Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest pop-up event Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Happy Pride, everyone!) | Prompt: Yellow | Song: [redacted spoiler - revealed at the end] | Word Count: ~950 | Rating: T | Characters: Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson, Gareth Emerson, Jeff, Doug, Fluffy | CW: Crack fic (almost literally), slightly lewd language, pure unadulterated nonsense | Tags: Corroded Coffin, on tour, Eddie has a crisis | Summary: Eddie’s no slouch when it comes to dressing up on stage, but this time even he thinks he may have taken things too far…
My masterlist
It’s the first night of Corroded Coffin’s new tour, and, true to form, Eddie’s having some kind of crisis. Tonight, it’s about his outfit.
“Look, I know the low slung red rubber trousers went a bit far. And that studded harness was a health and safety nightmare…”
Gareth scoffs, grinning,
“You’re telling me, when I tried to hug you after the gig you almost pierced a lung!”
Eddie winces. He really should’ve considered the practicalities of that one a little more. He adjusts a strap and continues his machinations.
“And that Lurex jumpsuit was great, but I kept getting the flares caught in the cabling… I almost fell off the stage way too many times, and I thought I was gonna strangle and die at one point.”
He looks sideways at himself in the dresser.
“But, this new thing… Are you sure it’s not… too much?”
Eddie turns so he’s fully facing the mirror. Tonight, he’s in a mesh bodysuit, the wide neckline allowing him to pull it down around his shoulders, and his favourite high black leather boots. He’s strapped his torso into a new harness, one with somewhat smaller and less… aggressive studs. The steel through his nipples glitters under the lights, and his dark tattoos are brought into perfect relief against his pale skin, peeping through the gaps in the harness and the netting. He knows he looks good, and ordinarily he’d just add some PVC hotpants and maybe a leather codpiece and be good to go. But tonight, overtop, there’s a special new addition that even he’s nervous about showing off.
Jeff assuages his fears, knowing a confident Eddie is a rockstar god Eddie.
“Nah, man. You can totally carry it off.”
Gareth agrees.
“Yeah, do it!”
Doug adds, spreading his arms wide for emphasis,
“Fuck it, man. YOLO, right?”
Eddie remains unconvinced.
“I dunno… It’s pretty revealing. And it’s also a little… snug. In certain… areas. Especially when I’m holding Sweetheart...”
It’s late. They’re due on stage any minute. They all know that if Eddie has to figure out a whole new look they’re gonna fuck up the schedule… So, Jeff seals the deal.
“Okay, how about this. If you wear it for tonight’s gig, I’ll donate my cut to that dog charity that helped us so much with Fluffy when we toured the UK, and I’ll wear one of their pins for the whole tour. Their awareness colour is yellow, right?”
On hearing her name Fluffy, the fully baptised fifth member of Corroded Coffin, stirs. She looks up, intrigued, as her tongue flops out the side of her wide Staffie grin and her tail thumps heavily a couple of times against her comfy, monogrammed bed. After concluding the anticipated treats aren’t on the immediate horizon, she snuggles back down, her yellow bandana shifting around her thick neck - still her signature style even if she doesn’t need it nearly as much as she used to.
There’s a low clamour in the room as everyone else concurs, searching their bags for the souvenir enamels that they all purchased last year. Eddie still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable, but with an offer like this on the table, for his favourite girl? He can’t help but agree…
🎶🎵 Bop bop bop bop, ba-dop-pop-pop-pop-pop 🎵🎶
He was afraid to come out of the green room
He was as nervous as he could be
He didn’t want to come out of the green room
He was too scared that somebody would see
🎶 Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
So, in the green room, he trembled with fright
🎶 Two, three, four, stick around we'll tell you more 🎶
He didn’t want to come out in the open
And so behind Gareth’s drumkit he sat
He was too scared to come out in the open
And so he squatted behind the high hat
🎶Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
So, by the drumkit, he stayed out of sight
🎶 Two, three, four, stick around we'll tell you more 🎶
Now he’s afraid to remove his guita-ar
And they wonder what he’s gonna do
He doesn’t want to take off his guita-ar
Though his poor little balls have turned blue
🎶 Two, three, four, tell the people what he wore 🎶
It was an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini
That he wore for the first time tonight
An itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow, polka dot mankini…
Then he said, “Fuck it!” and strutted all night!
[SOCIAL MEDIA INTERLUDE]
Corroded Coffin’s frontman Eddie Munson WOWS crowds with daring new look!
