavy warnings at the start of the fic that I won’t repeat but I will state that the fic is tagged with “angst with a happy ending” so a heaping helping of optimism is needed whilst reading!

(I did not read the tags thoroughly though I still enjoyed the fic, but please don’t be as silly as me)

I love when a One Piece fic explores the connections between the Straw Hats (some more than others, cough ZORO cough) and I especially love the flashbacks we get with Chef Zeff— I will never be able to stop thinking about them and clutching at my chest like I’m trying to ease an unseen weight (the burden, oh the burden of loving a fictional blond man).

I love how Sanji is written, how we get to see him reduced to his base components, how as he thins with each day we see what becomes transparent beneath all the layers; who he truly is when stripped down to the bone.

^ tryhard

There is also a scene that is so reverent; so intimate; so raw that it feels like a violation to intrude upon such a private moment and a discourtesy that it isn’t being analysed and examined by every literature study or professor alive. Wow it fucks me up that this fic only has 8K hits. The author also writes some good ZoSan fics if that’s also something you’d like :))

Robin Fic: What is and What could never be - 58K (unfinished as far as I’m aware): https://archiveofourown.org/works/42768912/chapters/107441889

Robin. Has. A child.

[incoherent wailing about motherhood, unconditional love, the fear of loving someone and letting them love you back, love you thought you lost but has endured all along]

I haven’t even finished it yet nor am I even anywhere close in the timeline in which the fic takes place but I already know it’s one of my favourite fics I’ve read, and has made me realised that I have overlooked the OP women in the most egregious manner possible.

I absolutely adore your OP character analysis videos, and having your big brain analysis sitting in the back of my mind while reading this fic has made me appreciate and enjoy this fic tenfold.

Nico Robin I love you in a way that heals me and hurts me.

I am also a tremendous sucker for Frobin (the author wrote smut for this fic which 😳) but I also adore her relationships with Chopper, Nami and Luffy which absolutely enamoured me and has scorched my brain, leaving a permanent mark. Also extremely cruel and wicked that this fic only has 8K hits.

Anyway I wrote all of this at 1am, so if I sound mad it’s because I am. Thanks for creating hilarious and extremely insightful analysis videos, I’ve been watching your channel since the MHA character design video (I still burst out laughing thinking about Todoroki’s design sometimes) and I always look forward to new vids :D

Thank you for these but I can’t promise I’ll read them haha, I don’t tend to read too many fics but I appreciate the thought. I know you didn’t do it here but I also ask to please not send me smut fics or anything since I’m not an nsfw account and also a stranger to you guys 😅

And thank you so much for enjoying my content! ❤️

[mermaidchan05]

Vesuvia Weekly: "We're going to Disney World!"

(Insert "When You Wish Upon a Star" audio here)

I guess this one kinda looks like the "explaining our world to the M6" prompt if you squint?

Yeah I don't know how to explain the real world to people in the real world, so... imagine a scenario where the M6 has somehow been transported to our world, and then introduced to movies. And upon being introduced to Disney movies specifically, clearly the next step is a trip to Disney World. Here's some headcanon bullets for how I think a trip with the four main LI's I write for and their loves would go!

Julian (and Damian)

Julian is living.

Seriously this is one of the best days of his life.

He knows theater magic, and he just stepped onto the world's biggest interactive stage.

It's extra magical with Damian there.

Thanks to Damian (who is a gamer at heart), Julian now knows as much about computers as he possibly can, so “this ride goes this way because of a computer command” makes perfect sense to him and it is wonderful. 

He was very nervous about going on the Haunted Mansion at first, and if he had just gone unprepared he would have hated it. But he had Damian by his side, and Damian has all the behind-the-scenes information. He’s talking Julian through every single trick and story concept, and it is fascinating. 

Julian is entranced by the Pepper’s Ghost effect now and he’s going to try it out the second he gets home. 

Get this man on Pirates of the Caribbean, stat!

Julian sees Flynn Rider in the parade and starts rambling about whether or not he could pull off a part like that. 

