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#char:dreamwalker
attollogame · 5 months
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Inc: Dreamwalker, Sysba, Pariah, MC. WC: 2.8k Warnings: Nothing of note Summary: Dreamwalker's POV during the La Rumeur club scene
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Excerpt Below
“You look murderous right now. It's quite sexy, actually." He turns his attention away from the one party-goer he was watching—a blonde man, trying far too hard to hit on another—and focuses on his new companion, whose painted lips are pulled into a lascivious grin. The glimmer of their jewellery makes them practically glow in the dark, and he notes that they’ve dressed in their best attire.
In turn, he raises an eyebrow with a frown. “I have no idea what you mean, Sysba. I’m merely enjoying the show around me.”
Sysba looks out onto the crowd, and he watches as their expression shifts into one of pity and amusement. “Ah, the first wave is always the most fascinating to observe. For some reason or another, they go much harder than the second or third, who usually come later in the night.”
“Perhaps they go harder because they wish to enter a state of inebriation faster, so they can therefore drown out how miserable they are with their lives.” He leans back against the booth and crosses his arms over his chest as he glances at the crowd. In his peripheral vision, he can see Sysba fixing him with a dubious stare.
“I thought you’d be actually quite happy, considering that you get to see our very special guest later on.”
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attollogame · 9 months
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Dreamwalker after MC yells at him during the dream sequence:
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☠️☠️☠️ NAH BUT REALLY
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attollogame · 11 months
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hush or revelation for DW if you feel like it! just because the idea of possibly telling DW to hush is very amusing to me fkdjfjd
hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse 
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"You've been forgotten."
His voice is sotto voce, drawling out from where he sits with a curious smile toying his lips. His fingers slowly run along the edge of the desk, as though to caress it before he continues.
"It was meant to be an hour ago now, was it not?"
Your eyebrow twitches upwards in response as you continue to stare at the door. The seconds feel like they're drawing into hours, ticking on, and on, and on. You look back at him and note the way his golden eyes seem to glimmer in mirth; he looks far too happy about your predicament for your liking. "They're just busy."
"Busy enough to be over an hour late? Ah, perhaps you should have gone with my suggestion instead." That curious little smile now grows into a cocky grin as he continues to watch you. Your own jaw clenches in response as you pull out your phone again, glaring angrily down at the app. The delivery mans little icon shows him still at the restaurant, and you begin to wonder if something has happened.
"Was Ovo planning on robbing any take-out places?" You grumble, sending a sour glance to your partner. His expression morphs to innocent shock.
"Oh goodness no. Ovo is a proud supporter of our essential workers, you know."
"Pro-crime but also pro-union; truly an organization for the people." you scoff, leaning back in your seat as you say so. Dreamwalker's smile returns as his eyes narrow.
"They do go hand in hand, after all. So no, I am not responsible for our delayed dinner, which we could have had an hour ago now had you simply gone with my suggestion of visiting a restaurant rather than relying on delivery services—"
You turn then, raising a finger and pressing it harshly against his lips in the 'silence' gesture. The man only looks startled for a moment before one eyebrow raises and an unimpressed look begins to dance on his features. It brightens your mood a little; you do love to cause him some stress.
"We aren't going to the expensive restaurants you so enjoy," you reply, dropping your hand. Dreamwalker is silent for only a moment before he speaks again.
"Of course. Because cold takeout is clearly the superior choice, even though I would have paid."
You give him a small, mocking little smile as you pat his hand. "You can just buy me something shiny later on, okay?"
"Perhaps I will." Is all he offers back, his own bemused look in his gaze as your phone chimes out. When you glance down, you see that the driver is finally leaving the restaurant. Dreamwalker leans forward to look at the phone before scoffing and fixing his gaze on you.
"Well. At least it wasn't cancelled."
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attollogame · 1 year
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OC Kiss Week 6—Desperate
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Dreamwalker—Desperate (1.4k; NSFW will be continued on patreon)
Motel room thingsss
The falling rain adds a murky soundtrack to the gray world that surrounds you as you walk, concealed beneath the arch of an umbrella, along a poorly-tended concrete path. Derelict houses with chain fences surrounding them are the scenery to your left; most of their windows are boarded up, but there are a few that remain open, with shadows moving around inside. They’re hardly habitable—but in the Gutter District, hardly habitable is still somewhere to live. 
You pull your umbrella closer to your side and focus on avoiding the potholes filled with water rather than the unseen audience you may have. Mud sloshes up your pant legs, and you can’t help but grimace at the cold, wet feeling as it seeps through to your skin. You wouldn’t be out here right now if you hadn’t received the message that you did; truthfully, you hadn’t seen Dreamwalker in quite some time, and so the eagerness of encountering him again greatly outweighed your trepidation over the weather. 
Which is why when you turn a corner and spot an old car idling on the side of the road, its brake lights like red eyes watching you within the storm, you pick up your pace despite the mess such a move will make. Dreamwalker himself doesn’t drive, so you close your umbrella—trying to ignore how quickly the rest of you becomes soaked in the rain—and yank open the back door before sliding your way in. 
“Are you alone?” is the first thing you hear as soon as you slam the door shut. There’s a man you don’t recognize sitting in the driver's seat, and one that you do in the passengers, with his dark hair and familiar grim expression. His head is turned just enough to see you as he waits to hear your response. 
“No one saw me but the few people still living on this street.” You tug your seat belt on and glance back at the driver. It isn’t the reunion you were hoping for, but it’s one you’ve come to expect. Dreamwalker nods, and the driver shifts gears to start moving again. The hum of the heat and the faint sound of the radio—a morning talk show, it sounds like—are the only sources of noise in the car. You watch out the window as you move through the Gutter District. 