Mankini sales soar as rockstar Munson brings back the iconic garment
Pantone announces Mankini Yellow as next year’s colour of the year
UK changes Union flag to Yellow, White and Blue
Vogue ditches supermodel cover to feature scantily yellow-clad metal band
Coldplay frontman Chris Martin reveals that Yellow was actually about Eddie’s banana hammock all along
Fluffy launches designer pet wear range - yellow bandanas a top seller!
Donations to charities for nervous dogs reach an all time high - one says they can keep going for a decade on recent contributions alone
🎶 From the green room to the drumkit
From his guitar to the stage
Eddie Munson’s a new icon
His mankini’s all the rage! 🎶
🎶🎵 Bop pop pop 🎵🎶
[Song used: Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini by Brian Hyland]
Thanks so much for reading! 😃
A/N: Yellow Dog UK is a real charity that promotes awareness and understanding of “yellow dogs”, who may be nervous, in training, recovering from an injury or illness, being rehabilitated or simply prefer to keep their distance from people and other dogs. Yellow ribbons, leads, harnesses or bandanas can indicate that a dog may be anxious or in need of space. It signals to others to be gentle, give room, and avoid sudden or intrusive approaches.
A/N2: This might be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written and I AM NOT SORRY
Galas. He didn’t much care for them. In the past, he had used them as an excuse to drink copious amounts of expensive alcohol and get plastered. Seizing the chance to make a mockery of his parents, only to blame it on his drunken state. Whether they had thrown a charity dinner, entertained a client, or dragged him to whatever party put on by whatever donor, he always found a way to liven things up. However, that would not be the case tonight. No, he would resign himself to being woefully behaved and relatively quiet in the presence of Covaire’s citizens and the elite as much as it pained him. Biting his lip, he thought back to the last Gala and how he had fallen prey to some rather unsavory company. Pulling his hood up over his head, he pressed himself against the chair. His hands were idly fiddling with a straw basket. He watched each body that passed, trying to pick apart what piece of literature they were personifying. Some were obvious, while others he couldn’t discern. Kicking his legs up on the adjacent empty chair, he amused himself by slathering a questionable amount of butter on a roll. Seeing a shadow cast over the table, he didn’t move his gaze to look up. “Ja, honor zee dead py drezing up in helaporate cosdumes und drinking yourzelf zilly. Pecauze clearly, zat’s vat zee slain vould’fe vanded.” Israel stated in his dead-pan tone, waving the knife around in the air haphazardly. “Henchoying yourzelf?” He asked, pointing the butter knife at them lackadaisically. A smirk drawing across his lips as he cocked his head and finally looked up. “Efferyone drezed up to zeir teeth?”
Dai cousins! We’ve got a small correction for yesterday’s announcement regarding the writer’s workshop - Diane will not actually be a part of the workshop, it will be run solely by Mark Oshiro. But fear not, you'll still be able to hear Diane talk about writing and publishing at a different panel another time during the weekend. Our apologies for any confusion!
israel skelton | little red riding hood | cc gala 2021
Israel has always adored the story of Little Red Riding Hood ever since he was young. The story of the clever little girl who pulled the wool over the clever beast’s eyes amused him. He found it only fitting to dawn the red hood himself, given his client’s nickname. Sticking to his roots, and because he liked the wait-staff outfit he had to wear last Gala, he dawns a light brown lederhosen-Esque outfit with golden accents and a long red cape with a bow. His argyle socks are held up by garter belts and accent his white and black heeled booties.
Everything was so fuzzy now. Probably due to the dying neurons in his brain. Then again, he would rather not remember his untimely death. Although the details were fuzzy he could still recall brief flashes with phantom pain still buzzing through his half-dead brain. Now he roamed amongst the dead and the living but caught in a between state. He was very much physically dead but mentally his brain had yet to succomb to the mindless and feral ways of the "truly dead". The cravings for flesh still pulled at him but he kept them at bay by feeding off the already dead. It wasn't appealing in taste but it was enough to stave off his hankerings. Clutching his arm awkwardly, to hold it in place, the male settled himself down on the ground in the lower level of the hospital. Rummaging through his messenger bag he pulled out a roll of duct tape. The limb in his grasp squishing sickeningly in between his scarred, nimble fingers as his grip slackened. His body twisting this way on the ground, an annoyed look crossing his face as the arm fell from his grasp and onto the ground. “Fucking schit damn it!” He cursed softly. Moving to retrieve the sad-looking limb from the ground, Is practically jumped as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. Uncoiling the tape he haphazardly jabbed the arm against his shoulder, wrapping the tape around the limb.
