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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting.

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens.

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen.

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business.

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts.

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux.

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic.

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes.

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair.

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest. “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him.

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah.

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm.

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage.

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires.

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-”

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying.

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen.

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile.

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.”

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater.

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.”

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out.

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication.

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?”

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks.

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.” Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time.

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet.

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips.

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist.

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges.

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped.

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples.

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them.

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met.

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change.

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done.

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about.

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs.

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore.

With Eddie.

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger. “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens.

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff.

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right.

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #thank you all for reading along on this series!#ao3 has alllll the tags if you're curious before reading #have a lovely day! xx

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sugolara · 7 months

Text

𝐋𝐲𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬

Feat. yandere! Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

A series

cw: yandere themes, violence, suicidal thoughts, blood, gore, manipulation, stalking, kidnapping, quirkless! au, weapons, murder, angst, mental health, slow updates

˗ˏˋ+ ´ˎ˗ “All I‘ve ever asked was to have your heart, but you refused to even let me in. I destroyed myself, I let you destroy me for you. I was there when you had no one else, I took care of you, did everything for you, ruined my life for you. So the least you can do is let me have my way with you. I’ll jump through loops and loops to just be with you, so please, please let me have your heart.

I love you.

I love you, [̴̵̸̶̶̴̸̸̶̸̶̷̵̴̷̵̸̷̵̵̴̧̧̡̡̧̨̧̡̧̨̨̛̛̛̛͓̣̦͓͓͖̝͔̥͍̭͙̤͇̰̦͖̞̩̩̲̟̞̯͍͍̝̩̭̹̦̳̼̩͕̦̱̪̺̼͓̣̻͕̜̲̬̺̯͇̟̪̟͕͎̦͈̭̪̝̩͈̯̭̱̳̤̫̰͍̝̫͇̠̯̜̞͖̫̿̅̔̏͋̎͂̍̓̏͂̔̀̇͛̂̐̏́̔̀̈́͂̒̿̍̃̀͆͋͗̿̐͛́͊̂̂̈́͛̌͊̂̓̈́̀̓̈́͌͌͂̓́̃̎͐̌̃̄͒̽̎̿͗̄̃͊͑̍͗͛͌̒̆̓͂̅͋̂͛͗̔̌̊̈́̀̓̒̎̽͆̏̂̀̉̆͊̀̈́͘̚̚͘͘̕̕̕͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝ͅp̸̵̵̸̸̷̷̸̷̵̵̴̴̵̴̴̷̸̢̧̡̧̧̧̛̛̛̦̣̞͈̥̭͎̣͍̟͓͚̲̝̙̪̹͎̳̬̺̟̹̹̥̦͍̬̙͙̩̰͖̙̫̫͔̦̭̩͉͓͎͍̣͓̦̬̞͕̻̺̩̲̭̣̪̘̬͍̹̣͇̬̹̩̩̙͉̪͕̯͔͔͈̙͔̺̑͋̋̌̎͛̓͌̔̋̑͗͂̈́̽̋̊̅͌͑̂̀͗̈́̌͆͒̇̑̽͒̏́́̒̒̽̋̋̌̏͌̈́͗̀͑̂͐̈́͐̂̓̒̿̃̋̇̊͗̈́̎͋͐̎̾̓͗̐̀̒̆̀͋͒̀͆͐̾́͛͆͗́́̿́̓̆́̎̑̽̊̿̀̽̊͊̚̚̚̚̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅǝ̴̶̵̶̶̶̶̷̶̵̷̵̷̵̴̨̨̢̧̨̰̜̱̫̞̟̘̣̙̲̞̞̬͙̲̱͓̘̺̬̦̭̘̠͖͕̣̱̠͇̩̭͇̥̤̬̜͕͖̰̜͉̺̠͕̟̳̭̹̯̣̭͈̯̫͚͙̦͇͂̋̄͒́̒́̐̀͐̀̂͒̂̾̂͌̀͛̂͌̒̎͒̏̏͂̉̈́̿̌̏̋̐̅̍̿̄̋̓͒̄̈́́̌̀͒̅̓̅̈́͋̏͂̈́̿̅͌̓̅̑̔̌͐́̀́̐͒̃͑̆͋̔̂̆̕͘̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅʇ̴̷̴̸̷̦̟͙͙̤̤̬̠̻̹̫̹̳̥͈̫̾͐̿̇̄̈́͋̆̑͌̐̚͘͘̚͜ɔ̴̶̴̸̵̵̴̶̴̵̵̸̷̶̢̨̢̢̙̱̬̘̫̣̺͙̰̙͍̻̞̫͈͓̱̺̺̜̫̭̬̜̣̭̦͕̝͔͉̠̳̣̳̠̤̤̜͕̬̱͍͖̻̘̭̯̭̺̪̰̝͖͇̹̺̦͕̦͖̳̘͕̘͓̻̱̃̎̄͒͆̑̋͆͑͆͂̅̄͒͋̓̀̏̊̀̇́̀̾̿̄̂͒̍̌́͊̈́̑̍̂̏̂̽̊͊̾͒̀̅͆̈́͋͆͛̏̑̒̾̌́̿̀́̈́̍̍̏͆̊̈́͋̀̽̂̏́͆̽̀̏̉͋͘͘̕̚͘̚͜͝͝͝͝ͅͅɐ̸̷̷̵̶̸̷̸̶̶̴̶̸̨̢̡̢̧̛̛̻̹̥̠̠̦̝̰͔̘̬̳̥̞̥̼̜̥̭̺̦̻̱̹̙̤̟̰͉͙̹͕̯͖̫̈́̎̌͒́̈́́̏̀̒̇͊̇̓͗̆̇̋̊̈́́͋͊̌͋̓̾̃͑̐̿̒͆͋̾͆̍͋̊̒̈́͌̓͆̔̎́͂́̂̑̈́̓͆̀͑̇̚͘͘̚̕͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝p̴̷̶̷̴̷̶̢̢̧̢̢̡̧̛̛͈̼̪̜̰̥̦͇̤̘͍͕̟̻̥̤̭̥͍̝͖̪̪̠͕̞̼͈͗̀̓̓̐̃́͊̌̔̅͊͛̂̍͋̓̀̃̃̀͛̓̓͊̍̄͛̑̉̓̚͘͜͜͝ͅͅͅǝ̵̷̷̴̴̶̷̶̷̢̺̪͈̥̯̥̘̣͈̘̳̼͉̭̻̜͍̤͚̺̳̯̻̫̺̜̱̥͇̎̑̿͗̽͂̆̆̈́̋͋́͋͑͛͋̌͋̾́̓͌̆̐̾͂̂̊̏̽̕̕̚̚̕͜͝͝͝ɹ̴̵̴̵̸̵̷̶̸̴̷̶̶̷̵̷̷̴̵̧̡̨̧̢̧̛̛̛͕̱͍̣͕̦̻̼̯̹͍̙̥̜̰̱̜͚̺̲͚͖̞̜̲̱̪͖͓̯̳͕̪̹͖̩͔͍̹̙͍̭͉͍̙̭̦̭̼̟͎̬̠̫̣͙̜̥̘̣͖͙̱̦̩͎̟̫̦͕̟̞̼͚̝̰̟̥͎̣̼͈͕̦̠͎̲̫̙̍̓̊̈́̐̃̇̀́̅̉̇̿̄͗͊̈́̎̄̅̿́̆̅͂̊̑͐̎̽̉̒̅͆̇͑̒̍̆̐͆͒̍͌̇̌̒̄͛̇͌̀́̆̊̈́͂̀̏̾͋̈́̀̉̍̌̾̊̈́̌͊͌̀̌̆̇̃̃͐͑̃̆͐͆͊̽̎̅͐̾̎͐̐͂͌̆̂̅͗̆͘̚̕͘̚͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅ. ”

D̴̦̟͙̹͈̲̻̆̈́̄̏̆͘ͅȍ̴͇̐͂͘͝ ̸͖͕͖̙̻̗͇́̆̓͊̊̀͝n̷̞̼̪̈́ó̴͙͎̼͓͖̘̦̠̱̿͗̐̌͑͠ͅt̵̜͈̰̝̰̳͓̝̗̋̃̉̏̀͒͘̕ ̵̫̻̦̑̋f̵̻̳̼̽͗̀̓̋̀̏̔͠o̷͔̼͠r̴̬̙͙̖͈̖̼͐͘͜͝ğ̵̩͈͔̉̋̆̂͌́͋͠ȩ̷̯̼̗͈͔͓͌̅̿t̷̻͕̭͖̤̫̑̈́̑̅͌̆́ ̷̡̧̣̮͈̋͒͐́̄͊̕̕ḿ̴̡͔̳͈͙̞̈́͂̿̊͜͝e̵͍̬̥͕̻̼͎̊͆̔.̶͖̗̼̬͖̼̼̞͖́̉̃͋̀̽

(ongoing)

playlist!

✿ Flesh and Bone - Brendan Benson ✿ Treehouse - Alex G ✿ Special Death - Mirah ✿ Empty Words - Bowery Electric ✿ Your face - Wisp ✿ 4:00 A.M - Taeko Onuki ✿ Me and the Devil - Soap&Skin ✿ You're Gonna Miss Me - Connie Francis ✿ Let Go - Ark Patrol ✿ (You Don’t Know) How Glad I Am - Nancy Wilson ✿ The Devil Within - Digital Daggers ✿ (I Don’t Think We Should) Take It Slow - LSD and the Search for God ✿ Beach Walk - Whitewoods ✿ Never Land [A Fragment] - The Sisters Of Mercy ✿ The Killing Moon - Echo And The Bunnymen ✿ Soulvaki Space Station - Slowdive ✿ Sing - Slowdive ✿ Miranda - Slowdive ✿ Melon Yellow - Slowdive ✿ Nausea - Craft Spells ✿ Various Types of Ads - Rory in early 20s ✿ Here She Comes - Slowdive ✿ Crazy For You - Slowdive ✿ A Quick One Before the Eternal Worm Devours Connecticut - Have A Nice Life ✿ Soundtrack for Your Backseat - sundiver ca ✿ Marigold - Nirvana ✿ Beat - Bowery Electric ✿ Salad Days - Mac DeMarco ✿ Sony - VHS ✿ Full Moon - The Black Ghosts ✿ Floating World - Bowery Electric ✿ Anemone - The Brian Jonestown Massacre ✿ "annihilate the sparrow, that stealer of speed, and our harvest will abound; we will watch our wealth flood in." - Red Sparowes ✿ There Are Some Remedies Worse Than Disease - This Will Destroy You ✿ You Are Here with Me (In This Sequence of Dreams) - Woods of Ypres ✿ A message of avarice rained down and carried us away into false dreams of endless riches. - Red Sparowes ✿ Maniac - John Maus ✿ oh my god - teen suicide ✿ everything is fine - teen suicide ✿ The Equalizer - Clinic ✿ Metal Heart - Cat Power ✿ millions starved and we became skinnier, while our leaders became fatter and fatter. - Red Sparowes ✿ Exquisite Tension - You'll Never Get To Heaven ✿ Audio 002 - Next To Blue ✿ as the light fades - a vow ✿ Tonight You Belong To Me - Patience & Prudence ✿ December Nostalgic - Rasmus H Thomsen ✿ Black Light - Bowery Electric ✿ Alice - Cocteau Twins ✿ Two of Hearts - Stacey Q

table of contents:

Lotus Flower

Yellow Tulip

Belladonna

Single Dahlia

Bells-of-Ireland

A Halloween Special

Begonia

Geranium

Clematis

Hibiscus

A Christmas Special

Holly

Grass

Coriander

Monkshood

A Valentine Special

Ì̶̢̩̬̩̝̱̝̙̺̉̿̋̒͌͝'̶̛̞͕̂̽͐͒̓͋̐̅̚͜l̵̘̙͗̇́̐̎͒̄͘ḻ̷̣́͊̔̀̽̿̚͜ ̸̧̡̜̯̖̠͉̥̰̖͋́̓͘n̸̪̻̤̙̫͙͂͗ḙ̸̺̥̭̏̽͌̎̈́͝͠v̴̧̙͔̮̙̰̲̄͘ê̷͈̓ŗ̸̛͈̜̟̙͚̤͙͉̯͌̔̑̽͠ ̵̜̰̬̹͊͌͂̌͗͋͠f̴̮͇̦͂̃͌̔͌̎̐̚ȯ̶̡͔r̴͔̼̖͐̅͒̑̕͝ġ̵́͌͑̈́̌̄ͅé̶̘͉̠̭͚͌̋̎̊̀̄̚͝͠ṭ̵̻̅̇͑̈́̆̽͊̇ ̸̫̳͎̗͙̅́̒͐̉̏͒͘y̷̪̝̔͛̓̕͠͠o̵̞̱̻̟̹͝ú̸̧̪̘͓̙̪̖̔͜.̶̮̭͓͍̝̗̍

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emeraldgreenbeautiesstu · 3 months

Note

MATT X READER PLS.

Then book shopping n it’s all cute n stuff 😻😻‼️

Bernard's & Noble

(see what i did there)

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Word count: 749

Alexis speaks! : hey guys! thank you for the request (the more requests, the more stories i post 😉) i'm honestly not very proud of this one, but i've deleted it four times already and this is the best i got 💀 once again, comments and likes are greatly appreciated, it helps me know if yall like my style or if i need to change anything! pls don't steal my work, love yall!

"Matttt?" i whined from my spot on the floor. i was bored out of my fucking mind. Matt wanted the day to be a 'lazy day' and by that he means he wanted to scroll social media and youtube all day. that was not my idea of fun, i've always been a hands on person whether that be going outside for hours, to the lake, reading, anything other than being lazy at home.

"whattttt?" he mocked, sitting up from his bed, his hair all messed up and funny looking.

i chuckled. "your hair looks great." i smiled, climbing to straddle his lap and fix his bed head. "better" i smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "i have a business proposal."

matt sighed, "what do you want." he rolled his eyes with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

i hopped off him, standing at the foot of his bed. "i vote we go to barnes and noble today, my book case is baren." i joked. four out of the five of my bookshelves were full completely. but you can never have too many books.

"y/n you have more books than i think i've ever seen anywhere else in my life." he laughed. matt pretended to be annoyed, but he knows the answer is yes. and not just to this scenario, the answer is always yes to everything y/n wants. she had him wrapped around her tiny little finger. "when do you want to go?" he gave in.

i jumped around the room a couple times, silently celebrated with myself. "right now silly." i said. i trotted into his bathroom where i have my own drawer of toiletries and such. i touched up my makeup and threw on my shoes. "ok i'm ready." i beamed up at him. matt basically towered over me. he's 5'8 and i'm 5'3, so there's a pretty noticeable height difference.

he slipped his own shoes on. "i'm ready." he smiled, grabbing his keys.

i just looked at him. "matt babe." i looked at his outfit. "we are not going anywhere when you are wearing basketball shorts and a wife beater. please change." i said, false seriousness evident on my features.

"oh my god i'm literally gonna shit my pants i love barnes and noble." i said, climbing out of the passenger seat. I made matt carry my three tote bags i have designated for my favorite hobby, book shopping.

"do i really have to come in." matt complained.

we had been at barnes and noble for an hour already, two out of the three of my tote bags were full. so full we had to put them by checkout because they were too heavy to carry. About 15 minutes in i had made a joke that i thought was hilarious, matt didn't really think so.

"haha, bernard's and noble." i chuckled to myself, but matt heard me.

"y/n i swear to god i will leave you here."

"deal."

i was finally ready to go, the final tote bag full. i couldn't find matt though. i wandered through the multiple sections of books, matt no where in sight. "maybe he did leave me here." i mumbled under my breath. until my eye caught matt. he was crouched down, one hand on the shelf, the other hand occupied with a book.

"whatchya readin?" i smiled over him. my heart melted when he looked up at me, a small smile on his face. i took this time to take in his beauty. the way his slight curls fell over his eyebrows, the way his middle part accentuated his face shape, the way his blue eyes went so well with his outfit. he was wearing the white shirt with 'whatever' in bold print written across it, and baggy light wash blue jeans, his keys dangling from his belt loop.

"some poetry book, i might get it it's kinda fire." he smiled.

"you read poetry?"

"i like finding the good ones and printing them out, i like to look back on the really influential ones." matt said. he stood up and took my bag, his hand resting on the small of my back.

"matt i don't deserve you, you're so sweet." a cheesy grin creeping onto my lips.

"y/n you deserve the world." he smiled down at me, kissing my forehead.

"ok now how are we gonna get all of these in the car?" i laughed.

tag list!

@cupidzsq

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #books and reading #book shop #shopping #barnes and noble

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tenderlywicked · 1 month

Text

i've been reading quite a few Doctor/Master fics lately (angsty, smutty, or both, mostly Tensimm and Saxteen), so it looks like I'm ready to start another rec list :)

NEW Ever-Fixed Mark by x_los

Summary:

"...there it is. Neat, looking fresh-drawn. It apparently came with the Master’s assumption of the body, with his transformation of the flesh into a shape that suited him. It is so deeply a part of the Master that any shell he occupies must bear its testament. Isn’t love grand."

False Start by Verayne

Summary:

After one of their confrontations goes too far and they regenerate at the same moment, turns out that getting hit with two blasts of regeneration sickness can have some interesting side effects. They know they're the Doctor and the Master, they're just... not entirely sure which one of them is which. (TenSimm AU)

Hurt by Verayne

Summary:

Something awful happens between them, sometimes. Bad timing, bad chemistry. Times when the Doctor's guilt grows rabid in his chest, black and vicious and masochistic, demanding answer. Times when the Master's gleeful sadism rises to meet it in force.

It's the worst of both of them.

NEW The Loop by Lis_zimoy

Summary:

The Master travels with the Doctor. AU after “Last of the Time Lords”.

The Master got up and went to look for another place in the TARDIS.

The Doctor's voice caught up with him on the threshold.

“Are you really not going to kill me?”

The Master stopped, turned to the Doctor and looked at him in surprise.

“What for? Doctor, we died and went to hell. Don't you notice?”

NEW The Love Island AU by imbackintime, Verayne

Summary:

A story told through DMs. No, literally. The authors were having a very innocent discussion about recent photos of lockdown!Ten and somehow it evolved into telling each other a fun story about domestic and dating ridiculousness between the Doctor, the Master, and a very long-suffering Donna...

Need by Lamiel

Summary:

It isn't about what they want.

new gods by sariane

Summary:

The line of salt had drawn new rules into the edges of the universe.

No Exit (Everybody Lives) by Bagheera

Summary:

"So. You'd spend eternity with me."

The Master shrugs again. "It's not eternity. We both know the universe is finite. Been there, done that, remember? Besides, you have an interesting mind."

Of Three Headed Dogs and Fridges by Roxanne_Police

Summary:

The Doctor's exploration of domestic bliss leads him to strange places, Donna has a busy day at work, the Master needs more butter and Shaun is confused.

Out Of His Sight ; Out Of His Mind by SilhouettedBowTie

Summary:

The Doctor, with the Master in tow, walk down a corridor of the afterlife.

'... [they] continued their trek further down into the impossible hallway- which the Doctor found to be quite fitting, really, since just about everything about his present situation was impossible. Now that he thought about it, almost all of the situations he found himself to be in throughout his entire life were those of the impossible sort.'

An AU inspired by the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

NEW A Polished Silver Link in the Chain by Zabbers

Summary:

The Doctor keeps Yana, or tries to. But of course, he fails.

Properly Indecent by lasersonicked (songoshen)

Summary:

"You were jealous," the Master says, holding the Doctor's gaze, unwavering and impassive. Not a question but a statement, clipped and sure.

Heat flashes in the Doctor's cheeks again, rushing to his ears and neck. "You were causing a scene," he deflects, finding it difficult to maintain eye contact with the Master, the other's amber stare as if piercing easily through him.

A slow, confident grin creeps up the Master's face. "I was not. I only danced."

---

Post-EoT AU. Tumbling into a broom closet isn't quite what the Doctor envisioned when he wheedled the Master into attending a ball in Victorian England, but he should've never underestimated the Master's propensity for trouble. (Or more accurately, the strength of his own jealousy.)

red like blood and just as sweet by thesecondbeatitude

Summary:

It’s never easy with the Master. It’s never as straightforward as a knife and a watermelon and a picnic blanket spread beneath a slowly burning sky.

to regret the past, to hope in the future, and never to be satisfied with the present by ProdigalPragmatist

Summary:

It’s a familiar feeling, the Doctor falling apart in his arms. The Master covets it each time he feels the degradation of his posture, the rattle of his breaths. He’s well used to being the only thing keeping the Doctor together — shoving the puzzle pieces of his fragile sense of self back with the edges frayed and overlapping. They both sacrifice parts of themselves in the process, but it’s never felt like a loss.

“Please,” the Doctor mouths against his throat.

The Master swallows tightly and yanks him away by the collar of his jacket. “I won’t be gentle,” he says, but they both know nothing else is possible between them. “I won’t stop,” he warns, but they both know neither of them want that.

The Confession Dial was unexpected. The Doctor's reaction to it flying through the TARDIS doors was not. He wanders the halls of the closest thing he has to home, and he falls into the brutal arms of the closest person he has to home. The person who is his home, built on a foundation of grief and thorns.

NEW Saxon and Jones by ellbie

Summary:

The Doctor has vanished, and according to whatever “Emergency Program One” is, he’s presumed dead. Not only does this leave the Master trapped aboard the TARDIS on some no-name planet, but he’s also stuck with his second-least-favorite doctor: Martha Jones.

The Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords as told through Twitter dot com by AFunDuck, SilverTheArcher

Summary:

A reimagining of beloved Doctor Who episodes Sound of Drums and Last of the Time Lords where all the characters have Twitter accounts.

Stockholm Syndrome is Based on a Lie by NebbyAxolotl

Summary:

Lucy Saxon doesn't shoot the Master. Unfortunately, it's hard to get someone to let you save the man who ended the world when you're very in love and been tortured for a year by him.