Although you’re leaving the area affectionately known as The Slums, you seem to be moving deeper into the District itself, until the car finally arrives outside of what looks like a rundown Motel. When the car comes to a full stop and Dreamwalker undoes his seat belt, you realize that this is the place you’re set to speak in. You both get out and you watch as the car pulls away, leaving you standing in a cracked parking lot with no means of getting home and a sense of unease in your heart. 
Dreamwalker is already inside by the time you enter. The lobby looks like it’s from the 1960’s, and it also looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since then, considering the stains you note on the walls as you go to stand by his side. He’s thumbing an old brass key as a woman types away on an ancient computer, boredom evident on her aged face. She squints at the screen and glances over at the two of you, scrutinizing the way you both look, before she turns  away. She mumbles something into a device attached to her shirt, types a few more things, and then the whirring of a receipt machine fills the air. 
“M’kay, you should be good to go,” she finally says, a faint accent in her words as she slides the receipt over. “The room is at the very end if you walk straight. It’s already all prepared for you.”   
“What’s all of this?” you inquire, following after him as he moves down the hall. He doesn’t reply, but he does reach back to take a hold of your wrist, as though the act will provide some sense of reassurance. It doesn’t, and when the two of you finally enter your designated room, he only gives you a response when he closes and locks the door. 
“Accept my apologies for the… location,” he sighs, taking off the sunglasses he’s been wearing and tossing them onto the room’s singular table. He looks tired—as he always does—and when he sits down on the bed, his body slumps. “The Gutter District’s Motel tends to be the one place you can meet and talk without interruption or care. I promise you this room has been cleaned, though.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” you grumble, sitting down next to him. You try to ignore the fact that your clothes are still soaking wet as you press your thigh against his. “You know, considering how long it’s been.” 
He winces at your words, and upon closer inspection, you can see how ruffled and unkempt he really is. In his absence, he’s likely been going through hell—par usual. “I wish I could have contacted sooner, but unfortunately a lot of things happened at once that were unavoidable. Which is why this meeting was unorganized on my part—it was last minute, and I didn’t want to miss the chance.” 
You lean forward to get a good look at his face, which causes him to frown, only further pushing the budding amusement you’re feeling about this situation. With a coy grin, you give him a nudge. “You missed me, didn’t you?”
“Nonsense.” The reply is sharp and immediate, but when he pushes himself to stand back up, you know he doesn’t mean it. He always tries to go when he’s feeling embarrassed about something. You reach out to grasp his wrist and tug him towards you—which he follows with, begrudgingly—until you have him standing between your legs. 
“How long do we have, then?” You ask, reaching up to play with his tie. It’s already loose, probably done because of stress, and he reaches to hold onto your hand in response. 
“A few hours, give or take.” 
A few hours is frustrating to you—you do wish you could monopolize all of his time—but this is what you signed up for when you chose a crime leader as your companion. You pull until his hands rest on either side of you, and you’re close enough to see the faint stubble from a missed-day shave along his jaw. “Pity,” you mumble, leaning in to kiss away his response before he can give it. 
Maybe because it’s been so long, or maybe it’s just your pent up frustrations, but you’re quick to take control of the situation—and for once, he hands it over. This is probably his way of apologizing, but right now you really don’t care. You feel like you’re a part of some illicit affair, to be kissing in the dark rooms of the sparse moments you can both afford, and the thrill of the criminality only seems to heighten the passion forming between you both. 
Your hand quickly comes up to grasp at his slight curls as you angle yourself to deepen the kiss, drinking in every part of him that you can get before he vanishes again. The familiar aroma of sandalwood is intoxicating, and when you tug at those strands—earning a low groan in response—you find yourself driven to a frenzy of desire. He pushes until you fall back on the bed, a huff of laughter escaping from you at the action. He presses a messy kiss on your jaw, your neck, as his hand slides up your shirt. He’s so undone, so unlike how he usually is, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of possessiveness that you’re the only one to see him in this state.
Then he stops, and he withdraws with a frown, breaking the entire illusion. 
“Your clothes are soaked,” he huffs, his hair disarrayed and his tie now entirely unsalvageable. You can’t help but grin up at him as you drink in this state. 
“Help me get out of them, then?” You retort. He stares down at you for a moment, and then an expression that can only be described as wicked appears on his face. His hand comes up to caress your cheek while the other begins to travel down to your waistband. When he chuckles, it’s a low sound that goes right to your core. 
“Gladly.”
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attollogame · 2 years
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HELLO
[necklace] for dreamwalker????
HIII Hope u dont mind me combining 2 😭
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[NECKLACE]—Sender fastens a necklace around receivers neck
[WAIST] - sender rests a hand against receiver's waist.
It's unusual, and that's perhaps why it puts you on edge. The space isn't unusual; in fact, it's rather nice. A private dining room to yourselves, with blinds acting as a barrier to the rest of the restaurant and candles flickering on the table as the heady aroma of wine fills the air. The staff weren't unusual; in fact, they were rather nice as well.
What was unusual was the situation itself—and the man you were in the situation with.
His golden gaze flickers in the moody light of the room like the candles that adorn your table, making you feel more like you're at a ritual rather than an anniversary dinner. He eats in his usual reserved and proper manner, making you feel painfully self-aware every time your fork scrapes the plate, or you drink your drink too loudly. Conversation flows from his lips so naturally, while it falls from yours like stuttering droplets of rain. Even as he waves the waiter away, he makes it seem so natural.
You feel out of your element, and he notices. His eyebrow quirks every time you shift in your seat, or correct your posture, and it's only when he finally pays off the bill (which has far too many 0's for your liking) that you finally begin to relax. You grab your coat and rise quickly from your seat—only to have him clear his throat.
"One more thing." His voice is soft—softer than usual—as he rises from his seat. You watch in mute interest as he draws his own coat on before approaching. His hand is in his pocket, and there it remains as he comes to a stop behind you. You try to turn your head to look at him as you feel his cold fingers rest on the skin between your neck and shoulder.
