#*narrator voice* it was not a normal amount

[miumiins]

i swear i like him a normal amount

[thousand-winters]

This one person: Do you like Star Wars?

Me, who asked about their SW AU bc I have my own so yeah, of course???: Eh... a normal amount

[skwtches]

Shout-out to that scene in the Tigger movie where Rabbit is the last one to run to him as he tosses him up into that tree to save him, I know it was only 1 second but it was Peak cinema.

FRR ITS SO GOOD

i think abt it a normal amount <3

[cicadaknight]

finally started disco elysium and it’s only the first day but i’m so stressed about finding enough money to keep a roof over my head

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!eddie

part 2 here | ao3 link here

Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.

Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. 

… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.

But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.

“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”

Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.

“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”

The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?

He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.

Fucking yay. 

Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.

“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.

Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”

“Right.”

“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.

The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.

“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”

Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.

But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.

Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.

Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”

Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ‘Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.

The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.

“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.

Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.

“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”

“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back. 

... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.

“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.

‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.” 

Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.

Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”

“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.

Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.

They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur. 

It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.

“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.

Steve nods. “It is.”

“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”

“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”

Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”

“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”

Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.

While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.

Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.

There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.

The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne. 

Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.

Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.

Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence. 

It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.

Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.

Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…

His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.

The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”

And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.

Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.

God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.

The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.

“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.

Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.

Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”

Oh. So he���s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.

Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”

“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”

“Not like that one though.”

“No?”

Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”

They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.

And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.

Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.

It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.

But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.

This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.

[junkissed]

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

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you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words. 

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not. 

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now. 

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being. 

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it. 

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself. 

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him. 

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply. 

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest. 

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

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i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[infernally-fond]

Orb of Infernal Envisioning - Unused Lines

I hadn't seen this mentioned prior - but there are some (to my knowledge) unused lines for the Orb of Infernal Envisioning in Helsik's shop for any interested.

Disclaimers, disclaimers -- if something doesn't make it into the final text of the published work, it's perfectly reasonable to ignore it for the sake of implications/theories that result from what is explicitly in the text/game itself.

This is just for fun. As is, you know, *all* of this. So.

If Raph's alive:

Narrator: *Your reflection looks back at you, smiling. As the skin burns and peels from its skull, the smile grows wider and wider and wider...*

Narrator: *The ball shows you a vision of yourself so lewd and blasphemous that your soul feels stained.*

Narrator: *Within the crystal, you see the devil Raphael sipping from a goblet of blood-red wine. He smiles as he catches your eye - can he see you?* [[the line we normally encounter]]

Narrator: *The image within the ball drifts through the corridors of an elegant house. Corpses hang from the walls.*

Narrator: *With the clarity of truth, you see an image of yourself laid out on a table like a suckling pig, ready for the carving.*

If you've been a Bad Client (TM):

Narrator: *You see the corridors of the House of Hope. Bloated flies buzz lazily around the corpses of imps and debtors.*

Narrator: *The ball replays the final moments of Raphael's life over and over and over and over...*

Narrator: *Within the ball you see Raphael, broken and bloody, dangling above the maw of the archdevil Mephistopheles who is preparing to devour him.* [[the line we normally encounter]]

Screenshot of the above:

I'm by no means a lore repository - no amount of hyperfixation can make digesting it en masse particularly easy for me. But! I'll tie my thoughts to this nonetheless.

First, we have our canon line: "...He smiles as he catches your eye - can he see you? *denotes: final phrase as incredulous and a little scared"

So we have the writers prompting us to at least entertain the idea that Raphael is placidly aware that you (or someone) is looking in on him - and he smiles! No big deal, favored client! Cheers to you, etc, etc. You're meant to be ill at ease here. I doubt any of us do - but, you're meant to. The average person would.

We'll block these out temporally because it was my first instinct to do so. :)

Past Events -

We have the play-by-play of Raphael's last moments. (GLaDOS voice: "You know, after you murdered me?")

To any player who would have seen this, this is real. Verifiable. The orb is showing you a true thing that happened, and you know because you were there. Doesn't get better than that.

Even if he doesn't ultimately die and there's some grand plot hitherto unseen, the beatdown replayed on the big screen is correct. You'd know if it wasn't.

Premise 1: The orb can show you accurately represented events.

Current 'Events' -

Example: Your reflection has a lab accident moment.

The use of reflection is critical to establish the point in time. You move to the left, it moves to the left. It's right now. And, right now, your skin seems to be melting off your face.

Unless there was an intended accompanied face-melted ending that would have accompanied this dropped line, this was written to be scary and provably false. Tav, touch your face. Exactly.

So:

Premise 2: The orb can show you grotesque illusions not bounded by fact.

Future Events

Ex 1: "*With the clarity of truth, you see an image of yourself laid out on a table like a suckling pig, ready for the carving."

'With the clarity of truth' is an obvious bid to double check any accusations of falsehood, and we're diligent enough to play along.

The only condition to checked to trigger this text is for Raphael to be alive -- regardless if you take his deal, go to his home, etc.

For all roads to lead to Player-Character-buffet seems unreasonable. Impossible, even. Unlawful. I'm calling a lawyer, hang on-

And so we hit a debate on how to interpret the sense of 'truth' you feel from the orb. I think this line reads best from the equivalence of failing some Wisdom check -- you are very sure it's true, but it's an Orb of Infernal Envisioning. Click again. You just saw your reflection melt.

So I think this is a lie.

So we expand Premise 2 a little.

Premise 2, v2: The orb can show you grotesque illusions not bounded by fact. This includes false visions of the future.

Ex. 2: The Blasphemy.

*The ball shows you a vision of yourself so lewd and blasphemous that your soul feels stained.*

Right.

So this has to be the future, because unless you are electing to do some very wild shit while looking into the orb, this is not the current situation.

There is a lot of vagueness here - but, I think that because it is so vague and any variety of Tav/Durge/Origin character can see it and have this response. This is a run-of-the-mill, customized vision of torment meant to get the desired reaction.

It's not about truth, it's not about warning. It's just the infernal variation of a jump scare.

If the content of the vision can be customizable in this fashion, it reveals something else - it's not a specific lie, a specific truth, or any quality of the content itself that 'matters' to the orb. No, what matters is the reaction. Your soul feels stained, doesn't matter how.

Varying Perspectives

Across these, we see the vision in the orb take the perspective of someone following/viewing Raphael (Wine-Snob-Hour, Looped-Death, Saturn-Moment), following/viewing you (Lab-Accident, Dead-Dove-Do-Not-Ohhh Yikes), some unanchored POV that isn't dead-phael ("You see the corridors of the House of Hope. Bloated flies buzz lazily around the corpses of imps and debtors.")

The visions mostly occur in the House of Hope; Cambion dinner is in Mephistar, your reflection is presumably in the Devil's Fee on the Material Plane.

We're not fixed to see any specific time, in any specific realm, to see any specific person. And we're not even guaranteed to see any specific degree of lie.

So what's the point of this fucking thing?

Provable fact is used one time across this set - the first thing we covered. You killed Raphael.

The only time the orb tells you the verifiable truth, it does so "over and over and over and over..."

Because it hurts you. Or, well, it's intended to.

That's it, that's the whole thing. The only time it evokes the (known) truth is when said truth torments you. Otherwise, it's scary what-ifs, cheap jump scares, and the corpses of imps and debtors you had a hand in creating.

All of this can be context to slightly reframe the vision of the moment before filicide with Mephistopheles. All of these visions are brief and so what one selects to provide details of is very revealing.

In this vision you're granted two adjectives:

You see Raphael, broken and bloody, about to die again.

If we stick to the expanded interpretation that the orb shows only what will get the desired reaction, this isn't narrative to resolve a loose thread. It's not closure. It's shown because the orb manifests what is expected to make you suffer - or at least take pause and sort of steep in the disquiet of the consequences for a moment.

Reaching waaaay across the narrative and very out of my lane for this post, so much of the tone in the HoH arc is campy humor, but I don't think this was meant to be.

The specific call out to watching him die 'over and over and over and over', to his 'broken and bloody' form is not flippant language. It's certainly not campy.

I think the tonal shift for this conclusion (while pretty jarring, I gotta admit) is meant to be pretty somber for Raph.

But many players have just bounced down the sequence of "lol he's a bottom" to "Haarlep said that's twice as long as-" to "omg he sings his own song" to victory and, then -- "wtf someone's eating him?"

It's an odd pivot. People have to be primed for sympathy, and I certainly didn't read the writing for the orb as intending to pull at something uncomfortable in the player post-HoH when put in context with the high-score-streak of chamberpot-humor. I can only back into that interpretation when looking at the full set of narration the orb was set to provide at some point.

Kinda wild.

[idkwhyyouaskingm3-blog]

Before the next episode I thought I'd stick all the information I found on Error on here. It's all a bit messy but I spend an embarrassing amount of time doing this over the past few months so might as well share it (I'm so normal about this podcast):

Timeline

(If the monster in episode 1 is Error then it is at the Magnus Institute Manchester on 12/05/22)

09/03/24 - Magnus Institute Manchester - Appears to be trapped under a trap door until Sam drops a key and it manages to escape

20/03/24 - Milton Court Open Space - Violet Abigail Parker is found dead. Statement taken presumably the pervious night in an Ally way.

22/03/24 - Ally outside of Gladstone Arms, Lant Street - Alice finds a victim of Errors full of water and narrating how she drowned. Tape found next to body.

12/04/24 - Old Warehouse address not given - Error 'saves' Gwen from Ink5ouls by claiming her as its own. (Error may have taken a statement from Ink5ouls as well). Leaves Tape Recorder with Ink5ouls and it bites them.

14/04/24 - Park within walking distance of 17 Gransden Avenue, Hackney - Error takes Mr Jarrod's statement. Having him run around the park in circles. Mr Jarrod is found by Alexander who seems to snap him out the compulsion. Error states it's an archivist, records Mr Jarrods final words then leaves without the recorder.

13/05/24 - Outside OIAR Royal Mint Court - Takes Sam's statement. Appears to be looking for information about the Magnus Institute and stops when Sam thinks about Hilltop Road. Leaves Sam alive but laying in the rain with tape recorder

13/05/24 - Paddington Station - On a train that's on it's way to Oxford

Known locations on a map

Tape Recorder

Starting off with something obvious. Tape recorders are present every time Error is. We don't know if Error has multiple or not. They also seem to be alive. We see them moving on multiple occasions and Error leaves without the Tape Recorder whenever we've seen it take a statement. We don't know what happens to the Tape Recorder once the statement is taken. Other people can hold the tape recorder but they do bite. Ink5ouls hasn't been seen since they touched the Tape Recorder. (Notes below)

Error Description

Error is on 'screen' in a number of episodes. It calls itself an archivist which makes sense given it came out of a trapped door in the archive.

It has laboured breathing and speaks in short sentences in a raspy female voice.

Characters don't see it coming as it emerges and recedes from shadows even when it's sunny. It's been described as being cloaked in shadows and pained whispers. To me it sounds like it's surrounded by pervious statements.

It's also described as having too many eyes and as a watching figure. Even when it's eyes can't be seen you can still feel it watching you. (Notes below)

Episode 1 has a 'monster' that sounds similar to Error but it should be still trapped under the trapped door and it uses modern tech when Error uses Tapes. They both are watches, stalkers, and associated with eyes.

Statements

This is more of a feeling than a fact but the cases taken from victims seem to fit more with the original fears than the other cases.

The drowned woman Alice finds statement fits well with the buried. Her description of drowning is very similar to how Daisy describes being in the coffin just water instead of dirt. What's interesting is the water is salt water but the closest water source is a river. Salt representing the body in alchemy

Violets seems to hit on a lot of the stereotypical Lonely statements (fog, no one will find me, locked doors, literally ends with "I'm alone") Mentions of yellow which could link to alchemy. Daffodils are probably another reference to William Woodsworth.

Mr Jarrod's running and being chased which feels a lot like a hunt statement.

