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I do not consider myself a writer, and you won't find any long-form fics here, but I needed a space to dump all my Steddie brainworms.
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for @corrodedcoffinfest day 25 prompt 'smoking section'
rated t | 822 words | cw: smoking | tags: famous corroded coffin, airplanes, jeff is interim band manager while steve isn't there, established steddie
🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭🚭
The beauty of having your own plane is that you can make plenty of your own rules. As long as it’s not an FAA thing, it’s allowed.
Steve stays on top of the rules for them, but Steve isn’t here.
Jeff wishes he’d talked with him before this. Well, they did talk. He got the rundown on the schedule and the point of contact for all of their interviews. He knows where they should be and when, and even what they should probably wear for each one.
He knows when their flights take off and land, and what airports they do these things at.
But he doesn’t know if Steve cleared what’s currently happening in the back of the plane. He’s pretty sure he didn’t and Eddie’s about ten seconds from being banned from flying ever again.
“I’m sorry sir, there’s no smoking section on this plane. We have strict rules against any type of smoking within the doors before, during, and after the flight,” the flight attendant kindly says. She has been extremely tolerable of their shenanigans for nearly two hours now, and her patience is thinning. “We appreciate your cooperation.”
Eddie stares at her over the cigarette he pulled from his mouth the second she walked up. So he clearly knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but still tried. He’s such a menace.
“Oh. I thought we could on private?” Eddie sounds so genuine, he almost fools Jeff, who hasn’t fallen for his shit in years.
“I’m sorry, sir. Some planes allow it, but our company is quite strict. I have to ask you to put that out immediately.”
Eddie, even though he is a menace, is not one to make someone’s job harder. He puts out the cigarette in the ash tray he brought with him and gives her a smile.
“No problem. Sorry.”
She smiles and nods politely before walking back to the front where Frankie and Gareth have been playing a dangerous game of cards. He should probably go back and supervise, but he’s pretty sure if the pretty flight attendant is there, they’ll behave themselves.
He sits down next to Eddie and pats his leg. “Doing okay?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “How much longer is this flight?”
Jeff checks his watch. “About four more hours.”
“Seriously?” Eddie groans. “Do you have anything that’ll knock me out?”
Jeff watches him for a moment. How his leg is bouncing and his fingers keep tightening into fists. How the dark circles under his eyes have only gotten worse over the last week while they’ve been going from late night shows to SNL to radio interviews. He’s pretty sure he’s sleeping, but since they all have their own rooms in hotels, he can’t be sure.
“I thought you quit smoking,” Jeff finally says. He definitely didn’t think that. He did think he switched to just weed, though.
“I did.”
Jeff raises a brow and gestures at the ash tray. “So…”
“It’s just while we’re gone.”
“Uh huh.” Jeff realizes a little too late what’s going on. “Does Steve know?”
Eddie shakes his head and leans back, closing his eyes. The closer Jeff looks, the more convinced he is that Eddie’s not resting, and probably not taking care of himself in any way besides what he absolutely has to to get through this promotional tour.
He misses Steve. Jeff misses his girlfriend, too, but it’s different for them. All they’ve ever known is him leaving for tours and recording and her waiting for him to get back for a couple weeks just to do it all again. Steve’s been their band manager, been with them every step of the way for years. Eddie’s never without him by his side for longer than a few hours, maybe a day if they have to try to fit a lot into visiting one city.
It’s not that he can’t function without Steve. Eddie’s more independent than all of them, actually. Jeff still can’t cook, Gareth has somehow managed to ruin half his laundry anytime he does it, and Frankie would forget his own head if it wasn’t attached to his body. But Steve makes things easier. Better. More fun.
For all of them, really, not just Eddie.
“If you want to smoke one in the bathroom, I’ll make sure the flight attendant is distracted,” Jeff offers. He’s not usually one to push the rules, but Eddie clearly needs something to relax. “But try to be quick and make sure you use the air freshener to get rid of the smell.”
Eddie hugs him, thanks him, and rushes into the bathroom. Jeff shakes his head. He’ll call Steve when they get to the hotel tonight and give him a heads up on the smoking thing. He won’t be mad, just worried. And hopefully, when they get back home in a couple weeks, Eddie will drop the habit and replace the oral fixation with his boyfriend’s dick.
Prompt Day 25: smoking section | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: smoking | POV: Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, AU - no Upside Down, sharing a cigarette (the sluttiest thing two people can do)
“You’re him, right? The music guy?”