"What—" you begin, only to have him hush you with a soft sound. You press your lips together and furrow your brow in confusion; when you feel cold metal replace his touch, you jerk in surprise and glance down.
A necklace rests against your skin. It consists of a thin, silver chain, ending in a pendant that appears as a symbol you've seen many times: a snake, consuming its own tail in a neverending loop of existence. The ouroboros—a secondary symbol that Ovo enjoys using, and one which represents an eternal devotion.
He withdraws once the necklace is clasped in place and rests his hand lightly on your waist instead. You can feel the heat coming off of his body as his lips brush lightly against your cheek and he simply says;
"Happy anniversary, mi corazón."
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attollogame · 2 years
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1st edition: Dreamwalker
Phew... the character that went through the most changes. Initially in Mammon, DW was a character who—although still an antagonist—was non-human, and incredibly conceited. I think I genuinely just had the idea of 'asshole' in mind when I wrote him.
The first edition of Dreamwalker went solely by his true name and was an arrogant, conceited individual who had no issues spending great amounts of money and shrugging off his duties. He was lazy, and cruel, and overall not the character that he is now.
The second variation of Dreamwalker is when the split between who he is and who he presents himself as came to be. His character gradually began to shift to become the Dreamwalker that he is now; it was around that time that I began to determine what powered abilities he would have and the term 'Dreamwalker' started to come up
His final variation is the one that's currently in-game. He's stoic, dedicated to the cause, and takes a no-nonsense approach to everything; all of this is VASTLY different than what he was like in Mammon and the first version of Attollo.
Dreamwalker's backstory changed multiple times as well. I can't talk about it without spoiling, but it took a lot of revisions to get to a story I feel explains why he is the way he is in a manner that works. It's a sensitive story that I want to put more effort into before presenting to the public, but I'm proud of it.
Dreamwalkers loyalty to his peers was a personality trait he always did have, though, beyond the arrogantness. He's always done what he can to protect his people, and this is something that will be vital down the line.
Romulus and Remus, his dogs, were always existing in the game; he had them in Mammon, and i'm more than happy to keep them in Attollo
DW was the third individual that I decided would be an RO for Attollo
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attollogame · 2 years
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Initially released on Patreon over 7 months ago now, I've decided to share the full story of 'The Boy and The Stag', the fairy tale you can read in Chapter 3: Vasilisa and The Crowes if you choose to examine Islingcier and The Estates (and, subsequently, Dreamwalker). Please consider this as my thanks for your continued support, a celebration of now over 3.1k followers, and apologies once again for delays <3
... Once upon a time, in the heart of the deep, dark forest, there lived a boy whom many were afraid of. This boy was as quiet as a mouse and as small as one too—but even though he could hide all he would like in those deep, dark woods, the boy's golden eyes would always give him away. Villagers who ventured into the woods would be frightened by the sight of two golden lights watching them in the bushes and would always run away before the boy got to speak with them. So, instead of trying to reach out, the boy came to settle into his life alone and soon grew quite content in his solitude.
One day, when the boy was collecting berries from a bush, a great stag stepped onto the path before him. It had a crown of antlers that any hunter would desire, and it held its head high with a nobility that made the boy paused in his steps. When he did so, the great stag spoke in a low, rumbling voice that sounded as though the earth itself was speaking.
“Little sun, a cruel young prince intends to come into the woods today to kill me for my antlers. If you keep him away, I will reward you.”
“How may I help?” The boy replied, fear present in his quivering voice.
“The young prince will come with his brother and his sister on three great white steeds with three hunting dogs. Once he kills me, he will kill his steeds and his dogs and he will lie to his father about my death. He will ruin his brother and his sister so they cannot compete for the throne. Stop this, and your reward will be even greater.”
The boy's curiosity outweighed his freight over the great stag's appearance, and so he agreed to the beast's request. Upon this, the stag bowed deep to the boy before vanishing back to the woods, leaving the young boy to hide in wait for the cruel young prince.
Within little time, the prince appeared upon a great white steed. He wore expensive hunting dressage, carried a roster of sharp arrows on his back, and had three hunting dogs by his side. Accompanying him were his sister and his brother, who were dress fine and equipped for the hunt as well.
“Today we will find the stag,” the young prince declared, “and I shall kill it with my arrow to hang its head on my mantle.”
The boy watched on as the young prince and his siblings dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby tree. When the three of them and the dogs left to a nearby stream to collect water, the boy crept out from his hiding place in the bushes and approached the horses.
“Fine steeds,” he whispered, resting one hand on the horse's back, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”
“Why should we not?” One steed replied. “It is of no concern to us.”
“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? He will no longer have use of you—he will take you back to the palace and hang your heads on his mantle just like he has promised of the stags. Will you let him do that?” The boy tugged on the rope holding the horses to the tree. “Will you let his arrow pierce your hearts too?”
Well, the steeds were not very fond of that idea, and when the boy untied them from the tree they took off running into the woods with all of the young prince's supplies on their backs. Once they were gone, the boy crept back into the bushes to watch on. When the young prince returned, he was enraged for a moment before unsheathing an arrow and shaking his head.
“We did not need them anyway,” he declared. “We shall carry the stag ourselves.”
The boy was disheartened until he saw one of the hunting dogs looking his way. When the young prince was not looking, the boy gestured for the dog to approach, which it did.
“Fine hound,” he whispered, leaning down so the dog could hear, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”
“Why should we not?” The hound replied. “It is of no concern to us.”
“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? When you have bit through its legs and rendered it unable to run, he will no longer have use of you. He will take you back to the palace and shoot you with arrows until you are dead, just like he has promised of the stag. Will you let him do that?” The boy pointed towards the arrows on the prince's back. “Will you let his arrow pierce your hearts too?”
