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ash-rigby · 6 months

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Who Knows, Who Cares? (Tentacle Monster) [F/?]

Featured Characters: Female human and a tentacle monster of indeterminate gender. Both are adults.

Description: Agatha has figured out how to conjure an inter-dimensional glory hole and enjoys the variety of monster dicks that come through. On one particular night, she is visited by a tentacle which treats her to an unexpected ending. Contains: Magical Glory Holes, Tentacles, Ovipositor, Egg-Laying, Stomach Bulge, Aphrodisiacs, Masturbation, Sex Toys.

Completion Date: November 7th, 2023

Word Count: 1609

There really should have been a warning provided about how addictive the spell would be. It was rare that an evening went by where Agatha didn’t activate the portal in all its brightly glowing, pink glory. The position of the other side was random among countless dimensions, its runes designed to be translated for whatever horny beast it appeared before. A hole with unmistakable purpose.

Agatha had made herself comfortable, propped up against her multitude of pillows as she lay in bed pumping a thick toy deep into her cunt. She had learned to loosen herself up a bit before summoning; there was no telling the size of what came through.

The towel Agatha had laid out beneath her was already slightly messy with lube. Wet, filthy noises mingled with her moans, her pussy squeezing around the toy. It was far from enough; she needed the feeling of some faceless creature’s cock throbbing inside her. The heat. The cum. The knowledge that whoever was on the other side only cared about getting themself off. A kind lover was great, but sometimes she craved to just be fucking used.

Needy and whimpering, Agatha used her free hand to trace the spell’s sigil in the air. Her room was bathed in magenta light, flaring as the circle came into existence on the mattress between her spread thighs. She waited a few moments as she continued to fuck herself and bite her lower lip with impatience.

“Please…please…anyone,” she begged, sweat glistening in the garish glow.

There was movement at the center of the circle. Agatha watched as a light blue, shimmering, translucent tentacle slowly began to emerge. It was long, lined with shallow ridges starting at the tip which faded to smoothness about eight inches down. She could see thin, faintly glowing purple veins just beneath the fleshy surface, pulsating rhythmically with the creature’s heartbeat.

Agatha softly gasped, removing the toy from herself and tossing it aside.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she said.

The tentacle felt out her foot, traced her ankle, and began caressing its way up her calf. She trembled as it slid over her thigh and trailed slime. It explored boldly, working inward until it found her pussy. The tip ran up and down the wet, twitching line of it, teasing her folds and making her achingly empty hole quiver.

“There it is,” she encouraged, though she knew she went unheard. “Mmm, there you go.”

Agatha expected to be swiftly filled as was typical of tentacles. She was used to such roughly-pumping appendages. For one to finish only for another to come through circle. Sometimes leading to being stretched around a deeply writhing mass of multiple; always leading to ending up leaking cum.

Instead, she watched as the end of the tentacle opened up into a sort of small, toothless, slick-dripping mouth. It latched onto her clit seconds later. Her head tossed back in time with a sharply sucked-in breath that released alongside a moan. A tight, warm, sucking sensation had the whole of her lower body shaking.

“Ngh—what are…fuck!”

The tentacle was relentless, ravaging Agatha’s clit. A tingling sensation spread out where it was attached. She felt the pleasure growing as it traveled down her legs and up her torso. It was a near numbness to all but where it mattered; she was hyperaware of her cunt. Leaking, twitching ceaselessly, on fire. She moaned louder and distantly wondered—but hardly cared—what the hell was in the tentacle’s fluids.

With her weak fingers gripping the sheets, Agatha lost herself to the intensity. Her hips squirmed and bucked. She cried out mindlessly, without words. Getting her clit sucked had never felt this good before. The constant action and whatever influence she was under had her head swimming and floating.

Agatha convulsed as she came, clit pounding in its confines. The tentacle continued to suck. A delirious giggling started to break up her wild moans. Waves of a prolonged orgasm crashed into her until she arrived at a second, near-blinding peak. She wailed, feeling fluid gushing from her, soaking the towel beneath her. It was only then that the tentacle released.

