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adventuresofmelody · 23 days

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Wow ok. So I got quite a bit of positive feedback. So by popular request, here’s chapter two! If y’all want more, let me know. I’m glad to share what I’ve got if people enjoy it.

The chill of purgatory swirled around his body, but Lucifer didn’t even notice it anymore. He had come and gone from this realm so many times he barely felt the cold, let alone noticed it. If he noticed it at all, the cool air was a nice reprieve from the fiery heat in hell. He smirked to himself at the thought of purgatory being a reprieve of any sort before he started off down the stairwell. He didn’t have time to find amusement in this visit. He was on a mission. The lights flickered as he passed by several floors worth of souls, some old, some very young. Painfully young. Lucifer clenched his fists a little and forced himself to keep walking. He hated it here. He supposed he should be thankful that He didn’t see fit to send Lucifer to this realm for all eternity, but all he could feel was rage. Morgana was kept here. That took away most of his feelings of gratitude for his own fate.

He reached the bottom of the stairs, and after a brief moment of hesitation, he pressed forward. Surprised when there was no invisible barrier preventing him from moving forward, he stumbled a moment before continuing on. The lights were mostly out here, the few that shined had a dull glow about them as if the bulbs were dirty. The floor was wet in places, and it felt colder down here than in the rest of purgatory. He passed by a multitude of cells, some empty, some doused in darkness with the essence of a soul in them. Lucifer only found 4 cells that had halfway decent lighting in them. The first was empty. The second he found the soul of a young man, mid-twenties at most. He stared at Lucifer with hollowed out eyes while he shivered, sitting on the poor excuse for a bed and just staring at the wall. Lucifer walked quickly by, coming to the third cell with some semblance of light in it. Everything was in disarray. The mattress was turned upside down and against a wall, the bed frame was apparently slammed repeatedly into the bars, he could see the damage done to the frame and the slight damage to the bars at the point of impact. Bloody scratch marks covered the walls, as if someone had scratched at them until their fingernails broke and their fingers bled. The level of destruction indicated that had to be Morgana’s cell. He almost couldn’t look at it. So. This was where she was all this time. No wonder she had changed, had come back to him harsher. Darker. Anyone would have after being subjected to…this. Once again he felt that rage come back. How dare He leave Morgana in here to suffer like this? To exist in this endless dark, cold space with no hope for an out? He slammed his fist into the bars, feeling his skin briefly split before it began to heal itself. Perks of still being an ethereal being, he supposed.

Lucifer took a breath. His rage would not bring Morgana peace. If anything, his rage would only feed her own, no matter how justified she was in feeling that rage. He needed to focus. He needed to find that man. If he was even down here to be found. Lucifer briefly considered the fact that, once Morgana was set free, the secrets that man held would be at risk. He could have moved him. Of course, if He had moved the man, it was because the man held secrets that turned out to be true. He could have just been broken by his time in isolation, down in the depths of purgatory. It seemed so unfair to think about how these souls were trapped in such isolation. No one to truly look out for them. Well, not no one he supposed. There was always the Warden. No one knew which celestial being was stuck with the responsibility of purgatory, but the Warden was in charge of the souls here. He was said to be mysterious, rarely seen. Only coming by when a soul was going to either heaven or hell. He used to be in charge of sending souls to any realm, or so the rumor went. But no one had seen the Warden in ages. No one was sure he had even survived the fall.

Lucifer didn’t want to ponder a fictional man any longer. He wanted to find out if the one in question was there or not. He walked up one way and didn’t see anyone that stuck out. He passed back by the young man with the hollow eyes, and an older woman who was sat almost completely in the dark. She knelt on the ground, murmuring prayers that Lucifer knew for a fact would not be answered. He started to walk the other way, peeking into cells as he went. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until he passed by one that was fully dark, minus a little sliver of light right by the bars. He stopped when he heard a noise, and was unable to hide his surprise when a young girl came walking forward. No more than 6, with blonde curls tangled in knots that brushed her shoulders. Her eyes were a dark brown but they still glittered like diamonds in the slender bit of light. She was still very much aware down there.

“I recognize your footsteps.” She said, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. Lucifer cleared his throat, not sure what to say. She continued. “I know you’ve never been down this far before. But you have been above.” Lucifer stiffened, immediately getting defensive.

“And you can tell by the way I walk, can you?” he aggressively asked her. She nodded, unfazed by his ire.

“I recognize everyone’s footsteps. Especially those that come through frequently.” Lucifer once again didn’t know what to say. He looked her over, seeming to study her for a moment. Her deep brown eyes never left his, never showed unease or tension. Or the madness that so many others did. She didn’t even seem fully…human.

“You’re an ethereal being.” Lucifer stated. She nodded, not that she needed to. He wasn’t asking. “How long have you been here? Since the fall?”

“After. Not long after though. Souls of any kind don’t age here, so while my mind is fully developed, my physical appearance stayed the same from the time I was taken from my family.” That was curious. Souls who ended up here were normally here to atone, or to be given a chance to go to a better place. Or a worse one. None were usually placed here without any hope of escape. As far as Lucifer knew, Morgana was the only soul that was placed here indefinitely. Clearly, that was not accurate. How many others? Why were they taken here of all places? How long had they truly been here? One question at a time, he told himself sternly.

“And why were you taken?” he asked. She gave a wry smile.

“Angels are not permitted to have relations with the fallen. When He found out about my mother being with my father, well. He did away with me in the only way He could and still look like a benevolent being.” Lucifer felt ice settle in his veins. So that meant…No.

“How long have you been here?” his voice shook, unsure if he even wanted the answer to this question. The little girl gave him a gentle smile, as though she was trying to soften the blow for his sake, despite her being the one that lived through the horrors of purgatory for millennia.

“I have lost track. I stopped counting after one thousand eight hundred and twenty four years.” Her whisper grew softer, more faded. Lucifer felt his fists clench as that ice that had frozen in his veins turned slowly to liquid fire. His rage spiked, despite his best effort to contain himself. The girl looked him over, then said in the same rasping whisper, “He will not speak to you if you are angry. He doesn’t respond well to anger.”

“Who?” Lucifer all but growled the word. The girl gave him a look.

“Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.” She scolded him. Lucifer felt very foolish, being scolded by a little girl. He gave her what he hoped was a scathing look, but it lacked his usual fire. She smiled at him.

“You are here to visit the man that has seen Zeus.” She said softly. Lucifer tilted his head.

“Has he seen him?” he asked. The girl shrugged.

“We all have. Or at least, what we believe to be him.” Lucifer tired of her riddles. He took a deep breath.

“How many like you are here?” he asked. The girl looked sad, as though the concept of others being here like her made her upset. Her look slowly shifted, however from sadness to calculation as she tried to puzzle out an exact number to give to the devil. Lucifer waited patiently while she worked out her answer.

“I cannot say for sure.” The girl finally answered him, her raspy whisper raising in volume, but only slightly. “My brother I know for sure is here. He is two floors below.”

“What lies below?” Lucifer wondered.

“The dark.” The girl answered, fear coloring her words. Lucifer felt his heart hurt. He didn’t usually allow children into his realm, but…this girl was not actually a little girl after all, was she?

“What is your name?”

“It has been too long since I have heard it. I do not even remember what my mother named me.” The girl answered, sounding disconnected from the answer. Lucifer decided this was something else he would need to take up with Zeus, if that was really who was in charge here.

“I will find out for you.” He promised. The girl gave him another soft smile. “Who am I here to see? Do you know where he is?” The girl pointed.

“At the end of the hallway. Left side. Closest to the stairs that head up to the Warden.” She answered him. Lucifer nodded.

“I will come back for you.” He said softly. The girl's smile turned jaded.

“You are not the first to say so.” She told him. Lucifer wondered who else had been to see her. But she faded back into the dark of her cell, away from the bars. She was apparently finished speaking to him. Lucifer lingered outside of her cell, as if he was reluctant to leave. Already he was planning out where she would stay in his domain. Her and her brother too. She didn’t say her brother’s name, either. Only he was two floors down. Lucifer supposed that didn’t matter. He would get the information from the Warden on them both in the end, and he would take them out of this dreadful place.

Lucifer began walking in the direction the girl had told him, peeking into other cells almost as though he were afraid of what he’d see. The little girl was certainly the most jarring thing he’d found so far. He took breaths as he walked, wanting to maintain a calm, aloof demeanor. He will not speak if you are not calm, the girl had said. Finally Lucifer reached the cell at the end, which was surprisingly well lit. He took a look inside, and was almost relieved by what he saw contained in the cell.

There was a man there, scribbling away at a notebook. He was murmuring to himself, what hair he did have was disheveled and missing chunks where it appeared he ripped them out in frustration. His eyes, from what Lucifer could see, were wild. His fingernails were broken, papers were scattered all across the floor. Where did he keep getting them? And the pencils? Was no one worried about him harming someone with them? Clearly that was a non-issue, as he was still given the tools to let the madness in his eyes onto the pages. The scribblings from what he could see were that of a man half mad, something about an island and an artifact. Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up, unable to contain his disbelief. This was the man that Morgana was convinced knew where Zeus was? He stepped a bit closer, listening to the man’s murmuring.

“He’ll come back. And when he does, I’ll be ready.” He was saying, over and over again. Lucifer was thoroughly confused. Was he planning on attacking Zeus? Or was he waiting on further instruction? Who was he working for? Or rather, who did he think he was working for? Zeus may not have wanted the man in his employ, with how close to the surface his madness clearly sat. He cleared his throat, startling the man. He didn’t know what he was expecting when the man’s head shot straight up, but the grin that he got was certainly not it.

“You’re here!” he cried out, standing so fast that he toppled the chair. He rushed to the bars, causing Lucifer to step back in surprise. What sort of reaction was this?

“I am.” He said, confusion evident in his tone. Was this man expecting him? How did he not know he was expected in purgatory? The man leaned forward and whispered, almost conspiratorially.

“Did Zeus send you?” Lucifer started to deny it, then thought better of it and nodded once, a crisp clean nod. This pleased the man, who thrusted his papers out of the cell with a renewed vigor.

“Please. Take these to him. Tell him to pass them on to my daughter. She’ll know what to do.” Lucifer took the papers and glanced at them. They appeared to be instructions. Not very clear instructions, but perhaps they meant something to someone else. He nodded, then leaned close in a way similar to how the man did.

“Where do I find Zeus? He didn’t tell me how to get back in touch.” He whispered. The man nodded slowly, as if he understood Zeus’ being sneaky. Lucifer almost laughed at how easy this was.

“He does like his secrets. He’s upstairs. All the way at the top.”

“The Warden? Zeus is the Warden?” Lucifer asked, surprised. The man nodded, a wild and excited grin on his face.

“The perfect place to hide, yes?” he said, giggling a little at the end of his sentence. Lucifer nodded. Perfect place to hide indeed. He never would have found him here, and he had been to purgatory hundreds of times since the fall. The thought that Zeus had been here from the start seemed almost too good to be true. Lucifer was familiar with the saying “Never look a gift horse in the mouth” but he couldn’t seem to help himself on this one.

“And you’re absolutely sure Zeus is the one up those stairs?” he asked. The man’s wild eyes narrowed accusingly.

“Of course I’m sure! How can you not be sure? Were you actually sent here by him?” Lucifer immediately back peddled. He would get no further with this man.

“Indeed.” He told the man. When he still stared Lucifer down with harsh, almost angry eyes, he continued, “I’ll head up to see him immediately.” The man’s glare suddenly shifted, and he looked so relieved, Lucifer almost hated deceiving him. Almost.

“Thank you! Tell him, tell him I sent you. I did what he asked, and wrote the letter for my daughter. Tell him. And tell him I kept his secret.” Lucifer nodded. He assumed that he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else down here where Zeus was. But since Lucifer ‘was sent’ by Zeus, it was alright to share the information. He didn’t ask, so he didn’t blow his cover. Instead, he took the papers, murmured his thanks, and climbed back up the stairs to the main level.

The little girl and the man both said that the Warden was up the stairs, all the way at the top. Did he trust the ramblings of the madman? No. But he did trust that little girl. And he knew no matter what he needed to speak to the Warden, Zeus or no Zeus. She could not remain here. Neither her nor her brother. He’d take every single ethereal child with him if he could get away with it. But there was only one way he could ever even attempt something like that. He needed to get to the top of the stairs.

