personalize
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Eddie swipes the wand beneath his eye, fast and mostly smooth. He leans back from the mirror, assessing his reflection, and smudges lightly at the ink.
“One down,” he says, mostly to himself. Steve doesn’t say anything.
He’s thinking about girls at their bathroom mirrors and bedroom vanities. Dates or one night stands or whoever else, messing with their hair and poking at their lipstick and making faces. Fixing whatever Steve had made a mess of the night before.
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(Eddie finds some eyeliner in Steve's car. They both get weird about it.) -
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I can handle myself, he thinks, raising up his hand. Doesn’t anybody know that?
The distant speakers buzz; a wayward blip of high-pitched feedback scrapes against his sensors. ”THE KING OF ONLY—” booms from the main stage, his recorded voice ringing over sharp, compacted brass. ”He’s GROOVY…”
Tenna hisses again, the voiceover reverberating in his case. He’s aware of the glitches in the tape, alright? He’s aware of them. They’re charming. They’re being dealt with. The glitches are all being dealt with; he’s dealing with one right now.
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(Tenna faces technical difficulties at the commencement of his Feature Presentation, and tries desperately to resolve them before the introduction's over.) -
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“I used to give Nancy massages,” Steve says.
It’s out before he even knows where it came from. Really it’s like somebody else said it, commandeering his voice — the thought process didn’t happen, or if it did, it happened without Steve’s supervision. Maybe something to do with brown waves of hair, dimmed lights. He’s too busy balking at his words to retroactively connect any dots, at the moment, so he can’t be too sure.
Eddie’s just as confused, it seems, because he goes completely still. The silence hangs heavy, for the three or four seconds it’s there, and Steve wishes he could see Eddie’s face. Finds himself incapable of guessing at the expression he might be wearing right now. He just has to stare at the back of his head, the tensed line of his shoulders, until Eddie finally says, “Oh, yeah?”
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(Eddie's back is all fucked up. Steve lends a hand.) -
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“You’re gonna fuck up your shirt,” Eddie says, voice dipping. His attention’s fixed on Steve’s wound again. There’s the subtlest crease in his brow, something pained or held back. Steve watches him, frozen; he feels kind of useless again, which is absurd, because Eddie’s staring at him like he absolutely and obviously needs him.
Or— a part of him. Just a part. And it’d be easy to give to him.
“What if, um,” Eddie starts, still eyeing Steve’s hand. “What if we… help each other out, here?”
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(Eddie's stowed away in the wreck of his old trailer, back from the dead, and his teeth might be a little sharper this time around. Steve finds out firsthand.) -
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Steve has heard about this. In fact, Dustin would not shut up about it a few days ago, when Steve had picked him up from a D&D session at the Wheeler’s – "Eddie says he got a motorcycle, which is so badass, I wonder what it looks like, why aren’t you that badass, Steve," etcetera. And since then it's been popping up in conversations everywhere, all these offhand comments about how loud or fast or cool or stupid it is, depending on the source. He'd acted disinterested. He was disinterested.
Now he sees it for himself, sees Eddie leaning over it with one boot planted firmly on the ground, lifting up a pair of goggles to squint towards the storefront, and, well. Steve's always known he’s been lying to himself – about a lot of things, actually – but now he really feels ridiculous.
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(Eddie gets a motorcycle. It's not a big deal.)
Recent bookmarks
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Steve thinks there’s something to be said about theater majors. But mostly, there’s something to be said about Eddie Munson, and how Steve wants to grab him by his stupid cape and strangle him.
Bookmarked by personalize
31 Oct 2025
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Susie puts Tenna back together.
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Tenna’s parental block has prevented him from engaging in any R-rated activity his whole life. Queen intends to fix that.
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“I couldn’t pretend if I tried, now, you know that. I’m keeping my wits about me tonight because I want you to know just how good you make me feel. I want to *tell* you. Would you like to hear it?”
There was a pause, during which Mettaton gave him another long thrust, and then another. Long, slow, letting them both feel every inch that was pulled out and then pushed back in.
Tenna groaned. “Yes- Yes, I want to hear it. You *know* I want to hear it. Tell me.”
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Mettaton talks Tenna through it.
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The crew doesn’t say anything. They’re used to this. Tenna loves all of them— he says so often, loudly, usually mid-monologue— but he loves good camerawork more. The problem is; his favorite cameraman is gone. An older model. Kind of twitchy. Had a way of making even his breakdowns look cinematic. Every close-up, every reverse dolly— it knew how to capture Tenna’s “narrative arc” without needing to be told twice.
And now? “Loaned to another department for ‘cross-show synergy,’” someone had said.
Which was network speak for: Mettaton stole him.
Bookmarked by heyevery (personalize)
24 Jun 2025