(oh no now everyone is going to be introduced to the idea of cosplay...) 

Asra (and Meleia)

Best day of their life Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Asra practically needs one of those child leash backpacks he is looking at everything.

There is so much to see and so much to do and everything is beautiful and fascinating and you walk down the street and end up in an entirely different world...

It's practically as fun as exploring the Magical Realms. And here he has sights and activities and food that he's never even dreamed of.

But the best part for him is just reveling in Meleia’s joy.

Meleia loves Disney. She loves Disney World. And she adores sharing all of her favorite rides and shows and restaurants with Asra. 

And Asra loves seeing her so happy. The two of them are basically wrapped up in an endless feedback loop of childlike wonder and whimsy and it’s incredible. 

While they see the benefit of skipping the lines, Asra can also thoroughly enjoy just interacting with all the fun queues. Catch them almost stalling the line to spot every single one of Tinkerbell’s hiding spots and play with his own shadow in the Peter Pan’s Flight queue.  

(Since it's his favorite Disney movie according to the og devs) Asra absolutely goes on a hunt for every single possible piece of Emperor’s New Groove merchandise he can find. Comes out with a surprising amount of it despite no one else actually seeing anything. Where did this come from, Asra? 

Collects those little plushies with magnets that can sit on your shoulder. Has a new Shoulder Buddy for every day of the trip.

Nadia (featuring a brief appearence by Portia and Chimalus)

Nadia is the Ultimate Planner

She loves puzzles, she knows all about how to organize people, and the gang just dropped the world’s biggest organization puzzle right in front of her. 

She is on it. 

There’s a long list of things that everyone wants to see? And they have a limited time to do it all? No problem.

She did the research. She found the best possible times to get everything done. And now she has a color-coded schedule, complete with contingency plans. 

She could have just done one of those fancy VIP tour things, but this is much more fun. 

She knows exactly how to Navigate the parks despite never being there before.

Disney World has a gift shop practically around every corner. This is the perfect place to spoil all of her friends.

She will find a way to secretly buy things for everyone. Sometimes even while they are all exploring the same store.

Gets the perfect fancy dining reservations.

Absolutely sets aside time for people to break off into smaller groups.

Since she knows that Chimalus doesn't do loud noises, and Portia desperately wants to see the fireworks, Nadia would absolutely book one of those fancy Dinner and Fireworks experiences where you can admire the show from a safer distance while also enjoying delicious food.

She makes several mental notes for the next Masquerade. New goal: Outdo Disney. If anyone can pull it off, it's Nadia.

Portia (featuring a brief mention of Chimalus)

One might think Portia would be the second person you’d want to give a child leash-backpack to, but no.

She’s not going anywhere without "dragging" as many people alongside her as she can.  

In a beautiful world where the original Fastpass system is still in place (because it was scientifically proven to be the Best One) Portia is the one running to the kiosks to get The Perfect Fastpass.  

This girl has never been on a trip like this, but she has still somehow mastered the art of the Disney World Mom Bag.

Ponchos for the rain? In there. Bandaids? Covered. Snacks and water bottles? Oh, absolutely. 

She even brought ear protection for Chimalus, so nothing could stop them from enjoying every experience.

Absolutely cries over the fireworks.  

She has also discovered the joy of a camera. She will find time to take the best possible pictures of everyone, and no one knows how she pulls it off.

For Portia, this isn’t just a place where all those fun new movies she’s just learned about comes to life, it’s the place where some of her favorite childhood stories are actually real. And she loves it.  

Has about a million ideas for writing her own books when she gets home. Chimalus highly encourages this and can't wait to read what she comes up with.