Lucifer looked up, at the massive amount of floors above him. He tried to focus himself to the top of the stairs, but he was blocked from doing so. He glared. So. Zeus wanted to make this difficult did he? The Olympians were all the same. They saw themselves as gods, so they behaved as such, bringing nothing to the table unless they had something to gain and making everyone else do the hard work. Lucifer was almost relieved he didn’t have to interact with any of them after the fall. Although, if their fate was anything like that little girl’s fate was, he felt immediate pity for the Olympians, no matter how annoying they were to interact with. He sighed, looking up at the task before him, not thinking any further on the Olympians. He wasn’t certain of their fate. He was certain that he didn’t want to climb all those stairs. But he knew for sure he needed to know if this was where Zeus was hiding, and if he really knew how to get them all back into paradise. And even if that path didn’t pan out, he promised that little girl. He was going to get her and her brother out of this hell hole. Today. So he took one last deep breath, to steel his resolve, and began climbing the stairs.

Tada! Chapter 2. Formatting may be a little odd because, mobile. I’ll try to fix that if I post more in the future.

#novel #mythology and folklore #my writing #chapter two #y’all’s comments on my first chapter made my day #seriously thank you #second draft #fiction novel

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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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konigbabe · 8 months

Text

pearls before swine

DAY 6 ⇢ Monster-fucking Pairing: kitsune!Satoru Gojo x fem!reader Word count: 2.7k Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; public sex; p-in-v; exhibitionism; dirty talk; hints of praise kink; manhandling; Gojo has a tale (nine of them altogether) and fangs; mention of blood/bleeding; Japanese mythology and folklore Summary: Visiting the Shinto shrine – somehow – leads to you getting wrecked by a mischievous trickster fox on an open balcony and with no shame. [Part of NSFW Gojo Week 2023]. Divider is mine. Art credit goes to 月刺啾 (@/x2MciyELLRZRhg1) on Twitter [source].

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kitsune 狐 /kɪtˈsuː.neɪ/ noun; a Japanese fox spirit capable of shapeshifting into human form and are known to be cunning and playful, mysterious and malevolent.

You've heard the stories. Read about them. Creatures that use their shape-shifting abilities to take on human form and fool people into doing whatever they want. Tricking their prey into surrendering their deepest emotions and desires – the very essence of life itself.

In the midst of the Azalea festival, when the flowers are in full bloom – teal, lilac, and violet hues painting a pastoral picture – it's hard to find a quiet place. Especially near the main sanctuary of the Shinto shrine. Moving near the offering hall, that was when you first spotted him, towering over everyone.

He was standing beside a fox statue, arm draping over the sculpture's head, fingers as slender and agile as a ballet dancer's tracing the contours of the fox's snout. Your senses felt as though they were playing tricks on you as you watched his eyes – so pale they seemed to shimmer like a frozen lake, its lightness bordering on translucence – glide across the courtyard until they reached your kimono-clad body.

But it wasn't his demeanor – dismissive and blasé, laced with a hint of curiosity – that rendered you speechless. No. Rather, it was his appearance – a fusion of the human and the surreal. Japanese have a word for that: ‘yūgen'.

A shock of silver hair framed his face, its strands made of liquid mercury, catching the faint light of the morning sun. Yet, what truly seized your gaze were the symbols on his face – three sapphire tear-shaped drops gracing the lower edges of his almond-shaped eyes, a matching azure line tracing his waterline, gently extending beyond the corners of his eyes. Two cobalt dots adorned each corner of his upturned mouth, while another trio of sapphire lines adorned his forehead, with the middle one flowing onto the bridge of his sharp nose – reminiscent of the wind's delicate patterns. His skin porcelain-smooth and pale, accentuating the ethereal quality of his appearance.

And for some inexplicable reason, you appeared to be the only one capable of seeing him – it. Coming to a halt beneath the torii gate, he turned his head slightly, a strand of silvery hair cascading down over his left eye. The world around you seemed to hush, a stillness setting in; time itself stilling when his eyes locked onto yours from afar, leaving your lips parted in both awe and intrigue.

"You look so pretty," he murmurs, lips gliding over your neck, "when you're at my mercy."

The sharp sting of his fangs gliding under your ear, tracing the probing vein, causes goosebumps to form and travel along the spines of your arms and legs. You feel the warm hiss of his breath, the hot roughness of his tongue against your neck. Toes curling, feet dirty from the ground as the fox pounds into you. Hands gripping the wooden railing of the small balcony that overlooks a pond with koi fish swimming peacefully in.

You're not sure if someone has seen you yet. Seen the lewd image of getting fucked by someone – something – not entirely humane.

The sharp edges of his claws dig into your hips, kimono long discarded on the floor. Naked body swaying in the rhythm to the sharp thrusts. Softness melting into hardness. Satoru – his name echoed in your mind when his hand first touched your skin; as if you were already familiar with the fox – pulls you back to meet his hips, bare body dressed only in his haori, the same sapphire shade as his eyes, draped over his shoulders, arms hidden underneath the silken jacket.

Each stroke of his cock massages your walls, spreading apart the tender flesh between your legs. The ridge of his head presses up against that sweet spot deep inside you. Your thighs press together so you can feel it again. Little sparks of pleasure shoot through your body, making you moan as he brushes over everything that feels good.

"Huh–," his nails, razor-sharp and dangerous, rake over your abdomen. The palm presses flat against the contour of your tummy – hard – as if he's trying to feel how the tip of his cock bruises the opening of your cervix with each thrust. "Eeaasy now," his voice silky smooth just like his skin, "shush, we don't want anyone seeing you like this, right?"

A particularly loud moan emanates from your chest; his words drawn out by the pleasure surging through your veins. Mind feeling too good to be inhibited by anything else.

"Or do you want your friends to see you getting fucked by the devil like me," Satoru's tone lingers in the back of your head. The hand on your abdomen moving downward, toying with your clit. Rubbing circles before pressing against its sides.

You can feel him smile against your neck as he continues to thrust deep into you, each movement harder and faster than the last. His claws dig into your hips, biting into the skin there in a way that's both abrasive and soothing.

"I can't," the breath rushes out of you, leaving your head spinning and the earth swimming as Satoru pulls back to watch you clutch the railing. You're sure you're going to collapse at any moment, but you can feel him watching as your knuckles grind into the wood. Until he’s leaning in again, lips exploring your shoudlerblades,, "I can't–Satoru–hngh."

He's warm. The skin of his chest presses flat against your arching back.He turns his hips into you; the pressure mounts at your core, building up to a burning coil. Lewd sounds of skin slapping skin heating up your cheeks, burning your ears as shame tickles at the edges of your mind.

It's blaring. Flashy.

Loud.

"Hehe," he chuckles against your shoulder and you feel his teeth sink into the flesh there, careful not to puncture the delicate skin, "what pretty sounds we make."

And for a moment, you allow yourself to drown. To have the fox ravage you. Cock thrusting deep inside and with each withdrawal, your slickness sloshing out of you. Messy and wet. Coating your thighs in it. And yet it urges Satoru to go harder. Deeper.

Leaning over your body, his hands press along your ribcage before coming to rest on the tops of your shoulders. The weight of him feels like it's anchoring you in place – even though all he’s doing is encircling you with his arms and keeping no distance between your two bodies.

Thick white lashes that frame his eyes hide his true feelings while the half-smile playing on his lips remains unchanged.

His thumbs make tiny circles beneath your breasts, brushing across their undersides. A whimper escapes your lips when he pulls away, pulls out. The sudden emptiness prompting a muffled sound from the back of your throat – which earns you a playful slap on the curve of your ass.

"You're very loud, you know that?"

Satoru turns you around, hands remaining on your ribcage as he lifts you up effortlessly. Legs reflectively wrapping around his narrow hips, feeling his hipbones dig into the fat of your thighs. His presence suffocating the air from your lungs with a humid heat.

Your arms strain as you grip the railing behind you, body in the air while Satoru's arm supports your back, the other hand gripping his slick cock.

"It's not–agh," he pats your aching nub before gliding the tip over your slit, collecting the leaking wetness, "not like that."

He grins at you, eyes staring into yours with twinkles of mischief – or lust? – while smearing prespend over your swollen, empty hole.

"So you're not enjoying this," bending over you, kisses your nerves awake, his cheek nudges your head to the side so his lips can nibble at the taut skin of your jawline. And your eyes widen in shock.

People. More than a dozen people walking towards the chōzuya, a water well adjacent to the worship hall right next to the small sightseeing open building on which's balcony you're currently are in. Naked, legs wrapped around a kitsune, body completely exposed.

Just one look to the left is all anyone needs to do.

"Your body's burning," Satoru's breath scorches your ear. His cock, hard and pulsing, teases your entrance until it aches sweetly, "heh–want me to stop, pretty?"

"Ngh–" you shake your head, "don't stop."

"Good, now–," his lips graze yours the moment he slides the tip of his cock inside. Chest rambling with a sound distinctively similar to purring, "be a good girl and let me fuck you."

With that, he snaps his hips until he's buried inside of your cunt, filling you to the brink. Lowering his mouth to your skin, his fangs once again graze your shoulder blade; move alongside your clavicles until he reaches your sternum. Every deep exhale through his nose leaves an imprint on your flesh. It makes you feel like you're burning. Hot coals pressed against your skin.

His hands grip your ass. Kneading the flesh as he sets a relentless pace. Sinking deep inside with each drive of his hips.

Pushing yourself off the railing, you carefully swing your arms over his shoulders. Chest flush against his, you moan when your sensitive nipples graze the hard muscle of his torso.

"Ahh, Satoru–," your face buries in the mop of his hair when you feel his lips encircle your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue over the mound as he drives his cock in and out of your cunt; so slick and dripping that you feel almost no friction altogether, "feels so good."

His teeth nip at the soft meat of your breast, nipple glossy with saliva as he moves his attention to the other one. You feel it then – or maybe it's been there the whole time – a brush against your thigh; initially thinking it to be his hand. Only they both lay flat against your ass. It's soft. Thick. Bushy. And it wasn't there before, yet it moves around you, slithers until it rests along the length of your thigh.

"You're taking me so well, pretty," his pelvis rubs your clit each time he bottoms out, moving you to sit on the old, creaky wooden railing, allowing his heads to roam your body – which he takes full advantage of – and only tightening the band inside your abdomen, "makes me not wanna feed."

His words fly over your head. Mind fuzzy and empty. Instead, you gasp for breath, the need for air becoming desperate as you clutch onto Satoru, whose relentless thrusts show no signs of faltering.

Toes twitching, your legs tremble around his hips. Moan after moan escaping your throat as your hips grind against his, a pathetic attempt to meet his harsh thrust and grind on his pelvis – to feel at least a tiny slither of pressure against your swollen bud – to which Satoru takes notice. Hand moving to your hip, he squeezes the flesh before moving his thumb over your clit, toying with it.

You feel another bushy tail slither onto your other thigh; it makes your eyes open. That's when you finally take notice of his full nature. He doesn't have actual tails. Instead, something vaguely resembling tails slithers from behind his back. Translucent with blueish hue. You're capable of seeing through them all. The same hue radiates from his skin, from the patterns decorating his face–

Satoru's lips continue their assault on your nipples as curiosity floods your veins.

–it's almost like small clouds taking shape, flying over his body. It's –

"Beautiful," you whimper, feeling him stir underneath your palms. The fox looks up, hips stilling with his full cock warm inside you.

"What did you say," he asks. Eyes leaving the image before you, you cup his face with one hand, locking your gaze onto his – fire meeting ice.

"I said that you're beautiful," your lips trace his nose, the tear-shaped drops underneath his eyes. The dot on the corner of his lips before grazing the soft plumpness of his mouth. It sends tingles through you. A jolt. As if you were touching a sacred artifact, fingers cautiously exploring every curve and contour of his face left behind.

Satoru's breath catches, and he closes his eyes, allowing your exploration to continue for a while.

"Hah," his lips catch yours, an arm sneaking around your middle to bring you closer, the thumb on your clit rubbing and flicking against the nerve, making you whimper into his mouth, "you're the pretty one," he mumbles against your mouth.

Slowly moving his hips back, you feel every ridge and contour of his cock against your insides until only the head remains locked in. Then he snaps. Pushes forward with a newfound fervor.

Satoru's tongue flicks over yours. Sweetness tinges your senses. Like ripe berries on a warm summer day.

