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phoward89 · 1 month

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Masterlist

Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. DarkCoriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus

Chapter 2:

While Coriolanus is in his office, high up on the top floor of the Citadel, raging and having an internal meltdown about your relationship, you’re walking down a crowded downtown sidewalk, hand in hand with Odysseus. The two of you were heading to a cafe near the office for lunch.

“I'll cook you dinner tonight. How does that sound for a third date?” The bronze-haired man offered, his smile full of sunshine and dimples. Odysseus' smile was contagious: you couldn't help, but to smile widely back at him.

“Last time I had a man cook for me I was 18.” You honestly admitted as a fleeting memory of Coriolanus, all skin and bones, stirring a pot of cabbage popped into your mind.

“I know that it's rude to ask a woman her age, but I must know, how old are you?”

“I’m not offended, Odysseus.” You assured him before revealing your age. “I'm 24, by the way.”

Leaning in, as if he was going to tell you a big secret, he smiled- large and scandalously, and revealed, “I'm 28.” Bumping your shoulder lightly with his, Odysseus teasingly chuckled, “Guess it's time for me to bust out the wheelchair since I'm the Old Man of the Sea in this relationship and you're the youthful mermaid.”

You let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, at your boyfriend's words. You've only known him for a day, but so far he's proven to be nothing, but respectful and kind. He's unlike anyone you've ever met before.

Odysseus was very bubbly and it was refreshing. After being with someone so cold and calloused for so long, being with a warm soul was like a breath of fresh air.

“I don't know much about such things. Is it something common to District 4?”

Odysseus nodded, only to say. “The Old Man of the Sea is the water god, Triton.” instead of leaving it there, he decided to explain the legend of the sea god to you. “He's very wise and it's said that if you can manage to capture him and hold on as he changes into many forms that he can answer any questions that you have, about anything at all.”

“Had anyone ever caught him?” You curiously asked as the cafe came into view.

“Some claim to have caught him, no one really pays them any mind, now do they?” He chuckled.

Odysseus' smile brightly widened as he animatedly explained the lore of mermaids to you, “And a mermaid, according to folklore, is a mythological water spirit that's the most beautiful siren of a woman on the top half, while having a fish tail instead of legs for the bottom half.” Coming to a stop at the cafe, he held the door open for you while continuing his sea creature lecture with, “They can both wreak havoc by causing shipwrecks and can be benevolent by granting boons; some even forgo their own mermen and fall in love with human men.”

Guiding you to one of the bistro tables (since the cafe was on of those seat yourself and someone will be with you in a moment type places), he told you with a faraway look in his sea-green eyes. “My Pops says that my Ma was so beautiful that he's positive that she was a mermaid who struck a deal to gain human form.”

From the way his voice slightly quaked while mentioning his mother, you knew that she was most likely dead. How did you know? Because Coriolanus’ voice did the same thing if and when he ever mentioned his late mother (which was rare and far in-between).

“How old were you when she passed, if you don't mind me asking?” You tentatively asked, knowing that it might be a touchy subject, while taking your.seat at a windowside Odysseus brought you to.

“I don't mind you asking, honey.” The bronze haired man assured you, taking his seat across from you at the table. Grabbing the menus from the display rack on the edge table, near the window, and handing one over to you, he simply said, “I was about 9.” Opening his menu, he sadly explained, “There was a hurricane in 4 that completely flattened the beach side community her family's house was at. Even tho she was a strong swimmer, she drowned.” Staring a hole into his menu, he bitterly spat, “President Ravinstill refused to send help or aid, or to even evacuate that part of District 4 because Panem was in the early days of the war.”

“You and Poseidon were here, in the Capitol, while she was trapped in 4.” You concluded while scanning your own menu.

“Yes, that's how I ended up living a privileged life in Capitol City while my mother and her family’s beach house was swept off of its foundation; lost to the depths of Davy Jones' locker.”

“My father was an officer in 12 during the war. His commander helped him smuggle my mother, older brother, and me here, to the Capitol, during the Dark Days.”

“He was found swinging in the trees outside of 12 with General Snow, wasn't he?”

“Yea.” You nodded, only to change the subject by announcing what you thought looked appetizing on the menu.

Coriolanus was barely holding it together whenever he walked into his penthouse. As he went to hang up his coat and place his leather briefcase on the side table by the coat rack, he felt his Grandma'am’s eyes on him.

Her stare was scrutinizing, making him feel as if he was a little boy again- getting scolded. He hates that feeling. The feeling of not being perfect, of failing. He strives to be the best, at everything he does, so Grandma'am staring him down with thoughts of shame unnerved him.

Grandma'am didn't have to say it, he just knew that she was disappointed in him. But why? He's successful as the Head Gamemaker, he's going to announce his run for Senate, and he's engaged to be married to a young lady from a very prestigious banking family. He's well on his way to success.

On his way to becoming the President of Panem in a few years time. Something that Grandma'am has always wanted for Coriolanus. Shouldn't she be proud of him, not staring him down with shame?

“How have I disappointed you, Grandma’am?” Coriolanus asked the old woman, keeping his voice cold and even, as he shrugged out of his favorite maroon trench coat; hanging it up on the corner rack after placing his briefcase on the nearby sphere shaped side table. Made out of mahogany, of course. Only the best for the Snow family.

Which is why you feel like you're not a fixture in the penthouse anymore. You're not good enough to be a part of the Snow family; to be with Coriolanus. There's something better out there for him, but you've come to accept it and move on.

Coriolanus hasn't moved on, but he won't allow himself to admit that he's fucking up his life by listening to Strabo Plinth when it came to the affairs of his heart. Oh, yes, that's right, the platinum blonde man turned into a cold creature that destroyed his own heart; refuses to acknowledge love. All he knows now is hate, indifference, and lust.

Truthfully, he's in denial when it comes to you and his feelings. He just chalks it up to being possessive and lustful over you, but honestly it's love. A dark, twisted take on love since he's a broken man and doesn't know how to love, but it's love none the less that he feels for you.

“Your father would be ashamed of you, Coriolanus. I know that I am; so is your cousin, Tigris.” The white haired woman, dressed in all her fineries, told her grandson. “Most of all, your mother would be heartbroken knowing that her son turned his back on the love of his life.”

Grandma'am’s words cut Coriolanus deep as he walked over to the sitting area in the main room. Her words cut so deep, it felt like a long double edged sword piercing through the spot where his black, cold, dead heart is locked up in his chest.

His jaw clenched painfully as he stormed gracefully, thanks to his long legs, over to the open sitting chair across from his Grandma’am. He felt his soul bleeding in his chest as he sat down. The old Snow family matriarch’s words burned Coriolanus worse than if he bathed in gasoline and lit himself on fire with a match.

But Coriolanus Snow’s a very proud man; he won't admit that Grandma'am's words hurt him. That they rang true; made his conscious berate him. Made him feel a pang of self loathing and guilt.

No…

Coriolanus will act like he didn't do anything wrong, even tho he did.

“I didn't turn my back on the love of my life because I don't have one.” Coriolanus denied in a flat out lie.

Lie, lie, lie!

You're the love of his life and he knows it, but he's just too goddamn afraid to admit it. So fucking scared of being hurt, used, manipulated, and weakened by love. He’d rather deny his feelings for you then face them.

Coriolanus can face anything headon, except for his feelings. The man didn't do feelings. And that was such a shame, because he truly did love you.

Too bad he was too focused on his political ambitions; couldn't see how much you loved him and vice versa.

Grandma'am blanched at Coriolanus’ words. Those words hurt her deeply. She loves you, as if you were one of her own, and knew how large of a role you played in her grandson's life. And to hear Coriolanus write the love you too share so easily, as if it was nothing, made her wonder where she went wrong with him? Tigress turned out fine, so why was Coriolanus so…so cold and dead towards the girl that he's loved his entire life?

Watching Coriolanus as he reached forward to grab a piece of candy from the large 3-tier candy dish set in the middle of the glass coffee table, Grandma'am sadly wondered, “I didn't raise you to be like this, Coriolanus. How can you be so cold when it comes to Y/N, your sweetheart?”

“She was never my sweetheart, Grandma'am.” Coriolanus retorted coldly. The frostiness in his baritone even sent a chill down his own spine, but it was too late to take it back now. The glacial sharp sentence was now in the universe, floating around; sure to manifest and take hold.

The remark and the attitude that accompanied it would surely come back to bite Coriolanus in the ass; to haunt him. There's no way on earth, in heaven, or in hell those cruel and icy words won't find their way back to you. Because they will…

“I see.” Was Grandma’am’s clipped response. Those two words held so much sadness and disappointment in them. The old woman's wrinkled face turned sour as she informed her grandson, “I just hope that she didn't ruin her life sitting around; waiting for your love. She turned down quite a few wealthy suitors, even a General’s son, as I understand from Tigress- who felt that Y/N was wasting her time on you because you've changed- turned hateful and cold.”

What? You turned down opportunity after opportunity to get out of poverty; all because of your silly notion of being in love with him? Of wanting more than what he can offer you?

You willingly choose to work for scraps, having your ideas used by your boss- to be claimed by them as theirs instead- for advertisements and marketing plots, instead of being pampered on and made a socialite by a rich man. What’s wrong with you? Were you truly foolish enough to believe that love could pay the bills; could be more than enough for you? Were you foolish enough to want the insecurity of love over the security of wealth?

Coriolanus never took you for a foolish girl, but now…well he doesn't know what to think. Why would you hold out hope for him to love you, to pick you, to give you things he's incapable of if you weren't foolish. You knew as well as he did that he has to do certain things to climb to the top, to reach his political goals, and that entering a union of love with you isn't one of those things.

“Waiting around for me to love her; to propose a marriage that would only hinder my political aspirations, makes her one of the biggest fools in Panem, Grandma'am.” Heartlessly shot out of Coriolanus’ mouth before he could think twice. He didn't even recognize his voice, but it truly was his.

“I don't know what happened to you, grandson, to make you so hateful. That girl's loved you ever since the Dark Days and you seemed to love her back, but I now see that you were just using her. Using her like that little songbird of 12 used you up years ago during the 10th Hunger Games.” Grandma’am spat at Coriolanus, causing the hardened young man to just flash her a deadly look. A look that would make most people cower in fear. But, Grandma'am Snow wasn't like most people. She did raise General Crassus Snow after all and he had some of the most hateful pale blue eyes in the Capitol.

Coriolanus' face was cold as stone, his eyes flashing with fury, as he seethed, “Don't you bring up that dead district whore to me, you old bitch. I'll take any of your other ramblings, but not talk about that songbird.”

The disrespect and loathing in her grandson’s tone worried Grandma'am. She's never seen Coriolanus in such a light, but she didn't like it.

Her grandson was nothing like his father. No, Coriolanus was worse than Crassus. Despite being a strict man that believed in totalitarian rulership, Crassus Snow was capable of love. He loved his wife dearly and unconditionally. But his son, well, it seems like Coriolanus has closed himself off to love.

And that scares Grandma'am.

“I think, since you're newly engaged, that it's time for you to find your own penthouse to live in.” The Snow matriarch told her iciscle of a grandson while watching him lean forward to grab another piece of candy from the extravagant candy dish.

Popping the piece of candy into his mouth, Coriolanus simply said, “If that's what you want, then I'll move out.” Standing up, he said, “I'll go call the Plinths' realtor, see if there's any penthouses available in one of the new Luxe buildings downtown.”

No, Coriolanus wasn't going to see if there was a penthouse available in any of the new Luxe buildings, but in your specific building. Because, by living in your building, he'll be able to give you gifts without being stopped by that troublesome doorman with high morals. He'll also be able to fix things with you, get you to see his logic and agree to come back to him. Coriolanus will be able to break you and Odysseus Odair, the Capitol’s biggest manwhore, up before you become too enthralled by him. Before he loses you to him.

Despite denying his feelings for you and calling you a foolish girl for loving him, the thought of you possibly falling in love with somebody else terrifies him. It eats away at his soul, knowing that right know you're probably thinking about the date Odysseus took you on last night.

Coriolanus is jealous that you're moving on (after a damn month!) with somebody that he views unworthy of you. And he's going to put an end to things, make you return to his side.

And the perfect way to do that is living in your building. So, hopefully, Coriolanus can purchase the penthouse in your Luxe complex.

After a long day at work, you went home and got changed into something comfortable before going across the hall to Odysseus’. You felt a bit nervous knocking on his door. Yes, he did invite you over and said he'd cook dinner for a third date, but it's been a while since you've been invited to a man's apartment. In fact, the last time you went to a man's apartment was the night that you ended things with your ex.

When the door opened, revealing Odysseus in the doorway dressed in a simple tank and shorts, you felt your mouth go dry. His tan skin was glowing, bronze hair effortlessly framing his shoulders in waves. But it was the face splitting smile, brighter than the sun, that took your breath away.

How is it that he can always flash you that smile every time he's around you? Can he truly be that happy to see you? You last saw him a few hours ago for lunch, he couldn't have missed you that much- could he?

“Come on in.” Odysseus urged you, pulling you into the apartment with an excited look on dimples face. “I got shrimp and asparagus risotto on the stove.” He told you, gently closing the door as you walked into his place; taking in the decor.

The decor was nothing like how you expected a modern, upscale apartment to look like. The walls, instead of being the standard white, cream, or light grey that's standard in the building, were different shades of blue and green. Also, you noticed how a pair of hammock-like chairs made up entirely of rope and nets hung from the ceiling. Instead of a sofa, like most people had in their apartments, Odysseus had floor cushions that were shaped to resemble a couch. The coffee table was a chunk of driftwood with glass on it, while the TV was set on a table painted various shades of blue to resemble waves. And the wall decorations of various shells really set off the beachy vibe of the apartment.

“Is this how houses are decorated in District 4?” You asked, standing in the middle of the mainroom- taking everything in.

“Yea.” Odysseus nodded. “Wait until you see the kitchen, you'll love it.” He told you, only to grab your hand and drag you into the kitchen.

The kitchen, that was decorated with mounted fish all over the walls. The beautiful white cabinets had all of their doors taken off. The back walls of the cabinets were painted teal, creating a contrast with the white shelves and frame. And the once white marble countertops were painted (Yes, he painted over marble!) seafoam green. The kitchen island stools looked to be made out of a mix of driftwood and rope, which made you wonder how sturdy they were.

“Sit down, honey. The risotto’s almost done.” Your new boyfriend beamed, guiding you to sit down on one of the stools (that you were iffy about). “You're going to love this risotto; recipe’s a simple one from 4, but it's delicious.” Odysseus told yoy, going over to the stove and stirring the contents in the pan so it wouldn't burn.

“Do you eat anything other than seafood?” You asked, hoping that he did. Honestly, you didn't eat seafood religiously, so if Odysseus did then…well…guess you'll have to deal with it.