[fagcrisis]

i read another bad YA book: when will my suffering end

my dear friend and long time training partner viki is obsessed with the arc of a scythe series by neal shusterman, and she forced me, literally at sword-point to read the first book. it seems that my fate is to forever read bad books about teenagers where nothing really happens

scythe takes place in a world where humanity has defeated death. nanotechnology allows people to stay young forever, or old forever if they so choose, and revives people from every kind of death if their corpse is recoverable. overpopulation becomes a problem though, as humanity cannot leave the planet, and so a special group of people called the Scythes are tasked with "collecting" people to keep the number of people down. scythe faraday chooses two teenagers, citra and rowan to be his apprentices, however there is a deadly challenge awaiting the two at the end of their apprenticeship. only one of them can become a scythe, and their first task will be to collect their fellow apprentice

*i read this book in hungarian so im translating a couple of things on the fly, if i mess anything up dont tell me i doubt any of you care about this book that much

THE WORLDBUILDING is bad. the initial concept is actually fascinating i can never get enough of a post scarcity society, and the way people grapple with a utopia. as a fan of ursula k le guin i think in many cases a real utopia and its ramifications can be a lot more interesting than a dystopic world, but you could have gone the giver route with this and revealed the rot at the core of a world pretending to be perfect.

well, scythe does absolutely none of that. despite the fact that everybody is LITERALLY IMMORTAL, people still work, mostly jobs they dont even like. children go to school and are raised by their birth parents, a man and a woman. gay people exist and so do sentient robots? but neither concepts really get explored deeper than a throwaway mention, and a joke. Now, i think it could be really interesting to explore a society thoroughly frozen in a 21st century late capitalistic state, but scythe does not do that. the book takes place hundreds, possibly even thousands of years into the future and Nothing Has Changed.

I have some lore based gripes with the book, the way the scythes and their reason for existing is just not explained at all, the offhanded genocide mention, and all that but in all fairness im yet to read the second book (i will have to viki is making me) so maybe they explain all of this then.

What really does bother me though, is why do death like this? People kill themselves for fun in the world of scythe, why not just let them die? scythes are explicitly forbidden from killing people who ask them to do so. this is a world where individiual choice has been completely taken away from people, except for a select group of a few hundred who have the absolute power of gods, and cannot even be controlled by the benevolent god-king-mother AI, the thunderhead. why not use the nanobots in peoples bodies to choose who lives or dies? why not limit the number of resurrections somebody can have? why let the scythes choose who they kill and how they kill them? why let them grant immunity to people?

I think much of this book is politically uninteresting and borderline stupid at points, especially the thunderhead. the way its completely unquestioned and thought to be benevolent and perfect above all else is just absolutely crazy, but lets run with it and say it does absolutely know what is best for humanity. why let people do the killing? maybe the second book will pull some insane twist on me that explains everything but i highly doubt it will

one note about the worldbuilding that annoyed me but isnt really significant: shit is just europe and america and whatnot with stupid fucking names. lazy as hell. if u just wanna keep shit as it is, do that. dont call things EuroScand or whatever. Also the racial dynamics are so bad in such an uninteresting way, like the book literally goes "race doesnt exist anymore everyone is like suuuper mixed except for this black dude who is evil and this mystical asian man. but everyone else. super racially ambigous"

THE CHARACTERS are bad also. rowan is so completely uninteresting i skimmed his chapters for lines where anybody else spoke, citra has a tiny bit more depth but not by a lot. their romance just so completely does not work, and listen. i am ready to accept that they were into dying for eachother after hanging out for like a month and kissing one time. i love unreasonable unstoppable romance. they had NO chemistry. they hated each other when they first met, for no reason at all, and then suddenly they were in love. barely spoken to each other for 2 months and then rowan is making a vow to die for her.

scythe faraday and scythe curie are much more interesting people, but scythe faraday goes away for 2/3rds of the book and curie isnt allowed to be anything interesting before citra basically ditches her. the fact they were involved doesnt come out of nowhere, but i would have appreciated a little more on that because it was way more interesting.... why arent the scythes allowed to date each other anyways. seems like an incredibly stupid rule. theyre immortal. theyre not jedi. yet another nonsensical worldbuilding detail

goddard and his crew were one dimensional and boring, it would have been great and interesting if he was actually charming and charismattic and succeeded in winning rowan over, but instead of that happening the book tells you that he is charming and charismatic while only shows him being awful and unpleasant. volta was kind of fun and interesting but his suicide didnt hit hard enough due to the fact that he and rowans friendship barely existed, neal shusterman is bad at writing character relationships jesus christ

THE PLOT AND WRITING were really fucking bad. virtually nothing happens for the majority of this book. citra fleeing the scytheguard should have taken up way more time than it did, as it was one of the only fun and engaging parts of the book. instead of that we get endless scenes of rowan seeing goddard be evil, citra walking around doing nothing and generally things not happening. way more time spent on training sequences than was strictly neccesary, and too little time spent on explaining anything that was happening or characters spending time together.