Well, the hound was not very fond of that idea, and he told the other hounds of this as well. When the young prince and his siblings set the arrows down on the ground to load them easier, the three hounds snatched up the supplies in their mouths and ran into the woods. Once they were gone, the boy crouched lower to watch on. The young prince yelled, and shouted, and swore, but still, the hounds did not return, and he was left with only the arrow in his hand.
“We do not need them anyway,” he declared. “I shall kill the stag in a single blow.”
Once more, the boy was disheartened, until he saw the young prince's brother looking his way. The boy thought the brother would run away like so many others before him—but he did not. While the young prince and his sister tried to map where the great stag was, the brother approached the boy with curiosity in his gaze.
“Did you frighten the horses and the hounds?” The brother asked. The boy, unsure of how to answer, simply stared up at the brother in silence. The brother smiled at this and crouched down to see the boy better. “Why did you do that?”
“Fine sir,” the boy whispered, “do you intend to let the prince kill the stag?”
“Why should I not?” The brother replied. “It is of no concern to my sister and I.”
“What will the prince do once he has killed the stag? When he stands over its body in victory and declares himself to be the one to end it? Will he share in the spoils, or will he keep them all to himself? Fine sir, I do believe he will no longer have use of you once it is done. He will lie to your father about what has happened and ruin you both. Will you let him do that?” The boy pointed to the young prince. “Will you let him hunt you like the very stag he seeks?”
For a moment, the brother did not reply. He looked at the boy with an unreadable expression before a smile appeared on his face.
“I like your eyes,” is all he whispered back before rising to his feet. The boy watched as the brother approached the young prince and their sister. The brother whispered something into his sister's ear.
“Dear brother,” the sister declared, “pray to tell, what do you intend to do once the stag has been killed?”
“I will hang its head on my mantle and tell father of what I have done,” the young prince proudly declared.
“And what will you say of us, who have ventured into these woods with you to hunt this great beast?”
The young prince did not reply. A silence fell between the three, and the boy watched as the brother carefully removed something from his back pocket.
“I believe,” the brother finally said, “I saw the great stag in those woods over there.”
The brother pointed to an area that was dark, and gloomy, and soon the three vanished out of sight. The boy remained hidden until he saw only the brother and the sister emerge from those woods. The two of them soon walked onto the path and vanished into the forest. The boy stayed in his spot until he heard another sound, and the great stag stepped back onto the path before him.
“Little sun, you have not only kept me safe, but you have kept the others safe as well. For this, you shall be rewarded. Leave these woods and head to the palace, for no longer will you need to live in the shadows.”
Following the great stag's advice, the boy left the woods and approached the palace in the nearby village. Rather than have people run away from him, he was confused to find people welcoming him instead, as if he had always belonged among them. When he reached the palace, he was greeted by the brother, who wore the same mysterious smile the boy saw in the woods.
“I had a dream,” the brother confided, “of a boy with eyes like the sun who told me of a great tragedy that would befall my sister and I. I did not believe it to be true—until I saw you in those bushes.”
The boy was taken aback, and yet the brother continued.
“For your services, you shall be rewarded an Estate to call your own. No longer shall you be treated like a pariah—from now on, you are as welcome as any villager here, little sun.”
And so the boy was given his Estate, and he grew to become a fair and benevolent lord to his people. 
And if he has not died, he is living happily today.
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attollogame · 2 years
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“A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party” for………….. Dreamwalker and Sysba? 👀
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A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party
He wants to say it's a de-stressor; they're intoxicatingly infuriating, with their sharp tongue and refusal to listen, and so he finds himself seeking alternative methods to capture their attention. Sysba is skilled at riling him up—causing his cool exterior to run like makeup in the rain—but they're also skilled at bringing him down again. They get a kick out of any punishment he throws, so he's found that the best method to ensure their compliance is to bargain, which is precisely why he founds himself here.
In the Toy Box. 'Destressing'.
He can't recall the events that lead up to this moment. He can't even recall if he locked the door before Sysba had him pinned against the wall, their hands already undoing his belt with an intent to pillage him of his dignity. He's shouting obscenities in his mind as he forces their lips to meet his, as he forces them to comply with him for a moment. He can feel them grinning—delighting in his obvious frustration—and it's only serving to make his blood boil hotter.
"Impatience," they rasp, biting on his lower lip before drawing back. He can see scarlet on their tongue and taste metal in his mouth. Their eyes—so often empty—now burn with a fire of interest as they slide one hand into his hair, angling his head back to give them access to his neck. His upper lip curls as they lower their head and slide their tongue against his sensitive flesh.
"S—"
"—hut UP."
Dreamwalker's eyes widen and he shoves the eldritch away, causing them to stumble back onto the nearby surgical table—which, now that he considers it, is probably not the sexiest place to be.
Both heads snap towards the door—the unlocked door—where the small, furious form of the Toy Boxes owner stands, a look of absolute violation on his face.
"In my fucking workspace? My workspace? Did you not see the knives on the walls? Or the surgical equipment on the table?" Malachi voice is shrill as he points between the two of them. With his grey hoodie and hair tied up, he really doesn't look as intimidating as he often does, which makes the situation all the more amusing to at least one party.
Sysba snickers to themself as they wipe their lips with their hand, leaving a scarlet trail on their pale skin.
"Mal~," they purr. Their expression appears complacent, but Dreamwalker can see the tightness of frustration around their lips as they push themself off of the table. "Can you come back in, say, an hour?"
Malachi's expression—previously furious—now turns incredulous as he looks towards Dreamwalker. His mouth opens and closes for a second, likely trying to process what to say, before he clenches his hand into a fist and stomps a foot down.