“Fish’s healthy for you, Y/N.” The heir to the largest luxury cruiseline out of District 4 told you while taking the risotto pan off of the stove and placing it onto the countertop.

Which was bad, because without a trivet to rest on the heat from the pan can ruin the counter. Does he not give a shit about ruining his counter? Hell, Coriolanus would be having a stroke if you pulled that shit- placing a hot pan on his marble counter without using a trivet.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute, wait a goddamn minute! Why the fuck are you thinking about Coriolanus, your ex, when you're about to have a nice home cooked meal with Odysseus, your current boyfriend? What the hell's wrong with you?

What? Are you going to be that girl that compares apples to oranges in bed too?

Odysseus’ warm hands skirt across your body as his mouth leaves feather soft kisses all over your skin, but it feels foreign to you. Honestly, you're not used to soft caresses and lightly peppered kisses. Of lips pressing against yours firmly, but faintly. You weren't used to a man swiping the tip of his tongue along your lower lip in a way that was both sensual and questioning all at the same time.

No.

You're used to hungry, sloppy butterfly kisses which turn into bruising bites all over your skin. You're used to cold, rough hands squeezing and grabbing at you. You're used to lips harshly clashing against yours in hungry desperate kisses. Kisses that seemed to be from a man starved and he shoved his tongue down your throat without warning. Desperate kisses that turned into opened mouth ones, complete with spit swallowing, tongue sucking, and bottom lip biting.

You're not used to softness. Instead, you're used to roughness. But perhaps you could get used to softness.

Or at least you tell yourself you'll get used to softness as you lay naked underneath Odysseus, splayed out on the floor cushions, as he languidly rolls his hips against yours. His movements are reminiscent of ocean waves crashing against the shore. His thrusts were slow, but powerful.

You felt like you're going to explode as Odysseus’ mellow movements slowly worked passion into you. Your pussy begged to be pounded, craved for his cock to bruise against the spongy spot inside of it. But instead of brute force, your cunt got gently caressed by Odysseus’ large cock (well, he had the length, but not the girth you're used too. Oh god, are you really comparing your boyfriend's cock to your ex’s cock? Yes, yes you are and you'll probably go to hell for it.) evertime he dragged it against your tight walls, only to push back into you again.

You bucked your hips, whining out, “Faster, Odysseus. Harder, please.”

Odysseus just smiled lazily, making his dimples protrude deeply in his cheeks. Bringing one of his hands up to stroke your cheek, he said, “I see you're not used to making love, honey. But, you'll get used to being worshiped like the goddess you are.”

His words were sweet and sent your heart fluttering a mile a minute. And the smoldering look he gave you as he snapped his hips just a little bit deeper, a little bit harder, for you and your head spinning.

And soon, before you knew it, your cunt’s clamping down around his cock and your nails (no longer crimson, but now a simple French manicure) are digging into his shoulder while you whimper, “Odysseus.” over and over as you cum.

Odysseus after feeling you cum around his cock, coating it in your stick juices, quickly pulled out of you. The feeling of emptiness crashed into you harder than any storm wave hitting a pier ever could as Odysseus knelt between your legs, quickly pumping his cock until he cum with your name on his lips. The feeling of his warm cum spurting out onto your belly made you twitch in surprise.

You weren't used to having hot cum shoot onto your body, you were used to being filled up with it. Was there a reason why your boyfriend didn't want to cum inside of you?

But before you could ask him, he was pushing himself to stand while announcing, “I'll get you a towel so you can clean up.”

“Okay.” You simply nodded, laying on the floor cushions while spent with white pearl like seed slowly sliding down your stomach.

After a few minutes, Odysseus came back with a towel. He gave it to you, before collecting his shorts and pulling them on. As you cleaned his cum off of your stomach, he gathered your clothes- which you thought was odd.

Coriolanus never gathered your clothes for you after fucking you. No, he used to pull you into his arms; pressing you to lay into his side, while carding his fingers thru your hair. Some times, after a particularly rough and hard fucking, he'd draw a bath for the two of you or he'd hold you in bed while telling you that you did so well; that he was proud of you for not using the safeword- only to remind you that next time if you need to use the safe word (red) that you can and he won't think any less of you.

But you're not with the platinum blonde man (who doesn't give a shit about you, who's engaged to the heir of Panem's biggest bank now) anymore, you're now with a bronze haired man who’s habits you'll just have to learn. Have to get used to.

Flopping down on the seat cushions, Odysseus handed you over your clothes. “I thought you might want to get dressed so you won't be could while we watch tv.”

“You want to watch tv?” You asked, finding it strange that he brought up tv instead of cuddling.

“Yea, there's supposed to be a fishing documentary on soon and I don't wanna miss it.”

A fishing documentary…Of course, he wants to watch something about District 4. Well, you can't fault him for that. He has a tie in a way to the district and just wants to learn all he can about it, since he resides in the Capitol.

Plus, you suppose that you can cuddle with him while watching the documentary together.

Coriolanus walked behind the realtor (a middle-aged man that Strabo Plinth had on speed dial) as he opened the door to the penthouse suite of the Luxe apartment building that you reside in. “You're in luck, Mr. Snow, that nobody's applied for this unit; that I was able to fit you in for an after hours showing as well.”

“Yes, Mr. Grand, it seems that I'm very lucky that I'm the only one inquiring about this penthouse.” Coriolanus told the realtor, a calculating line of a smile on his face, as he took in the vast space of the main room.

It was twice as big as the Corso penthouse; surely you'd be impressed by it. This was your building, even if you did live on a lower floor (where the working-poor of the Capitol were), so Coriolanus knew that you’d like his new penthouse once he convinced you to see it. And, despite just starting the tour with the realtor, it was his place.

The platinum blonde master manipulator was going to move in as soon as possible, because it was the only way to get you back. He had to get you away from that peacock Odair before you did something stupid, like let him seduce you and get knocked up. You're not allowed to get knocked up by anyone, other than Coriolanus that is.

Yes, Coriolanus feels that he's the only one that can give you children. Nobody else better put a baby in you, unless they have a death wish.

But unknown to Coriolanus, Odysseus isn't ready for children yet (He may or may not have a few baby mamas and paternity test disputes floating around that his rich daddy Poseidon’s taking care of) which is why he practiced the pull out method with you while ‘making love’ on his floor cushions.

If only Coriolanus knew…well…he'd be having a coronary.

Not about the pullout method (no, that's something he'd be thankful for cause he's the only one allowed to cum inside of you), but about you making love to Odysseus on the floor. That fact right there would make Coriolanus made enough to kill. He's already jealous that you went to dinner with Odair, but if he ever found out that you fucked him…oh boy…it'd be like a throat punch to his ego.

It'd also be a dagger through his cold, dead, black, too small heart that secretly holds love for you.

But what Coriolanus doesn’t know won't hurt him. Besides, he's engaged to Livia Cardew and should be worried about her, not you. But, no matter what, he'll always worry about you because you're the one he wants in his life- despite driving you away by entering an arranged match for money, power, and glory.

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folksaga-if · 10 months

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“It is a long story, and it does no credit to anyone: there is murder in it, and trickery, lies and foolishness, seduction and pursuit. Listen."

- Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology

You are a human. A totally normal one.

Honestly.

You’re a human. You’re a bartender, which is a very normal job for a human to have, and when you walk down the winding streets of Akureyri you can blend seamlessly into any crowd of people which is, without question, only something that a human could do.

The fact that you came here two years ago with nothing but the clothing on your back doesn’t mean anything; you’re hardly northern Iceland’s first wayfaring soul. That you had no money to your name, no friends or family to speak of — that’s a fairly average human thing, too. And that little craving you have, that quiet urge to dig your teeth into any passing stranger’s throat? It's completely, entirely mundane.

It’s manageable. You’re managing.

Or you were, until someone — someone who's decidedly notas good at this human thing as you are — begins leaving a trail of dead bodies at your doorstep, and a trio of god-like siblings take a seat at your bar.

MAGNI THORSON .

No doubt the mightiest of his siblings, the eldest child of Thor is exactly the sort of person you would expect him to be: a giant (half-giant, in fact) asshole with a smoulder and a knife-sharp jawline to match. He’ll match your every word with a cocky grin and a joke that’s nowhere near as funny as he thinks, and he’ll look every inch the prince that he is all the while.

(Well, the prince that he was. Just don’t let him hear you say that.)

MODI THORSON .

For the supposed embodiment of his father’s wrath, the God of Thunder’s second son is surprisingly…not that. He’s no picnic, mind you — he’s broody, he’s secretive, and he's fucking intense, but that hardly equates to fury incarnate. You’re sure there’s something hiding under that moody surface; whether or not you want to uncover it is a different story entirely.

(Looks like even gods aren’t immune to middle-child syndrome. Who knew?)

THRÚD THORSDÓTTIR .

Valkyrie, seidhr,paragon of strength — with all of her mother’s best traits (and a few of her father’s worst), is it any wonder that Thor’s youngest child was also his favourite? Smarter than her half-brothers and more likeable by a longshot, you might find yourself forgetting how easily the fortune-telling goddess could break you in two. You might, but she’ll be happy to remind you if you do.

(Maybe a little too happy, in fact.)

KATLA B̶͍̏L̸̝͑O̵̟͠M̴̳̓Q̴̯̔V̵̺͆I̷̗͛S̵̠͒T̸̬̒ .

A fellow nomad and your coworker at Black Thunder, the first friend you made in Akureyri has remained your closest. Mischevious, magnetic, and often up to no small amount of trouble, there are times when you think you might know Katla better than you know yourself. You even know about her…well, you know that she…sorry, what were you talking about again?

(It's just that it’s nice, being close to someone who’s so very human.)

THE MARE .

There’s a voice in your head and a shadow in your dreams, and they’re telling you to run. You probably shouldn’t trust them.

(…Right?)

Customize your monster character. New life, new you! Choose your gender identity, change your name, cut your hair, and remember: if you’re starting to grow tired of running from your past, try on a new outfit and start running faster.

Play as one of three runway creatures from Norse mythology — a cunning keeper of the forest, a charming warden of the lake, or a formidable guardian of the mountains. Each has its quirks (would you prefer a hollowed-out tree for a back, or webbed fingers and forearms covered in scales?), but they all have two key things in common: they’ll killto protect their homes, and you’redefinitely not one of them.

Choose your own fate, out of the countless that are presented to you. Had oatmeal instead of skyr with your breakfast this morning? You might have just brought about Ragnarök 2.0. Nice one, asshole.

Multiple romance options, with each available to pursue regardless of your gender or background. Ever wanted to kiss a god under a starry sky? Now's your chance! Or maybe you’re through with immortal beings and desperate to ask the pretty server on a date? Go for it! She’s definitelya human too. Totally. You’d be able to tell if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t you?

Save the world — or don’t.It's your choice, and isn't that what true freedom is all about?

Folksaga is inspired by The Edda, Norse mythology, andTwin Peaks, with a bit of tweaking to the myths as needed for the sake of plot. MC backgrounds have been adjusted to fit for all players regardless of gender identity, and creative liberty has been taken with some smaller points for a smoother storytelling experience. All changes will be explained in an FAQ post (too be added in the links below ASAP!)

AS OF AUGUST 21 UPDATE: The current demo consists of the prologue (introductory lore + character creation), + chapter 1, about 70k words total.

I expect it to be somewhere in the range of 600,000 to 700,000 words, but this is subject to change (and likely will due to my propensity for rambling text. oops.).

I’ve written short and long-form original fiction as well as a lot of fanfic (say hello @ pentaghastly on AO3, and @kendallroynsfw on tumblr!), but this is my first IF! Bugs and coding issues may appear in the demo; please let me know if any issues arise during your playthroughs.

Folksaga is a work in progress. I would love constructive feedback when the demo is posted, as well as any bugs or grammar issues to be brought to my attention if I've missed them :) I would also love patience, because I'm a full time health care worker who gets sleepy lots xoxo

A Swedish farmer named Sven Andersson was executed in 1691 for having intercourse with a mountain nymph, or bergsrå. I will neither confirm or deny if his Wikipedia article was the inspiration for this IF, except I will confirm it and it definitely was.

MC ORIGINS | RO INTROS | DEMO!!!!! | COG FORUMS | PATREON

#folksaga-if #interactive fiction #interact-if #choice of games #hosted games #cog #choice script #this is the post with the demo!!!!!!! AYYYYY!#norse mythology #wip #demo post #intro post #folksaga

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cumikering · 3 months

Text

Werewolf Keegan x reader 2

2.7k | fluff Hey kid, do you like dogs? (part 1) (part 3)

Who knew peanut butter was this delicious?

Keegan wasn’t a fan of it, only eating it for calories, but when he had it as a dog- no, wolf, he thought it was the best thing ever.

On his next trip to the store, he bought five big jars. The expensive kind, because his wolf was sensitive to added chemicals. Which was why he spent that Saturday morning making peanut butter sandwiches, crustless of course, for his solo trip.

There was a growly German Shephard on base called Raider who oddly got along with Keegan. Since being a werewolf, he almost always took the K9 along on his hikes. It was nice to have a doggo to chill with (hint: he couldn’t play tug of war otherwise).

But not this time. He didn’t like sharing his freshly ground, all-natural peanut butter.

By late afternoon, he’d finished his exquisite meal on the deck as he looked over the city. With his fur warm from the sun, he stretched. It was time for a little walk.

Halfway to the other side of the mountain, he stopped dead in his tracks. He tipped his head up, sniffing the air. He jogged back towards the cabin.

This smells better than peanut butter?!

He lurked behind the trees as you stood at the cabin door he’d left ajar.

“Hello?” you called, shifting your weight. After a moment with no answer, you knocked on the door frame and peered in. “Is anyone there?”

No! My sandwiches are in danger! He leapt out of the bushes. Get away from my snack!

But of course it was a bark, and you turned with a gasp. You froze, eyes wide as he approached with a growl.

Wait! He circled you, sniffing your backpack furiously. It’s her! Why does she smell so good?

Oh God, was it bad he wanted to lick you? With his tail wagging, he stood on his hind legs, front paws on you, but his weight made you fall back against the wall. Good, because now he could shove his snout against your neck to inhale whatever delicious scent that was.

A broken whimper escaped you. He panted when he pulled away, only now noticing how your fists trembled with your eyes pinched shut, tears down your cheeks.

His head lowered with a yip. Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean to scare you! As he took a few steps backwards, his hind legs twitched.

Everything blurred for the next minute, like he was stuck in a loop, before his neurons finally fired and he barged far into the woods. When he was assured he was concealed (surely he didn’t want to seem like a creep watching you behind the trees), he plopped down to catch his breath. After he shifted, he was instantly hit with the chill wind.