The chapters didnt flow extremely well, the pov switches were annoying and would happen multiple times on one pages, sometimes in the same paragraph. too many important worldbuilding details were glossed over in favour of scenes of rowans man pain or just kind of random irrelevant bullshit. there were a ton of characters who didnt really end up mattering, because the book was so badly spaced out. i would have loved spending a bit more time with scythe mandela for example who ended up mattering actually a ton for the final couple chapters, but no because rowan needs to be tortured again or something!

Every plot complication and twist was resolved instantly, leaving you no space to try and figure it out for yourself, no tension or anything. the ones that werent were so easy to figure out that it also left you with no tension. scythe faraday dead? no he isnt! citra is cornered by a scythe on the bullet train? dont worry, she has help from a random guy. even the ending was like this. will rowan die because citra was chosen to become a scythe instead of him? dont worry, she gives him immunity and this has no consequences for her whatsoever. they were talking about putting her in forever jail just 5 chapters ago, but its fine she is allowed to become a full fledged scythe. will they at least jail rowan until his immunity is up? dont worry, he is batman now and hes fled due to his perfect skills in everything he is so sexy you guys

VERDICT: dont read this book its bad. really bad. i will be back with the second one though, because viki is making me

@chevengurian ik u enjoy my sufferings here u go

[illarian-rambling]

🐈 and 🖌️ for the OC explorations game?

🐈 How do they react to being cat-called?

Izjik: Instant death. She's throwing hands immediately, unless it's a hot lady, in which case she'll pretend to be angry, but secretly be kinda into it. I'm not gonna pretend she has the highest standards in the world when it comes to women. Or standards at all.

Sepo: For such a generally angry guy, Sepo tends to get very flustered when he's catcalled (which happens the most often to him out of the group because the man's stunning). Usually, he's happy to let Izjik handle it with the power of a thousand, angry, bitch-seeking missiles.

Twenari: Her go-to is, "Sorry sir, I don't have any spare change."

Djek: Catcalls them back in a much worse way until they get uncomfortable and leave. Or he'll just point and scream as loud as he can.

Astra: I think she'd be a little confused at first because she's a bit hard of hearing, but once she catches on, she'll get right up in their face, even if she has to stand on her tip toes. She'd then proceed to thoroughly chew out the catcaller, insulting everything from their shoes to their dog. This is usually far more intimidating when Mashal is standing behind her like the shadow of death itself.

Mashal: I think he'd also be really confused at first, then really concerned because why is this person catcalling a robot? He'd probably just walk away and ignore them.

Ivander: He'd be astounded that anyone would talk to him in such a way. Just utterly shocked. I think he'd also just walk away, though not out of any desire for peace, he's just at a loss for what to do.

Elsind: If they're wearing a specifically attractive form, I think they'd just be pleased their disguise is good. However, if it's been a rough day or he's walking around in his true form for some reason, he'd probably put on the most horrifying visage he could think of to scare them off, then go have a cry about it.

Avymere: Jail, immediately. They'd honestly be impressed by whoever has the gall to catcall the heir of Salis, but not enough to not have them arrested on the spot.

🖌 If they spray-painted a city wall, what would they write / draw?

Izjik: A very messy catfish with a silly expression. She'd try to sign her name, but it'd be illegible.

Sepo: A beautiful and frightening oceanscape featuring a ship caught in a storm. In one corner, painted very tiny, would be two siren boys. There'd be no words, but it's in memory of Saius.

Twenari: A set of whimsical floating islands with runes that make them bob up and down faintly.

