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upsidedownwithsteve · 10 months

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Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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proxylynn · 1 month

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My theory of Hazbin Hotel's main plot.

[This may just be a hot take or me whimsically spitballing headcanon, but I have thought about this and, while I don't have all the puzzle's pieces, I think I have enough to make out a decent picture. So bear with me as I unload the insanity that has been in my head since entering the Hellaverse.]

Starting things off, I think the main villain/antagonist of HH's plot is the obvious elephant in the room...Roo aka The Root of ALL Evil.

According to Vivziepop, Roo is a "looming threat in the distance", possibly hinting toward her being a future antagonist and she mentioned that there is no character that she is more excited to get into than Roo, but, she also mentioned that it's "gonna be a long time". So likely we won't see her properly till season three but get hints throughout season two and teased at the end. I will make no claim that "defeating" Roo solves everything in the universe because that's nonsense. There is no good without evil. So you can't just off Roo who's been there since the beginning. And I mean THE beginning. I'm talking the creation of EVERYTHING.

"Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil."

Evil exists at the start before Lucifer does anything, this is a fact. So where am I going with this? Let's continue down the line. To the one driving my train of thought...Lilith.

For someone who didn't eat the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil, Lilith was very aware of certain things and had independent free will. But humanity didn't get this autonomy till after the fruit fiasco, so what happened? Why did Lilith have magic main character self-awareness? Well, let's think about this...Why was there such a tree in Eden in the first place? The Angels are making this a paradise and keeping evil out of Earth. So why place a tree in there that would fuck it all up? This was why they didn't want Lucifer making shit because they were worried his ideas would be too risky and bad could happen. So again, why was this tree here? What if...The Angels didn't make it.

I propose, as her name so implies, that Roo sprouted the tree up without the Angels knowing in the hopes the fruit would be eaten and allow evil to taint the world. Lilith might have gotten a hint of what the tree granted and what simple veil that clouded her eyes was lifted enough to make her reject Adam and flee the garden. It's even said that "together" she and Lucifer share the gift of free will with Eve, but Lilith seems to take this stand back and watch approach when Lucifer gives her the fruit, almost like she's uncertain what eating it will do so she keeps her distance. This again, also hints that Lilith has had free will from the start and didn't eat the fruit because it was only when Eve ate the fruit did evil finally break the seal to enter Earth.

"As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he had created."

Now here's where it gets a bit more headcanony because this line could mean nothing or everything. Lucifer and Lilith are banished to the newly made Hell. I repeat...Heaven cast Lucifer and Lilith into Hell. Nowhere does it say she died. So...We have the first human woman who didn't eat the fruit and never died. By technically, Lilith still has her immortality. She's the oldest human alive. It's also stated Lucifer shares his power with her (and Charlie), which makes sense if she's just some dull human. So, now imbued with this mix of angel/demon rizz, Lilith becomes even more OP and Hell's mary sue Queen that dominates like the bad boss bitch she is.

"Lilith thrived, empowering demonkind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power."

Lilith as a character has a surprisingly decent amount of info to work with considering we only saw her for the smallest moment. So here's some goodies I've collected from the wiki that are of note.

{According to Vivziepop, Lilith is the "big, slowburn mystery" of the show, adding that we are going to slowly start getting answers over the course of the "next couple seasons", and that season two gives some more pieces to it.}

{When asked about what Lilith was like, Faustisse described Lilith as graceful, regal, and politically charged. Lilith is someone who is exceptionally equanimous. This was implied in "Overture" as in the "Story of Hell" book she is depicted helping Hell thrive over the years using her voice and her songs.}

{When asked about Lilith and Lucifer's dynamic, Faustisse believed their relationship could be summed up with the phrase, "Behind every man is a greater woman", and that they love each other very much. They describe Lilith and Lucifer as "passionate, cheesy lovers". They are of the opinion that Lilith "wears the pants" in her family, but they think both Lilith and Lucifer are switches within their intimate life.}

{When asked about Lilith's powers, Faustisse declined to answer, citing possible spoilers for the main series. They did, however, state that they did not think Lilith had wings like Charlie and Lucifer, although saw no reason why she wouldn't be able to manifest them if she wished. According to Faustisse, Lilith can change the shape of her horns, but it's unlikely this will be shown in practice in the series as it would apparently be difficult to show that kind of constant change over consecutive scenes.}

{When asked if the Eden family have some connection to the royal family as well, Vivziepop declined to answer one way or the other.}

{Due to her origins as a former human, it is likewise unclear if Lilith is connected to the Sinners, who are deceased humans and became demons after death; as Lilith was alive when she was banished to Hell, her transition between human and demon is ambiguous.}

{Faustisse has suggested that she is somewhat good with children}

{Lilith disappeared seven years prior to the series for reasons unknown, never responding to any of her daughter's attempts to call her. Curiously, she was missing the same amount of years as Alastor. Lilith was later revealed to be in Heaven in "The Show Must Go On". Although the exact reasons remain unknown, it was heavily alluded to that she had made a deal with Adam at some point.}

You might look at all this and be like "Lynn, you dummy, we know all this. This is just random stuff". Oh, I think not. Because in just these bits we get so much. Let's begin with the character setup for diving into my main theory.

I think Lilith does love her family. She has a loving and amazing husband in Lucifer and in Charlotte (aka Charlie) the most adorable and kindhearted daughter any mother could ask for. As Queen, she took charge and made Hell less of a pit to wallow and suffer in, and more like a new home to begin anew. So then...What happened? Why would she suddenly leave and cut all communications? Here is where we dig into the meat of it all. My theory of why Lilith left.

Remember how I said Lilith didn't eat the fruit and still had free will then pounded that over and over into you? Well, going on what I said about her getting "a hint of what the tree granted", Roo could've infected Lilith and gifted her awareness while in Eden. Now in Hell where Roo is arguably stronger due to all the sin and sickness that permeates the realm, her influence on Lilith would increase. Lilith, being the big brain that she is, probably felt something was amiss when she got pregnant. Nine months is a long time to plan things out, and maybe doing a few concerts to warn others of impending danger subtlety might've worked...but only for so long. She needed something. A safety. And that safety was her family. Lucifer likely could've been useful but his depression was beginning to take hold with each failure and the worsening sinners as years passed. So...plan B...Charlie. She would instill in her daughter everything she knew and give her a "destiny".

"But Lilith's hope remained. And her dream passed down to their precious daughter, the Princess of Hell."

With Charlie, Lilith instilled that the people were important. But never explained in what way. As she continued to prepare her daughter, Lilith would come to understand this reason. Power. Roo thrives on the tainted evil that seeps from the sinners. So just as she finishes schooling Charlie, she sets up another backup plan to still Roo's intake long enough for her daughter to figure out a way of her own...And this is where Adam comes in.

"Adam is dead. Your deal is done and I'm in charge now. Your brat is threatening the very foundation of Heaven. And if you want to stay here, you're going down there, and stopping that bitch. You understand me…Lilith?"

Feeling Roo's corruptive influence getting worse because sinners just keep coming, Lilith contacts Adam. Now Adam is still salty but hears his first wife out as she caters to his ego. But Adam is wiser after millennia and knows she's not being innocent here. He bluntly gets her to just spill the beans to which she does, she needs out of Hell. Adam grabs this opportunity and says he can sneak her into Heaven but it'll cost her. He knows how much her precious people mean to her so, vindictively, he says he'll take her in if he can go into Hell and kill demons. Little does he know he's playing into her trap. She "reluctantly" agrees so long as no Hellborn are harmed, only sinners. Adam is all for it, even makes a cover story to tell Sera later how killing sinners in Hell will keep Heaven safe, and Lilith then goes about doing the hardest thing she's ever done. She tells Lucifer of some details of this new Heavenly Extermination thing and that she'll have to go away for a long time, promising to return but unsure when. Heartbroken, Lucifer watches as his love leaves him, their daughter, and their kingdom.

"Hey, mom. I know I keep calling and you must be busy... Really busy... But, um, the interview didn't go well, and... I don't know if I'm ever going to make a difference. I don't know what I'm doing. I could really use some advice, mom. I... I think dad was right about me... Ahah, oof. Eh, anyway... I'll stop talking before this gets long. Love you, bye..."

"Don't worry, Mom. I'll make you proud."

Vaggie: Did you hear from your mom?

*Charlie shakes her head in dismay.*

Vaggie: Oof… how long has it been now?

Charlie: Not that long, only…seven….years, off doing something important, I'm sure! But, this kingdom was something she really cared about. Something I care about.

This is what I think it's all been leading to. Lilith having made Charlie into someone for the people and wanting to save souls in a, as funny as it is, maintaining the very balance that got fucked up way back in the garden sort of redeeming way. Restoring order by allowing the good to go where it should've gone in the first place and keeping Roo weak. Maybe Lilith can even get her own redemption, being partially responsible for allowing Roo into our world in the first place. The only added weight I have left to give to my silly little "infected Lilith" idea is how she looks at season one's ending.

She looks pissed and upset, which we can say for a few reasons like how Lute just straight-up calls Charlie a bitch to her face. Like, dude, dick move. But, with Adam dead and seemingly no progress from Charlie (that she knows of), Lute is forcing her to go back to Hell where Roo's influence can grip her once more. I'm not entirely sure just what that could mean but for the sake of the Alastor/Lilith theory fans, let's say when Roo is strong she can puppet Lilith into infecting others via demonic deals. She might have done this countless times with mixed results, only to have full success in Alastor. But Mr deer is a bit too successful a test subject and thus gets his powers leashed. Now we have Alastor trying to force his way out of this mixed-up double-power deal by roping in Charlie, the one kink in this chain that could cause everything to break if forced too much.

It would explain his latching onto Charlie and seeking a deal since the very first time they met. She's a means to an end. The key to unlocking his proverbial collar. It even explains his out-of-nowhere instant disdain for Lucifer. Of course he'd be hostel to the husband of the bitch that metaphorically screwed him and poses a threat to his current plan of using his daughter for his own means.

Well, this was a long as fuck rambling. I hope even a shred of this made sense. Now to sit back and wait for season two to come along and either be like "I got something right" or "Wow I was dead wrong on so many levels". I wonder how long that will take?

"In an interview posted on February 2, 2024, Vivziepop thought that the production of season two might take about one-and-a-half to two years, roughly the same production time season one had."

Oh...um...Looks like we have some time. So, we can expect the new episodes to land in late 2025 at the earliest. *sets up chair* I can wait.

#op random #hazbin hotel #hellaverse #hazbin hotel lore theory/headcanon #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel roo #roo hazbin hotel #lilith hazbin hotel #lucifer hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #charlie hazbin hotel

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viennacherries · 2 months

Note

Hiya!! I finished Kiss the Cook a little bit ago and loved it!!! Your writing has such good pacing to it, I really enjoyed reading it!

I also have a request, if you're interested: Rolan (or Gale tbh, works with any spellcaster) is in the middle of casting a spell but Tav/reader wants to tease him so they either 1, pin his hands together so he can't do somatic components, or 2, stick their fingers in his mouth to keep him from doing verbal components. This ofc leads to some nsfw shenanigans lmao

(My ao3 is Nightreader13)

Hope you're having an amazing day, and tysm for making such wonderful content, love ya 💜💜

tried to post it as a gift but it didn't let me! sorry about that.

this got away from me a bit but i hope you still like it! as requested: fingers in mouth to shut up a spellcaster. rolan/tav because i have brainworms.

thank you for the lovely message and prompt and for enjoying my writing! hope u love it <3

read on ao3 here

~~~

Summary:

NSFW, Rolan/Tav

"His hands curl into somatic shapes by his sides, and you realise he's speaking the incantation for Ice Storm. You're both backed into a corner like fish in a barrel, if he lets the spell loose you know you're done for.

You don't think. You shove your fingers into his mouth."