Gwens statement is about a fox full of maggots so feels a lot like a corruption statement

Sam's seems a lot like a flesh statement. More so as the statement goes on.

Ink5ouls I struggle to place and feels a lot more like a standard TMAGP statement.

Victims

Victims seem to get stuck in their worst nightmare. While they're still seen in the real world they seem to have physical reactions to the nightmare. Drown victim drowns, Violet ends up miles from her home, Mr Jarrod runs until he's caught.

Victims seem to come back to the real world when they interact with other people. Mr Jarrod briefly see's Alex, drown victim dropping in and out of the water could be when she bumps into people, Ink5ouls continues to interact with Gwen basically the whole time she's giving the statement so never fully goes to the nightmare. Should be noted that Gwen, Sam (and Ink5ouls) don't die in the nightmare and as a result don't die in real life. Other victims do.

My theory is that Error is using the victims statements and the tapes filled with them to stay in this dimension and not get kicked back out. It lives off of the fear and this universe isn't the fears. That's why it doesn't walk in and walk out. It appears and recedes. That's why Sam "recedes" into the statement.

Magnus Institute Manchester Ruins (Burned down in 1999)

Error first shows up under a trapped door under the Archive in the Magnus Institute Manchester. It's in a similar place to the one in the TMA Archives.

In episode 1 we get a description of the institute in 2022. It's described as being badly burned but the flooring being in a good state. Alternatively, just 2 years later, the floor is badly rotten to the point where Alice and Sam fall through it multiple times. It appears that there's more water damage done to the institute between 2022 and 2024 than between 1999 and 2022. This could be due to RedCanary maybe waking something up or letting something out?

RedCanary didn't find any paper while Alice and Sam find a lot. This could be because RedCanary never entered the Archives. (Making it even less likely that RedCanary didn't have a link with Error but maybe something else).

In both 2022 and 2024 symbols are found around the institute. RedCanary describing them as graffiti while Alice describes them as looking more like a worm eating the wood on the floor.

Notes below:

Air / Breathing & Water

Similar to Error itself a lot of the victims have trouble breathing due to the statement. It seems to be breathing in the Statements and surrounded by the 'pained whispers.' Error also only seems to turn up when water is present. Some of the examples are more of a stretch than others but I don't think it's a coincidence that it turns up when it's raining or in areas near the water. Notes below

This could be a link to alchemy. Water and Air being 2 of the 4 classical elements.

Not an expert on Alchemy (this is off of wikipedia) but the important part is that air linked with the start of life while water is linked with the end. Could Error be trying to preform some kind of rebirth into this universe. It's living in the water but it's trying to get into the air.

[renata-has-thoughts]

I've never done an ask before so this might suck

There is little to no narrator x readers and your writing is the best I've ever seen!!!!

If you have spare time could you pretty please possibly make another narrator smut where he's all pent up desperate and whiny but then fucks fem reader as rough as he can?

Kinda friend's to lovers almost?

If it's stupid or embarrassing please ignore this request all together!

Outlet

Pairing: Tyler Durden (Narrator) x f!reader W/C: 1.6k

Includes: NSFW!Friends to lovers, rough sex, penetrative sex, mutual orgasm, and, as requested, pent up Tyler.

A/N: Stupid? Embarrassing? Anon, we have nothing to be ashamed of. The Narrator is hot, this is indisputable fact.

“So you’re telling me…you have a club…where you fight. That you’re in…” you muttered, punctuating your words by tapping the table between you two alongside your disbelieving words.

“Yeah.” Tyler nodded without further explanation, taking a sip of his drink as if he had said enough. As if this were a normal thing to say.

“Y’know, when you told me you couldn’t hang out because you had ‘a club meeting’ all those times, I thought it was something stupid-or more importantly, normal, like a book club…or chess club, or something. But here you are willingly going to get your ass beat every week.”

“Why are you assuming I’m the one losing the fights?” Tyler asked, a tinge of hurt in his voice.

You paused, and shrugged. Granted, he has become a lot more toned over these past few months. More prominent muscles, a bit more confidence, the like.

“Right. Well, to each their own, but…try not to get too hurt, alright? Don’t expect me to nurse you back to health.” You sighed, staring at your drink.

“I wouldn’t burden you with something like that.” Tyler said, finishing off his own drink. A moment of comfortable silence passed. You two were good friends, had been for awhile, so it never was awkward anymore.

“Why?” You asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Why do you fight? Why are you in that club?”

Tyler ran his finger along the rim of the empty bottle for a second, then replied, “it’s helpful, I guess. It’s an outlet.”

“As in, therapeutic?”

“Yeah. I mean, everyone has their ways of getting out that anger. Getting an adrenaline rush.” He explained, his eyes leaving yours, and added, “I guess some with actual therapy, yeah, or healthy things like writing or sex.” He didn’t look up, especially at that last part. You noted that he hasn’t had a girlfriend, or otherwise, in the whole time you’ve known him, which was a good amount of time. Then you realized, neither had you.

“I feel like there’s a difference between things like therapy, writing and such, and sex.” You said, and put your drink aside, with your final swig. Usually by now, during these afternoons where you’d meet up at your house for drinks, Tyler would say his goodbyes, but now he merely shifted back in his chair.

“Depends.” He mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, as in, it depends on the sex.”

“Why? Is fighting for you a substitute for sexual frustration?” You laughed, but partly a genuine question, too.

“Well it’s not like fighting gets me going or anything, but they both relieve a similar thing.”

A silence simmered yet again.

For once, it was awkward.

“How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” You questioned softly.

“…I dunno. …maybe a year by now.” He responded, meeting your eyes again.

You thought, and recalled that it had been the same amount of time of celibacy for you, too.

“Same here.” You admitted, and caught his gaze.

Yes. You were very much attracted to him. It’s no secret you two had flirted playfully, but it was nothing more than banter, right?

By the way he looked at you then, you could tell it was never that casual for him.

Suddenly, he looked away again, clearing his throat as if catching himself.

“Thanks for the drinks, as usual. Uhm, I should get going.” He said, rising from his chair.

You mirrored his actions, but then rounded the table to stand before him in a swift action.

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you, Tyler.” You stopped him, grabbing his hand.

Something flashed in his eyes when you said that, like a prediction of your coming words.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath when your other hand grabbed his waist, pulling him closer to you.

“Tyler, I-I think you’re-“

“Say I can kiss you. Tell me to kiss you. Right fucking now.” Tyler interrupted, intertwining his fingers with yours. His eyes widened.

“Please.” You whimpered.

He tilted his head, eyes closing as he pressed his body to you, along with his lips to yours. It started small, drawing away for a second for him to breathe in before returning, open-mouthed this time, his tongue sliding next to yours. He moaned into the kiss, and soon so did you when his hand slid to slowly knead your waist.

You began shifting back, tugging him by his shirt while you broke the kiss, guiding him to your room.

“Tyler,” you explained as you headed to your bed, “get it out on me.”

“W-What?” He gasped as you let go of him to slide off your shirt.

“The tension. All that’s pent up in you.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whined under his breath upon seeing you now only in your bra. “Yeah, yeah, I…I can do that.” He nodded, swallowing down his nerves.

“I can take it, Tyler. Whatever you give me. I can take it.” You promised, staring into his eyes.

“Really?” He murmured again, still in that whiny tone.

“Yes.”

His breathing halted, then sped up, like a racehorse when the gun fires, he fumbled at his jeans, stripping them off. He pushed you down onto your bed and climbed on top of you, keeping a hand pressed down on you after he threw off his shirt.

“God, you’re so hot. I’ve always thought that,” Tyler rambled, tugging your pants off.

“Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself to the thought of you?” You moaned while he rid you of the rest of your clothes, bra and all.

“Fuck, holy shit-don’t even-don’t even tease me like that. I don’t think I can g-get any harder than I am.” He exemplified this by taking off his boxers, leaving you both naked and panting already.

“Please, please use me,” you cried, gripping onto his shoulders.

“Want me to treat you rough? Huh?”

“Yes!”

Two fingers dipped down into you, smoothing along the wetness you had ever since he had mentioned the mere idea of sex.

You moaned loudly, not just by the feeling, but the fact it was Tyler. It was Tyler, of all people, fucking you. Finally.

His fingers left you to grab himself, pushing him into you steadily, groaning at the feeling of pressure around his cock, you easily inviting him, warm and slick.

“I knew you would f-feel so good. I knew it.” He whined, both hands groping your waist and pulling you down along into him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders and your head rose to mouth desperately at his neck. That was his final breaking point.

He began thrusting into you, using every inch of his cock through your impossible tightness. It seemed like every part of you went numb except for the places he was hitting.

It was euphoric. It was Tyler fucking you. And he was fucking you good.

His breathing occurred through grit teeth and growls, his pace unyielding. The spots in which he was grabbing your waist to shove you into him while he thrusted would surely bruise in the morning, and your body got hot just by thinking about that.

Tyler shot one hand up to your neck, just under your jaw, and you gasped in surprise, although it was quickly drowned out by stuttered whimpers as he continued his abuses. His fingers prodded into your mouth, with his palm firmly on your neck. You took them in hungrily, licking and sucking on them, making him moan. His reaction was enough to make you shiver.

“You f-feel so good.” You managed through the obstruction of not only his fingers but the overwhelming pleasure.

“Yeah?” He promoted, removing his hand placement on your neck in favor of slotting his damp fingers above your clit. “You like it rough?” He growled, proceeding to change his quick thrusts to hard slams.

From the combination of everything he was doing, you felt sweat form on your brow.

“Tyler, I-I’m gonna cum,” you moaned.

“Yeah? Hm? Cum for me.”

“Don’t stop! Please, fuck, don’t-“

“Baby, I don’t plan on it.”

There it was. Your orgasm approached you with the same raging force as Tyler’s pace. Hot and dizzying. As he vowed, he did not stop, staying at the same speed despite the mumbling of curses under his breath, stammered ramblings of ‘so tight’, ‘yes, fuck yes’.

You couldn’t help but bite his neck as you let the remnants of your orgasm finish onto him. He groaned loudly as your teeth found purchase in his skin, and he pulled out just as your orgasm faded to grab his cock and guide himself through his orgasm, cumming onto your stomach with breathy whines, his composure shattering with each small sound.

You left a kiss on the mark you made on his neck, letting your head fall back onto the bed to look into his eyes, drained but still transfixed on you.

“Tyler? You there?” You smiled.

“Y-Yeah. Fuck.” He replied, catching his breath. “Are you alright?”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had, Tyler.” You were saying that genuinely. “Of course I'm alright.”

His eyes seemed to light up, despite his exhaustion when you said that.

“Thank god.” He mumbled, lowering himself to lie by your side, running his hands through his hair to collect himself. “That was definitely the best for me, too.” His eyes fell closed.

“Could I ask you one more favor?”

“Sure, anything.” Tyler responded, opening his eyes again.

“Uhm…” you began, and gestured to your stomach, where he just came on.

“Oh! Right! Shit, sorry.” Tyler laughed, getting up from the bed and heading to your closet, grabbing his boxers along the way and sliding them back on.

You felt content in that moment. You first regarded your attraction to Tyler as frivolous and one-sided, yet now you watched him leaning down beside you, wiping you off with a washcloth and kissing your forehead.

[kissingghouls]

The Prince

Part One: The House //ao3 // Part Two // Part Three missed The Count or The King?

Vampire Terzo x Female Reader

Summary: An unconventional summer job turns out to be way more trouble than you thought. // Part 3 of the Suck Club Series 💕

tags: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, horror themes, vampire violence, violence, blood, smut, a dash of enemies to lovers, and more tags on ao3

could not have done this without @ramblingoak. thank you for the encouragement, editing help, letting me cry sometimes, and making me pretty things. 💖💖💖

Part One – The House

This was not how things were supposed to go. Of all the worst-case scenarios you tried to prepare for, this was so far out of left field you hadn’t even considered it. It left you weak and vulnerable, sporting a split lip and bruised knuckles. This was definitely not how things were supposed to go. You blocked one blow and dodged the next, using the momentum to send the heel of your palm smashing into your attacker’s face.