"Numerous rooms and you choose my room? Subjecting me to this? This is intentional! Sysba is doing this intentionally!"
They being Sysba, who tips their head back with a low groan. Dreamwalker feels a migraine already starting to form as he closes his eyes, all frustration towards Sysba now gone.
It seems like this encounter just earned him even more work for the evening.
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attollogame · 1 year
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For prompt thing: DW and Judas tree or Sysba and Gooseberry?
I received 2 for Dreamwalker and Judas Tree (Betrayal), so I'll do that!
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There is rot in the foundations.
He can smell it beneath the aroma of incense, which comes in the form of white clouds that gradually rise from the thurible that sways in the hands of the clergy-man ahead. His lips, hidden beneath the hat and veil he wears to conceal his face, curl upwards in disgust as the hum of his words continues. But still, despite the sounds and the excessive burning of sticks ahead, Dreamwalker can smell that rot.
It's been present in the room since before he was who he is now. In another life, in another time, when he sat in the front pews and drank in every word that bumbled off of the clergy mans lips. When a coffin behind the altar would instill fear in his heart, instead of the bored resentment that he feels now. When he was naïve to the world in its entirety; then, during those blissful times, was he innocent of the rot.
"... I am standing on the seashore..." The clergy man continues, and the thurible still sways.
His eyes, as unseen as his lips, follow the line of the mans body until his gaze goes past his head and towards the stain glass mounted on the wall. The scene it depicts is indiscernible at first glance but again, he has been here enough to know what it shows. It causes a twist in his gut and resentment to grow in his heart. His grip on the funeral pamphlet tightens on reflex and the woman in front of him turns with a furrow in her brow. He says nothing, nor does she, and a moment later she turns back to the ceremony.
He loosens his grip. The paper unwrinkles. The name written in black lettering on the front page is there because of him; because he sent a man into a situation that he knew would cause this outcome, even when he said to the mans face that everything would be well, when he promised that he would be home to his wife before sunrise.
Betrayal can come in the form of a person, but not always. For example—a funeral in this church in particular. He considers it cruel karma that he would find himself here again a decade later due to his own actions, sitting in the same pew he did that night, wearing nearly the same attire with only the absence of a gun in his hand.
Nearly seventeen years of devotion to this place, and what had he received in return? Undue misery and a chip in his shoulder against the world. Betrayal by something you believe in, which promises to protect but instead serves to sacrifice, cuts far deeper than betrayal between man and man—in his opinion. But no one asked his opinion, and no one is listening to him now, so what does it matter? What weight do his words carry anymore beyond the devoted few that he guides with his hands?
Actually, did any of this ever matter to begin with? Did the Sundays wasted away with the perfume of his mother and the grip of his father—until that too, left him—matter at all?
"... There she comes! And that, is dying." The clergy man concludes his reciting of the poem with a bow of his head, which Dreamwalker mimics, all while reaching up to adjust his veil.
He came here to pay respects to the widow, not ruminate on his past, and now he's gone and missed the entire ceremony. He clicks his tongue in agitation as everyone stands, hymns of farewell already on their lips. Above the crowds he can see the widow in question with tears running down her pink cheeks. The framed photo of the dead man's smiling face is located by her side.
He clicks his tongue again. The woman in front sends another bitter look, which he returns unseen yet twice as strong. The incense keeps burning, yet the scent of rot grows stronger as the people begin to move. He clears his throat and adds his own voice to the low melody swelling upwards to the paintings above.
There is no time for rumination anymore—only fabricated grief, until he can excuse himself from this place and hope to never return again.
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attollogame · 2 years
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Dreamwalker certainly seems like the type to eat a ghost pepper without flinching and then try to kiss you
Facts 😔
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attollogame · 2 years
Note
Was DW a dutiful son? Has he ever rebelled against his parents? As in skipping classes, etc.
Honestly? He was too scared to try anything like that, and for good reason as well. His fear and the fact that he was essentially forced into a role growing up is actually a big contributing factor into why he ultimately joined Ovo.
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attollogame · 2 years
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Dreamwalker by the amazingly talented @kill-a13 !!! I hope everyone's as excited for the dream sequences as I am ❤
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attollogame · 2 years
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Happy Birthday, Dreamwalker
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The day seems to drag like any other—but what happens when work is over?
There’s a grey strip of light breaking through the white veil curtains that cover his window. He’s been watching it creep further and further into the room for hours now; it’s almost three quarters of the way to where he sits. His body has become cold with immobility as the soft ticking of a clock fills the room. It’s 5:40 am; his mind feels like he’s just downed several energy drinks and he lost any hope of sleeping long before night fell. This isn’t unusual to any other day, but it’s always a cold irony in his mind. His powers are most effective on those who are asleep, and yet he can never sleep himself.
Finally, he stirs and pushes himself to his feet, stretching upwards until he hears the sound of his back pop. A satisfied sensation rushes through his body with the gesture as he quickly moves on to getting dressed. He didn’t change out of his clothing from yesterday—what’s the point?—but he can’t just show up to work like this. It takes only a few minutes to change his attire. His fingers deftly fix his tie and he adjusts his blazer before he grabs a tattered grey hoodie and throws it on over top. 
It’s close to five in the morning now. The earliest subway that a civilian can take in Attollo is at 5:40 am. His upper lip curls in frustration as he exits his room and stalks down to his bathroom instead. His skin care and makeup both take about ten minutes each which will lead him to 5:20 am, a good enough time to depart to ensure he makes the subway. He flicks on the bathroom light and stares at his face in the mirror. He looks exhausted. His eyes are dark and his brow pulls into a furrow as a headache begins to creep its way behind his skull. He looks like he’s one step closer to death.
Ah. 
He supposes, considering what today is, that’s a valid assessment.