The Doctor saves the Master from U.N.I.T..

Theseus' Paradox by Lis_zimoy

Summary:

The Master did not die on a Mondasian colony ship. He meets the Fourteenth Doctor and they start playing.

"Do you know what I was thinking when I came to your room at the Academy? I was thinking about how lazy and sloppy you are. What a dump of things I've always found at your place. Scattered books. Bundles of wires. All the stuff you dragged out of the Dead Zone. Things filled the room like thoughts clogged your brain. There was chaos all around you. That's why you studied terribly. You couldn't concentrate. There were no windows in our lecture halls so that we would not be distracted. You looked at the bare walls as if there were windows."

The Doctor listened to him with bated breath, his face sharpened, his eyes were greedy. The shadows under his eyelashes are deep, like wells. Oh yes, he needs a break from running.

The Master nodded.

"Now you understand why you can't find dirt? You're just being sloppy."

He put his face down and spat on the floor.

"See," he said. "You missed a spot."

The Volatile Nature of Binary Stars by OneOfThoseThings

Summary:

A dark(er) AU in which the Master happens upon a mind-wiped Donna and gives her a little boost the rest of the way to full Time Lord status. Then they both return to the TARDIS and an unsuspecting Doctor.

Life aboard the TARDIS is suddenly much less lonely and much more hostile.

Spoiler: Unlike most fix-its, in this one Donna is Not pleased that she was abandoned and does Not magically just get over that.

To Wither by inckpot

Summary:

The Doctor and the Master attempt domesticity.

And you can also read my fics And Silence Afterwards (human AU, asexual Doctor, mostly angst with a bit of BDSM) and Vicious Games (non-con + not-things) 😉

#doctor who #the doctor #the master #tenth doctor #simm master #10th doctor #simm!master #the doctor and the master #doctor/master #tensimm #doctor x master #thoschei #dw #doctor who fanfiction

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cherrycola27 · 6 months

Text

false god

Series Warnings: Mythology!AU. Language, alcohol, drinking. Military inaccuracies. Mutual pining, unrequited love. Allusions to and full smut. Minors DNI. 18+. Individual chapter warnings will come as needed. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

Specific Chapter Warnings: Mentions of relationship trauma, mental abuse, grooming, use of the word "rape," manipulation

...........................................

Chapter 15: Would've, Could've, Should've

The first thing you notice as you stir from your slumber is how cold it is in your room. Even with the warmth of Bradley's torso pressing against your back and his strong arm wrapped around your waist, you still feel frozen.

You carefully extract yourself from his grasp and slide out of bed. Maybe a hot shower will make you feel better. You step into the en suite and slide back the door, and turn on the water. Within a few minutes, steam fills the room. You grab a couple of fluffy towels before stepping into the hot water.

You let it cascade over your skin, warming you down to your bones. You breathe in the steam and allow your body to relax. You've been tense ever since you woke up, and you can't put your finger on why.

A few minutes later, you heard the bathroom door open and felt a rush of cool air when the frosted glass of your shower slid open. Goosebumps covered your skin, but were quickly soothed away when you felt the strong arms of your husband wrapped around you.

"You left me alone." Bradley mumbled into your skin as he kissed the juncture between your neck and shoulders.

"Sorry. It was cold and wanted to take a hot shower. Didn't want to wake you." You reply, twisting in his arms and standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. "I will never turn down a shower with you." Bradley says as he kisses you again, lifting you off the ground for just a moment. You squeal, and he puts you back down before reaching for your shampoo.

He pours out a generous amount before lathering it in your hair. He takes his time working his fingers through your strands and rinsing it away. When he finished with that, he grabs your fancy soap and carefully runs it over your body.

Bradley takes his time, kneading your skin and soothing the tension from your muscles. You sigh and lean back against him as his hands explore your skin while his lips trace kisses over your back and shoulders.

Once you're thoroughly relaxed, he turns off the water and steps out before you. He quickly dries himself off before grabbing another towel and wrapping in around you.

Bradley quickly picks you up and sets you on the counter between the sinks. He reaches behind you and grabs your favorite lotion. He scoops a good amount out of the jar and warms it between his palms before rubbing it down your shoulders and arms. He repeats the same action for your thighs and legs before standing up and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"What was all that for?" You ask him as you loop your arms around his neck to keep him in place. "Just wanted to take care of my girl." He shrugs before helping you off the counter. Both of you go back to the bedroom to get dressed in some comfy clothes. You have to go to the grocery store later, but right now, you just want to enjoy the morning with each other.

You leave the bedroom before Bradley does. On a mission to go to the kitchen and start some fresh coffee. As you make your way through your living room, a sense of dread falls over you. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You pause, ears perked up for the sound of a disturbance, but you hear nothing.

You let out a breath and shake your head. Your hand finds the wall, the kitchen is still shrouded in darkness, and you flick the light switch. Bright light fills the room. You turn back towards your kitchen island, and your heart drops.

You let out a blood curdling scream that echoes through your apartment.

Moments later, you can hear Bradley's heavy footsteps as he bounds through your home. "Angel—Angel. What's wrong?" Bradley asks as he searches your face. You're frozen in corner, tears staining your cheeks, and your shaking.

"I—it—" you stutter, unable to form words. Instead, you raise a hand and point towards the island. Bradley's eyes follow your arm, and that's when he sees them.

Sitting there on your counter was a fresh bunch of bright yellow narcissus flowers and a folded card.

Bradley goes to grab them, but you stop him. You pick up the small paper, and the words make your blood run cold. "Happy first day of spring. —P"

Your hands begin to tremble as you drop the paper and choke out a sob. "She was here." You choke out in a voice just above a whisper. Bradley comes to your side to steady you. Your knees are shaking and he is afraid you're going to collapse.

"She was here. She was in our kitchen. She was in our home!" You shout at Bradley. Your body is shaking so hard as you frantically try to draw in a breath. It feels like a elephant is sitting on your chest.

"Who? Who was here?" Bradley asks you. But he already knows. He just needs to hear you say it to be sure.

"Persephone. She was here. In our home, while we slept." You weep against Bradley's chest. He holds you close to him, wrapping his arms protectively around your body. Anger floods his system. How dare Persephone come back, after all these years, to try and hurt you again. Bradley knows he may be just a mortal man, but he would do anything to keep you safe from her.

You pull back from Bradley's chest as you try to take in some air, but no matter how hard you try, it's not enough. Black spots cloud your vision. The thought that your home, your sanctuary had be desecrated by her made you sick.

You pull out of Bradley's grasp and run to your bathroom. You heave over the toilet until your stomach is empty. Bradley comes in to hold your hair and rub soothing circles on your back.

"What can I do?" He asks you, feeling helpless in the situation.

"Take the flowers and get them out of here. Take them far away and throw them into the sea." You tell him as you lean against the counter. "I'll work on a protection charm for the home. In case she tries to come back." You tell him.

"Take Cerberus with you. You bear my mark, so she can't hurt you if she tried to attack you, but Persephone is afraid of dogs, too." You tell him.

Bradley nods his head and goes to get Cerberus and those offending flowers.

Once he is gone, you lock the door behind him. You quickly go into your kitchen and start tearing open cabinets and drawers, looking for all the herbs that you will need. While you knew some about charms and hexes, Hecate taught you more advanced ones.

You needed to protect your home

You needed to protect Bradley

You quickly gathered everything you needed and started assembling it on the counter. Hyrda hopped up on a stool beside you to watch you work.

Faster—you needed to work faster

Your hands were shaking with each movement. Knowing you had to be quick in case she came back. You were almost finished when you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Hydra tensed up and hissed beside you.

You inhaled sharply as goosebumps erupted across your skin. You froze as the icy words filled your ears. "Hello,darling. Did you miss me?"

No—it can't be

The mortar and pestle that you were grinding herbs in falls from your hands and shatters against the floor. The sound echos through the room.

"Sorry darling, I didn't mean to frighten you." She says. You can hear the clack of the heels of her shoes tap against the tile of your floor.

"Well? Aren't you going to say hello?" She asks you. "You—you need to leave." You stutter out, trying to gather your strength. "What? You don't want me here? Hades, you wound me." You can hear the condescending tone in her voice.

Be strong

Don't let her see you falter

"I said you need to leave! Get out! You aren't welcome here!" You turn around and shout, facing her for the first time. You flare your nostrils as you take her in. "Careful now. Watch your temper. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened, would we?" She taunts you.

She still knows what buttons to press

Persephone hasn't changed much since the last time you saw her. She still has her long auburn hair, deep green eyes, and sun-kissed skin. But you notice that her face, it isn't scared anymore. They're gone.

She's sitting at your breakfast nook, legs crossed, sizing you up. You notice she's brought a small pomegranate cake. It's sitting on your counter like some kind of piece offering, taunting you.

She stands up and crosses the kitchen towards you. You want to run—fight—something, but you're frozen.

Breathe

"Hades, don't be like that. I came here to make amends with you; to apologize." Persephone tells you in a sickly sweet voice. She reaches out her palm and cups your face. You jerk away from her. "Don't touch me!" You seethe. She holds her hands up in mock surrender.

Don't listen to her

She's lying

Little did you know, that small touch was all she needed to plant some pollen that she had created on you. Once it took affect, it would lower your inhibitions just enough for her to manipulate you into doing what she really needed you to do.

"I'm sorry for intruding like this. I've just missed you so much, darling, and I wanted to come see you. To talk to you. Please, can I have just a few moments of your time?" She almost begs you.

"You wouldn't have to miss me if you hadn't gotten me banished." You tell her gruffly.

"Hades, that was never my intention. I was trying to protect you!" Persephone tells you.

"Protect me? You called me a monster! A child! You said I scarred you on purpose because I was selfish! How is that protecting me?!" You scream at her.

Calm down

Control yourself

"Darling, you have to understand, I was afraid after what happened. You hurt me. I wasn't thinking straight. When Zeus summoned me and saw the scars, he made me say those things about you. I tried to argue with him and tell him I didn't want to be his wife, but he said he would kill you if I didn't say those things about you. He needed to make you the reason our union didn't happen because he didn't want to be seen as a failure." Persephone explains to you.

That—that does sound like Zeus

"After Zeus and the others banished you to the Underworld, I felt so awful for what I had said and done. It made me sick. I begged him to let me go and stay there with you. He agreed, but my mother told him that if he sent me there that she would cause a great famine. Zeus couldn't risk the wrath of Demeter. If there was no food, there would be no mortals. And if there were no mortals, who would worship him?" She continued.

What if she was telling the truth?

"If you were so sorry, why didn't you try to come to me sooner?" You ask her, you don't know why, but you can feel your guard slipping. "My mother used a charm to keep me bound to her side. It's taken me centuries to break it." Persephone tells you.

Maybe you had it wrong

"And your scars?" You question her. "I healed them with some herbs." She says. Persephone watched you closely. She can tell her pollen is starting to work.

"I'm beautiful again. And I'm here now. Ready for a fresh start." She smiles at you. "I always thought you were beautiful. Even with your scars." You tell her.

"Well, now I am even more so." She breaths out as she watches your eyes glass over. Perfect. Exactly what she needed.