Panting and whimpering, Agatha tried to right herself in her own mind while her body screamed for more. Her clit felt more swollen than it ever had been, hot and throbbing madly. Her pussy was in much the same state as the last of her release dribbled out of her. The break didn’t last long. Seconds later, the tentacle was teasing aside her sensitive folds to find her hole.

“Ohhhh…oh, my—GOD!”

The word was punched out of her as the tentacle slammed in. Her pussy took it easily. Almost greedily; sucking it in and squeezing enough to practically conform to its shape. Her legs snapped open wider despite not needing to accommodate a body between them. It was a reflex. Instinct. Silent begging for a deep fucking. The tentacle quivered before beginning to thrust.

Agatha moaned as she felt the tentacle swell slightly inside her and increase its girth. The ridges ground into her as her insides pressed against it. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoed in the pulsing of her stretched walls. A mix of her fluids and the creature’s made a mess of her hole, audibly spurting from her with every plunge.

The pace became crazed. A rough, quick pounding. Agatha whined, breaths gasping from her open mouth. The frantic undulation of the tentacle was mesmerizing. She watched it reel back and slam forward, oozing along its entire length with some natural lubrication. Her pussy clenched, milking it; she needed that cum. The creature began to throb hard inside her, the veins glowing brighter.

But all at once, as the tentacle fully sheathed itself and stilled, Agatha knew something was different. Round shapes were visible in the inner organ as they travelled along the slick, twitching length. She barely had time to process it before the first popped into her. Eggs, her hazy mind supplied. The thing was laying eggs inside her. It should have scared and disgusted her, but it felt amazing.

Agatha’s gaze fixated on the monstrous appendage lodged in her cunt as she was filled with countless eggs. She could feel each one moving through the tentacle before joining the rest in a rapidly growing mass. There was no end to them in sight. Breathing hard, she watched her stomach start to bulge with them.

“Fuuuuuuck!” she moaned, eyes rolling from the alien sensation.

More and more eggs pressed in and filled whatever space they could find, clearly an amount that another of the creature’s species was designed to take. What did it know, or care, about human limits? Agatha’s belly distended; round, heavy and strained. She moaned and shook with ecstasy, but the mounting danger won over her greedy pussy.

“S-stop can’t—ahhh, take anymore!” she cried, doing her best to reach for the tentacle and possibly pull it out.

Luckily, the creature seemed spent. With a few final twitches, it slithered out of her. Agatha panted, half hoping that she would feel that delicious mouth on her clit again. But instead, the magenta light faded.

The tentacle was gone.

Agatha lay there for a while with her stomach full of eggs, whimpering as they shifted with her heaving breaths. They needed to come out. But first, she needed to cum. Her used body ached for it; the monster aphrodisiac pumping through her was the likely culprit, keeping that incessant pulse in her cunt despite her situation.

She reached for her vibrator that had miraculously stayed on her bed through her thrashing. A buzzing sound filled the air as she turned it on, angling it around her belly to rest on her still-pounding clit. The pleasure was a shock and she choked on her moan.

Agatha’s thighs trembled, pouring sweat. She gasped as something moved inside her. One of the eggs pushed through her passage, squeezing out of her hole with a wet pop. And damn did it feel good coming out. A second followed it, making Agatha whine. She continued to tease her clit, moaning as more eggs parted her twitching folds and gathered on the bed.

Heat engulfed Agatha’s pussy; everything—inside and out—throbbed hard. She had been filled to bulging with cum before, reveled in feeling copious seed dripping down her legs as she limped to the bathroom to deal with it. But nothing would ever rival these eggs; the stretch of them as her hole’s ecstatic twitching squeezed them out. They started to come faster, lining up so one could begin its exit right after the last.

“Mmmm! Keep coming…keep coming,” she chanted, grinding the vibrator harder against her clit. “Fuck, fuck—ahhhh!”

Nothing could have prepared Agatha. As she came, a flood of eggs escaped her. Quick, rhythmic expulsions in time with the rapid clenching and releasing of her insides. Her hips rose off the bed from the sheer, intense pleasure of the sensation, heels digging into the mattress. The eggs landed beneath her, plopping wetly onto the saturated towel. She kept cumming, a string of orgasms brought on by that sweet stretch.