—————————————
He was incorrect in his estimations—5:20 was not enough time to get to the subway, and he barely got onto the car before the steel doors slid shut. His cheeks are flushed with exertion as he tugs the ballcap down further over his face, cradling his bag with the rest of his attire close to his body as he goes to stand by the doors. Despite the early morning, the car is packed with equally exhausted looking individuals in attire befitting wherever they’re headed. He sees a fair amount of business suits on his car—likely government employees—and a few uniforms that match up with various retail and fast food areas. 
He leans back against the wall and lets out a low sigh, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose and resting his head against the wall. The hum of the subway car as it moves along the track pulls him into a strange state of relaxation until it draws to a stop at the next platform. The doors open with a soft hiss and a new wave of people jostle themselves onto the car. He watches them with disinterest—
Until one in particular catches his eye. He can’t help but feel his lips quirk into a grin at the disgruntled and exhausted look on their face as they glare at everyone around them. Fortunately, their energy is hostile enough that people move aside, allowing them to get a clear sight of—and make a beeline to—him. 
That’s right. Sysba can’t drive either.
“What.” Their voice is sharp as they come to rest against the wall beside him. He’s almost taken aback at how angry they sound as they glare at him from over the rim of their own sunglasses. “Is the birthday boy doing on the early morning train?”
A groan escapes from him as he turns away. “Don’t. Don’t you dare do this to me, Sysba. Not again.” 
“Happy birthday~!” Sysba raises their voice to a yell as they nudge Dreamwalker in his ribs. They then turn to face the man who stands on their other side and who looks like he really wants to be in any car but theirs. 
“It’s my little star's birthday today,” they begin, their lips curling into what they must think is a polite grin, “wish him a happy birthday. Immediately.” 
The poor man grips his suitcase so tight his knuckles turn white as he looks shakily at Sysba before leaning forward, ever so slowly, to look at Dreamwalker instead. Dreamwalker mouths the words i’m so sorry to him, which earns him a whimper in reply. 
“Happy… birthday?” 
“Yay!” Sysba claps their hands together as they look back to Dreamwalker, much to the relief of the other occupant. The eldritch has always had an abnormal amount of energy in the morning—much to Dreamwalker’s chagrin—and even now he can feel his headache growing stronger with each excitable word that leaves Sysba’s lips. 
He thinks they were never taught how to keep their mouth shut. Considering their parental background, this is probably a fact.
Bless their heart. 
“So what’s the plan, mi cabrón? What are we doing tonight?” They shift to rest their chin on his shoulder as they stare up at him with a cheerful look. “Tequila shooters? I could go for a tequila shooter. I mean I’ll be dead in the bathtub by the morning but for you I’d take that loss. Oh~, we could go to that restaurant you like, and then we could go get some tequila shooters.” 
“Mi cabrón? You pendejo.” He snorts and bumps Sysba with his own elbow. “But no... I’ll just stay in tonight. I didn’t sleep. Again.” 
Sysba withdraws with a frown as the subway begins to slow and Dreamwalker nudges them towards the door. He gives one last nod to the poor man Sysba terrified before stepping off onto the platform, leaving the eldritch to trail along in his wake. 
—————————————
It’s only when he glances at his phone and sees ‘19:00’ on the screen does he realize that Sysba has not bothered him the entire day. This is incredibly atypical behavior—more often than not he’s busy trying to drive Sysba out of his office. The eldritch has a habit of lounging on the window seat and taking their ‘afternoon nap’, until Dreamwalker finally has to wake them up and force them back to work. He reaches up to rub his temples—still throbbing with the unaddressed and ever-present migraine—before he finally closes his laptop with a soft click. 
The day passes as typically as one would expect for the leader of a criminal organization. He’s spared any further forced birthday wishes. Instead, a majority of his time is spent on the phone with Malachi trying to get him to clean his Toy Box (which he only agrees to do upon Voltaic offering to do it instead), re-explaining the pay system Sylvester’s employee's for the fifth time, and working through the ever-growing stack of inventory requests piling on his desk. His phone and laptop chime with notifications—emails, text messages from the organization's group chat, and update requests—which he tries to drown out with the classical music that plays nonstop.
The headquarters are silent. The other members left long ago to engage in whatever evening plans they have for the day, and as he walks down the cold marble hall, his footsteps create an eerie echo with every step he takes. An odd sense of melancholy washes over him as he listens to them cut through the air.
It isn’t like he wanted people to wish a happy birthday, but… a little acknowledgement would have been nice. A change of pace, if one may. Instead, this day felt as long and as draining as any other day does. He cares deeply for the people he works with and for the ideas that the organization carries, and he’s painfully aware of how vital his role is, but sometimes he feels more like a cog in a machine than a person. 
It’s the sensation of not being alone. 
A huff escapes from his lips as he steps out of the headquarters and looks out at the desolate field around him. This part of the city is thankfully quite unremarkable; many people avoid it simply because they know it’s an Ovo-occupied territory, which means leaving work like this can be done without risk. Still, he pulls out a set of keys to locks up the area before throwing on his familiar tattered hoodie and ballcap.
As soon as he goes to slide the key into the lock, however, a cold sensation washes over him that he knows isn’t the byproduct of the snow now beginning to lazily fall against the night. 
He lets out a slow, level breath as he carefully twists the key, locking the door with a firm click. He then shifts so that the key is grasped between his ring finger and his middle finger, sharp point out, and tenses up. Just as he’s prepared to turn and ram the metal point right into the jugular of however has the audacity to sneak up behind him—
“Oh thank god.” 
The sound of footsteps crunching on snow fills the air until he looks over and sees his oddly-absent cosmic horror grinning at him, their cheeks flushed pink in the cold. "Can I just say that these heels are not designed for cold weather? I’m pretty sure I need to regrow a toe.” 