"The tasty one," he pulls away, forehead resting against yours as he feels your cunt flutter.

The tension inside your abdomen grows. Coiling around your insides like a tautly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Every deliberate movement from him tightens the invisible band.

With each flick of his thumb, your breath hitches, body quivers in response, cunt tightening around him. Each stroke of his cock. Sharp tongue tracing a searing path over your fevered skin, igniting your senses with each pass. Satoru's focus shifts – from your jaw to your neck, to your sternum, leaving no inch untouched by his maddening touch.

His hand squeezes the pliant flesh of your ass, giving it a gentle slap every once in a while when his cock brushes your cervix. You plead for release, voice a breathless whisper against his mouth. His response a flicker of dominance, fingers teasing your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"Satoru–mmph–so close," your lips seal over his marking, eyes squeezing shut to contain the overwhelming sensations, "m'gonna cum."

"Then cum," he encourages, his voice a seductive purr as he flicks your swollen clit, "wanna see the face you make, pretty."

The tension reaches its breaking point with the roll of his tongue over your lower lip. The invisible band stretched to its limit. Every sensation, every touch, and every word weaves together into a pool of desire. Making you teeter on the edge, held captive by his electrifying presence, until finally, with one last snap, the tension shatters like glass. The band snaps.

"Ah, Satoru–"

"Ugh–there we go," pain mixes with pleasure. Fangs sinking into your shoulder, his claws dig into the meat on your hips. It stings when your skin is raptured. Crimson beads trail down towards his pivoting hips, fucking you through the orgasm. Through the overwhelming pleasure. Through your body spasming, cunt contracting against his cock.

He doesn't stop.

Not until the world fades away.

(Guess you should have seen that coming. What is the saying? Never trust a fox.)

"Hey, c'mon. Wake up."

You sense hands on your shoulders, shaking you vigorously. As you reluctantly open your eyes, a familiar face hovers above you, bathed in a soft, afternoon light, accompanied by a group of others. Your friend gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, grounding you as you blink away the remnants of slumber.

Oh no.

Hastily lowering your gaze, relief washes over you when you realise you're fully dressed. But if you're fully dressed…

"What happened?" you croak, voice tinged with confusion, the world still hazy around the edges.

Nothing seems to add up right now.

"You tell me," your friend grins, their features coming into sharper focus as the surrounding crowd gradually dissolves. "You told me you were gonna buy some shinsen for the offering hall but you disappeared. An employee found you here," you scan your surroundings, recognizing the familiar balcony in front of you, "sleeping on a bench. Completely passed out. Out of it. She couldn't even wake you up."

Sleeping on a bench.

"Sorry," you mutter, fingers instinctively rubbing your eyes, senses now fully awakened.

Was it all a dream? "Guess I got tired."

It couldn't be a dream. Not when you push yourself to stand up and feel the strain in your legs. Stickiness. Slickness between your thighs.

"What's that?" your friend points towards your clenched fist. Opening your hand, palm up, both of you gaze at a small, iridescent bead with barely discernible sapphire swirls dancing across its smooth surface.

"Don't know."

"Looks like a fox's pearl. They sell those at the charm shop," your friend nods their head towards a nearby charm shop before both of you start walking. Time to go home.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 23 days

Note

Can I request "The red string theory" with 2012 Leo x Reader? It's basically when two people are connected and bound to meet when the time is right, regardless of the place or circumstance. (Could be platonic or romantic!)

I've been craving 2012 stuff for so longgg!

(I love and adore your work a bunch you have no idea💗!!! this is actually my first time requesting something. I've been so freaking nervous 😿)

-🦈💙

The Red Thread of Fate (Fluff)

2012!Leonardo x reader

A/N: Soulmate stuff! I love it! I’ve always loved reading other people’s soulmate fanfics, so I’m happy to finally make one of my own. And I hope that you find this fitting for your first request😊 Love ya bunches!💙

Warning: Most likely spelling💙

East Asian folklore explains that everybody is tied to their future partner, by a small invisible red string. Chinese mythology has the string tied around the destiny partners’ ankles, while in Japan it was often shown with the string tied around the woman’s little finger and the man’s thumb, even though nowadays it was usually shown only around the little finger on each person. And that was just the versions you were aware of.

You guessed that you had a string too. Sometimes you could feel it, and sometimes you couldn’t. Small, sometimes tightening a little around your pinky, pulling ever so slightly at you until you would move, but nothing would come of it. No one would be standing there and waiting for you when you walked into the other room, and well, suddenly you couldn’t feel the pull on your finger anymore, leaving you standing with a strange empty feeling inside.

Other times you swear you saw it. For a split second you could swear that you saw something small and red tied around your little finger, with a thread like string trailing off from it. However, with the blink of an eye, it was gone, or pinky once again looking as plain as ever.

As time progressed, you find yourself wondering more and more, your searching for answers becoming more and more prevalent. You had long longed to find that special someone, that you could share your life with. The one that could make you feel like the world's prettiest and luckiest person, and that you in turn would make feel the same. The one that you would be willing to work through ups and downs with, knowing there could be no highs without any lows. The one that you would find at the end of this invisible red string you found at the end of your pinky finger, every now and again teasing you with its elusive existens, and the knowledge that your future partner was out there somewhere, probably looking and thinking about you, the same way you were looking and thinking about for them.

But no matter how many times you found yourself dreaming and wondering about your soulmate, you had never thought that he would be close by. So close that he would be under your feet, literally.

One day you found yourself sitting in your bedroom, lost in thoughts, dreaming about that face you hadn’t seen yet. With all of your responsibilities laid out on your bed before you in paper form, you simply could not concentrate, your thoughts continuously wandering off to better places, only to find yourself back in your bedroom, with your work and homework laying out in front of you, just waiting for you to get them done.

You let out a frustrated sigh, letting your eyes scan over the paper in your hand. What was the point of sitting here and dreaming? Dreaming wasn’t going to bring your soulmate to you any faster. If this red string around your finger was as true as you wanted to believe it was, then you couldn’t force it. Your soulmate wouldn’t come around before time is ready for it, so spending too much time dwelling on it was not helping it. It was better to get going with your life and let it come to you along the way. So with yet another sigh, you took a hold of your pen, looking down over the paper one more time.

Then, as if the universe heard your thoughts as they ran through your head, your window smashed, sending someone hurling into your bedroom, landing directly on your floor, glass shards flying everywhere. You let out an ear piercing scream, standing up on your bed, looking down at the guy on your floor, groaning as he sat up, rubbing his head with green three fingered hand… Green three fingered hand!?

You stared in a mixture of awe, shock and a little fear at the green figure on your floor. Green, with a darker green colored shell on his back, his torso enclosed with a light brown plastron, his eyes wrapped with a blue bandana, with eye holes making his blue eyes visible, when he looked up at you. A turtle? A humanoid turtle?

Silence fell between the two of you, both of you staring at each other on high alert, unsure of what to do. After what felt like an eternity of looking into his light blue eyes, the turtles slowly lifted his hands, trying to signal to you that he had no intentions to harm you. But that was not what you noticed. Instead you noticed something thin and red, tied around his pinky finger. A red thread.

You took in a sharp breath when you saw the thread continue off his finger in a small line, your eyes slowly following it until you saw it coming to an end at your finger - tied around your pinky. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe, your gaze shaking as you looked back at the turtle man on your bedroom floor. No way.

The turtle seemed just as shocked as you, his eyes flickering between you and his hand, before slowly taking a hold of his tied hand, looking at it like he couldn’t believe what he saw. Whatever he and his brothers had been fighting out on the other roof was long forgotten, with the sight in front of him being the only thing he could think of. He had always dreamed of this moment, but never dared believing it could actually happen. Him, a mutant turtle living in the sewers, actually meeting his soulmate, a human.

Still standing on your bed, just shoulders slowly came down from the tens positions, your lungs letting go of the breath you had been holding. His round, yet strangely handsome face calmed something in you. Something before now, had never noticed, was so turbulent, slowly coming to a calming halt.

“I- I’m (Y/N)”, you said in a whisper, just loud enough for him to hear, his mouth slowly coming agape. “W- who are you?”

“L- Leo”, he answered, with a stammer letting you know that he was just as nervous as you. “Leonardo”.

“Leonardo”, you repeated with a small nod, not noticing the shiver he felt when he said your name. “Cool name”.

“T- thank you”, he said, slowly coming to a stand on your bedroom floor, coming to his full height, making a butterfly burst to life somewhere deep within your stomach. “Uhm…”, he continued, unsure on how to proceed. “H- have you heard of, uhm… the red thread of fate?”, he asked, holding up his hand with the red threat.

“Yes”, you answered, holding up your own.

Silence fell over the two of you once more, this time with small nervous smiles, both of you wreaking and turning your minds, finding something to say, that didn’t involve just smiling at each other like two idiots that were slowly falling in love. That was when you were interrupted by the sound of Leo’s brothers, calling out for him to help them with what threw him into your room in the first place.

“Shit, I have to go”, Leo said, looking from the broken window to you. “Listen, I- I will be back, I promise! But me and my brothers have a little, uh, problem to take care of”.

“Brothers?”, you asked, your unsurety washing away by the moment as you stepped down from your bed. “There are more of you?”

“There is”, Leo smiled, seeming to calm down when you stepped closer to him, getting lost in the thought of your once again, his eyes flickering between your eyes and lips. Was he so lucky? So lucky that not only would he meet his soulmate, but get to kiss his soulmate the same day. By your close proximity and your awestruck face it seemed like it. He could just lean forward and do it. He could just kiss you right now, while you smiled at him, seeming to just be waiting for him to do it-.

“Dammit, Leo! We’re losing our shells out here!”

“Oh! Yeah! Shit! Sorry, Raph!”, Leo said, before quickly running for the window, stepping one foot on the window ledge before turning towards you one last time. “I will be back, I promise… And sorry about the window, I’ll get that fixed for you”.

“Thank you, Leo. I’ll be waiting for you”, you smiled, causing the turtle's heart to skip. He stared at you for a moment, feeling his heart jump around inside his chest, wondering if all of this was a dream.

“See you soon, (Y/N)”, Leo said, dwelling in the fuzzy feeling he felt when he spoke your name.

“LEO! AARRRRGH!! HE GOT DONNIE’S ANKLE! HE GOT DONNIE’S ANKLE!”

“I’m coming, Mikey!”, Leo yelled before hurrying up the fire escape. You quickly ran to the window, wishing to see him one last time, only to find him already on your roof, in the last second before he leaped over the alleyway below with ease, running to whatever situation his brothers were in. You stood back in awe, a chuckle of disbelief pushing past your lips. You had just met your soulmate - the man that had been waiting at the red of your red thread - and he was a turtle. A humanoid turtle with the ability to jump over alleyways. If you decided to tell anyone, they would never believe you. And even you wondered for a moment if you had made the whole thing up. That was until you realized you no longer felt a tug in your little finger, but instead a storm of butterflies in your stomach.

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lunatic-pudge · 3 months

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TF2 Mercs Green Flags (except it's very biased)

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I love my boys. Yes, this is biased and questionable. But this is meant to be cute and fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout:

-Silly little goober, great person to be around when you need cheering up

-Golden retreiver boyfriend

-Can easily make you laugh without even trying

-Artsy fartsy

Pyro

-Cutie patootie who makes the cutest drawings of you two together

-Owns an Easy Bake Oven

-Master at baking, never-ending supply of sweets for you to indulge in

-Your biggest supporter. Would literally cheer for you if you rob a bank

Soldier

-Also your biggest supporter, will demand that other adore you as well

-Will let you own any pet you want no matter what the animal is

-Speeches of why you're the best thing to ever exist and how America is blessed to have such a beauty like you live there

-Will give you anything and everything you could ever want, like human ears. Definitely a good person to be if you like collecting weird stuff

Demo

-Precious baby boy is a major cuddle bug

-Def knows how to knit/crochet, will make you whatever you want

-Baby man likes learning about folklore/mythology

-He's essentially a big walking teddy bear. Perfect for cuddles, especially on a cold or rainy day

Heavy

-GIANT WALKING TEDDY BEAR

-Protective baby boy, big scary dog privleges

-Bookworm, can recommend a good book if you don't know what to read

-Perfect person to lay around and cuddle with, he can smother me any day. Dates at home are TOP TIER

Engie

-THE BEST PERSON TO GO TO WHEN YOU'RE HAVING AN OFF DAY HANDS DOWN

-Smart boy, can make you stuff that helps with day to day activities which is helpful if you can't do certain things to having a disability or something

-Dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, dad bod, can't get enough of it

-Voice of an angel, will sing for you if you'd like. Can def sing you to sleep

Medic

-NERD, he's an adorable nerd! Let him ramble about his hyperfixations!

