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griffonsgrove · 10 months ago

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Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday.

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s.

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked.

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

#hazbinhotel #hazbinhotelxreader #xreader #gender neutral reader #vox x reader #vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin x reader #headcanons #dating headcanons #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin

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yandereunsolved · 4 months ago

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Yandere self-aware Bruce Wayne—all the money in the world couldn't buy your love

Yandere Bruce Wayne, who was monitoring the CCTV cameras one day, became aware of a presence watching him. His paranoia and hypervilgilence sparked as he combed every corner of the cave and the manor, scowering for someone or something hiding in the shadows. Nothing; he could not find a single speck of dust out of place.

He eventually succumbed to slumber, and when he awoke, he felt eyes on him again. The feeling of being watched would come and go. He simply couldn't understand it.

However, he did become addicted to the feeling of being admired by someone. Even if that someone could be a danger to him.

Yandere Bruce Wayne did research when he didn't feel the inquiring gaze on him.

'Self-awareness'

"It is a possibility..." He muttered to himself. "In another timeline I am but a story. My hardships, my family and, my most vulnerable moments are simply a form of entertainment." He rolls his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

It only made him crave more knowledge about you and about this other world that he was not a part of.

Yandere Bruce Wayne learned how to see you. He had to go to some crackpot scientist who lived in a rundown apartment that definitely did not meet any code. Through a set of electric shocks, which made him question his sanity, he was finally able to see you clearly for the first time. It was as if he had been blessed somehow. He was never one to believe in any god, but he did pray and say thank you to whatever gave him self-awareness.

Yandere Bruce Wayne hacked into your phone through a magic line Constantine set up. It was definitely worth having to help him set up a demon trap. A trap that he had to be the bait for. Still, he gains access to all the information about you that one could need. He spends countless hours combing over all your history, including your internet history.

You—like him? What is a... yandere? Oh.

He's watching you read this right now and smiling like a madman. A smile that could rival even the most unhinged of Joker's.

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows that he can't be too obvious. He could easily scare you off, and even if he could simply follow you through other forms of media, it still wouldn't be the same. Your attention is like a drug that some villian force fed him. It's a gaze that brings him comfort. He needs to keep it only on himself.

Yandere Bruce Wayne gets impatient. He only has your gaze. He isn't able to touch you. He isn't able to smell you. He isn't able to see you in all your glory. It causes him to grow agitated. He's more prone to snapping. He isolates himself even more now. Alfred does his best to get through Bruce's shell, but it seems much stronger now. He wants one thing: you.

He has always done his duty.

He has always saved the citizens of Gotham.

Doesn't he deserve something?

Doesn't he deserve just this one thing?

Yandere Bruce Wayne knows it can't be, but it doesn't stop him from dreaming. He fantasizes about what it would be like to be in your world, or you in his. He can't do it anymore. He needs you. How?

He looks at you, but he doesn't know if you notice it.

Damn dimensional time shit.

He'll get out of here eventually, and the first time he feels you will be the last time you leave his side.

#yandere #yandere x reader #self aware yandere #dc #dc comics #dc batman #batman #batman fanfiction #batfam #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #dc bruce wayne #yandere bruce wayne x reader #yandere bruce wayne #batman x reader #yandere batman x reader #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere dc

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favefandomimagines · 4 months ago

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Lose Something (t.o)

Summary: one wrong misjudgment can change everything

Request: @ol-alex-lo what about reader that once chased tornados just like him, but her best friend got killed a few years ago because of it but reader survived? And she doesn’t chase anymore but people always go to her for advice because she knows where the next tornado will hit. And Tyler learns about her and the fact that she’s good, so he goes to see her and he actually makes fun of her or jokes with her that she’s probably just to scared or chicken to go in a tornado so her advice is probably pure luck? And that they shouldn’t lisent to someone who never chased a real tornado or that is too scared to chase one? And reader just lashes out? And she yells that if he’s still chasing tornados that means that he never lost anything to them? Not like she did. And just so much angst, and Tyler then feels bad and like a total ass so he apologizes? so just angst and a fluffy ending?

AN: I love this request lol angsty fluff is my brand so obviously I had to knock this out. Also, I know almost nothing about tornadoes and the best places to go when you’re not home lol I live in Nebraska and the last tornado I witnessed over 26 years was in April

“This storm is beautiful!” You called to your best friend as she got out of the car. “This is the best one we’ve gotten all season!” She called back over the wind. You and your best friend Tara were trying to get data on exactly how tornadoes form. A question that every scientist still doesn’t have an answer to.

You and Tara were creating a project to find the proper data to see how a tornado is formed. With each storm, you became closer and closer to getting proper grant money to take your research to the next level.

The storm you were chasing was a small EF-2, the perfect storm to get data on how it was able to form. “Y/N, we could actually get this grant.” Tara told you as she looked down at her tablet.

You looked at her with a huge smile on your face before hugging her tightly. Soon, out of nowhere, the wind picked up and something in the air shifted. “Y/N,” Tara started.

The tornado was approaching quicker than it should have if it was a true EF-2. “We need to go. Now.” You spoke.

You and Tara ran to your car and you threw it in reverse, trying to outrun the storm. You could see in your rearview mirror that the tornado itself was growing. It was no longer an EF-2 but something bigger.

At that moment you were cursing yourself for not agreeing to take your brother's truck and instead driving your own car.

The wind was getting faster by the second and your car was getting thrown around all over the road.

“We have to get out. We can’t be in the car.” You told Tara. “What? Y/N, are you crazy?” Tara questioned. “We’re as good as dead if the storm picks us up in the car.” You replied. You stopped the car and the two of you got out and made a run for it.

As you kept running, the rain pelting you both, you spotted a horse watering trough a few feet ahead of you. Pipes that are more than likely deep in the ground to access well water. It would be your best bet.

You grabbed Tara’s hand and pulled her along towards the trough. You and Tara huddled down and held on to the pipe. “Hold on tight!” You yelled at her. The storm began to pass over you and you felt Tara’s hand slip from the pipe.

You reached forward and grabbed her hand as she began to slip. “Tara! Don’t let go!” You yelled. “Y/N!” She yelled back.

It all happened so quickly. One minute, Tara was holding on to you and you were holding on to her. And then the next, the storm had ripped her hand from yours. You screamed her name as you watched your best friend headed straight for her death.

When the storm had passed, you almost had to pry your hand off of the water pipe with how tight your grip was. Everything around you was destroyed, nothing was left standing. Except you. Alone in the aftermath of the storm.

You hadn’t stepped foot in Kansas in five years and if it wasn’t a special occasion, you would have avoided the state completely. It was Tara’s birthday and her mom wanted to have a gathering in her memory.

You owed it to her to attend after avoiding her for so long. She never blamed you for Tara being out there, but you blamed yourself. If you hadn't convinced Tara to come along, maybe she’d still be alive.

Tara was a science fanatic. She was going to the University of Kansas studying microbiology and you were there studying metrology. You figured that the two of you could combine forces to figure out how tornadoes formed to a T. The pair of you had chased plenty of storms before, she always said you had a gift. You knew when, where and just how strong the storm would be before it even hit. You were never wrong, but that day you were.

You told yourself you would stop chasing because your miscalculation cost your best friend her life. You didn’t want to feel anything like that again.

If you were being honest, you were back home for two reasons. One, for Tara. Two, your friend Kate needed a favor. She had been working with some hot-shot storm chaser with a YouTube channel and she had told him all about you.

They needed an edge to beat out all the other chasers out there and you were the edge.You promised Kate that you’d meet with them. As you pulled up to the motel, you were starting to regret it.

“Y/N, hey! It’s so good to see you!” Kate greeted you as you walked up to the ugly, souped up truck. “Hey, Kate. It’s good to see you too.” You replied as the two of you hugged. “Y/N, this is Tyer Owens. He’s the one who helped me with my project.” She said, introducing the two of you.

You weren’t going to lie and say he wasn’t good looking because he definitely was. He was your type, and that could have played a part in why Kate wanted to introduce you. But you knew guys like him. Thinking chasing a tornado was glamorous and boasting about it on the internet.

He was attractive, sure, but you didn’t like how reckless he behaved.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.” You greeted. “Likewise. So, Kate says you have a gift.” Tyler said, cutting to the chase. “I wouldn’t call it a gift.” You replied. “Y/N taught me everything I know. We were in the same meteorology program.” Kate said.

Tyler examined you, looking you over subtly. Kate talked about you all the time. This amazing scientist who knew exactly where and when the storm would be and just how strong it would develop. He thought Kate was good but you sounded like you were too good to be true. He just had to know the woman who knew all about tornadoes but never actually chased them.

“But you don’t chase?” Tyler asked. “No, I don’t chase.” You answered. “Tyler collects data by going inside the tornado. It’s insane.” Kate boasted.

You knew she was trying to find common ground for the two of you. The topic of chasing was very touchy for you and she knew that.

“Inside the tornado? Do you have a death wish or something?” You scoffed. “Maybe you’re just too scared to do it yourself.” Tyler commented.

This man didn’t even know you and he had the gall to make a comment like that? “Tyler,” Kate started. “You know all of this information, you know the storm and yet you won’t go in the storm? What have you got to lose?” He continued.

“I’m not scared to do anything.” You rebutted. “I’m sorry Kate, but I don’t think we should listen to your friend. She doesn’t chase, she's too scared to, so how are we supposed to trust her information?” Tyler cut you off.

“You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I’ve gone through and don’t you dare say I don’t have anything to lose. If you’re still chasing, that means you’ve never lost anything you loved. Not like I have.” You snapped at him.

You took one more look at him scoffed, walking away from him as Kate called your name. Tyler watched as Kate went after you but to no avail. You said some words to her, gave her an apologetic look, before getting back in your car.

“Seriously, Tyler?” Kate questioned. “What?” Tyler asked. “You clearly don’t listen to a word I say if you said all of that to her. I’ve told you what happened and why she stopped chasing.” Kate answered.

Tyler didn’t reply, knowing that she was correct. He didn’t listen to what she said about your backstory.