“Ko avay!” He called over his shoulder, the heavy accent dripping from his feverish words. Obviously, his words did nothing to deter the person. Is quickly wrapped the tape, cutting it with his teeth. Eyes widening at the face that greeted him and for a moment he could’ve sworn that he was going to throw up. Quickly he shoved the tape behind his back, rolling the sleeve of his plain, black shirt over the quick fix to his arm. Tugging his jacket on he looked down the narrow entryway. “Z- zorry… Uh, vu… vu snuck up on me.” He started, laughing nervously. For a moment he almost lifted his decapitated arm before he stopped himself. Well, this was awkward. “Zorry...” The brunette added quickly, clearing his throat. He could already feel his arm slipping from its perch. He could hear the tape crackling under his sleeve.
A state or period in which there is no war or a war has ended.
It’s laughable. The thought of ‘peace’ in this place. I used to think it was possible, once. But that was many years ago. I was naive, stupid, my mind could be molded like putty. Peace doesn’t exist. It never has. Not here. Not anywhere. It’s just something people think about to give themselves a sound mind. It’s a fantasy concept. It's like fucking for virginity. There’s always going to be something disrupting the current of life. Because that’s how life works. Maybe, maybe this will be the end. Lights out forever. The hunters would surely storm the prison cells because we’re easy pickens. Why not kill the scum of Covaire off first? Logically it makes sense.
I remember running into a hunter once. Staring down at the Beretta 93R he held all too calmly in our apartment. I remember tonguing the barrel of the gun as it was shoved past my lips and silently wondering if it had ever been cleaned properly. How many people have had its chamber fuck their mouths? I couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. I laugh during the most inappropriate times. There’s nothing funny about someone threatening to blow your brains out. But it makes me feel better. Laughing brings me peace.
Hygge. A quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being. I used to know what this feeling meant but not anymore. Strange how that happens. That we just... forget?
Have you ever tried to speak with a gun in your mouth? It isn’t easy. You only speak in thick muffled syllables. If even that. With some effort, I managed to push the gun into my cheek. I carefully asked him-- tried to ask him what he would accomplish by killing me. His answer? He didn’t know. It would just bring him peace of mind. In his eyes, I was a monster. I mean he wasn’t wrong. But. Keep in mind this was before I toppled off the ledge of sanity. I know, a weird concept to think about. I asked him calmly why he thought I was a monster. I already knew the answer to his question. But I wanted to hear him say it anyway. It wasn’t because I shifted in front of him. No, I’m sloppy but not that sloppy. Although, I suppose I’ve grown sloppier over the years. I’ve reached a point in my life where I’ve just kind of stopped caring.
Anyway, I watched him as he produced a file and waved it in my face smugly. I stared - dumbfounded and confused. A manila folder. That’s what had started all of this? Then it hit me. He had stumbled upon my research on cell regeneration. I can’t remember much of what happened after that. I just remember watching the gun leave my mouth. Strands of saliva stretching against the barrel. I remember watching him blubber that he didn’t want to do this. And I all too calmly standing there with the disgusting thing pressed to my temple. Eventually, the cops arrived. Situation deescalated. And I moved on with my life.
At this moment I feel oddly at peace. I have no clue what is going on beyond these walls. Why? Because I’m in solitary confinement. I hear nothing. I see nothing. I’m just... existing? I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. A couple weeks? Maybe a month? I’m surprised they took my threat seriously this time. That I would really take that broken mop handle and jam it into my fucking aorta. I must’ve looked really fucking desperate. If anything I’m really fucking desperate for a cheeseburger smothered in mushrooms and onions. My thoughts on food are suddenly disrupted by voices. Am I hearing things again? Maybe I’m actually dying. No, no. Not dying and the voices aren’t my imagination. The guards are talking about the mess outside again. Something about traitors, the high tensions in the city. Maybe Covaire would implode on itself. Oh, that would be funny. I snicker but it’s not like you can hear it.
I wonder... What if they do actually storm the prison? Would they kill us? Or would they free us? Maybe they would enslave us. Wouldn’t be the first time humans have enslaved anyone. Hell, they enslave their own kind. But maybe they’d keep the useful ones alive. I could be useful. Granted for my own personal gain. Maybe this could be my ticket out of here.
“Are you going to actually behave now?” A voice asks. I look up and grin. I don’t know the meaning of that word. Behave? It isn’t in my extensive vocabulary. They know this. Do I ever? I ask in return before the door opens. You know what they say about doors?