Bad Keegan, he always forgot about this part. His clothes were neatly folded in the cabin.

He shifted back with grumble, dashing back out to retrieve them. But you were gone. He inhaled – you weren’t far yet. When he emerged out, decent this time, he jogged after you.

“Hey!” he bellowed. He didn’t have to.

You turned to him with wide eyes, shoulders taut. He wasn’t good at this, was he?

“You came to the cabin?” he asked when he got to you, being mindful of his tone.

You nodded, your shoulders relaxing a bit. “I… I can’t seem to find my way back to the trail.”

He tilted his head. “You’re actually really far from it.”

“Am I? No wonder I haven’t seen anyone else. I was curious if the view was better up here.”

He blinked. Was there a normal way to ask why a stranger smelt so good? “Well, the trail is that way.” He pointed at the opposite direction you were going.

“Oh, thank you so much.” You flashed a smile, yet your fingers fumbled with your shirt.

Am I not standing close enough? I can’t smell a thing. “I can walk you to the trail. To make sure you get back alright.”

Your lips pulled, like you were weighing your options.

He realised full well what it looked like: alone in the woods with a 6ft 1, 200 lbs stranger. He could have very well been a serial killer. Would smiling make him look less intimidating?

“If you want to, of co-“

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

You had a pretty smile, as pretty as your eyes. He let out a tiny sigh.

“Do you come here a lot?” you asked as you followed him.

“Once or twice a month. I could sit out here for hours looking at the city.”

“Is that… safe?”

“What do you mean?” He glanced at you.

“Well, when I was outside the cabin, this black… wolf came out of the bushes and sniffed me.”

“Oh, I’ve seen him. I gave him some of my sandwiches earlier.”

You blinked. “Sorry, you what now?”

“He’s a friendly wolf. Or dog. I don’t know. He looks like a wolf but acts like a dog.”

“He does! He had the zoomies before he left. Must be from all the carbs you gave him.” You smiled. “I would have been laughing if I wasn’t so scared.”

He paused. Is that what it was? “I don’t think he’s dangerous as long as you leave him alone. Probably was just curious.”

He could tell you’d relaxed even that you still kept your distance behind him.

“Again, I’m sorry to bother you. My boyfriend is picking me up and I don’t want to be late or he’ll be so worried.”

Of course you have a boyfriend. “I understand."

“I'd ask him to come with, but he just got back from a work trip.”

He hummed, but after a beat surprised himself when he asked, “How long have you guys been together?”

“Over a year now. He travels a lot and it gets hard at times, but we do try to make it work.”

Keegan dated a handful of times in his early 20’s but with his schedule, nothing lasted more than half a year. As the years passed, the idea grew to be less and less worthwhile, but sometimes when he heard of these stories… Sometimes the envy flared.

Even if for a second, it burnt to know no one had ever missed him the way he wanted to be missed. He recalled the weekends he’d spent not uttering a single word, sometimes not recognising his own voice come Monday morning. The worst part was that he didn’t really mind it.

You quickened your pace as the chatter of the hikers on top of the trail grew distinctive. “Thank you for your help.” You gave him that smile again, a more genuine one this time.

“It’s Keegan, and no problem.” He turned towards the trail, his hands in his pockets. “You get back safe.”

“I will, and I won’t get lost again next time!” You chuckled. “Bye Keegan!”

A small smile played on his lips on his silent way back to the cabin.

The better-than-peanut-butter scent clung to Keegan’s mind. It was sweet and warm, robust and a little sticky, but most of all, felt like a hug he didn’t know he needed. It seeped into him until recalling it was as easy as turning his own hand, and he did. A lot. Because basking in the scent slowed his mind and sleep didn’t elude him.

Eventually, the memory dissolved, like how perfumes would vaporise into thin air, leaving a ghost of what was but not enough. He was left with an unsettling craving for it.

While he and his wolf didn’t seem to share the same opinion on what constituted as mind-blowing, his wolf thought the scent was tasty, and Keegan knew tasty, at least. He brought home a variety of desserts with foreign names from different parts of the city, but nothing was remotely close. He kept trying, but after a week, he got sick of all the sugar.

But you didn’t smell anything out of the ordinary when he spoke to you. Could it have been your fading perfume that only canines could pick up? But why did it smell delicious, and why did it even matter?

As the last molecules left him, he decided it was something in the wind or that he’d messed up the memory, like staring at a selfie you liked too long until you hated it.

He didn’t think about it again until the end of the month when the scent filled his wolf again in the woods in the form of a gust of wind. The memories rushed in as chills ran down his spine. He perked up, following the trail with his nose. So he didn’t imagine it - it was something.

He crawled behind the bushes, spotting you sitting among other hikers at the top of the trail. You nibbled on your sandwich overlooking the city, your steaming drink in the thermos lid next to you.

It really was you, wasn’t it? He didn’t know what to say, but he needed to find out what the haunting scent was. He dashed to the cabin to get his clothes and shifted closer to the trail. You were sipping on your tea when he was back.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “You got back alright last time?”

You looked up from your tea. “Oh, hello! I did, thanks to you.” You smiled, nodding at the view. “It’s better from further up.”

“Much better.” He chuckled, sitting down next to you.

“Don’t want to get lost again though, so here I am.”

“Not with me, you won’t.” When he was met with silence, he remembered that he was still the strange dude from the woods.

“Hey, can we take a selfie?” You turned to him. ”For my friends, so I can show them the Keegan who helped me out last time.”

He laughed. “Okay.”

You held your phone out and the both of you smiled at the camera. You typed a little caption before hitting send. “Let’s go.”

He led the way to the cabin. “Do you like dogs?”

“I love them. Grew up with one.”

“That’s good, because I brought my- well, not mine, but there’s a dog in the cabin.”

“You mean… the wolf-dog?”

“No, no. A real dog, from work. I take him on hikes.”

“You’re dog sitting.”

He laughed. “I guess.” He noticed you walked a little closer to him than last time.

“Is he scary?”

“He doesn’t get along with most, so don’t take it personally. Just don’t look at him the wrong way.”

You smiled. “That’s a yes then.”

“Should I call him?” When you nodded, he bellowed, “Raider!”

A distant bark came from the woods, followed by rustling that rapidly grew louder. The K9 slowed to a stop a few feet away. He bared his teeth, staring straight at you.

“Boy, be nice. Let her pet you.”

Raider took tentative steps to sniff your legs and sat down as he looked up at you. You stooped to scratch him behind the ear. His tail wagged, panting before he rolled onto his back.

“Hey, I only got him to do that after months!”

You laughed, rubbing his belly. “You’re a good boy, Raider.”

He wondered what it felt like to be scratched as a wolf, if he would ever get the opportunity.

It was odd how fast Raider warmed up to you, brushing against your leg as you walked to the cabin. Maybe you really smelt great to dogs.

“I’m not sure if I remembered correctly, but I think you wore a perfume last time?”

“Perfume? No, I didn’t.” You let out a small laugh. “Even if I did, I’m sure I was too sweaty for it to matter anyway. Why?”

Aw shit. You definitely thought he was creepy. “No, I just thought you-“

The rumble of the bright sky interrupted his words, and he was glad he did because he was on a collision course.

You looked up, the stray hair around your face glowed in the sun. “Really? I checked the weather forecast this morning.”

“We can wait it out in the cabin. We still have a lot of time before it gets dark anyway.”

It had started to drizzle when you reached the cabin. On the deck, Raider lied between you and Keegan, his head on your thigh as you caressed him mindlessly, looking ahead. The city sat low and far, pretty in the rain with the clouds casting a muted blue hue over it. He was more interested in looking at you though.

It surprised him how easy it was to be in your company, both in silence and not. He didn’t like talking, but you didn’t make him want to bail. His eyes flicked to the napping Raider, wondering what your fingers would feel in his hair instead. Was he jealous over a dog?

He probably wouldn’t see you again, but he still scolded himself for the thought. You were taken, for fuck’s sake! And even if you weren’t, it’s not like you’d even be interested in him. No one ever really was, especially not now with this werewolf shenanigan.

With not much else to do, you showed him random photos on your phone as you both shared the rest of his peanut butter sandwiches. Raider kept looking at you so you gave him a chunk, and he retreated to the corner to enjoy his snack.

Keegan scooted closer to you. He loved the way you laughed as you told the accompanying stories, about people at work and stolen lunches, and your friends’ wild antics.

“This guy,” you said, pointing at the dude in the middle of the group shot in a crowded club. He wore Raybans and a grin, a drink in each hand.

His eyes wondered to you on the side, laughing as you held your drink up towards the camera. A guy had his arm around your shoulder as he smiled fondly at you.

“Party animal. Used to show up to class just to sleep through it.” You pointed at the male next to him, the only one without a drink in hand. “This guy, a very nice guy, drove us that night. On the way back, Nick didn’t feel so hot so he puked on the highway.” You laughed. “His spinach pie dinner sprayed out of him, hitting the windshield of the Prius behind us in its chunky green juice glory.”

Okay, that one made him laugh the hardest.

In turn, he showed you the few pictures he had on his phone, mostly of his small family and the lasagna his mum always made when he visited, and some with his friends (teammates) on uneventful nights out. He wished he had fun stories to tell. He wanted to make you laugh too.

When the sky cleared and you got ready to head back, it only occurred to him you never showed any pictures of your boyfriend, probably because of how much he was away. He felt bad for you, remembering that this too was why he stopped dating.

The closer it was to the end of the trail, the closer you walked by his side, but his feet grew heavy. He found himself wishing the rain lasted longer. Raider on the other hand picked up his pace, circling the both of you as his tail swayed, showing no sympathy towards the gravity of the situation.

“This is me,” Keegan said as he swung his car door open. Raider slipped into the backseat, next to his backpack. “Hope to see you around again.” His eyes flicked to his feet.

“Do you want to get dinner?”

He looked up. “Isn’t your boyfriend picking you up?”

“About that…” You grimaced. “I’m sorry, I was scared last time. You know, being alone and all- no offense.”

He let out a relieved chuckle. “No, I get it. None taken.” He chewed on his lip. “But yes, I’d love to get dinner. I’m starving.”

You smiled when he helped you with your backpack. You said the night was most fitting for a greasy burger. He agreed.

He strapped himself in as he glanced at you. This was nothing more than an innocent dinner, yet he couldn’t he wipe the grin off his face.

At least it meant he had more time to figure out what the scent was.

More Keegan: second chance, fake dating

@sofasoap @tiredmetalenthusiast @shadofireshinobi @keegansshark @two-gh0sts @rowanyaboats @mangoguy

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angel-fics · 9 months

Text

In The Room Where You Sleep

Summary: Dalton was just being curious and stumbles upon something he probably shouldn’t have. He then does something he shouldn’t have.

Warnings: Mentions of the Further, mentions of entities, Dalton being a creep, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation (f & m), sexual fantasies

All credit to @glodessa who wrote the imagine that inspired this, so much talent there and you’re feeding my Dalton addiction

Dalton was your friend. His primary art class was in the studio next to the orchestra rooms where you practiced in. He’d wandered in on you playing a section piece on the violin after he’d forgotten that his class was cancelled.

Since you two had obviously seen each other on multiple occasions when going to and leaving from class, he’d felt comfortable striking up a conversation. He usually wasn’t into initiating introductions, but Chris had started forcing him to interact with more people and make friends. You were the first person he had introduced himself to without her assistance.

In a way, he felt a sick sense of possession when it came to you because of that. It made him feel funny, like he was gross and he tried to stomp it down, but it would crawl it’s way up his throat whenever you talked to him. He’d met you all on his on, without a buffer or cleverly charming segue. You knew him for him from the get go, and still liked him. You liked him enough to start waiting for him before classes for a chat. You liked him enough to exchange contacts and let him take pictures of you to save for his own personal enjoyment put into his saved contacts.

You liked him enough to let him walk you back to your dorms every time he had the chance to. Which he did, considering he started walking a different path to insure that he would run into you more often.

He didn’t think he was odd, not really. Lots of friends took secret pictures of each other. For fun, it was funny, like a secret joke. And lots of friends walked together in between classes, it was normal. Even if they didn’t share certain classes. Or if one of the friends wasn’t completely aware that the other friend was nearby.

Dalton didn’t consider it strange that he didn’t like when you talked to Chris, or any of his other friends. Or anyone that might find you attractive. In his eyes, that should’ve meant everyone. You were gorgeous and people should be falling over themselves trying to be with you, in his opinion. But you were his. His friend, at least. And he hated not having your full attention.

Nighttime was the worst, in some ways. You two had met up on occasion to help each other study or wind down from an intense test. But most nights, you turned in early to spend time with your roommate. Dalton hated your roommate, she was so clingy and always convinced you to go back to the dorms, cutting off his time with you. He thought she was off, or at least very selfish, and that she used every opportunity to guilt you and take advantage of your kindness and naivety.

Dalton would never do that, he was lucky to get to be your friend. You were beautiful, talented, kind and accepting. You even accepted his ability of astral projection without hesitation. You were beyond perfect to him, and if he wasn’t with you, he was thinking about you. Constantly, and usually aloud, much to Chris’ annoyance.

“Dolphin! Please, for the love of fuck, ask that girl out already. You’re driving me nuts!” She threw herself back onto the spare bed in Dalton’s dorm in dramatic agony, groaning loudly in complaint.

“No, Chris. She’ll just think that I became friends with her because I wanted to get in her pants,” he dismissed, tossing a dirty t-shirt into his hamper a little too forcefully.

“Isn’t that what all guys do? What’s the big deal?” Chris sat up again to try to convince him. It wasn’t the first time either, but she was almost positive that you liked Dalton back and would rather you keep his mouth too occupied for him to verbally obsess over you. Like he was doing right now.

“I’m not going to do that, Chris. Just drop it.” His voice was unnervingly firm and Chris snapped her mouth shut before another incentive could fall out. Dalton was usually mild-mannered, at least when it came to anyone but his dad, not really the aggressive type. Anti-social and surly, but not aggressive. Unless it had something to do with you.

Chris thought there was something not quite right about Dalton’s crush on you but she figured his abnormal childhood and resulting trauma made it hard for him properly process his feelings. And she was reluctant to ask in case it set him off.

“I heard her roommate is going home to her parents’ for her dad’s birthday, maybe y’all can hang out more this weekend,” Chris suggested instead, unfettered by Dalton’s tone. “She left earlier this afternoon.”

Something seized in Dalton’s chest. You hadn’t mentioned that to him. You didn’t have a reason not to. Was there someone else? Were you going to spend the whole weekend with another guy? Did you have a boyfriend? Anger and hatred for this secret man clouded his mind and he felt like throwing something against the wall until it broke.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” he replied to Chris coolly. “I’ve got some homework to finish, do you mind?”