~~~

Rolan's temper lands you both in an alleyway, hiding from Flaming Fists, and you do what you have to in the name of shutting him up. In the end, neither of you stay very quiet.

~~~

Rolan has a fierce temper, when it comes down to it.

It surprises you somewhat, after seeing how he let Lorroaken walk all over him. Sure, he'd backed you and Aylin up when it mattered, but it had taken weeks for all of the bruises from the previous 'master of the tower' to heal. Though, you suppose you saw hints of it at Last Light, when Cal and Lia were missing.

It has its uses, admittedly. When you were ambushed by Bhaal worshippers in Bloomridge Park, and an innocent woman was struck down by one of them, his subsequent attacks were absolutely devastating. You could've stood back and left him to it, and he would've more than managed.

The fact he looks rather pretty when he's angry is an additional bonus; all tense muscles and sharp breaths. You blame your physical reaction to watching him fight on the fact he's the first male tiefling you've been around for an extended period in years. Your stupid infernal hindbrain had been telling you to bed him since he first raised his voice in front of you at the Grove.

Unfortunately, his temper has its downsides too. Like right now, for instance.

The two of you split from the group to search for Mol, who still hasn't turned up after being snatched from the inn in the Shadow-Cursed lands. Pairs made the most sense; more discreet than the whole troupe travelling together while still ensuring everyone had back up. Astarion had smirked when suggested you and Rolan pair up, arguing it looked less suspicious if the tieflings travelled together.

"If anyone asks, you can pretend you're lovers," he'd chortled. "Oh! And if you need to hide you can stuff yourselves into an alley and-".

You had elected not to let him finish that sentence, dragging Rolan away from camp before he had a chance to protest.

It had actually been reasonably pleasant. Despite initial impressions, Rolan is rather delightful company. Sure, he's still a dick, and nearly every other sentence that comes out of his mouth is an insult, but that just makes things more interesting. You'd found you were actually enjoying spending time with him.

Well. You had been. Until now.

It was your fault. You were distracted. He'd laughed at something you said, and you were busy looking at him. You could see a peek of his canines as he threw his head back, and the movement had pronounced the sharp line of his jaw and the muscle in his neck. You'd been so struck with the sight, and the awful realisation that you were actually starting to become attracted to him, that you'd smacked straight into the chest of a Flaming Fist.

"Oi! Devilspawn! Watch your fucking step!"

The man's voice was laced with malice. It's been years since you've been to Baldur's Gate, and it seems in your absence the city has become remarkably less tolerable. You suppose it's something to do with Elturel's descent, but the casually thrown slur stung either way.

"Sorry," you'd averted your gaze in a display of faux meekness. Usually you'd have him out on his arse for talking to you that way, but the streets are crowded and full of Fists. It's not worth the hassle. "Won't happen again, Manip."

"You sure as shit better hope it doesn't, or I'll put you and your Hellspawn boyfriend in the ground where you belong." He sneered around every word, flitting his eyes between you and Rolan. "Fucking foulblooded freak."

You'd grit your teeth, and started to nod, but just as the mercenary was about to step away Rolan had piped up.

"What the fuck did you call her? Watch your fucking mouth, Nul'zereb."

And now you're here. Next to a seething Rolan, in front of a Flaming Fist Sergeant, being slowly surrounded by other Fists as they take note of the commotion.

You raise your hands up in front of you defensively, "easy, please, he didn't mean it. We've had a long journey and-"

Rolan scoffs, seemingly intent on digging his own grave. "Bullshit , I meant every fucking word. They call us Foulbloods but these imbeciles probably can't tell a shit from a stew."

You shoot him a glare, but he doesn't look at you. Clearly he plans on dealing with this the hard way. Idiot. You feel your core twist. He's going to get you killed, for sure, but the fact he's willing to fight a crowd of people because they insulted you is unfairly attractive. Stupid. Dangerous. But really fucking attractive.

"You cheeky demon bastard!" The Fist shouts at him, and yep, the hard way it is. "I'll fucking flay you!"

Rolan is shouting back now, and his tail whips around violently behind him in a display of his mounting rage. "I'd like to see you try, you spoon-eared piece of-"

Okay, yep, that's more than enough of that.

You grab his wrist and utter the incantation for Dimension Door as quickly as you can manage, teleporting the both of you out of reach of the group of mercenaries surrounding you. As soon as your feet hit solid ground again you break into a sprint, dragging Rolan with you as he makes an indignant noise behind you. You hear the group shout, and the thunder of footsteps on the pavement as they pursue you.

Luckily, clad in robes compared to their metal plating, you and Rolan are quicker. You drag him through a few side streets, and then at the last minute you duck into an alleyway. It's a tight squeeze, but it's better than nothing.

You hiss your admonishments through your teeth at him in an attempt to keep your volume down. "What the fuck were you thinking, Rolan? I thought wizards were meant to be smart! You almost got us fucking killed!"

His eyes widen in shock, and he hisses through his teeth back at you as he argues. "Are you joking? What was I doing? You're the one that fucking walked into him! Besides, did you hear what he fucking called you? I can't believe you just-"

"Shut up!" He's raising his voice with every word and you have no idea how close behind you they are. "Of course I heard, but the middle of the street isn't the ideal spot to pick a fight with a group of Flaming Fists! They would've fucking flattened us!"

He scoffs, "as if, I fucking had them."

"Oh sure , sorry, I forgot how great and mighty you are. You obviously could've taken on a crowd of twelve blokes with military training."

He grits his teeth, "I still will if they fucking find us, what sort of hiding place is this anyway? If they spot us we're fucking cornered."

"You didn't give me much choice, did you? It's better this than-"

You cut yourself off at the sound of footsteps in the street. Rolan opens his mouth to say something but you place a finger over his lips to shush him. His mouth clamps shut reluctantly.

You can feel your heart beating in your ears as the footsteps get closer. They're right within earshot now, the slightest noise will alert them to where you are. You hold your breath.

Six of the Flaming Fists round the corner, and suddenly you're peering at them from the alley perpendicular to the street they stand in, barely 10ft away. You're shrouded by darkness, but if one of them happens to look this way carefully you're sure you'll be spotted. You daren't move.

You hear muttering and turn to look at Rolan, and you realise he's preparing a spell. His hands curl into somatic shapes by his sides, and you realise he's speaking the incantation for Ice Storm. You're both backed into a corner like fish in a barrel, if he lets the spell loose you know you're done for.

You don't think. You shove your fingers into his mouth.

His head whips back around to look at you, eyes wide in shock and anger. It suddenly dawns on you that. Well. You've got your fingers in his mouth. Three of them.

Not the most elegant solution to a problem you've come up with, that's for sure. But hey, it works.

He tries to draw back to free himself, and you can tell from his eyes that he's absolutely seething, but you can't risk him speaking and alerting the guards. You press your fingers down on his tongue and push them further into his mouth. His head backs into the wall, leaving him nowhere to go, and he writhes around the digits in his mouth. You press a little deeper. He makes a quiet, strangled noise in the back of his throat, before he finally resigns himself to his fate.

You stare back out of the mouth of the alley. The mercenaries are still there, pacing through the side-streets searching for you, but they haven't spotted you yet. After a few moments, they're all out of view, and you hear their voices disappear into the distance.

As soon as you can't hear them anymore, you let out a sigh of relief.

It's at this point you remember rather suddenly that your fingers are, in fact, buried in Rolan's throat.

You turn back to look at him.

He still looks angry, absolutely. But his eyes are softer around the edges, a little glazed over, and his tail whips around wildly where it's pinned behind him. He's panting a little around the digits, and you realise there's a weight against your thigh that wasn't there before. You raise your eyebrows and smirk.

"Is that a quarterstaff in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

He scowls, and makes a noise as if he's trying to speak, but you press down a little harder on his tongue and it turns into a whine.

This is an interesting development. Not an unwelcome one, but definitely unexpected.

You feel the smirk on your face widen, "you know," you say, as if you're pondering something, "you're much less annoying with your mouth occupied."

He scowls, but his breathing harshens. You grin.

"This is the problem with wizards," you know you're goading him, but you can't help yourself. Your hindbrain has kicked in, and he's right where it wants him. "They're all talk, aren't they? Take away your hands or mouth and what are you? You couldn't even cast a simple cantrip right now, could you?"

He makes a noise like a growl, and you can feel yourself rapidly approaching the point of no return, but you're finding it hard to care with his length pushed rock hard against your leg. You push your weight against it experimentally, and he whines around your fingers.

"Gods, you make some pretty noises. You look fucking delicious when you're angry, you know that? Defending my honour in front of all those people, spitting infernal curses at them. You wanna be the only one who talks to me like that, huh?"

His eyes are locked on yours, and he hesitates.

"Go on, now, tell me the truth."

There's another brief moment of pause before he shuts his eyes and nods.

"Good boy." He groans at that, and the noise sends heat rushing to your core. "Maybe you'll get a chance, but not til I'm done with you. Wanted to fuck you since I heard your petulant grousing in the Grove, I'm gonna fucking enjoy this."

He's writhing against you now, seeking pressure against his erection, but you pull back enough that he can only brush against you. The noise he lets out is pitiful.

"Shit, Rolan. You look lovely like this. Mouth wrapped around my fingers, all needy and desperate underneath me. Suck my fingers, show me how much you want this."

He responds instantly, hollowing his cheeks around you and stroking the length of your fingers with his tongue. You moan at the feeling. His mouth is hot and warm and his tongue is enthusiastic in its movements. Your noise seems to spur him on, and his eyes roll into the back of his head as he closes them, redoubling his efforts as he works your digits. You can feel slick pooling in your small-clothes.

You adjust your stance, rearranging your bodies so that his cock is rubbing against you between your thighs. The friction is delicious, but not enough between all the layers of clothing you're both wearing. Even so, he still moans as you grind into him.

Undoing the clasps of his robes is difficult with just your non-dominant hand, but eventually you free him from the confines of his robe and undergarments, gripping his cock in your fist. The noise he makes is completely lecherous, and it has you tightening your grip and twisting your wrist on the upstroke. He's not sucking your fingers anymore, just moaning around them, but it doesn't matter. He sounds fucking obscene and you're completely addicted as you wrench every lewd noise you can from him.

He's grabbing at your own robes now, trying to undo them, but he's struggling between the movement of your hand on his cock and the distraction of your fingers on his tongue. You pull your hand from his mouth, and the minute you do he groans and pulls you into a bruising kiss. It's feral and uncoordinated, both of your hindbrain's completely running the show now, overcome with the need to rut into one another. You release your grip on his cock to give him better access to your own robes.

He makes quick work of them, pushing them out of the way and pulling your small-clothes to the side to rub his cock against your slit. You both groan, and you lean backwards into the wall behind you as you hoist a leg up to plant it on the wall opposite.

He leans into your ear, hissing in a low tone that has your walls fluttering, and you bring your hands up to clutch at his chest. "Is this why you really dragged us down here? You're that desperate for my cock that you have to accost me in an alleyway? Fucking sorcerers. So full of yourself, when what you really need to be full of is a nice fat knot."

You moan wantonly and he groans against the shell of your ear, rubbing himself against your clit. The action has you keening.

"Gods, Tav, you're fucking dripping. Not sure you even deserve anything after pissing around like that earlier. Tell me how much you want my knot, maybe then I'll consider giving you it."

The logical part of your brain knows he's as desperate as you are, hard and heavy against your core, but the feral infernal instincts that have taken over would rather die than risk him stepping away without fucking you. The words spill from you easily without a second thought.

"I fucking need it, Rolan, need your fucking cock in me. Need you to bite me and mark me up while you split me open on your knot, need your cum inside me."

He teases his cock against your entrance, but he doesn't sink in. His words are breathless. "Yeah? Yeah you need it? Need my knot?"

You wail, "yes, fuck, please I fucking need it. Had me so wet, defending me like that, wanted to mount you then and there-".

The noise he makes is absolutely ruinous, and you moan back in answer. There is absolutely zero upper brain function going on in your skull anymore, you need him to fuck you into this wall right now or you might actually die.

He seems to feel the same, and slowly he eases his length into you. He buries his face into your neck and you wail and shudder as you feel the ridges on his cock drag against your walls with every inch he sinks further. By the time he's sheathed fully inside of you, his pelvis against yours, you're panting and writhing around him. His tail reaches around and wraps around yours, and they snake together in a tight coil.

He's shown remarkable restraint given the circumstances, sinking his cock into you slowly, but as soon as you clench your muscles around him his resolve snaps. He pulls his hips back and snaps them back into you, setting a brutal and rapid pace that has you sobbing. The angle, with your leg hoisted up, has every thrust hitting the soft spot inside your walls, and when you close your eyes at the sensation you swear you're seeing colours that don't exist, that's how intense and all-consuming the pleasure is.

He teases the soft skin at the base of your throat with his canines, and the sharp drag has you whining and baring your throat to him on impulse. It's pure instinct, your body begging for a mating bite, and he growls into your skin as he gives in to his own instincts and sinks his teeth into you.

The pain shoots through you like ice in your veins, but your mind and core sing . The pinch and sting is the perfect crescendo to the mounting pleasure, and with several shaky, panting moans you come undone around him, crying out as your whole body tremors. It's the most intense orgasm you've ever had, and your toes tingle as your release crashes over you.