-Def a good pet owner, would kill someone if they don't take proper care of their pets

-Would make sure you take care of yourself, he's kinda like a dad that cares

-He's such a maniac. I can see him just secretly being up to no good all the time. And he's also very girlypop

-Putting an extra for him cause I can: Medic boobs. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

Sniper

-Sweet, precious baby boy who can do no wrong. He strikes me as someone who listens to EVERYTHING when it comes to music. He ain't genrephobic

-Also a collector of weird things. Likes making bone jewlery. Bone boy

-I just love the concept of him being feral? This is probably the weirdest thing on the list. Like there's the golden retreiver boyfriend (Scout), and then there's the feral boyfriend (Sniper). Literally acts like a cat, hiding away from people, hissing when people that aren't you tries to touch him, will demand attention/affection from you, ect. I need to make a more detailed idea of a feral boyfriend so work with me plz

-He would absolutely let you wear his clothes, thinking about how adorable you look. He'd do the same with your clothes if they're big enough for his lanky body. You two swap jackets in the winter time so you guys always have a piece of each other when you two are busy and aren't able to see each other

Spy

-I know a running joke is that Spy is a smelly French asshole, but I really do think that he wears some of the nicest smelling cologne out there. Expensive af colonge, but damn, it's addicting

-Smarty pants. Not just anyone can be a spy, it takes quite a bit of intellect for it. And not to mentions he knows multiple languages? Love it, even if I hate the French language with a burning passion

-Him having a good taste in fashion? He's gotta know what he's doing by wearing suits all the time. Not only does he look fresh af, but people always look so good in a suit, especially when it fits them. But please also picture him dressed in a more romantic goth aesthetic plz, okay I'll stop now

-Is good at paying attention to even the littlest of details about his partners. Even if you're trying to be cryptic or subtle about things, he'll always find out. He's def a protective type too

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victoriadallonfan · 1 month

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Hi, since I haven't seen anyone mention this on reddit or tumblr, I'd just like to say, as someone whose first language isn't english, Worm's cape names are fucking weird. Are all of them words? Who knows, i read Worm and Ward without knowing Eidolon and Brandish are real words and not made up words. Or they are words i know but idk wich meaning is? Is March like the month or like the organized walking verb? So do all cape names mean something, and say something about the one who chose them? I refuse to google them at this point, but Anelace? Cinereal? Myrrdin? Couldn't they pick more known 2 word combinations? Do parahumans get a discount on thesaurus? Thats all I wanted to say, thanks. PS. Wildbow, the fuck you doing using Califa de Perro as a name, couldn't you ask any Spanish speaker?, i'll kill you.

BIG ANALYSIS INCOMING

Eidolon = spectre, phantom, and idolized object/person

Brandish = to flourish and wave about an item, usually a weapon. Also an epitaph for Athena

March = to move in a uniform manner and derivative of the roman god of war, Mars

Anelace = double-sided dagger used by civilians

Cinereal = grey matter of the brain and nervous system

Myrrdin = Too many to count but generally tied to Myrddin Wylt, prophetic folklore bard and a facet of Merlin (genuinely more work than I can ever give on the topic of how insanely intertwined those myths are)

The thing about Wildbow's cape names are two-fold:

In the 80+ years of superhero genre, a LOT of cape names have been chosen and used already. Taylor mentions this to Armsmaster as a meta-joke in the first arc (ironically, DC also has a Skitter, who debuted in 2011.... the same year as Worm), so he has to be creative and sometimes creativity is simplicity.

He loves giving character names multiple meanings.

To go down the list:

Eidolon's name is ironic, because he notably not idolized (and pushed out of the spotlight compared to Legend), and he ends up becoming one of GU's spectres.

Brandish creates weapons, yes, but there's connection to Pallas (brandishing) and Athena accidentally killing him while distracted to Victoria accidentally caving her head in while distracted. (There are several story iterations, including one where they had a parental relationship).

March is about how she organizes her megacluster like an army or marching band, but also reference to her civilian name (May), the Mad March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (which her entire fight with Vista is a huge reference to), and the Ides of March (notorious for the stabby stab stab of Julius Caesar)

Anelace is a master of weapons, but he's notably reluctant about that fact, and is noted to have a healthy civilian life by other characters

Cinereal is the grey matter of the brain. She is the Atlanta Protectorate leader that turns things into grey matter (ash)

Myrddin = See the King Arthur and various clusterfuck of mythos

Even his main characters have this: Taylor tailor makes her outfits and is a silk Weaver, Khepri is an Egyptian god that bring a sunny morning... and she debuted on Gold Morning. Victoria is a Roman Goddess of Victory (Contessa uses her to find "the Path to Victory"), Antares means "Anti-Ares/Rival of Ares/Anti-War" and is the constellation "heart of the scorpion" which is Victoria inside of the wretched forcefield. We can even stretch this to Khepri and Antares: Khepri is a beetle that carries the sun on to a new day. Antares is a binary sun system (with one sun being invisible to the naked eye). In the slaughterhouse 9 fight, Taylor and her beetle (khepri) carry Victoria and the fragile one (antares) to safety (to live another day).

WE CAN EVEN GO FURTHER: Atlas is the man holding up the sky in Greek Mythology, which Taylor names her beetle. Victoria's PHO name is Point_Me_@_The_Sky (which is also a Pink Floyd reference). In Worm, Atlas holds Victoria up in the sky.

Its really fun to analyze.

Califa seems to be a simple goof. Or maybe Taylor just butchered his name.

They can't all be winners.

#parahumans #wildbow #ward #ward web serial #wardblr #worm #victoria dallon #antares #glory girl #worm web serial #wormblr #taylor hebert #skitter #weaver #literature analysis

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rinixo · 1 year

Text

divine battle

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.5k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, pregnancy, Mand’alor Din Djarin, pregnant sex, pregnancy related body dysmorphia, descriptions of childbirth, descriptions of pain, blood

A short wrap-up to aquae vivae. This has descriptions of body dysmorphia, pain and stress during childbirth, and blood.

a/n: The concept of Mandalorians viewing childbirth as a battle is inspired by Aztec mythology and folklore.

read on ao3

You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it, but it still happens sooner than you expected.

Fatigue. Sore abdomen and breasts. Minor mood swings. All symptoms of an impending menstrual cycle - which never comes.

You keep quiet about it at first. A visit to a med droid confirms your suspicions and gives you a clearer timeline. Just a few weeks in so far. Many months to go.

Laying on the bed, you press soft fingers into the flesh of your stomach absentmindedly, trying to imagine it swollen and round. You’d have to let your clothes out, you realize. Or get new ones. Plus all of the other things babies require.

You don’t know where to even start. You don’t have any family here on Mandalore besides your husband - no one to ask, to confide in.

Din had raised Grogu, but that was different. He isn’t a normal baby. A human baby. Your baby.

The sound of the door opening makes you turn your head to look. Din has arrived, Grogu in his arms. They had been training, based on the paint splattered across the child’s clothes.

“Are you all right?” Din questions, seeing you laid out over the blankets.

You nod. “Yes. Just tired.”

Setting Grogu down, he starts to take off his boots and helmet. “Are you sure you’re not working too hard? You’ve been more tired than usual the past few days.”

“I’m sure,” you reply. He casts you a small frown, which you can’t help but smile at. You like how his lips curve naturally into a soft pout.

Raising your hand, you beckon him closer. “Come here.”

Din obliges you, walking slowly toward your bed. He lets you grab his gloved hand, and you pull him down so that he lies next to you. You entwine your fingers with his, turning your head to look into his dark eyes.

He has such nice eyes, you think. Perhaps your baby would have his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?” Din asks again. There’s worry in his tone, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. Are you ok? Yes and no. You’re nervous, anxious, and so full of an emotion you can’t name that you feel like you’re going to burst.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall loosely from your mouth. You watch his expression - eyes widening almost imperceptibly. A short breath leaves his lips.

“Pregnant,” he repeats, almost as if in disbelief. You nod. Tears prick the edge of your vision, and you’re not sure why. Hormones, maybe?

He glances down at your bare abdomen. Removing a glove, he places his palm over you, warmth emanating from his skin into yours. The two of you stay like that for several silent minutes.

“A baby,” he murmurs, and there’s so much awe in how he says it. “Our baby. You’re pregnant.” He looks up at you, and you see the loving determination in his gaze. It makes you feel braver.

“I don’t know how to be a parent,” you confess, looking for support. Din’s eyes soften, and he kisses your lips, the tip of your nose, and the sides of your eyes where tears glisten.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he promises.

—

News of your pregnancy is slow to travel. It’s several months before you start to show noticeably - several months before you can no longer get away with wearing baggier and baggier clothes to cover it up.

It starts with low murmurs in the palace. Idle mumbles of congratulations, which you smile at and hurry past. It’s not that you aren’t happy or excited - sometimes it feels like your heart is going to burst from it all - but you’re nervous. Having a baby is a big deal. Having the Mand’alor’s baby is an even bigger deal.

Din is your constant shadow, unwilling to leave you alone or unguarded for any amount of time. When he absolutely can’t be at your side, he assigns his most loyal and highly trained guards to escort you.

After one incident when a guard doesn’t even let you open a jar yourself, you snap. That evening you sit your husband down and explain that you aren’t helpless and that while you appreciate the concern, it’s becoming more of a nuisance than a help.

Those big brown eyes look up at you forlornly. He agrees to tone it down, pulling you closer by the waist. He kisses the growing swell of your stomach through your linen shift as you pat his soft hair lovingly. You can’t stay mad at him.

The midwives had told you that it would be normal for you to experience an increased libido as time went on. However, it was Din who was becoming more and more insatiable with each passing day. Whether it was lathing over your breasts or buried between your legs, there was scarcely a night where his mouth wasn’t on you somewhere.

Din murmurs idolization into your stomach, and you bite your lip at the feeling of his scruff on your sensitive skin. Laying you back on the bed, he spreads your legs open and kisses softly from the summit of your bump down to where you’re swollen and waiting for him. He has you coming undone with just a few wide laps of his tongue, praising you the whole while.

He tells you how good you taste, and how sensitive you are to his touches. You feel like a goddess being worshipped with how he revels in your changing body.

It helps you on the days you feel detached from yourself. You examine yourself in the full-length mirror, propped up in your closet. Pulling your top up, you cup your round stomach with both hands, turning to view yourself from a side angle.

Din finds you there, brows furrowed in thought. “Everything all right?” He asks.

“I don’t recognize myself,” you murmur. As your body changes, you struggle with seeing yourself in your reflection. It’s made worse by people commenting on how you look - how big you’re getting or how the way your stomach sits means you’re carrying a boy or a girl or whatever other wives’ tales people come up with. You’ve taken to avoiding the court as much as possible as your due date draws nearer.

Din comes up behind you and places his hands over yours, thumbs stroking lovingly over your soft skin. He places his chin on your shoulder, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You lean your head against his.

“I see a woman carrying my child,” he soothes. “A woman who grows more beautiful by the day.” He places a soft kiss to your hair, and you give him a small smile.

—

Something happens on the southern continent, something that his military advisors say requires Din’s attention. At first, he refuses to go, citing your nearing due date.

“Just go,” you insist. “We’ve got a few weeks left. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I missed the birth of our child,” he presses. “If I wasn’t there at your side.”

“I’ll hold it in,” you counter, and that gets a huff and a smirk from him.

He grumbles but acquiesces. You wish him good luck and tell him you love him, watching him and Grogu take off in his starfighter.

You waddle back to your chambers, looking forward to getting off your feet. Everything aches recently, and resting in your soft bed surrounded by an ever-increasing mountain of pillows is all that soothes you. Din had teased you about it, feigning exasperation at his disappearing real estate, but dutifully fetched you more and more pillows.

You wince at a sharp pain in your back. It’s nothing to be concerned about, you tell yourself. You’ve got all kinds of pain, in more than just your back. It would be ridiculous if you went into labor the same hour Din left the city -

Another sharp pain and you start to feel clammy. Something feels wrong, innately wrong. The pain doesn’t dissipate, and you have to sit down on a window ledge before your legs give out.