Eddie looks up from his examination of his fingernails. There’s a guy standing in the entrance of the smokers’ section, wearing a polo shirt that denotes him as venue barstaff. He’s got a glorious swoop of hair, that Eddie, as something of a hair guy himself, can appreciate. He also looks exhausted – understandable, given Corroded Coffin had packed the house out tonight. Poor guy was probably run off his feet.
“The music guy?” Eddie echoes, around his cigarette. He doesn’t do groupies, so if this is that then he’ll be pretending to be anyone other than who he is.
“Yeah,” the guy says, though a note of doubt does creep into his tone. Perhaps not. “You know, with the guitar or whatever.”
He mimes playing the guitar, which – dorky. Cute. It’s both. Eddie likes both, so to speak, he plays for both teams. He runs his eyes over the guy again, noting he’s very good-looking. “That’s me,” he says, chuckling. He digs in his pocket for his pack, and holds it out. “Want one?”
The guy takes one, and Eddie lights it for him. He mirrors Eddie, leaning against the wall with about a foot between them. Eddie watches him in his peripheral vision; he takes a few leisurely drags, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes.
“Did you enjoy the show?” Eddie asks, after a while. He’s curious, but not hopeful – Mr Handsome looks very straight-laced, very pop-rock, very church on Sundays.
“I could see this much of you from the bar,” the guy says, framing his face between his two hands from his eyebrows to the top of his head.
“And yet you still came looking, huh?” Eddie can’t help himself, can’t help dipping his toe in the waters to test them – he’s a born flirt.
Gorgeous shoots him a bitchy sideways look that sets Eddie’s heart aflutter, especially when the corner of his mouth twitches ever-so-slightly. “I don’t know that the sound is for me,” he says, with distaste, the way one would say a daily colonoscopy is not for them.
Eddie might be in love.
“Ed! Come on dude, we gotta go!” Jeff calls from the doorway. Eddie lifts himself away from the wall, ashing his cigarette and tossing Handsome a charming grin and a waggle of his fingers.
“See you tomorrow night,” he croons, following Jeff out.
***
“It could grow on me,” Mr Handsome says, appearing and taking his spot against the wall in the smokers’ section near Eddie.
“What could? Mould? Probably need to get that checked, big boy.”
Oh that look of bitchy contempt. Eddie’s going to write a love song about it.
“I mean, if you want to compare your music to mould,” he says, lifting a brow. He sticks out his hand and opens and closes it in a give me gesture. Eddie’s already handing over a cigarette.
“Either way, you came back,” Eddie says, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Mr Handsome’s gaze follows the motion for a flicker of a heartbeat before it darts away.
“I work here. I have to come back.”
“No, I think it’s me, I think you’re obsessed with me and you’re Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan,” Eddie teases. Their shoulders brush, leather against polo. Behind Mr Beautiful’s head, Gareth appears, gesturing for Eddie to hurry up.
“There’s that famous rockstar ego, huh?” Handsome says.
“Guilty. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he leaves. “Third and final show.”
“I wouldn’t count on it!”
***
Gorgeous is already waiting for him the next night.
“Steve.” When Eddie lifts a questioning brow, Gorgeous points at himself. “I’m Steve.”
He doesn’t offer Eddie a pack of cigarettes – he offers Eddie his own lit one. Eddie takes it, their fingertips brushing. Steve watches Eddie bring the cigarette to his lips, his eyes trained on Eddie’s mouth, on the way they indirectly kiss by touching the same spot. Eddie feels it so acutely, more than he has in a long time – the loneliness of the road and the lifestyle that he’s been ignoring, the deep longing for his person. It’s a strange thing, to miss someone you haven’t even met yet.
But Eddie’s had the beautiful bartender – Steve – on his mind for two days now.
And Eddie… well Eddie’s never exactly played it safe.
“You know the French have a saying,” he begins, conversationally, “‘qui allume encule,’ which roughly says, ‘light their cigarette, fuck them in the ass.’” He holds the cigarette out for Steve to take back.
He’s gone very still though, and Eddie tenses, suddenly aware that Steve is clearly athletic stock; probably well and truly capable of kicking Eddie’s ass. Maybe he read this wrong, maybe Steve wasn’t looking at him like that, maybe he’s been alone so long he can’t read signs anymore–
“You just threatening me with a good time, or you gonna follow through?” Steve asks, low and husky.