“God, Tyler. Y/N chased all the time. Her and her best friend Tara were trying to figure out how a tornado forms. They almost got grant money for their project. Five years ago, Tara and Y/N were out getting data and the EF-2 that Y/N predicted ended up being an EF-4. They tried to take cover but Tara died. Y/N hasn’t gone out for a storm since.” Kate explained to him.

The guilt immediately washed over Tyler. He judged you before he even knew you and made himself look like a total asshole. And he couldn’t imagine how that made you feel.

“I-I didn’t know.” Tyler stammered. “She’s never going to help us now.” Kate muttered. Kate walked back to the team to explain how Tyler royally screwed up their next chase.

But all Tyler could think about was how guilty he felt. He wasn’t a bad guy despite what you probably thought about him now. He wanted to make things right with you not only for his own conscience, but for your help. Kate said that you were their best chance at getting ahead. Plus you were easy on the eyes.

He had to make things right with you, but he just didn’t know where to start.

You were at Tara’s parents farm, helping them set up for the ‘party’ in Tara’s honor. A part of you thought it was morbid, throwing a party in honor of someone who died. But you knew it meant a lot to her parents.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N. It’s been so long.” Tara’s mom told you. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited as much as I should.” You replied. “It’s okay, hon. We understand. We’re just happy you’re back.” She said.

You smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze before she walked back inside the house. You were putting centerpieces with Tara’s picture on them on the tables, making them look perfect.

The next centerpiece you grabbed had a picture of you and Tara on it. It was from your first chase together of an EF-1.

You asked her to go and told her she didn’t have to if she felt unsafe, but she was so excited to go. It was evident by the bright smiles on both of your faces.

“She looked like fun.” You heard a voice behind you. You turned around and saw Tyler Owens approaching. “She was. I told her she didn’t have to come chasing with me but she said it’s a once in a lifetime event.” You answered, with a small laugh.

“Kate told me what happened. I’m sorry for the things I said.” He spoke. “How were you supposed to know?” You replied. “Still. I shouldn’t have said you were scared and that we shouldn’t trust you.” Tyler said.

“You have every right not to trust me. I told Tara that it wasn’t anything more than an EF-2 and I was wrong. I cost her her life because I was wrong.” You told him.

“You know better than anyone that storms change. They’re unpredictable. You couldn’t have known it was going to develop.” Tyler rebutted.

You were about to reply when Tara’s mother interrupted. “Y/N, who’s your friend?” She asked. “Oh uh, this is Tyler. He just stopped by.” You said. “Well, Tyler, any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of ours. Please stay for the party, we’d love to have you.” She said, “Oh Mrs-” You started.

“I would love to.” Tyler interjected. You looked up at him, surprise written on your face. “You don’t have to stay.” You told him. “I want to. Maybe this will be the start of us being friends.” He said with a smirk.

“Oh really? And why would you want to be friends?” You asked cheekily. “Because I still want to see you chase a storm.” He answered.

“It’s going to take a lot for me to go back out there.” You spoke. “Well then I better get started.” He said.

You smiled up at Tyler before he started helping you with the centerpieces. Maybe you had misjudged Tyler just like he misjudged you. Maybe this was going to be the start of something good for the both of you.

#imagine #imagines #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens #glen powell imagine #glen powell #twisters #twisters imagine #tyler owens x you #tyler owens x y/n #glen powell x reader #glen powell x you

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jarofstyles · 6 months ago

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Put Your Records On

This is a little thing I came up with at 2 am and kept writing till 5 lol. It's pop star y/n x rock star H. I don't do a lot of canon H and some things are changed/ don't fit into the real one but that's on purpose. Part two will be up very soon!

Check out our Patreon for early access to part 2 and 170+ exclusive writings!

WC- 4.2k

Warnings- dirty talk, mention of bullying (Brief)

She saw him from across the room- well, more like felt him. The room had a buzz in it that it hadn’t before.

It was common knowledge that he was going to be there. One of his best friends was hosting the after party for the BRIT awards, and she had been lucky enough to be invited considering her manager had been friends with the group for a while. Actually, it was a bit shocking that she’d never met the man considering how close their circles ran. She’d met a lot of his management and production team, even a few members of his band- but never the man himself.

It was her second year after making it big on the music scene but her entire life, she’d been working towards this. School musicals, voice lessons, guitar and piano lessons, music had become her flesh and blood and she was determined to make it her bread and fucking butter. She’d been blessed with her voice and a talent like hers wasn’t one to waste, that’s what her parents had said as she grew up- and it had all paid off. She went home with Best New Artist and was coming down on the buzzing high of another huge accomplishment of her career.

Harry was infamous, at the top of the damn world and everyone knew his name. He was just about to hop back on tour, one Y/N had been invited to attend by his manager himself. It seemed like today was the day they would finally meet in person, and judging by the recognition in his eye, he had heard about her too.

God, that made her want to vomit. Growing up she’d been a casual fan of his band, been to a few shows even after scraping together enough money for a ticket along with her best friend. Said friend was lost somewhere in the room and Y/N knew she had a knack for awful timing, but as the man got closer to her she felt her insides begin to bubble. She wasn’t one to get starstruck super easily, thank god, but it was hard not to feel intimidated as he approached her. A black blazer with a very sheer pink blouse underneath, pants tight on the thighs and flared at the calves, necklaces hanging in a thatch of thin chest hair, she’d felt her mouth dry as his smile was given directly to her. Someone she’d grown up singing to in her bedroom, right into her hairbrush, was grinning at her like she was someone important.

“So we finally meet.” Harry reached his hand out to shake hers. Clunky rings covered the digits as her own took them, shaking his warm hand with her own smile on her face. She’d been on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, and yet he was a bit more intimidating. Still she was going to do her best to use her brief acting skills and pretend her heart wasn’t in her throat. “I’ve heard so much about you- your album’s fucking brilliant.”

He was tipsy, she could see that much. His eyes were slightly hooded and he had a looser demeanor than he had seated at the table ahead of her at the awards show. Good for him. It wasn’t likely that he did this too much. It was well known that he wasn’t much for drinking during his working season and he’d won two awards! That called for drinks all around.

What took her off guard, though, was the fact that he’d listened to her album. He listened and he had said it was good? Her cheeks heated as she realized he was still holding her hand, gently letting it fall as he took a step closer. It was a little loud out there but not too bad if you were close enough. “You think so? I’m hoping it’s all good things.” She let out a laugh she hoped sounded natural, adjusting her hair. The girl had always been one to fuss with her clothes when she was nervous but hopefully he didn’t realize that. “So is yours. Got quite a few on my playlists.”

“Yeah?” His smile grew bigger. “Which ones?” Y/N felt the lump in her throat as she tried not to think about how good he smelled. It was so creepy, noticing that. There was a faint hint of tobacco and the tiniest bit of alcohol, but he smelled really warm. Cuddly, in a way. It made sense in her brain, but she was also a drink in at this point.

“Mmm, I have a few from other albums but from the latest? Satellite, that’s the go to for the gym for me… Late Night Talking, very relatable for me. Erm… Boyfriends, unfortunately.” She saw him give a playful wince. “Yeah, men are shit- no offence. And then I’d say Daydreaming is a personal favorite. As It Was was brilliant, obviously, but Daydreaming is my favorite.” It felt like maybe she word-vomited a little but he’d listened to every word, seeming pleased with her answers.

“Daydreaming isn’t one I hear of being a favorite, usually. M’chuffed that it’s yours.” He genuinely seemed happy about it. “I really liked the closing track of your album- it’s so rare to find albums that tell a story, that are thoughtfully laid out, at least at this point in time. I love to listen from front to back and it was laid out perfectly. Usually m’a bit of a snob and would have some critiques but you nailed it.”

Y/N preened. It wasn’t a compliment she got often and it shocked her because that meant he’d really listened. Really paid attention to her music and took time with her album. It was extremely flattering. Surreal, really. Who could have told 15 year old Y/N that Harry would be a fan of her fucking music? She’d probably pass the fuck out. “I’m shocked you got that, but thank you. Yeah, I did the same thing growing up. It was my favorite part of music I’d find, seeing how stuff flowed together. Top to bottom and then bottom to top, then I can shuffle.” It was said in a slightly joking tone but she was fully serious.

“You get it, Y/N.” He reached out to nudge her shoulder. “I’ve been trying to meet you for a bit but my schedule’s been hectic. Thought it wouldn’t be since we’ve been going for a bit now but tour prep… can be brutal, y’know?”

Y/N did know, but on a minuscule scale compared to what his tour probably entailed. He was doing stadiums, for god’s sake! Y/N’s arena tour sold out quickly, but there was a huge size difference in where they were. Hopefully she’d reach his level one day. “I do, I do. It’s not a big deal, I didn’t think you were avoiding me or anything.” For a bit she did, but that was wiped away when she’d realized he released the tour dates. It had been months of almost meetings but she had faith in the universe. When it was meant to happen, it would.

“God no, I was excited to. Did y’want to come sit with us over there?” He motioned to the private area she was allowed into but not been brave enough to venture to quite yet.

“Sure, that would be nice.” Y/N hadn’t expected to be invited to sit with him personally, let alone feel his hand on her back as he led them through the crowd of people in the room. The star said hellos as he walked through but somehow had mastered the art of saying hi without being caught into a conversation without seeming rude. That was a skill she sure as hell was envious of.

His hand was really fucking warm. She could feel slight calluses on his fingertips, in true musician fashion, but they weren’t as rough as one would originally expect. Her backless dress did her no favors in hiding the warmth and how nice and comforting his touch felt, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to thank or scowl at her stylist. It wasn’t half as uncomfortable as the dress they’d pulled for the carpet, thankfully this dress was a slinky, emerald green one with room for her legs to actually move. Her updo had been taken down to a mess of curls that nearly reached where his hands were- the power of extensions. As heavy as her head felt, she couldn’t deny that she felt exceptionally beautiful. Thank god the universe had chosen today to meet Harry.

“Finally!” Sarah sighed. “I’ve been waiting for you two to meet for ages. Come sit.” The woman had always been very sweet, even more sweet with a few drinks in her. Saying her hellos to the familiar people, she felt Harry sit himself next to her in the booth and immediately drinks were brought over. So this is why it was VIP. It was a lemon drop, something Y/N did happen to like. Harry handing her one before taking his own was unexpected but very appreciated, a gentle thank you exchanged as he settled back next to her.