He cries out, releasing his hold on your throat, and his hips stutter and pace falters as he chases after his own release. You feel his knot growing every time is catches against the rim of your cunt. Just as you start to cry at the feeling, half convinced it's going to rip you in half, he sinks it fully into you and it pulses and expands as he empties himself into you with a loud shout of pleasure. With every rope of hot spend he spills into you, his cock twitches hard into that perfect spot inside you, and without warning you're met with another orgasm which has you squeezing around him as he finishes. He groans at the feeling, low in his throat, and grinds himself into you as his cock finally gives its last, valiant pump of seed.

He groans into your neck, nosing his way up your throat and planting open mouthed kisses under your ear. You whine, and slowly lower your shaking leg back down to the floor. The change in position pushes his cock into you again, and you both grunt, overstimulated and spent. You stand there, locked together and panting for breath. He laves his tongue over the spot where he bit you, sucking a mark over it. The pain is almost too much, but the primitive part of you loves the feeling and you moan despite yourself.

There's silence after that. It stretches for a long moment as you both attempt to catch your breath, stuck together in the tight space of the alley with Rolan's knot keeping you tied together. When you speak, your voice comes out hoarse and blissed-out.

"I'm sorry for. You know. I didn't actually mean to, if you believe me."

He laughs into your throat, and rubs his nose into the pulse point under your ear in an uncharacteristically intimate gesture, "I'm not sure I do, but I'm not sure I particularly care anymore, to be frank."

You laugh too, "fair enough. I'd do it again, to be frank."

You both break down into warm, breathless laughter as you hold eachother. Slowly, you feel his knot shrink and he slides out of you. His spend gushes down your thighs, and he bends sideways to look, before moaning and throwing his head back against the wall behind him.

"That's absurdly hot. Fuck . You're lucky I just knotted you or I'd have you again right here."

You rub your thighs together, and whimper quietly, "I'd let you."

He moans again, "don't fucking say shit like that. That's not fair at all."

You shrug, "wasn't trying to be fair. If you don't like it, maybe you should do something about it."

He rolls his head forward to look at you, opening his eyes and levelling you with a hooded-eyed look that has your core pulsing. "Shut your mouth, or I'll have to shut it for you."

You shrug, then smirk. "I dare you."

In hindsight, you think Rolan was onto something earlier. Doing things the hard way is much more fun.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 rolan #bg3 smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 fanfic prompt

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lostmyremembrall · 10 months

Text

📖𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝐴 𝐻𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑇𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐 𝐼𝑛𝑓𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝐽𝑜𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 1𝐾 𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡! Now closed

It was neatly placed on your pillow, silently staring up at you as if it’s always belonged there.

You sighed, knowing where it came from. How he managed to sneak into the girl’s dormitory, you had no clue.

You let your exhausted body sink into the edge of the bed before taking the neatly wrapped box, sensing the placement of the gift by its owner was intentional, blatantly claiming a spot on your most private space as its own.

“Merlin, not again!”

The exasperated voice of your roommate, Imelda, rang from across the room, catching sight of the silver ribbon that slowly fell to the floor.

“This man needs a hobby,” Imelda fumes. "...some nerve sneaking into a girl's dormitory."

“Mm-hmm,” you let out a heavy sigh. She was right.

The number of times this man forwarded you gift after gift with no explanation. The number of hours you and Imelda dedicated to discussing who this could be.

The first one, you found in your Transfiguration textbook. The book naturally parted to reveal an ornate bookmark– goblin-made, with intricate golden lines of a man holding the woman’s face to plant a kiss. It was a famous painting, that much you knew. You wondered at first, whether you had mistaken someone else’s book for yours. But as you turned to the back of the cover, your name, printed neatly in your handwriting. It was a gift from someone, you decided in the end. Someone with extremely adept fingers from the looks of it. Enough to steal your book and return it to your satchel unnoticed.

The second one, was revealed at the bottom of the cauldron at the end of the Potion – as you were cleaning out your potion. It was a wonder how they managed to sneak it in without you noticing. It glimmered against the black cast iron: a brooch of a phoenix, mid-flight through the clouds. Whoever this was, he had a proclivity for a dramatic display of his spellcasting as well, it seemed.

Ruby earrings, silver hairpins, rare, expensive books; and so on, the gifts kept coming from this mysterious, bold, yet shy person. After the third gift, you and Imelda concluded this person had developed a massive crush on you. With a penchant for green and silver wrapping – perhaps an overt expression of his loyalty to his house–, the image of a dashing Slytherin man had also settled in both of your minds.

“I bet he’s rich.”

You nodded without raising your head from the box you now held. Ignoring the sender’s image that was progressively beginning to resemble a flamboyant peacock, you studied the gift wrapping. Now more curious about the sender than the gift, you had grown a habit of searching the wrapping for hints instead of its content.

“Just going to say, you could have the decency of sharing.”

You raised your eyes to meet the playful smirk on Imelda, who was on her stomach, scratching her head before an unfinished essay for Runes. The gift, however, seemed to have called for an impromptu break from the work.

“What?” she raised a challenging brow. “You’re going to get more, anyway.”

She jests, but you did not miss the hungry glimmer in the depth of her eyes. “Your greed’s showing, Imelda,” you shook your head, trying and failing to suppress a grin.

“Nothing wrong with that,” she jabs her nose slightly up in the air. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, after all.”

“I am your best friend, Imelda!”

“Ha! You would be, if you get me a diamond.”

“What is it this time,” Imelda now jabs her chin towards the small box, the essay now tossed to the floor. "He better get you a diamond or two."

“I think you may have skipped a few important steps, Imelda-” Trying to hide the growing blush on your cheeks, you open the box. But, you couldn’t help but swallow your words at the brilliance that greeted you upon opening the lid.

Inside the small box was a beautiful ring, topped with large, transparent jewellery that seemed to light up the whole room.

Imelda was quick to leave the bed at the shock that graced your features.

"Ha! Guess he does know what a girl wants!"

Imelda bursts into laughter, but even her jest fell short of your ears. The diamond that demanded your attention looked too close to a wedding ring. In fact, you were certain it was.

The wedding ring from a man with no name. Seemingly too heavy for you to bear, the ring was quietly put away into the closet without ever being put on.

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

You clutched the letter in your right hand that arrived first thing in the morning, feeling a sense of hammering in your ribcage at the idea of finally meeting this… peacock. This man who had the audacity to sneak into the girl’s dormitory. To gift you a wedding ring.

You just had to see what this man was made out of.

In your left pocket, the wedding ring to be returned right back at his face.

A victorious smirk etched into your lips, your pace quickened to the Slytherin common room. So, they were right. You thought back to Imelda’s longing face at the breakfast table, barely keeping herself seated from following you to see the man herself. The curiosity was killing her, but Imelda would be pleased to know she was right.

Slytherin and affluent. Your mind wandered to the list of men that fit the description. Perhaps he was a Malfoy, a Black… or even a Lestrange.

Despite your eagerness to find the sender of the owl, you managed to find enough composure to fix your uniform before whispering the password. You descended the stairs, the underground air and the waterfall mist cooling you. With everyone rushing to breakfast at the Great Hall, it was going to be simple enough to spot a single person.

You hopped down the last step and looked around the common room to find the room… empty.

Flabbergasted, you blinked a few times. You reread the instruction to meet in the common room: perfectly legible handwriting that indicates the windows looking into the Great Lake.

Still, there was not a hint of life in the common room save for the stunted expressions of the statues of noble women and men past. You huffed and settled on the chaise longue looking over the kelp and seaweeds.

The longer you waited, the tapping of your feet against the stone floor slowed, and your fingers ceded playing with your hair.

He had the audacity to boast about his aptitude for magic. For a man who dared not show his face, he demanded praise. Silently screaming for your attention from wherever he hid. A bookmark in a textbook. A brooch left inconspicuously in a cauldron. Then, a ring on a pillow. Every gift must have been carefully planned to progressively shorten the distance to you and test your reaction. To have your imaginations running wild picturing a brilliant, affluent prince with an excellent taste for elegance. After all those gifts, he was not just going to pass on the opportunity to claim those titles for himself.

Still, the time still ticked away, and a quick glance at the watch indicated 10 minutes past the promised time. You heaved a heavy sigh, knowing that as much as you were curious to meet the person, this man was going to get you late for Charms.

You were about to leap up to your feet, when you suddenly felt a presence on your left. You froze, feeling his heat radiating against your cheek from the sudden proximity.

“You weren’t going to leave before our date even began, were you?”

The velvety voice. The teasing tone that always tried to contain a smirk. You knew that voice.

“T–, Tom?!” you jumped, swerving your neck to face the last man you expected to see at this moment.

There he was. Your oldest friend, his sharp eyes studying the curvature of your face, reading your every thought and emotion. His jet-black hair contrasting the pale features that almost seemed sickly in the aquamarine lighting of the common room. His chin resting on his arms, as they crossed on top of the back of your chair.

“You seem surprised.”

Greeted by a charming tilt of his head, any trace of your reminder to return the ring was erased from the mind.

“But–, but,” unable to form a string of words, your eyes blinked rapidly. Tom Riddle, someone you’d known since the first day of class. Someone you didn’t know was ‘capable of having a crush.’

In the midst of confusion, any embarrassment or excitement that you may have felt from the close proximity had vanished completely. The next words that fell out of your flabbergasted lips were a declaration more so than a question.

“But–, you don’t like me.”

As you shook your head in disbelief, you saw the confusion in the droop of his brows, his lips still curved in that quiet self-conviction.

“Of course I do,” Tom murmured as if it was the simplest –and the only– truth he’s ever known in this vast world of unsolved mysteries.

“I’ve always liked you.”

The phrase was said with such ease as if he’s told you a hundred times over.

You were still shaking your head at the impossibility of the situation that presented itself. “So, every one of those gifts. They were from you?”

Tom’s lid slowly shut with a single nod, his long lashes casting a shadow over his sunken eyes.

Your eyes darted back and forth, thinking back to that presumptuous peacock you’d been picturing in place of where Tom’s smile was. It made no sense… but the boastful nature, the Slytherin house pride, the aptitude of spellcasting… It all clicked together.

Except…

“How did you afford all of this?”

Tom’s air of nonchalance faltered for a moment, his eyes widening just briefly at the seemingly irrelevant question.

But, he was quick to regain his composure. “I’ll do anything for the love of my life,” his right hand bounced once before languidly dangling off of the back of the couch once more.

Love. Ignoring the heavy word that he so carelessly tossed into their conversation, you pressed on.

In the end, he relented with a sigh. His eyes narrowed into slits and soon, Tom was smiling before you, waving his two fingers in the air, the diamond ring nimbly held in between the sides of his fingers.

A shadow cast over your eyes as you couldn’t bring yourself to join in his exulting triumph.

“... you stole them?”

Your voice was solemn, afflicted by the bile that was brewing and spilling over in the pit of your stomach at the idea. You almost wished you hadn’t asked.

Tom noted the change in your tone, for once, his grin dropping to reveal a defensive wall. “What difference does it make?” his voice bounced off of the stone walls. “My feeling is true for you.”

Tom continued, eager to stop you from staring at him with those morose eyes. “And who’s to blame an underprivileged, penniless man, hopelessly in love?”

You parted your lips, only to bite down on your lips at the sight of him beaming up at you. You’ve never quite seen him like this. His dilated eyes shimmered with so much hope, so much longing as they followed every line that shaped your face. You swallowed your words. Passion. Infatuation. Affection. Whatever it was that Tom felt for you, it was ‘true’ for him.

“You don’t have to give me anything, Tom.”

You managed to string out the words, defeated, knowing that once Tom had made up his mind, there was no stopping him.

“Nonsense,” Tom grinned, relieved that you’ve been seemingly persuaded. “My love deserves only the best.”

“I–,” you tried to quell the shaking in your voice, thinking back to the countless exorbitant gifts you’d received in just this past month. “I don’t want it.”

Tom furrowed, visibly hurt by your rejection. “Very well,” he studied the ring still held in between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll save it for when it really matters.”

He proceeded to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, unflinching under your remorseful scrutiny and still returning that enigmatic smile. You couldn’t stop him; a sigh only escaping your lips at the almost juvenile concept of love he seemed to hold.

“I almost forgot.”

You watched wearily as he began to fish something out of his inner pocket. “You’re going to get me late for Charms.”

“Oh, I assure you,” his eyes glimmering in excitement. “I am well worth getting late to Charms.”

A gasp escaped your lips when you caught sight of the most ravishing necklace that appeared before you. Your astonished eyes only followed his hands as he wrapped it around your neck and clasped the chain behind you. Though distorted, you were able to catch your reflection in the glass pane before you. The most opulent emeralds gleamed in the dim lighting of the common room. Even through your uniform, you felt the cool touch of the five large emeralds that were clearly too incongruous and unfit for a student.

“Only the best for my love.”