Eddie blinks, because he didn’t realise they were standing so close – they’re facing each other, their shoulders against the wall, a scant six inches between their chests. Eddie can smell his delicious cologne, and see the green in his hazel eyes. Steve tilts his head, rocking a little closer. They’re alone in this smokers’ section, the venue already closed up for the night.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eddie says regretfully. His hand finds Steve’s hip, and slips around to his lower back.
Steve shrugs. “I don’t like this job much. My best friend has always wanted to design band merch.” Both his hands rest on Eddie’s chest.
“Did you just hire yourself to my crew?” Their noses brush.
“Someone has to come keep your ego in check.” Steve’s mouth ghosts against the corner of Eddie’s lips.
“I promise you none of this is deflating my ego,” Eddie says, and before Steve can answer, he captures his open mouth in a kiss.
Eddie, realizing that he didn't take his ferret out of his sweatshirt sleeve before leaving to school, turns to Steve like, "You wanna see my hairy noodle?"
Steve is just, "...sure."
Eddie wiggled his arm until his pet crawls out of his shirt and Steve is just like, "Oh. Thank god. I thought you were gonna get your cock out. Let me hold your hamster."
"He's a f-" Eddie loses his ferret and his mind because, "why did you say yes if you thought I was talking about my dick?"
Prompt Day 22: “Clap on, clap off, The Clapper!” | Word Count: 997 | Rating: M | CW: push and shove, language | POV: Steve | Pairing(s): Steddie | Tags: i’m borrowing Band Manager!Steve but making it enemies to lovers, Famous Corroded Coffin, Eddie calls it Selling Out, Steve calls it Paying Our Damn Bills
“Absolutely f–”
“Language!”
“–ucking not. Absolutely not, Harrington. I don’t care what they offered.”
“What did they offer?” Gareth asks, curiously.
“Traitor,” Eddie hisses.
“A lot,” Steve says, arms folded, the world’s bitchiest expression trained directly on Eddie – the lone dissenter. “Like enough to have us on the road for a year, easy. Enough to replace your kit–” Gareth’s drumkit has seen better days, and those better days were like two decades ago, “–enough to replace all your instruments if you wanted.”
Eddie is returning Steve’s stare with equal intensity, and Steve hates that his gut heats every time Eddie narrows those big brown eyes at him. Steve might be bitchy, but Eddie’s brand of mean is bratty; the gorgeous rockstar who can get anything he wants, who can always get his way, hamstrung by the band manager who tries to keep the four of them on earth.
They’re kind of friends? In that they’d die for each other – almost did – and Eddie had decked that skeezy club manager who’d been so horrible to Steve that one time, and Steve had gone nuclear on that chick Eddie had briefly dated who had not only been using him for the advancement her quote-unquote acting career – and Steve uses the term acting very sarcastically, because she was shit – but also fucking another guy on the side. Eddie is protective, and possessive, and Steve is jealous, but if you’d asked them they’d say they fucking hate each other.
Maybe it’s fairer to say they just know exactly how to push each other's buttons and rile the other up after all these years, but the mortal enemies angle is good for media attention. It lets Eddie say bitchy things – “Our manager you know, he’s a penny-pinching asshole, you’ll have to ask him directly why we haven’t done Oceania yet,” – in the press, without grievously offending anyone important in the industry.
Jeff sing-songs, “Clap on, clap off, The Clapper!” and Eddie hisses at him too, but is ignored. “That’s easy. We should do it.”
“It’s selling out,” Eddie says loudly. No one listens.
“Can we sing it rock ‘n’ roll style, not jingly?” Frank asks, like Eddie isn’t even there.
“Of course,” Steve says congenially. He loves when the boys take his side over Eddie’s. He knows they’re sick of the both them, of their bickering and their tension. Jeff has said more than once, you know there’s a thin line between love and hate right, and Frank, who’s far less subtle, has outright told Steve to just, “Fuck Eddie, or get fucked by him, it doesn’t matter, but maybe it’ll calm you both down.”
“They want you to do the ad in your style,” Steve adds, ignoring Eddie’s louder, “Absolutely not!”
“Ed, come on,” Jeff says, ever the voice of reason. “Think of the money.”
Corroded Coffin are on the rise, and fast, but money like that would make the next year so much more stress-free. It’s easily enough to take their time recording their next album, to tour, or even to take a break from touring if they’re exhausted, without having to worry about cashflow.