Agatha dropped, empty—as far as she knew. She lay among a mess of fluids and monster eggs, her stomach having returned to its normal size. Her body still buzzed with the small amount of aphrodisiac still in her system and she mindlessly pawed at her sopping cunt, jolting with pleasured aftershocks and moaning weakly.

Somewhere in the haze, she resolved to find a way to make the spell locate the portal somewhere of her choosing. Now that she had just begun a list of creatures she wanted to revisit, after all.

End

Masterlist

#ash originals #text #spicy #terato #exophilia #monster love #monster lover #tentacles #ovipositor #oc:agatha

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yuurei20 · 2 months

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How do you think Idia got his unique magic? Does it say if he was born with it or something, or was it inevitable he would get that specific unique magic? Is it possible to be born with a unique magic in the first place?

Hello hello! Thank you for this question!

Idia says that people born into the Shroud family all have the same unique magic!

A part of Idia's issues is how so much of his life has been decided on his behalf and there is nothing he can do to change his fate no matter what he does, so I think you are right and it was inevitable that one day "Gate to Underworld" would manifest! (Does this mean that every member of the Shroud family is guaranteed to be a mage? Interesting~)

I like your phrasing very much! Does "this unique magic was inevitable" equate to being born with a unique magic?

From what we have seen in the game and the second novel: I think so!

Both game-Leona and novel-Leona comment on how he was born with a unique magic that he never actually wanted.

Novel-Leona goes into more detail with the scorn he received back home due to the misconception that you have to desire and work towards a specific form of unique magic if it is to manifest, which isn't true at all:

"Unique magic that is inherited at birth has nothing to do with the person’s will, but humans wrapped up in their own superstitions are ignorant to common sense. Or maybe they think this is a power that I desired, and fought to obtain." - Leona in Twst the Second Novel

To answer the questions: Idia's unique magic passes down through the Shroud bloodline, so I believe it is safe to say that he was born with Gate to Underworld!

And it does seem possible to be born with a unique magic, as Leona explains, directly. (It is intersting that both characters also have parallel family issues: both of them born into elite families and trapped in roles they want to move beyond, but can't. In addition to their other various similarities)

But this might not mean that baby-Idia was opening and closing the door to the underworld while baby-Leona was turning people to sand!

It is possible that their respective unique magics manifested at whatever age they were when their magic itself made itself known.

As for what age that might have been: I think it has yet to be confirmed how old mages generally are when their magic starts to appear!

Riddle says that he was receiving special training in magic from the age of three, but Riddle is a special case and probably not a good frame of reference for what is "normal" in this universe.

Deuce mentions using magic in middle school, but in Azul's flashback we learn that he was experimenting with magic and spells from an even younger age: while removed from EN, the passage of time between Azul studying spells and sigils and getting control of "It's a Deal" are denoted via the labels "Child Azul" and "Middle School Azul."

The age at which your magic appears might just vary by person! If earlier manifestation = stronger magic, it might actually be possible that Idia and Leona were using magic as children. But one thing seems consistent: whether Riddle or Deuce, it seems that there are generally several years in between a mage coming into their magic and their unique magic manifesting. (But does this also apply to mages who are born with their unique magics, or do they have theirs from the start? Uncertain!)

What might be still vague is how this applies to faeries!

Malleus says that he lives and breathes magic, but according to Lilia Sebek's magic manifested late, with even Silver becoming capable of using magic before Sebek could.

This might mean that faeries, too, have a period of their lives before they become capable of using magic, but it also might just be an effect of Sebek being half human--I am not sure it has been confirmed as of this post!

Lilia mentions Malleus emitting puffs of flame as a baby, but this may be less a "magical infant" situation and more a "that is a dragon" situation.

Malleus himself explains that he once froze nearly the entire castle in which he lived, "back when (he'd) finally started walking on two legs," so it seems that he was wielding magic from very early on!