"Hades, darling, why don't you come sit down, have some cake? It's made from the first pomegranate of the spring, just like I used to make for you." She gestures to the seat across from her.

What could it hurt?

Suddenly, your feet begin moving. It's like you don't have control over your own body. Then, a wide grin breaks out across your face as you sit down across from her. Hyrda is going crazy, swatting at your legs, trying to get your attention.

Persephone smiles at you. But it's not a smile. It's a wicked grin. You vaugly register that the twisted look on her face isn't a smile because you know what one should look like, and that's not it. But you ignore it in favor of picking up the fork that she handed you.

You always did love this cake

You cut into a cake, and sweet aroma fills your nostrils, bringing back the other times she has made it for you, and something doesn't feel right.

You're frozen again, mentally battling yourself. You scoop some of it up on your fork, but you don't bring it to your mouth. Something is telling you not to.

Persephone sees the hesitation in your eyes.

"C'mon darling, just take a bite. You'll love it. Don't you trust me?" She encourages you as she places a hand on your arm to sooth your worries.

"Don't you trust me?"

Her words echo in your brain over and over. Running through your memories and shining light on thoughts that were long hidden in the darkness. You had heard her speak them before. She had touched your hand just like this before. Two times to be exact.

Don't trust her

Suddenly, you feel like you've been struck by lightning as some of the missing pieces of your memory flash before your eyes.

You throw the fork down and push away from the table. Persephone gasps as she watches the haze vanish from your face.

"No." You speak deeply and forcefully.

"No? Hades, you're being ridiculous. I worked so hard on this for you. Please just take a bite." Persephone says, trying to push it towards you.

"No. I will not." You say again, standing up to you full height. "Darling. Eat. The. Cake." She punctuates each word. "You take a bite first, and then I will." You demand.

Persephone swallows thickly. She looks between you and the cake. She knows that her ruse is up. She inhales sharply. You watch her face contort from happy and sympathetic to one of anger and menace.

"Oh, Hades, it would have been so much easier for both of us if you had just eaten the cake." She sighs just before she lunges for you.

You don't have time to think, just react. You jump back and pull the Soul Sword from its home on your arm, aiming it directly for her.

Persephone freezes. The tip of your blade just a few inches from her throat. Hydra crouches at your feet, ready to attack her. Your chest heaves aa you tighten your grip.

"You lied to me. For years. I see that now. Everything time you gave me that cake, I lost part of my memory. It all makes sense now. You know, for centuries, I tried to defend you, us. I thought I knew what we were, but the more I think about it now, the less I know. So I want the truth. No more lies, Persephone." You grit out.

"You want the truth. Fine. I'll tell you the truth." She says as she narrows her eyes at you.

"I never wanted to marry Zeus. I never wanted to marry, period. But I especially didn't want to marry someone who would parade me around like a show pony. I needed a way to get out of it. I thought if I could trick someone into marrying me—someone who wasn't held in high regard—someone I could dump later, I would be able to get out of it." Persephone begins.

"I wasn't sure who I would use—who would be naïve enough to fall for my plan. That is, until you came along, darling. You were young and bright-eyed and eager to be accepted. But the other Gods looked down on you, treated you as a lesser being. So, when I saw your spirit was broken, I swooped in. I told you all the things you wanted to hear. I made you feel important, valued, loved. I moulded you into the minion that I needed you to be." She tells you in an unforgiving tone.

"You used me." You breathe out. Tears gathering in your eyes.

"Hades, it's your own fault—really. You made it too easy. You were so desperate for someone to show you the tiniest amount of attention. And when I did, you practically threw yourself at me. You bent over backward to keep my favor. You did this to yourself. I mean, did you really think someone like me could ever love someone like you?" Persephone laughs in your face as the first stray tear slides down your cheek.

You swallow thickly. "How could you? I loved you. I cared about you. I gave you my heart! And you trampled it beneath your foot!" You shout at her. Sadness thick in your voice.

"You were a means to an end for me. But I will say you weren't as bidable as I thought you would be. I knew that I would have to find a way to keep myself in the Underworld. I also knew that Zeus was extremely vain. So I worked out that if I could somehow disfigure myself just enough, I'd be in the clear. So, I had to get you to burn me." Persephone tells you. She shifts to the side, but you counter and hold your sword closer to her throat.

"However, you had a great mastery of your powers. So, I knew I wouldn't be able to have you accidentally do it. I knew I would have to weaken your mind—your will—just enough, so I made a pollen that would make you open to suggestion. Just like earlier." Persephone wiggles her fingers, and you think back to how after she'd touched you, your mind didn't feel like your own.

"But that still wasn't enough. So I researched and found out that if you crossed hemlock with pomegranate, it made a sort of neurotoxin. It inhibited decision-making as well as blocked memory forming synapses in the brain. Effectively, it made you a mindless cog and gave you temporary amnesia. A two for one, really!" She practically cheered.

"I knew I needed to test it before I wanted to put my plan into action. So I made you a cake with my creation. You ate it, and I thought it had worked. I was able to lead you to my bed and convince you to let me take your maiden-hood. But I didn't make it strong enough because you tried to fight back. I had to hold you down for you to finally submit to me." Persephone smirks.

"You took my maiden-hood against my will. You lied to me about it. You said the pain was normal. You—you raped me, Persephone." You choke out, appalled at her words.

"That's such a strong word. You came to my bed willingly." She tilts her head and clicks her tongue. "Because you poisoned me!" You scream at her, taking a step forward.

"I did what I needed to do. After I found out that my concoction worked, I waited until the first day of spring. I fed it to you again, and this time, you didn't fight me. I got you to burn me just so. Unfortunately, I may have given you too much because right after, you passed out. I had intended to go to Olympus and spin a story to Zeus about how you had accidentally burned me and that to punish you, I should have to stay in the Underworld so you could live with what you had done everyday. I didn't want him to kill you because I'm not a monster." She tries to reason with you.

"Zeus agreed, but my mother, well, she did not. The part about her threatening to cause a famine was true, and Zeus' need to be worshiped outweighed everything else. So, I told him what he wanted to hear. That you tried to steal me away from him and burned me to keep me for yourself. I called you a monster and a demon and a child because, well, you were. In the end, I got what I wanted and didn't have to marry him." Persephone smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"You did all of that because you didn't want to wed? You ruined my life! I was banished to the Underworld because of you! I lost my seat on Olympus because of you! I hated myself for centuries because of you!" You scream at her.

"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? Because I'm not. I did what I had to do to survive. I mean, for God's sake, I was thirty-two, and you were nineteen. Were you really that ignorant to think what we had was real? Hades, my love for you was about as real as your marriage to that mortal is." Persephone throws her head back and laughs at you.

You feel your heart drop, and the last bit of sanity you have snap. Rage floods your body and consumes every ounce of your being. It was one thing to hear her say all of the terrible things she had done to you, but to compare herself to Bradley, that was the final straw.

You drop the Soul Sword down to its dagger form and charge at her. "You bitch!" You shout as your body collides with her and you pin her against your kitchen counter, with the silver blade of your dagger pressed to her neck.

.................

Bradley had been dutifully following your instructions. He and Cerberus had also stopped by the flower shop to get some poppies in hopes of cheering you up. They had just pulled into his parking place with he felt a pain in his chest, and Cerberus' ears perked up. Bradley knew nothing was wrong with him, and his mind immediately went to you.

He grabbed the flowers and Cerberus' lead, and the two of them took off towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. As soon as they reached your floor, Cerberus started barking, an angry protective bark, one Bradley had never heard before. Cerberus broke free of Bradley's grasp and charged down the hall to your door. Bradley sprinted behind him, fumbling for his keys.

The minute he got there, he heard you scream, and Cerberus was pawing at the door, shaking it on its hinges.

Bradley got the key in the lock and threw it open before following Cerberus inside.

Cerberus paused at the kitchen, growling on high alert. When Bradley rushed in, he was met with a concerning sight. You, had a women, who he knew had to be Persephone, pinned against the counter with your dagger pressed against her neck. Tears were streaming down your cheeks and angry Greek words left your mouth as she tried to push you off of her.

"Angel—Angel—Angel!" Bradley called out to you before you finally snapped your head to see he was there.

"Angel, what's going on?" Bradley asked you. He tried to take a step closer, but Hydra and Cerberus blocked his way.

"She used me, Bradley. She preyed on me. She groomed me and used me and threw me away like trash." You sobbed as you pressed the blade harder into Persephone's neck.

"She poisoned me and manipulated me to do what she wanted, and when it didn't work out, she lied about me and turned me into a monster!" You screamed through the tears.

Bradley freezes. He doesn't know what to do. But he does know that he can't let you kill Persephone. He won't let her turn you into something you're not. Bradley knows he needs to talk you down.

"Angel, I'm so sorry that happened to you. But killing her, that won't fix. It won't make it right. I know you're hurting, but her death won't undo what she did to you." Bradley tries to reason with you. He can only imagine how much pain you're in or what Persephone had said and done to you to bring you to this state of distress.

"She deserves it, though. She stole my girlhood. She stole my youth, my life, my freedom. She took it all from me!" You sob, and your hand begins to tremble.

"You're right. She does deserve it. But Angel, this isn't you. Don't be the person she tried to paint you out to be. You're so much better than that. Please, Angel. Put the dagger down." Bradley pleads with you.

He only knows what you've told him about Persephone and your past, and he knows that she doesn't deserve your mercy, but Bradley knows how much you would regret it if you did kill her.

You meet his eyes, the look down at Persephone, who is wide-eyed with fear. You squeeze your hand around the handle of your dagger and look back at Bradley before dropping it and sinking to the ground and sobbing.

Persephone pushes away from the counter and tries to run, but before she can, Hydra and Cerberus corner her.

Bradley wraps his arms around you to comfort you, shielding you from Persephone's view.

"Well, isn't this sweet. Enjoy it while it lasts, Hades. One day, he is going to get tired of you and throw you away just like I did. You aren't the kind of person that gets to be loved forever. You're just a pawn for us to use." She looks at Bradley and crinkles her nose. "You know I'm right." And with that comment, something snaps in Bradley.

He picks your dagger up from the floor and grabs Persephone by the arm and holds it in front of her face.

"Now I won't let you turn her into a monster. She's better than that. But I have no problem being one. I swore to protect this woman and love her until the end of my days, and I plan on doing just that. I don't care who the hell you are. Goddess, mortal, it doesn't matter. If I ever see you again or find out that you have come near my wife, I will send you to the Underworld myself. Now, get out of our home before I change my mind!" Bradley grits out before roughly shoving Persephone towards the door.

She doesn't protest. She knows that Bradley is serious. Persephone looks between Bradley and you before turning on her heels and vanishing.

Bradley turns back to you. Hydra and Cerberus have come to your side. Hydra is curled in your lap purring while Cerberus is sitting in front of you. You have your arms wrapped around his broad body and your face buried in his fur. It does little to muffle the sobs that pour out of you. Bradley kneels down on the floor and gently touches your shoulder. You flinch at his touch.