Instantly, he dropped to his knees and wailed in pain. Blood gushed from his nose, pouring freely between his fingers and dripping onto the expensive rug.

“Terzo!” You shouted, trying to get the vampire’s attention. He didn’t even flinch.

Fuck.

Your opponent took the opportunity to dive at you, taking your legs out at the knees. Landing hard, the breath knocked painfully from your lungs as you hit the floor with a dull thud. He crawled over you, blood dripping from his face onto your clothes. That asshole actually smiled at you, teeth stained as crimson as the rest of his face as he brandished something shiny and sharp.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked as he pressed the metal stake into your sternum. He leaned into the weapon, the pressure pushing against your chest. “Are you trying to save him?”

Your answer was little more than a shout, the piece of metal now dangerously close to snapping the bone.

This was far from the summer you’d hoped to have.

A nice, relaxing summer job by the seaside. That’s what you were supposed to tell people you were looking forward to most. You even practiced it in the mirror a handful of times, trying to make your fake smile fit perfectly around the words. Trying to make your life look comfortably “normal” from the outside.

But “normal” didn’t weigh your backpack down with stakes and poisons. “Normal” got to vacation and play in the ocean, relaxing whenever it felt like it. You couldn’t relax until all this was over.

Until Terzo Emeritus was dead.

Outside the window, the tree line sped past, bright green smears against a cloudless sky as the train roared toward the tiny town. The car jostled slightly as the wheels followed the slow curve of the track, bringing you parallel with the southern edge of the coast. Further along the horizon, that brilliant blue dipped down to meet the ocean beyond the jagged, rocky cliffs that cut a harsh line against the shore. It was the kind of sight that probably looked amazing at sunset, but instead of picturing it you turned your eyes back to the screen in your hand.

“…the grandest of all the summer homes of the time: Meliora House. The Gilded Age estate rests on a breathtaking fifteen acre plot overlooking the ocean. The grounds are covered in spectacular gardens…”

You squinted at the image, tuning out the narrator’s droning voice. You’d seen the special a hundred times by now, knowing exactly when the angles of the shots changed and the timestamps for each room of the ridiculous mansion. The ballroom, the reception hall, the conservatory. Rooms encased by ridiculous amounts of marble and ornamental plaster designed to impress and shame every other asshole with money in the late 1800s.

What those magnates didn’t know, and the documentary failed to mention, was just how impossible it would be to compete with the Emeritus family. Back then, they were considered little more than a group of eccentric brothers who came from old money. As true as it was, no one realized how old the money and the brothers truly were. They’d had hundreds of years to amass the fortune required to build the most impressive house on the block and even more time left to enjoy it.

What did money matter when you would live forever?

The gentleman seated next to you leaned over the armrest and softly cleared his throat. “It’s closed.”

You slipped your headphones from your ears, quickly pausing the video to look over at him. “Sorry?”

“Meliora House,” he said with a kind smile. He was an older man with the kind of soft, wrinkled face that reminded you of your own grandfather. He pointed toward your phone as he continued. “The family closed it for the season. Said it needed renovations or something. Hope that’s not where you were headed.”

You shot him that perfect, practiced smile. “Oh, no. I’m afraid I’m here on business. No time to visit all those old mansions.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “What business are you in?”

“Extermination.”

“Heh, that like pest control?”

“In a way. I deal mainly with large predators. The kinds of things that are dangerous to the human population.”

He blinked. “Like…bears?”

“Something like that,” you agreed with another smile.

The breaks squealed below. The grinding sound of the train slowing to a stop thankfully cut off any other questions the man might have had. You slung your heavy backpack over your shoulders and gripped the handle of your suitcase until your knuckles went white. It was now or never.

The iron gate of Meliora House stood tall in front of you, a small, tasteful “closed for the season” sign dangling from the middle. You slipped through, following the tree-lined drive toward the house. It grew taller and wider with each step, its stone façade blotting out the sky. None of the usual adjectives suited the property. Grand. Stately. Ostentatious. All of them paled in comparison to the real thing.

Meliora House was built under the Emeritus family name, but it quietly changed hands in the 1920s. Shuffling the property through shell corporations over the last one hundred years was enough to make people believe the brothers who built the mansion were long gone. Like other mansions in the area, Meliora House was regularly used as a wedding venue and opened to tourists in the summer under the disguise of preserving the history of the grandiose home. Unlike the other homes, Meliora House was still under private ownership and had not been gifted to any preservation society. That small thread had been enough for you to unravel the history of the notorious vampire family over the last century.

As soon as they announced the house would not open for the season due to needed “repairs,” you knew exactly where at least one Emeritus vampire would be. It took a little more research to figure out which of them would take up residence in the old mansion. Secondo was heavily favored after word spread that his favorite club had burned to the ground. You were happy to play along with the idea, even encouraging others to believe it, but you knew he was far too flashy to find solace in the antiquated summer home. It was much more likely to be occupied by one of the younger Emeritus brothers.

Terzo and Copia leaned more old school than Secondo, both having heavy preferences for castles, chandeliers, and from what you heard, interesting clothing choices. But Count Copia had reportedly coupled up with a younger vampire and would most likely be returning to his castle for the summer, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. That left only Terzo and his companion demons.

It was pure coincidence that you found the employment ad they’d placed. But it was a series of careful, calculated moves that secured you the position. You weren’t going to miss the chance to take out one of the brothers.

Inside, the mansion swelled around you, endless stretches of veined marble floors and archways leading to the kinds of rooms “normal” people had no use for. Even you had to admit the video hardly did Meliora House justice, getting the scale of the grandeur all wrong. It was a remarkable sight, like a relic stuck frozen in time, but you couldn’t help but think of all the other things unlimited riches could provide.

It was vastly different from the tiny one room loft you called home.

Ahead of you, the caretaker Omega rattled on as he’d done in the video, hands making broad sweeps as he spoke. Neither of you mentioned the odd silver mask that covered his face during your initial introduction or even during the assessment of your responsibilities. You saw no point in talking about it now either. Your resumé alluded to the fact that you had seen some weird shit in your time working for other prominent families with strict NDAs and you weren’t about to blow your cover in the first five minutes.

Another staffer, Alpha, sat at the bottom of the stairs with his masked head in his hands while somewhere above him glass shattered.

“Your turn,” was all Alpha said as he stood and moved past the two of you.

“What the hell are two still doing here?” a voice rang out angrily, echoing against the vaulted ceilings.

The three of you turned your attention toward the landing. The vampire wore little more than an annoyed look as he sneered at his demons, black hair framing his face as he rested his hands on his slim hips. Even half-dressed, he commanded the room in a way photos could never hope to capture.

“Well?” he huffed, his odd white eye seeming to glow with his irritation.

“We were just leaving,” Omega said quickly and spun around to head for the door.

Alpha caught him by the collar, keeping him from getting away. “This was your idea,” he hissed.

Terzo groaned. “You don’t need my permission. You have the summer off, just go. Get the fuck out.”

“Um, sir,” Omega started carefully with a nervous shake in his voice. “We—well, sir, remember how we talked before? It’s a lot of work to keep up the house and we thought—”

“He thought,” Alpha corrected.

“Right. Eh, well, this is the assistant I hired to help you.”

The vampire groaned and took a step to the side, leaning over slightly. His painted face was set in a frown as he squinted down at you, his actual expression unreadable. He crossed his arms over his bare chest and studied you a beat longer. He looked younger than you expected, the evidence a little more visible on his lithe frame than his face could show. A pair of grey sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, but as he shifted his stance, they almost gave up completely. There wasn’t much of the vampire left to your imagination—the thatch of black hair and the very distinct outline of his dick were hard to miss.

Fucking vampires.

“Oh, come on,” Omega hissed and rushed up the stairs. He gripped the waistband of Terzo’s pants and yanked them up enough to cover his boss’s decency. “We talked about this.”

Terzo slapped his hands away and started shouting, the hint of his accent becoming stronger with his frustrated emotional state. “What is this? What are you doing? I put on pants. What more do you want?”

“Sir, please,” Omega pleaded. “We have company. This is why we have the pants rule now.”

“Why are you doing this? Who are you calling ‘sir?’ What the hell are you wearing?” he yelled and flicked the metal mask covering Omega’s face.

“I—we—”

“No. You get out of my house, now,” he ordered, pushing Omega away once more. He stomped down the stairs, pausing in front of you as he landed on the main floor. He tilted his head as he looked you over, eyeing you curiously, appreciatively. “You can stay.”

He turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the dining room without another word.

Alpha sighed and shook his head. “I’ll be outside.”

Omega approached you slowly, his voice low. “He’s…Mr. Emeritus has been under a lot of stress recently. I’m afraid he’s not himself. I apologize for his outbursts, but I don’t think I can guarantee it will be the last.”

“Omega, it’s fine. Really. He’s far from the first difficult client I’ve had,” you said with a slick smile.

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “He’ll probably keep to himself most of the time. Mr. Emeritus can be a bit peculiar about his privacy, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see him for a couple of days. He’ll show up eventually.” He leaned in closer to whisper, “I think he’d die if he went without attention for too long.”

“I heard that!” Terzo snapped from the hallway. “Stop calling me Mr. Emeritus and get out of my house!”

Omega quickly shook your hand. “Well, good luck,” he mumbled as he stalked off.

The heavy front door closed with a loud slam as the two demons made their exit, leaving you and the vampire in silence. He turned and closed the space between you before dipping into a deep bow.

“Buonasera Signora.”

“Uh, hi?”

His head snapped up, a playful grin resting on his painted mouth. He took your hand and brought it to his lips, barely ghosting a kiss against your knuckles. “Welcome to Meliora House. Please allow me to—” He paused and looked around the reception hall. “Bellezza, where are your things?”

“Right here?” you replied with a shrug and motioned to the small suitcase at your feet.

“No, but…where?” He looked at you like he was about to short-circuit. “That’s all you have? For the entire summer? Stai scherzando con me?”

“You’re wearing a lot less than this right now.”

His brow furrowed. “I have closets, bellezza. Many closets.”

“Well, good for you, I guess?”

He blinked rapidly. “Sì, it is good for me? But you…this cannot be enough? How is this enough?”

You folded your arms over your chest. “You do realize that not everyone lives in a Gilded Age French chateau, right? Like, you’re aware that some people live in studio apartments?”

“Yes, bellezza. I’m not an asshole.”

You snorted. “If you say so.”

He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head, mumbling in Italian. “At least let me show you to your room. Where you can put your one bag.”

Six days. Six excruciatingly long days trapped inside a vampire’s fucked up approximation of a summer home. If you weren’t already here to kill the vampire, the last week would have easily driven you to murder him. Even in a house this size you couldn’t avoid Terzo for long. You’d been assigned the room directly across the hall from him, the one boundary he chose to respect amongst the countless others he ignored. While he never entered your space, it didn’t stop him from creepily lurking in the hallway at odd hours.

No matter how badly you wanted to get it over with and take him out for good, you couldn’t rush this. Vampires were always stronger than they appeared. It was a fact you couldn’t afford to forget, even if he was small and odd. And mouthy.

Terzo never ever shut up.

Meliora House might have been empty of other people, but it was filled to the brim with all things Terzo Emeritus. He left things everywhere, a bizarre collection of designer clothing shed wherever he felt like it. A path of destruction and debris always followed him, like a one-vampire tornado tearing through every room of the mansion he passed through. And when you weren’t stuck cleaning up after Hurricane Terzo, his voice could be heard on every floor, belting out anything from opera to modern top 40.