“It’s selling out!” Eddie repeats, shouting, and he’s such a fucking idiot, Steve can’t take it.
“Munson, hallway, now,” he snaps, not waiting to see if Eddie follows him.
He does, arms already crossed, his expression thunderous. “I’m not letting my band join the ranks of corporate sellouts, making soulless garbage, Steve, we’ve been over this before, about the integrity of the–”
Steve shoves him, and that shuts him up quick. Eddie blinks, those life-ruining eyes all wide and shocked and Steve loves that look on him, can easily imagine it as his view from above while Eddie’s on his knees and– focus Harrington. They’ve never come to physical blows before.
Eddie’s lush mouth presses into a thin line; he uncrosses his arms and shoves Steve right back.
“Have I steered you wrong yet?” Steve says, with another shove. “Have I done anything that’s not in the best interests of this band?” Shove. “I know it’s your baby,” shove, “I know–”
Eddie shoves back again, his fingers curling in Steve’s shirt and holding on. “You just have to push me don’t you, you just have to push–”
Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s talking about the physical pushing at all, and Steve’s half-hard already because this is years of tension, years since he’d been shoved against a boathouse wall and has thought about that physical dominance ever since – at first thinking he hated it, hated the way it made him feel weaker, but then thinking about the way Eddie’s grip on his collar had yanked at the last second so Steve wouldn’t hit the back of his head on the wall…
“Just trying to get you to admit you actually want it,” Steve hisses, and he’s not talking about the band or the lifestyle or the fucking clapper ad either.
“Oh fuck you, Harrington, you already know,” Eddie snarls, and then he’s shoving Steve against the wall again and his mouth is on Steve’s – hot and hard, despite the softness of his lips, demanding and taking and not fucking asking anymore. Steve answers in kind, fisting his hands in Eddie’s hair and tugging, because they’ve been asking each other for too long – dancing around their feelings, both asking the other through inaction to make the first move, arguing like it’s fucking foreplay. Steve laughs into Eddie’s mouth, and gets kissed harder for it – maybe it was foreplay.
“I’ll do your fucking ad,” Eddie breathes against Steve’s lips, “if I get something in return.”
“You already know you can have anything you want. Everything you want,” Steve snaps. Eddie’s thigh slides between his own and he bites out a moan.
Eddie’s grin says he knows Steve isn’t talking about just payment for doing the ad. Steve doesn’t give a fuck anymore. Eddie’s mouth is worth his pride.
I don't think Steve would feel insecure about his scars per se, but with the fucking road rash on his back and arms?? there's no way that boy will ever be able to swim like he used to again. all that scar tissue is going to restrict his range of motion permanently. he's definitely gonna be upset about that.
It's called the Global Justice Report, it is here. This is an actionable plan which can be sent to legislators and demanded of political parties. We could save the world within our lifetimes.
It has always been possible. It is still possible.
trans Steve who gets top surgery but (in the process of removing the excess skin) they remove a freckle that was right next to his nipple and Eddie mourns the loss of the freckle so dramatically that Steve gives in and allows Eddie to tattoo a replacement freckle onto him once he's fully healed
Pt. 2 | First time sitting up - April 15th '86
"Slow and steady, now."
<- Part 1 (prev.) Part 3 (next) ->
What's dat weird patch on Eddie's torso, you're wondering? Well yes, I gave him some skin transplantation. I guess that, with a flesh wound this big, it's the only thing that makes sense to me? Anyway, i had great fun going into detail with all the wounds and scars. Realistically, i think it would look way worse after only 2-3 weeks post-surgery but ...ah hell, I'm not here to make anyone look at the nastiest shit.
I've also thought about adding a urinary catheter but...maybe that's a bit too much :|
Why's his torso bare, you ask? Well, look,... these wounds need to breathe, ok? No other reason 🤫
My eternal thanks to @dapandapod , who requested more bruises...but also for kicking my arse while watching the drawing process in my stream and for keeping me entertained with weird music. Ily.
Ohhh and here's my poor attempt to advertise my Instagram. My art gets shadowbanned all the fucking time so... I dunno what to do 🙃
I know Tumblr is full of posts about the virtues of commenting on AO3 fics and such. But like. It works.
I just knocked out 8.5k words in one single day for a chapter update because of one reader leaving one of the most absurdly endearing comments I’ve ever gotten. That is unheard of levels of productivity for me.
The power of the fandom. The power of the comment.
Full of Thoughts @dreamsteddie - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