You tap on your wrist communicator, sending a message to the med droid and midwife with your location.

There’s a dampness between your legs. Did your water break? You can’t see past your stomach, so you reach down to touch and feel faint when your hand comes back smeared in blood.

“No no no,” you mumble. “Not yet, please not yet - not right now, your father’s not here.”

Another roll of pain is the only answer, and you choke back a cry. The last thing you remember before your vision goes black is the hurried drone of the med droid arriving, and being lifted in strong, familiar arms.

You come to in a private med bay as Din lays you down carefully. He snaps at the med droid trying to squeeze in next to him, and the midwife snaps back at him and tells him that, Mand’alor or no, if he wants to stay he has to move so they can do their job.

He moves to kneel next to the bed, moving your hair out of your face gently. You sigh as the midwife injects you with something that begins to make the terrible pain subside.

“How are you here?” You murmur, turning your head to look at Din. His eyes are wide, and you can see fear in the way he searches your face.

“Grogu,” he whispers. “He started to cry, and I just - I had a really bad feeling.”

“Hush now,” the midwife announced. You looked up at her helmeted face. “You need to save your energy, young warrior.”

“M’not a warrior,” you choke out.

“You are,” the stern woman insisted. “In our culture, childbirth is conceptually equivalent to battle. You are going to fight and struggle as you labor to bring your child into this world, and if you are to emerge victorious you will need all of your strength.”

A deep ache gets past whatever pain reliever you have in your system, and you curl up with a low groan. Your hand dashes out to grab Din’s, and you clench it hard as the contraction rolls through you.

“You can do this,” your husband says firmly. “I am here with you, my love.”

It’s not a quick birth. The midwife says something about complications, but you can barely think through the pain and the instinctual need for your body to just push. Din does not leave your side for a moment through the entire process, which lasts well into the night.

At last, your screams are answered by the wail of your daughter as she enters this world, and you collapse back onto the sheets. She’s placed, wet and screaming on your chest, and you barely have a chance to croak out a ‘hello’ before your vision goes black again. —

Low murmuring, like a lullaby, draws you from your sleep. Your eyes open slowly, vision blurry, and you see a broad figure sitting next to you holding a bundle of blankets in their arms.

You shift, getting the attention of your husband. Din looks up at you, a gentle smile on his curved lips. He glances back down at the bundle. There’s adoration in the way his eyes shine, like nothing you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Your mother’s awake, little one,” he hushes. You blink, trying to break out of your hazy mindset. “Would you like to try meeting her again?”

He moves carefully toward you and settles next to you on the bed. You sit up, eyes wide and curious, eager to see the face of the child you’d been carrying for all these months.

She’s asleep, and you’re delighted to see that her lips pout the same way Din’s do. She has a tuft of dark hair, and ten perfect little fingers and toes.

“Hello,” you whisper. “Hello, Rila.” Din leans over and transfers your daughter into your waiting arms, wrapping his arms around the both of you and holding you close.

“She’s beautiful,” you say dreamily. Din presses a soft kiss to your hair.

“Like her mother,” he agrees. You glance up at him, a watery smile on your lips.

Rila yawns, and blinks, and your heart sings when you realize that she does have her father’s eyes.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian smut #din djarin #the mandalorian

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emblazons · 2 days

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PHOENIX & BAHAMUT // FIRE & LIGHT

Phoenixflare Week || Day 5: Fairy Tale / Mythology / Folklore The Phoenix & Bahamut + Chinese Mythology & Symbolism

The Chinese lóng 龍 and fèng huáng 鳳凰, often translated as “dragon” and “phoenix” respectively, are very powerful symbols both in myth and symbolism, as well as cultural impact. They are often seen as counterparts of one another, representing opposite sides of the same thing in many ways—[though] this is not to say that they are in opposition with one another, as the connection between the two is often used as an allusion for a harmonious and fortunate relationship.

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captainsophiestark · 7 months

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The Curse of the Sun and the Moon

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Day 7 Prompt: "Do you recognize this?"

Summary: Klaus' SO is writing their doctoral dissertation on cross-culture myths. Much to their irritation, Klaus knows a thing or two about those.

Word Count: 1,877

Category: Humor, Fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst?

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Love? Hello, can you hear me?"

Slowly, I turned my head away from the paper in front of me, still not taking my eyes off the drawings. A hand waved in front of my face too, but I ignored it.

"What do you want, Nik?" I muttered, only half paying attention to him.

"I want to know you haven't gone into a coma," he whined, flopping down into the chair next to me. I cracked the tiniest smile, but didn't let my train of thought wander from the work in front of me.

"I haven't gone into a coma," I repeated. I didn't say anything else after that and neither did Nik for a moment, until he sighed.

"You must understand why I'm concerned when you respond to my questions like you're in a trance."

I sighed, making a last note before finally looking up at Nik with a tired smile.

"I'm sorry, babe. I know I've been pretty wrapped up in all this lately, but I'm writing a doctoral dissertation in folklore and mythology. I've kinda got my hands full, and if I don't put in the hours to get this done right, it's all going to be for nothing."

Nik rolled his eyes dramatically before fixing me with a look.

"You know, if you just became a vampire with me, you wouldn't have to worry about things like school and work anymore."

I narrowed my eyes. "If I ever make the decision to become a vampire with you, all I'm going to do is go back to college for more degrees and studying. I love doing this, even if it makes me want to walk into the ocean sometimes. All eternity is going to do is enable me to throw any kind of practical job application for my studies out the window."

Nik sighed heavily, but he had a smile on his face all the same.

"I probably could've guessed that answer, couldn't I?"

"Probably."

We shared a smile, and then my attention drifted back to the paper in front of me. I stared at it for a few moments, still half-aware of Nik watching me fondly, when an idea struck like lightning.

"Wait, Nik... I just thought of something." I rushed to turn the paper around on my desk so it faced Nik instead of me. "Do you recognize this? I mean, you've been around for a thousand years. Chances are probably decent that you know something about this, right?"

Nik stared at the paper for a minute, then slowly looked up at me, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What did you say you're doing your dissertation on again?"

"I'm focusing on myths that appear to transcend cultures throughout history. There's a couple examples of stories and legends that exist in basically the same form in cultures that had no contact. This one, usually referred to as something along the lines of 'the curse of and the sun and the moon', is the main one I've decided to focus on. So... any chance you can tell me anything about it?"

Nik's tiny smile turned into a full on grin, a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at me. My heart leapt.

"Oh my gosh, you totally know something! Tell me, I can't wait. I'm gonna have to find some sources other than you if I want to put it in my paper, but-"

"This is mine, love," he said. I stared at him, trying to process what his words meant, but I came up empty-handed.

"What do you mean? Is this copy of the myth yours?"

"In a way."

Nik looked back down at the illustration depicting the curse, this one of Aztec origin. It was my favorite of the versions I'd found, although the same curse had also appeared in Roman scrolls and a half-dozen other cultures from around the world. He ran his finger over the lines of the drawing fondly.

"I drew this."

My mouth dropped open, and I looked quickly between Nik, the drawing, and back again.

"What... what do you mean you drew this? This is an Aztec myth from the 13th century-" I stopped short as my mind finally caught up. "...which I guess you were alive for..."

Nik smiled and kicked back in his chair, ankles crossed and a proud expression on his face. I just stared at him in shock.

"There is no such thing as the Curse of the Sun and the Moon, love," he said. "The real thing is the Hybrid curse, placed on me. A long time ago, Elijah and I planted this myth in cultures all over the world to get every single werewolf and vampire in the world looking for the components I needed to break my own curse. And it worked."

Nik finished his explanation with a smirk, but I didn't react. I just kept staring at him, my brain going through the equivalent of a computer's blue screen of death. This could not be possible.

"Hold on a second," I said, holding up a hand to stop my own swirling thoughts before looking at Nik again. "Let me get this straight. You drew this ancient Aztec drawing I have on my desk right now?"

"Yes."

"And you created the Roman scrolls I found that kick-started this project?"

"I did."

"And you completely made up the myth of the Curse and the Sun of the Moon, then did the ancient equivalent of editing it into a bunch of wikipedia articles to make everyone believe it was real, all so other werewolves and vampires would do the work of finding things you needed for you?"

"That's right."

"So this curse, this myth that permeates a dozen different, separate cultures, the cornerstone of my dissertation... is just a lie you made up a long time ago, that nobody ever disproved because you're just so fucking old you could create mythology at the same time that these ancient cultures actually existed?"

"Exactly."

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath in and letting it out slowly. Then, my eyes snapped open, and I snatched up a scroll from the top of my desk and hucked it at my boyfriend.

"Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME NIK?" I cried, shooting out of my seat. Nik looked a little shocked, partly because the scroll had hit him smack in the face and then partly because I never got this kind of mad at him. "You can't just fake historical documents to serve your own purposes!"

"Technically, I didn't fake any historical documents. I made them at the same time in history that they're supposed to be from."

"DOESN'T COUNT! My whole dissertation is about examining the phenomena of cultures that had no interactions somehow telling the same stories. There's all kind of examples of it, but this was going to be my ace in the hole, and now I can't use it!"

"Sure you can," Nik said, at last standing from the chair. He was smart enough not to walk towards me, but I hurled a pillow from my chair at him anyway.

"No, I can't! What am I gonna say? Oh, well you see, all these different cultures had the same mythology without talking to each other because my boyfriend is a motherfucker who lied through his teeth to manipulate people, and he's old enough that he completely got away with it!"

Nik shrugged. "Sounds good to me."

"ARGH! I can't believe you- Oh my God."

"What?"

"The stupid fucking vampire myth was going to be another example supporting my dissertation. But that's gone now too. 'Oh, why do all these cultures have the same mythology about a curse and blood-drinking creatures who stalk the night?' Well that's simple, professors! It's because my boyfriend, one of those blood-drinkers, just kept showing up to plant a bullshit story and got other myths written about him in the process!"

"I'm still not seeing the problem, love, that sounds like an excellent presentation."

"NIKLAUS MIKAELSON! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!"

I rushed to close the distance between us, smacking him in the chest and then continuing to whack him in the shoulders, arms, and chest again.

"You. Can't. Just. Make. Up. Mythology. That. Influences. History. Forever. For KICKS!" I shouted, punctuating each word with a hit. Nik just watched me, not moving even half an inch from the force of my shoves, watching me rage with a small smile on his face.

"I've never seen you like this before, love," he said, his voice silky and low. It only made me want to hit him more. "I quite like it."

"UGH!" I shouted, turning away from Nik all the same. I stared at the desk, my mind finally getting into the later stages of processing. I'd have to completely ditch all this work. "Nik, this is the worst thing you've ever done. And I've dated you long enough to know about the bad things you've done. Holy shit, I'm going to have to ditch so much of this work. I'm going to have to completely change my topic, all because you're fucking ancient and a good artist and a better liar."

After a second, I felt Nik's arms slowly, gently wrap around me from behind. He rested his chin on my shoulder, nuzzling into my hair. Part of me still wanted to hit him, but not enough of me to actually do it.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, voice low and sweet. "Tell me what I can do to make it better."

I huffed a sigh through my nose. "You can tell me where Elijah is. He's a part of this too, I need to kill him next."

Nik chuckled, pulling me tighter to him. I relaxed a little bit into him.

"How about we start with a movie marathon of your choice, all of your favorite junk food, and I dagger any of my siblings who try to disturb you while you're working next week?"

I paused, thinking, dragging out the moment with a little hum. Nik kissed my cheek, slowly moving further along and down towards my neck, and after another minute I sighed.

"Fine. I guess we can start with relaxation and peace. But I am not getting over this any time soon. And I'm still going to attack Elijah the next time I see him."

"It's a deal."

"Of all the things I thought might be a challenge about dating a vampire, I never could've predicted 'destroys my doctoral dissertation by secretly being the subject of my dissertation'."

Nik snorted a little laugh in my ear. "And I never would've thought this would be the closest we came to a deal-braker for you, what with all the murdering I've done."

"I might not be able to claim the high ground on that front much longer."