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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penny-anna · 2 months

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always felt to me that there was a slight Contradiction here given that at this point it's what a week? till the Day of Unity and uhhh

general consensus seems to be that Belos wasn't planning on Hunter surviving the Day of Unity but i think it's hmm. possible that he was, actually?

various possibilities here:

given that we later learn that sigils 100% are removeable and given that Belos seems to have basically invented sigil magic strikes me as plausible that he was planning on removing Hunter's sigil on the Day of Unity.*

given that Belos was seemingly planning on leaving for the Human Realm pretty much immediately on starting the draining spell it's possible that he was intending to take Hunter with him and i think fair to say that being in a totally different universe would be sufficient to shield Hunter from the spell

Hunter does seem to have some degree of resistance to the draining spell? Even taking into account the fact that the Coven Heads were hit first & maybe strongest** he's on his feet and fighting well past the point where other people are uhh:

possible that his being a Grimwalker and/or lacking a bile sack means that the draining spell was never going to be fatal for him

& would Belos know that for sure. well he's had a long time to tinker with both Grimwalkers AND the sigils so fully plausible that he could have u know. Experimented.

*I don't see any contradiction between this & Belos's reaction to getting branded with a sigil himself. If he didn't have the tools to remove it immediately at hand then he was fucked regardless.

**Alador is still kicking ass a good while after we see the Coven Heads all collapsing and in the above cap you can hear people screaming in the background which suggests most of the crowd is still conscious.

#the owl house

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have-a-treato · 8 months

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These Hands

Gale x gn!reader, Gale x gn!Tav

Content/Tags: Soft, slow, NSFW, service top Tav/reader, oral, penetration, short, one-shot

Context: Between the ending of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3, on the road to Baldur's Gate. Light spoilers for the end of Act 2, Gales overall story and a non-spoilery reference to the Act 2 romance scene.

Word count: 2.3k

“You should be with me in this�� Let me-“ With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

Fic List AO3

After the battle with Ketheric Thorm the group has finally made its way on the road to Baldur’s Gate. The days have been long, and with many still recovering from the battle, everyone has decided to take a well-earned day of rest before continuing the last leg of the journey to the city.

Gale had unsurprisingly and generously produced a cozy space for you both to laze the day away in. His space is now closer to a library than a tent, with bookshelves lining a spun illusion of a tower room, plush carpets laid out on every inch of the floor, and a quiet fire burning in a hearth on one wall.

You grinned at him when first stepping inside, “Your home? In Waterdeep?” You teased him.

“I didn’t show you before, so now felt as good a time as any. Nothing in all the realms is more relaxing than my library,” he said with a decidedly pretentious tone.

With a knowing grin, you held up your hands in acquiescence and headed for the pile of pillows tucked between two of the bookshelves. Who were you to argue with a wizard about his tower?

Now, you’ve stirred from a long nap nestled into Gale’s side on the pillows as he reads a large tome picked up from somewhere on the journey. Probably the Sharran temple.

“Mmm… this was a great idea, I must admit.” You mumble into his shoulder as you wake.

Gale winds his arm around your hip, tucking you even closer. “That implies you had doubts about our afternoon of languor, and I must say I’m a bit offended. I have great ideas. Particularly when it comes to you.”

You let out a groggy snort as you stretch your free arm across his chest, continuing your ascent back to the waking world.

He turns his head away from his book to nuzzle your hair, “Go back to sleep,” he mumbles into your scalp. “You took some hard hits during the battle with Thorm. Or are you hungry? I can whip up the stew you like. Or could I interest you in a book from my vast collection? I have one in mind I think you’ll find fascinating. Or-“

You cut him off when you start quietly chuckling into his shoulder. This man nearly met his own end and yet he seeks to serve you.

“I’ll advise you it is unwise to laugh at a man’s stew.” He says with a grin.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile on your lips, and wiggle out of his hold to straddle his middle. You gently remove that hefty tome of his and set it aside. Your hand shifts up his chest to lightly, absently trace the lines of his orb sigil along his neck.

“I only realized that I’d like to do something for you,” you say softly.

Gale’s grin falters momentarily, “I could not ask more of you, who have already given me everything.”

Your heart soars at his words, but you know Gale. You know just how deserving he is of everything you have to offer, yet he would not ask for it. He would not ask for anything for fear of not being worthy of it, despite all you’ve shared together. He must be shown how deserving he is, you decide. Slowly, perhaps he will come to see that he can receive the same love and care that he graces you with.