Djek: "D Wuz Here" written in black letters that spread out in tendrils. He'd strive to get his graffiti into the weirdest, most unlikely places he could.

Astra: Written instructions on how to make a runic engine and alchemical formulas for otherwise expensive medicines. She'd put them in the center of town and repaint them brighter every time they get taken down.

Mashal: If he was given express permission or Astra managed to talk him into it, he'd make an incredible mural featuring mechanical horses galloping across a field of flowers. Out of all these chucklefucks, his art would be the most technically skilled.

Ivander: He'd paint some scandalous revelation about an authority figure for all to see. He'd also probably sign with the name of a person he doesn't like.

Elsind: She'd do flowers or something else simple and cute. Under it would probably be a motivational quote about everyone being beautiful.

Avymere: If they could somehow be convinced to do this, they'd probably just do a star or other easy shape. Creativity is not their strong suit.

Thanks for the ask, these were fun ones!

[ovwechoes]

I never see this ship anymore.. But NSFW sombra x symm headcanons? Personally I think Sombra tops and Symm's a pillow princess

Symmbra / Sombra x Symmetra Headcanons (NSFW) I'm happy to write some for them! They're under the cut, and warnings for discussions of sex, preferences, and general sexual content (please don't read if you're under 18, thank you) Enjoy!

Who's more dominant and more submissive in the relationship? I can honestly agree with you that Satya's the pillow princess in the relationship, with Olivia dominating. Satya's definitely got a bratty side to her, wanting to test Olivia's limits and see how it would reflect in her sex, but she's more so wanting to enjoy the feelings on her body and the ways in which Olivia makes her skin shiver. Olivia likes to keep control over her sexual partners too, enjoying watching them unfold under her touch even if she's not pleasured directly.

What are some kinks they enjoy together? Olivia's favourite kink to explore with Satya is edging and orgasm denial. She likes to bring Satya to her absolute ends, practically begging for her orgasm, humiliating herself in the process. For Olivia, she revels in the power behind making such a poised and pristine woman become degraded and desperate. It's something she thoroughly enjoys, and likes to explore how far she can go with it. On the other hand, she likes to test out new toys on Satya, as though she's a rabbit being used to see if the toys are worthy of Olivia's time. Often times, she'll use them long enough to bring Satya so close to the edge, just to remove them and say that the toy's been a waste of money, just to see the response that her partner gives her. Satya likes to explore sensory kinks, like blindfolding, bondage, wax, etc. She's curious about the way it would feel on her skin, the reactions her body would have, and she knows Olivia's more than likely to agree to give them a try. Plus, the added removal of her control and degradation is something that'll always turn her on. She likes oral sex, and likes when Olivia binds her legs apart before eating her out. It drives Satya crazy, and she knows Olivia enjoys it just as much. Satya's willing to explore most kinks, and is somewhat adventurous, unless the kink involves something that she can't bring herself to consider and is immoral.

How often do they have sex? They like to as often as needed, especially when work related stress brings them apart and they need to be reminded of each other's intimacy. It's important for them, but they're not upset if they can't have sex more than once that week. They don't always have penetrative sex anyways, so they don't mind it so long as they understand why it's happening and that it's not something personal/due to the relationship. Satya likes to self pleasure at least once a night, as a way to undo the day's stress and overwhelming emotions, with Olivia liking to every other day due to her sex drive. It's important for them to keep things fresh, and if that means going stretches of time without sex to make their next encounter together that much more better, they're willing to do it.

What would they say has been their best sexual encounter together? Definitely the first time Olivia took Satya to a nightclub - Satya had always been intimidated by the idea of nightclubs, and didn't want to go alone ever. So, when Olivia wanted to go to a warehouse club in New Mexico City, Satya was open to coming with. They never expected themselves to be in the club bathroom, with Olivia's fingers working on Satya in an aggressive manner after someone flirted with her. The jealousy shone through the pleasure Olivia was giving Satya, and she couldn't get enough of it. The alcohol helped Satya feel comfortable doing it in a public place, and she couldn't help but feel sucked into the thrill of knowing someone could walk in on them and see what Olivia was doing to her. It made her heart soar, and it's something Satya looks back on when she's masturbating and Olivia's not around (or is busy on a mission).