He didn’t seem to have a care in the world. It never once occurred to him that his doom could be across the hall, lying in wait for the perfect moment. And you were, of course. You were studying harder than you ever had for any test, memorizing his movements and routines. There were weapons planted strategically throughout your room, everything within arm’s reach in case the vampire became too bold or too hungry. In reality, there was little-to-no risk of that happening. Most of the time, Terzo forgot you were even there.

It was almost humorous to watch this powerful immortal be repeatedly surprised and sometimes startled by your presence. Not a single thing you knew about the fearless killing machines seemed to apply to the third Emeritus. As far as you could tell, the most dangerous thing about him was an addiction to sappy low-budget romance movies. Which he watched constantly. At all hours. At full volume. With a soundbar.

If you had to hear another big city woman fall head-over-heels for a small-town baker, you were going to burn the entire place to the ground.

Your respite came in the form of the company car Omega had left for you to use at your leisure. The temperature had dropped after sunset, the dark clouds of a storm rolling over the ocean. It was the perfect night to drive along the scenic route and lose yourself in your thoughts without the constant noise and mess of the creature that dwelled within the mansion. You pulled your sleeves over your hands and walked a little faster toward the car, uninterested in getting caught in the rain. As you slid into the seat, you reached over your shoulder for the seatbelt when the dome light burst to life, illuminating the dark interior of the vehicle.

The vampire was in the car.

Blinking in disbelief, you shook your head and reached across the center console, prodding at his body in the hopes that you were hallucinating. “What the hell are you doing?”

Terzo shrugged from the passenger seat, the soft leather creaking under him as he leaned away from your threatening hand. “I’m bored.”

You poked him in the side, confirming he had really just climbed into your car without asking. Ok, maybe it was his car, but Omega had left you the keys. “You’re bored…so you just…”

He turned to look at you, his white eye shining oddly in the dark. “Just what?”

“People don’t really tell you no, do they?”

He shrugged again and focused his attention on the storm clouds in the distance. “I don’t really know many people.”

You kept quiet, opting to start the car instead of trying to tackle Terzo’s existential crisis.

As you pulled the car onto the main road, you focused on slowing your heart rate. Being this close to the vampire physically without a weapon wasn’t really part of your plan. There wasn’t anything you could use to defend yourself in the car either. Unless you wanted to count that tiny vial of pepper spray in your bag. You doubted he would even blink at that.

Your body jerked involuntarily as Terzo shifted in his seat. He leaned his elbow against the window as he pointed his body toward you, his head lazily resting on his hand.

“Is it the storm?” he asked.

“What?”

“Something is making you nervous. Is it the storm? You’re…jumpy.”

“No,” you sighed, running your hand through your hair. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Ah,” he said softly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It’s me.”

“Oh, you fucking wish,” you choked out, holding back a laugh.

“Bellezza,” he began, his voice sultry and low. “It’s ok. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, eyes darting over the road as rain began to pelt the windshield. “I am not afraid of you.”

He nodded once, his stupid smirk turning into a smile.

“I’m not! It’s just…we don’t really know each other, you know? And you just kind of jumped in the car? It’s a little unnerving.”

“I told you I was bored.”

“Sure, but most people, you know, ask.”

“Oh.”

The quiet lasted only seconds before Terzo began flicking every switch and turning every dial within reach. He turned the heat to full blast and, despite the rain, held down the button for his window letting it descend completely as water splattered the interior and his clothes. Slowly, he let the window rise halfway before bringing it back down again. When the window held no more joy, he leaned across the console and started fucking with the radio.

“Can you stop?” you snapped, fingers itching to slap his hands away.

“What does this do?” he asked, clicking several buttons repeatedly.

“I don’t know,” you answered, taking a measured breath to keep from screaming at him. “Isn’t this your car?”

“It might be, maybe?”

“Shouldn’t you know how your car works?”

“There are A LOT of buttons here!” He emphasized the statement by pressing as many buttons at the same time as he could reach. The air was on now, cold blowing straight in your face. “Omega usually makes me sit in the back. Not as much to do back there.”

“I can see why,” you ground out through gritted teeth.

The rain shifted to a heavy downpour, the drops loud as they bounced off the car. Terzo reached up and pushed one more button. The moonroof slid open, torrents of rain soaking the two of you instantly.

“Oops” fell from his lips with a childlike innocence that could not possibly be real.

You jerked the car to the right, pulling onto the gravel shoulder as you slammed on the breaks and threw the car into park. You flung open the door and stomped to the edge of the scenic cliff the road followed, rocks crunching under your feet as you came to a stop. Bending at the hips, you began to scream at the ocean.

“Bellezza, what are you doing?” Terzo yelled as he ran over and pulled you away from the edge.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?”

He bit his lip and nodded. “Sì, Reginetta tells me this.”

“Ok, well, whoever that is, they’re right.”

“Eh, she’s mio fratello’s girlfriend—”

“Not the point, Terzo,” you shouted. “You have two choices, Emeritus. You can get in the back and stop touching shit or you can walk home.”

“I’ve upset you.”

“Yeah,” you replied flatly.

“Mi dispiace, bellezza,” he offered solemnly, bending into a deep bow. “I did not mean to upset you. I will keep my hands to myself.”

“Just get in the car, Terzo,” you instructed, shaking your head.

The two of you began to walk back, Terzo falling behind you as he made to climb into the back.

“Look, you can sit up here if you swear you won’t touch anything else. Deal?” you offered, thinking better of having the vampire at your back.

He placed a hand over his heart. “On my Mother’s grave, bellezza.”

“Oh my god, it’s not that serious. Just get in.”

You couldn’t wait any longer. You had to kill him and soon, otherwise it might cost you your sanity.

Killing a vampire was not as easy as books and movies made it out to be. Sure, the methods were mostly correct: stakes were remarkably effective, as was beheading. Fire was often too messy and risky to guarantee much of anything except structural damage. Crosses and holy water were complete bullshit, but modern hunters had found an effective way of debilitating the soulless monsters.

By some happy accident, an inventive hunter found a way to produce a toxin that caused a paralytic effect in vampires. It made the difficult and often extremely dangerous task much more manageable for a team of one—provided there was only one vampire you were after. Too many new kids had underestimated their enemy only to stumble on an entire nest and become breakfast.

There was no way in hell you were going to become a victim of Terzo Emeritus.

You propped your boot on the antique chest at the foot of your bed, carefully slipping the loaded syringe against the leather. Your weapon rested against your spine, tucked neatly into the waistband of your jeans. There was no more time to waste; sunrise was in less than an hour and if you didn’t make a move soon, you would lose your chance and your nerve.

The solid wood door creaked no matter how quietly you tried to open it. Normally, the sound was covered by the blaring copywrite-free scores and shitty dialogue of those awful movies Terzo consumed like air. But tonight, the mansion was disturbingly quiet. Crossing the hall, you skipped the areas of the old floor that groaned the most, hopping from one foot to the other until you reached the vampire’s bedroom.

You leaned into the door, turning the handle slowly and hoping the thing gave way without a sound. It swung wide, the scent of fresh-cut flowers punching you in the face. You paused at the threshold; lip worried between your teeth as you scanned the room. You thought you’d prepared for everything, weapons at the ready, senses dialed to eleven—but you had never once considered the interior of the vampire’s room.

The space was light and open, a splash of soft pastels, gold, and plush velvet. Gauzy curtains swayed in the breeze from the open balcony doors, the thick, heavy blackout curtains pulled far back. There were white roses everywhere, no surface left untouched by a vase of at least a dozen or so. A massive bed encased in pintucked velvet in a soft lilac color lay against the far wall, its gold filigree headboard stretching halfway up the vaulted walls. Above, a chandelier adorned with crystals and sculpted roses hung in a circle of ornate plasterwork.

The idiot vampire lived in some Marie Antionette Rococo nightmare. But that didn’t trouble you the most. Of all the ridiculous things that made up Terzo’s bedroom, there was one particularly important thing that was missing: him.

The bed was suspiciously empty, a mountain of decorative pillows still in place like it hadn’t yet been touched. You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh heaving from your lungs. As if the vampire needed to be more annoying, he had completely ruined your plan. Another quick look past the dark doorway of his bathroom confirmed he wasn’t in his suite. Unless he was somewhere lying in wait for you.

You gripped the stake at your back, slowly sliding it out of your waistband when you heard it. As you moved toward the balcony, a soft, melodic voice floated up from below. There was no way it could have belonged to the irritating hundreds of years old vampire, and yet there he was barefoot in the garden singing a solemn tune.

It was beautiful.

Quickly, you retreated from his room, snaking your way down the marble stairs and through the empty ballroom. Killing the vampire on the lawn wasn’t your preferred method, but he forced your hand. A steady chant of now or never repeated in your head with each step as you bounded off the terrace toward him. You reached behind you, fingers secured around the stake as you moved closer.

Terzo stopped singing and cast a weary glance in your direction before shaking his head. He turned his attention back to the delicate blooms of the soft pink peonies that lined this section of the gardens, kneeling in front of them. “It’s late, bellezza,” he said quietly, running a finger through the petals of an open flower. “You should be in bed.”

“Technically, it’s early,” you countered. “Shouldn’t you be inside? The sun is about to come up.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, dolce. A little sun won’t hurt me. Come, sit.”

You shifted from one foot to the other, weighing your options.

“I won’t bite,” he offered with a coquettish grin.

Stupid fucking vampires.

“What are you even doing out here?” you asked as you dropped onto the grass next to him. Carefully, you folded your legs under, a hand coming to rest just above the syringe. He could move faster than you, but fuck if you weren’t going to put up a fight if you had to.

“What are you doing out here?”

“My job?”

He snorted at that. “Sì, I forgot. Hired to babysit a grown man.”

“What’s your definition of grown?”

“What’s yours?”

“I mean, I thought you’d at least be able to dress yourself,” you teased, gesturing toward the vampire’s overly casual crop top and tiny shorts.

He smiled as he stretched out on the lawn. “You’re welcome to borrow anything you’d like.”

“Hard pass.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one sleeping in your jeans, bellezza.”

“I don’t—you know what? No.” You moved to stand, but the vampire wrapped a hand around your wrist. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry, bellezza.” He let go of you and sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t do much of anything right these days.”

You rolled your eyes. “Are you always so fucking maudlin?”

He scrunched up his face in deep thought. “No, actually. This is somewhat new for me.”

“What? Forlornly walking through the gardens at night while singing isn’t your favorite pastime?”

“My brothers would like you, dolce,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “I am sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” you admitted. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

He cracked another smile, his head lolling over to look at you. “Why would you? You said yourself we don’t know each other.”

“You’d be surprised what I’ve learned about you in the last few days.”

“Would I?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbow. “Tell me, dolce. What is it you think you know?”

“Oh, you know,” you started, holding yourself back from mentioning the whole 900 year old vampire thing. “You can’t sleep without the TV on. All your comfort films involve a woman falling in love in a small town she doesn’t want to be in, but learns to love by way of handyman dick—”

“That doesn’t tell you anything!”

“It tells me you’re anxious about something, otherwise why would you rewatch the same three movies with the same basic plot on a fucking loop for a week? Which, by the way, you should probably get your hearing checked too.”

He frowned at you as he sat up, pulling a handful of grass from the lawn and letting the blades fall through his fingers. “So what?”

“So, nothing. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just an observation. But if mystery millionaire bachelor is what you’re looking for, it’s not really what you’re giving off.”

He laughed softly to himself as he stood. He leaned down, plucking one of the beautiful peonies from the garden and held it out to you. He raised an eyebrow as you hesitated to take the thing from him before relenting. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are either. Good night, bellezza.”

You turned to watch the insufferable ass saunter back inside his ridiculous mansion. Terzo Emeritus knew nothing about you. You’d made sure of that before you arrived. Whatever he thought he knew was all part of the bullshit cover story you landed on his front door with.

You groaned and flopped onto the grass; limbs splayed every which way. You were letting the vampire get in your head, something you absolutely could not afford to do. You had eighteen hours to come up with a better plan.