It was unreal to be here. To be sat at a table of friendly but insanely successful people, feel like part of the ‘in’ crowd, it had completely blindsided her. This was the sort of thing that she’d always thought about when she was in her bed at home as a teenager, hoping one day to rub elbows with the people she once admired so much they had space on her bedroom wall, and here it was. Someone who’s face was on her favorite bedtime tee shirt (Those merch shirts were expensive and she wasn’t about to get rid of it because a member was now in her circle).

“Y/N, did you know that H added some of your songs to the preshow playlist in his dressing room?” Sarah hummed.

“You did?” The girl gasped as she looked at him. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn she saw a bit of a pink glint to his cheeks. Maybe it was the alcohol.

“He did, and he’s been raving about it to Mitch. Sometimes he’s singing it when we pass, that one song about the… what’s it called? The Raven? Some sort of bird.”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink.” Mitch had to laugh at her airing a bit of Harry’s business, but she was a chatterbox when she was drunk.

“That’s so nice!” Y/N said shyly. “You’re on mine too, actually. The dressing room for me and the one the fans listen to, I can hear them sing it from backstage.”

Harry’s leg was pressed into hers so she didn’t have to turn far to look at him, watching him finish his drink as he nodded. “I do, yeah. Told you I liked your music. I meant it.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t he wouldn’t mention it. That’s why when he met that girl earlier he just said it was nice to meet-” Sarah was cut off by her husband asking her if she wanted to see something on his phone, putting Harry out of his misery.

“M’not an ass.” He groaned. “I just didn’t vibe with the album, y’know? I won’t say things I don’t mean but that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite.”

“Agree, 100%. It’s easy when it’s just a taste thing, but I’ve found it harder with people I’ve seen or heard talk bad about me and it’s confirmed. Dunno how you’re able to do that.” Y/N struggled to not show her nerves or distaste of people sometimes and it was something she was constantly working on. Her best friend often had to tell her to adjust her facial expressions and she’d even gone viral once for a ‘stink face’ she’d made at someone. It was accidental of course, but it’d also caused one of her first big waves of hate.

“It’s not easy, and anyone who says so is lying.” Harry confirmed. “It’s taken me years. Said something about pussy on tv not realizing the cameras could see, so It’s trial and error.” The joke had the both of them laughing, Y/N not divulging that she indeed already knew that. “I think it’s important to just remember they’re humans and probably just as nervous t’see you. It’s just a short interaction and you can move on quickly. I also think working out, yoga, all of that helps a lot with my inner calm. It isn’t easy, like I said, but you’re also in the beginnings of your career in this sort of light. I’ve got no doubt that you’ll be able to have a good poker face by the end of the year.”

“God, I love that song.” Y/N sighed. “Poker face, loved that one I mean. But thank you. I really do appreciate the advice. I was terrified coming tonight. The award shows are much scarier than your own gigs.”

“Oh, definitely.” Harry whistled, taking another drink from the tray and handing a fresh one to her. “S’like, you know the people who go to your shows are there for you. It’s like a little family get together, it’s safer. Those people love you enough t’buy a ticket, travel got knows how long, wears a shirt with your face on it. It’s mental to think about but incredible. These things?” He motioned around the room. “All marketing and partying, but more drama. S’crazy how many people have slept with each other in this room.” Harry realized a bit too late that he’d said too much but thankfully Y/N just giggled in agreement. “You seem to take to it quite well though. Not to sound weird but I saw you accept your awards and socialize a bit here, you’ve probably got the whole room fooled.”

That was a relief and a compliment in her opinion. The goal was to make sure no one sensed the weakness. Unfortunately she’d learned early on that these people could sniff it out like a shark in bloodied water. “That’s the goal.” She replied, leaning back into the seat. Her back was killing her from the bloody heels on her feet and how tight her other dress was, so it was a relief to have this reprieve from them sitting here.

“So tell me about your tour then. What’s going on with that?”

—-----------

Y/N was drunk. Certifiably hammered. She had one too many lemon drops and apparently, so did Harry. Some of the people had vacated the booth and it left them alone as they talked amongst themselves. With the aid of the liquid courage, she wasn’t losing her mind over how close they were. Sure, her heart was still going a million miles a minute, but that was due to his fingers fiddling with the strap of her dress. Harry was, evidently, a touchy drunk. Clingy. He’d even followed her to the bathroom and waited for her outside before they’d returned.

In all honesty, she was pretty sure she wouldn’t believe all of this in the morning. That Harry had ignored everyone else in favor of talking to her, tucked away in VIP at a round table, his body closer than it needed to be considering the space. They’d talked about a lot of industry things, but more so the fun and personal. She told him about her collection of band tee shirts and admitting to not having listened to all the bands she wore, but he didn’t judge her for it. Said he went through a phase of doing the same while in the band. She told him about her cat, a Siamese named Simon and he’d cooed over photos on her phone about how cute he’d looked with his collar that had a little flower on it. So many topics were covered, so many things discussed in the last two hours that she felt like she was getting a handle on who he was.

Though this many drinks, it was bleeding into oversharing.

“Your ex was at the awards?” He asked, eyes slightly red but widening as she dropped the tidbit.

“Yep.” The p in the word was exaggerated with a pop of her lips and an eye roll. “Note to you for the future, don’t fuck anyone involved in your production team. Makes for a nasty breakup and a lot of rude ‘inside sources’ with the press.” Her lips flattened. “And he couldn’t even make me finish, so. Fuck him.”

Harry’s eyes widened further before he groaned, his head dropping to the side onto the leather booth seat. “No, not that, Y/N. C’mon.” He seemed a bit distraught. “It’s always those guys that make your life hell, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I did learn that a bit early on.” He seemed to remember it but she didn’t ask. If he didn’t divulge it, she wasn’t going to pry. “You got the shit end of the stick. It’s one of my embarrassments being a male. Y’don’t have to be a rocket scientist to learn how to pleasure a woman.”

“You’d think.” She scoffed. “Swear, men in LA don’t know how to use any of their appendages. Used like a human fleshlight so I stopped hooking up with people. It got discouraging after the fifth time I left. Not a single one know where the clit is.” It was an unfortunate truth. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places or had a string of bad luck, but she’d been voluntarily celibate because of it. “Doubt you know what m’talking about, Mr Watermelon Sugar.”

Y/N realized her internal thought had become an external one when he broke out into his own giggles, her face heating. She’d definitely not meant for that to be said out loud, but thankfully he didn’t seem offended. It was the truth anyways, any man who loved pleasuring a woman so much that he wrote a whole song about it had to know what he was doing.

As his giggles came down, he replied. “Well, I’d like t’think I do. I…” He swallowed. “Know we just met, but overshare?” Scooting closer, he watched her nod. “I think I get off more on getting other people off, if that makes sense. Like, making someone feel good. I dunno if it’s some sort of ego thing, but I enjoy it a lot. Being the cause of pleasure. Think it probably ties in to a bit of a praise kink I’ve got, but it’s the truth.”

Y/N had never thought she’d get into this sort of conversation with the man, let alone in a dark corner at the BRITs afterparty, but she wasn’t about to complain. “So it’s true then?” She rose an eyebrow. “You really love eating pussy?” Drunk Y/N had officially taken over. A bit of a drunk, horny Y/N she’d been trying to repress. In the morning she would be mortified that she asked that, but right now she was genuinely curious.

“I do.” He smirked. “I dunno there’s just something about it. Being the one to make someone gasp. When it feels so good they try and push and pull you at the same time. Love the taste, love t’hear the noises. Maybe it’s a little arrogant of me but your name sounds better when it’s said with pleasure, don’t you think?”

Y/N should have known better than to ask. Harry was a very attractive, alluring man, he was close to her and smelled so fucking good and god damn it, she was already horny. Her cunt throbbed and she knew she was going to have a wet patch in her thong when she left, but she was a glutton for punishment. “I do. I like giving for the same reason.” She admitted. “I’ve always had a lack of gag reflex so, it’s made it easier for me than other people probably have it.”

Harry’s interest seemed to be stroked, fingers brushing over her bare neck as she spoke. It was hard to concentrate here, with him so close. But Y/N always did like to be a bit of a tease, brushing the tip of her foot over the back of his leg. Maybe they were playing a dangerous game talking about this, but no one else was around. She didn’t fall back when his head dipped slightly, getting closer than necessary. “Look at us then. What a pair.”

“I know. You’re just bold enough to write a whole song about it.” Her finger poked him playfully in the chest.

“M’not apologetic about it. A woman’s pleasure is important and often overlooked. Makes me sad that no one’s made you feel good in that long. I hope you’re taking care of yourself at the very least.” Oh, she was. And she would be when she got back to her hotel tonight. Thank god for the suction vibrators.

“I do, but it’s not the same as having someone else do it for you.” Her drunk self told her it as a good idea to pout, trying not to breath too hard as his fingers caressed the nape of her neck. “Sometimes I just miss the touch of another human, you know? Even innocent touches but, there’s nothing like being fucked so hard you feel it the next day. Feels like it’s impossible to find it anymore.”

“It’s not.” He replied. Eyes were staring into her own. “You’re fucking stunning. Especially tonight, you could pull anyone in the room.” Gaze dipped down to her cleavage, not hiding that he was looking. Heat that had been bubbling in her stomach spread through the rest of her body, his touch igniting a bit of a spark.

“Anyone?” Her head tilted to the side. The tension had been growing a bit with the two of them but now it was thick in the air. There was no denying that there was an attraction between them but it was palpable now. “So if I wanted to, I could pull you?” Y/N had no idea if he was even available for anything right now. It wasn't’ a smart idea considering how closely they worked near each other, but right now all she could think about was the fact that she had full confidence that Harry could give her the feelings that she wanted- the fuck she needed.

“Absolutely. M’hanging on by a thread here.” His voice deepened, face far closer to hers than should be appropriate for two people who just met. “I’ve been trying to be a gentleman all night. M’a bit of a slut sometimes but hookups aren’t usually my thing. Was trying to figure out a way to ask you out but, I’ve been a little nervous.” Fingers curled around the back of her neck as their noses brushed. ‘But fuck it, right?” Warm breaths puffed against each others, leaving the ball in Y/N’s court.