You felt his arms wrap tightly around you before his cheek nuzzled against yours, and your eyes shifted to find Tom’s ghostly features reflected next to you, entranced by the sight of you.

The necklace was heavy on your neck. Reflecting in the deep green of the glass, you witnessed a coward in your sombre eyes. Too pessimistic and persuadable to stop Tom.

In his misguided understanding, Tom added, perhaps in his attempt to compromise, or quell your anxiety. “I will repay them. Eventually.” His velvety voice reverberated against your skin, spine and skull as if he was speaking directly from inside you. “When I have enough.”

A man who chose to serenade you through possession.

You wondered, whether enough would ever come to this man.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for requesting this anon. And as always, I am so sorry it took so long to get to yours! Things have been very busy, but I sincerely enjoyed writing this.

The bookmark is Klimt's famous painting, The Kiss (1908) I'm surprised by the slightly dark turn this story took. But, I hope you noticed the double meaning of 'possession' in the 2nd to last sentence! Possession as in objects, specifically stolen ones. And possession as in Tom taking possession of the reader by claiming their space/boundary little by little (and the collar-like necklace in the end).

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starriddenmess · 7 months

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cyber 70s~

a little suggestive writing of a human x robot bartender pairing. Its a little cheesy I think haha. (I could continue it, if people want more. I apologize if there is any mistakes. I did write this in my point of view first and changed the name to y/n and the pronouns to they/them. I also wrote this at like 2-4 am 😭 I hope you enjoy nonetheless:) )

Y/n leaned their arms against the bar table resting their head in their hands, bathed in the neon glow that flickered from the holographic advertisements outside. They sipped on their electric blue cocktail. Vilo, the bartender, a towering figure of gleaming metal, towered over y/n. His fingers traced the intricate designs of y/n's tattoos, sending tingles down their spine. "I hope nothing bad happened to you, y/n" Vilo remarked and joked, his synthesized voice carrying a hint of concern. "I bet you know a lot of humans come into bars late at night to trauma dump. I have sooo many stories". y/n chuckled, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of hovercars outside. "No trauma tonight, Vilo," they replied with a small smile. Their eyes, locked onto Vilos luminescent purple optics. "I just wanted to see someone special." The bar was nearly empty, save for a few solitary souls scattered about, enjoying their drinks in solitude. The jukebox in the corner played classic 70s tunes, adding a nostalgic touch to the atmosphere. Vilo's fingers continued their exploration of y/n tattoos, tracing each line with precision. "Someone special, huh?" he mused, his metallic gaze fixed on her. "I've been waiting for you to come back, y/n." He leaned in closer, his metallic frame reflecting the neon lights. "I've been thinking about you. Y/n heart raced as they met Vilos gaze, they smiled again "I've been thinking about you too...". Y/n leaned closer to Vilo, their lips almost brushing against his metallic frame. "You know, Vilo," they whispered in a sultry tone, "you could have my number anytime you want and we can see eachother more."

Vilo illuminated optics flickered as he leaned back. "Y/n, my dear," he began, "I appreciate the offer, but there's something about these face-to-face conversations that technology can't replicate." which is really amusing for y/n to hear, as Vilo always had a interest in the old times. He gestured to the holographic screens that occasionally flashed images of distant news updates and swirling graphics. "The world may be overrun with machines and gadgets," Zeta continued, "but I'm a fan of the old ways, the human & robot connection, face to face. Besides, seeing you walk in here every week is a highlight of my week and more...". y/n couldn't help but blush, they reached out and playfully rubbed vilos shoulder. "You old romantic~," they teased. "I guess I can't argue with that. Plus, I enjoy our little chats too, you make my week too, I always love seeing you."

As their conversation flowed like a river of secrets and shared moments, Vilo's hand slipped beneath the bar's surface, retrieving a small, intricately crafted box. He placed it gently on the counter before y/n, his led lights shined yellow. "Go ahead, y/n," he urged, his voice filled with anticipation. "Open it." Y/n curiosity piqued, and with delicate fingers, they lifted the lid of the box. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a delicate necklace. Y/n laughs remembering the time he had lost part of his finger and now it's attached to this chain thats wrapped with wires. It was a really cool gift that will be really really sentimental to y/n. Vilo's laughter reverberated in the intimate space of the bar as y/n gazed at the necklace in awe. "It's a part of me... literally," Vilo said, his optics gleaming with a mixture of sentiment. "Back when I had to replace some components and to fix my hand, I thought about keeping a piece as a reminder of the past. And then, I realized it would be perfect for you. You always wear handmade jewelry so this is perfect for you". y/n heart swelled with gratitude as they looked up at Vilo. Their voice trembled with sincerity. "Thank you," they whispered "That's incredibly sweet of you. I really really love it." With his led lights turning pink, Vilo stepped out from behind the bar and circled around to y/n side. His fingers were cool to the touch as he carefully fastened the necklace around their neck. Y/n shivered as his metal fingertips brushed the back of their neck, a sensation both strange and electrifying. The neck lace hung perfect around their neck. "It suits you," he remarked, his synthetic voice a soft murmur, "just as I knew it would. You have a unique charm about you." With a skillful touch, his fingertips traced the contour of their collarbones, a subtle and intimate gesture that sent a shiver down y/n spine. They blushed at the unexpected but tantalizing sensation. Vilo discreetly withdrew his hand and returned to his place behind the bar to clean dirty glasses. They weren't a couple in the traditional sense, yet they had been conversing for over 6 months through chance encounters at the bar and accidental meetings on the streets of the city. It was as if fate had brought them together time and time again. Y/n realized that Vilo's gift was more than just a necklace; it was his way of expressing his desire for them.

"Vilo," y/n began, their voice soft and earnest, "I'm sorry I didn't give you anything. You've been so kind to me, and I feel like I should have brought something to show my appreciation." Even though it was a silly to think that. Vilo shook his head, his metallic frame gleaming in the ambient light. "No need to apologize, y/n," he reassured them, his synthesized voice comforting. "You being here, your presence, that's the greatest gift I could ask for. You're the gift I look forward to every week." his lights flashing pink again. Y/n heart swelled with emotion as the words sank in. The love song playing in the background seemed like an echo of their unspoken feelings, as if the universe itself was serenading them. Bobby Caldwell's voice filled the air, singing, "What you won't do, do for love. You've tried everything but you won't give up".

Vilo, ever attentive, poured a glass of water for y/n and placed it gently in front of them. "Here," he said with a warm smile. "Drink this while you enjoy your cocktail. I'll be right back." With that, he turned to attend to the human who had called him over, his metallic footsteps fading into the background. Y/n watched him go, their thoughts racing with the romantic moments they had shared tonight. It was an unexpected connection, but one that had grown stronger with each passing encounter, they felt really comfortable with Vilo. Resting their head in their hand, y/n couldn't help but replay the evening's events in their mind. They pulled out their phone to check the time and saw that it was already 1 am. The bar was set to close at 2 am, and the realization that their time together was running out tugged at their heart. They glanced around the bar, observing the other patrons lost in their own worlds, their conversations and laughter creating a cacophony of sounds that contrasted with the intimate moment she had just shared with Vilo. As they took a sip of their cocktail, their thoughts swirled with the possibilities of what the future held for them and Vilo. As y/n continued to sip their cocktail, they absentmindedly scrolled through Instagram on their phone.

Vilo returned to their side, his eyes fixed on their phone. With a playful grin, he reached over and turned off the device. "I don't allow phones when I'm around," he teased, his synthetic voice laced with humor. "You know that, y/n." His head tilting at them. Y/n chuckled, shaking their head as they set their phone aside. "You're such a traditionalist," they remarked, their eyes twinkling with amusement. "But ill comply with you~." Vilo nodded and leaned in caressing their forearm. "I told all the customers that the bar will be closing in an hour," he explained, his fingers tracing patterns on y/n arm. "Had to fix an arcade machine that was acting up. But don't worry, we still have some time." Y/n smile widened at his response. They appreciated his efforts to ensure they could continue their conversation. It was clear that Vilo cherished these moments as much as they did. With a thoughtful expression, y/n turned the conversation to a more lighthearted note. "Hey, Vilo," she began, "what's your favorite 70s love song?" Vilo paused for a moment, his digital mind sifting through memories of music from that era. Finally, he replied, "I think 'You're My First, My Last, My Everything' by Barry White. It has a timeless quality to it, just like our moments here." He says his while his fingers traced to their hand and played with y/n fingers softly. Their eyes locked, and in the dimly lit bar, amidst the echoes of 70s love songs. Y/n playful spirit shone through as they began to softly sing the lyrics of "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" by Barry White. Their voice, though not a professional singer's, carried a sense of joy and fun that filled their vicinity with an infectious energy. Vilo couldn't help but hide his head in his hand, his robotic shoulders shaking with light laughter. When they finished, Vilo couldn't resist asking about their favorite 70s love song. He tilted his head, his digital eyes fixed on y/n. "And what's yours?" he inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice. Y/n expression turned thoughtful for a moment. "Well," they began, "I don't know many 70s love songs, but there's one I like – 'Catch the Rainbow' by Rainbow." Vilo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Interesting choice," he remarked. "But doesn't that song end with the two people not ending up together?" Y/n chuckled, their smile tinged with a hint of sadness. "Yes, it does," they admitted. "But I guess I like it because, in a way, it kinda relates to my past relationships. They all ended up bad, but I can't help but appreciate the beauty in those moments, even if they were fleeting." Y/n hoping Vilo and them stay together as y/n reaches out touching Vilos wrist. Vilo asked about their past relationships and Y/n sighed softly and looked at Vilo. "It's a sad story," they admitted, "and I'd rather not talk about it here." Vilo nodded understandingly, his fingers moving to theirs that rested on his wrist, taking them in his hand. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, his synthesized voice filled with empathy.

Vilo had an idea. He leaned in closer to y/n, his metal frame close enough for them to feel his buzzing frame. "Y/n," he began softly, "after the bar closes, would you mind if I came over? I know it'll be late, but I'd like to talk to you in a space where it's just the two of us." Y/n eyes met his, and a warm smile tugged at the corners of their lips. "You can, Vilo," they replied, their voice filled with gratitude. "I'd like that." As the bar's closing hour drew near, y/n and Vilo looked forward to the quiet moments they would share. Vilo couldn't help but notice that y/n hadn't touched the glass of water he had given them earlier. He tilted his head slightly, his synthetic voice carrying a teasing tone. "Y/n," he said playfully, "you're being a bit bad, aren't you? I gave you that water for a reason." Y/n rolled their eyes, their cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. They picked up the glass of water and took a sip, meeting Vilo's gaze as they did so. Vilo praised her with a warm smile as he held their hand, entwined on the bar's surface. "thats my good human~," he murmured, his head tilting playfully and his led lights flashing pink. Y/n almost choked on their drink hearing Vilo say that, their cheeks burn a hotter red. Vilo noticed the change in y/n demeanor as they looked to the side, their gaze distant. He couldn't help but lean in closer and tease them asking them "y/n, is everything okay?" They tried to find their words, their voice slightly shaky. "I... I'm okay," they replied, a soft smile tugging at the corners of their lips. Vilo leaned closer to y/n ear, his voice lowering "are you sure?" teasing y/n more. Y/n met his sensors with a playful gleam in her eyes. They didn't back down from his teasing. "I know what you're doing," they whispered back. Vilo's hand, still entwined with theirs, rubbing his thumb on theirs. He leaned even closer, against y/n ear. "But you enjoy it," he teased, his voice a sensuous purr, "don't you, y/n?" Y/n couldn't help but look away but Vilo takes his free hand and touched their cheek and softly pushes it to have y/n look at them again. "Don't you?" He says.

#my post #my English writing isnt thatttt good 🙈😅#monster fucker #robot fucker #monsterfucker #robophilia #human x robot #robot story #imagine #robot love #robot oc #robot x reader #robophile #robot

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sakura-chan-25 · 5 months

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Happy Birthday, Barbatos (Rewrite)

Pairing: Barbatos x MC

Summary: Barbatos and MC want to go on a date on his birthday, but Mc’s health decides to go against this plan.

Word Count: ~740

Warning(s): swearing, crying, low self-esteem, pet names (sweetheart), fluff turning into crack?

Barbatos turned around to look at MC when he heard them groan. They were lying in his bed, their hands over their face as the human complained: “It’s fucking raining and it’s fucking cold and I still feel fucking dizzy!?” MC groaned again while they slid their hands down their face. Barbatos’ look of concern cracked a little smile. MC’s mouth always sounded like a sailor’s when they weren’t feeling alright.

“Is there anything I can get to help you, dear?” He softly asked as he sat down next to their thighs, holding one of their hands in his ungloved ones and rubbing his thumb over their knuckles. MC’s unfocused eyes looked into his green ones. Tears started forming, but before the butler could wipe them away, they moved their hands over their eyes again (they sadly had to move away the hand that was holding onto his).

“I’m sorry.”, they put their lips into a thin line, trying not to let out the sob that was threatening to come out. “My love, I do not understand why you’re apologizing.”, he said soothingly while stroking the human’s thigh. The tears were freely falling now.

“It’s just-“, their shoulders shook as the sob finally came out. “Today’s your birthday and we agreed to go out to Café Lament. N-Not sticking here in your room and having you worry about me!” MC was fully crying now as Barbatos’ eyes softened at their confession.