Who's more vocal between the two of them? Satya 100% - when she's really in the mood and feeling extremely good, Olivia makes her moans echo wherever they are to the point that sometimes Olivia has to cover her mouth. It's different when she's self pleasuring, often being completely silent and simply enjoying it. However, the sensations that hit her body and the way the pleasure builds itself up inside her because of Olivia brings out her vocal side. While Satya usually moans and sighs during sex, Olivia usually grunts and groans, especially when they use toys together for both of their pleasure. The way that Olivia's feminine groans of pleasure hit Satya's ears makes her knees weak, and she wishes to hear them more often. However, Olivia's not the type to unless she's extremely close, or she's feeling really turned on and in the mood - usually her breathing is what carries her through vocally during sex, with the very rare groan falling from her chords until she's close to her orgasm.

What are their favourite positions? Olivia's favourite position is definitely when Satya lies down, and she's sat beside her and using toys on Satya. Being able to watch her partner unwind, the way their face contorts and changes based on the pleasure, slowly watching Satya lose herself in the pleasure - these are all things Olivia loves about this position. She likes to feel as though she's looming over Satya, with full control of the situation. Sometimes she'll add the aspect of blindfolds or bondage into the mix, bringing Satya to an even more desperate state of pleasure. Satya likes when Olivia positions her on a chair, and kneels between her knees to eat her out or use toys on her. It makes her feel like she truly has no control, even when she's above Olivia. The way the pleasure feels different when she's sat up too is an added bonus. Another that Satya likes is the lazy girl's 69 - essentially laying side to side while eating each other out. Being able to service Olivia back is something she'll always enjoy, and she hasn't sometimes got the energy for the standard 69, so this works in her favour. Honestly though, she's game for any position that isn't too strenuous and where she can be handled like the doll she feels like under Olivia's control.

[sausage-rolll]

Something curious I noticed recently while exploring Farum Azula is that some of the curtains draped around the area share a passing resemblance to the fabrics seen in Marika's bed chamber, and of the ones seen in the depiction of Marika from the opening cutscene.

I'm sure this isn't a particularly new discovery, and the designs aren't exactly the same, but they're just similar enough that it got me thinking.

-

Funnily enough Maliketh also shares a very similar veil to Marika's (the thing connected to his elbows and looping around his back.) His even seems to have the same golden edges as the ones from Farum azula.

-

To me it seems like black fabric with golden plant detailing's are a bit of a motif with Marika. Which is nice to know, considering how little we actually know about her. (It's also pretty sweet that she has matching outfits with Maliketh)

-

But if this design is a running theme with Marika specifically and not just a mistake I'm making then it begs the question. Why does this ancient, timeless, crumbling city in the sky that's presumably much older than every other area in the game have Marika's favourite design decorating its walls?

Is Marika from the time of Farum Azula? The time of Placidusax? Is Marika his missing god who he's been waiting for? That should be impossible, and maybe it still is, but she seems to have some sort of connection to this place. If not for her design adorning its walls then certainly for her godly appointed body guard living here.

Her body guard who, by the way, uses a weapon that has cultural significance to the society of Farum Azula.

You know, the society that was blasted off the map by a meteor long before the age of the erdtree even began.

This was just supposed to be a nice little post about a small detail I noticed, and now it's turned into this. I don't even know if any of this actually makes sense but I've tried my best to put it together in an understandable way.

There's still so much to go into regarding this theory (why did Marika wage war against the dragons if they have a history like this? could the meteor that destroyed Farum be one of the ones the GW sent down to bury the eternal cities? If so then could that event possibly be one of the first things that shook Marika's resolve in the GW?)

But for now I think I need to just post this and let it simmer for a while. If you got this far then thank you for coming down this rabbit hole with me. I'd love to hear your thoughts because I am thoroughly lost in just what this could mean.