I twisted around to look pointedly at Nik, but he just smiled right back at me. Wisely, he used his vampire speed to whisk me out of the room before I could look at my ruined dissertation again. This situation was absolutely, completely ridiculous, and I knew I'd probably still be processing for the next few decades. But I loved Nik and the rest of these stupid, lying, ridiculous, ancient vampires, and I'd keep loving them no matter what. Even if I wanted to kill them, sometimes, too.

****************

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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mamasuellen-blog · 3 months

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Aziraphale and Crowley - Nightingale Analogy

After the second season, I started thinking of them both as if they were birds, specifically the Nightingale. Here's an analogy with scenes from Good Omens.

Symbolic Meaning of the Nightingale

The Nightingale is a charming bird, revered especially by artists, such as poets and writers who have been inspired by them and used them as symbols in their works throughout history and time. They are considered as a symbol of love and fidelity. This bird has inspired plays, songs, sonnets, folklore, poetry, stories, legend... It has cultural and mythological importance in various parts of the world. He is mentioned in several books that tell romantic, melancholic and tragic stories. Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman chose this particular bird to be part of the iconic story of Good Omens.

Some examples of stories about our two Nightingales over time.

When they met, they sang a millimetrically perfect melody on the same frequency, a song that only they could understand. A tune full of feelings, sensations and connections between two creatures. It brought harmony and meaning for them to stay together.

Color Detail

The Nightingale's plumage predominates in discreet brown and brown tones, with slight RED shades. Your chest is more GRAY in tone, with RED or WHITE tones.

The Power of The Voice

This bird plays an important role in the ecology of the region in which it lives. The sound produced by the Nightingale can help regulate the population of insects and other animals that are part of the food chain. Crowley and Aziraphale are guardians of the land and together they played an important role in keeping it safe. Maintaining balance is essential.

They are Territorial

They are very territorial and become even more so during mating season. They respond more aggressively to others who enter their territory, as they want to protect their love nest.

The Musical Richness of Nightingale’s Song

This bird's musical repertoire includes 260 sequences. His song has a double function: Seduction and defense of the territory. The Nightingale's serenade begins at dusk, continues through the night, and lasts through the early hours of the morning until dawn. It is possible that he sings during the day, even though this behavior is not that common. The most physically vigorous birds are also those with the greatest musical repertoire. Some sequences are sung just for your reciprocated love :

While other sequences only serve to impose yourself against other rivals :

When a Nightingale hears its partner singing, it becomes very active, attracted by the unique and special sensitivity of this melody :

Crowley moves, fascinated by Aziraphale's singing.

The most impressive thing about this bird is its musical repertoire. The Nightingale is capable of singing for hours without repeating the same sequence once.

Crowley and Aziraphale know several languages. Aziraphale *sings* Nightingale in French.

The Nightingale's song reveals a remarkable delicacy and great power. In its vocal production, cheerful and lively sounds predominate, combined with a strong whistle, a strong whistle to attract.

Crowley makes a loud whistle to attract Aziraphale's attention.

Serenade of Love

After a lot of harmonious song between a Nightingale couple, it's time for the mating ritual and one of them always has the task of building the love nest. In the case of our Nightingales, romantic gestures to develop the relationship always happen.

The construction of the love nest is done with great care and care.

This ritual takes place at night and consists of beautiful love melodies, like the music that plays at the ball. While one Nightingale makes a special vocalization for the occasion, the other feels attraction and moves a lot (dances) and vice versa. Aziraphale chose Crowley and Crowley chose Aziraphale. The two have always been each other's ideal match.

The ball dance is the ritual of these Nightingales.

Predators

Although Nightingales are discreet, their song always reveals where they live, which is dangerous, as it attracts predators who want to capture them.

When frightened, the Nightingale uses its song to communicate sensations and threats, warning other Nightingales of danger. Our two Nightingales are threatened. Nightingale Aziraphale needs to alert his companion of this ambush.

Nightingales are capable of emitting very complex melodies, so complex that they are still of interest to ornithologists in studies. The mixture of different songs caused communication between Nightingale Aziraphale and Nightingale Crowley to become disconnected. The warning song gives way to the melodious and sad song.

The Nightingale Aziraphale tried to warn of danger.

Nightingale Crowley also tried to warn of danger.

After singing intensely to Nightingale Aziraphale, Nightingale Crowley's voice becomes weak and the song that follows is filled with suffering. In his last hope, he gives one last trill. He tried to protect their territory, but was unsuccessful.

The Last Trill of the Nightingale Crowley.

In the end, without strength, Nightingale Aziraphale's voice tried one last song. He wished the fairest of all for Nightingale Crowley, but he didn't get it. Pain hit him in the chest, closing his throat.

In the series, the band of Nightingales was already in the process of migrating, moving forward in search of warmer areas. In the posters for the second season, you can see them leaving.

The Nightingale flock heads off to migrate. The Nightingale Aziraphale also goes to heaven, but a place that is not his home.

I'm aware of what Neil Gaiman mentioned about Rouxninol's singing on Tumblr, but I chose to ignore what he said. Seriously, that's clearly a bird's chirp. And thank you to the person who managed to hear a bird singing in the scene and informed the fandom of this information. Whatever it was, it was a bird call. Yes, I may be crazy for believing this, but I'm not the only one, other people also believe it's a bird's song.

The Nightingale, who had sung in the book and at the end of the first season, for me, who is writing this analogy, also reappears in the second season, even if in a more discreet way, with an almost imperceptible and low voice. What's really impressive is that we can hear him, when the camera focuses on Aziraphale's face, who is holding back crying with his mouth slightly open, trying to emit something, or was it the Nightingale Aziraphale who made this song?

The predator achieved its goal. He separated and silenced the birdsong.

Nightingale Aziraphale was captured and transported to heaven in a box. A sky without any freedom, a totally inhospitable place, outside of its natural habitat

Meanwhile, Nightingale Crowley, at the slightest sign of distress, quickly flew in search of shelter to protect himself from the pain.

One of the peculiarities of Nightingales is that they are loyal birds and do not adapt well when isolated from their companions.

They were the last nightingales to leave and unfortunately painfully separated, which makes part of this romantic story in Anguish. And this fits the meaning and symbolism of the Nightingale bird for writers.

In season 3:

“They’re not talking to each other.” = They are not singing.

Although they are separated, the singing is still present. A single song and many memories. “A Ninghtgale Sang in Berkeley Square” has a heart-like vibration within them. This music resonates in them, like a charged wave of energy that surrounds them and tunes them to each other, a vibration so powerful that it connects them to "us".

I am faithful to the theory that Aziraphale sent the song to Bentley for Crowley to listen to, as he also remembers and will never forget the memorable moments between them.

"A nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" is the song they can understand, the melody made sublime.

There is nothing that lasts forever, not even the pain of separation. The Nightingale bird's migration is temporary and on this journey they always return. The gang is always faithful to its place of origin.

In this way, in a flock, the nightingales Crowley and Aziraphale will meet and begin the freedom they so desire. The power of their song will be ineffable, allowing them together to destroy cages, traps and predators. Bringing harmony to their world.

In the end, Nightingale Crowley and Nightingale Aziraohale will flap their wings and fly together in synchronization, dancing in new airs, until they land on an apple tree branch, which is in a beautiful garden and there they will build a new nest. They will sing in a divine way, while exchanging vows of love, in a beautiful sunset.

Meanwhile, the Nightingale flock will be noisy for them on the South Downs.

I had a lot of fun writing this analogy and I hope you like it too. English is not my mother tongue, sorry for any spelling mistakes. Thank you if you made it this far. :)

#good omens #goodomensseason2 #aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable husbands #goodomensseason3 #south downs #nightingale

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asha-mage · 4 months

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WoT Meta: Prophecies, Fated Lovers, and Robert Jordan's knack for finding the nuance underneath the myth

One complaint I've never understood about the way Jordan writes romances is the persistent claim that he over uses the 'prophesied love' trope.

In part for me, I think it's a little bit folks not seeing the forest for the trees. WoT is fundamentally about the relationship between myth and reality: the place where the fallen angel meets the disgruntled academic, the bitter accountant, and the man who never got over being too short. It's a story where the messiah is real and dealing with chronic pain and PTSD from his stigmata. Where a legendary High Queen has to deal with both marching armies to the apocalypse, and the irritating banal realities of being pregnant at the same time. Of course Jordan digs into the idea of prophesied love- it's a huge theme in folklore and mythologies the world over. Jordan wants to dig into what it really means for there to be a person out there that you are destined to be with: that is a match for you, decreed so by the universe itself....and that you get absolutely no agency and choice in choosing. If anything Tumblr, which adores the 'red string of fate'/'soulmark'/'soulmates share pain'/'world is black until you look into your soulmates eyes' (to name a few of the more prevalent ones- some of which Tumblr practically invented), should be super on board for the parade of fated lovers to be found in WoT. It's nothing short of baffling to me that their not more fondly viewed.

And I think that is tied to the follow up complaint: the criticism that Jordan 'uses prophecy love as a replacement for a romance arc'. But that is something that is just. Patently untrue.

Cause the thing is that is how soulmates are often used...in the majority of soulmate au fanfics you find here and on AO3- an excuse to get the really hard part (two characters realizing they are right for each other and love each other, then having the communication skills to articulate that so they can start a relationship) out of the way, so the author can focus on the fluff or angst or other part they and the audience want to get to. And that's fine! But that's not at all what Jordan does. Just like he does with the Prophecies of the Dragon, or Elaida's fortellings, or even just most of Min's viewings- Jordan takes the idea of the prophecy soulmate, this person decreed by some higher power to be Perfect For You and being right about it, and digs deeper, shining it in different lights and attacking it from different angles. Jordan gives the concept of the soulmate teeth, explores the spines and the sharp points of it: is it real love if it's fated and not your choice? Can you trust your own feelings, or are they fate's design working against you as surely as Aphrodite worked against Helen or Eros against Apollo? What is it like, to see someone one day, and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that you would love this stranger? This question mark? This wildcard?

Rand's relationships with Min and Aviendha, as well as Mat and Tuon's courtship are great examples of this conundrum. Min and Aviendha have completely opposite reactions to the same information that demonstrates their unique strengths and weaknesses as characters and people, while Tuon and Mat's courtship is all about two people who know they will marry trying to figure out what that means, without ever confronting the reality of those prophecies directly.

Min, as befits a Seer who has learned time and time again that her viewings can not be changed, has resigned herself in an almost fatalistic fashion to all of them, and to loving Rand no less. Min knows that she, and two others, will love him, and she accepts its inevitability the same way she accepts Colavere's death, or Logain's glory, or the shattering of the White Tower. What is, is, and there is no sense or point in struggling against it. What concerns her a great deal more is what she doesn't know- she doesn't know if Rand will love her in return, she doesn't know the identity of the other two women who will love him, and she doesn't know if he will fall in love with one or both of the others but not her. Add to that Min's own insecurities about how she stands out and doesn't fit what her society deems 'proper', between her crossdressing, and her offputting manners, and it makes perfect sense that she's worried about making Rand love her. She doesn't mind sharing him- she hates the idea of being in love with a man who doesn't love her in return, of being stuck like 'Elmindreda' of the stories, sighing and pining endlessly for a man instead of being able to act, to take control of her own fate.

So she takes control: she learns to flirt from Leane, works hard at making herself desirable, and also indispensable: with her visions, her advice, even just her emotional support to Rand when he otherwise has no one else. The irony is that whenever Rand thinks of Min prior to her return to his side in LoC, it's about how much he liked her earthy honesty and lack of wiles: how she was earnest and made him feel at ease, and didn't 'spin his head like a top'- and that's still what he loves about her after they get together: the fact that she isn't fooled by his front, that she sees him clearly and refuses to be driven away the way so many others are so easily. The point is that Min never had to change, and in the ways that matter she didn't- she only thought she did because of her own fatalism.

Contrast that with Aviendha, who, after learning about being destined to fall in love with Rand, does everything in her power to prevent that outcome- because she is a warrior, a soldier, who has never yet met a problem that could not be killed, endured, or retreated from. Aviendha values nothing so much as her honor and her word- she has promised to keep Rand safe for Elayne and what greater act of dishonor could there be in that situation then not just failing in that promise, but despoiling (and she does view it that way) said man herself? So she is awful to him in the hopes of poisoning the well of affection or at least keeping him far enough away that she is never tempted. Aviendha hurls contempt and anger at him, berates him, does everything short of trying to stab him in an effort to make him hate her, and it doesn't work. Despite all her efforts to keep her thorny wall up, they are literally made for each other and can not help but be drawn together time and again. Despite all her efforts to insist, to him and herself, that she hates him, she can not hide entirely that the opposite is true: that she likes him, sees his strength and courage and resilience, and is a little in awe of his generous kindness.