Pretend everything was normal. Go about your day as scheduled while avoiding the vampire as much as you could. The plan you settled on wasn’t the most inventive, but it was better than acting on impulse and getting yourself killed. You neatly tucked away the weapons from the night before, slipping them under your pillow to hold while you slept. It did little to comfort you, but at least they were there. Now you had nothing to keep you safe, just an empty hope that the vampire would leave you alone.

If only your stupid job wasn’t to tend to him.

You knocked on his bedroom door, pausing to wait for a response. The house was quiet again, the loud sounds of the TV dulled somewhere around noon. With no sign of the vampire, you sighed and pushed your way into the ridiculous room. The vampire was there, stretched out on his stomach on the bed that might as well have been a fucking wedding cake in an outfit that could not have been comfortable.

Who the fuck lounges around in leather pants?

You cleared your throat, but Terzo made no move to acknowledge you. “Um, didn’t you hear me knocking?”

“Yes,” he said sharply and turned the page of the book he was holding. “Can’t you see me ignoring you? Now, go away. I’m busy,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You moved further into the room, squinting at the cover of the book. A handsome cowboy dressed in red stared back at you with a damsel in distress pinned to his side. “I can see that. Moving on to romance novels, huh?”

He looked over the top of the book, an increasingly familiar deep frown setting into the lines of his face paint. “Is that why you’re here, bellezza? You wish to be romanced?”

You coughed out a laugh. “By who? You?”

The frown reached his eyebrows, a crease forming between them. “I don’t think anyone has ever laughed at me before.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re really, really not my type.”

He nodded, his expression relaxing as he raised one eyebrow. “Ah, sì. Women?”

“No…well, ok, yes. Sometimes.”

Women? Sure. Vampires? Never.

He shrugged easily. “I would not judge you, bellezza. I have had many adventures in my day—”

“Ok! I don’t want to hear about your depraved sex life—”

“Depraved?!”

“Oh my god. I’m not doing this,” you huffed. “Do you want clean sheets or not?”

“Oh!” He perked up immediately and hopped off the bed, his sour mood disappearing as his feet hit the floor. “Are they still warm?”

“I—maybe?”

“Grazie mille, fiorellina,” he sang as he swept past you. He reached over and pressed his finger against your nose, grinning as you swiped at him. “Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone, eh?”

Oh, you were going to fucking kill him.

Night fell on Meliora House. The moon, round and full, reflected off the calm ocean just beyond the reach of the grounds. You stared out at the water, lingering just a beat longer in the window of the sitting room, surrounded by the opulence of a forgotten era. It may have been a giant waste of money, but the house was starting to grow on you. Even more reason to make a move and get the fuck out as fast as you could.

Stilted dialogue backed by a Christmas tune bounced down the hall, signaling the vampire was at least in his room. You traced your steps back, skipping the creaking spots just as you’d done the night before. This time, you were better prepared. Armed with weapons strapped to your thighs and loaded syringes tucked into your boots, you quietly slipped through the door.

Bursts of red and green color lit the room, flashes dancing from the screen on the wall. Terzo lay motionless atop a mountain of pillows and blankets, cradled in the kind of luxurious comfort only he could afford. He would have looked so peaceful if it weren’t for the man leaning over him, a stake raised high over the vampire’s heart.

There was no time to think about your actions. You hurled yourself across the room, vaulting off the edge of the bed to slam the sole of your boot into the other hunter’s face. He stumbled backward, a sickening grin sliding across his face as he spat out your name.

Who the fuck?

It was enough of a distraction for him to land a solid blow to your gut. Of all the fucking ways this whole operation could have gone wrong. Part of you expected another hunter to show up eventually, but you were so sure you’d be gone, and the vampire would be dead before you had to worry about it. Whoever this guy was, he didn’t seem interested in combining forces.

You worked too hard to get yourself here. All that training and research and torment you fought through and for what? For someone else to show up and take it from you? You weren’t going to let that happen.

Your opponent swung fast, catching your lip and splitting it before you could pivot away. But he was young, inexperienced, and too quick to celebrate, letting himself get carried away enough that he didn’t expect the blow you landed at his ribs or the next. You blocked and dodged, feet moving fast as he came at you. The heel of your palm snapped his nose, sending him to his knees.

“Terzo!” you shouted as you turned. Your stomach dropped as the vampire failed to move or acknowledge you at all. That little fucker had poisoned him.

Your attacker lunged at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you crashing to the floor. Your chest burned as you struggled to catch your breath, struggled to pull yourself away from the other hunter. He had you pinned, blood splattering from his nose and onto your face as he closed a hand around your throat. You clawed at his wrist, feet kicking wildly as he denied you air. He smiled down at you as he pushed the silver tip of the stake against your skin.

“What are you trying to do?” he asked cruelly, shifting his weight to press the weapon to your sternum. “Are you trying to save him?”

Your answer was little more than a shout, the piece of metal now dangerously close to snapping the bone.

A pained cry left your lips, the sting of metal slicing into your chest as the weigh on top of you doubled. Over your screaming assailant’s shoulder, Terzo’s mismatched eyes locked on yours. His expression was feral and predatory, maybe a touch protective as he opened his mouth wide. You closed your eyes as tight as you could, not wanting to see. You heard it all—the sound his fangs made as they cut into the flesh of the man’s neck. The grunt of pain that left your attacker as the artery burst under the pressure of the vampire’s teeth. Hot, thick blood spilled over your face and neck, crashing like a copper-scented wave but you didn’t dare look. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

The weight lifted from your chest, finally allowing you to take a full breath. The air around you was soaked in the disgusting taste of blood, that metallic twinge that coated the entire room. You finally opened your eyes to find Terzo standing over you, the lifeless body of a vampire hunter still clutched in his grasp.

Red dripped onto everything around you, pouring freely from the space where the vampire had bitten your attacker. It dribbled out of the man’s throat and onto the vampire’s bare chest and down, staining the silk of Terzo’s pajama bottoms as he drank from the man for what felt like hours. When he’d finally had his fill, he tossed the body aside, careful to keep it from falling back on you.

You wanted to run. You needed to run, but your body was in such a state of shock that you couldn’t push yourself up. Once all that adrenaline wore off, you knew you were in for a world of hurt if Terzo didn’t kill you first.

But he didn’t make a move to attack you. Instead, he offered you a hand that you were too shaken to take. He bent down and hoisted you to your feet without a second thought or seemingly any effort at all. You swallowed hard, realizing you were chest-to-chest with what you’d been taught was a soulless monster.

And he’d saved you.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of his voice as he poked and prodded at you. The sting of your tongue running over your busted lip combined with the sharp taste of blood—your own and whoever the fuck that guy was—brought you back to your disturbing reality.

Terzo wasn’t going to kill you.

“Did—did you just save my life?” you asked, your voice hoarse from the hunter’s hand squeezing your throat.

“It only seemed right since you were trying to save mine,” he countered.

“I—”

“It’s nothing, bellezza—”

You cut him off by slamming your mouth against his. It was an ugly, brutal action, barely capable of being called a kiss, but the way his arms locked around your waist told you he didn’t care. Without a word, he pulled you into the massive bathroom, the horrible pink tiles sending a shock to your brain.

He moved away from you just long enough to reach into the shower and turn the taps. He returned, hands moving fast to pull your bloody clothes from your body. He smirked at the sound of your favorite knife clattering against the floor as his pants joined the mess of material on the floor. He picked you up, maneuvering you under the stream of hot water, the red slowly washing away from your bodies. Steam began to rise in the little glass room, the air thick and humid as Terzo pressed you against the wall. His mouth was on your neck, his tongue and teeth dancing playfully against your skin. You gripped fistfuls of his hair, a low moan leaving his throat as you pulled him off.

“No biting,” you ordered flatly.

“I wasn’t—"

“Bullshit you weren’t.” You let a hand fall away from the hair on his head, opting to run it through the patch on his chest that grew thicker as you trailed further down. His eyes snapped shut, mouth forming an O shape as you wrapped your fingers around his annoyingly impressive length. Slowly, you pumped his cock in your fist, squeezing as you reached the base.

“Don’t tease, bellezza,” he growled as he crowded you against the shower wall. He pressed his lips to a space below your ear, working at it until he coaxed a soft moan out of you. He reached between you, fingers brushing yours as they dipped into your entrance. He urged your leg around his hip with his other hand as his thumb lazily pressed against your clit.

“Now who’s teasing,” you hissed, trying to angle your hips for better contact.

He grinned as he pulled away and placed his hands on either side of your head, trapping you under him. “Così bella.”

Your eyes met his. “Are you going to keep being weird or are you going to fuck me?”

He rolled his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh as he dropped his arms. “No patience, bellezza.”

Whatever argument you were about to make died in your throat, replaced by a surprised squeal as he picked you up. Your legs locked around him, back resting against the warm tiles as he lined himself up and slid the head of his cock through your folds. He pressed against your entrance, a slight whimper leaving your mouth as your cunt stretched around him. He kept his eyes trained on where he slowly disappeared inside you, his grip tightening with each push and pull. He slowly pumped into you, taking his time before burying himself completely.

He closed his eyes, letting his head rest against your shoulder as your body adjusted to the fullness of his cock.

“Terzo?”

He snapped his hips forward, a slick smile gracing his face as your eyes rolled back. He set a rough pace, his fingers pressing bruises into your hips as he held you there. He fucked you against the wall, pounding into you until you were whining and begging.

“Terzo, I—”

He angled himself just right, finding that perfect spot inside you that made you shut up. You had never come so hard or so fast in your entire life, but you locked your arms tight around his neck as stars danced in your vision. And he was just as content to repeat the action, trying to coax the next orgasm from you while his thrusts began to stutter.

“I—” he choked out.

“S’fine,” you mumbled, too blissed out to care. “Don’t stop.”

He nodded once, his pace picking up as he pressed his face against your shoulder. He came with a low moan, his cock emptying pulse after pulse into you as the water began to run cold. Clarity hit you both as he lifted his head, those mismatched eyes locking onto yours.

“I—we should—” he started nervously, moving to set you down.

 “Yeah. Ok,” you agreed stupidly as you cleared your throat.

Absolutely not how the summer was supposed to go.

thank you for your time! please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list! xo Ghouls

[angelus-scripturae]

Heyy! Could you do headcannons for the boys with a partner that is a very well known youtuber/streamer? Thank youuuu! <3 (also I'm Dyslexic so sorry for any spelling mistakes!)

Of course! I actually wanted to write something like this soon so thank you for giving me a reason to!

Also i’m dyslexic too i very heavily rely on autocorrect lol :))

ALSO IM SORRY ABOUT MY PROLONGED ABSENCE ONE OF THE PEOPLE HERE WHO HELPED LEFT SO IM TRYNA LEARN TO WRITE SMUT SO I CAN KEEP GOONG WITH IT AND NOW ONE OF MY IRL FRIENDS IS HERE (sorry mate) PLEASE BARE WITH MEZ

The Boys headcannons for an influencer!reader.

Pairings: EddieVR x Reader, juicyfruitsnacks x reader, joshdub x reader, sleepymully x reader, YourNarrator x reader.

Warnings: Bad language, mentions of guns/ robbery, shitty writing.

Eddie

I feel like you would be a paranormal investigation channel in this case

Or a channel that does scary short films/ skits

You upload your clips from streams and videos onto tiktok and other social media

One time when doing a “Worlds scariest tiktoks?” video, someone had sent in one of your videos for him to react to

He found it so scary that he reached out to you.

He asked for you to help him and the boys at some haunted places and you two just began to bond and become close.

One night he invited you out to ‘record’ with him and the boys but when you arrived, he was there with a hand made poster.

Almost like a promposal

At first, you started laughing out of confusion but when you realised it was serious you immediately said yes to dating him.

Fans had notice how close you two had gotten (even more than before) and started theorising.

Eventually, you told them after having a talk about where you wanted the relationship to go

Once everyone knew, the edits and posts talking about the two of you flooded in.