Chris nodded slowly, grabbing her bag and quickly making her way to the door, watching Dalton worriedly. She gave a half-hearted wave goodbye and left without a word.

As soon as the door shut, he quickly locked it, tearing his ball cap from his head and flinging thoughtlessly towards his desk, knocking over a small stack of his sketchbooks and a tin of water. Cursing under his breath, Dalton begrudgingly trudged to clean up the mess before the water could stain or damage any of his work.

After mopping up the water, he flipped through his drawings to check if any of it ruined the paper. One of the sketchbooks was relatively new, but nearly full of pencil and ink sketches. Of you.

Most of them took up an entire page of their own. They were innocent, somewhat, just candids that he’d done while or after hanging out with you. You smiling, laughing, playing the violin, biting your lip awkwardly. Gorgeous and sweet.

There were some other ones, smaller in comparison to the rest and done with a light hand. You changing through the window of your room. You bending over at work. You crying to your mom on the phone after you tore your favorite dress right before a date you ended up not going on. Done in a hurry by someone who was sketching without a still reference.

It was not stalking. No, he wasn’t like that. He didn’t threaten you or send you lewd messages. He didn’t get off on scaring you or making you feel unsafe. He wanted you to feel safe around him, did everything in his power to make sure you were always comfortable with him. Plus, he never invaded your privacy, he just looked. Watched. It was friendly, protective even.

Plus, those sketches were nothing compared to the rest. Small enough for three separate drawings to fit on a page, and darkly filled in with a heavy and rough hand.

It wasn’t intentional, not at first. He was a guy. You were his crush. He couldn’t control his own thoughts, let alone his dreams. It happened, and it was completely normal and natural. Not at all creepy or perverted.

He dreamt of you often. He couldn’t keep his mind off you even in his sleep. Of course, his unconscious mind was different than his conscious mind. Mostly, anyway. A lot more eager for you, hungry for you.

The pencil drawings were of you as you appeared to him in his dreams. Bent over his desk, wearing a string of pearls and a sultry smile. You, on his bed with your legs spread out invitingly, your fingers scissoring your slick folds. There was even one featuring him, his lower face dripping with drool and your arousal as his tongue delved into your wet heat from under you. That one was his favorite, even if the drawing itself wasn’t exactly his best work skill-wise. He had a hard time balancing the pad with only one hand, which he was also using to draw.

Dalton sighed and picked up all of the sketch pads, putting them back where they were and collapsing on his back on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he should bring up your roommate leaving and confront you about not telling him. You must have had a good reason, right? It’s not like you were getting tired of him or anything. Right?

As he drifted further and further into his thoughts, the room became darker around him. Standing up to fix his lamp, he caught the sight of himself sleeping in his peripheral. He’d fallen asleep and accidentally projected.

He didn’t do so often anymore, the Further was a scary and dangerous place and he was cautious of bringing something back with him. But it had its advantages, for pranks or finding out things that others couldn’t. Surprisingly, he’d never used his ability to watch you. You were too pure and beautiful to see through the lenses of the Further, he liked seeing you surrounded by light and color, with no potential of evil spirits ruining the experience for him.

But just this once…

No! He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

You trusted him, it would be so easy. And it’s not like he was trying to be a weirdo, he just wanted to see if you had plans that weekend without having to actually ask you. It would only be once, for a few minutes. He wouldn’t mess with you or your things. He would just listen in and leave.

He grabbed the lantern and walked out of his room. He could’ve found your dorm with his eyes closed, but since it was in a different building and he was traveling through the Further, it took him longer than he would’ve liked. But at least he didn’t encounter anyone. You lived on the second floor of your dorm house and yours was nicer and more expensive than his. You had your own bedroom and personal bathroom, not having to share with your roommate and the rest of your floor like Dalton did.

Your door was unlocked and after he entered your dorm, he locked it himself, knowing he’d have to unlock again it in order to leave. Your bedroom door was open and he could see you through it, sitting at your desk and typing on your phone. Silently and curiously, he peered over your shoulder to watch you text your roommate.

He rolled his eyes at seeing her contact but ignored it in favor of the messages being sent. Mostly average, just you being your considerate self and asking about her trip home. She, obviously, sent paragraph after paragraph detailing every insignificant second of her weekend away, not once asking anything about you. The entire conversation revolves around her and Dalton had to bite his tongue to avoid scoffing in your ear, which was inches from his mouth.

Finally she asked about you, specifically your plans for while she was gone. Luckily, she could serve a purpose for once, Dalton thought.

You mentioned work, homework and just relaxing and Dalton was tempted to leave and rid himself of his craving to kiss you. Then, he saw you type his name. You wanted to surprise him by inviting him over for a sleepover. Your roommate responded by teasing you about you and Dalton finally progressing to the next stage in your friendship; a relationship.

Huh, maybe your roommate wasn’t as bad as Dalton thought she was.

Dalton’s heart was racing as he continued to read all of your roommate’s suggestions for extremely sexual twists on common sleepover activities, all in order to seduce him. You didn’t have to try to seduce him, but trying any one of these wouldn’t hurt. He felt his cock hardening in his pants and knew that he probably should’ve left. Like, now.

But then you sighed loudly into the empty air. Your head dropped back, your lips parted and you shifted awkwardly in your seat, your thighs pressing together tightly. Dalton felt his mouth water just watching you and suddenly stopped in his tracks. He decided that he would wait until you either went to the bathroom or fell asleep. If he tried leaving before then, you might catch him.

So he stood off to the side and simply observed you from up close. You seemed more deflated when you weren’t around him, less animated and poise. Less…cheery. You continued to stay at your desk texting your roommate for a while before getting up for a glass of water. It seems like she was going to bed. You paced around the kitchen as you sipped your drink, looking slightly anxious about how the conversation ended. Dalton regretted not reading it along with you and now he couldn’t because your phone was off and locked.

Huffing out a tense laugh to yourself, you marched back into your room, passing Dalton to get to your phone. You continued pacing as you opened up your messages and scrolled until you found a particular contact, hesitating for a moment and then opening the chat thread. Dalton stood in front of you this time and read his own name from upside down. Why were you pausing when it came to texting him? Did this happen often? We’re you inviting him over?

He watched you type out a greeting and began pacing in your room. When the message delivered, Dalton panicked before remembering that his phone was next to his actual body. You wouldn’t catch him over his phone notifications sounding off in your otherwise silent room.

You turned off your phone and sat on your bed, your back straight and your eyes staring out into nothingness. Your leg bounced erratically and you started checking your phone every thirty seconds in case you missed his message. You were waiting for a response from him, Dalton realized. And he couldn’t do that while he was standing here with you.

Now was definitely the time to go and you gave him the perfect opportunity when you started collecting your things to take a shower, muttering to yourself about how desperate you were. It was clear that you were agitated from waiting on his message, and he supposed it was because he hardly ever took more than 20 seconds to start typing back. He only took long if he was busy, and he would always tell you beforehand if he was.

As much as he wanted to watch you undress yourself and shower, becoming aroused slightly once more at the idea, he wouldn’t cross that boundary when you were so vulnerable and unaware. It was completely different from the times he watched you change your shirt or remove your bra from outside your window. He was in your home and you were going to be completely naked. Dalton wanted go reserve that honor for when you would strip in front of him eagerly, at least for the first time he ever saw you naked.

*~*~*

Gasping, Dalton sat up in his own bed, his erection pressing against his sweats and his body feeling sweaty. He immediately opened his messages and read your message asking him what he was doing. Getting his own clothing, he walked to the common bathroom in his dorm house and stripped, sending you a picture of his shower stall with the reflection of his bare torso halfway in the frame.

He’d never been so forward with you before. You’d seen him shirtless on occasion, he wasn’t shy about his body, but never on purpose and he hardly ever sent you pictures instead of just telling you what he was doing. But now that he knew you felt the same way he did, he felt confident enough to give actual signals to tell you that.

He turned on the shower and waited for the ancient water settings to actually heat up the water. As he was about to step in, you messaged him back with a photo of your own.

You were wearing nothing but a robe, tied at the waist, but doing a very poor job at concealing your cleavage, and your hair was soaked. The mirror that you had taken the picture in was fogged and he could see streams of steam swirling in the air around your head. So you liked really hot showers, fuck, that was attractive to him. You smiled shyly into the camera with one of your hands clutching a towel in your hands.

You: “I just got out of the shower, how funny is that?”

God, you were adorable without even trying. He wondered if the placement of your robe was intentional or if you were just that sexy without trying to be. It could go either way, you were as effortlessly cunning as you were absurdly oblivious to your affect on others.

He quickly went through his shower routine quickly, not taking his time to enjoy the water and relax like he usually did. He didn’t want to keep you waiting again. He decided to toe the line of flirtation and idle conversation once more by sending you another photo. This time following your lead with a mirror pic. He was still shirtless and brushing his teeth with an overly wide and sud-filled smile. His shorts hung low on his hips and his entire frame was centered in the photo this time.

D: “What’s up?”

It was a lame line, but he wanted to keep the conversation going and see if you were going to invite him over. He spit out his toothpaste and gargled mouthwash, accidentally swallowing some as you replied back. Coughing at the strong taste burning his throat, his eyes widened as he memorized every pixel of the photo you sent, catching on to his little provocation.

The mirror in your bathroom was still slightly fogged but he could clearly see that all you were wearing was a t-shirt. It was big enough to cover your thighs, so Dalton didn’t know what you were wearing under it and he could see your nipples poking through the material ever so slightly. He dragged his lip into his mouth and bit down hard, hand clenching on the edge of the counter. He gathered his shower stuff and walked back to his room, keeping his towel gathered in a ball in front of his crotch in case he ran into anyone this late.

It didn’t occur to him to read the message you sent until he was about to send one himself. He was so distracted by your selfie that he completely forgot that he was in the middle of a conversation with you. He wondered if it was weird to be more turned on by you in your pajamas than you soaking wet and in a towel.

You: “Nothing much? What are you doing right now?”

He sat down on his art stool, and angled the camera at the mirror that sat in the corner between his spare bed and the wall. He hadn’t gotten the motivation to actually put it up so it laid on its side and only showed from his waist down at this angle. The picture showed his bare stomach, shorts and legs, with one of his feet braced up on the leg of his seat.

D: “Chilling in my room now, you?”

You responded a minute later in much the same fashion. This photo didn’t show your face either, but he could see your hair and the junction between your neck and shoulder at the top of the photo. You were stretched out on your bed, your legs propped up in front of you and you holding the weight of your upper body on your other arm as you snapped a photo of yourself. From the way your shirt rode up on your thighs, you weren’t wearing any shorts, but he couldn’t see your underwear.

You: “Same. My roommate left to her parents’ house so I have the place to myself.”

Was this your way of implying that you wanted him to come over? How does he respond to that information without sounding weird or letting on that he’d already known? Should he tell you that he already knew? He decided that now was the perfect time to reorganize his desk and actually put up the mirror in his room. It took fifteen minutes for him to respond and the guilt ate at him now that he knew how you reacted when he didn’t message back quickly.

D: “Oh, really? Yeah, I kinda always have my place to myself, haha :)Look what I finally did.”

The added “haha” looked so stupid that he wanted to jump out his window. He hoped the selfie he sent to you would make up for it. He was standing in front of his mirror, acting as if he was only trying to show you the mirror you’d been bugging him about putting up. He was still shirtless and a light sheen of sweat made his body glow slightly from the exertion of his impromptu redecorating. He angled his phone to show a grin, but the rest of his face was covered.

You took a few minutes to respond yourself and Dalton thought he understood your anxiety about having to wait for messages. He felt the anxiety was all the more potent now that you were sending each other photos of yourselves. But he couldn’t deny that he liked the tension, the anticipation ate him up and he was beyond keyed up.

You: “I got bored being here by myself so I’m doing my makeup :p”

You: “Oml, finally!”

You were kneeling in front of the camera with your legs slightly spread. The lighting in your room made it hard for him to see what your underwear looked like and he felt like a pervert for being disappointed. Probably not as bad as he would’ve felt before he knew that you reciprocated his feelings. Your hair was put up into an updo so it was out of your face and it reminded him of that Pamela Anderson hairdo that you complained about not being able to do. You looked beautiful, your makeup was darker than you normally had it, more like dark seduction than pretty fairy. Dalton wondered if that was on purpose.

He sent you a closeup selfie of half of his face, his eyes mostly angled down at the phone screen instead of the actual camera and a slight smirk on his lips. His neck, collarbones and one of his shoulders were on display for you as well

D: “Guess I got bored too. Your hair looks like Pamela Anderson’s, btw”

D: “I like your makeup, it looks good!”

You responded quickly and without a photo.

You: “Are you joking me?! The one time I’m not bending over backwards trying to do it right…”

Dalton had to take a minute to recover from the mental image of you bending over backwards, particularly the image of how your breasts would look at that angle when your next message came in with another photo.

You: “Come over?”

This time, your phone was placed close to the floor and angled up for Dalton to see your knees pulled up to your chest and you dramatically and exaggeratedly pouted at the camera, your dark red lips shining in the camera flash. The flash also, probably unintentionally, highlighted the junction between your legs and he could actually see your panties this time. White lace. Son of a bitch!

Instead of responding, he jumped around his room and tried to gather all of his shit to take to your place and was pulling up his jacket when he noticed some papers on his bed. His homework that he had told Chris about earlier and completely forgot about. It was due at midnight and his teacher was a hardass about homework.

“Fuck!” His curse echoed loudly in his empty and otherwise silent room and he slammed his things down on the bed in anger.

As desperate as he was to go to your room and potentially spend the night inside you, he was stuck inside his dorm unless he wanted his grade to tank. With a heavy heart and tense motions, he sat in his chair, a different one from his stool, and faced his mirror. He spread his legs so that he was man-spreading and propped a leg up on the edge of his bed. He held up his homework in one hand above his head and made a faux-angry face at the camera, his expression not even making at dent when it came to showing just how angry he actually was. He gave himself a minute of fantasizing about your lips kissing marks all over his body before snapping the picture and sending it to you.

D: “I was on my way when I remembered I had homework. Fucking sucks! Raincheck? I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning?”

He ordinarily didn’t curse over text, or in general. He wasn’t a prude about swearing, but he just didn’t feel the need to do it. However, he also needed you to understand that he wasn’t blowing you off, and then he genuinely was upset about not being able to spend the night with you. He felt it was probably too risky sending you a picture where he was very obviously at half-mast and worried that he was being too forward and would make you uncomfortable.

Two minutes of complete agony imagining all of the ways that you would dismiss him and tell him to forget about it, or get angry and misinterpret what he was telling you. Now that the conversation couldn’t go anywhere, the anticipation wasn’t alluring and fun, it felt like acid burning his skin.