His hand was still stroking their thigh as he assured: “It’s not your fault, MC. You cannot determine when to feel dizzy and when not. That is not your choice to make. Just spending time with you is the best gift I could ask for. We don’t have to go to a fancy restaurant or a café. We don’t have to go out and do something remarkable, because…” Barbatos leaned in closer towards their ear as he whispered: “…having you here in my arms is enough.” During his little confession MC’s hands found their way to his shirt. “Really?”, they asked. The human sounded like a wounded kitten in his ears.

“Really.”, Barbatos promised as he smiled. Their hands moved around his neck while his found their way around MC’s waist, picking them up slightly and moving them to sit on his lap. Their head rested in the crook of his neck as MC murmured: “Toto?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.”, the human said as they nuzzled their head deeper into the crook of his neck. “I love you, too.”, he tightened his grip on their waist while pulling them closer to him.

There was a comfortable silence between the two when Barbatos decided to speak up: “Do you need anything to help with your dizziness, though? You didn’t answer me when I asked the first time.” His voice was laced with concern.

“Maybe a sugary drink could help? And cuddles?” MC said with a grin. “Cuddles, huh?” The butler was smirking when he jokingly pushed them back into the pillows. He let out a warm laugh once he heard them screeching out his name.

“Alright, alright. I’ll get you a coke from the kitchen and then we can cuddle, okay?” “Hm. I don’t want to be alone, though.”, they looked at him, wondering if he had gotten the hint. Now Barbatos wouldn’t be Barbatos if he hadn’t, so he chose to tease them a bit: “Oh? Does my little doe want to be carried?”

MC blushed a bit as they nodded. He smirked as he got closer to the bed again and picked the human up with ease. Their hands held onto his shoulders in a death grip while their head found its designated way into the crook of his neck again.

“Relax. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you fall?”, he stated as he was leaving his room with them tightly in his grasp.

“Happy Birthday, Toto.”, they muttered after a while of silence and kissed his cheek. “Surely that was not my birthday kiss, was it?, Barbatos frowned a bit as they laughed. So, MC changed that by kissing his lips. Only to break apart once they heard his moan hum of approval. The butler told them to shut up with a blush on his cheeks, because everyone could hear their loud laughter while the demon was walking down the hallways towards the kitchen with the human in his arms.

A/n: It's not his birthday, but it's a rewrite/correction of my first fic ever, so it doesn't have to be uploaded on his birthday, lol. I hope you enjoyed and have a good day/night :D

#obey me #obey me fanfiction #obey me fanfic #obey me comfort #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me barbatos #obey me mc #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos x reader

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yulin-pop · 1 year

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⤷ ✧ The Trapped Princess of Twisted Wonderland

Fem reader

- order 69 | ramble??

Note: I did not check for mistakes and this is a bit of a mess. I’m not sure if I should continue building onto this AU just let me know if I should

➯ Trapped Princess of TWST Chapter 2

It looked rather grand. Despite your size, the bed you laid in was gigantic. The other pieces of furniture were just as expensive and well crafted as your bed.

You rolled out of bed, even if you’re tired that rush of adrenaline gives you some energy. You start tearing up the whole room like a maniac.

This is definitely not your world. You want to go back to all your friends and your old life! No magic, no overblot, no life threatening situations!

While frantically searching for some sign of anything that gave you a hint of where you are, there’s a book with big lettering.

The Diary of [Name] Empritha, it read.

It’s not your last name but the first name is yours. You open it up hastily and analyze with the upmost attention.

[Name] Emprithea, is most definitely you. Your hand writing is exactly alike. But the style of writing is much more defined.

It goes on about stuff like parties, suitors, dresses, and debuting in Royal society. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of your face.

The mirror… did it lead you into a dimension to where you are a princess?

Maybe you shouldn’t trusted Crowley. He probably half assed his research and just assumed this would be your world. It’s not!

But it makes no sense, it’s your name. Is it a coincidence?

You didn’t have time to think about it when there was a knock on the door.

“Lady [Name], is everything okay in there?” You drop the diary and look around at the mess you created out of panic.

“Ummm… Why, yes of course!”

After shooing away the person at the door. You picked up the diary and read through every last word.

[Name] Emprithea is the first princess of the Empadious Kingdom. Your father and mother ruled over the kingdom. You have one older brother, the first prince, that came from another mother. Judging by what was written, he did not like [Name] Emprithea. She wrote about times where he would shame her in public or make cruel suggestions of marrying her off to some random noble:

Written not too long ago, he left the kingdom for diplomatic matters. Well you won’t be dealing with him for a while.

You read the few most recent pages and it said the girl was going to enroll in school soon. But the school wasn’t for just anyone, it was a school called Night Raven Academy. A school only for people gifted with magic. Most people with royal lineage have the gift of magic. Or people of the higher rank. There are commoners that have magic, it is no rare occurrence actually.

Well, that sounds familiar! You were convinced Crowley sent you to the wrong place and put you into a world where you’re royalty.

And it seems that you’ll have to relive the Night Raven experience all over again but as a rich kid.

You did your research and asked around to learn more about this world. The servants were thrown off by your sudden interest in geography and other kingdoms but answered your questions as best as they can.

There are seven kingdoms that have all been in arms at peace with each other.

* The Queendom of Roses is ruled with an iron fist by Queen Rosehearts. From its very beginnings, the land has been controlled by primarily women, with few times a king has taken control. Gender roles do not exist in the Queendom of Roses. The next in line for the throne is the genius boy, Riddle Rosehearts. The Queen flaunts his advanced magical power and his high intellect. Though some believe it is not necessary, the prince attends the most prominent school for magicians, Night Raven Academy, to further enhance his knowledge and ability.

* The Sunset Savana, or better known as the Everglowing Pride Lands, is the land of where most animals and beastmen live. The land being ruled by its newest king Farena Kingscholar. Ever since he had taken control, the land has been very peaceful. Cheka Kingscholar is the next king in line for the thrown. Though before he was born, it would’ve been Leona Kingscholar, the younger brother. He is beautiful like his mother, leaving the girls fawning over him. Though he has never shown interest in getting married even for political purposes. He doesn’t make many appearances in important events anymore. The prince attends Night Raven Academy, rumors are going around he plans to be apart of the army of the Sunset Savana after coming back. Only speculation.

* Living in the ocean, merfolk of all kinds live in Kingdom of Atlantica. The Atlantica territory is vast and has many wonders. The Royal Family has many children, the fifth prince is the most popular simply for his looks. Prince Rielle has a beauty like none other. Not only that, he is infamously kind and generous. He makes friends with everyone he meets! He’s made friends with Eels, Seahorses, anemones, crabs, and octopi. Prince Rielle attends Night Raven Academy. Though not a top student, he is learning the ways of humans.

* The Scalding Sands is a place very different from the rest. The climate is different as its well a desert. The Asims rule the land and are highly looked up to. The next in line to be the ruler would be Kalim Al-Asim. Still very young and unable to take the responsibility, he’s going through his education in Night Raven Academy. He possesses magic, after all! He has a heart of gold, his love for his people knows no limits. He will surely make a good ruler.

* The Shaftlands territory is vast and home to many people of many cultures and backgrounds. There is a Royal family that has strong magical abilities running through it. The magical powers is how the Schoenheits arose to power. The Schoenheits used their magic to assert dominance and assist other people. Most above all, they look up to the Evil Queen for her hard work which intially inspired the Schoenheits. People all across the land look up to them. Vil Schoenheit is known for his beauty and earnestness. He attends Night Raven Academy and when graduating he will continue his duties as the next Queen.

* The Island of Woe is not connected to any empire or kingdom at all, but is supported by all for its technical advances. It is an underground business that works towards advancing the world as a whole. S.T.Y.X. is highly valued for its studied of blot, very similar to what it is in the canon universe. It has connections to the prominent Royal Families that specialize in magic. The one that will eventually run this organization would be Idia Shroud. His parents already make him run the entire thing since he was thirteen because they always believed he would be great for S.T.Y.C. He is currently attending Night Raven Academy, despite not needing the education.

* Briar Valley is ruled by fae and fae exclusively. The current ruler is Malefecia Draconia. The Draconia Family takes after the infamous Maleficent in appearance and magical power. Briar Valley is still very much like the canon Briar Valley. It doesn’t have many technical advances and relies solely on everyone’s magic. The Draconia name is known to every person in Twisted Wonderland. Malleus Draconia the youngest in the family and is the crown prince of Briar Valley. He attends Night Raven Academy simply by obligation.

* Empadious Kingdom, or perhaps better known as Ramshackle Kingdom, have a history of its buildings that date back millions of years. Despite its age, the buildings still stand tall and give off a unique aesthetic. It is one of the smallest nations on the map however has a reputation. It is where [Name] Emprithea was born and is the first princess of the kingdom. [Name] Emprithea will soon attend Night Raven Academy. It was not always co-ed but changed due to pressure from many of the other nations.

* Night Raven Academy, a mixture of Royal Sword and Night Raven. (I just combined them for the sake of making things easier) It is a top class school you have to pass a test of magic, endurance, and intellect in order to get in. Each student is carefully picked by the faculty. In total, the school has about 1,000 students and 200 more every year. The school has a history dating back to millions of years ago. It was once two separate schools then combined.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst #riddle rosehearts x reader #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #riddle rosehearts #azul ashengrotto #leona kingscholar #idia shroud x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim al asim

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spitdrunken · 1 year

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man :( i may need to dust off a sfw blog to write a longer fic version of this but im thinking about rollo man...

becoming friends with rollo when you’re both first-years. he’s not the most expressive, and he’s often the tallest in the class already, but contrary to his appearance he’s kind and thoughtful. he’s also clearly a very gifted mage, and you are very average, but this doesn’t influence the way he interacts with you at all. rollo never hesitates to share his notes and happily tutors others in his free time, including you, if you ask, and always seems to be helping out others in one way or another. his love for noble bell college and the entire city is palpable, and if given the chance, he’ll happily rattle off facts about its history. you think he’d do charity for all of the citizens, if he could. a hint of a smile plays around his lips when he does so. he overworks himself, while telling you to avoid doing exactly that all the while.

more than anything else though, rollo loves his family. he goes home to visit them every break, always with gifts. his mood before leaving and after returning is significantly improved, and he talks about his younger brother quite a bit as well. rollo isn’t the type to complain much, but he speaks of his brother’s irresponsible behaviour and the trouble he causes from time to time, though never with much bite.

a week before everything changes, rollo asks you a question. how do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved? there’s a heaviness clinging to his mood, to the eyes that seem to stare right through you. from the bits and pieces he lets go at your prodding, you figure his brother has either gotten involved with a wrong crowd, or is pushing his magic to the point it’s wearing him down entirely. it seems incredibly difficult for him to talk about.

he leaves, for a while. when you see him again, you are both second-years. you don’t need to be told what’s happened. when rollo returns, he looks hollowed out. there are deep bags underneath his eyes, and his skin is paler than ever. he’s distracted whenever you speak to him, no longer as attentive as he used to be. his expressions have shifted from calm, to blank. he no longer tutors other students or helps them practice their spells, instead isolating himself in his room to ‘study’. often, you see him scrawling away in a book he always carries on him. he eats less, sleeps even worse. though he was never the most talkative, he enjoyed sitting down with other students and listening in, hearing what was going on all around the school. now, he no longer shows up. with noble bell being relatively small, everyone knew everyone, and word always spread fast. so do the rumours about rollo and his health, but no one who goes in to check on him succeeds in breaking through his hell. your words don’t seem to get through to him, either.

one day, he sits you down, and rollo asks you a question. how do you feel about magic? you must not have given the right answer because, at the end of your conversation, he simply tells you that he’s sorry for you. one day, you’ll understand. then, he will come to you again. after that, while rollo never grows unkind, is never mean or dismissive to you, there’s a distance. a gap you simply cannot bridge. as he moves up in the ranks of the school ever further, climbing up to the rank of council president, you are left below.

when you are both third-years, you only observe rollo from a distance. he carries the bell around his neck and the staff in his hand like a burden. he has grown taller, yet skinnier. to you, he has become unrecognizable. the rough lines of the person he was are still there, at his core, he’s still the same, but the details- the way he carries himself, the way his expressions shift, the way he speaks to others... have been altered. looking at him hurts, but your efforts have long since been futile. when you speak of him, you no longer call him by his name, but rather refer to him as the president.

how do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?

#cha.rollo #rollo flamme x reader #rollo flamm x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