His hands reach for you after you’ve paused too long in your contemplating, but you catch his wrists. Closing your eyes, you plant a soft kiss at his right wrist, listening to his small, somewhat awed sigh at the touch. Your plan takes form in your mind, and you drop his left hand to begin work on his right. Beginning at his wrist, your thumbs move in small circles, massaging the muscle and small joints. As you move up toward to his elbow and back down to the wrist, squeezing lightly to continue massaging, Gale lets out another sigh. Your lips twitch at his easily coaxed reactions. He clearly enjoys this attention - why not let himself ask for more? You move to his hand, methodically rubbing down the length of each finger. You get a little lost in your task, enjoying the feel of his skin as you finish with the right and move to the left. Gale’s life as a prodigy shows in his hands. Not soft, as one might imagine for a wizard, but slightly rough and dry from the constant turning of pages, of wielding a staff, of pulling from the Weave. These hands have worshiped your skin, have clinched victories, have created wonders. They are precious. Glancing up at him, he has a bemused expression but attempts to hide it with that ever-present grin. You bring both hands up to your lips to kiss his knuckles. A few small scars decorate the tops of his hands, and you take a moment to give each one their own attentions.

“Hmm…” you sigh with your lips brushing over his fingers. “These hands have done so much.”

“These hands can do more,” he says with a lift of his brows.

You chuckle, giving an index finger a little nip. “Oh yes, I’m acquainted with their skills.” You eye him mischievously, licking the tip of that same finger with your tongue. A tease. “I would know what these hands desire.”

“They want for nothing where you are concerned. How can they grant your desires? Now, there is the better question.” He replies.

Not good enough. You hold his gaze again, trying to let him see your openness, your earnestness to give him something of yourself that he deserves. Something he didn’t have to earn by being anything other than himself. You slide your tongue around that finger, bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly from knuckle to tip.

“Nothing?” You whisper, “Nothing at all?”

His eyes are locked with yours, and you sense him tense beneath you slightly. The jovial mask of Gale of Waterdeep slips a little; in his eyes you see that yearning you suspected was there all along. They search your face, looking for deception, for conditional affection, perhaps even outright lies. But they will find none, and you will prove it to him over and over and over again. You press and encouraging kiss to his palms, catching the movement of his throat as he swallows nervously.

“You.” He says lowly. “Always you.”

Reverently placing his hands down, you lean in, taking his face between your palms. “You have me. Wholly.” You breathe onto his lips. The kiss is a brush of skin at first, then confident as he attempts to take the lead, dancing that talented tongue with yours to drive you mad. You nip at his lower lip to take back control, slowing the pace. Softly sucking on his lip as you pull back, you give him your eyes full of that openness to reassure him, as your hands move lower.

Slowly you release the buckle of his tunic, pushing the fabric up over his torso, planting treasuring kisses along his chest as you head down to his trousers. His hands make a gentle protest in your hair, but you place them back at his sides, a quiet question in your eyes as you continue. You can see the uncertainty in his gaze, the hesitation to bask in your attention, and the mix of excitement and curiosity for what you will do next. Which will win out?

He gives a soft, tentative smile as your signal to continue. You unfasten the ties for his trousers with an easy smile, tugging them down just enough, and do the same for his underwear. The moment is too precious to interrupt with disrobing completely. You are singularly focused on showing this man, in some small way, just how much you care for him.

His cock bobs, half-hard, as you reveal it. You take him in hand, pausing again with that question in your eyes as you bend down. His chest rises and falls in anticipation as he gives you a slight nod, reaching out a hand to thread through your hair loosely. Starting at the base, you give him a long, thorough lick, keeping his gaze all the while. The throaty noise Gale releases in response is delicious in your ears – you want more. His cock stiffens fully in your hand now, and you put your lips around the tip, circling and sucking. The hand in your hair twitches. More. You hear a hiss as you swallow him fully, pulling back up to flick your tongue at the sensitive underside of his head, then pushing back down, sucking hard this time. That hiss turns into a huff as your pace quickens, squeezing the base of him with your fingers. More. You want even more. Even though this is about Gale, you might be a little selfish. You want to see the faces he’s making, how his chest is heaving, how his arms are flexing to restrain himself, the shape his mouth makes with each sound. With a few last licks and sucks, you pull off, too eager to make those visions a reality. You sit up and lick your lips, watching his face as he pants and reaches for you.