"Baby." He speaks to you softly. "It's okay. She's gone, and she's never going to hurt you again. Everything's okay now. I'm right here." He tries to calm you, but you can't stop the tears.

"Angel. Can you look at me? Please?" Bradley asks you as he rubs soothing circles on your back. You pull yourself away from Cerberus and Hydra and spin on the floor to look at him. Bradley's face softens as he takes in your red eyes and puffy cheeks. There is so much he wants to say to you, and at the same time, he isn't sure what to say. So he settles for propping himself up against the kitchen cabinets and opening his arms wide. "C'mere, Angel." He beckons you.

You wipe your eyes and nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt before sliding closer to Bradley. He carefully pulls you onto his lap. You bury your face in his chest as one of his hands rubs your back while the other tangles in your hair, keeping you close.

The wail that you let out as you sob against him breaks Bradley's heart and brings tears to his own eyes. He so badly wants to ask you what Persephone said to you— what she did to you. But he doesn't want to pry, and if he did know, he's sure that he'd regret letting her go.

It hurts him to see you like this. Sad, angry, confused—broken.

Bradley wishes he could take your pain and put it on his heart so you wouldn't have to feel this way. He would be strong enough to take it.

He knows there isn't a lot he can do right now, so he stays there, content to hold you and sing to you and whisper words of love and affirmation on the kitchen floor until you're ready to get up. Until you're ready to talk to him. Even if it takes all day.

Bradley isn't sure how much time has passed, but eventually, your sobs turn into hiccuping whimpers. He looks down and you and pushes your hair back just enough to see that you've fallen asleep. Exhausted from the events that transpired.

Bradley pulls you closer to his chest and carefully lifts the two of you up from the floor. He cradles you against his body as he walks you to the bedroom. It's tricky, but he gets the covers pulled back enough to lay you down and tuck you in. You bury your face into his pillow as he quietly backs out of the room.

He finds his phone and calls Maverick, telling him that both of you need a few days, maybe the whole week off. Maverick can hear the concern in Bradley's voice and doesn't pry. He simply says okay and moves on.

Once he is off the phone, Bradley goes back into the kitchen to clean up the glass and mess that was left behind. He scowls at the cake that was left on the counter. He quickly grabs it and throws it in the bag along with everything else before taking it and tossing it into the dumpster behind your building.

Once he's back inside and has everything clean and wiped down, Bradley picks up the poppies he haphazardly tossed to the ground. He gathers them up and places them in a vase with some water.

After that's finished, he turns off the light and walks into the bedroom. You're curled up into a tight ball in the middle of the bed. Bradley peels back the covers and slides in beside you. You shutter in your sleep when he touches you. But even asleep, your brain knows that it's him and that you're safe now. Instinctively, you curl against his side.

Bradley doesn't sleep that night. Instead, he spends the night watching you, holding you, keeping you safe from anything or anyone that might be lurking.

Taglist: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @djs8891 @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @withahappyrefrain @lt-spork @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @roosterisdaddy36 @itsdesiree86 @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @asshlyyyy @inkandarsenic @tomanybandstolove @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @sunlightmurdock @princess76179 @supernaturalvikingwhore @schoollover @cheyrenee @briseisgone @angelbabyange @callsign-minx

#cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #tgm #lt. bradley bradshaw #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #top gun 2 #false god #Spotify

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ronearoundblindly · 7 months

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Love of My Life (a RoAR drabble)

Flufftober Day 10, Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see series)

This is it, gang, the moment Ran has avoided for soooo long... No warnings, and I even avoided cursing (there is one 'damn' and some taking the lord's name in vain lol). Hopefully, it still seems like Ran then! 🤣 Unedited, short.

"Watch out!"

Ran yanks his foot off the gas and swivels the beamer to the right, missing his chance to merge up the ramp to Drop Offs.

"My god, Hugh, what is wrong with you? Should I have called Dubois?"

"No," he bites back, "I just didn't see that guy in my blindspot."

Ran is utterly distracted while driving you to the airport. You're on your way back to Beijing for who knows how long, and since everything changed two days ago, he's struggled to focus.

Now he has to loop around the entire place to get back to your departure door. That gives him time, but he hasn't used that wisely so far. Why would traffic be different?

His head pivots back and forth, triple-checking his mirrors.

Your hand lightly lays on his arm. He can't feel the warmth of your skin through his sweater sleeve, sadly.

"Hugh," you soothe, "we'll figure out the money and get you back out to visit soon, I promise."

For once--for one bizarre and shining moment in Ransom Drysdale's life--this isn't about money, so he huffs in annoyance.

"That's not... Let's just get you there."

He takes only a split second to look at your soft smile before overly attending the road. He's not thinking about the heated conversation in this very car the other night, he's ignoring the elephant in the back seat with a tattooed forehead that reads "marriage," and he's definitely swallowing three gigantic stone words.

His car pulls up to the busy curb, and you start for the door handle.

"Wait," he shout-whispers, unable to figure out what his voice should sound like. If he speaks deeper, will that be more serious? If he's quiet, will it seem gentle and genuine? He has no idea. Ran's never told anyone this before, not deliberately, not for real.

You squeeze his hand sweetly when he reaches out.

"I promise I charged my phone."

"No, that--"

"And I've CC-ed you on all my itinerary emails."

"Great but--"

"Yes, I ordered more night cream for the hotel, and I'll keep up with--"

"Just SHUT UP for a--" Ran covers his mouth "--sorry. I--I just..."

He can't finish the damn phrase. The pressure in his chest is topping out the meters and he can't do it.

Patiently, you sit back in the front seat, sighing, eyes darting between him and the airport security guard keeping the flow of cars steady. You bite your lip instead of prompting him.

He has another false start.

By this point, Ransom might cry in frustration.

This is not supposed to be so difficult. Why has he made this so difficult? You two have shared far more intimate things than this. Christ, he's proposed already! It's a good thing you've asked him not to tell anybody because he can't even say I love you.

"I know you do, Hugh. It's okay."

Did he? Did he just blurt that out in the middle of thought?!? That's twice now then, but perhaps the first instance you've truly heard. Third time's the charm maybe...

"I love you," he says, no chance to be mistaken. He hears it, he knows you hear it, and he means it. His voice sounds normal yet foreign, changed but unchanged, kind. He sounds kind. Ran isn't sure if he likes it.

"And I love you, too," you return easily.

The true and enormous grin that blooms across your face is something he definitely likes though--loves even.

He smiles but quickly reins it back in, aware that stupid guard is eyeing their immobile vehicle with no one unloading.

"Come 'ere," he breathes.

You're on him in a flash, tender lips kissing his, and just for luck, he mumbles it a few more times. Practice. He'll need practice. You told him he would to lead a new life with you. One day it will seem as normal as swiping his credit card.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

He gets his favorite giggle in response. He really is a sucker for that silly noise. How he used to hate it...but oh, how he loves it now.

There's a bracing tap at his window.

"Hey! Let's get moving, you two. Other people need this space."

Yeah, whatever, Ran thinks. I don't care about anyone but her.

[Main Masterlist; Root of All Ransom Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @starkleila @brandycranby

#the root of all ransom #flufftober 2023 #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drydale x you #rich!Reader #drabble #day 10 #flufftober #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfiction #series #series drabble #ransom drysdale drabble #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom x reader #ransom x you

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aprilthearcher · 11 months

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burning red [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.8k

[somewhat angst]

warnings: curse words, ooc roman ?, english is not my first language, not edited, rushed ending.

a/n: somewhat inspired by “red” and “false god” by taylor, idk i was just listening to these two songs on loop. i’m also supposed to be studying, but instead i wrote this, so enjoy! love me some greg sprinkles, couldn’t not include him. alsooo, this could read as being part of the same story as my previous roman blurb, but you won't have any problems if you haven't read it.

Loving Roman was complicated yet insanely easy, too tiresome at times and then incredibly invigorating. He had that effect on people, or maybe just her. Everyone else was probably too complicated for her to like. Not funny enough, not witty or smart enough, not loud enough. No one was Roman enough, not even across the whole damn world.

Getting him off her mind had been more difficult than she’d expected, probably because (Y/N) only realised her feelings for him after she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had taken over her whole body without knowing. It was Roman’s lips she imagined when kissing blonde, ginger, brunette guys at pubs; it were Roman’s eyes she thought of when her friends would ask her about her favourite colour; it was Roman’s face she conjured up in her head when they’d ask about her type of man.

At first, she believed it to be some sort of sick joke the Universe was trying to play on her: discovering she had feelings for her long-time friend — one she’d known since they were in diapers, who would grab her by her ponytail whenever she was paying attention to his siblings instead of him (just him) —, barely two or three weeks in her first year of university, a university that was on a whole other continent, separated by an entire ocean. Still, (Y/N) knew she could fly back home in a couple of hours — “I’ll arrange a jet for you if you wanna come down”, her dad would always say over the phone —, but the idea of seeing him again with this new information in her head and heart (that couldn’t help but jump at the mention of him) terrified her.

Her mind would make her remember him and his antics in the worst possible times: while dancing with some random guy at a club, his hands on her hips, the cheap cologne contrasting the rich scented one Roman couldn’t get enough of. On a first date, set up by her friends who believed she had to let go of this “prude” behaviour and just let someone take her to their bed. When joking with the guys that approached her and her friends at the bar, knowing exactly what Roman would think of them, the cruel comments he’d throw, the silly faces. The soft eyes when they were both too drunk to even speak a coherent sentence, although most times nothing was coherent with Roman. She had tried looking for those same bright eyes; once more, she ended up disappointed. None of them were Roman. None of them ever will be, no matter how much (Y/N) tried to shape them into a replica of him. All of Roman was unique.

Hence, the dreadful turmoil inside her stomach once Shiv, with some tint of malice in her eyes directed at Roman, introduced her to Tabitha. “Roman’s companion”, she’d said. The blonde, curly haired woman greeted (Y/N) with an eager smile on her face. She said her name at the same time both of them shook hands. A voice inside her head told her this was all wrong. How long? Where did it happen? Why? Why? Why now that she was back?

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me your name,” Tabitha mentioned playfully, a short roll of her eyes a second later. “You’re all Roman’s been talking about lately”.

“Only lately?” Shiv laughed, taking a sip from her glass she focused her eyes on Roman , then (Y/N). “Roman’s always talking about (Y/N). I mean, he was practically her lap dog when they were children.”

“Oh, fuck off Siobhan,” Roman bark back.

“Well, he only mentioned you as of now.” The knot in her stomach tightened. The worst part was she could see Tabitha hadn’t said it out of spite, nor jealousy, but as a fleeting comment to add something more to the conversation.

He hadn’t mentioned her to Tabitha? Not even once? She had tried everything to block him out of her head, to keep him out of her dreams and fantasies; to catch herself every time she was going to bring up him in a conversation again, and he didn’t say her name until he found out (Y/N) was coming back to New York? What kind of sick fuck was he? What kind of sick fuck was she, devoting probably her whole life to Roman fucking Roy?

“Oh,” (Y/N) managed to croak out before her father appeared beside her and whispered in her ear that she should spend some time chatting with the other guests.