You: “Oh, please do your homework! Grades are important. Breakfast sounds good! Goodnight x”

A kiss, you messaged him a kiss. And you were completely fine with it. For the first time in his life, Dalton felt the urge to do a chest bump with a bro. He was on top of the world right now. He was tempted to rush his homework and run over to you as soon as possible, but as soon as he sat down to do it, he knew that the assignment required all of his time and attention. Fortunately, the assignment itself was relatively simple, but it was incredibly time consuming, which is why he’d been putting it off.

Two hours later, he took some pictures of his completed homework and sent them to his professor’s email. It was fifteen minutes til midnight and he wondered if he should risk going over to you now. You weren’t expecting him, though, and for all he knew, you were asleep or something. He debated texting you that he was done and seeing if you’d extend the invitation to come over again, but you hadn’t even brought up his last picture and that made him a bit insecure. What if you were trying to just ignore it as a way to say you weren’t interested? Even back in your room, when your roommate was encouraging you to take advantage of having your dorm to yourself, you had only denied all of her sexual innuendos. He knew you liked him back, but maybe sending you a picture of like the one he sent was too much too fast?

Oh yeah, astral projector. He could always just pop in and check without actually having to check. It was fine the first time, right? No big deal anymore. He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He relaxed on his bed and before long, he was picking up that lantern once more and leaving his body behind, making sure that all of his lights were on to protect his body before he left the room.

You had been in your room with your door mostly closed when he came in again. You really should make sure your front door was locked, he thought. He heard little whimpers coming from your room and was immediately concerned, automatically assuming that you were crying. Your bedroom door was swaying on account of the industrial fan that you insisted was the only thing strong enough to keep you cool at night. He had no problem opening your door and putting it back in place, making it look completely natural in case you noticed.

From what he could see, you were looking at your phone and were mostly covered by your blanket. Only one of your hands was holding your phone, which Dalton found odd because you normally preferred using both hands. Finally seeing your face, Dalton noticed that you had no tears on your cheeks or in your eyes. You weren’t crying. What the hell were you looking at on your phone?

Him. You were looking at a picture of Dalton that he’d sent to you. More accurately, you were looking at the second photo he had sent you, the one where he was brushing his teeth. It took Dalton several moments to begin thinking again to put the dots together.

Oh. Oh.

Just as Dalton registered what you were actually doing, you threw your blanket aside in frustration and essentially showed him that he was correct. He watched in rapt fascination as you rubbed your clothed center over your panties with two fingers. You kept focused on your phone, swiping over to the photo of him after he hung up his mirror, as your index fingers slipped beneath your lacy white underwear and into your slick heat. Your breathing was loud and shallow, the occasional moan slipping through as you touched yourself.

Dalton should not be here. He knew that. He knew what was and what wasn’t appropriate, his mom made sure he knew how to respect women, so he knew what he was doing was the furthest thing from okay. He also knew that he would have to be dragged by his teeth to get him out of your room. His cock swelled and twitched from under his shorts as he stood over, watching you masturbate to a picture of him. In the low lighting of your mostly dark room, he could see the shine of your wetness on your fingers and over your folds. He wanted to drag his tongue over your labia and savor every drop you gave him. It was all for him, after all, he was entitled to it.

You groaned in annoyance through your teeth and yanked your panties down your legs. Dalton’s severely dilated gaze zeroed in on them and he made a mental note to grab them before he left when your shirt joined it in the floor. You were completely nude and sitting up on your bed, in a very similar position to the photo where you had shown him your makeup. He’d never look at it again without thinking of this. He wished he had a picture of this.

You looked like a goddess or some kind of celestial siren as you arched your back and groped at one of your breasts and toyed with your clit. The chill of your room and the sudden banishment of your blanket had your flesh covered in goosebumps and your nipples hard. Dalton wanted nothing more than to cover your body with his and discover new forms of pleasure using his tongue, hands and cock. You were everything, you surrounded him and took up so much everything. And yet, he wasn’t actually with you, no matter how much he wished he could be. He didn’t know why he couldn’t try, you were his now. You admitted to it. Maybe not to him directly, and maybe you didn’t know he was there, but it didn’t make it any less true.

Dalton approached your bed and was about to rest his weight on it when you grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the mountain of pillows you had on your bed. You shoved it between your legs and adjusted it so that the woven seams pressed between your folds. You rested your weight on it and rolled your hips experimentally to find a rhythm and angle that felt best. Soon, you were panting and gasping, and Dalton could barely hear you over the stupid fan.

As you rode the pillow, Dalton lost his restraint. He either had to take care of himself now and fully condemn himself as an actual peeping tom and a pervert, or take care of you and risk you freaking out and losing you before he could actually have you. He’d rather hate himself for a little while than you hate him forever. He reached into his shorts, cupping his erection and squeezing lightly. He bit his lips and tried to keep quiet. He didn’t think he would last long, and he didn’t really care to either. He’d worry about that once he was actually inside you.

Dalton started off with slow and trading strokes before working up to the rhythm you set for yourself. You were grinding down on the pillow with slow and long thrusts, lowering your body slightly so that the seam of the pillow rubbed your clit. Dalton imagined his face replacing the pillow and started speeding up the movements of his hand, spitting on himself to help his hand move more fluidly along his shaft. Coincidentally, you started to quicken as well, humping the pillow desperately instead of steadily rolling your hips.

“Dalton! Oh…fuck! Daltonnn…” you cried out softly into the seemingly empty room. As the waves of your orgasm crashed over you, you lost strength in your arms and fell to the mattress, your hips still moving rhythmically as you came. Your limbs felt electrocuted and twitchy, and you could do nothing but gasp and whimper as you came down from your high. Rolling over, you reached down and caressed your soaked folds, moaning softly as your fingers became coated in the stringy remnants of your wetness.

Dalton nearly fell to his knees in his desire to suck your fingers into his mouth and devour your cunt. Luckily, he managed to stay upright and went rigid as he came in his hands, making sure the pearly white spurts of semen didn’t make a mess anywhere in your room, if they could. He wasn’t actually entirely sure how it all worked when he was in this state, but he wasn’t going to risk it.

He waited until you fell asleep to grab your panties and leave your dorm, falling back into his own body and finding it a mess. His shorts were soaked at the crotch with his cum because his actual hands couldn’t stop his real orgasm from staining his clothes. He tore off his shorts and decided to sleep naked, hiding your panties in his pillow case.

*~*~*

You woke up refreshed and well-rested the next morning, still not used to the stillness and quiet in the absence of your roommate, Carla. Usually, she was up by now blaring metal music while she got ready for the day and you would make the two of you breakfast. You went to do just that when you heard a knock at your door and remembered that Dalton was supposed to come over with breakfast.

You told him to wait through a text message and grabbed a pair of athletic shorts, yanking them on as you made your way to let him in. Much to your surprise, the door was unlocked, though you don’t remember leaving it that way. In all fairness, you also don’t remember the last time you had locked it, so it was fair game.

Dalton greeted you with a large smile, showing off his extended canines, and a bag from your favorite pastry shop. It was hard not to blush after what you did when you saw the pictures he sent you, but the food was also distracting. You excitedly took the bag from him and started rifling through it as he guided the both of you to your room. Had he ever been inside your dorm before? How did he know which room was yours?

Before you could ask him, he plopped himself onto your bed and settled onto his stomach. He then used a pillow to prop up his chin. The same pillow you had used last night.

There was something about the way he was smiling at you. The way he was watching you.

“So, did you sleep well last night?”

********

Lemme know if you want a part two or maybe a “What if Dalton hadn’t had any homework?” situation.

This was super fun and sorry if it’s too long

#Spotify #romance #dalton lambert #insidious films #insidious: the red door #dalton lambert x reader #dalton lambert imagine #dalton lambert fic #dalton lambert smut #smut #stalking #pervert!dalton

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the-director · 4 months

Text

My Tav Calder! He is a half drow bard.

Bonus info specifically: (contain spoilers for the endings and epilogues.)

Gale: when I started playing Calder (he is my second playthrough) I had the intention of romancing Gale. So I pursued him hard. And then... oh and then karlach came onto me. And I fell. Hard. Had to break up with gale. I think that. In the story of this playthrough, this breakup is the reason why I wasn't able to convince him to give up the crown.

Lae'zel: despite being a bard, Calder does enjoy a good fight as I picked college of swords for him. But that is not the reason why they are friends, they are friends because they relate to their pasts. Calder does have a noble background, but he was also sold into slavery (long story short he is in a bit of a zuko situation. But instead of finding the avatar, he got sold and is told to "work to earn his place among his family") so. They both understand the weight of high expectations. But also I like their dynamic due to what lae'zel says to you in the epilogue if she goes with Orpheus. That you taught her diplomacy, and I think that's very fitting for her and Calder (or rlly with her and a bard/high charisma/pacifist tav)

Shadowheart: honestly I feel like shadowheart is so... older sister? The way that she tries to be above everyone, the way she is so sparky to you, but also becomes loyal and trusting of you. Idk it reminds me of older sisters in like early 2000s movies. As a result, when I'm not romancing her. I tend to view her and my tav as feeling a kinship to eachother. I think this is also because of both of them being half elves.

Wyll: I actually have a lot of thoughts about Calder and wyll, specifically because of Calder growing up in this rich upperclass family, they probably met eachother while they were younger, or at least both of them are aware of their families (I'm still deciding how old I want Calder to be, and how long he was a slave) so there's like. Both of them know eachothers childhoods, but then both have to wonder "what happened to you for you to wind up here" I imagine they have a heart to heart with wyll talking about the pact and getting sent away by his father, and Calder talking about his wild magic that got him rejected by his family and then further being betrayed by them.

Another component of this relationship is the "karlach protection squad" I feel like it's basically canon that wyll and karlach, whether or not they romance eachother, will be very close and have a friendship together. And so especially with karlachs infernal engine, they both feel this need to protect her, to find a way to save her life. Which is just. So neat yknow? This strong durable character who is yet so vulnerable due to this replacement for a heart she has, something imposed against her. That she tried to make work for her, and it did, for a bit. Until when she finally thinks she can get her life back. She instead finds she's a dead girl walking.

Anyways. Both wyll and Calder are devoted to her in this way. And so even though they're kind of in that space of "so similar to eachother that we hate eachother since we can see every fault and flaw that we hate about ourselves in the other" they put aside their similarities and work towards this goal.

Astarion: Calder is, ngl, highly morally dubious. He is. Incredibly two-faced, or more precisely 6 faced. He's very much a people pleaser, a liar one may call him. He breaks every law for his own gain. Which astarion can get behind. Calder reads astarion like a book moreso than anyone else, which is why Calder trusts him. Astarion may be seen as "untrustworthy" but Calder trusts because he knows what he does, he can rely on that. I'm thinking this is especially in the early game. Where Calder might not have been too sure about the other ones and their true intentions.

I think, perhaps this trust is also due to their shared background. Of course I made calders backstory specifically so that it could parallel everyone else's and deal with the similar themes of "lack of autonomy" and "authority" and so on. But I think other than wyll, calders background is the most like astarions. And so since he is familiar to this. Desperation and fear for safety that astarion feels all the time. That is why he *knows*

Halsin: Remember how there was that glitch where gales approval was super easy to get, and as a result he would hit on every single tav regardless of how much you talked to him and as a result he came off as a huge creep and people hated him? That's how I feel about halsin.

Jaheira: similar to shadowheart, but in this one I JUST. LOOK AT JAHEIRA AND I HEAR MY MIND GO. "PLEASE ADOPT ME" if she adopted me everything would be right with the world (it wouldn't but) my mommy issues. Just. (I have three moms, which one would think would mean I have no mommy issues. No I just have three different types of mommy issues)

Anyways. Seriously. I think that at first Calder would kind of have the karlach fangirl moment, he wouldn't externalize it. But it would definitely happen. Overtime though they develop the bond of cub and crow. And I think. The definitive good ending for Calder is one where he joins the harpers. (I'm just now realizing that then he would be Chris pines character in dnd and karlach would be that one barbarian lady)

Karlach: she snuck into my heart, and I think she snuck her way into calders too. I think at first, it starts with passion, it starts with warmth and comfort in eeachothers arms. Then it evolves into late-night talks around the campfire. Of him singing her favorite songs, telling her favorite tales. Maybe they do it together. Him on his lute and just her singing. Or them acting scenes together. I imagine them fighting together, him inspiring her, healing her maybe, her defending him and beating anything that hurts him into a pulp. I imagine them entering the city together. He took the tadpole, she is so worried for him. She tries not to let it show. His ego is bruised. He's hurting inside. They open up though, they find solace in eachothers arms again. That one scene happens, they talk about the future they'll never get. The cabin, with the goat. Oh how he wished he could perform for her forever.

I finished the game before patch 5, before going to hell meant finding a cure. And even then, I think Calder wouldn't force her to go. I think Calder always gets wyll out of the contract and wyll decides to be Duke. And so she dies. On the docks.

And Calder is ruined.

But he develops a plan. Undo timeline.

#calder the bard #tav #bg3 #karlach #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #astarion #halsin #gale dekarios #jaheira #im including their names because. idk i feel like maybe the slight character analysis is interesting.

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guav · 2 years

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ᥫ᭡ for haitani rindou,

HIGHWAY SYNDROME

⚠︎ this is so self-indulgent and a vent in disguise; sad & heavy themes, demotivation, self-deprecating jokes; r/meirl, this is just comfort and sap. heavily unedited lol.

rindou swears god picks favorites.

an endless barrage of rain accompanied him through the entire ride to your place, a treacherous journey mostly completed out of sheer spite at the shitty weather. and maybe the slightest of concerns.

now, at your very own home, the eye of night greets him from her spot in the cloudless sky. not a hint of storm, but constellations and even fucking jupiter.

"you made it," you skid out your door in pajamas not meant for the outside. among your disaster of a get-up he can spot a shirt he grew out of years ago. faded, worn out.

rindou revs the engine. maybe he would pick favorites too.

that is, until you lock the door and fling your keys, never to be seen again under the scrutiny of dusk.

any previous infatuation is overridden by complete confusion, "the hell?"

"take me somewhere far."

"what does that even-" rindou stops himself mid sentence. "do i look like a taxi?"

your eyes are lost, clouded with the weight of nothingness. "you act like one—came as soon as i texted you."

driving around the precinct with no set destination is but a common occurrence between you two. a duo of youthful spirits taking the streets by sheer negligence of anyone else in the world.

just yourself and rindou haitani.

the smudged makeup bleeding across your face and eyes says little about high-spirits and more about despondency, though.

"fuck's wrong with you?" somehow it spoke more concern than insult through tone.

"you don't ask questions, you drive."