“Fuck it.”

Harry took that and ran. Lips pressed against hers as he cradled her neck, angling her how he wanted while he slowly kissed her. It was shockingly intimate despite the setting, smooth, soft lips sucking lightly against hers. There was no sign of stopping as her mouth opened for him, letting their tongue brush and the heat rise between them. His body angled slightly to cover hers from view, he let out a low groan in his throat as her hand raised to his hair. It was soft and a bit long for him as of late, but it felt good between her fingers. His other hand held the side of her face, so gentle but solid that she knew she’d give into any of his demands.

The party raged on behind them but they got lost in the kisses, one turning to three, turning to ten and they hardly came up for air. There was no doubt her makeup was going to be fucked up, that her lipstick was done for, but there was no better way to ruin it. “Y’taste so sweet.” Harry’s words were whispered against her swelling lips. “And you smell so good. Been driving me a bit crazy. Wanted to meet you for ages cause I knew we’d get on… but didn’t think we’d get on this well.” He chuckled into the kiss, squeezing the back of her neck and making her melt slightly into him. “Hoped for it, though.”

“You did?” Her own voice was breathless as she tried to catch up to his kisses.. It was hard not to get butterflies when he hummed in agreement. Harry had been excited to meet her. “Had a little crush, did you?” The statement was fully meant to be a tease, but he agreed.

“Suppose I did.”

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vivwritesfics · 1 year ago

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Keep On Rolling - MV1

Chapter One

Summary: Lando's best friend having feelings for anyone on the grid? Impossible, right? She worked with them, sharing her friendship with the grid with the world via the FormulaY/N youtube channel.

After film a video including... spicy water (alcohol), everything changes between her and a certain world champion. Good thing she hasn't had a crush on him since his F1 debut, right?

Right?

2K words

Hello everybody! Long break, I know (life throws curveballs), but I'm taking the blog in a different direction. Hope you guys like my first F1 imagine, I'm really passionate about it.

Series Masterlist

"Hello everybody and welcome back to another episode of Paddock Pals," Y/N said to the camera, holding her microphone in her hand. "Now, if you're new to the channel or don't remember the first installment, Paddock Pals is where cameraman James and I go around the Formula One paddock, dressed in the best disguises, and try to have the weirdest interview possible with the drivers," she explained. "Whoever recognises us first wins the game."

Y/N L/N was maybe the biggest name in Formula One youtube. She brought something to the game that nobody else had - access to the drivers.

Growing up as best friends with Lando Norris had its perks. She got to make a career out of her friendship and got to travel the world. She wasn't much into the sport until she met Lando. Now, she was a woman obsessed.

"As you can probably tell, James and I are not yet in disguise. We're filming this the night before so we had head straight there tomorrow, catch them bright, early, and unaware." She was stood in her hotel room in Australia, going over the previous installment of Paddock Pals. "Last time we got caught out by the honey badger himself, Daniel Riccardo. So, this time around, Danny Ric is going to be helping us out by letting us do a pretend interview with him when we need to."

The cameraman walked over to the mirror, showing himself. "This year we're making predictions on who we think will catch us out. I think it'll be Charles this year," he said. "He's been suspicious for a while, always asking when we're doing the next episode."

"As always, I think it's going to be Lando," said Y/N when the camera turned back to her. "I always try to leave him until last because, if anybody is going to catch us out, it's going to be him."

After that, James cut the camera. They needed a break, a moment to gather themselves together. "You really think Charles?" Y/N asked as they changed over the head of her microphone. Usually, it was the FormulaY/N microphone, but she changed it to a generic black one for the Paddock Pals video. "Not Max or Oscar?"

"And why would I say Max?" Asked James with a grin. Y/N glared, but she didn't push. Charles was a good choice. He spent almost as much time with Y/N as Lando did. Her audience loved him, and she lived to keep her audience happy. That was what brought in the money. "Want to put a wager on this one?"

Y/N shook her head. She positioned herself ready to start filming again. They filmed late into the night, Y/N showing off the props and the outfits they were going to wear for the rest of the video. Her phone buzzed once, and they had to film the whole section again.

By the time they were finished they had barely any battery left in the camera and were ready for bed. James had left to go to his own room but Y/N was sitting on her bed, texting Lando. It wasn't anything important, wishing him good luck for tomorrow and complaining about the heat in Australia.

And then it was a restless sleep. When Y/N woke up in the middle of the night, she stayed up scrolling through her comments. It didn't make getting to sleep any easier for her, scrolling through the comments on her youtube videos and social media posts. There were positive fans, most of them seemed to be young women. But there were some, commenting on her appearance and calling her friendship with the grid fake. Some said she didn't know what she was talking about when it came to Formula One, that she was only there because she was sleeping with Lando.

Of course, none of it was true. It played over in Y/N's head nonetheless. Normally, Y/N would text Lando when this happened, but he was asleep. And sleep was desperately what he needed leading up to the qualifying.

Eventually, Y/N fell asleep, her phone still in her hand.

Y/N and James woke up to their alarms in the early hours of the morning. They got up, set up the camera and got into their disguises. "You're so lucky I was obsessed with special affects as a kid," said James as he attached the fake nose to Y/N's face. He placed a bushy moustache under it and handed her the coloured contacts to put in.

Y/N's clothing was heavily padded, hiding her shape. She had her hair hidden up in a cap and an obviously fake press pass. She just had to help nobody looked too closely.

James did his own disguise. He changed everything but the camera, but they just had to hope nobody noticed that, either. Once they were ready and had given an update to the viewers, Y/N and James made their way down to the paddock.

"A lot of people have been asking us to include Alonso and Stroll in these videos. Truth is, I only do these videos with the guys I'm close with. Fernando is such a legend that I get nervous around him, and I just haven't spent that time with Lance," she explained to the camera as they walked.

"And now, for our first victim," said James.

The drivers that walked past were the ones Y/N didn't have anything planned for. Sargeant, Stroll, Checo Perez. Y/N and James waited and waited until somebody came by.

Oscar Piastri. The poor, young Australian was Y/N's first victim. "Oscar! Welcome to your first home race in Formula One!" Y/N shouted, calling him over for an interview. The second question was normal, something Oscar was happy to answer. But then Y/N got a little strange. "As all F1 fans know, the man who had your seat before you loved to do a shoey. Have you managed to try one yet?" The question itself wasn't strange, but it was about to be.

Y/N slowly eased off her shoe as Oscar answered the question. When he answered no, not yet in Formula One, Y/N passed him her microphone. "Hold this for me," she said and picked her shoe up from the floor. She grabbed a can of beer from her coat pocket and poured the contents of it into her shoe. "Here, try mine."

Oscar's eyes went wide. "Uh, no thanks," he said and passed the microphone back to James. Without finishing the interview, Oscar walked away. Y/N couldn't blame him, she would have done the same.

"Warm up complete. Time for the real thing," said Y/N brushing down the hairs of her fake moustache.

The next driver to walk past was poor George Russell.

Y/N went on and on, asking the drivers the weirdest questions she could think of. Most finished the interview, or walked away before it had finished. Halfway through, Y/N had her interview with the honey badger himself, Daniel Riccardo. It wasn't a real interview, but they made it look as such. The end of the interview was made to look like a success.

After that, Y/N interviewed Ocon, Tsunoda, and Leclerc. Charles went on the longest out of any of the drivers. Y/N asked him questions about Ferrari and how sad he is after almost every race. He looked at her with confusion when she spoke, and Y/N thought she had been found out.

Y/N moved on. It was Verstappen next. Y/N asked weird questions and got the perfect response. He definitely knew, she thought as he laughed. Towards the end of the interview, Y/N felt the hat come off her head, revealing her hair. She gasped and turned around to see Charles stood there, her hat in hand. "I knew it!" He cried, using her hat to smack her shoulder. "I knew it was you!"

"And there you have it, folks," Y/N began, placing her hat back on her head. This time it didn't hide her hair. "This years winner of Paddock Pals is Charles Leclerc! What do you win, Mr Leclerc? Bragging rights, of course," she said and passed her microphone to the Monégasque.

Charles did an acceptance speech. Like everything he and Y/N did together, it was all for a laugh.

"That concludes this years episode of Paddock Pals. Thank you everybody for watching. Don't forget to like, subscribe, and join us next week and in Azerbaijan for the next race."

James cut off the camera. "And we're out," he said and pulled off his fake nose.

Y/N did the same, pulling off the fake nose and the moustache from her face. "Did you have any idea?" Asked Y/N, turning to Max. The heat in Australia was sweltering. Y/N worked on taking off her multitude of padded jumpers, leaving her in a loose, classy shirt and a pair of shorts.

Not answering, Max looked away and let out a laugh. Of course, he knew, thought Y/N. Shaking her head, she turned away from him. "Good luck, Super Max," she said and took her leave, walking away from the Paddock.

It wasn't race day, but her viewers didn't have to know that. It was qualifying and Y/N wouldn't miss it for the world. James left the paddock, going back to the room to begin editing the video. Y/N made her way to the grandstands to watch. She loved nothing more than sitting with the McLaren fans to watch the qualifying and the race. In most laces Lando's fans were her fans, but they were also respectful, asking for selfies before the qualifying began so she could watch in peace.

***

Race day meant race day vlogs for Y/N. Everything from getting ready to after the race, the people wanted to see it all. Y/N tried to dress her best for every race, this time a McLaren shirt with a white tennis skirt.

Cameraman James didn't accompany her for race day vlogs. Sometimes he was in them, watching the race alongside her, but that was a rarity. Y/N had a separate camera for her vlogs. The video quality was worse than when James had his big camera, but the quality wasn't what people were there for.

After having breakfast and getting her final bits ready, Y/N headed down to the paddock. It had become a tradition that she heads down there to wish Lando good luck. She filmed herself going down to the paddock and wishing Lando luck, but turned off the camera after that.

"You look tired," said Lando as Y/N put the camera down.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. "I thought my makeup covered it up," she answered, leaning against the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Lando put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her away from the wall. "You could have texted me if you couldn't sleep."