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strqyr · 1 year

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i'm thinking about the crown of choice again, thanks to the indecisive king and this specific line from it:

The only requirement for seeking an audience with the king was that afterward you had to do whatever he directed.

while the story overall focuses on the crown's ability to show its user a future moment—of a choice they must make—that, obviously, only comes up once a man brings the king it—a silver crown—as a gift, to which the king replies: "Thank you, but I already have a crown."

the crown depicted in the artwork of the story is always golden, although it does miss the familiar blue the lamp and the staff have; however, perhaps noteworthy, the king does wear those colors, which does raise a question:

is the king as much of a hint towards the crown's abilities as is the silver crown of the story?

considering that choice is complementary to knowledge, and knowledge can only answer questions that have to do with the past, it would make sense choice deals with the future to an extent. but, looking at other crowns in rwby, there may just be hints of a darker nature of the crown of choice.

namely, the crown in vacuo, and its two leaders; gillian and jax asturias, and their semblances.

gillian can siphon aura—connected to one's soul—by both giving and taking it, and can transfer it to another person by first draining it from someone else and acting as a link between the two herself. jax's semblance is literal mind control, capable of using it on multiple people at once and its effects can last for weeks, if not months.

there is one other crown that has popped up a few times when it comes to the crown of choice theories, and that is glynda's emblem. at first i was unsure if i wanted to mention it here as glynda has nothing to do with vacuo's crown, but then... well, carmine is incredibly loyal to gillian and has a same semblance as glynda, just less powerful version of it: telekinesis, an ability to control objects—and in glynda's case, also people ( as far as suspending them in the air counts ).

ultimately, it seems that outside of choice ( for now ), crowns symbolize control—of mind, body, and soul.

and ya know, while it would make sense for ozpin to keep the crown super-duper protected simply because of its future vision to the point that even his closest allies don't seem to be aware of its whereabouts... the crown having some sort of mind control ability—an ability to take away one's choice, if you will—would definitely give a much bigger reason than future vision that can seemingly incapacitate a person with indecision would.

random thought to cap this off: the great war came to an end after a battle in which the king of vale personally took part, utterly decimating everyone in his way—

—with a golden sword, to the point that afterwards, even his allies bowed down to him.

that's a very nice golden crown he has to match the golden sword.

...ozma, did you force the peace with the crown?

#rwby #no wonder why oz is increasingly more concerned #about peoples' ability to cooperate #if the crown can't do it then what chance does anyone else have?#it's the wrong line of thinking but i get why

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buckleupbrochachos · 2 years

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Byler/ ST V2 Theory

Ppl are definitely going to say I'm reaching- but I really want to focus on the "black-eyed Susan" which is the most relevant out of all the flowers.

The first line states the main significance/meaning is happiness and friendship.

Now we all know that Mike Wheeler didn't pick out specifically the black-eyed Susans from research about what they meant to send El a secret message that he considers their relationship a platonic friendship because El wouldn't understand and Mike sure as hell wouldn't go out of the way to find a very specific type of flower (we all know he got them at sum airport gift shop)

But we do know that the Duffers LOVE little details, and they would totally do their research for simple flower symbolism. (it's practically the most common type of subtext there is, especially in film)

The flowers aren't meant for the characters to understand, they're meant for the audience to understand.

Now, onto my favorite part about the flower symbolism- is the origin of the name.

The name for the Black-eyed Susan flower, as stated above, is derived from an 18th Century poem by the same title, written by John Gay.

The poem (in short) is about a woman (Susan/Mike) searching for her lover (William/Will) shortly after his ship docks back from war, only for him to be sent back to battle shortly after.

But if you read the first and second to last stanza- they are both obviously paralelling Mike and Will. (Susan paralelling Will, Mike paralelling William in the first stanza- vice versa in the second and last stanza )

The flower symbolism is not only hinting at El and Mike's relationship becoming platonic, and byler eventually becoming endgame but it could also be hinting at Will's new part in the supernatural plot (and him possibly getting powers)

(Now here is the poem, parralled to Will and Mike's story so far and most likely the ending)

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,

The streamers waving in the wind, when black-eyed Susan came aboard,

‘Oh! where shall I my true love find! Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true,

If my sweet William sails among the crew.

In the first stanze its obviously parraleling the airport scene, both William in the poem, and Will in ST, both reunite with their "lovers" (quotations for Will+Mike since it isnt established yet) Susan and Mike, after a long time apart. (In ST though, Mike flies across the country to reunite with Will, unlike the poem where the Will in the story sails back to Susan in their hometown.)

Now, in the poem Susan- is very estatic about seeing her lover William. Just as Will is seeing Mike again after almost not talking for 6 months. But compared to William in the poem, Mike doesn't show any affection besides an awkward side hug and a measly pat on the shoulder-( but not everything can be a perfect parralell so yall are gonna have to bear with me.)

‘Though battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn;

Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return.

Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,

Lest precious tears should drop from Susan’s eye.’

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread,

No longer must she stay aboard:

They kiss’d, she sigh’d, he hung his head;

Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land:

‘Adieu!’ she cries; and waved her lily hand.

The second and last stanza's, I'd like to believe is paralelling a possible confession scene from Will to Mike (a succesful one at least) - right before Will has to go and eventually battle against Vecna, since Will is obviously going to have an importance in the main plot in VOL. 2

(Hopefully it consists of the painting because how else will Will confess without a meaningfull gesture such as giving Mike a painting like he did with his drawings ever since they were little kids.)

Anyways, thanks for listening to me theorize. I hope I don't sound too insane lmao

All of this was written of the top of my head, so if you want to add onto anything, you can read the full poem here

#byler #st4 #byler s4 #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #st s4 #will byers #byler season 4 #mike wheeler #byler endgame #byler obsessed #byler is real #byler is endgame #byler is canon #byler theory #byler tumblr

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synthy-sizer · 7 months

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You sit at your desk and other students steadily trickle in, some still chatting. You can't say you're too interested, though. You just sit quietly and unpack your backpack. You carefully pull out your pencil case and notebook and sit them on your desk. Your teacher doesn't take long after that to arrive and the class naturally settles down as she sits at her desk and greets you, then starts taking names.

"Sofia Gardener," she asks? You put your hand up. "Present." She nods and ticks your name off the list and continues down. You sit and wait and fiddle with your pencil. Eventually she wraps up the list and stands up. "Today we're going to continue learning about Luna's history and how we were blessed as a people to be free of Otherside's corruption, and to do that we're going to step out of the classroom and I'll show you all the murals in our halls and teach you about them. Make sure to bring your notebooks and pencils so that you can study the material later." She walks to the door and the students all file into line. You follow suit and grab your notebook, tucking a pencil above your ear.

One by one you're ferried out into the hall and brought to the front of the school. Your teacher stands behind the first image in the mural and your group clusters into a small group in front of it. "This is where everything began," she starts, gesturing at the planet portrayed in colored tiles on the floor. It's a beautiful, lush planet covered in nothing but blues and greens. "We were created by God here, in Eden, with all of God's other creations, including the angels." She points at the edges of the planet which are surrounded by Angelic figures dressed in all white robes. "The angels were supposed to help God create and oversee the universe, but the first 9 tried to rebel, led by their figurehead, Lucifer."

As she speaks she walks backwards and gestures at the next mural, depicting 9 figures with black wings, albeit still wearing white. The cluster of students follows suit, maintaining distance and allowing the mural to remain in view. "Lucifer and the fallen angels spread their corruption throughout Eden, attempting to demonstrate humanity's fallibility and the failure of God's sense of morals. Much of humanity surrendered to temptation and became corrupt." The mural beneath her feet depicts the planet, once lush and green, now being changed to black and red. "However, some of humanity stayed strong and resisted the influence of Lucifer, and stood as proof against their morale. God rewarded this faith and strength of will by sparing them when the rest of the corrupt humanity and the fallen angels were smited, and Eden became our world, Luna. And the smited ones went…" she points down at the final mural, depicting 2 planets orbiting each other, "here. Otherside."

You look down at the image depicted in tiles. Luna has remained colorful and bright, but in contrast, Otherside is depicted in blacks and grays with small hints of brown and tan. "We retain our faith and redouble our wills every day to thank God for his kindness, and to ensure that we don't waste the holy land gifted to us. That's why we have to strive to be good above all else. Does anyone have any questions?" You continue to stare down at the mural and write notes as someone asks, "what happened to the people who went to Otherside?" "We don't know exactly," your teacher says. "Our books say that they attempted to build their own society on Otherside, but we simply can't check to see if that's true." "Why can't we see," another asks? "If we showed interest in Otherside it's possible that it would only be so long before its influence reached us again. God gifted us a peaceful life and spared us because of our refusal to listen to Lucifer. That's why it's important not to investigate it." You look down at your notebook and realize just how little of your notebook pages are covered in notes, and instead have been dominated by doodles. You stare at them for a moment. You're so lost in thought that you jump a little when the lunch bell rings. "Ah, time for lunch break everyone. Meet me back at the classroom in 30 minutes," your teacher says.

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bungostraydogsrpserver · 2 months

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BUNGO STRAY DOGS: UNCANNY ARC discord roleplay server dedicated to a plot post-season 5: reserve your muse!

The world feels the same, yet there's nothing that indicates why it should be different. Are the trees slightly greener? Did the flower shop woman always look older than she did? Did it always require you to turn sooner than you feel used to? Those minute differences make the atmosphere dampen your mind and almost seem like you're dreamy, but it's the same place, yes, you're sure of it. There are still gifted that roam about, the Port Mafia's businesses are conducted as previously, the Agency is once more redeemed, the Hunting Dogs are licking their wounds, and the vampires are all but snuffed out by Bram's curse's removal. It feels like the world once again turns the same... That is until the day where the hiccups seem to happen... At first, it seemed innocuous enough: simple graffiti lined the walls of alleyways with the name YUEI plastered upon it. No one questioned it. A new gang in Yokohama? Hardly anything to bat an eye at! Gangs were as common as birds in the sky! Then the televisions would flicker for just a frame. Anyone would have assumed it was simply just the television acting up, but those with more keen senses were able to pick out that there was a frame within the flashes: I AM YUEI. The forums online began to talk about it through both meme formats and wondering if this is another situation like before -- another potential plague upon them all (would more organizations stain themselves? would there be another outbreak? would more people die?). When posters appeared around town, the whispers online turned into the talk of the internet. Then it became the talk of the city. I AM YUEI -- who is Yuei? Then it became a rumor that gifted around the world were suddenly vanishing in the middle of the night; sometimes they were reappear cut up and with foggy memories and other times, they were just gone for good. Investigations in differing nations began to take place; however, it was only in Japan that the inclusion of the name YUEI and the vanishing gifted began to take place...What's worse? Whoever this YUEI is has also managed to cause those gifted with their supernatural abilities to struggle to use it. Like a baby bird in their nests, they can only seem to flap their wings sometimes, the risks terrifying when the first known instance of a death happening from their usage of their ability cropping up from across the seas... YUEI now resides in Yokohama, somewhere...but the traces are nearly reduced to nothing. Their presence only seems to bring with it more trouble than its worth. All gifted within Yokohama now find themselves unable to use their abilities, stuck within a chatroom with this mysterious person not allowing them to leave or block the number, and have to deal with those they thought were dead seemingly coming back to life without a hint of reason -- how strong is this YUEI? Are they the evil or are they a product of something greater? Even the greatest detective Ranpo is unable to track him down, the detectives are struggling to find any leads, and gifted are starting to vanish once more...returned only by a promise from those involved with this YUEI... Therein lies the difficult decision: will you work with your enemies to discover the truth of this newfound threat or will you keep your cards close to your chest?

AVAILABLE CHARACTERS || MASTERLIST || FAQ || JOIN THE DISCORD NOW!

#DISCORD RP SERVER #GROUP RP SERVER #CANON RP #BSD #BSD RP #BSD RP SERVER #BUNGO STRAY DOGS #BUNGO STRAY DOGS RP #DISCORD RP #ANIME RP #GROUP RP #INDIE RP #INDIE ROLEPLAY #ANIME #ROLEPLAY #RP #DISCORD

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rosedmuse · 2 months

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entitle; for haruseonne 950 days

if i had to write on a wish list just one gift out of millions in the world to treasure forever, then i wouldn't hesitate scribbling your name down on it.