This is why she vacillates wildly between wanting desperately to get away from him in The Fires of Heaven, to not wanting to leave his side: they are two planets caught in each other's gravity, with about as much chance of escaping each other. When she resorts to the last recourse of a soldier- retreat- and runs headlong into a blizzard that would surely kill her, Rand follows to try and save her life and she can deny the truth that she loves him no longer, nor can she resist taking him, even knowing that to redress that balance, she will one day have to offer her life to Elayne (as she attempts to do in LoC)- though fate still has other plans in store.

But in many ways the apex of this, the relationship that really shows Jordan's deconstruction of this trope, is Mat and Tuon. Before they ever lay eyes on each other, each is given a prophecy that they will marry the other: not that they'll love each other, not that they will be able to trust each other, not even that that will like each other: just that they will marry. And their strange courtship is a result of this knowledge, as each attempts to suss out the other, to try and understand them without ever overplaying their own hand. Each believes that the moment they admit their prophecy they will destroy any chance of real connection or understanding.

To Tuon, if Mat learns he is destined to wed her he gains something she can not abide: power over her, leverage that could be used to subvert her own plans and visions- because nothing matters more to Tuon than control, especially over herself. So she keeps her 'fortune' secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be married to Mat? Will he be a pretty trophy? A liability? A threat to her Empire? Will she have to kill him once she gets her heirs?

To Mat, if Tuon learns of his prophecy, she gains the power to take away his freedom, to snare and collar him and bind him to her, because that's how Mat deep down views marriage: as a binding cord, a loss of freedom, and nothing matters to Mat more than freedom. So he keeps his *Finn gained knowledge secret and tries to figure out: What will it mean to be collared by Tuon? Will she she treat him as a pretty and plaything the way Tylin did? Will she try to use him against Rand and the Westlands? Will she make him a slave and sent him to be beaten anytime he disobeys her? Will he have no choice but to fight her one day, this woman he is going to swear to spend his life with? Will he have to kill her the way he did Melindhra, and carry that guilt of mariticide on top of all else?

So the two stay in their strange limbo, because as long as they don't admit it out loud to the other, they can pretend they are still two people forced together by happenstance, and (each thinks) they can continue to try and understand and figure out the other, to find out where this inevitability of their marriage will really leave them, and if there can be even the faintest possibility of love in such circumstances. And that limbo- that protracted refusal to act as if they are under fate's direction- is what allows them to build a genuine bond of trust and respect for each other, and to start seeing the other person with the clarity that love requires. All this, so that when Tuon finally does play her hand, and reveal the truth....it's obvious they've long since fallen in love with each other (even though Tuon won't admit that to herself), and come to trust each other (even though Mat won't admit that to himself).

And the thing is- all of Jordan’s prophecy romances are written like this: from Egwene seeing that loving Gawyn might be both their downfalls in LoC and seeking him out anyways, to Perrin misinterpreting the 'falcon and hawk' viewing and thinking Faile is a danger to him when she's the love of his life, to Galad and Berelain not even being AWARE they’re fated to fall in love and just....do, at wild first sight (Another classic folklore/mythology trope). They also never find out: always remaining unaware that the Pattern had long since decreed that they would be together and being incredibly funny/annoying about it. The prophesied love is an example of classic Jordan: taking a common, maybe even ubiquitous premise, and asking those complicating questions that allow him to write it as something much more nuanced and interesting and fascinating. And he gets no credit for it, send tumble.

#Wheel of Time #WoT #Robert Jordan #WoT Meta #Wheel of Time Meta #Min Farshaw #Aviendha #Rand al'Thor #Mat Cauthon #tuon athaem kore paendrag #randmin #avirand #mat x tuon #matuon #WoT Book Spoilers #TOM Spoilers #I wanted to write more about some of the other Fated Lovers pairs in the series but this already got insanely long

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cursedvibes · 11 months

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youtube

Rusalka is a creature from Ukrainian mythology. Years ago, Go_A’s lead singer Kate took part in a folklore expedition, where she met a group of grannies who were resettled from their homes in Chornobyl area due to a disaster on a power plant. Those grannies showed Kate a magic ritual of accompanying Rusalkas to the forest. That experience was very inspiring to Kate, and one day she wrote "Rusalochki". This song is about finding yourself in a world where a person lost their home forever. A story about trying to leave your past behind and an attempt to live in a new reality. The single "Rusalochki" was released together with a music video, which was shot in Kyiv during a missile attack. The sounds of alerts and explosions were coming from every direction, while the band was working on set. Old women in the video are keepers of Ukrainian folklore from the ensemble "Berehynia", which were under Russian occupation on the Northern part of Ukraine in 2022. Despite a huge danger and a long way, these grannies were happy to come and take part in video shooting. These women, who are witnesses of two horrible wars, are a symbol of resilience of Ukrainian people, who stay at their land and keep their traditions despite any circumstances. The story of "Rusalochki" is always relevant and dedicated to every person on our planet who searches for their place in the World.

(from the video description)

#go_a #rusalka #rusalochki #love this song and music video so much

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bestiarium · 4 months

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The Tangi [Scottish, Shetland folklore]

There are lots of folktales about supernatural horses that live underwater and entice people into mounting them. Once the victim does so, they find themselves unable to dismount and the horse takes its prey underwater to drown them. The most famous of these creatures are the Scottish Kelpie and the Welsh Ceffyl Dŵr, though there are lots of similar aquatic horse monsters from British, Germanic and Scandinavian folktales. They are related and come from the same root story.

In the Shetland Islands, however, there are two such creatures, and while they are undeniably similar, surprisingly they are said to be two distinct kinds of beings that exist in different habitats. The Njuggel (or ‘Shoopiltee’ in Northern Shetland, among other names) resides in lakes and other fresh bodies of water, whereas the Tangi (also Tangie) is a marine monster. Keep in mind however that this distinction is not set in stone (folklore is hardly an exact science, of course) and in some places the Njuggel and the Tangi are considered to be synonyms.

In the Orkney islands of northern Scotland, the Tangie would appear either as an old human covered in seaweed (true to its name, as the name ‘Tangie’ is likely derived from ‘tang’ which is a local term for seaweed) or as an aquatic horse. This Tangie would jump out at unwary travelers, and it took a particular liking to young women, kidnapping them from the banks of the Scottish lakes and dragging them into the depths to be devoured.

In places where the two are said to be separate monsters, the following distinction is usually made: a Njuggel appears as a white or grey horse with a wheel for a tail that drowns its victims in lakes. A Tangi, on the other hand, is black or dark grey and has no wheel. Tangis are shapeshifting creatures and sometimes appear as cows, other animals, or as humans. When taking the form of a human, a Tangi usually chooses to appear as a handsome young man and seeks out girls to seduce and have sex with. Sometimes they go the extra mile and abduct a girl to marry her. Being associated with the sea, they commonly haunt shores but these creatures make their homes in seaside caverns.

Like its cousin the Njuggel, a Tangi is engulfed in a blue flame when galloping at high speed. Sailors sometimes claimed to have seen one of these creatures as a distant blue flash that raced across the shore.

One old account of these creatures also claimed that they have wings and the uncanny ability to locate any object that fell or was thrown into the ocean, regardless of depth. These claims are not backed by any other sources. However, they do have an important trait that sets them apart from Kelpies, Njuggels, Nixen and the like.

Whereas most Kelpie-like monsters are said to make people mount them and then drown their victims, the Tangi does not need to be mounted. It can cast a spell on its victims by galloping in circles around them. When under the influence of the Tangi’s magic, the victim becomes hypnotized and immediately tries to drown themselves, usually by jumping off a cliff into the ocean. Those who survive find themselves in a dazed state which lasts for a few days at most.

They are not invincible however and share the same weaknesses as the Njuggels: they are afraid of fire, can be injured with iron and lose their power if you utter their name. For example, one story tells of a man who encountered a Tangi. The black horse started running in circles around him but he managed to stab it with an iron knife. The creature ran away and disappeared.

Sources: Teit, J. A., 1918, Water-beings in Shetlandic Folk-Lore, as Remembered by Shetlanders in British Columbia, The Journal of American Folklore, 31(120), p.180-201. Lecouteux, C., 2016, Encyclopedia of Norse and Germanic Folklore, Mythology, and Magic. Monaghan, P., 2004, The Encyclopedia of Celtic Mythology and Folklore, Facts on File Library of Religion and Mythology, 512 pp. Pérez-Lloréns et al., 2020, Seaweeds in mythology, folklore, poetry and life, Journal of Applied Phycology, 32, 3157-3182. (image source 1: orig03 on Deviantart. The image actually depicts a black Kelpie, but I figured it’s fine since the Tangi is related and similar) (image source 2: unknown, sorry)

#Scottish mythology #British mythology #aquatic creatures #monsters #Kelpie #mythical creatures #fey #bestiary

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theresattrpgforthat · 3 months

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Got anything that lets you play as monsters (vampires/monsters/etc) in the modern world in the vein of VTM? Ideally something in the PBTA/FITD area of system, but open to others for sure (: Thanks as always for your recs!!

THEME: Urban Monsters

Friend, the difficulty with this post isn’t that I don’t have recommendations for it - it’s that I’m trying to find recommendations that I haven’t talked about ad nauseam to this point. So I hope you don’t mind a fairly extensive “Past Recommendations” at the bottom of this post, because most of the PbtA games I know of are going to be there. I have limited experience with Vampire: the Masquerade, but I’m a big fan of Changeling: the Lost and other World of Darkness games, so I’m going off of general knowledge rather than specifics.

Bubblegum Vampires / Bubblegum Wizards 2, by Gormengeist.

You're a vampire in an infinite urban cauldron of muck and rot, of psionics and wizards, of danger and shadows. Though you are surely terrible, great, horrifying, (etc.), half the day is an enemy to your people; so set forth through the night to make your coin, secure your dwellings, and vanquish your infinite enemies.

You're a wizard who chews bubblegum and collects trading cards. That is to say, cards with the trapped souls of items and enemies within, obviously. An insignificant wizard in an infinite city has lots to prove and you've got to get help somehow. Break heads, steal money, drive stupid, chew gum, trap souls. Simple as.

Neon-Bright art and d6-based rolls, that’s what’s common across both of these games. This is the same world, but you’re living in two different spheres of it, depending on which game you play. As wizards, you collect spell cards that hold the souls of creatures you’ve vanquished, and use them to get yourself out of sticky situations. As vampires, you accrue vampiric powers through blood sacrifice, and your opponents are usually folks with especially tantalizing veins. Both games have various factions that have different goals than you, so if what you like about Vampire: the Masquerade is the amount of different ideologies that have the ability to fuck you up, you might like this game. Thematically, it looks a little more upbeat and pulpy than your typical V:tM game, but if you like one, you have another game in the same system ready to go.

The Hidden, by Dragons Are Real.

As children our parents read us fairy tales, ghost stories and recounted local myths. We’ve always assumed these stories are told to entertain or scare….what if these aren't just stories….everything you have been told is true.

The creatures from fairy tales, mythology and folklore all exist. Have you ever thought you saw something strange out of the corner of your eye but when you look again all looks normal. These creatures live in plain sight, unseen by the majority of people, only those who know they exist see them in their true form. Every culture has a name for these creatures but we know them simply as The Hidden.

The Hidden is a modern urban fantasy game powered by the Breathless RPG. It is inspired by such media as Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Constantine and The Dresden Files.

Another pulpy sort of game, the Breathless system that powers The Hidden is great for replicating diminishing resources, putting your characters in more and more difficult situations every time they pause to take a breath. This makes this game great for horror-style stories, and World of Darkness games firmly find a home in the horror genre. If you want something that’s fast-paced and can cover a lot of ground in a short session, The Hidden might be for you.

Tween Wolf, by Ibi Deficit Orbis.

Tween Wolf is a micro-RPG about middle schoolers experiencing both the fantasy of being exceptional, and the fear of being humiliated. As these kids come to terms with their awkwardly developing human bodies, they will also be faced with lycanthropy. And in the process they will experience supernatural heroism and intense shame—and learn to manage both.