"And make you tired before the race? No way, Norris."

Lando laughed. "You better get going to the grandstands," he said, walking her to the edge of the garage.

Nodding, Y/N followed him. "Good luck out there, Lando Norris," she said and kissed his cheek.

Y/N filmed herself making her way to the grandstands. She turned off her camera for more selfies with the fans and waited for the race to begin.

The race started smoothly. Of course, Verstappen was on pole, but that's why they called him Super Max. He had Sainz, Hamilton and Leclerc behind him. Lando was stuck in the midfield, but Y/N still cheered him on.

Lap twenty and Lando was taken out of the race. "Shit!" Y/N cried, standing up. She watched as he was stuck in the barrier and thanked God he was near the pits. He drove the car into the garage and Lando climbed out.

Biting her nails, Y/N pulled out her phone and texted Lando.

Letting out a breath, Y/N pulled out her camera. "Update on the race, Lando has just retired after a crash. He's okay. He's in the garage right now and the race is still ongoing. Our favourite driver might be out of the race, but our second favorite is still going," she said and put the camera down.

Y/N sat back in her seat. She turned her attention back to the race, keeping her phone on and in her lap in case Lando needed her.

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boundinparchment · 1 month ago

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STILL WATERS RUN DEEP - PART I

“You must never look upon his face,” the Dreammaster implored. “For he has looked upon Xipe’s true form. Trust in the Harmony to reveal order upon your union and on Penacony.” No one has ever looked upon the face of the head of the Oak Family. Not even you, his future wife. A promise must be kept. But you were never one to settle. [An attempt at a (loose) Eros and Psyche re-telling in three parts. Will converge with canon. Current wordcount: 5,381 Can be found on AO3 here. Rating is Explicit; MINORS DNI] Reblogs, comments, and kudos appreciated.

You met your husband precisely once before your wedding.

It was an otherwise rather uneventful day in the Dreamscape, one you spent weaving promise after promise, shifting a pathway here, pushing a set of stairs elsewhere. Dawn always lurked over your shoulder as you pushed the edges of unknown memoria away and carved out something new. You were good at it, a quick study.

But such was expected of you. You came from a long lineage within the Nightingale Family and your parents did everything in their power to ensure you knew how to manipulate the Dreamscape as soon as you learned to walk. You were a Level V on the Scale Degree and your peers considered you doomed; you were far too successful a Dreamweaver to remain among them forever and you would never be properly satisfied by those around you. Some whispered daggers behind your back that you were nothing but leverage to your family, the subsidiary all but slaughtered into compliance when they did not agree to Gopher Wood’s offer.

After all, plenty of other branches tried and failed to make a connection, court you. None met whatever arbitrary standards were set.

And as you stepped into Dewlight Pavilion, still dressed in your neat suit and finding your bearings after standing upside-down for several hours adjusting window frames, you finally understood why .

Your parents were already seated across from a figure you instantly knew as the Oak Family head, with a purple raven perched on the back of his sofa. The young man’s face was entirely hidden by a beautiful veil the color of a starless night; it hung from his halo by an extra ring that moved only enough to allow access to his mouth as needed.

The fabric must have been translucent enough for him to see through, for he moved without issue, and always focused his attention right where it needed to be. You could not make out the shape of his features.

Was he ugly, hideously deformed? Did he lack a face entirely? Rumors swirled about the Oak Family’s recent change due to Gopher Wood’s sacrifice that left him with only a metaphysical attachment to the world. No one knew what Sunday of the Oak Family looked like, except for his hair and wing color. His sister, Robin, once kept her visage a secret, too. However, she renounced her official position as Chordmaster when she began her career as an interstellar singer; many speculated whether she and Sunday had the same eyes. In fact, last you heard, there was good money in such debates.

The raven, you surmised, was Wood himself. The one and only Dreammaster. He spoke politely but it was Sunday who did most of the praise and admiration of your work, noting your potential for higher ranks, and your dedication to Xipe. After confirming your candidacy, Wood suggested leaving the two of you to speak privately, guiding your parents out towards the foyer lined with statues. They were too enamored at the prospect of being with the Oak Family privately to care.

Around you, the silence seemed to only grow more deafening. A knot formed in your sinking stomach as you realized this was not just a moment of recognition and appreciation.

As if sensing your unease, Sunday reached up and adjusted the contraption attached to his halo, revealing his lips and jaw to you. You had never noticed the little bow in his upper lip before. PIctures and videos of him speaking with his mouth showing never quite captured that detail. His wings did not relax as much as they gave the appearance they were.

Neither of you expected this.

“I am glad for the progress at Dream’s Edge, and that it’s been stable thus far,” Sunday said, his voice soft. “The Grand Theater’s renovations mean we must rely on other ways of providing new areas of the Dream to our visitors. The amount of resources necessary, cognitively and otherwise, are not lost on me.”

Better to be scaling rooftops and shifting buildings than in a Dream Factory. Nightingale and Iris members were relied upon for the structure and the small details of Penacony’s culture and arts, respectively. So many of your coworkers began their career in the Factories and it showed, their imaginations simultaneously rigid and methodical and yet so uninspired.

“It is work I do gladly, sir,” you replied. “But that’s not why I’m here, is it?”

Sunday conceded with a small chuckle and a nod, his smile easing a little as his wings shifted near the edge of his veil, attentive.

“No, it is not. Please, walk with me.”

He gestured to the rest of the grand hall, insignias of the five Branches emblazoned on the walls. You descended without much thought earlier, wishing only to get this meeting over with, but now it was impossible to ignore just how the light trickled through, brilliant and well-positioned to highlight everything. You rose and followed Sunday away from the sitting area and approached a model replica of Penacony. At a glance, you guessed most of it was roughly eight hundred times smaller than the real Dreamscape, for it didn’t look all that dissimilar from the models used in planning committees and project teams.

You walked the perimeter of the sand pit model at a slow amble.

“I will be candid and admit the Dreammaster’s abrupt departure was not expected. And judging from your general demeanor, you are unaware of your parents’ petition to put forward your hand for consideration as a marriage candidate.”

The idea of an arranged marriage was familiar, another expectation you balanced with everything else. You had little time for love and romance on your own outside of the various suitors who dared come knocking. But the startling realization that no one was good enough because no one else was the Bronze Melodia, Head of the Oak Family, the highest position one could achieve beneath the Dreammaster himself, felt like a slap in the face you should have seen coming from a mile away.

Surely, the distant relatives of the Nightingale Branch were rolling in their graves. A great betrayal of all they fought and died for.

You brushed your fingers against the edge of the sandpit to ground yourself. The room spun a little and you were more shocked that you were, in fact, surprised to begin with. You were almost into your third decade by now; anyone else in your position would have been left to their work or pushed to settle as dreams collapsed.

“Forgive me for putting you in an awkward position,” you said.

Sunday held up a hand, palm facing you for the briefest of moments.

“Actually, your lack of awareness of the matter is quite refreshing. You are modest regarding your skills and achievements but it is a mark of true humility, not one burying themselves in an attempt to hide eagerness. I do not want a spouse, my equal in all things, who seeks to put themselves above the Harmony in such a way. You know what you are capable of and you have found your niche within the Family to put it to good use.”

Warmth crept up your neck and settled in your cheeks. Most found it uncanny to talk to someone who kept their face and expressions hidden. For you, it was no different than a mere voice call, where you could not see the other party. He asked not about your other talents but about you and for lack of a better approach, you told a story from your childhood that made his laugh ring off of the walls, full and genuine, melodic in its joy.

Your heart sang.

Sunday spoke again as you took what was likely your fifth turn around the table. Maybe sixth. Time in the Dream was difficult to gauge when you were not keeping your hands busy.

“It is important to me that my wife is capable of bearing the burden of the Oak Family. We are shepherds in service of Xipe and the Dreammaster. As the Bronze Melodia, it is my duty to listen and to guide. I believe you are more than perfectly suited to the role and I…well, it has been a long time since I laughed wholeheartedly.”

He stopped, pausing in his musings to look entirely at the model. You approximated where his eyeline might be but you had no idea what his focus truly was. Hands behind his back, he was the picture of perfection that you knew too well.

“But how would you remain dedicated to the wellbeing of all of the souls under the Family’s care?” he asked.

A question no one ever posed to you before. You had no way to gauge whether this was asked because you’d been doing well. Regardless, you felt the room grow colder. So many considered Sunday to merely be Wood’s mouthpiece rather than an individual in his own right. Such ideations of the head of the Family were not further from the truth; even without seeing his full expression, his earnestness rolled off of him in waves and it was clear enough to you that he held his own ideals separate from those of his adopted father.

You felt a soft haziness, the kind that came with the sun on a warm spring day and what you were always enveloped in when Xipe watched over you. Trust in the Harmony.

“Truthfully, I don’t have an answer that would not come off as contrived or as though I’m trying too hard,” you admitted. “I can only say that I have dutifully served the Family with the hopes that I can pass on the generosity and kindness shown to me by my parents. Xipe’s blessing is one full of grace and a sense of belonging. I want others to know what it means to be loved and to belong.” You gestured with a wide arm to the sandpit. “That’s why I weave the Dreamscape.”

Sunday was quiet, your only indication that he heard you a series of slow nods.

“Then we are of the same mind. I want the union I choose to reflect happiness in service to Xipe.” Sunday turned to you, head first and then his body, giving you his full attention. “And I think in time, we could make one another happy.”

Something loosened deep inside your chest as your hands trembled. You smoothed your pants, attempting to ease the nerves that were suddenly very prevalent. So many others were better equipped for the public presence such a union was expected to have. Numerous women were undoubtedly more pious and selfless, wholeheartedly proselytizing that the Harmony was the way to salvation.

And yet…

The choice was yours. Sunday was well within his right to leverage his position, convince you and assuage whatever dark clouds lingered. Others might have.

You would have been quite a fool to decline, of course. And your parents would never forgive you for shattering their dreams. All of your hard work, and for what? Most wouldn’t have found it romantic in the slightest but it was practical, deliberate. And that was a great deal better than fanciful ideas about a grand love like they showed in the cinemas.