happy 950 days (and more), harutosan!

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

And thus, it's time his flight is due. Amidst all lies, he very well went and grew. Across endless skies of the brightest blue, A bird of ambition finally soars through.

Ah, lines like these never grow old; never failing to prompt me into being completely honest about just how pretty of a name 'Haruto' is. And so is 'Asuka'.

Pair the two up and immediately a masterpiece is born. A work of art in its truest formーan actor encapsulating the essences of beauty, passion, and an endless pursuit of perfection.

Anyone would think a person of this character exists solely in a realm beyond what an ordinary human can ever imagine. But guess what.

Here I am, sitting right behind the being divine in question.

"Seonne?" He asks.

"Haruto-san," I respond.

"What chapter are you on?"

"Five."

With a shrill almost like that of an eagle, he quickly shifts a quarter around in his seat to face me; looking nothing less than bewildered, "already!?"

A warm, sunny day veils over Veludo Way this morning, making the final couple hours of daytime an ideal setting for an outdoor unwind, specifically at the park.

While parked beside a large tree for shade, an old blanket is laid down onto the grass to get ourselves comfortable on. I take a seat on the spot where the view features children fly their kites and families enjoy their own picnics, and Haruto, who is sits opposite of me, relishes at the sight of the townscape spreading out gradually below us; both of us leaning onto each other's backsides for support. And how could a date at the park be an actual date at the park without... books! I brought with me two volumes from the series I'm currently a huge fan of. Why two, you might ask? Well, the second book's for me; and since I'm done with the first one, my companion promised to start this story alongside me.

"The protagonist reminds me of you," I tell him, eyes fixed solely on the material I have resting on my knees, "strong, smart, a little silly at times but y'know..."

"Hey," Haruto snaps, and I feel a gentle poke by my ticklish side. Glancing back accusingly at him after holding back my sensitive nerves, I meet his lilac eyes and recognize a tiny hint of a tease in them. With a light shake of my head, I return to my page.

It's nice that we managed to finish work a little early today. Sometimes, a brief pause from the world is all a busy person needs to recharge, recoup, and renew the flames driving their fiery hearts forward. Not to mention that today happens to be an extra special day for us, too.

"No, really," I say again, "you do remind me of the protagonist. They're known for a lot of names, too!"

"I'm known only for one other name!" Haruto argues. He may not know it (or simply refuses to admit it) but his sudden outbursts like this make him really cute at times. No way I'm using that word right to his face though or I'd be done for!

He clears his throat. "And, well..." but falters, before he could form a coherent thought out.

Clearly, that doesn't normally happen. Must he be wanting to add something a bit more serious to the conversation?

Temporarily inserting a marker and setting my book aside, I reach out and rest my hand above his shoulder to assure and urge him on. He hasn't directed his eyes towards me yet, so I assume he's still sorting his head out.

"Seonne,"

Wait. His accent changed.

"What's the matter, Harutoー"

"No." He swiftly places his index finger over my lips. Leaning close to my ear, he whispers, "you can call me by my real name when we're alone."

Oh.

Well, this is new.

Mentally practicing every day how the name might sound when I finally can say it aloud seems to have come in handy all of a sudden. What perfect timing.

"So..." After a moment, I clarify, "Genta?"

"Gen-chan," he corrects.

"Gen-chan!?"

"Please."

Extending my arms around him in a hug, I press my cheek firmly onto his shoulder. I may not have seen the reaction on his face, but feeling the weight of his head lightly on mine and him holding onto my interlinked arms, already tells me everything I need to know.

"I 'ppreciate ya keepin' up with me."

"I wouldn't want to keep up with anyone else anyway," I proudly say. "Right, Gen-chan?"

And who could've known that an entity so regal and brave is likewise (though occasionally) capable of showing the world a smile so sweet, genuine and humane?

Although he has yet to own a clue, As to when he'll find out his cue. And once come the first couple few, As fate wills, he is to be born anew.

#a3! yume #a3 yume #self-insert #first person pov #haruseonne

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tenjiiku · 1 year

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by the window seat

On snowy days, you had been trying to recall the name of a song while nibbling on a warm sweet potato at a stand outside your local library near a bus stop.

The tune was long forgotten but the memories you’d embedded within its chorus were still fresh in your mind. However, no matter how hard you tried — no matter how much you concentrated and disassociated — you could never quite put a name to the melody.

But that only happened on snowy days.

You can’t quite remember what you would ponder on the other times.

You owned a horrid memory, your brain always choosing to keep the most inconsequential and idiosyncratic information. Knowledge of the North Sentinel Islands; the glare of the woman you had momentarily tripped on in the subway; a boy tickling you during the first grade daily homework check-up line: they all hide in your brain, uncovering exactly when you do not want them to.

But on snowy, frigid days — something about the coldness makes you warm enough to forget.

On snowy, frigid days you can feel close to twenty-one. On snowy days, you learn to ignore and reminisce — in tandem.

You choke on your mouthful of hot sweet potato when a paw places itself tenderly on your boot. As you cough rather unattractively — (was there any other way to cough?) — the small culprit shrinks, but remains looking up towards your warm snack.

When you could not breathe; looked close to death with watery eyes, flushed cheeks and a sweaty forehead; when bits of potato fell from your mouth into the fresh winter snow; when the bus had arrived with its riders gawking at you without a hint of report;

That was the first time you had met him.

“Ma’am, here.” His voice is smooth and baritone, old and mature — like a fire in the forest.

He holds out a light blue handkerchief, you grab it without even thinking of him and bring it up to your mouth. You cough into the soft cloth, shutting your eyes as you try to catch your breath paying no heed to the forest fire of a man.

When you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is the discolouration on the left side of his face.

It was quite disparaging of you, but he looked beautiful. He barely spares you a smile and does not acknowledge his gift.

You cannot speak.

When you blink he is gone along with the bus.

Riders who had gotten off stare at you as though you have murdered their first born, and suddenly a sense of anxiety washes over you like clay. You stare at the potato clenched — practically mushed — in your right fist. The small cat at your feet scratches your ankle, so you set the half-eaten potato down at its side.

The feline takes it and goes away. The ojisan running the stall takes his supplies and leaves as well. Bus goers come and go, however, they too, do not stay for long in the cold.

But you stand there in the snow, the colour blue reflecting in the palm of your hands and cheeks. A tune plays at the top of your head, it had started the moment you gazed into his aquamarine.

You walk home in a daze.

Exactly one week and three days later after your shift, you find yourself with two potatoes in your hands, and the man, standing underneath the infamous bus stop roof a metre away.

You walk up to him with a purpose. He looks at you the second you make your first step towards him, and suddenly you become an otter walking on land losing your footing. You trip, but pretend to pass it off as an intentional motion into a bow.

“Tha— thank you.”

You stutter like an idiot, holding out a potato for him, not even introducing yourself before offering your gratitude. A bird who has not migrated to warmer lands for whatever reason lands next to you; courageous and everything you are trying to be.

The man continues to gawk at you, forest green eyes setting the snow around you on fire. You can feel the sweat on your cheeks perspire.

After a moment he replies, “There is no need.”

His voice is mellow and deep exactly how it was when you first heard it. Your stomach twists with a foreign type of feeling. You feel like throwing up.

“Please,” you exclaim, bowing down towards him again, “Please, you— you must accept. I cannot eat both.”

When approximately ten seconds pass with no reply, you crane your head up lightly to notice that his eyes have never left your frame and he is lighting a cigarette. Your cheeks warm at the attention and you look back down once more.

The flickering of a lighter and a deep inhale is heard, before he finally asks, “Why?”

You decide that his retort is an indication of you being able to stand up straight, so you do and stare at the potatoes in your hand accusingly. You open your mouth, close it, then give your reply.

“I— it’s too much for one person.”

You think that is a reasonable concern. Though, as you watch as the man’s eyes flicker to your boots, you do the same and find the same feline creature from last week at your feet once more.

“She looks pretty hungry.” He states.

When the cat scratches at your boot shamelessly, you can’t help but agree with him. Then, when you ponder on it more — he seems familiarised with her. You crane an eyebrow in question.

“Oh— you…?”

He exhales from his cigarette tapping the butt to get rid of the ashes, “She had stopped coming in Winter but I suppose after the other day…”

He trails off, and, luckily, your brain synapses were operating to put two and two together. Your eyes widen out of surprise and guilt. You furrow your eyebrows, looking at the cat’s pitiful expression.

She’s been coming back for me.

The cat’s small purr takes you out of your compunctious reverie. His eyes on you only enhance the guilt you feel. Or — that was a lie. His perfect gaze increased your anxiety because you were anything but perfect.

“It’s still too much for her,” you stammer out, still looking down at the cat.

In your periphery, you can notice the man tilt his head, a hint of a smirk resting on his lips around a cigarette. It falls when you put one potato in your mouth, sideways to hold it. You break the other one in half, placing the one without the napkin down at the cat’s feet.

You take your potato out of your mouth. The other, now only a half of a whole, you hold out towards the amused man.

“Here, take half.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. He holds his cigarette still, in his right hand. You chew on the inside of your cheek, slightly shaking the half in his face to remind him that you are indeed, real.

He snaps out of his trance, finally giving you his first eye-creasing smile. A heat begins to simmer and flicker inside of your stomach at the sight.

“Thank you…,” he looks down at your chest, “L/n.”

You widen your eyes, gazing downwards to notice a workshop name’s tag you received from work still clipped to your shirt. You look back up at him — his smile has yet to fade. With hot cheeks, you rip it right off and release a shaky laugh.

Blinking up at him, you await, for what you do not know.

But, apparently, he does.

“Inui Seishu.” He introduces himself. You give him a wry smile, and the feline who had caused this conversation rests between the two of you.

The sound of the bus coming down the street is loud and obnoxious. Inui-san looks down at his watch, looking all too dashing in his winter trench coat.

He spares you one more glance, potato in hand. “Thank you,” he gestures towards it, bowing towards your unassuming frame.

“Yeah— yeah,” you murmur, returning the gesture. You let him be the first one to leave before you stand back up. He embarks on his bus, leaving you and your new cat friend by your boots. The bird that had once landed by your side flies away with the bus.

That should be the end of it, you conclude.

The next day and the days to follow, you come to the realisation that you come to conclusions far too soon.

For, without fail, you would meet with Inui-san at the bus stop at 5:45pm. Either Inui-san was punctual or you had gotten yourself a stalker. The idea did not displease you as much as it should have, perhaps because Inui-san could have very well come to the same conclusions regarding you. He hadn’t gotten a restraining order, and you hadn’t gotten tired of staring at his face, so you surmised that a mutual connection over Sakura (the cat you would feed) and baked sweet potatoes was something both of you subscribed to.

You still have not managed to remember the song, but you think you do not want to anymore. Especially when your mind is currently tasked with making simple, casual conversation with Inui-san who was terrible at doing so.

“I’m so tired,” you huff, staring at a stop sign.

“Hn,” Inui-san grunts, staring at you. You refuse to look back at him.

Burying your face into your scarf when a particularly cold gust of wind passes by, you sigh — a cloud of frigid air leaving in your wake.

“It’s so cold, is it not?”

Inui-san retorts a stagnant, “I am warm.”

This is typically how Inui-san works himself around small talk. In these trying times, you wonder how he used to be in his youth. How he had gotten past twenty eight years of his life and did not know how to carry a conversation was startling to you.

“Inui-san,” you turn your head to glare at him, “You are being rude.“

His lips crook into a smile, his tone somewhere between a laugh and a huff when he speaks next. His eyes seem to soften the more he stares at you, and the longer it goes on a terrible fever rises in your stomach once more.

“Am I?”

Crossing your arms, you decide to look back at the stop sign to think without gazing at his lovely face.

You sigh, “Yes. You are. Stop being rude to me.”

Sakura was not present to fill the awkward silence, but you do not think you need her presence anymore. Standing in quietness with Inui-san was also quite nice.

You feel him shift and fidget beside you. Curiously, you turn your head. With furrowed brows and a soft voice, he says to you sincerely, “My apologies, L/n-san.”

Gaping at his probity, you feel sweat begin to perspire on your forehead in -3°C weather. Inui-san was always so serious, much more serious to you. He’d take everything you say to heart. It was much too cute for you to handle. So to distract yourself from swooning, you decide to change the topic.

“Inui-san I am younger than you,” you remind him as you adjust your scarf, and you see all too well how his eyes follow each and every movement your hands make.

“What would you like me to call you?”

You ponder for a moment, forgetting once again how sincerely Inui-san takes your ridiculous statements. Your cheeks warm as you mumble, “I— whatever you like.”

He steps closer to you. You, instinctually, take one step back. When he takes another move towards you you look behind you to find yourself at the edge of the sidewalk. Not wanting to get hit by ongoing traffic you stay put. When you note his hand coming towards your face, you shut your eyes — not wanting to know what comes next.

“Y/n-san,” he calls you by your first name, placing the hand he had lifted on your shoulder, “my bus is here.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you are welcomed by his Cheshire grin. The engine of the bus finally makes its way to your senses and you turn your head to notice that it has, indeed, arrived. A wave of humiliation washes over you — what the hell were you expecting him to do anyway?