He’s very suddenly stopped in his tracks. Instead of anger, his emotions now turn into exasperation as he relaxes his body and tips his head back to glare at the sky.
“Sysba.”
They look down at lift one foot—adorned in a seasonally unfitting ankle high leather stiletto shoe—before looking back at Dreamwalker with a wry grin. “I’m so glad you’re finally done, though. I’ve been pacing around that field across the way for at least an hour now and I’m quite certain that my presence put off a few night walkers. I think I saw our lovely Operator at one point, but he bolted away before I could get a good look.”
“Smart man.” The reply comes out in a grumble as Dreamwalker repockets the key and shrugs the hoodie on. Despite its wear—it was his fathers, after all—it provides him with a great deal of warmth against the night air. He then picks up his bag and turns to look back out at the field around them. It’s a painting of black and grey, with the white of the snow on the ground cutting through it like a jagged scar. He can envision Sysba’s form lurking just beyond the immediate view—no wonder Operator ran. 
“What are you still doing here anyway?” He moves down the steps away from the door and glances back at Sysba, who’s watching him with an owlish sort of look. “Don’t you have some big event at La Rumeur tonight?”
“Ah! That.” Sysba hastily hurries down after Dreamwalker, and it’s then that he notices the white plastic bag his companion holds. “I had Elijah take over that for tonight. I told them that I have a date that I absolutely cannot miss.”
“A date?” A dry chuckle escapes from Dreamwalker’s lips as he turns and begins walking with Sysba following right along beside him. "And which poor person fell to your charms this evening?” 
“Mm,” Sysba taps a finger against their chin in thought before their lips curl into a devious smile. “He’s tall, has gorgeous eyes, has a habit of working himself to the bone, and he never checks his fucking phone when I message him. Although,” 
Sysba hooks their arm with his and bumps against his side. “That might be because he’s been a miserable mandy the entire day so far.” 
“Sysba—” before he can even get the protest out, the eldritch jerks them both to a stop and forces him to look their way. Their hands fly up to slap against his cheeks as they hold his face in a vice-like grip. For the first time in a while, Dreamwalker notices a spark of determination in their eyes. 
“Repeat after me.”
An exasperated sigh leaves his lips, but he nods nonetheless, knowing that arguing with Sysba would be pointless right now. 
“I am going to get takeout.”
“I am going to get takeout.”
“Sysba is going to get a takeout man.”
Dreamwalker’s expression immediately turns stern as he stares down his companion. “Sysba, you are not going to get a takeout man.” 
Sysba sticks his tongue out in response before continuing. “Eating is my hobby, sweetheart. I can’t help it. Anyway—and then, once that’s done, I am going to watch all six seasons of I Love Lucy with the beautiful, wonderful, benevolent eldritch who graced me with their presence until I inevitably fall asleep—which I will tonight.” 
Dreamwalker’s gaze darts down to the plastic bag that Sysba holds on one arm. He can see the edges of a newly bought DVD set sitting inside, and can’t help but feel his lips tug into a slight smile at the sight of it. “Big stretch on the sleep part, but I suppose I did say I wanted a night in.” 
“Exactly, and you will have that, especially if I have any say on it.” Sysba affectionately pats his cheeks before letting go and re-hooking their arms. “Also, I politely informed everyone this morning of the mood that you were in, so we decided to shift your surprise party to tomorrow during the Christmas gathering.”
They send another trademark ‘polite’ smile at this. “Be surprised." 
A low chuckle escapes from Dreamwalkers lips as he shakes his head and pats Sysba’s arm with his other hand. “Yes, dear. Anything you say.” 
—————————————
Laugh tracks and grey lighting fill the otherwise darkened sitting room, where an enormous television sits mounted on the wall. Boxes of takeout—and one takeout worker's hat—sit discarded on a coffee table, which an otherwise preoccupied god glances at with disdain. They know that they should clean it up—everything will begin to smell soon—but they find themself in a rock and a hard place when it comes to that matter.
After all, it isn’t easy to clean this sort of thing up quietly.
Their gaze moves from the boxes to their companion, who rests sprawled across the couch with a blanket haphazardly thrown on him. He still wears the grey hoodie he arrived in—which smells of the winter air—but the hood is yanked up, rendering Sysba unable to see his face. They know he’s asleep, however. The steady rate of his breathing and the stillness of his form tell them so. 
A soft smile, wholly unusual for them, appears on their face as they reach over to adjust the blanket just slightly. 
“My little star… you didn’t even make it through the first season.”
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attollogame · 3 years
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thinking about the old sysba aloe snippet and the dw milk one and the possible poly like MC would not go a day without walking up in the middle of the night to someone just raiding their kitchen
No, wait, this is brilliant...hold on...
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You wake with a feeling of foreboding in your chest. It sits heavy like there's someone on top of you, and when your gaze drifts to the alarm clock to your right, this sense of dread only grows. It's 3 am, and you live alone.
So why is there a light on in your kitchen?
You move while trying to be as silent as possible, reaching out across the desk to unplug your phone from its charger. You unlock it and shakily type a message to the one group chat you have;
Are either of you awake right now?
Dumb question, considering that the other two members of the group are insomniacs respectively, but when your message isn't even read after a few minutes you have a feeling that you may be on your own for this one. You bite your lower lip and send a glare at the light peeking out from below your doorframe. Then you slide your hand under your pillow for the small switchblade that your partners so lovingly gifted you for your birthday; not only does it have a blade, but it also has a built-in wailing alarm and a taser option.
That's how you know they care—they give you a taser.
Once it's firmly grasped in your hand, you hold your breath and slide off of your bed, creeping forward until your free hand is pressed against the door. You live in a small apartment, so the kitchen is conveniently located directly across the hall from you. Well, convenient on most days. Maybe not so much right now.