“I would be honored,” you replied, fighting the tiny quakes making their way up your arms.

Sunday extended his gloved hand, a silent request. You placed your hand in his and you felt yourself grow warm from the touch. You felt warmer still when soft lips met your knuckles and your lips tingled, stronger now with a faint itch inside your skull. His halo gave off the slightest of auras. You made a note to look further into Halovians and their qualities, for you wanted to be able to reciprocate.

The smile gracing his lips was like the rising sun, fresh and full of promise.

“As would I. Xipe has blessed you with the qualities I wish to see continue on. Together, we can balance the scales.”

Your wedding was a private affair, attended only by heads of the Five and their immediate families and leadership. The Grand Theater would have been used for such an event but the Eventide achieved the same effect. Most were enamored by the Blue Hour, where the Radiant Feldspar floated in the distance in the Sea of Dreams.

Your bridal party consisted only of Robin, who somehow managed to balance your comfort with her brother’s eye for detail in a way that sent a pang through you. Siblings always had one another, even across systems and galaxies, across different life choices. Something you never experienced except through the Harmony, through the partnerships and reciprocity of those around you. Even then, you knew the sentiment to be different.

She never made you feel it, though. For such a successful artist, an idol , she was incredibly in tune with the needs of others.

“There’s one thing you need to be aware of with my brother,” Robin said, practiced hands opening a pin and pushing it into your hair as you held your veil in place. “And it’s that he always takes on the responsibility around him. It’s a reflex. Whatever his reasoning behind this life change, please take care of him. He needs a friend outside of Oak leadership.”

Robin finished fixing your veil and draped the front over your face. It was nothing like Sunday’s, your face still partially visible through the mesh. She gently brushed your skirt full of Charmony Dove feathers when you stood, nerves finally getting the better of you.

A knock on the door to your bridal suite startled you. Robin’s security would have already cleared the visitor but the singer’s shoulders dropped a little upon the discovery of Gopher Wood himself, inhabiting the body of another.

“There is something important I must discuss with your brother’s betrothed,” he said, tone gentle. “Would you please go check on him in the meantime, Robin?”

She hesitated a fraction of a second longer than you were used to from anyone else in his presence. Everyone was quick to comply with the Dreammaster, one of the only surviving members who recalled the early days of Penacony’s founding. Wordlessly, Robin took your hand, squeezed, and then left the dressing room. The click of the door echoed in the depths of your mind.

Through your own veil, you watched as Wood took a seat where Robin once perched. He always unnerved you in a way you could not quite place. Whatever happened to him that caused him to lose his corporeal form, it made your skin crawl. It was difficult to feel at ease when you always felt like you were being watched.

You dared not let your voice betray you, ironing out every waver you could. “Has something happened, Dreammaster?”

The smile you saw should have put you at ease but it only served to prod you, a shiver sitting at the bottom of your spine and never crawling. Surely this wasn’t going to be some discussion regarding the wedding night? Or the possibility that you were no longer going to be walking down the aisle? Had you said something during confessionals that was thought to be unbefitting? You swallowed and tried not to lick your lips so you didn’t mar Robin’s hard work.

“There is a condition that you must abide by from today forward, dear Dreamweaver. It is imperative and you must understand that although you are to be Sunday’s wife , not even you are privy to them.” He continued before you could ask, imploring you. “You must never look upon his face, for he has gazed upon Xipe’s true form. Trust in the Harmony to reveal order upon your union and on Penacony.”

You were thankful for your face covering but it did little hide you from one as in tune with the Harmony as Gopher Wood. He sensed it, your desire to question, and he chuckled.

“My son carries a heavy burden but I chose him as my successor because he intrinsically understands THEIR will. Betray this condition and the consequences will not just be yours to bear. The future of Penacony relies on this balance and it must not be upended; I will know if it is. Am I clear, Dreamweaver?”

The words were spoken with such gentleness that they almost passed for little more than a lecture. It didn’t feel right, not because you sought entitlement to Sunday as a spouse, but because it did not quite make sense. When has Xipe ever desired to encourage that kind of separation? Other than Sunday, no other Family Head hid their face. Then again, no others were in charge of all of the Branches, either. But what else was there to say? What other choice was there?

You would discuss this with Sunday directly, you decided. Direct communication was often the best solution in private affairs.

“Of course. I will honor these wishes, Dreammaster.”

He left with little more than Xipe’s blessing upon you; his words circled like carrion birds in your head all the way down the aisle.

Leaving the Asdana System, or even Penacony itself, was out of the question for a honeymoon. You hadn’t actually anticipated one but how else were you going to truly have time alone together as a married couple? Even after the few belongings you did have were moved into Dewlight Pavilion, the schedules of a Family Head did not just stop on a dime. Work always continued for him. But would it for you? Could it?

Your hands idly went to your necklace, tugging the charm this way and that down the chain as you gazed out of the window, little more than stars to light the way. The Moment of Midnight was an interesting Hour to be in for what was meant to be, well, romantic . Here, the lights were kept low, if not entirely off, and you had to rely on your other senses to get an idea of your environment. Wood’s words took on a whole new meaning.

A great many things needed to be ironed out while the two of you were alone, away from the eyes of the press and the ears of those with knives behind their backs.

So far, things went well. The ceremony and reception were exactly what you were prepared for. Your hands were fastened during vows, rings exchanged over gloved fingers, and the kiss was gentle and chaste.

Your first dance was not as awkward as you’d expected it to be. You’d practiced, of course, but not with Sunday, for he’d been far too busy. All you recalled was the warmth of Sunday’s arm beneath your hands as you greeted guests, their visages nothing but a blur despite your best attempts to match names to faces. You knew of a great many of these individuals already, as most of the Family did, but meeting them in-person was a different matter.

Sunday was attentive, mindful that your water was never empty and that you had your fill of each course; you paid him the same respect in turn. It was easy to, you found. Perhaps Robin was wrong.

He ate only a single bite of your shared slice of cake, lips wrapping around your fork as you customarily fed one another. When you asked if he disliked it, he shook his head. His mouth was visible for most of the night and not just through meals; you wondered if that was for your benefit, given you were unaccustomed to a lack of visual cues.

“I quite enjoy it but it brings me greater satisfaction for others to partake,” he explained.

Your reply was instant. “You only get one wedding cake though.”

“And it makes me happier to see your eyes light up than indulge myself. Those are the memories I’ll have and that is enough for me.”

Sunday had taken your left hand and you could just barely feel the warmth of his skin through both your gloves and his. You did your best to control your facial expression, burying your disappointment. This was his wedding, too, why shouldn’t he enjoy what had been so carefully planned for both of you?

Hours later, here you stood, the afternoon and evening washed away and dressed in the white silk and lace laid out by an Intellitron maid. The selection was tasteful but left the material’s intention unmistakable. The air here was cool, soothing, and made the silk feel as if it was melting into your skin and accentuating every curve. Your skin was sensitive, goose bumps dotting your arms and your nipples hardening from the chill. Soft footsteps made their way over to you and in the faint light coming in from the stars outside, you only barely made out the vague shape of your husband behind you. His veil shimmered slightly. He had not yet changed for bed but abandoned his jacket, tie, and waistcoat.

His sleeves were neatly rolled up and your mouth grew dry at the sight of his exposed forearms. Hardly a man who did any kind of manual labor but you found yourself curious about tracing your fingers up and down a particularly prominent vein. Were you even able to touch him?

“We don’t have to do this.” His voice was barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. Today was eventful enough.”

“It’s inevitable,” you replied, feeling a shiver run through you. “There’s little harm in trying.”

You turned to face him, tentatively reaching out to rest your hands on his chest in the darkened room. Although your eyes adjusted, your sense of spatial awareness was off. When you didn’t quite make the mark, he stepped forward, his gloved hands guiding yours. Sunday brought your hands higher, over the collar of his shirt and your fingers skimmed the hem of the veil, stopping right at his jaw.

“You were warned, were you not?” he asked, voice tight.

“The Dreammaster forbid me from seeing your face.”

“He was right to. Your hands will go no higher, for one’s touch is just vision in a different form.”

“And what of a kiss? Am I allowed that?” the question poured from your lips, a mix of insatiable curiosity and a demand to know the boundaries. “Or am I left with only the seal of our union? I want to know you, Sunday, even if I can never gaze on your face. I cannot fulfill the role expected of me without knowledge.”

“Your dedication means a great deal. Compromises can be reached, within reason, dear wife.”

Sunday moved your hand to trace his lips, soft and supple, breath hot on the pads of your fingers. You felt the heat creep up with your arm and crawl into your chest, your own breath catching. The silken nightgown suddenly felt much colder against the rising flush of your skin. Slowly, he pressed his lips to your fingers and then your palm, turning your hand over to brush his lips against your knuckles. With your other hand, you brushed your middle finger against the curve of his jaw, beneath his ear, mindful of the wing joint.

His hands fell to encircle your waist. You stepped closer, not daring to close the distance entirely, but enticed by the heat radiating from him. Sunday’s lips followed the path of your arm, ghosting across your skin, until he reached the curve of your shoulder. His veil was firmly in place, its hem teasing you with every kiss.

“Is this to your satisfaction?” He punctuated his question with your name and you shivered.

You nodded before you swallowed, tongue heavy in your mouth. “Almost.”

An unspoken question hung in the air but before Sunday could voice it, you brushed your nose against the fabric and captured his lips with yours. You felt him freeze, your free hand feeling the muscles cord in his neck as his wings tensed, curling inward. Your pulse rushed in your ears as you pulled away slightly, fighting the urge to deepen the kiss. Had you gone too far?

He didn’t move but the skin of his neck was scorching. Daringly, you closed the distance between your bodies, breasts pressed against him and hips touching. Something hard prodded against you. Sunday’s breath hitched, a gasp stolen right from his lungs.

You’d never shared yourself with anyone but the mechanics were ingrained in your mind from years of education. There had been little point to exploring it when other priorities were necessary. He was enjoying this and you pretended not to feel the tiny thrusts against you, as though he was hoping a little friction would alleviate his own need.

“Like I said, I want to know you,” you repeated. “ All of you. Or almost all of you. If you’ll have me.”