"you're not even on the bike, smartass."

one blink, the dark streets no longer captivates you enough to keep staring. a second blink and you're now facing rindou, soaked to the bone and missing his frames.

drowned out complaints barely reaching your ears say a thing or two about vexation. his shivering shoulders tell a tale of annoyance. rindou's downturned eyes are a dead giveaway of violet concern.

"seriously, do i need to call someone to come screw your head open?" he's about done with his words going through one ear and leaving right the other.

in a third blink his face meets your palms in a gentle cup. a home made of freezing fingertip walls, weak flooring of grip, a shaking born from unstable foundation.

"you're one of the prettiest things i own," one of your hands slide down his face to the pocket where rindou keeps his glasses dry against less than favorable weather. "i think i like you."

his breathing came to a momentary halt. with skipped heartbeats it's a surprise rindou's facade remains untouched. just get on the bike"

never does his stare stray from your face, never do you meet his eyes. careful not to stain the glass or poke his sides, you slide the frames into place.

"so you admit to being something i own?"

he allows the engine to wake again, making the vehicle slide forward in the slightest and nearly making you kiss the concrete hello. "keep fuckin' playing, just you see."

the motor roars for a great number of infractions. reckless driving, endless exits ignored as the highway extends before you.

it's one of the few times you're sat in front, caged by his arms.

("i can't trust you not to fly away if you ride back right now")

you don't care though, the wind parts at your fingers and that's all that matters. care not for the obvious obstruction you cause the driver, an arm extends to grip at nothing past the bike.

(it took an nth number of complaints before you acknowledged his concerns: "who cares if you can't see shit when i do this? don't you trust me?"

back then rindou accelerated after your accusations, breaching the speed limit by an obscene amount. "not in the slightest.")

the breeze is fierce. if you tried less, could you fly away too? you hum, rindou just does his job of driving in silence.

maybe this is what they meant by being infinite. nothing has ever felt so timeless.

mundane, unique.

a juxtaposition of solitude in the presence of each other.

"kill the engine."

rindou nearly swerves you both to your deaths.

"i'm not gonna ask."

ruler of roppongi, terrified at the prospect of delving into the turmoil that's become of your thoughts.

"then i won't answer, sounds fair."

another set of five minutes is thrown away in pure silence, the rest of the precinct sane enough not to drive at such hours of night.

eternity unshattered.

until it wasn't. "there's gotta be somethin' wrong for you to drag me out like this without talking my ear off."

silence.

rindou tries again, "you're not even wearing shoes."

the pavement is so unkind to your soles. you've decided to ignore the pricking of stray rocks.

"being in silence s'fine with me, just tell me you're actually okay."

chatter, irritation. "i wanna go for another drive."

not bothering to meet his eyes, you take pained steps to ride the bike again. ready to take off wherever else— earthly desires no longer influential in your decision making. merely an urge to be everywhere and nowhere.

rindou blocks your path, bracing you from falling at the sudden collision with his body. "you can't be fucking serious right now."

"i am, let's go."

"i'm not taking you anywhere else," there's an invisible flag which warns of a high tide. a possibility of confrontation and risk of shark infested riptides.

rindou haitani faces them all with just a slight ounce of uneasiness. "not until you tell me what this is all about."

silence, the knot of anguish is bound to slip if you were to open your mouth again.

rindou's fingers come to grip your chin. you didn't know they were capable of such gentleness. "c'mon pretty, let me in your head."

a sniffle warns of the high hazard waters bound to wash over.

opening your arms to embrace his figure would take too much energy you simply don't have. it's stiff just leaning against his chest, but it'll have to do.

"how… how do you manage?"

there's a pause from the man, an unspoken request for elaboration.

"every single day i swear you're seconds away from taking the world by storm with a lift of your finger, fuck, you make it look easy."

a knot claws past your trachea, pushing to be reborn as wails from your heart. "i can barely get out of bed each day, or even muster enough willpower to keep this—this shit cluster of a routine."

you're sure to be victim to early hair loss by the vicious grip your fingers trap your hair in; a single inconvenience away from ripping it all out. "i can't keep up—i'm so tired, rin."

hesitant, careful arms wrap around your back slowly. his gaze lost somewhere far from your figure—pleading for the night's own missionaries, ursa minor, cepheus; any and all, to just give you a breather for once.

"i know, i know."

anyone else getting tears all over his clothes would easily be found in a suitcase within the next few business days. not another single soul has such privilege to stain rindou's jacket and live to tell the tale.

rindou squeezes your shaking shoulders. he can forgive it this one time.

"why would i ever want to have the world if i already have you?" a rhetoric whisper breaks the silence. "that just sounds redundant. "

you can't help but cry harder.

"c'mon," rindou acts quick as your legs grow weak, wrapping them around his waist seconds before they gave out.

were you not concerned for not drowning in sorrow you'd complain about the gesture. a buried fear of inconveniencing rindou having to wait in queue for the fifty-six other problems also awaiting their turn.

("rindou quit it!" you'd squeal, fighting against his arms as they lift you from the ground. "'m too heavy, stop it!"

rindou would always scoff at your stupid claims, as he'd so kindly put it.

"i can bench press three of you—maybe you should come witness that.")

it's good you don't get to voice any complaints. rindou wouldn't know how to put into words the burden you carry weighs more than any physical manifestation of life.

his neck feels like the home you've sought this whole time. even with puffy eyes and a congested nose, it feels right.

blonde and blue strands of hair cling to your wet cheeks. everything might just be okay.

("can we go home now?"

"you threw your keys away, stupid."

"fuck," you whine with elongated vocals, fist pounding on his chest, "why'd you let me do that?")

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list.⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

#hbd stink #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tokyo rev x reader #rindou haitani #rindou #tokyo revengers #ROGUEL1KE #this might be a cry for help who knows!

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swaps55 · 5 months

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How would Sam have changed if Hannah had been the parent to go missing?

You ask the BEST QUESTIONS. This is such a good one.

He'd have blamed his father. You let her go out there. You didn't protect her. You didn't let me protect her.

Sam was 15 and stubborn as hell. He wouldn't have let anyone convince him his version of the truth wasn't true at all. The epiphany he'd had after his father's disappearance - when Hannah didn't come for him - would never have happened. She would die a martyr's death in his eyes, and those rose colored glasses would be so hard to pull off. The estrangement that happened between him and his mother would instead happen between him and his father, and Daniel wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it.

You could even make the argument that Sam doesn't wind up as close to Anderson, as a result - Anderson was Daniel's friend, not Hannah's, and would be a lot less welcome in Sam's eyes - which could change the ENTIRE course of history. But for this mental exercise let's leave that piece out.

Nothing would change until Alchera.

Whatever Sam thinks of Daniel, it was Daniel who raised him. Daniel who patched up his skinned knees. Daniel who comforted him after a nightmare. Daniel who gave him the love and affection Hannah never did.

I think he still calls for Daniel in the end. I think when he winds up with Cerberus, his instinct is still to seek Daniel out, in the way you still want your parent when you're scared and alone, even if you have a poor relationship with them. Maybe it's not them you want, but what a parent SHOULD be.

Except in Sam's case, Daniel is that parent. Maybe he has time to think about it. Reassess the things he thinks he knows. Hell, if there was a time for self-reflection it's after you've been raised from the dead, right?

My guess is that before he goes through the Omega 4, Sam sends him a message. Tries to make amends. Maybe if I come back from this, we could...fix it. If you even want to. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.

I think you probably know what Daniel's response would be to that. His love for that kid is unconditional.

And then Sam does come back. But Aratot happens, and Daniel isn't allowed to see him when Sam is in Alliance custody.

Then the reapers come. Sam knows nothing about where Daniel is, if he's alive at all, and it's not something he can let himself think about.

What if, when it's finally over, Kaidan's face isn't the first one he sees? Maybe it's a face he knows, but going on 18 years older than when he last saw it. Maybe those words his father told him before he boarded a shuttle to Ares all those years ago weren't a lie. Think of me whenever you're afraid. You'll never be alone, and in the aftermath of the fall of the reapers, when Sam was very alone and thought he'd die that way...he wasn't, and he didn't. Because his father came for him.

#swaps replies #thedragonaspect #opus!verse #'shoot it again sam' shepard #thinking about this has made me an emotional wreck #yeah i have some very normal feelings about sam and his father #i'm fine everything is fine we're all fine here #narrator: she was not in fact fine

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ice-cream-writes-stuff · 1 year

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Hello! I just saw your Matriarch post! Can you possibly do a prologue about her backstory and her going to the other dimension with a batfamily and batmom that are still alive and together? And possibly a part 1 where she just walks into the Batcave one night after she sends out an all-call to the bats and the league and once they all start questioning what is going on she comes out and tells them about her backstory and how she'll prevent her future from happening by offing the rogues one by one and saying something like "I'm the only one who could ever succeed in doing this. And do you know why... it's because I know exactly how each and every hero and villain alike think. I know every plan and protocol in place that both sides of the gallery (i.e. meaning the heroic side and villainous side) have in place, how to stop or outsmart them, and every single possible move any of you could make against me. If you think you can stop your wife, mother, friend, or whatever else I am to you, then by all means... I invite you all to play my game, if you can capture me AND discover my plan, then I'll stop for good and go back to my time. But should I be victorious, well, the world and all of you are MINE."

Sorry for it being so long! And for the long monologue!

[Damn, that is good!!]

[Matriarch Au]

Notes.

In this au (Y/N) pretends to be a hero for the public sake. A part-timer of the league in the future.

Bruce doesn't know (but has suspicion) she is killing or torturing almost half of his rouge gallery.

She's afraid that Bruce won't love her become of his no-killing code.

There's technically a "(Y/N)" in this timeline who meets Bruce and falls in love. But, The Matriarch technically killed her before she could meet Bruce.

But here's another question. How does this (Y/N) interact with the Batfamily?

Since (Y/N) knows of each horrible thing that has happened to her children and lover. Batmom is very protective then most other Batmoms.

She still wants to give her children freedom, but also knows that when she did... They were beaten or almost killed for the sake of protecting others.

Batmom decided to mess with this world's timeline so it would be better than her own. But still deliberately decided to let some things stay the same.

1st Example, Dick Grayson. Now depending if Batmom came around before Dicks parents demise is up to you. But in this instance where she did, Batmom would try to save his parents but it doesn't work out.

2nd would be Jason, this is where it gets kinda fucked up.

Batmom is a very caring individual but Matriarch isn't.

Batmom would do whatever she can to make sure Jason will never know of his mother being alive. Batmom will even go out of her way to guilt-trip Jason and emotionally manipulate him. To the point where he doesn't care if his real mother is alive or dead.

But, if Jason does end up curious and decides to find his mother. Aw hell he ain't gonna be free from Batmoms protection. Including Matriarch.

Batmom will get Bruce on her side to not let Jason out of the house or better yet city to look for his mother. It will take a lot of convincing and emotional manipulation part two. Anything regarding Jason's mother or possibly anyone close to bearing resemblance is wiped from the Bat-computer database.

If Jason managed to find a way to convince Batmom or escape Gotham. You are three steps ahead as Batmom or Matriarch.

The only way Jason could even wind up dead is if Batmom was a second too late.

From that point on if that happens, it'll be a much worse for the latter members and friends of the Batfam.

(Y/N) has and will install trackers on everything and anyone. Your always listening, always alert.

You'll put on the facade sure, but the truth of it all is that.. You're no longer just "scared". No you're terrified, to the point you have the smallest threat or villain is your biggest enemy.

[I'll write more for Batmom/Yandere/Villain reader! I swear! If you guys want more let me know, I still gotta describe how Matriarch Au deals with villains.]

[Maybe even write a angst dead dove do not eat fic later hopefully. Thank you for reading!]

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inkblot22 · 4 months

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The Same As Always

So I can already hear it. If I'm so scared of Rook, why am I always writing about him? That's because fear makes me nut, and I'm horny on side (this is not my main blog lmao) Also I'm so sorry, I cannot remember who made this divider since I downloaded it a few years ago, so if it's yours please let me know and I will credit you! This is kind of a reimagining of events based on that very loose series I have floating around on my page (He Begs Not For Petulance) so I hope it comes across as well as those.

Who is this fic for? I tried to keep it very gender-neutral, so hopefully anyone who can handle it. I apologize, since Rook does use the masculine version of most pet names in this (cheri instead of cherie, etc) but it's less feminizing than him referring to the reader as "ma biche" or "ma coccinelle", so that's just how that goes. It is a shame, but I also stayed away from "mon nounours" because that is also a bit too gendered. Very cute, though.

Anyways, this fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. It's not as dark as my usual stuff, but that's not saying much. TW for noncon (touching and sa), knifeplay, blood, head injuries (accidental), captivity, and yandere. Also rusty, probably incorrect French and Rook Hunt, of course. I don't add translations because I feel like if the reader doesn't know all or any of what he's saying, it adds to the creep factor.

You don’t like it here. You think you don’t, at least. It’s hard to explain.

It’s winter, it has been for far too long. Maybe you’ve been here for a bit too long as well. It’s hard to keep track of time, since the sun seems to never rise wherever you are.

You can’t exactly remember how you got here. You remember the wagon. You’d needed quick travel through the mountains, but you also can’t remember where you were traveling. You remember everything going dark, waking up to see a blood-stained stone before you, feeling the warmth on your forehead and wondering where the wagon had gone. Your first thought was that you were now in a survival situation as it began to snow around you, the snowflakes dancing in the wind that found its way inside your loose clothing. You stood there for a moment, maybe, and then you started walking, and from there it all goes black.

You can definitely remember the first time you saw him. You were lying in an unfamiliar bed, something snug around your forehead. A candle cast a warm, quiet light into the room, and it burned through your eyelids, your vision a murky orange-pink until you opened your eyes and came face to face with… him.

Flaxen hair, a soft smile as he reached forward to caress your cheek, and most of all, those intense jade eyes. You jumped and immediately felt woozy, but you were confused enough to pay that little mind.

The man shushed you, gently pulling you back into a relaxed position and cooing at you as though you were a small child, “Ah-ah, fear not, mon cheri, you are no longer in death’s grasp. Do you remember your name or how you’ve gotten here?”

You couldn’t answer him at first. His eyes narrowed, the rest of his face still a pleasant mask, and he eased you onto your back, your head against the pillow.

“Fret not, mon petit. How about I tell you my name, and then you can decide if you’d like to tell me yours?” His voice was quiet when he spoke to you, and you noticed that there was a large knife sheath snug on his thigh.

You were still bewildered. You couldn’t connect any of the dots that had led you to this moment, and it was making your heart beat a bit too fast for your liking. The stranger smiled wider and squeezed your trembling hand.

“Je m’appelle Rook Hunt, le chasseur d’amour. I found you wandering aimlessly in this forest, the life pouring from your head like a faucet. You passed out in my arms, and brought you here.”