* * *

Cousin Greg was great company, quite weird before you took in the awkwardness that seemed to surround him and make him stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all these old, rich people, but great nonetheless. He had asked her about her years in London, what she studied and what she did for fun, her friends and hobbies. (Y/N) found herself enjoying the night, sitting on a couch by his side, meanwhile both of their cheeks were getting rosier and rosier with every new cup of alcohol brought to them. Greg was in the middle of telling her about how he had screwed up the first day at his job on one of the parks owned by Waystar, cracking up from time to time from how she tried to hide her laugh in order to keep the attention away from them, when two hands settled on his shoulders, hard and making a noise that was apparent that the gesture was meant to at least hurt him a little. Roman was behind him with a clench jaw and big, maniac eyes.

“Greeeg, I think Tom was looking for you, man”.

“Oh, really?” Greg turned his upper body in Roman’s direction, which from the side looked somewhat weird because of his tall, lanky form. “Because, because I just saw him and he didn’t say anything”.

“Yes, oh really, man. And he said if you didn’t go talk to him right now, he would fire your sorry ass”.

Greg was on his feet quicker than she'd expected after seeing him drown glass after glass with her. He towered over her for a moment, saying a quick “see you later” before going in search of Tom.

“You’re mean, Roman”.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t fucking know”.

They fell silent for a second. Around them, people were still in mindless conversation, setting down empty cups on the waiter’s tray while picking up new ones from another one. Alcohol seemed to be the only way to survive a family gathering at the Roy’s, even a harmless one.

“You wanna get out of here?” Roman asked. She turned her head to the right to face him, he was already looking at her. His eyes no longer had the maniac fog blurring them, there was now a tranquil pool of honey.

***

“My dad is probably gonna be mad if he finds out I ditched the party”.

“Please, (Y/N), since when did you become such a goody two shoes?” Roman leaned against the railing of the terrace, following her with his eyes while she approached him and finally set her elbows on top of the banister. From this position, he looked taller. “Don’t tell me you were like this in London. I mean, with no one to hover over you, you sure had a looot to do, didn’t you?”

“I went to London to study, remember? Not to go out and get drunk every night.”

“Well, I’m sure if you had been with me, you could’ve done both.”

“Yeah, probably, but you weren’t with me.”

“Whose fault is that, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyebrows raised.

“Are you saying it was my fault? We haven’t seen each other for how long and it was all my fault?”

“Why are you acting like it isn’t? It literally is, (Y/N), you left m.. you left and, and you never came back.” He had walked a few steps away from her.

“It’s not like you couldn’t have visited, Roman. Just ask daddy for one of his jets, it’s literally that easy.”

“Yes, but - but you left, (Y/N). You left, and it’s not like you chose some university a state away, you chose one a whole continent away! That’s got to mean something!”

“As if Roman fucking Roy couldn’t get one goddamn plane and fly over to London!” She had abandoned her previous position, now fully facing Roman, who was still a couple of feet away, getting closer to the door. He was trying to run, just like it he always did whenever they fought.

“I didn’t - I didn’t want you to get annoyed by me! To realise what a true moron I was. Then you barely talked to me after you arrived at your fancy university and - and started your very difficult subjects.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes in confusion for a moment. Though it was easier to throw everything at him, (Y/N) knew that she was also responsible for their lack of communication over these last years.

Only the bustling, almost never-ending nightlife of New York could be heard. Her chest hurted, her eyes would fill with tears at any point now. She was tired and drunk, and just fucking missed Roman too much for them to be fighting the first night she was back in the city.

“Now you are not saying anything?” Roman broke the silence. He was closer to the door, she noticed. “You know what? Fuck you, (Y/N). Fuck you for making feel all this – all this fucking, fucking shit!”

“What fucking shit?” She asked quietly, desperate for an answer, the answer.

“I - I don’t know what fucking shit, just shit, okay?”

“Say it.”

Roman didn’t respond, instead he turned her back on her, walking towards the door. Before he could reach the handle, she screamed at him.

“Fucking say it, Roman.”

“I’ve just told you, I don’t know. It’s just shit, okay? All of it,” he screamed back, opening up his arms, exaggerating his point. “I - I run out of breath and then my chest is all funny, and and I hate seeing you laughing with fucking Greg of all people. It’s shit, fucking shit!”

Drawing closer to him, she tested his limits. He was breathing hard from all the screaming and moving around the terrace to put distance between them, but he didn’t stop when (Y/N) got so close their bodies were almost touching. It was her with whom physical closeness wasn’t a problem, he always told himself it was because of how close they were pretty much their whole lives.

They only looked at each other for a few moments, the waves of conflict had calmed down fast and efficiently enough that for anyone else it would seem like nothing had happened between them.

Roman wished — deep, deep down — that they could stay like this forever, without having to go back and confront his family, especially his father; that they could make this terrace, above Logan’s place ironically enough, a little haven, only for them; that they would never be found.

#roman roy x reader #succession #succession x reader #roman roy

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jin-mukang · 1 year

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I finally finished reading Tress of the Emerald Sea. A little late, I know, but hey, this has been the first book I've physically (ebook) read myself and not listened to as an audiobook in years.

Anyways, I just wanted to sing my praise for Brandon Sanderson writing a predictable book.

More under the cut cuz spoilers and rambling

Lately, I feel like a lot of media has gotten this hate train for predicability. Marvel, for one, is an easy example. But there's also things like movies and shows made with an already popular IP that is another example. Directors, authors, writers, everyone seems so obsessed with shocking the consumer. They want endings that come out of nowhere, leaving the consumer feeling nothing but awe struck whiplash. And quite frankly, I've gotten real tired of that years ago.

Anyways, I'm rambling.

When I first started reading Tress, the first thing I predicted was "Tress is going to be a knight in shining armor, Charlie will be the damsel in distress". I knew this, because when Tress and Charlie were talking about damels and knights, they talked about it specifying how Tress wouldn't be a very good damsel, and Charlie wouldn't be a very good knight. It's an easy conclusion for a reader to come to for there to be a role reversal, so when it actually happened, all I could feel was relief. Thank GOD the story went along my prediction. I got very excited thinking that Tress would be doing the rescuing, and if that didn't happen, I would have been disappointed, not shocked by how unpredictable it turned out to be. I didn't want a "Tress is the damsel, but wait, there's a twist!" Situation. The way they talked suggested a role reversal, and that conversation would have meant nothing if it went any other way. It would have just been a rude gesture of "hah! You thought you could predict the story by just this conversation! You fool! I tricked you! I purposely put in this conversation to trick you!"

Lemme get it clear that I don't expect Brandon Sanderson to write like that. Admittedly, when I pledged to the Kickstarter, I hadn't actually read a single book from Brandon Sanderson. I had NO CLUE what I was getting into, but it seemed like the perfect deadline to actually sit down and go through the Cosmere stories before the books started getting sent. Trust me, if I didn't spend money on the Kickstarter, I never would have picked up The Way of Kings. I've been frightened of that book since Junior High. It's been haunting the corners of my mind every time I visit the library. It looks like a good book! It's just so fucking long! So yeah, I spent money on a Kickstarter for an author I've never read a book from before. And I'm glad I did. I got through Stormlight, in getting through Mistborn, I love these books so much.

ANYWAYS. I just want to stress because of how much I loved Stormlight and Mistborn, I truly didn't expect Brandon to do a "HAH! FOOLED YOU WITH MY FALSE LEAD!". In fact, going into Tress, when I saw that foreshadowing, I knew I could trust it. And it still felt so rewarding for that little, easy to come to prediction, to actually come into reality.

So, when I met Huck, I knew the moment we learnt about the Sorceress's curses, that Huck was Charlie. This prediction was a little harder to stick to, but the subtle inconsistencies of Huck's story and goals kept me firm on it, but it was also done with such care that I knew if I was wrong, then there's surely something that makes sense and will wow me anyways. I wouldn't be disappointed that Huck wasn't Charlie, the book didn't lead you on to focus on that.

And then, this is where Brandon Sanderson does throw you in for a loop. It's so subtly obvious that Huck is Charlie, but then Tress gets to the Sorceress and suddenly, just for a page, you're confronted with a human Charlie who is so so Charlie and you're stopped there thinking "wait, where's the catch? How are Charlie and Huck not the same?" And you're suddenly confronted that not only did Tress change, but you as the reader changed too. At the beginning of the book, you know they're perfect for each other, you want to rescue Charlie too, you want them together and happy, but Charlie didn't change. He's the same. The same old Charlie... just doesn't seem right for Tress anymore. She doesn't seem happy. You don't feel happy. All the Sorceress wanted were her cups? But what about Huck?

What about Huck.

And then, Tress realizes, and you nearly jump out of your chair screaming when she realizes YOU were right all along. Huck is Charlie! This human Charlie is a fake!! Tress goes back to the Sorceress to demand her real Charlie back.

It was so exciting. So so so enjoyable.

Anyways, this isn't to say I think the story was purposely predictable, or that it was meant to be guessed ahead of time, but man, it was so so nice to see a story just. Happen. There's so many things Tress of the Emerald Sea could be complimented about, but I haven't seen anyone talk about the predicability of the story itself, and how it's done so well, and proves that shock factor doesn't make a good story, a good story makes a good story, and sometimes good stories are oh so delightfully predicable.

#tress of the emerald sea #brandon sanderson #cosmere #the cosmere

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serval1863 · 2 months

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(clutches head and writhes around on the floor) charlotte wh is so fucking. guh. like. (chronic yapping alert + full spoilers under the cut)

you're brought up and raised under a false assumption that you're a genius, the kind who appears only once in 100 years. you're, essentially , coerced into a shady surgery leaving you in (implied) constant pain and permanently stuck with a body that's inaccurate to your mind. and you do it out of devotion because you were a child who'd been thrown away once and by fucking god you need someone, something to latch onto. so of course you'll do anything for the source of that feeling of having your life mean something. having your efforts acknowledged, and being needed. but of course, it's a lie. always was. it falls apart in front of you. should you not be useful, you'll be thrown away. and of course, that breaks you. because well, you kind of always knew that. and you're left to die, in extreme pain, alone. and then you're dead, you've lost everything, and you're forced to simmer on it in a quiet, silent hell where your sole company is unfeeling demons. and you stay in the loop, eternally, re-experiencing your death over, and over, and over.

and like, the quiet, passive hatred charlotte is written with when in the context of all of it is sooo... augh, especially with her parallel to the loud, aggressive lime. charlotte's hatred for humans is distant and nihilistic- people use each other as tools, they deceive each other, attachment is pointless because it's going to be fake anyway. everyone takes the shortest route to benefiting, regardless of who has to be used. her lines about how "kindness and forgiveness allows for evil". her repeated insistence on just killing the other three to noel. you cant trust others. you should just hate everyone, its easier. its why she, at the end, doesn't understand "love" either. because to her, it's always been deception, and something others will take advantage of, so whats the point?

and it's why she bets on ashe - he affirms everything for her. both are people who's extreme devotion to their family caused them to do anything for them, by any means necessary - to harm, to use, anything. i think, to an extent, she can see herself in him. and i think she sees herself in noel too - her hint of sympathy in the hourglass scene, urging him to just give up because it'll end poorly, like it did for her (even if in a different way).