You can hear the low hum of murmuring voices—more than one person?—and items being shuffled around. You grip the blade tighter and carefully pull open your door, doing your best not to let it creak with the gesture. The light from the kitchen blinds you, but you don't let this hold you back as you unsheath the blade and step forward, forcing your gaze to become ice cold as you do so.
"Who the fuck—!" You begin, and with these words, three things happen:
One of the occupants screeches, something shatters on the tile floor, and the other occupant lets out what may have been the most imaginative curse word on the record. The chaos of it all in such a short period causes you to shriek as well, raising your blade to point it threateningly at your home intruders.
Until you see their faces. It's hard to forget faces like that—one with a set of golden eyes and a disturbed expression on his face, and the other looking with misery at the olive oil now slowly seeping along the cracks of the tiles.
You all take a collective moment to assess one another, and then, you drop the blade.
Dreamwalker stares at you. You stare at Sysba. Sysba is still staring at the olive oil.
Slowly, while telling yourself to take several deep breaths, you close your eyes and reach up to pinch the bridge of your nose.
"...how, did you two get in here this time?"
You hear a snicker—Sysba—and then,
"You forgot to lock your front window~."
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attollogame · 2 years
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DW’s and Sysba’s reactions in the orpheus/eurydice asks……..….. and potentially losing each other in the last book…….. eyem…………… :fear:
If they were Orpheus, would they turn back?:
Dreamwalker: Lets be real, Sysba wouldn't shut up the entire time they were walking behind him so Dreamwalker would have absolutely no reason to worry. He wouldn't turn back if he was with Sysba. Plus, he has a sense of trust with our local eldritch that keeps him convinced Sysba would actually be there.
Sysba: Unfortunately, the same cannot be said here. Years and years of losing people who have gotten close to them has created a paranoia, and Sysba would turn back just to make sure Dreamwalker is actually there. Upon seeing him, they'd be incredibly elated—until he began to fade away. Then, like with MC, they'd be furious, but on an entirely different level. If they can't ruin the Underworld, they'll take it out on anyone else in their way.
If they were Eurydice, what expression would they make?
Dreamwalker: Oh, would he be heartbroken. He and Sysba rarely express their affection to each other (hardasses), but he does genuinely care for the eldritch. I think he'd be more worried for Sysba's wellbeing due to this incident than his own fate, and this distraught would almost certainly reflect on his features before he went.
Sysba: Absolute fury. Not at Dreamwalker for turning around, no, but at the world for pulling some bullshit trick like this. Sysba's been screwed around by other Gods their entire life, so to be screwed around once more? And to have it affect someone that they care for so dearly? Oh, they'd be mad. Dreamwalker might even see a tear before they vanish.
Potentially losing each other in the final book?
I suppose you'll just have to wait for the final book for this, won't you? <3
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attollogame · 2 years
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‘ kiss me. take me from this place. ’ for Sysba or Sysba/Dreamwalker poly please?
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ho...been a hot minute but I gotchu
---
It was in the heavy embrace of the night that you found yourself sitting, staring, counting each passing beam of light that cut across your wall as another car went down the road. You sit alone in the room but you aren't alone in the apartment; you can hear the low murmuring of conversation from the next room over. Neither occupant can sleep, you surmise that, and neither wants to disturb you from your rest.
Too bad sleep doesn't seem to be coming to anyone tonight.
Silently, you rise from your position on the bed and approach the window, gazing down at the street below. Sysba's apartment, despite being directly above La Rumeur, is so soundproofed that you can't even hear the music you know is playing just a floor below, let alone the conversations of the people on the streets. You mindlessly toy with the collar of your shirt, watching as eager clients await to be let in to the bowels of the building, before finally turning away.
If you can't sleep, you might as well figure out why.
You run through your thoughts like a system check—worries about tomorrow, worries about today, worries about days that have already passed. Your mind is a no man's land of anxiety and concern and you, a lone wanderer, have no idea where the bombs lay.
You need a distraction.
Before you even realize it, you're walking out of the bedroom and to the next room over. The voices are louder now that you don't have two doors and a wall muffling them, and you find yourself leaning against the doorframe without so much as a greeting to announce your arrival. Neither occupant notices at first—both caught in their conversation with pensive expressions on their faces—before a pair of golden eyes finally meets yours and the conversation is cut off.
"Did we wake you?" Dreamwalker asks the question before Sysba has a chance to register you're even here. When they turn to look your way, surprise only briefly flashes across their face before it falls back to its usual disinterested expression. You shake your head in response and take the question as an invitation to approach. Both occupants move aside to give you room—
You have your pick of the crop, it seems.
You sink down beside Sysba and rest your elbows on your knees. Neither of your companions says anything for a moment before you feel Sysba's fingers lightly tracing a pattern along your upper back.
"You're worried," they hum, tapping your neck to emphasize their point, "it's written all over your face. What is it this time?"
"Stress," you reply, your body already relaxing under their touch. Who would've thought that one day you'd be welcoming the embrace of a carnivorous god, rather than trying to flee away?
Attollo has altered you a great deal.
Dreamwalker hums, sparing a fleeting glance in Sysba's direction, before leaning forward as well so that he's closer to you. "Anything we can do to help?"
The question is so simple, but considering that your partners are two of the most emotionally isolated individuals in the city, you know how much weight rests behind it coming from the likes of them. You purse your lips together as you think of a response. You want something to distract you, to take your thoughts away from your troubles, and as Sysba's fingers continue their steady design across your skin, the answer comes to you as naturally as breathing.
"Kiss me," you finally murmur, looking up to meet Dreamwalker's gaze as Sysba's hand comes to an abrupt stop. "Take me from this place in the only way I know you can."
There's a moment of silence as Dreamwalker looks to Sysba once more, before his expression softens ever-so-slightly and he gives you one single nod.
"I think we can do that."
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