You didn’t remember wandering around. You could remember getting up, but you didn’t remember wandering around. Your hand comes up to your forehead, the soft bandages rubbing against your fingertips. When you looked back at Rook, you tried to figure out what you should say. Your tongue felt thick in your mouth.

“I… I’m kinda thirsty.”

Rook smiled ever wider and stood, and you got the chance to look around a bit more. You seemed to be in a small log cabin, the bed in a sort of nook, away from the rest of the cabin. You could see Rook from where you were, his back facing you as he poured you a cup of water. The kitchen area was open, but small, a table with three chairs right next to it, and you could sort of see a pretty ornate looking rug, but as you were looking at it, Rook returned and helped you into a seated position.

He held the cup for you as you drank. When you finished, he placed the cup on the table and stroked your cheek, still smiling. His actions towards you were awfully familiar, as though you were old friends or something.

“Where am I?”

“A little cabin in the woods.” Rook didn’t remove his hand from your cheek. His gloved thumb was so gentle against your cheek. “Why don’t you get some rest? You lost quite a bit of blood, cheri.”

You did feel tired… and even though you were confused, it was almost as though a spell was cast on you, lulling you back to sleep.

You’re almost certain you don’t like it here. Although he never said anything to you about it, it became somewhat clear that you couldn’t leave once you felt well enough to move around again. At least you were moving, though.

It was also at this point that Rook began leaving the cabin often. It left you bored, not that his form of entertainment was a good one, and you started cooking to alleviate that boredom. You couldn’t really recall if you were good at it before, but you were decent enough to make basic stuff, so you did. For some reason, Rook had an icebox, not a refrigerator. You didn’t know what it was at first, and you felt like it was rude to open random cabinets in a strange man’s cabin, so you left it alone until he informed you that there were usually fresh vegetables inside.

You’d sit next to the potbelly stove and sip tea as you stared out the window at the snow. This winter was going on for far too long, and it always seemed to be dark here, but you didn’t know where “here” was.

Rook would stomp back in, snow caked along the feather in his hat and melting off the brim, and he’d cast you a smile before swishing into the basement. When he’d return, he’d guide you back to the bed and sit at the table himself, writing furiously… until recently.

Last night, he’d led you back to the bed after checking your wound and changing the bandage, but instead of taking a seat at the table and writing, he slipped into the bed beside you. You didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the precedent for the rest of your life.

“What are you doing-”

“Shh, shh. Relax, cheri. I will recite a poem for you.” He curled his arms around you, holding your aching head to his chest as he whispered.

“What?” You were fatigued, still recovering from your injury, but you struggled to break out of his hold anyway.

He shushed you again, his deceptively slim arms keeping you immobile, and then he began to speak, quiet and steady, “My darling is silent. Quiet as the night.”

“R-Rook…”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “Mon orilles sont pauvres faute de sa douce voix.

As I look at that sweet face,

Beautiful as a flower, as the moon, as the blood in our veins,

Je me sens seule dans ma peau.”

You… are not amazing at French. A small English to French dictionary was left on the table whenever Rook left, but reading made your head swim, pangs of pain so bad that you had to rest immediately. But, from what little you understood, the man who had saved you from a cold death outside seemed to have something worse planned for you, if you were in fact this “darling” he spoke of.

You definitely do not like it here. You’d made the mistake of pushing Rook’s increasing affections away every chance you got, resulting in him reading your reluctance to be around him as hostility. You’d gone to cut some vegetables and found that all the knives were replaced with children’s safety cutlery. While you could very well still cause damage with them, you couldn’t do anything life-threatening without a lot of effort and no fighting back. The serrated plastic edges were only good for cutting through the flesh of fruits and tender meats, and the rounded tips meant you couldn’t really pierce anything.You couldn’t even skin a fish that Rook came back with, he did it with his hunting knife after watching you struggle for an irritatingly long time.

And then there’s the cellar. You had taken a nap after trying to read and woken up, the sky dark as usual and a terrifying grinding, clunking noise coming up from the basement. You felt like you needed to hide, so you did. You crawled under the bed and waited, the basement door flying open and a few more candles getting lit echoing as the grinding noise- the sound of something big and heavy being dragged- moved further back towards the area of the cabin that you didn’t go in usually. There wasn’t much over there except for a wardrobe, and you didn’t like opening cabinets here. It stopped being about politeness a while ago, and had turned into the fear of finding something you didn’t like.

When you heard the front door open and close, felt the frigid rush of air that entered the cabin, you felt like you were frozen as well. You couldn’t move as you heard the sound of water being poured, and you worried for a while that you would start to feel the wooden floor beneath you grow cold and wet. Instead of wet floors, however, you saw Rook’s feet- you could only tell because of the freckle that peeps over his sock on his left leg and the fine blond hairs prickling from his skin- in your narrow window of vision from where you were cowering.

“Cheri… come out from under there.”

You did, but you did so slowly. As soon as you were no longer under the bed, Rook pulled you to your feet and looked at your face. He’d never made such a serious expression before, not that you’d seen, and it made you feel a bit panicked.

“R-Rook, what was all that noise?”

His face smoothed and he let go of you, then he waved towards the dark corner of the cabin.

“I’ve run a bath. The water is warm, lapin, so you’d best get in before it cools.”

You did feel grimy, and since you were okay with standing and walking around for longer periods of time now, as compared to the first few weeks you were here, you jumped at the prospect of getting clean. You quickly undressed, knowing it was dark enough that Rook probably couldn’t see you, and climbed into the warm water. You couldn’t see if there was any soap, but as you were squinting into the darkness, kneeling in the tub as you leaned forward over the side, you felt something brush against your back. When you turned around, you shrieked like an owl and had a very intense internal dilemma.

Rook was seated in the tub behind you, or in front of you now, since you were facing him. He produced a bar of soap and began washing himself, dipping his head under the water so he could wash his hair as well. You couldn’t help but blankly stare at him, eyes wide as he acted so casual. This had been a problem for a while, actually, but never so severe as this. Rook was overly familiar with you, he touched you as though you had been married or were close friends, and apparently now he thought it was fine for you to share a bath. His eyes met yours in the dark corner, and he possibly smirked. You couldn’t quite see, but you could hear it in his voice.

“Ah, mon cher, did you need the soap? But you can’t see very well, can you? Come and let me wash your supple skin.”

A moment before he said that, you were debating if you should get out of the tub or something. You couldn’t tell if it’d be better to be ogled as you dressed or if staying under the water would give you a bit more modesty. After he said that, his arms reaching for you, you began to stand up. Although it was dark, you still saw his eyes flash, saw a slight movement in his wrist, and you were brought to your knees. It felt as though vines were wrapped around you, and you tilted forwards into your captor’s chest as your balance failed you in the dark water of the tub.

This man was a mage. You didn’t think you’d ever met one before, but you couldn’t remember. You wailed and begged for him to let you go as he began to gently wash you, but he simply shushed you and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

You absolutely hate it here. As you chopped carrots for the stew you had decided to make, you wondered where you were from or where you were going, and hoped someone knew you had never shown up and was looking for you. You didn’t think that was the case, however.

“That does smell divine, trickster.” Rook said, walking up the stairs from the basement, “Et vous êtes terriblement mignonne, portant ce petit tablier adorable et préparant le dîner…”

“I can’t cut the meat well with this. Can I have an actual knife, please?”

Rook didn’t answer, leaning against the wall and watching as you chopped the carrots with some difficulty. He looked pleased, though whether it was with you or the situation remained to be known. When he finally pushed off of the wall, he wrapped one arm around your front, burying his face in your hair as his other hand slid down your thigh.

“Get off of me!” You tried to slash his arm with the knife, but it barely even scratched his skin, and the hand that was resting on your waist came up to crush your dominant hand so you’d drop the knife.

Panic spiked through your veins as he slipped his hand up your leg so he could slide it in the waistband of the pants you were wearing. His hand that was crushing yours lowered to hold your wrist against the counter.

You’d never tried this before, but when his lips pressed against your neck, you felt your breath hitch and you let out a desperate cry for help.

Rook laughed in response and nipped your neck, his teeth pinching your skin between them. His hand in your waistband smoothed down your pelvis to gently massage your sex, and you screamed again, thrashing and flailing so he would let you go.

Despite him never quite showing this side of him to you before, Rook was something of a strategist. As far as you could tell, it hadn’t been that long since you’d gotten here, if your head injury was anything to measure time by.

“Relax, ma crevette. You are still recovering, no? Allow this lowly hunter to take care of your body.”

Your head hurt and you felt dizzy as he stoked your arousal. A disconnect between your mind and body grew into a chasm and you began to bawl as a pressure built up in your core. Your head was spinning, it felt as though your brain was throbbing, and you shuddered and wept as Rook peppered kisses on your cheek. He had you pressed solidly against the counter, his body keeping you more or less still. His breath was hot on your skin, and you felt like you were in hell.

“Come, trickster. The soup can wait. Je dois t'avoir.”

“No!”

Rook paid you little heed as he dragged you backwards towards the bed, and while you were expecting him to just throw you onto it before he assaulted you, he gently swept you off of your feet and laid you down. That was where his mercy ended, however, if it could even be called mercy here. That knife that was pressed to his thigh, still warm from his skin and him doing whatever he did in the basement, was quickly unsheathed and trailed lightly up your sternum.

“Not struggling any longer, mon petit lapin? I’m glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” His blade slid back down and he used a finger to help hook it under the hem of your shirt, cutting through the fabric as though it was nothing, “And I am sure you must be confused, but a little… exercise is good for your condition.”

You wanted to vomit, but Rook’s gloved hand cupped your chin. His knife felt cold against your now bare skin, and your breath hitched as you sucked in and held it, your eyes looking down at where Rook had his knife.

One of his leather-covered fingers tapped your cheek, and you looked back up at him. He smiled sweetly and sat up a bit, his blade still pressed flat against your stomach, right over your navel. He caught the fingertip of his glove in his teeth and yanked that glove off, tossing it to the side and passing the knife to his now bare hand. As he leaned forward to hover over you once more, his knife pressed under your chin and his gloved hand slipped into your pants, shifting lower than your crotch to prod at your poor ass. You closed your legs tighter in panic, and Rook tutted at you as though you were an unruly child.

“Come now, cheri, you should relax.” He whispered, leaning closer to press a kiss against your forehead, where you’d hit your head and how you’d gotten into this whole mess. “Plus vous êtes tendu, plus la douleur est forte…”

“D-don’t do this, don’t-” Your voice sounded so shaky, and you realized that you were trembling. Every time you made the slightest movement, you could feel the sharp edge of Rook’s hunting knife against your chin.

“Open your legs, Trickster. I’m not touching you for my benefit… although your faces of bewilderment and pleasure are quite sweet.” His finger circled the tight ring of muscle around your anus and you slowly relaxed.

“Wh-why are you d-doing…?”

Rook smiled sweetly and removed his finger from your anus slowly, instead dragging your pants down your legs and relaxing his hand with the knife against your neck. When your lower half was mostly bare above the knee, he pressed two fingers into your ass and slowly massaged you from the inside, tilting his head as his face fell.

“After I graduated from NRC, I did not think I’d see your darling little form again. It was a welcome surprise… but I don’t suppose you know what I’m talking about.” He mused, reaching over your head to grab something. He opened the little bottle with one hand, the slippery liquid cold on your asshole as he resumed his gentle fingering, “You don’t remember me in the least. Do you?”

You felt so woozy and scared, but it explained so much if he knew you… but that didn’t matter. He was still a stranger to you, and one who was currently preparing to do more terrible things to you.

“Heh… I did think so.” Rook quickly unbuckled his pants and tugged them down just enough to free himself. He pulled back away from you to seat your thighs on his own, his cock slowly inching into your poor hole. His knife slid away from your neck but remained in his grip as he slowly slid his hips forward, his opposite hand holding your ass.

Your vision was white for a moment, and when it returned it was blurry. Were you crying? You could hear loud, shuddery breathing, and it took a moment for you to figure out that it was coming from you. Rook sighed peacefully, as though this was a walk in the park for him.

“Aw… I do not enjoy harming you, trickster.” Rook murmured, his hips slowly beginning their undulating motion. He shushed your pained sounds, “This is my love for you. You’ve only grown more beautiful these past few years.”

You winced and pushed against him, your feet shifting so you could try to kick him away, and his knife came back to rest against your collarbones. His hips rocked a little faster, every pump leaving a burning stretch that only felt like it doubled over onto itself.

“Did you know? How I felt for you, how I longed for your touch all those years ago? These three on my own… they have been l'écrasement de l'âme. I’ve had far too much time to- Putain, tu n'es pas du tout détendu…” Rook wheezed and grunted, dark and low.

You felt a pit in your lower belly, and you grabbed the wrist that had the knife, your watering eyes wide as you looked up at this man who apparently knew you.

“Please, petit, you have to… fuck- you must unclench, or this will not last much longer.”

His demand was probably one of the most ridiculous things you’d heard. You couldn’t relax. He had a knife to your throat, he was rearranging your guts, and he had chosen just now to inform you that he was aware of at least a portion of your past. You made this strange whining shriek noise, and Rook’s hand holding the knife slipped ever so slightly.

It was unclear as to whether or not he did that on purpose, especially since he removed the blade from your skin and lasciviously lapped at the small cut on your collarbone, his lips trailing up to your ear.

“Préparez-vous, car je vais déposer mon amour dans votre estomac en attente.”

The sentence itself was honestly quite jarring, but Rook groaned loudly into your ear and nearly folded you in half as he came inside of your ass. It felt hot and sickly, and the musky smell of Rook’s skin and sex permeated the room. Your head panged, woozy throbs that made your stomach churn. Rook dragged his body up and gently teased your sex with his gloved fingertips, his murky green eyes glued to yours.

“Wh-”

“Did you truly think I would not give you the same bliss you have given me?” He mumbled, “You really don’t remember me, then.”

As he pulled out of you and stroked you to your own orgasm, he smiled sadly.

"Don't worry, trickster. You will remember in time."

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blood-orange-juice · 6 months

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Pushing my "Childe is inspired by Uther Doul" agenda.

I wrote about how everything that he does contains a contradiction and we discussed with Cricket how Canotila's quest implies that the Abyss might not be just a place with monsters and dead forgotten gods, but rather a place where things randomly flicker in and out of existence or change to random other things.

And a huge part of my fascination with Childe is how three years after the start of the story I still can't figure him out. Human psyche doesn't bend at this angles, his combination of traits is not supposed to exist in one person (nor it can be imitated).

Yet, somehow it doesn't feel like ooc or bad writing, I have a very clear sense of what would be childelike and unchildelike, it just doesn't feel like anything that can exist inside a human brain, unless I resort to a very weird theory.

The theory.