and like, throughout the game, charlotte has this sort of snide detachment from basically everyone. constantly talks about how other people annoy her and how she wants to see as much suffering as possible. but whats always been apparent to me about her is this back and forth she has of very, very slight affection for others before immediately burying it and deciding she "doesnt care". we see it with fiona in the 4th side story in the base game, we see it with noel in the hourglass scene, we see it with claire in the bonus stage, we see it with lime constantly, especially with how she broke down after losing her (if im remembering right anyway, still gotta finish my replay of the sirius conclusion). like, she always immediately covers it up - when in presence of the other demons she claims its part of her scheme, and when not she simply acts like she doesnt actually care. but it's so constant with her that to me it has to be on purpose, and im really, really curious where it goes in future conclusions

anyway i might be wrong about everything and reading her totally wrong, but shes a character i love a lot and ive been thinking about for too long for my own good. i'll come back to this when i finish my replay of sirius's conclusion and can suffer for hours over That One Scene, lol

#witch's heart #this is just how i've always thought about it and read her character but #shes honestly so complex and interesting i feel like there's so many dif ways to read her #txt

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jessamine-rose · 1 year

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♫ ♪ ⊱ .⋅ Aoede ⋅. ⊰ ♪ ♫

Once upon a time, @diodellet and I joked about Singer! Reader x Stan! Pierro as the modern AU of my Yandere! Pierro fics. Fast forward to the present, I have applied my clown makeup ꒰(•́⍜•̀)꒱

Tw:: YANDERE, unhealthy relationships, toxic stan culture, stalking, kidnapping, drugging

♡ 1.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ So how did someone like Pierro become your no#1 stan? Even in his youth, he considers himself above such reprobate theatrics. But that all changes during a rough period in his life when he hears you calling out to his soul in the middle of a busy street.

♡ In actuality, you are an ordinary busker. Hypnotized by your music, Pierro stays for the remainder of your performance. You are like a beacon of hope that sprung out of nowhere, with your angelic voice and uplifting lyrics. And you’ve clearly noticed him because you cheerfully thank him after your last song.

How could he describe the solace evoked by your music? He feels calm, invigorated.

“Your performance was utterly enchanting,” is all he tells you.

He takes a few bills out of his wallet, but you quickly pack away your tip box.

“Thank you,” you reply, a bright smile on your face. “Your smile was the best payment I could’ve asked for!”

♡ Since then, whenever he visits that area, Pierro looks for you to no avail. You’ve completely vanished, leaving him to question whether you were truly some guardian angel. Then one day, out of nowhere, he hears your voice again on the radio. The familiar song is followed by your official introduction as an up-and-coming artist.

♡ As it turns out, you were scouted by an agency!! Pierro had miraculously attended your last street performance, and now he can listen to your music anytime. Your debut album is worth the purchase; it has the same divine melody…minus your presence. And so, against his better judgment, he attends your first official concert.

♡ Your second performance is just as life-changing. Onstage, illuminated by the heavenly lights, you successfully mesmerize the entire audience including Pierro. From afar, you look ethereal, dreamy, charismatic…and he also finds you pretty. Very pretty, like a god who descended from the skies to share their gift of song with the world.

♡ Pierro is not blind to the parasocial nature of your relationship. Regardless, he listens to your new albums religiously, sends you elegantly-penned fanmail, and attends a few more concerts and fan meetings. Unlike your “hopelessly degenerate” fans, he greets you in a calm, serious manner and doesn’t prolong his turn with you. His gaze is rather intense in photos, however.

♡ There is also the dark side of his adoration. Constant thoughts about you, endless loops of your songs, the urge to hunt down your undeserving stans, a suppressed desire to bridge the distance between the two of you. It is no wonder that as your career comes crashing down, so does his entire world.

♡ It isn’t your fault, of course. The paparazzi, the media’s criticisms, your exploitative agency and toxic fanbase…he sees how it takes a toll on you over the years. You can fool the entire world with a false smile, but he sees the growing dimness in your eyes. After another leaked hospital visit, your agency announces the termination of your contract.

♡ Your remaining fans are devastated, but not so much as Pierro. Yet despite his despair, a cruel part of him revels in it. He buys your discounted merch at clearance sales and writes more heartfelt letters until your agency stops forwarding your fanmail. He no longer has to share you with the world.

♡ That being said, he has no time to grieve your downfall. Stagnation would be an insult to your legacy, and now he can fully devote himself to his work. So he accepts a job offer from the Tsaritsa, moves to Snezhnaya, and establishes the Fatui.

♡ Fast forward a few decades, he has built a new life for himself. The Fatui is now a powerful organization, prestigious on paper and feared in the black market. Meanwhile, you have been reduced to an old name in music history, forgotten in favor of new talent. And while his obsession survives in personal playlists and merch collections, Pierro refuses to waste time searching for you. Rather, you return to his life on your own.

♡ He is simply browsing the drugstore when a stranger bumps into him. Just as he is about to brush off the accident, Pierro hears their apology and whirls around. It’s you, standing in front of him, this time without stanchions or bodyguards.

♡ His first thought is that you’ve changed. Older appearance, plain clothes, a quiet voice. No one else would believe that you were once a lively singer with the power to charm hundreds of people. If anything, you are the one staring at him with awe and respect.

♡ Your nervous “Do I know you?” is what snaps him out of his thoughts. Pierro quickly denies it, and your relieved expression only confirms your identity. He accepts your apology, walks past you, and observes you from a distance. Sure enough, it’s all there from your telltale mannerisms to the snack preferences memorized from magazine interviews.

♡ …Your tired disposition and purchased medications also aren’t lost on him. After following you to your apartment, he drives back to his office and enlists the Fatui in gaining intel. Within days, he catches up on your post-musician life. You laid low, moved to Snezhnaya, joined a company which lets you work from home. What a pitiful fate.

♡ Another crucial fact is that you no longer recognize him. While that stings, Pierro understands—he, too, has changed over the years, with his fine suits and dignified attitude. Actually, he could use this to his advantage. With his elevated status and the dissolution of your professional boundaries, he can entertain what was once a foolish dream.

♡ You begin to run into him everywhere—in the drugstore, the grocery, your favorite cafe. Your encounters soon evolve into brief conversations then casual dates. With each reunion, Pierro falls deeper into his obsession. Who knew that the real, imperfect you was this enchanting?

♡ Courtship aside, it’s also natural that he seeks justice for you. The companies which exploited you? Exposed for their crimes against other celebrities. Your old song favored by the YouTube algorithm? Instantly hit with copyright strike, along with your remaining legacy. Even your official channel gets hacked and deleted. In other words, Pierro gatekept his idol

♡ From your end, you don’t suspect anything. Sure, you do question your frequent run-ins until Pierro claims that the Fatui opened a new office in your area. And despite your disbelief when he formally asks you out—him, the director of the Fatui?!—you accept out of mutual attraction. You haven’t had a close companion in years, and he makes you happy.

♡ Sure, he is vague about his life before the Fatui but that’s fine, right? You’ve only started dating and he respects your own secrecy. You’re still hesitant to reveal your previous identity, given your slandered reputation. Your saving grace is that Pierro seemingly doesn’t know your stage persona at all, a rare trait for those from your generation.

♡ A few weeks into your relationship, you are invited to his home. His estate is palatial, heavily guarded, distanced from the city. And Pierro is nothing short of a perfect host as he shows you around, allowing you to admire his private art collections from Snezhnaya and Khaenri’ah. In your current state, you’ve never felt more out of place.

♡ After a few glasses of wine, you head to the bathroom. While Pierro gave you directions, he didn’t specify which door it was. Which is how you discover what seems to be a storage room for more paintings and art pieces. Oops, time to close—is that your face?

♡ Shakily, you turn on the lights. All four walls are covered in framed posters—your posters from the height of your career. The display cases hold your old merch such as vintage albums, T-shirts, accessories, fragrances, photos and magazine articles, every relic of your past. What is all of this?

♡ The answer is a familiar letter set on the table. The handwriting, the name on the envelope, the wax seal with a four-pointed star…doesn’t this belong to one of your devoted fans? You only look away when a shadow engulfs you; it’s Pierro standing in the doorway.

“Careful now, this is my most prized collection. What a shame, my surprise has been ruined.”

♡ Despite his serious expression, his gaze is absolutely terrifying. You can’t even panic before you are suddenly overtaken by drowsiness. Your vision blurs; you lose your balance; you nearly collapse if not for Pierro catching you. You can only weakly flail in his arms as he carries you to his room. The last thing you hear is his gentle humming, a familiar melody which lulls you to sleep.

♡ It was wise of him to serve the drugged wine early. With you unconscious, Pierro can proceed to the next phase of his plan. This time, he enters your apartment where Fatui employees are already packing your things. He personally sifts through the items in your bedroom and finds your old singer memorabilia stashed in your closet.

♡ Dusty instruments, crumpled sheet music, awards…and your fanmail. He feels a twinge of warmth upon finding his letters compiled in their own box; the others are burned with his lighter. See, he was truly superior to your other stans. You clearly cherished his every word over their insincere ramblings, and now he can directly profess his undying love for you.

♡ When he returns to his estate, you’re still unconscious. That is when Pierro finally allows himself to smile, caress your face, envision your new life together. He has it all planned out—a shared bed, a new wardrobe fit for a house-spouse, a wedding for when you’re more docile. You belong to him and no one else.

♡ …He does know that to hear you sing again is a wistful delusion. Your passion for music is gone; your voice has been altered by age and unuse; and you’d probably reject such a request from him. But that’s perfectly fine. You already saved him once, so allow him to repay the favor.

♡

If you liked this post, pls consider reading Disjecta Membra and Chess Piece linked above!! And don't ask me wtf I was on to make Pierro, of all characters, a celebrity stan bc idk either. I hope y’all enjoyed this :'>

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @frogchiro @kocherry @nicebonescomrades @mnemosyneechan @thescribeoflostmemories @victoria1676 @artiifex @pierroswife @fluffy-koalala @leftdestiny-posts @ansy-tea @oofasleep @elysiasfiance @frostedclementine

#pierro #pierro x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: manipulation #tw: drugging #tw: stalking #tw: kidnapping #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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parental-unit-of-chaos · 1 year

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Clark and Kon react to Autistic Reader.

[Teen Titans (2003-2011) #10]

So, you can 100% blame me staying awake at 02:40 because I can't stop cackling like a crow being waterboarded on @gatorbites-imagines and his/it's/xyrs kyrtontian's purring at a frequency that humans can't hear headcanon. I'm autistic, and I hear shit on the other side of the building, sometimes on a different floor.

Cw: Swearing, idk else, unhinged/ blunt replies ( R giving).

__Clark Kent__

Clark having his super hearing, I feeling like he hears distracting noises constantly but feels like he can't say anything about them.

So when he hears a frustrated voice say,' Can we please fix that god damn janitor's closet door on the floor under us!? It squeaks all day'.

Clark is shooketh, I don't put it past him thinking you are possibly kryptonian. Like he did with Shazam. Probably try to phish out info to see, but bad at being subtle.