It is designed to be played with a bent towards exploring the unforgiving social cruelty of middle school, self-image, and dysphoria. It requires one Game Master, 1 to 4 additional players, a few hours, one six sided die for each player, and two additional six sided dice for the table to share.

This is a very short game, with very few rules and a big focus on trying to keep your wild side under wraps. If what you like about WoD games is the struggle between the monstrous and the human, this might be the game for you. There’s not nearly as many big moral quandaries as there are in typical WoD games - you’re middle schoolers, not eons-old bloodsuckers - but to a middle-schooler, your problems are massive. I feel like the movie Seeing Red might be a good touchstone for this game.

Glamour of Our Youth, by Yuri Runnel.

Glamour of Our Youth is a roleplaying game based on the Forged in the Dark system. Drawing inspiration from media like Riverdale, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Chilling Adventures of Sabrina among others, it works to tell stories of supernatural teenage adventures.

Building on the FitD framework, Glamour serves to tell exciting stories with high stakes, putting the youths through their paces as they try to make their way through a strange and hostile world, struggling with conflicts both internal and external, arcane and mundane.

This game doesn’t cast your characters as specific supernatural beings, but the character options certainly make it possible. You cobble your character together from two different halves: Archetypes and Arcana. Your Archetype hails from classic high school cliques, such as Rebel, Outcast, Socialite and Athlete, while your Arcana details your supernatural ability, including Shapeshifter (which might translate to werewolf), Oceancaller (which you could turn into a selkie) or Shadow (which feels rather ghost-like to me). There’s also plenty of ways to play a teenage mage.

This game is in playtest, but it’s considerably far a long, with recent updates that indicate that the crew is hard at work refining the final product.

Protect the Child, by MintRabbit (that’s me!)

Humans have always been protective of their young, sometimes overly so. Humans have also always feared that which might make their young strange or different, and so insist that only humans can raise their own young. Monsters cannot raise human young. This is known. You have a human baby. You cannot find its parents. What is even worse, is that this child has powers, powers that others covet, and so everyone wants it. If you want to prove that you’re not the heartless monster that everyone says you are, that means you’ll have to raise it, at least until you find someone who is better suited to it than you. You are creatures of fur, scales and fangs. You have claws that can rend flesh, faces that can crack mirrors, howls that can cause ears to bleed. And your charge wants a blankie.

Protect the Child is a Forged in the Dark game about monsters caring for a young human, a human who contains strange and mystical powers that make them a valuable asset in any monster crew. The setting and factions present in this game are flexible: you might be aliens in a far-flung future galaxy, fantasy monsters from rival kingdoms, or even everyday wild animals that fear human society.

So I’ve only just started play testing this game, which means that it’s very much in barely-playable mode. This game is also setting-agnostic, meaning that you can decide exactly when and where your game takes place - including as modern-day monsters trying to take care of a human baby with magical powers. The game is very specific in the themes of the story you’ll be telling - that is, themes about monstrosity, parenthood and responsibility, but if you all want to play different kinds of vampires, you can absolutely do that!

BloodLite, by ruan8000.

BloodLite is a role-playing game (RPG) designed to be played solo, but can be played in a group. In this game, you will create a Vampire following the rules and you will also create the world that this vampire interacts with, as well as the conflicts and obstacles that he will face. The world in BloodLite is like ours, but a little darker and more dangerous, full of supernatural creatures.

This game has no ties to PbtA or FitD, but it cites Vampire: the Masquerade as a direct inspiration, and you can see it in the Bloodline options available at character creation. You have a supernatural gift that give you advantages and also trigger your Hunger, which is your character’s thirst for blood. The goals of the game are represented through an Oath track, which fills when you fight enemies, overcome obstacles, and solve problems. This a fairly stripped-down game, but if you’re familiar with V:tM, then you probably won’t have a problem filling the world with factions, back-alley deals, and political wars.

Hearts of Yokai, by Lowell Francis.

So, this game isn’t out yet. But I can’t stop myself from talking about it a little bit. It’s the product of a Changeling:The Lost PbtA hack that Lowell has been working on for a very long time. I’ve been a bit fan of Changeling: the Lost and I also love PbtA games so I’m really excited to see more of this.

The link in the title leads to the current google spreadsheets that detail the current content of the game and the associated playbooks. The link for Lowell is to a blog post he wrote about the game, talking about the history, the changes he’s made, and the ideas behind what the current iteration is. What really intrigues me is how it incorporates "the actions of the Gentry through the lens of colonialism.” I’m really eager to follow the progress of this game.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Urban Shadows 1e, by Magpie Games.

Bite Marks, by Black Armada Games.

Monsterhearts 2e, by Buried Without Ceremony.

Strays, by kumada1.

Eldritch Investigative Drama Rec Post

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #urban fantasy #monsters #vampires #indie ttrpg

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sleepingdeath-light · 1 year

Text

mixed race (japanese + native american) fiancé hcs ; 16+

requested by ; anonymous (14/04/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | main characters | main villains | anime only

character(s) ; alois trancy, our!ciel phantomhive, real!ciel phantomhive, sebastian michaelis

outline ; “hey! i hope youre doing well. if/when youreable to, would you mind writing some headcanons for o!ciel, sebastian, r!ciel, and alois (if thats too many, just the first 2 💜) with a gender neutral fiance who is partially both japanese and native american please? thank you very much in advance.”

warning(s) ; references to period typical racism, references to canon-typical violence, generalisations made as to not link the reader to any specific native tribe, author craps on british food in a few places (author is british, it comes from a place of love)

note ; this took ages to look up and research in order to try and not lock the insert into any specific tribe or tribal family for their native side — given how broad and diverse they are. hopefully this came across and wasn’t too disappointing to the requester or anyone else who might have been looking for a very specific type of representation.

Alois Trancy

this man isn’t the most sensitive or understanding in general — so he wouldn’t necessarily ‘get’ or question your religious practises

like if you’re spiritual and perform smudging in the manor then you’re only really going to irritate his demonic staff and prevent them from entering certain rooms for a while

on the other end of the spectrum, smudging is an excellent way of keeping claude and the triplets out of your rooms if you’re annoyed

this would amuse alois for sure — but his interests would be focused exclusively on the aesthetic and story based aspects of your culture

he loves listening to you as you explain the folklores and mythologies of your two heritages — wide eyed and quiet for once as he takes in everything you have to say

he has a particular preference for creatures and deities that explore the gorier aspects of life, and he’ll ask you to retell them often, but he’ll listen to any story you have to tell

and if you participate in cultural crafts like beadwork or shodo or anything along those lines, then he’ll gladly fund your work and might even pay you to make things for his person, his peers or just to display about the estate

he’ll also ensure that you’re never without clothing from your cultures and would prefer you wear it over things from england — be that a selection of richly dyed kimonos for you to wear during galas, or importing regalia from your tribe for you to wear during traditional dances and such if that’s something you partake in

if your tribe partakes in the tradition of getting facial tattoos, then he’ll be incredibly interested in their history and meaning for you

will celebrate and observe holidays that aren’t on the british calendar with you — whether that’s national foundation day, or something that requires travel abroad like a powwow

and in the same vein, he’s not afraid to send his servants after anyone who disrespects you whilst at his manor

Our!Ciel Phantomhive

ciel has a particular interest in the culinary/confectionary side of your dual cultures and would be very invested in trying and recreating the dishes you grew up eating

that, of course, includes sweet things like candies and desserts

(his favourites are dango and saututhig)

but it also applies to meals — especially those associated with specific holidays

so, for example, he would have sebastian recreate the seasonal flavours of namagashi if you opt to take part in any tea ceremonies

or he might recreate some festival foods like okonomiyaki or yakitori when it’s the right season

or if you’re craving something from a powwow, he’ll ensure you have access to things like corn soup, fry bread and so on

he never wants you to be without the comfort foods you grew up with, nor the things you crave

so he has the staff modify the manor’s menu and meal rotation to incorporate more foods from japan and from your tribe

(which is a relief as british food isn’t the most flavourful in the world)

he also insists on trying to learn whichever language (or languages) you’re comfortable with so he’s able to connect and understand more of his future spouse’s culture and world views

he struggles immensely with japanese, specifically with forming his kanji for some reason, but his pronunciation is pretty spot on

but he manages to pick up the language of your tribe pretty quickly

so he’d probably prefer to speak to you using that tongue if he wished to mention something privately

he’s also keenly aware of the history of conflicts faced by native americans — as well as the bigotry faced by immigrants in the uk

he did his fair share of studying at the beginning of your relationship and, well, he has eyes and the situational awareness to recognise how you were being treated

this makes him incredibly protective of you — he trusts you to take care of yourself (you are engaged to the queen’s watchdog, after all), but that doesn’t mean that he expects you to put up with outright horrific treatment by his peers or his people

in other words: sebastian and the rest of the phantomhive staff get some free target practise courtesy of people that insult the lord of the house’s fiancé

Real!Ciel Phantomhive

this man is the sort to spoil his partner however he can at every opportunity — and you are far from the exception

any food that you’re craving, he’ll have the ingredients imported and will hire a specialty chef (or train one) to make it for you

any clothing you desire, he’ll have hand made and imported

if you miss your family or wish to go home to celebrate a holiday, he’ll arrange a trip to the americas or to japan and send you there with supplies and gifts to spare

he’ll usually try to go with you, but there are times where his schedule just doesn’t allow it so you’ll be travelling alone (with dozens of personal attendants)

he’ll study every language you speak independently, learning them whilst you’re away in order to surprise you when you get home

he’ll decorate the manor with pieces of art that represent both of the cultures you come from — or pieces that were made by yourself/your relatives

if there are any local sports or games that you enjoy, he’ll arrange for them to happen at the estate

he’s an excellent partner in that regard

but he puts his business and reputation above a lot of the things he should be doing for you

like yes he’ll spoil and indulge and learn for you

but if one of his most important investors says something offensive then he won’t do anything to stop it

at most he’ll encourage them to keep that talk to his office, but usually he’ll just laugh along and encourage you to grin and bear it

he wants to defend you, really, but he can’t risk plummeting his business because of it

he doesn’t have the means to get rid of someone without it looking suspect — which would tank his reputation and out both of you at risk

if he can punish someone for being cruel, he will — like a staff member of his or someone on the streets

but most of the time he really can’t — so the most he can do is try to keep you away from it all

as his father taught him, his duties to his country and his business come first — only then can he be a husband and lover

Sebastian Michaelis

he spends most of his time with you switching between japanese and the language of your tribe — mainly because he doesn’t like the idea of anyone (or anything) listening in on your combinations and seeing him in such a vulnerable state

he has an incredibly low tolerance for any mistreatment of you (actual or perceived) and, unless instructed otherwise by his master, will just eliminate them immediately after their transgression

a lot of the time you don’t even realise what happened — only that someone is now missing

but you’re usually able to put the pieces together

if you have an argument, he’s usually able to gather how mad you are based on how many rooms have been cleansed and he’s no longer able to enter

the worst argument you had, to date, ended with you cleansing the entire manor and locking him to the outside and the basement for a whole week

(ciel found it hilarious)

if you’re ever feeling homesick, it’s a cakewalk for sebastian to get you back to your family — you can be there one day and back in england the next

but good luck explaining to either side of your family that you’re courting a demon

if you’re artsy and like creating things to honour your heritage then he’ll indulge you, fetching you the necessary materials and displaying the final result proudly

he has met both sides of your family and has scared the crap out of a few relatives when they accidentally almost cleansed him out of a room

(not a fun conversation to have)

he’s an excellent cook (naturally) and is more than happy to indulge any cravings you have for foods that aren’t a commonly sold thing in england

of course he’ll encourage you to eat full, hearty meals because he wants you to be as taken care of as possible, but he can’t say no to his mate and will usually give in if you’re particularly desperate for sweet things or street foods

he gives you a number of nicknames based on new or traditional pet names from your cultures

for example, some japanese pet names he might use are ‘ダーリン’ (daarin), ‘ハニー’ (hanii) (these are mainly used in notes sent to each other) — or, when speaking, he might something more traditional like calling you your given name or an a version with the appropriate suffix (depending on your preference)

and, of course, any other pet names depends on the tribe you’re from

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #black butler x reader #black butler headcanons #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji headcanons #sebastian michaelis x reader #our ciel x reader #ciel phantomhive x reader #real ciel x reader #alois trancy x reader

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