You both loved how sweet everyone was

Of course you both got hate from fans as does every internet-open relationship between two well loved people

However, all that matters is the two of you.

You help each other when the hate gets a bit extreme with love and breaks from socials

Eventually after a few years, Eddie takes you out to ‘record’ once again

However, when you get to the studio you were due to record at, there’s a small table with a candle in the middle

You turn around to ask Eddie what was going on, you saw him on one knee with a small, black, velvet box in hand

It seemed like a cheesy and cliché situation but as he asked you to marry him, you barely let him finish before saying yes.

Let’s just say fans went crazy finding this out

Narrator

You probably know what I’m gonna say

You’re a VR voice actor channel.

like the ones that troll people in vr with different voices

or just a normal va channel but we’re going with VR rn

He was recording with the boys when he started with his deep voice in a sort of fake-flirting situation

You gave it right back ofc

He was startled at first but then you set up a hole storyline and his fans loved it.

At the time, you hadn’t known who he was

but your comments did

they urged to to do more with him and so you reached out

you made more and more content together to the point the fans shipped you to the moon and back

you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer

so one day in a call with him you asked him out.

He said yes almost immediately

then backtracked and tried to act “cool” about it

that made you giggle

so you began dating and the fans could tell

Narrator became so much more bashful and touchy around you

especially in person

Although they new for sure when he proposed in a video where you all went to disney land and they loved it

so did you

You started crying

I feel like you were at the wishing well thing and you said something like

“i wish to marry my best friend” or smth as a joke

then you turned around and he was on one knee

The amount of edits with sappy songs in the background…

thousands

Juicy

You’re a streamer in this case

You were playing your favourite game on stream

it just so happened to be juicy’s favorite as well

Let’s say the boys were doing a “if you laugh you donate”

Juicy laughed and chose you to donate to

Then got hyped when he saw the game

Had to donate like $100

you got fucking hype at the money amount

You also sort of knew who he was so you freaked out that too

let’s time skip to after you ended stream

you checked your phone to find a twitter notif from him asking to record with you sometime

You obviously instantly accepted duh

so you did

you knew you liked him but never once thought he felt the same i mean it was just professional right?

WRONG

he was head over heels for you

always finding ways to be close to you or talk to you

Always trying to make you laugh

I mean always

makes him happy y’know

when he asked you out, he was half asleep on a discord call and just blurted it out

You said yes but had to remind him in the morning

He then got bummed out about not being able to say it extravagantly

accepted it none the less

Mully

You were dating wayyyy before you began youtube

Usually playing horror games or watching scary animations

However you weren’t very public

the fans only found you when you posted your engagement tweet. ikr

they went insane over it and bombarded you both with questions

“when’s the wedding?”

“how long have you been together?”

And the obvious jokes

a few people were upset you kept it from them but it’s your life innit lol

You can keep whatever you want from them

You even posted a vlog with him planning your wedding.

The fans had no clue when it was but waited semi-patiently

WENT INSANE when you dropped the date

on the day, you posted on insta with all the cute photos of you two kissing and having fun

but had a VERY cursed caption

he however posted cursed videos like you drunk after the reception or

any of the boys doing dumb shit

but had one of the sweetest captions you’ve ever seen

when the full video of the wedding dropped there were HUNDREDS of edits made

almost brought a tear to your eye :,(

Josh

G-mod

You met in G-mod

now I think i could stop it there but i’ll go into detail

you were kinda fuckin around and you were pretending to be a receptionist

when juicy and reekid came in doing their usual shenanigans trying to rob you

the audacity

You switched it onto them ofc

and it made amazing content so he asked for your discord

you didn’t talk for a few weeks before you got a video recommended to you saying

“Psycho receptionist pulled a gun on me!”

You watched it and soon realise it was what you had done

You sent him a message along the lines of

“Psycho? i though i was pretty tame.”

He then sent you a message apologising and offering to change the title

you then pointed out the fact you were joking and he went back to usual josh

Then asked you to join him and Eddie for a scary discord video

you agreed and had a blast

I mean of course you did with your effortless humour

through that you gained quite a large following on your main channels

you continued to record with josh but also focused on your own channels too

after about half a year he confessed to you

i’m the middle of recording a G-mid video

at first you thought it was a bit

when you realised it was serious you instantly agreed.

you let the relationship move quite slow

and the fans loved you both together when you became public on your one year anniversary (with a tweet)

though many people pressured you to tell them if you had plans for marriage

your answer was always the same

“we’ll see how it goes.”

Hi lovelies! sorry for such a long absence life is fucking me over recently and I’m hoping you’re not too mad for the absence

also thank yous for 75 followers <33333

[apomaro-mellow]

Steddie Nature Doc 1

When asked why he was suddenly carrying a camera everywhere, Dustin simply answered that having record of their daily life seemed prudent, considering how much weird shit they saw. Looking back on the tapes would remind them they indeed had normal lives. Or he’d actually catch some of the stuff they do for proof. It was getting a little annoying saving the world and not getting any credit honestly.

And Dustin did record mundane things as well, getting a few tips from Jonathan. It was why, right now he was recording the dash while Eddie drove him to Steve and Robin’s new job at the arcade.

“If that one fucker is there, I’m gonna lose it.” Eddie’s voice came from the side, in the driver’s seat.

“You mean Jake?” , Dustin asked.

Eddie practically hissed at his name.

“Do you hate him because he’s in a slightly different counter-culture than you? Or because Steve likes him?”

“Steve doesn’t like him!”, Eddie said a little too quickly.

“He said his hair is cool.”

“....Shit.”

Dustin didn’t think Eddie had anything to worry about when it came to Steve. But it was entertaining to see him squirm after all those times he rolled his eyes whenever Dustin would talk about how cool Steve was. Now Eddie was penning lyrics to wax poetic about his boyfriend’s eyes and worrying if Steve thought he was cool. How the tables have turned.

They entered the arcade and Steve was behind the ticket counter. And Jake was in front of it. Dustin made his way over to Will and Lucas, who were finishing up a game of air hockey.

“Even a mated pair can find trouble in paradise in the form of a rival”, Dustin narrated as he shot the older teens. Steve was having a casual conversation with a guy who wore his hair in a mohawk.

“This particular rival has impressive plumage. An attractive attribute, as it implies a regular hair care regimen. Something creatures like Steve value.”

Eddie was watching with jealousy in his gut. Still, he noticed the way Steve lit up when he saw him. How his hands twitched to reach out to him before remembering where they were. Eddie leaned against the counter, fighting the urge to hip check Jake who just never seemed to get the hint.

“I thought this counter was for tickets, not attention”, he teased to the punk that had been a thorn in his side for weeks.

Dustin grinned from behind the camera. “A smile is usually meant to disarm. But in this instance, Eddie is baring his teeth. A challenge. His species and Jake’s are notorious enemies, often fighting for niche space in environments as small as Hawkins. Who will Steve choose?”

“I’m just here for a prize”, Jake said to Eddie before giving Steve a wink. He slid his small amount of tickets over and picked out a little prize.

“Better luck next time”, Steve said.

“I’m counting on it.”

From the viewfinder, it looked like Eddie literally wanted to bite his head off, even as he walked away Eddie glared.

“The competitor retreats for now. But he is undeterred.”

---------------------------

"Maybe if you lick him, Jake’ll get the hint”, Dustin said derisively.

Eddie didn’t look away from them. They’d come to the park to meet up with some of the others before going to the baseball field. Both he and Dustin sat atop a picnic table. Meanwhile, Steve was talking to Jake. Why a punk was just strolling around the park, Eddie had no idea. But Jake had seen the bat and just started chatting Steve up and now Eddie was left simmering.

“I’m not gonna lick him. I’m not a child.” Still, some kind of brand on Steve would be nice. But hickeys went away and no one would be able to tell it was his without knowing they were involved already. The cold February breeze came through and Eddie got an idea. Dustin was already turning his camera on as the other hopped off the table and walked off.

“It appears that Eddie is finally about to stake his claim.”

Eddie looked as casual as ever while he sauntered up. The only thing betraying how he felt about Jake was his tight smile. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder but really he wanted to run it down his back.

“Wait, is he...? Unbelievable”, Dustin said as the scene unfolded. Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket and put it across Steve’s shoulders. “In no uncertain terms, Eddie has officially marked Steve, signaling to his punk enemy that he is not available.”

Dustin zoomed in to catch Jake’s expression, eyes looking back and forth between Steve and Eddie before recognition set in. And then he left. Dustin deftly set the camera down as his friends turned towards him and walked back.

“Still a heart breaker, huh Steve?”, Dustin grinned.

“What’re you talking about?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Forget it, Dustin. This guy can’t tell someone’s flirting with him until they write him an entire song.”

“Pretty rich for a guy I asked to help with my pipes and thought I meant actual plumbing.”

“You guys are both idiots”, Dustin said. “That’s why you’re perfect for each other.” And he had the video to prove it.

-----------------------

Once again, Dustin was spying through a crack in a doorway. “Grooming is a common way to show affection for one another”, he whispered. Through the crack, it was clear that Eddie was sitting on the bed, Steve behind him, brushing through the long curls.

“A ritual that is both intimate and occasionally a prelude for-” Dustin stopped when they started kissing and Eddie pushed Steve onto the bed and that was his cue to get out.

----------------------

“What sort of stuff do you get on camera anyway?”, Steve asked one day.

“A lot of things”, Dustin said cryptically. 

“Liiiiike what? Do you film your campaigns or something? Or do you just record random stuff and send it to your girlfriend?”

Dustin had in fact sent a tape to Suzie once. “I get some DnD stuff. Some friend stuff.”

“Do you ever record Eddie?”

“Yyyyyes.” Dustin wondered where this conversation was going.

“Would you happen to know his stance on Valentine’s Day?”

“If I give you a hint, what do I get?”

Steve rolled his eyes. He didn’t know where Dustin got it from. “Free rides for a month.”

“I’ve never paid you.”

“I mean I won’t complain for the whole month.”

“Free rides and 50 free tokens.”

“Rides for two weeks and 10 free tokens.”

“Rides, 20 free tokens, and I’ll show you exclusive footage of Eddie.”

Steve was enticed by that and it was clear on his face. What could be on that camera. He held out his hand to Dustin. “Deal.”

They shook on it.

“He’s thinking of getting you a ring.”

“A WEDDING RING?!?”

“Keep your head on, Jeeesus”, Dustin groaned. “You’ve been together barely two months. Not even Eddie is that fast. Like one of his rings. He thinks you like ‘em.”

Steve bit his lip. He did like those rings. And those fingers. And those hands. And th- ”Okay. I can plan for that.”

When February 14th came, Steve found that Dustin hadn’t been entirely truthful. Eddie did give him a ring. He did it right as a gig ended. After singing a song about an unstoppable warrior. Eddie tossed the ring right at him in the audience. Steve’s eyes never broke from Eddie’s as he kissed it.

And Dustin got the whole thing on camera.

Part 3 FINAL

@henderdads

[natt-writes]

~3 tips for developing your writing voice.~

This is a part-two to a previous post of mine about improving your writing, that post will be linked at the bottom if you want to check it out!

Find the tone of your book.

when writing a good book, the most important part is understanding what it’s tone is. For example you wouldn’t want a serious, sad book to have a narration style that was intended for a comedic story. Once you find the tone of your book it will be much easier to find the narration style. The best way to find the tone is to make a short list of how the characters talk, what the book is about, and what the target audience is. Once you make that list you can start to evaluate the different aspects of your book and find the tone they best suits it.

2. Make the narrator a character.

this tip really helped me to make my books better. What I did was decide what type of narrator I wanted, I chose comedic, then I developed them. I gave them a personality, grudges, a backstory, everything that a normal character would have. This way I understood what type of reactions they would have in certain situations and how they would describe them to the reader. I chose to give my narrator a lot of personality, making snarky comments throughout the book, but it’s entirely up to you how the narrator talks.