'Why do you keep bringing up Superman??', 'Oh.. Well I mean, he is this City's hero'. You probably read his inquiring wrong, and believe he thinks your SuperMan.

'The reason has to why my hearing is above average, is because my autism makes me more sensitive to sounds. I promise you, I'm not Superman. I could not live comfortably with such a jarring unpredictable schedule.' , you word vomited, pitching the bridge of your nose.

'Oh.. uh I'm sorry if I made you upset', the more exhausted tone reminded him of Bruce a lot, when he bugged him too much. 'Its fine, just so many people make jokes about it. It can get old fast.'

Basically the mf would be balanced between panic and false hope of finding a relative he could keep on earth.

__Kon-el Kent__

I feel like he's got so use to no one being able to hear his purring, he doesn't care to suppress them. At times when he's to lazy to do this hair himself, he gets one of his friends to do it. Not worried.

He just enjoys the comforting feeling and begins to pur away. For the sake of it, let's say Tim was the victim of doing Kon's hair.

Tim would be the first to notice you walking around the common room, looking like you are going insane looking for something. Kon not really caring has he doesn't see it has important.

'Did you lose something?', Tim questioned, pausing shortly from combing Kon's hair. 'There is a sound and I don't know where it's coming from', you kept walking around the room listening.

Tim would try to reassure that you'll get use to the sounds of building, the more you stay. At some point, you walk over to where they were on the couch, and figured out it's coming from kon. 'The sound, it's coming from you!?'.

Kon would be so confused and Tim would be too, for different reasons. Tim doesn't hear it, Kon is not sure if you're referring to him purring or not.

'Huh?', 'You, it's coming from you. It sounds like a rumble or some shit'. Well fuck, he can't really play that off. 'You're not suppose to be able to hear it..', his tone resembling that of Oz media reading a cursed post.

'Hear what, exactly?', Tim feeling more like a third wheel in the conversation and wanting to be in loop. 'Kryptonian's have an organ that can make a sound, the best way I can describe it in human experience is a cat pur. But, we can only hear it.', Kon tries to summarize.

Tim would be the one that's extra, and suggest a DNA analysis. 'Tim I assure you, my mom used the excuse of popping me out of her, far too much for me of too be found in a capsule.', you then explained the autistic symptoms you have. Sensitivity to sounds being one of them.

This dose not stop Kon from jokingly referring to you has his sibling from now on. Which would confuse everyone that wasn't there to hear this interaction. Kon being Kon, he wouldn't explain it anyone, because he feels like that would ruin the joke.

_____________________________

Ha ha ha, it's 04:30 and I get up at 05:00. This is gonna fun.. but at least my dad feeds my caffeine addiction by giving me offerings of energy drinks, in hopes to encourage my autistic brain to be okay with doing the dishes, and other medial tasks.

#Crow!Writes #conner kent #clark kent #x male reader #x gender neutral reader #this is my first attempt at bullet point fanfic style.#autistic reader

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organ-market · 9 months

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Unconventional Detective Games

Return of the Obra Dinn, 2018

The maritime mystery game Return of the Obra Dinn by Lucas Pope is almost entirely subversive for a detective game. Everything in the game from its core premise to hyper stylized presentation, is all ambitious and experimental. Every person aboard the Obra Dinn has mysteriously died and you assume the role of an insurance investigator piecing together the horrific events using a magic watch that delivers to you a front seat viewing of a vignette of each person’s demise. Using these dioramas of death, you are charged with recording the manner of death of each and each crewmember and passenger aboard the ship.

Return of the Obra Dinn and its addictively satisfying detective puzzle gameplay left me hungry for more. Playing the game instilled in me a deep love for a good mystery and a desire to solve them. While I love games like Disco Elysium, which stars detectives as its protagonists, the investigation was never really the point. Moreover, a love for the unconventional detective was entrenched in my heart and as an interactive medium, video games are perfect for aspiring would-be detectives.

Overboard! , 2021

The year is 1935, aboard the S.S. Hook, Veronica Villensy throws her husband overboard under the foggy shade of night. In Inkle’s devilishly clever puzzle/visual novel, Overboard! you have eight hours before reaching the ports of New York and in that limited time you must relieve yourself from suspicion and guilt for your husband’s death at any cost. It’s a sort of anti-detective puzzle about getting away with murder which forces you to learn your fellow passenger’s schedules, plant evidence, and be consistently careful with your language lest your words betray you much later.

The DNA of time loop games such as Majora’s Mask and The Sexy Brutale is woven into the gameplay loop of Overboard! It’s a fairly short game taking around 2-3 hours to finish the story but at the benefit of allowing an immense amount of player agency. There is a wide variety of solutions to evading the mighty hand of justice, you are free to travel around the ship on a whim with no direction from the game itself. The only hint system is visiting the chapel and praying to God which is both cleverly diegetic and hilarious.

The nonlinearity of your objective incentivizes logical thinking and experimentation. The puzzle is rewarding much like learning each map and NPC routines in the Hitman: World of Assassination trilogy is. At first you clumsily trip over your words when Major Singh interrogates you but eventually you can get away with murder in style along with netting some pocket money from the life insurance if you pull it all off just right!

The nonlinearity of each puzzle in Overboard! is incredibly refreshing, it just feels organic and natural. Going achievement hunting in this game is its own little puzzle and I still haven’t figured out some of the little secrets it hides from us. It’s a game I can’t put down and haven’t yet been able to stop thinking about and I really recommend giving it a shot since it’s only $15 and only $6 if you catch it on sale.

Pentiment, 2022

Obsidian Entertainment’s Pentiment was my favorite game of 2022 and enraptured me for long nights as I obsessed over its rich dialogue and gorgeous medieval illumination manuscript inspired art. So much love and research was put into the historical setting, it takes place in 16th Century Bavaria within the town of Tassing is filled with life and character. You play as Andreas Maler, an artist working in an abbey on a hill and whilst attempting to finish your masterpiece, your co-worker and friend, Brother Piero, is falsely accused of the murder of a wealthy Baron who was staying in town. You are sprung into action as you only have a limited amount of time to clear Brother Piero’s name.

You are given a limited amount of time to wander around town, attempting to conduct interviews, deduce motives, and eventually gather enough evidence to bring the culprit to justice. Because of the impending trial, time is ever so precious in Pentiment and you will never have enough time to do everything you want at your leisure. Every moment dwelling on conversation or recreation is time you could have spent digging for answers. In order to pin a suspect you must hone in on what you think is most beneficial for your case like a true detective.

Brother Piero’s freedom is always at the cost of another’s conviction, in Pentiment you must push the blame onto someone else. During your investigations, you find that Sister Matilda, a nun at the abbey, had been assaulted by the late Baron many years ago. This is one of the clearest motives in the game but most physical evidence points in other directions, all the while every nun in the abbey will assure you of her innocence.

Saint John's Eve Festival Bonfire

Convincing the archdeacon (the head of the trial) of Sister Matilda’s guilt is perhaps the easiest of all the suspects to accomplish and Pentiment will not tell you outwardly that Matilda didn’t do it but it doesn’t have to. In a clever subversion, the game never tells you if you caught the culprit in the end. Pentiment, brilliantly, left me to wonder if I made the right choices as the totality of the lethal consequences of my actions weighed on my mind. You can easily convince the archdeacon of someone’s guilt but are you able to convince yourself?

The brutality of the executions should not be understated. You look on helplessly as someone you convicted meets an unwieldy end as they plead, cry, and eventually die. The executioner’s sword rises and falls as it lodges itself into the neck again and again until the head breaks free from the neck. Whether you like it or not, your choices matter in Pentiment and the consequences stare you down with a harsh disposition.

While playing Pentiment I was continually reminded of a line from Rian Johnson’s murder mystery film Knives Out. The titular detective Benoit Blanc (he’s so me by the way) notes that, “...the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth but what you do with the truth once you have it.” The complexity of truth is captured beautifully by Pentiment. In many regards it is a conventional mystery but by weaponizing the player’s need for clear answers it infected my mind for many hours after the credits rolled along with the minds of many others. There are fierce debates and chatter surrounding who really did the killing. Pentiment wasn’t as well talked about as it deserved, with all the games releasing it was overlooked by most. Well, it isn’t exactly for everyone but for the price of $20 it gave me a wealth of dialogue to mull over and wonder about.

Phasmophobia, 2022

A multiplayer ghost hunting spookfest is not exactly what you’d think of when discussing detective games but Kinetic Game’s Phasmophobia is deeply investigative by nature. Intense inspection is at the beating heart of the game with an important twist. Where ordinarily a detective chases after a suspect after the fact, here your suspect is reacting to your every move and can (and will) kill you on a whim. In the game you and up to three other friends venture into a haunted house and gather evidence and clues to determine which of the twenty four ghosts in the game is currently residing in your location.

You and your team will wander out of the safety of your van and into cold, darkened rooms to find clues by checking thermometers, speaking into spirit boxes, and throwing salt all over the floor in hopes of getting the ghost to step in it. Not only can you gather evidence with your camera and UV lights but another layer in your investigation is the behavior of the ghost. Knowing how aggressive each ghost is or how fast it is, is a tremendous asset in your deductive arsenal. The more you know, the more you can whittle the possibilities down until you have your culprit.

But finding the ghost and gathering evidence is just one thing, surviving the ghost is another. Being in the dark and bearing witness to paranormal activity will deplete your sanity and eventually the ghost will target you for a hunt. The front door slamming shut marks the beginning of a hunt, the ghost will manifest physically and chase you down and kill you if you don’t hide in time.

Corpse of my friend, deceased. Moments before I run out of the house in terror.

Phasmophobia is a dangerous balancing act of facing your fears by delving into the darkness in order to find clues and trying desperately to find the ghost type as fast as you can so you can get the hell out of there. The reactivity of the ghost keeps you on edge as you wander the halls gathering data. Speaking into the spirit box may prompt a raspy whisper into your ear or the candle you just lit may be blown out moments after. More interestingly though, is the voice recognition AI that takes advantage of the communication players rely upon. Everything from saying you’re scared to a simple curse word can lead to the ghost favoring you as prey. Even players who stay in the van for too long get targeted by the ghost!

Within Phasmophobia is one of the most unique investigative experiences on the market and definitely a one of a kind multiplayer experience. The comfort of having a buddy to share your terrors with is stripped away when they stop responding to your radio! It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever played and the developers are constantly updating it, two big thumbs up from the afterlife.

The satisfaction from my first time getting away with murder in Overboard! and the despair when I find out I had the ghost type completely wrong in Phasmophobia are some of my most memorable experiences in gaming! And Pentiment proved to be one of the most well written games I’ve had the pleasure of reading. I sincerely hope you check them out if you haven’t already! They’re all pretty cheap anyway. And once again begging for recommendations in the comments/reblogs so if you know any good, and hopefully weird, detective games let me know! Thanks in advance everyone and I’ll catch you on the flip side :P

-Ghost Emoji 👻

#organmart #om-ghostemoji #writing #video games #video game recommendations #detective games #return of the obra dinn #overboard!#overboard game #pentiment #phasmophobia

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