You felt his wings flutter, one of them curling to cup his own cheek, the feathers brushing your fingers.

“I…forgive me, I have never…”

“Neither have I. We can figure it out together.”

Tentatively, you leaned forward and kissed him again, full of reassurance. You trailed your hands back towards him, searching for spots that made him sigh and relax. When you neared his wing joint, he gave a choking moan that sent a twitch through your core. Trembling, you extended your fingers to stroke the wing bone and the hold on your waist tightened.

The tops of your thighs were damp, an ache sitting between them that throbbed in time with your pulse as both of you explored, shifting to eventually tangle yourselves into the sheets of the waiting bed. Touching became a process to map out one another’s bodies, finding dips and divets and curves as you undressed. He was methodical but you didn’t mind. This was a learning moment for you both.

You discovered that touching Sunday’s wings made him shiver, but that he instantly stiffened if you brushed his feathers; he’d pulled your hands away, mumbling pleas more to himself than to you. He memorized the shape of your spine against his fingers and traced circles around your hardened nipples, kissing and sucking through the silken fabric until you hiked the nightgown up to encourage him to feel you, skin on skin. His fingers grazed your folds and in turn, you took his shaft in your hand, his tip already leaking; he settled between your legs, uttering prayers into the curve of your neck, his veil cool against your burning skin.

Sunday inhaled sharply as you bucked your hips, obscene wet sounds filling the silence he left behind. At least this was better than the alternative, you thought. Your body’s cooperation and eagerness made it a little easier to push aside the dissonance at the notion that the man above you was both your husband and almost a complete stranger.

He started slow, for his benefit and for yours, you realized. You’d felt him in your hand but without a comparison, without experience, you had no frame of reference. He was bigger than you anticipated, stretching you slowly. Your eagerness helped, of course. Once buried, he stilled for a moment, allowing both of you to catch your breath and collect your thoughts.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, shifting slightly to hold himself up further. “We can stop if you…”

The initial sting already ebbed away and you reached to rest your hand over his heart.

“I’m okay. We can keep going. I’d like to,” you replied.

Sunday’s rhythm was slow, his strokes long and gentle. It reminded you of a song, soft and flowing, and briefly, you wondered if one day, you’d be able to resonate with the Harmony, and with him. Properly, the way you’d heard Halovians could with one another.

Deep inside you, you felt a tug like a string being wound on a spool, amid a low-burning fire churning. It felt as if you were floating among the stars themselves and you clung to Sunday, unsure of what your body needed but knowing he could provide—

He leaned down again, nestling his covered face in the curve of your neck as his movements became more erratic, hips almost snapping in their fervor. Both of you were breathless, and the edges of your vision began to go white just as Sunday gave a shuddering final thrust, warmth spilling into you with a quaking moan of your name. You brushed the backs of your fingers over Sunday’s upper arms before you reached around and held him, unsure of where, precisely, was safe to touch him.

You’d been on the precipice of something and it lingered in your mind, nagging. Regardless, for a first time…

“That was messier than I expected, my apologies,” Sunday whispered. “Allow me to help?”

You murmured an agreement and disentangled yourself, suddenly very cold in his absence. You heard Sunday’s footsteps, soft against the plush carpet, and felt the bed dip when he returned, towel in hand. He was gentle, attentive just like he had been earlier, if a little hesitant with the heat of the moment lost.

“I’ve been told it’s supposed to go…differently,” he said, brushing the towel against your sticky thighs.

You stifled a giggle as his fingers found a sensitive spot. “Ticklish there, sorry. You were saying?”

He adjusted his approach and continued. “Such moments are…intended to be a moment of convergence for two people. They should…last longer, or at least not be as…one-sided…it’s selfish for me to have… finished when…”

Oh.

“Sunday.”

In the dark, it was difficult to make anything out but you felt his gaze on you, and you sat up, covering the hand on your leg with yours.

“Nothing is perfect the first time. We can try again. What’s important is that we communicate, right?”

You heard his swallow and imagined his Adam’s apple bobbing. That was a spot you wondered if you could touch, could kiss if you promised to close your eyes and not peek.

“You’re very kind,” Sunday replied softly. “I knew that, of course, but…thank you.”

“Like I said, we’ll figure it out together.”

A beat, and then as he finished drying your legs, you said, “I want to ask something but I don’t know if it’s…appropriate.”

“I will answer if I’m able to.”

“When you sleep…”

His answer was swift. “I must remove my halo. We won’t be sharing a bedroom. Even here, I’ll be sleeping elsewhere. I could not risk accidentally exposing you to Xipe’s wrath for such a transgression.”

It felt as if an icy wall had slammed against you. You knew there would be hurdles in this new life you’d chosen, of course there would be. You hadn’t gotten to where you were in life without a lot of them. Shame snaked itself up your leg and you pulled away when he rose, tucking yourself under the covers. In hindsight, it felt silly assuming you’d be able to fall asleep together. All of that, and you would still be…

“Of course. Forget I asked,” you replied, tone mild as if you’d asked about the weather.

You could still sense his presence in the dark as he silently gathered his things, the rustle of clothing somehow loud. It felt like every pop of a button echoed in your skull. You had no right to feel this way, you scolded yourself. This wasn’t anything more than an arrangement, an agreement between two followers of the Harmony. You’d entered this marriage knowing that it might never…

You heard the door handle and in the sliver of light trickling through, you caught Sunday’s silhouette, veil lowered and his figure clothed. His wings were folded in, tucked behind the veil as if shielding himself.

“In time, perhaps a compromise can be reached. We shall seek guidance on such matters when the time comes. I shall see you in the morning. Sweet dreams.”

Eyes stinging, and tongue thick, you pushed away your pride and your pain long enough to say, “Sleep well, Sunday.”

The door clicked shut and you pulled the covers over your head when you curled up onto your side. You stifled your sobs with a pillow, wondering just what you’d gotten yourself into.

#sunday #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday/reader #sunday x female reader #sunday/female reader #x reader #x female reader #eros and psyche retelling #sunday fanfiction #sunday hsr fanfiction #smut #arranged marriage #angst

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alivegirldetectiveagency · 5 months ago

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The show gives us very little information about edwin’s life. i’m pretty sure all we know is (1) he read detective stories (2) is father would call crystal a bobtail (3) he was presumably bullied (i say presumably because the ritual could have been a first incident but i find that unlikely just cause. the severity of it)

i hope we learn a little more if we get a season 2 because i think edwins childhood would give interesting insight into him (this goes for all the characters actually) but i think we can make a lot of assumptions about what his life was like based off the time period

(disclaimer: i am not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, so i apologize for any inaccuracies)(and for any typos)

this post got kinda long so the rest is under the cut

edwin lived from 1900-1916 which mostly encompasses the edwardian era (1901-1910). for the purposes of this post i will be talking as if it was all edwardian for simplicity and also because the last few years of the victorian era and the first few years after edward vii would have been very similar. i am also operating under the assumption the paynes were upper class because (1) vibes (2) edwin is very formal which would have been emphasized the most in the upper classes (3) he had the time and money to go to boarding school which still wasn’t very accessible (although education was growing in importance)

the importance of childhood was growing in the era and there was a lot more leisure time and entertainment. still, etiquette and manners were very important so there would have had the “seen and not heard” attitude towards children. in upper class families, child rearing would have been done by a nanny and not the mother. the father as head of the house would have been strict and interacted little with the children. so edwin probably saw very little of his parents while growing up even before boarding school. since edwin was a son his father might have taken him out for things like shooting/hunting but that would have been just him and his father (and brothers if he had any). also edwin does Not seem like he would have enjoyed that so i dunno if much bonding would have occurred during those outings. family time in general would be rather brief. He would have had more time spent with siblings his age since younger children would have spent most of their time in the nursery/with the nanny.

i’m going to brush past the school life part because i do not know much about it other than that he would have started at st Hilarions around 13. and that i’m pretty sure corporal punishment was used in boarding schools like it at the time? (not entirely sure on that front it depends on if the school is state sponsored) we can infer from the show that edwin did not have a Great time at school but i don’t know what the specifics would have been like

etiquette was very very important. i don’t think the edwardian era was quite as strict as the victorian era but there was still a LOT of social expectations. including the perfect posture george rexstrew does as edwin. etiquette would also include addressing everyone properly and limited affection. you also wouldn’t really touch anyone! not to get their attention or shake hands in greeting or clapping someone on the back. Self control was everything even in times of excitement or distress. Social classes were very strict although the industrial revolution created the neavue riche so social mobility was not impossible. new rich families often tried to adapt the traditions of the (aristocratic) upper class but integration was slooow. (Middle class families would adopt trends from the upper classes too). while formality was important, language in general was simplifying partially due to mass newspapers. if you’ve ever read Oliver Twist or another Dickens story, the language is very verbose and hard to follow which is par the course for victorian literature but less so for edwardian literature.

speaking of literature and entertainment we know edwin liked detective stories. he reads a max carrados story (which started in 1914) to charles and in edwin’s death flashback you see him with a detective penny/dime novel (in the scene you can read “The Aldine Tip Top Tales, High Hat Harry” and google tells me the rest of the title is “The Base Ball Detective”). Edwin probably also read Sherlock Holmes which was still popular. Growing up he might have Peter Pan/Peter and Wendy (the title changed after its initial publishing in 1904) and The Tale of Peter Rabbit (1902). And more short stories and dime novels (like the Aldine company ones) since they were getting very popular at the time. Entertainments like the Winter Gardens and Pleasure Beach in Blackpool were also growing popularity. but generally outdoor upper class entertainment would have been tennis, hunting, or racing. (fun fact the 1908 summer olympics was in london so edwin might have watched it as a child!) there also would have been a lot of dinner parties but those would have been for the parents to maintain or increase social status and not necessarily include the children.

overall edwin’s childhood probably included a lot of extravagant entertainment. He would not have spent much time with his parent so unless edwin had siblings his early childhood would have probably been lonely. canon does not suggest he really made friends while in school either.