3. Do this writing exercise.

this is a very helpful writing exercise which I haven’t seen other people talking about (lmk if you’ve seen this before, bc i personally haven’t). It consists of you writing a short story, poem, essay or diary entry as the narrator. I started doing this to develop my characters, but I soon learned that it’s super helpful for developing your writing voice. What you do is choose a topic, it could be anything from your favourite show to what you did today, and write about it in the style that you are trying to develop. Add in jokes if your narrator makes jokes, add details where you think they would add details, write fancy, write casual, it’s all up to you! The best part is, these don’t even matter, so you won’t have to rewrite it if you mess up, like with your first draft.

~thank you so much for reading this, if you have any post suggestions or writing questions just send me an ask! Keep writing my dudes!~

*link to my writing tips post:

[queenburd]

ITS TIME FOR THE GAY CONTENT. HAPPY PRIDE TIME FOR IDIOT GAY.

|.|.|.|

“Right,” the narrator says, voice unwavering, “you ready?”

Stanley nods. The hand in his squeezes, and then lets go. He approaches the two buttons carefully. Behind him, the narrator clears his throat, and speaks his line.

“And when at last he found the source of the room's power, he knew it was his duty, his obligation, to put an end to this horrible place and to everything it stood for.”

His performance is as strong as ever. Stanley inhales deeply to brace himself.

Then he slams the ON button, turns, and runs.

The fellow is only a few steps behind him, and he breathes out, “Oh Stanley, you didn't just activate the controls, did you?” before he drops the rest. There’s little time for him to speak, of course—the game is afoot.

They’ve been trying to beat this game for so many runs now that it’s nearly muscle memory. Stanley runs to the four computer screens and his friend to the other side of the control room, to the monitor under the painted numbers 0521. The screens display nothing until the countdown properly starts, but it’s a matter of getting to their places.

God, Stanley is so glad he convinced his friend to do this. It’s such a thrill, every time, it gets his heart racing every time they get closer to the solution. To beating the mini game the narrator has made just for him.

It feels like ages ago now that the fellow finally grinned at him (grinned! With his face!) and told him, “well, go on then, see how far you can get”. Delight had painted the narrator’s features as he stood at the top of the stairs by the double doors and monologued while his protagonist ran about the room, slamming buttons to try to make sense out of what was usually senseless.

These buttons were never supposed to do anything, but he can’t resist indulging Stanley. He’s a pushover. Stanley loves him.

Now the fellow shouts a series of colors, and Stanley presses the buttons of the four monitors in that order. The screens flash, then a green check mark appears on them as they chime. Step one, done.

The both of them move in sync. This was the hardest part, this part took the most trial and error. Each monitor in the room displays a number in a certain color. The numbered button has to be hit in the same moment that the colored button attached to the monitor’s console is hit. It is a team effort that requires a lot of movement, a lot of back and forth on both parts as they each work to resolve the monitors closest to the numbers they stand near.

This game can only be beaten in co-op. It needs two people to even get close to success. And it requires luck, too. A good amount of luck.

He presses the heel of his palm into a green button at the same moment the narrator pushes the number 2 flush. The monitor chimes, goes black. Somewhere in the room, a monitor displaying a battery lights up, the display either charged or partially charged.

His heart is racing. They’ve gotten a little over half of the monitors done, and the timer has just gone back to 1:47:00. This is a good run, Stanley can feel it in his bones. They’re going to manage it this time.

They’ve gotten so close in the past. So, so frustratingly close. It’s usually the damn number 4 that trips them up, high up on the stairwell hard to get to. They try to leave it for last and if they have to, they use the big red button in the console up front to reset the remaining monitors. The less times they have to hit the number 4, the better.

How many times have the pair of them tried to beat this game, now? He would wonder if they’ve hit the triple digits yet, if he wasn’t so preoccupied.

It’s been enough times that they can’t do their attempts consecutively anymore. They have to take breaks, they can only do this ending so many times before the frustration builds to a point where they start getting snippy with each other. When that happens they would stop and put the game aside, do something else. A normal run, a familiar ending, something to ease the tension.

Forty-eight seconds left. Which technically means only eighteen—once the clock hits thirty seconds again all the monitors will change to “GOODBYE EMPLOYEE 427” and it won’t matter anymore. They’re cutting it really, really close—there’s two monitors left and they both display a 4. Do they opt to reset the button and risk the new displays showing numbers far from where they stand, or try to bolt up the stairwell?

A choice like this would make the narrator freeze up—has in the past. Has cost them the game. So now Stanley points to the big red button that the fellow is close to, a command he follows without hesitation. He slams it down

RNJesus is on their side. A blue number 1, and a pink number 3. It’s perfect.

Forty-three seconds. The narrator smacks the number 1 as Stanley jams the pads of his fingers into the blue button. He bolts to the number 3 and the narrator nearly trips on his way to the monitor while the building shakes. Thirty-seven seconds.

Two buttons press in sync. All the monitors display the green check mark. The battery displays are all fully charged. Thirty-three seconds. The narrator, out of breath, hauls himself to the standing console that requests he attempt a power surge. The blue screen lights up his face.

SURGE DETECTED. MANUAL OVERRIDE REQUIRED. PLEASE ACTIVATE FAILSAFE.

At thirty-one seconds and all steps completed, Stanley smashes his palm into the power button on the failsafe monitor.

The room goes completely dark. The monitor has gone black. Not even the lights in the center pit are on.

And then the massive countdown screen displays a new message.

EMERGENCY DETONATION ABORTED.

The monitors all light up with the same display:

FACILITY ACTIVE. WELCOME ADMIN EMPLOYEE 427.

They’ve done it.

The lights come back on as one. In the pit under the catwalks, the rim lights are an oscillation of green and white. Overhead, a new song plays, celebratory and triumphant.

Stanley whoops. The narrator is howling with joy, fists thrown in the air where he stands by the console.

“Yes! YES! Woo! We did it! We did it!”

God, Stanley wants to howl with delight. He wants to run laps, he wants to spin in circles until he’s dizzy.

He runs from where he stands by the failsafe button, to where the narrator is fist-pumping the air triumphantly. The fellow laughs madly with joy when Stanley scoops him up in a bear hug, lifting and spinning him in the air like he’s light as a feather.

God, Stanley is on top of the world. He could do anything right now. His narrator’s arms are around his neck and he’s laughing in his ear, that wild laugh where he’s just so bloody proud.

There is so much joy in Stanley’s chest. He spins his narrator again, feeling how he laughs, and then Stanley tilts his head up and kisses him.

The narrator’s mouth is warm, open, jaw loose. Stanley closes his eyes and feels how that lower lip gives. He lets the world fall away.

There’s a little noise against his mouth, startled. The jaw goes tense, the body in his arms stiff—but even as he registers it and the fight or flight instincts kick in, pulling him back, the narrator makes another noise and relaxes again, mouth chasing his. There’s no chance for disconnect.

The slightest of head tilts—then they’re even closer. His nose presses into the skin of a cheek. The mouth against his parts and lets him in. There is a hand in his hair.

Stanley doesn’t need to breathe, which is good, because he could do this forever; but he eventually pulls back for air anyway. He opens his eyes, mouth open while he pants.

The narrator blinks at him, looking dazed. His eyes are lidded, like he’s just opened them to try to seek out why Stanley stopped. His mouth is pink. So are his cheeks. He’s fucking gorgeous, lips parted, hand sliding from Stanley’s shoulder to press the tips of his fingers to that kiss-swollen lower lip.

Stanley looks at him, beautiful and breathless and speechless—and then finally registers just what the hell he’s done.

Why did he do that. Why did he do that.

“Stanley?”

He shouldn’t have done that, why did he do that, why couldn’t he control himself? Why is he like this? Why doesn’t he think, why is he so stupid?

“Stanley!”

The narrator’s not like him, he’s overstepped, he’s so stupid, just Stupid Stanley, who just kissed his only friend like an idiot, who’s ruined everyth—

The narrator’s hands press to his cheeks and then that mouth is back on his.

It’s sloppy. It’s rough. There’s the brush of teeth and a pair of glasses press into his nose, but even as he thinks it the narrator tries to correct, softening the force and adjusting the angle. Stanley sees the squeeze of the narrator’s eyes shut tight, before his own slide shut again.

Oh. Right. Yes. This is why. This is right.

He kisses back, hand finding a cheek. The narrator kisses him with a startling desperation, like he might never get the chance again.

This time, when they pull away, it is the narrator’s turn to look anxious.

“Was—was that alright? I didn’t, I didn’t know what to do, you were panicking, and I just—oh, did I do it wrong? I shouldn’t have presumed, I—“

Stanley cups his cheek, thumb stroking the skin there. The third kiss is slower. There’s intent behind it. Certainty. It’s a much softer thing, it feels like comfort.

The narrator makes that noise again, something like a relieved moan. That’s it, sweetheart. There we are.

Stanley’s heart is slowing. There’s a hand on his chest, his fingers are on the narrator’s hip, and they kiss and kiss like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like they were made for just this.

When they finally part, he doesn’t go far. He presses his forehead to his narrator’s, his eyes closed, and the fellow is content to be held. Their noses brush. They fit.

The triumphant music has long since ended, the silence creeping in around them. Stanley finds he is content with it. His eyes stay closed even when the narrator finally finds his voice.

“Could we…. Stanley, could we have been doing that this whole time?!”

He snorts, the upset and outrage in the fellow’s voice utterly shattering the quiet peace of the moment and surprising a laugh out of Stanley. His face breaks into a grin as he laughs, pressing his forehead harder against his friend’s.

“I can’t believe you’ve been letting me go on about this story and its themes and these damn buttons when this entire time—Stanley, stop laughing, I’m serious!”

He nearly doubles over with the fit of giggles. As it is he presses his face into the narrator’s collar, knit acrylic on his cheek, and laughs so hard it hurts.

“Unbelievable! Utterly ridiculous, I’m here bemoaning all the time lost and here you are, laughing like a lunatic and not kissing me!!”

He throws his head back and laughs and laughs and laughs.

He loves this bastard. Really, he does. They’ve never put it in so many words, but he’s loved him for years now and he knows—well—he shouldn’t assume, but he’s pretty certain—

“Yes, yes, I’m in love with an idiot man who has me in his arms and is fully capable of expressing his adoration of me and yet is choosing to laugh instead of fixing his mouth back onto mine where it should go,” the fellow huffs, trying to sound stern and offended and not at all like he just told Stanley an open secret.

Stanley lifts his head from the fellow’s shoulder, grinning, an eyebrow raised in challenge. Why does Stanley have to be the one to fix the problem, hm? If the narrator is so upset, then he should do something to fix the situation.

The face he’s met with has been painted with irritation, but now it shifts to surprise, the narrator’s cheeks flushing all the way to his ears. Surprise and uncertainty, his eyes wide and darting away from Stanley’s face. He mumbles something that the protagonist might have missed if he wasn’t mere inches away.

“M’not as good at it as you are. Obviously.”

Oh, sweetheart. His sweetheart. Stanley presses both his palms to the narrator’s jawline with tenderness, and gives him what he wants.

It takes practice, he thinks. Not that Stanley has had more of it, but he’s had longer to know how his body moves and his mouth works. He’ll teach him. He’ll teach the narrator whatever he wants.

The narrator wraps a hand around his wrist but does not pull him away. A hum purrs in his chest. Stanley loves him so very much.

This is a shorter kiss, but Stanley follows it up with a peck on the mouth and then a peck on the cheek. Okay, okay, if they keep this up they’ll never leave this room. There are much more comfortable places to kiss in this building.

“Mm,” the narrator hums distractedly. “You’re right I suppose.” He’s clearly not thinking about any of them, too busy looking at Stanley’s mouth.

Sweetheart.

“Mm.”

Narrator.

“What?”

Reset?

The distant look clears and the narrator furrows his brow, looking irritated. “Oh for—Stanley, look at the monitors.”