China Mieville's "The Scar" has a concept called "possibility mining", certain places and certain magic/technology being able to conjure all the possible versions of a person or an object at once. It can be navigated to some extent.

There's a character called Uther Doul, a warrior-scholar, the pirate city rulers' bodyguard and overall a charming fellow. He's consistently described as someone changing the direction of his actions too quickly and unpredictably or having traits that shouldn't coexist in one person.

(he also wears grey, is proficient in most kinds of weapons and is generally polite and soft spoken. do you see my vision?)

First meeting:

“Surrender,” he said quietly to the man before him, who looked up in terror and sobbed, fumbled idiotically for his knife. The grey-clad man spun instantly in the air, his arms and legs bent. He twirled as if he were dancing and stamped out quickly, the bottom of his foot slamming into the fallen man’s face and smashing him back. The sailor sprawled, bleeding, unconscious or dead. As the man in grey landed he was instantly still. It was as if he had not moved.

A fight at a city arena (mostly quoting this for the reaction of other people to him):

It was only when the frenzy spread to her own boat that she realized it was a word. “Doul.” It came from all around her. “Doul, Doul, Doul.” A name. “What are they saying?” she hissed to Silas. “They’re calling for someone,” he said, his eyes scanning the surrounds. “They want a display. They’re demanding a fight from Uther Doul.” He gave her a quick, cold smile. “You’ll recognize him,” he said. “You’ll know him when you see him.” [...] Uther Doul did not seem to live in the same time as anyone else. He seemed like some visitor to a world much more gross and sluggish than his own. Despite the bulk of his body, he moved with such speed that even gravity seemed to operate more quickly for him.

The heroine contemplating after (I don't think need to comment):

They left and walked the winding nightlit pathways of Thee-And-Thine toward Shaddler, and Garwater and the Chromolith. Neither spoke. At the end of Doul’s fight, Bellis had seen something that had brought her up short and made her afraid. As he had turned, his hands clawed, his chest taut and heaving, she had seen his face. It was stretched tight, every muscle straining, into a glare of feral savagery unlike anything she had ever seen on a human being. Then a second later, with his bout won, he had turned to acknowledge the crowd and had looked once more like a contemplative priest. Bellis could imagine some fatuous warrior code, some mysticism that abstracted the violence of combat and allowed one to fight like a holy man. And equally she could imagine tapping into savagery, letting atavistic viciousness take over in a berserker fugue. But Doul’s combination stunned her. She thought of it later, as she lay in her bed, listening to light rain. He had readied and recovered himself like a monk, fought like a machine, and seemed to feel it like a predatory beast. That tension frightened her, much more than the combat skills he had shown. Those could be learned.

Uther explaining lore:

Uther quoted something like a singer. “ ‘We have scarred this mild world with prospects, wounded it massively, broken it, made our mark on its most remote land and stretching for thousands of leagues across its sea. And what we break we may reshape, and that which fails might still succeed. We have found rich deposits of chance, and we will dig them out.’ “They meant all that literally,” he said. “It wasn’t an abstract crow of triumph. They had scarred, they had broken the world. And, in doing so, they set free forces that they were able to tap. Forces that allowed them to reshape things, to fail and succeed simultaneously-because they mined for possibilities. A cataclysm like that, shattering a world, the rupture left behind: it opens up a rich seam of potentialities. “And they knew how to pick at the might-have-beens and pull out the best of them, use them to shape the world. For every action, there’s an infinity of outcomes. Countless trillions are possible, many milliards are likely, millions might be considered probable, several occur as possibilities to us as observers-and one comes true. “But the Ghosthead knew how to tap some of those that might have been. To give them a kind of life. To use them, to push them into the reality that in its very existence denied theirs, which is defined by what happened and by the denial of what did not. Tapped by possibility machines, outcomes that didn’t quite make it to actuality were boosted, and made real.

Fun detail: he also wields what's called a "possible sword", it takes the shape currently preferred by the owner.

If I recall that correctly, it's never actually stated explicitly or explained why does Uther have such a weird combination of traits and fans argue a lot about which side was real.

I think all of them were. He just switched constantly between all the different versions of himself. And I think so does Childe. Not just in "he compartmentalizes" way (although that probably too) but in reality-shifting way.

I also think that's the real reason why Childe wasn't in Sumeru. His thought process itself is probably a massive spoiler. Also Nahida would have probably speedrun a corruption arc with a pace inconceivable both to King Deshret and Rukkhadevata if she tried to peek into his head.

It gets weirder and even more fun when you see the drops from the 4.2 boss, but I'll wait for the patch to drop to draw parallels. For now I'll just say that it involves a whale and a music instrument.

#childe #tartaglia #genshin lore #if abyss be thy name I pledge to you my loyalty #all of the above #<- this is my childe/uther tag #the power I represent cares not at all about new crobuzon #I don't think there's a 1:1 comparison #rather hoyo authors read the book and were captivated by the concept just like I was #and then used it as inspiration #so I doubt they'll even follow the same plot points #but the similarities are uncanny

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folksaga-if · 11 months

Photo

“It is a long story, and it does no credit to anyone: there is murder in it, and trickery, lies and foolishness, seduction and pursuit. Listen."

- Neil Gaiman, Norse Mythology

You are a human. A totally normal one.

Honestly.

It’s manageable. You’re managing.

Or you were, until someone — someone who's decidedly not as good at this human thing as you are — begins leaving a trail of dead bodies at your doorstep, and a trio of god-like siblings take a seat at your bar.

(Ragnarök might have marked the end of the Norns, but that doesn't mean your fate died along with them.)

MAGNI THORSON .

(Well, the prince that he was. Just don’t let him hear you say that.)

MODI THORSON .

(Looks like even gods aren’t immune to middle-child syndrome. Who knew?)

THRÚD THORSDÓTTIR .

Valkyrie, seidhr, paragon of strength — with all of her mother’s best traits (and a few of her father’s worst), is it any wonder that Thor’s youngest child was also his favourite? Smarter than her half-brothers and more likeable by a longshot, you might find yourself forgetting how easily the fortune-telling goddess could break you in two. You might, but she’ll be happy to remind you if you do.

(Maybe a little too happy, in fact.)

KATLA B̶͍̏L̸̝͑O̵̟͠M̴̳̓Q̴̯̔V̵̺͆I̷̗͛S̵̠͒T̸̬̒ .

(It's just that it’s nice, being close to someone who’s so very human.)

THE MARE .

There’s a voice in your head and a shadow in your dreams, and they’re telling you to run. You probably shouldn’t trust them.

(…Right?)

Play as one of three runway creatures from Norse mythology — a cunning keeper of the forest, a charming warden of the lake, or a formidable guardian of the mountains. Each has its quirks (would you prefer a hollowed-out tree for a back, or webbed fingers and forearms covered in scales?), but they all have two key things in common: they’ll kill to protect their homes, and you’re definitely not one of them.

Choose your own fate, out of the countless that are presented to you. Had oatmeal instead of skyr with your breakfast this morning? You might have just brought about Ragnarök 2.0. Nice one, asshole.

Multiple romance options, with each available to pursue regardless of your gender or background. Ever wanted to kiss a god under a starry sky? Now's your chance! Or maybe you’re through with immortal beings and desperate to ask the pretty server on a date? Go for it! She’s definitely a human too. Totally. You’d be able to tell if she wasn’t. Wouldn’t you?

Save the world — or don’t. It's your choice, and isn't that what true freedom is all about?

Folksaga is inspired by The Edda, Norse mythology, and Twin Peaks, with a bit of tweaking to the myths as needed for the sake of plot. MC backgrounds have been adjusted to fit for all players regardless of gender identity, and creative liberty has been taken with some smaller points for a smoother storytelling experience. All changes will be explained in an FAQ post (too be added in the links below ASAP!)

The current demo consists of the prologue (introductory lore + character creation), which is about 20k words. I plan to post it in the next few weeks, after some edits + the completion of chapter one!

I expect it to be somewhere in the range of 600,000 to 700,000 words, but this is subject to change (and likely will due to my propensity for rambling text. oops.).

MC ORIGINS | RO INTROS | demo coming soon!

#interactive fiction #interactive novel #interact-if #choice of games #choicescript #cog #hosted games #hg #interactive game #text-based #norse mythology #twin peaks #romance #mystery #murder mystery #folksaga-if

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tropes-and-tales-archives · 4 months

Text

Whistle Down the Wind, Chapter One

Word Count: 1372

TW: Pining, unrequited love.

AN: Part of a series. The series masterlist here.

You were late. Again.

Practice had run over (again), and so you found yourself sprinting down the street (again), your violin case banging against the side of your leg as you dodged around pedestrians, hollering apologies over your shoulder when you ran into anyone.

Luckily, it was only Sunday at lunchtime, so you probably would still get a table even if you were late. Unluckily, if you were late again, Sonny would never let you hear the end of it. Luckily, you were just sprinting with your violin and not, say, your cello or your keyboard.

Unluckily, you hadn’t seen much of Sonny since he got himself a girlfriend. So you tried to maximize your time with him when you could get it.

You had been friends with Dominick “Call me Sonny, everybody does” Carisi Junior since college. You had gone to school with his younger sister Bella, and she had quickly adopted you and made you a member of her family. How many holiday breaks, how many weeks each summer had you spent in the Carisi household on Staten Island? Too many to count. And while you loved Bella like a sister, it had taken even less time to fall in love with Sonny.

Who, sadly, did not seem to return the sentiment.

You pushed the thought out of your head as you jay-walked and then entered the restaurant. Sonny was already there, and when he saw you walk in, he tapped his watch in an exaggerated manner before standing up to wrap you in one of his patented hugs.

You allowed yourself to melt against him for a briefest nanosecond, breathing in the scent of his cologne and soap, before you pushed yourself away, stashed your violin, and shed your coat. Sonny pulled your chair out for you, and your flashed him your winningest grin as you sat down across from him.

He looked good. He had finally shed that ridiculous mustache that made him look like an extra in a 1970’s porno, and his hair was swept up and gelled to perfection. He was wearing his grey Henley and the jeans that looked perfect on him. He crinkled his eyes at you and grinned back.

“I know I didn’t just see you jay-walking,” he said by way of greeting.

You rolled your eyes at him and scanned the menu. “Don’t be such a cop.”

He picked up his own menu. “Over 6,000 people died in pedestrian related accidents last year,” he said, his voice stern. “I’d hate to see you go out that way.”

“I plan on dying tragically while rescuing my family from the wreckage of a destroyed sinking battleship,” you replied, dead-pan.

Sonny snorted by didn’t reply. That’s what the two of you had originally bonded over: movies. Bella didn’t have the attention span for movies – especially indie ones – so there were many summer nights in college that you found yourself on the Carisi rec room couch, curled under Nonna Carisi’s crocheted blanket in the frigid AC, watching some Wes Anderson or David Lynch (or once, very uncomfortably, a Harmony Korine film) with Sonny. The first movie you had watched together had been “the Royal Tenenbaums.”

The two of you ordered lunch and then caught up. He told you about his new stint at Manhattan’s SVU and his classes at Fordham Law. You told him about the multiple gigs you had with your music – your cover band, your work at weddings, your growing portfolio of producing work. He told you about his parents (bored empty nesters), you updated him about yours (bitter divorcees who lived halfway across the country). Then you came to the topic that made your stomach turn with jealousy. Significant others.

“How’s Nicole?” you asked, keeping your voice level and nonchalant.

Sonny swallowed his bite of food. “She’s good,” he replied. He wiped at his mouth. “We’re good.”

You nodded. “That’s good.” You focused on your plate, pushing the remains of your chicken piccata around. You could feel Sonny watching you, but you didn’t want to look up at him. You had met his girlfriend exactly one time, at a Carisi family dinner. Nicole was the opposite of you: polished in perfect makeup and perfect clothing that fit perfectly. She obviously went to the salon regularly – she didn’t have visible roots (despite Bella snarking to you once that Nicole wasn’t a natural blonde), and her nails were polished to a high shine.

In your meaner moments, you would reflect that she wasn’t very nice – she spent that dinner stealing glances at her phone, and she didn’t talk about anyone but herself. But you tried to be happy for Sonny. If he was happy, you were happy. You could deal with the bittersweet feeling of being invisible.

“So everything’s good then,” Sonny teased, and you looked up to see his bright blue eyes twinkling at you. “What about you? Seeing anyone?”

You gave half of a shrug. “Nah.” You pushed your plate aside and flagged down the waitress for the bill, which Sonny snagged from you before you could get it. He put down some cash and replied.

“You shouldn’t be so picky,” he said. “I’m sure you could find someone if you didn’t have such high standards.” You winced at this unintentional barb but tried to cover it up with a smile. Of course you were picky – of all the people in New York City, there was only one Sonny Carisi. And he was unavailable.

“You’re right.” You stood up, put your coat on, grabbed your violin, and waited for him to follow. “The next time a guy with a rapey vibe hits on me after one of my gigs, I’ll just be less picky. Thanks for the official advice from Sex Crimes.”

Sonny snorted as the two of you walked out of the restaurant, but he looked serious as he turned to hug you goodbye. “Be careful out there.”

You hugged him back awkwardly, shielding part of your body with your violin. Between both of your busy lives, you never got to see your friend anymore. Lately, you only had time for these quick lunches before each of you went back to your separate lives.

When you had graduated from college, you had moved to Manhattan to start your musical career, and Bella had stayed behind in your college town to wait for her boyfriend Tommy to finish his stint in prison. Sonny was a new detective, and the two of you spent a lot of time together, watching movies and cooking for each other when the other was busy.

But as many times as you fell asleep on his couch, it never progressed beyond friendship, and your time together waxed and waned depending on if Sonny was seeing anyone. And lately, any free time that Sonny had was spent with Nicole. He had cancelled and rescheduled this lunch three times before it actually happened.

So you only hugged him back halfheartedly. Because you could feel him pulling away from your life more and more, and when you were nestled in his arms, even in a friendly hug, it reminded you of what you didn’t have. Of what you’d never have.

You pulled away after a moment, then smiled up at him. It made your heart ache to feel that you were losing him, but you could always channel that pain into your music. Maybe sell it as scoring to some sad romance movie where the woman dies at the end and the man walks away into the rain when the end credits start.

“See you around soon, stretch,” you said, trying to keep your voice light. “And thanks for lunch.”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he replied. He chucked you on your shoulder, then turned and walked away. You watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of those jeans that really did fit him perfectly. Once he rounded the corner and was out of sight, you checked the street both ways and jay-walked towards your own apartment.

Because you weren’t joking about using your heartache for your music. The sharp sting of your unreciprocated infatuation would make for a great string piece, and you already were composing the main theme in your head.

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi imagine #sonny carisi x reader #tropes and tales #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction

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