“O— okay?!” You unintentionally shout, still high on embarrassment.

Inui-san stares at you like you stare at Sakura. He probably thinks of you the same way, a pitiful creature not knowing her surroundings. His hand squeezes your shoulder and you absolutely despise your brain and stomach for flipping the way they do. Inui-san’s eyes are creased from the way he smiles at you, and a pathetic part deep within you figures that you embarrassing yourself is not too bad of a price to pay to see such an expression bloom on his features.

Inui-san washes away any of your concerns with a single glance, pursing his lips when he states a solemn, “Goodbye Y/n-san. Get home safe.”

You nod dumbly, and he laughs deep from his stomach at this. It is profound and makes your cheeks hurt. When he takes his hand off of you and walks to his bus, you only wish he can put it back.

All you can do is wave at him when he watches you from the window seat.

Seishu did not think much of you when he first met you. Truthfully, he had not expected anything in return for giving you his handkerchief. You were struggling, so he had helped you.

You were entertaining and boisterous, everything he was not. He would not have the courage to tell you this, but he found himself enjoying your meetings. He had mellowed out with each passing year, your presence was invigorating.

Still, he pondered on one question. Now three months into this routine, he inquires.

“Do you not have any place to go, Y/n-san?”

You pause in drinking your coffee, blinking as you gaze up at him. Seishu’s eyes soften at your meek expression.

“Why do you ask?” You ask. Your tone of voice was so quiet and small, Seishu would miss it if he was not listening. But he always pays attention to you.

“You are always here,” he states, a bit colder than he wanted to be, “I hope you are not waiting for me.”

But a selfish part of him hopes you are. He hopes you feel the same way he does. He hopes he also warms you with his presence. He hopes you also want to hold on to him.

Your eyes widen cutely, he finds his chest tighten when you exclaim, “How— how presumptuous!”

You don’t say anything. Seishu bites once more.

“Are you?”

“What?”

His lips waver into a smile, “Waiting for me?”

Seishu relishes in your embarrassed expression. A more sinister part of him is delighted he had the capability to elicit such a reaction from you. Before he can continue to tease you further, his bus arrives.

You bid him farewell before he can. “Good— goodbye!”

His eyes slightly widen, and he smiles at the way you fumble with your scarf — a habit you had when you felt sheepish. Seishu nods, deciding to leave you be and let you relax.

He watches you from the window seat, as the bus embarks home. He knew it would be mellow when he finally arrives. But — he finds himself craving the warmth of two small hands and a quiet voice rather than his destination more.

Yesterday, during a 2AM shower after coming back from a late night drinking party, Seishu thought of inviting you over to his home. Maybe it was because of the alcohol and weariness he was craving some type of human connection. In situations like these, he would bed with some nameless woman he’d met that very night — but he found himself repulsed by the floral perfume floating around the mixer.

When he realised he was craving the scent of sweet potatoes and the sound of a peculiarly small voice, is when Seishu began panicking.

He had gotten soap in his eye, laughed at the pain, then decided against it. He surmised he would still meet you at the bus stop as always, and he would pretend he had not thought of you in the shower like a normal, functioning man.

But then you appeared in his sight, bundled in your blue-coloured scarf and large knit mittens, and Seishu found himself backtracking all over again.

He wants to hold you when you smile the second you spot his frame. He pinches his thigh.

He approaches you first, stoic and intimidating. You rock back and forth on your feet, without a care for your surroundings, greeting him twice.

He wants to hold you. Seishu bends his four fingers into his palms until he hurts as punishment for thinking that again. You hand him a coffee and tell him thanks for paying for yours the last time. You giggle when you tell him how they spelled his name wrong, pointing at the cup with a finger engulfed in the cotton of your large mitten and Seishu wants to hold you.

“Come with me,” he says, breathlessly, wrapping his leather glove around your softer one that holds his coffee cup.

“To— to where?” You murmur, eyes dilated and glossy from the cold weather. Seishu wants to hold you.

“My motorcycle shop.” He begins dragging you to his bus, not looking back out of fear he would shamelessly give into his desires.

“Okay.” You whisper quietly. Seishu could die.

When you arrive at his garage, Inui-san lights another cigarette to calm himself down. His hands shake as he unlocks his shop, your timid frame waiting for him to patiently let both of you in.

The coffees you hold have grown cold from the weather. Inui-san turns to you abruptly, startling you at his engorged eyes and tousled hair.

“Place your coat anywhere, I’ll heat these up.” He murmurs to you gently. You sheepishly nod, handing him the drinks.

Inui-san owning a motorcycle shop is still a surprise. For someone so refined you had naively assumed he was a typical businessman. Placing your winter garments on a table full of tools and other necessities, you adjust the behind of your dress, gazing at all the bikes with awe.

Inui-san comes back quite soon, tapping your shoulder to snap you of your daze. You turn and smile as he passes you your now warmed cup of coffee. Without saying a word, he gestures towards a secluded bench behind several bikes. You wordlessly follow him, sitting beside him in the small wooded area. His knee hits yours and butterflies swarm in your chest.

After a moment, you quietly ask, “Why do you not ride a motorcycle if you own so many of them?”

Inui-san chuckles, and you purse your lips at the sound.

“It’s not as enjoyable in the Winter. I like to keep warm in this weather.”

Tilting your head towards him, you gaze at his side profile. The beautiful discoloration hypnotises you to stay closer to him.

“Why not a car?”

Inui-san swallows the sip he had taken from his coffee, long fingers holding it by its lid. He thinks, and you await his answer. Inui-san would always ponder before speaking, you would sit in silence forever if it meant he was taking every single one of your silly inquiries with strong intent.

He laughs again, which bleeds into a sigh, “I was part of a biker gang in my youth, so I suppose I have a stupid sense of loyalty.”

You don’t show a hint of surprise at this revelation on your face even though it is one. Inui-san stares at you expectantly, almost as if to say Will you accept me? My past and my present? It almost makes you want to cry laughing at how such an intimidating man with intimidating features can be reduced to feeling such insecurities and being so nescient.

So nescient of the fact that you would take Inui-san in any way, so long as he would give himself to you.

“Oh…,” you hold back your amusement, lips twitching to smile, “I don’t find it stupid. I think we all have some silly sense of loyalty to something nonsensical.”

Feeling daring, your eyes wander to his right hand resting on right knee. You place your smaller fingers between his longer ones, admiring the way his eyes widen in surprise and wonder at your action.

“I admire that a lot, Inui-san.” You whisper. A blush enraptured on his beautiful features and a warmth blooms on your own at the sigh.

“You are not… surprised.” He sounds restless, like he has discovered water in the middle of a dessert. A type of apprehension you are all too willing to soothe.

“Actually I… think I can see it. You, a yankee.”

Inui-san looks away from you, closing his eyes. He pulls at the long sleeves of your dress, practically whining. You laugh.

“Ahh, how embarrassing.”

You laugh and laugh. Inui-san smiles at you, you note from your periphery. When you come back down, his voice is lower than before — almost as though he was sharing a secret between you both.

“I’d thought I’d matured as an adult, what a shame.” He seems to almost chastise himself, feigning hurt. You elbow him softly in his side and smile when his mouth twitches into a tiny grin.

“What— what I mean to say,” you take a deep inhale to stop yourself from laughing to death, “Inui-san you are very handsome.”

Though you did not think of your statement before you said it — you meant it truthfully. However, when Inui-san openly stares at you with the most devious smirk you have seen on him by far, your brain begins to replay what exactly you had uttered. Now, it is your time to be humiliated.

“I mean— handsome as in, refined! You are very intimidating, Inui-san— I mean that in a mature—,” when Inui-san leans in unbelievably closer, pushing your head against the side wall, you trail off, losing your sentence, “… way.”

A large hand cups your face. Inui-san’s mint breath wafts over your features and your knees tremble a little at how positively warm he is. It is all too pathetic how a single glance and touch from him can set you on fire.

“Y/n,” he murmurs your name slowly, deep voice now all too close to your ears, lips so close to your own they almost touch. You want them to.

“You talk too much.” He says.

“I’m sorry,” You practically whimper, and Seishu is too concerned at how much he enjoys hearing your voice like that.

Brushing a stray hair from your face, Inui-san looks all too dashing. His eyes flicker somewhere below your nose, and your face heats up at the intention. You want him to. Your feeble fingers clench onto the soft material of his coat, and Inui-san smiles like he did the second time you met him — like a fire in a forest, he rasps against your lips.

“Don’t be.”

When his eyes seem to say, ‘Can I?’ you all but give a single nod, and his lips attach to yours.

They kiss you with a passion, with precision. They kiss you in the way that you know Inui-san is kissing you, and you never want it to end. You want to burn in his fire forever.

When it seems to end all soon, you whine embarrassingly. Inui-san only smiles at you, half from pity you presume and the other half with love. Pure love.

“So beautiful,” he breathes against your neck as he leaves small kisses on the column, “so beautiful.”

“Inui-san,” you mumble, breathless. He pulls back, looking deep within your flushed eyes.

“Seishu, call me Seishu, love, please.” He almost seems to beg. You can’t help but smile at his wants, and he smiles as you do.

“Seishu-san I think I really like you.” You confess.

The way he holds you like you are made of porcelain, the warmth of his touch, the yellow lighting of his motorcycle shop — you never want anything more.

“I’m glad,” he pecks your lips, and grins when you laugh, “I really like you too.”

Like a fire in the forest, like a sahara in the snow, like the tune of a song you cannot remember, like the warmth of sharing a half sweet potato. You never need anything more.

#inui x reader #inui seishu x reader #inui x fem reader #writing

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sakura-chan-25 · 2 years

Text

Happy Birthday, Barbatos!

Pairing: Barbatos x MC

Summary: Barbatos and MC want to go on a date on his birthday, but Mc’s health decides to go against this plan.

Word Count: 724

Warning(s): swearing, crying, low self-esteem, fluff turning into crack?

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Barbatos turned around to look at you when he heard you groan. You were lying in his bed, your hands over your face as you complained: “It’s fucking raining and it’s fucking cold and I still feel fucking dizzy!?” You groaned again while you slid your hands down your face. Barbatos’ look of concern cracked a little smile. Your mouth always sounded like a sailor’s when you weren’t feeling alright. “Is there anything I can get to help you, dear?” He softly asked as he sat down next to your thighs, holding one of your hands in his ungloved ones and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. Your unfocused eyes looked into his green ones. Tears started forming, but before the butler could wipe them away, you moved your hands over your eyes again (you sadly had to move away your hand that was holding onto his). “I’m sorry.”, You pulled your lips into a thin line, trying not to let out the sob that was threatening to come out. “My love, I do not understand why you’re apologizing.” He soothed while stroking your thigh. The tears were freely falling now. “It’s just-“ Your shoulders shook as the sob finally came out. “Today’s your birthday and we agreed to go out to Café Lament. N-Not sticking here in your room and having you worry about me!” You were fully crying now as Barbatos’ eyes softened at your confession. His hand was still stroking your thigh as he assured: “It’s not your fault, MC. You cannot determine when to feel dizzy and when not. That is not your choice to make. Just spending time with you is the best gift I could ask for. We don’t have to go to a fancy restaurant or a café. We don’t have to go out and do something remarkable, because…” Barbatos leaned in closer to your ear as he whispered: “…having you here in my arms is enough.” During his little confession your hands found their way to his shirt instead of your face. “Really?” You asked. You sounded like a wounded kitten in his ears. “Really.” Barbatos promised as he smiled. Your hands moved around his neck while his found their way around your waist, picking you up slightly and moving you to sit on his lap. Your head rested in the crook of his neck as you murmured: “Toto?” “Yes, sweetheart?” “I love you.”, You said as you nuzzled your head deeper into his neck. “I love you, too.” He tightened his grip on your waist while pulling you closer to him. There was a comfortable silence between you two when Barbatos decided to speak up: “Do you need anything to help with your dizziness, though? You didn’t answer me when I asked the first time.” His voice was laced with concern. “Maybe a sugary drink could help? And your cuddles?” You said with a grin. “Cuddles, huh?” The butler was smirking when he jokingly pushed you back into the pillows. He let out a warm laugh when he heard you screeching out his name. “Alright, alright. I’ll get you a coke from the kitchen and then we can cuddle, okay?” “Hm. I don’t want to be alone, though.” You looked at him, wondering if he had got the hint. Now Barbatos wouldn’t be Barbatos if he hadn’t, so he chose to tease you a bit. “Oh? Does my little doe want to be carried?” You blushed a bit as you nodded. He smirked as he got closer to the bed again and picked you up with ease. Your hands held onto his shoulders in a death grip while your head found its designated way in the crook of his neck again. “Relax. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let you fall?” He stated as he was leaving his room with you tightly in his grasp. “Happy Birthday, Toto.” You muttered and kissed his cheek. “Surely that was not my birthday kiss, was it?” You laughed when you saw his frown on his face. So, you changed that by kissing his lips. Only to break apart once you heard his moan hum of approval. The butler told you to shut up with a blush on his cheeks, because everyone could hear your loud laughter while you were walking the hallways to the kitchen.

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A/n: I deadass wrote “waist” as “waste”. O_O I also could have ended that like three times, but I didn’t. Anyway! Happy Birthday, Barbatos! ^o^ This might have been a little self-insert, because sometimes I would become dizzy and it wouldn’t go away for like…hours. I hope you enjoyed! :D Have a good day/night! ^^

#obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #obey me fluff #obey me comfort #obey me crack #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me non-agere

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