Caught off guard, Stanley glances at the closest screen. Underneath the words “WELCOME ADMIN EMPLOYEE 427” is a new line of text.

> RESTART SIMULATION Y/N

Oh.

“An idiot,” the fellow in his arms groans, dropping his head onto Stanley’s shoulder to hide his face. “I’m in love with an idiot.”

Okay look, he was a little distracted, alright.

“Really, really stupid, button obsessed, stubborn, bratty—“

Look, does the bastard want more kisses or not?!

The narrator’s mouth snaps shut. Stanley smirks. Better.

“Mean,” the fellow adds under his breath as Stanley half turns to put his hand on the standing console, fingers hovering over the Y.

Yeah, Stanley loves him too. So very, very much.

[joshriku]

What are your favorite fics you've read in the past year?

hi thank you for asking i love to talk about fics i read. im so sorry you didn't specify a fandom so i'm going to talk about everything i favorited this year so far lol. i am currently reading this cherik fic called exit wounds by lemonadegarden and i cannot stress enough how good it is. the worldbuilding, the politics, the characters, the storytelling, the emotions, just so so good. please read it if you are a cherik liker. i love it. i haven't finished it yet but omg. not in any particular order

the patch of sand where we buried the dog by shroomyystar: this fic is about luna and erik running into each other and getting ice cream. it should be normal but it's magneto family you know it's fucking insane. you don't even understand the luna and erik brainrot i gained from reading this i was like oh my god his granddaughter.. magnificent character work. to me the magneto family in comics have such a special specific dynamic and it's so well nailed here. it's crazy

make the fire rise by frozencinders: alright i don't go to baldur's gate 3 but i know enough about wyll and astarion and i really like this author so i might as well read their wyllstarion do you feel me. it's about yearning and romance novels and vampires and everything u could ever ask for. i loved it sm. one of my favorite things about this is the narration, like the way the thoughts flow so easily while keeping in beat with the character voice and making u feel so earnest..... gorgeous.......

what's the point in playin' a game you're gonna lose by shroomyystar: raven/irene in regard to the x-men blue origins revelation. raven being so fucking mad at irene but also so deeply in love with her to the point it's the same thing. when i say toxic yuri this is exactly what i mean it's exactly raven trying to kill her and thinking it's like having sex. that's EXACTLY what i mean.

gravity felled the apple (but the spiders stuck around) by maroonmusings: insomniac spider-man 2, peter gets to keep the teaching job and everyone thinks he has a favorite student (miles) which creates some drama until they figure it out a little too well. it's so fucking good. when i read peter parker, i want him to sound exactly like this. the character voices.. the non-canon characters perfectly fitting in this... the entire spider-man cast playing very well in this fic.. THE DIALOGUE! writing peter is such an art but this person GETS it.

taste the way that you bleed by maroonmusings: peter parker/astarion based on that one time they made a joke about it. again i don't go to bg3 but fantastic character work, it's literally so in character it totally sold me on this pairing - not that i need much convincing for crackships. that's just who i am brother.i fucking loved this so much.

Some Catching Up to Do by magicasen: jean/wanda! jean/wanda set in x-men first class. it's so fucking good and funny, it feels incredibly in character to the xmfc versions of them. it's such a feel-good fic about them in that period of time too, and pietro's cameos were too fucking funny. i love girls being girls and being in love :(

lech lecha by ferriswheelsdayoff: hosea matthews character analysis it will blow your tits off. i'm still floored by the amount of work into each line and how it's connected to real world teachings and how it manages to weave all of hosea's important relationships while analyzing him too. saur good

take what you give me by magentateam_bplot: storm/magneto. THIS is the sub erik type of shit i enjoy. magnificent characterization of both of them i could easily read 9k of it 1k was too little!!!

Girls' Nights by EmilyArmadillo: gabby bonding with vault laura!!!!!!! I THOUGHT THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA like i wish we actually had gabby's reaction to talon? i mean ofc that's asking too much from duggan, or for duggan to care, but this person delivered so well. everything was so well implemented, even the bit where the other laura kinney sees her and leaves the room. ahhh so good

Graveside by NotesFromSarah: the aftermath of erik burying anya after the fire, and then him and the twins coming together to visit her burial place. i thought this was amazing and heartbreaking and also a very groundbreaking magneto fam style for me..... not a lot of fics focused on them during the 80s, which is a good place for them to be somewhat normal around each other, and this fic does such a good job of using tragedy to join them without disregarding their past. gorgeoussss

Last Chance by Lefaym: my notes on this says 'old man sex heart hands' and it's exactly that. doomed timeline cherik from dofp have such a special heart to me even if i don't go much to moviesparts as i did before and oh my god... it's about that longing that regret that they're running out of time and also your hip being sore so you can't really hold a sex position. i love it.

Speed of Silence, Sound of Silence by neverminetohold: x-men evolution pietro & erik. something goes wrong and pietro thinks he's going to be scolded, but erik doesn't scold him. 'His quickening stride screams of his wish to escape this moment that is as far removed from a lecture as it can get.

That defines their relationship in a nutshell. Will they never be able to move beyond this?' you don't even get it im insane. im insane. im insane

chatoyant by unsungillumination: this fic is the best use of the fake dating trope that's ever existed, probably because the main protagonists of this are light and L death note. L and Light get in a relationship for strategic reasons until light gives up the death note, forgetting it is strategic, and believes it's actually real. it's so fucking good. also devastating

Drive. by MissAmyShay: the bear fic. insane. carmy and richie reconciliation, nat and richie flashback to when mikey was first declared dead, nat richie bonding, nat giving birth, donna mentions. what else could i even ask for. it's amazing. i don't even need to read any other fics

telltale by unsungillumination: L haunts light after his death. it's literally ruining light's life. this is my favorite thing in the world i love a good fic about grief and about fucked up soulmates who are not soulmates in a traditional way. i recently finished death note after leaving it on standby for a decade and i'm thriving

This Is How I Disappear by TzviaAriella: kira gets found out. he gets sentenced to death row. he asks the task force to shoot him. it's literally the most haunting fic in the world and i'm so so so so obsessed with it i kinda wanna reread it but it's like devastating and most of all GOOD

they both die at the end by unsungillumination: when i say i love fics that make me feel at odds with my own mortality and how i am spending my life and also grief for the future and grief for things past and grief, in the actual sense of death, ohhh. oh my god. what kills me is that this fic is just so grounded as well. you know the ending is coming. you just hang onto the little moments hoping MAYBE it won't happen, but you know. i loved it so bad. also this is a death note fic again

Connect the Dots by GrayJay: SCOTT SUMMERS ASKS MATT MURDOCK OF DAREDEVIL FAME TO BE A TEACHER AT THE SCHOOL AND THEY BOND OVER HOW SIMILAR THEIR DISABILITIES ARE it's ltierally so godo it's insane i love my favorite characters talking so much :(

the thirty-second hour by unsungillumination: this fic is about light yagami not being able to lie for 4 hours in each day, but it happens at random times, as a consequence of regaining his memories of the death note. it's inspired by i found you in the fire by yosgay which is ALSO one of my favorite fics even if it's not from my current 2024 reads but it IS TO ME. anyway. point is a character like light being forced to tell the truth is amazing. the layers of performance and what truth even means being analyzed through light's own eyes... mmmwah..

Tough Love by UmbrellaMartialGod: haikyuu fic. suga/tsukki. i was like no one in this world understands my fucked up haikyuu dynamic ship in which tsukki has a life-ruining unrequited crush on suga that no one else knows about except yamaguchi EXCEPT THIS PERSON!!!!!!!! THIS PERSON WROTE IT!!!!!!! IMAGINE THAT. HAVING A FIC ABOUT A RAREPAIR THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU NEEDED. THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME BEFORE. I GENUINELY DONT KNOW HOW TO ACT

anyway, thank you for asking. i love fanfic and i love talking about it. hope you enjoy either of these

[mxtxfanatic]

3,000 or 5,000: What’s the Difference?

How many cultivators did Wei Wuxian actually kill at the Nightless City bloodbath? From the mouths of gossiping cultivators directly after the first siege:

“…Don’t you remember when he annihilated more than 3,000 high level cultivators?”

“Wasn’t it 5,000?”

“3,000 or 5,000, one or the other. I think 5,000’s more likely.”

—Chapt. 1: Rebirth, fanyiyi

From the mouths of a married civilian couple 13 years later, in the present-day timeline:

Her husband, “Who could possibly guarantee that? When he killed over three thousand people in Qishan, I was very young, but I can still remember that back then, not only the immortals who cultivated, even normal people were scared of him. He’s a bloodlusting demon who has no heart.”

—Chapt. 67: Tenderness, exr

From the narrator speaking on the aftermath of the Nightless City bloodbath:

The bloodbath of Nightless City, legendarily, was a bloody battle in which the YiLing Patriarch, Wei WuXian, slaughtered over three thousand people during the night of the pledge conference on his own. Some said that it was five thousand as well. No matter three or five, one thing was for sure—in that night, the ruins of Nightless City became a gory hell in Wei WuXian’s hands.

—Chapt. 79: Loyalty, exr

From Wei Wuxian’s own mouth at Nightless City before it became a bloodbath:

What came out was indeed Wei WuXian’s voice, but he spoke in a strange tone, “Why should I dare not show myself here? Do you people here even add up to three thousand? Don’t forget that back in the Sunshot Campaign, let alone three thousand, I’ve fought against five thousand on my own before. And by appearing here, haven’t I granted your wish? No need for you to come all the way to my home tomorrow to scatter my ashes.”

—Chapt. 78: Nightfall, exr

So there you have it: the number of victims at the Nightless City bloodbath cannot number above three thousand, as that number in and of itself is a rounding up of the amount of cultivators present at the banquet in total. Notice that in Wei Wuxian’s speech, he says that he brought down five thousand Wen-aligned cultivators on his own, which is probably where the embellishment that he killed five thousand cultivators at the Nightless City bloodbath was born from. However, at the second siege, when the group of cultivators—including survivors of the bloodbath—charge Wei Wuxian with slaughtering “three thousand” cultivators, this is what he has to say:

Wei WuXian interrupted him, “Three thousand people? There were indeed three thousand cultivators present that night at Nightless City, but so too were the leaders the sects and many of their elites. With all of them present, could I have really killed all of the three thousand people? Are you thinking too highly of me, or are you looking down on them?”...

...“It’s not that I want to bargain about such a thing, but that I don’t want my charges to be doubled just because of some words from another. I won’t shoulder what I didn’t do.”

—Chapt. 79: Loyalty, exr

Wei Wuxian rightfully points out that for the fact that he was being charged with massacring three thousand cultivators, and only three thousand were gathered at Nightless City tops, along with the fact that many of the attendees of the Nightless City banquet are also present at the second siege 13 years later, it is illogical to claim that he had killed them all or even a good portion of them. So, why does this matter?

In revealing the lie within the number of deaths reported for the Nightless City bloodbath, Wei Wuxian has both revealed the cultivation world’s willingness to spread blatant lies within minor truths in order to conceal their own immoral actions as well as showed how their exaggeration of his crimes serve to fuel their continued hatred of him. The Nightless City bloodbath was an act of betrayal on the “righteous” clans part, yet even in his defense in the midst of unimaginable despair—and remembering that he has wiped out larger armies than the remaining clans’ then coalition, so much so that no cultivator who went up against him in the Sunshot Campaign lived to even report what he looked like to their fellow allies—Wei Wuxian still... managed to keep a fair amount of people alive. And now, 13 years later, Wei Wuxian refuses to bow to this slander. He didn’t slaughter five thousand cultivators at Nightless City. He didn’t even slaughter three thousand. And he will not accept these false charges on his head in the name of clans’ vengeance, any longer.

One of the greatest accusations levied against the accursed Yiling Laozu is, at last, exposed for the lie that it is, and it is only one of many narrative-changing reveals the story has to offer.