Canon and fanon has touched on how edwin’s social skills took a hit from being in hell for 70 years (which is definitely true). But on top of just escaping hell, edwin is using knowledge/skills from a vastly different social era when he first meets charles. it must have been really jarring the first few years of being friends because charles’s ideas/experiences with friendship were WILDLY different than edwin’s

#dead boy detectives #dbda #edwin payne #dead boy detective agency #finch.txt #if anyone has anything else to add PLEASE DO #especially about the schooling

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holylulusworld · 3 months ago

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Their little maid (Prologue)

Summary: Mafia business is dirty. The brothers need someone to clean up their mess and more.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Nick Fowler

Warnings: shy reader, flirty brothers, mafia business, money trouble, Walker is the worst, injured reader (nothing serious)

Their little maid masterlist

You gnaw at your thumb. Is this the position you want? Cleaning other people’s houses wasn’t the job you dreamed of when you were a kid.

All you ever dreamed of was to open your own bookstore or to work at the library as an alternative. Sadly, the library closed, and you reached the end of the rope. No one wants to hire you, an unemployed librarian.

Sighing deeply, you push the button at the large gate to ask for entrance. An angry voice asks what you want, making you flinch. You’d love to just run and forget about the job, but you’re in desperate need of money.

“Uh—I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you stammer. “I got an important appointment with Mr. Barnes.” You take a deep breath, waiting for the voice to deny you access or to open the gate.

“You’re two minutes later,” another voice says before the gate slowly opens. “Get inside. I don’t have all day.”

You duck your head and hurriedly walk past the gate. Messing up the first interview you have in weeks is the last thing you want. Before your anxiety can get the best out of you, you walk faster and faster to reach the front door. You cannot allow yourself to mess this chance up if you haven’t already messed it up by being late.

“Finally,” a man opens the door and immediately snarls your name. “I can tell, my bosses don’t like people wasting their time.”

He grabs your right upper arm to drag you inside the mansion, taking you by surprise. You shriek and slip on the floor. The man doesn’t stop your fall. He drops his hand from your arm and watches your knees hit the carpet.

The blonde man smirks down at you. He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “Clumsy little bitch. Get up. You don’t have a job yet. Or, stay on your knees,” he chuckles darkly. “Maybe you can get to work right away.” The man cups his crotch, making you sneer.

“Walker!” The man in front of you cringes when someone calls his name. He stiffens and steps away from you. “What happened here?”

“Clumsy thing slipped and fell,” he explains and shrugs.

“Why didn’t you help her up?” The other man walks toward you to offer his hand. You bite your lower lip, chewing on it as you place your smaller hand in his. "Doll, don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. I’m Mr. Barnes, and I’ll interview you for the position we have to offer.”

He flashes you a stunning smile, making you feel warm. His hand is rough, but gentle when he helps you up.

The most stunning blue eyes meet yours as he helps you back on your feet. He carefully grabs your upper arms, looking you up and down to make sure you don’t get hurt.

You hope he doesn’t judge your plain outfit—a pale blue shirt and jeans shorts. His outfit is stunning, just like his eyes and deep voice.

He’s wearing an expensive, dark blue suit and a matching tie. His hair is short and neatly styled, but behind his perfect styling, he hides something wild. You’re sure about it.

“Brother did the maid already arrive.” Another man steps toward you and Mr. Barnes. Your eyes widen, and you gasp because he looks exactly like Mr. Barnes. Same hair, same eyes, same suit. “Oh, she is already here.”

“You look the same,” you stammer, regretting the words the moment Walker snorts at your comment. “I mean…you must be brothers.”

“Guilty, doll,” Mr. Barnes chuckles at your confused look. “We are twins.”

“We didn’t grow up together, sweetness. I’m Mr. Fowler.” He looks you up and down, humming as his eyes land on your bruised knees. “I hope my brother isn’t the reason for your bleeding knees.”

“She’s clumsy, boss. The girl slipped and fell,” Walker repeats. You already figured that he doesn’t like you. “Maybe we should look for someone else.”

You whimper. No. He can’t take the chance away from you.

“You mean we should look for someone new?” Mr. Barnes puts Walker in his place with a glare. “So far, she didn’t do anything telling me I should look for a replacement. Maybe we should look for someone to replace you. A man who doesn’t even offer his hand to a lady in need.”

“Lady—” Your cheeks heat up. No man before called you a lady.

“Buck, stop flirting. We got our hands full today. Let’s get over with the interview... I can hardly wait to tell her about her tasks.

Part 1

Tags in reblog.

#Their little maid (Prologue)#bucky barnes #nick fowler #mafia au #shy reader #bucky barnes x reader #nick fowler x reader

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dalishious · 1 year ago

Text

A BioWare Guide on How to Murder a Fanbase

I have been a Dragon Age super-fan for almost fourteen years, now. I have played every game, with every DLC. I have read every novel, lore book, and every comic — yes, even the terrible ones that are better off forgotten. I have seen the anime film, the animated series, and the web mini-series. I have enjoyed all of these pieces of the franchise over and over, more times than I can count. So, make no mistake: the negativity you’re about to hear comes from a place of love for this fantasy world, developed by many creative people over the years. I would love nothing more than to see the resurrection of passion in the Dragon Age fandom again. But the unfortunate truth is, that resurrection is only needed because BioWare took the fandom out back and shot it in the first place.

In December 2018, three years after the release of Dragon Age: Inquisition’s Trespasser epilogue DLC, BioWare first announced the then-untitled next Dragon Age game with a teaser trailer. At this point, most fans were anticipating this would mean within the next couple years, we would see the game. This assumption was based on the fact that Dragon Age: Inquisition was first announced in 2012, and released in 2014, with an extra year of development added last minute.

There have been dribbles of extra content since then, adding to the franchise. This was enough to keep some fans still breathing and interested. 2020’s Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights was a lovely anthology. 2020’s Dragon Age: Blue Wraith and 2021’s Dark Fortress were wonderful comics tying up the story started in Knight Errant. And 2022’s Dragon Age: Absolution was a well-animated series with an interesting cast of characters and story. But all these still left the fandom with a major question: What was going on with the next game? It was untypical of BioWare to be so secretive, in comparison to how they handled sharing information of the past games in the franchise. The only form of updates fans still have to go on is mostly just concept art and short stories, hinting that something must be in production. But why was the wait so long?

In 2015, the first version of the next Dragon Age began with a clear vision, clear scope of practice, and a reportedly happy developer team. Most gloriously in my book, there was no multi-player… but this did not align with the Electronic Arts typical money-mad schemes. EA’s push for “games as a service” meant they wanted to monetize all their games as much as possible, and therefore, they wanted them to be a live service — as Anthem demonstrated, that meant sacrificing things that are staples of good RPGs, like narrative and character choice. So in 2017, version one of the next Dragon Age was scrapped and replaced. This new version would have, in total or to at least some degree, an online portion of play.

There is one part of Schreier’s article, “The Past and Present of Dragon Age 4,” that really sticks out to me, regarding this:

“One person close to the game told me this week that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content.”

The idea of splitting up components of a game into single-player and multi-player is a terrible idea, because it means that there would be a large bulk of content only accessible through online gaming; something many fans, like myself, are repulsed by. Even if I did enjoy it, I spent most of my life growing up with either no internet or shoddy internet incapable of playing online games. I know many rural people who are still in that position, losing more and more of their favourite gaming pastimes because they are locked out of the ability to play them. It is a disservice to hide content behind a wall like this, especially in a world that is so lore-heavy like Dragon Age. The news of multi-player in Dragon Age understandably upset many, and this is when I first noticed a large drop off in excitement over the next game.

However, in 2021, the failure of Anthem (multi-player) and success of Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order (single-player) led the executives at EA to bend to the wishes of BioWare leadership and allow them to go back to the drawing board yet again on the next Dragon Age. This meant removing all multi-player content!

While I am very happy that there will reportedly be no multi-player in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, I can’t help but feel bitter and a little disgusted over the ridiculous development time spent on something no one but EA wanted in the first place. If it weren’t for this foolishness, Dragon Age: Dreadwolf would be in our hands right now. Instead, it’s been in development hell for nearly nine years and counting. Nine years is a long time to expect fans to carry a torch for you through radio silence, but it’s no wonder BioWare has shared barely anything about the next game; it’s been in flux for so long, they likely haven’t had anything concrete to show.

BioWare hurt its reputation even more when the news broke that the studio very suddenly laid off 50 people who were working on Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. This is pretty damning on its own, but BioWare took it a step further. Former developer Jon Renish shared a statement revealing that the studio was only willing to offer laid-off employees two weeks of severance per year of service, and denied health benefits. The denial of health benefits in particular is a pretty wild move for a studio with a reputation for “stress casualties”. The latest news on this is that BioWare has still so far refused to negotiate better severance packages, leading to a lawsuit. The lawsuit originally had 15 former employees, but this dropped due to the fear of not being able to afford to pay their bills. So now, while EA sits on $400 million net income, the laid-off employees are struggling to buy holiday presents for their children. These horrid business practices are not to be ignored when accounting for a lack of faith in a studio. What kind of monsters reward workers who make your games special with vaguely reasoned lay-offs?

The latest news on the Dragon Age: Dreadwolf front from BioWare came early this month, December 2023, with a trailer… announcing a trailer that will come next summer… that will announce the release of the game. Supposedly. Maybe. We’ll see. But by this time, BioWare is something of a laughing stock of their own fandom. Reactions to the video released with a pretty map graphic and a few rendered locations were, from what I personally observed, mostly sardonic in nature. People have commented on the vapourware nature of the game, and like all vapourware, that leads to disintegrating trust.

Despite all this, people like Mary Kirby, (one of the veteran Dragon Age writers who was a victim of the layoffs,) said, “it’s bittersweet that Dreadwolf is my last DA game, but I still hope you all love it as much as I do,” encouraging fans to still support the game when it eventually is released. But after every misstep BioWare has taken, that’s a tough sell now. Fans are finicky, RPG fans more so than others, one could argue. We have our favourites, and many of us stick to those favourites for life over our appreciation for the artistry — but that relationship between studio and fan should go both ways. EA and BioWare has betrayed that relationship, and it will take a hell of a lot to build it back up again, now.

[This piece is also available on Medium!]

#dragon age #datv #dragon age dreadwolf #bioware #game development #meta #releasing this into the wild and running away

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