You shake your head, backing off to impatiently remove your underthings. Crawling back to straddle him, you take that hand that reached out up to your mouth to kiss his wrist. You position yourself and begin to sink down slowly, almost teasingly onto his cock. His breath hitches with each rise and fall of your hips as you take him inside you. This - this is what you wanted. His rapturous expression as he fits inside you, as you squeeze him, as you bite the meat of his thumb in your own ecstasy. He is yours, and you will worship him as he deserves. Fully seated, you begin to slowly rock your hips. This isn’t a race, isn’t lewd, isn’t about your pleasure. It is intimate, and full of your will to prove him worthy of you, worthy of his own life. You kiss each knuckle of his fingers as you continue that slow, sensual rocking. His eyes are heavy-lidded, jaw slack, chest rising and falling with his panting breath as he takes in the sight of you. You are both mostly clothed, and yet it is somehow all the more passionate for it.

“I…”, he breathes, then clears his throat nervously. “I won’t last much longer with you like this.”

“Then let go,” you say softly. “This isn’t about me.”

His expression remains conflicted, flitting between pleasure and confusion of your focused attention. “You should be with me in this… Let me-“

With one last kiss to his palm, you bring his hand to your chest, resting just over your heart. “I’m already here with you.” Your hips still with your next words, “I love you. Let me show you.”

His breath shudders as your hips restart their languid rhythm. Your hand rests over his on your chest, his other hand grasping your hip as you rock, lift up slightly, and sink back down into another rocking motion. All slow, liquid movements. Your gazes are locked, your chests lifting with the same breaths, your mouths softly open with the same tender sounds of desire. The hand at your hip squeezes, and you feel his hips start to meet yours in kind. A long groan escapes him as he quickly thrusts up into you.

“Yes,” you breathe. You lean forward as his eyes fall shut, taking in his face as he comes. His cheeks flush, his brows furrow, his breath rushes out in quick pants; then all slows and relaxes into bliss. Your rhythm doesn’t stop, riding him through the high and leading him back down again. The light sheen of sweat on his brow earns a kiss from you, and you rest your head there, patiently waiting for him to return to you. His breath slows, and his eyes blink open sluggishly. That soft, wicked grin of his returns, but you notice the lingering astonishment behind his eyes, as if he still can’t quite believe you’re real despite everything.

“For once I think I’ve rendered you speechless.”

A light chuckle escapes him as he catches his breath, “Very nearly.” He swallows, “That was…”

You interrupt his search for words with a quiet kiss. You’d rather leave the moment as it is. It needs no description, only the understanding that you did it for him because you love him. You pull away with a tender caress of his cheek, sitting back and pulling his tunic back down, his trousers back up as you lift off of him. You sense him watching you, still likely contemplating if you are amongst the illusions of this room. Quietly you re-dress in your underthings and bestow more kisses on his hands as you rejoin him among the pillows on your knees. “I recall mention of stew, but what about a cup of tea first?”

“That sounds lovely.” He says with a smile. Before he can even twitch a muscle, you’ve lifted up again and are strolling toward the very real small table near the hearth housing a teapot with ready-made tea the Wizard of Waterdeep keeps magically warmed with an environmental spell. In a few moments, you’re striding back with two cups, warmed to the perfect temperature and ready to sip. You place Gale’s cup atop the tome he was perusing earlier, earning you a slightly scandalized look as he swipes the cup up, taking a sip. You chuckle to yourself as you re-take your place at his side on the pillows. As he sets his cup down – not on a book this time – you snatch his hands again.

Placing one at your cheek and one to your lips you whisper, “I can’t get enough of these hands.”

---

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

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songofthenightingale19 · 1 year

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I don’t know if anyone's mentioned this before, but Raine's titan badge after the time skip looks a bit different than the others:

They have this red piece of cloth attached to their badge that I haven't seen on anybody else.

Now, theorising time: I think they might be part of the new government, maybe even the president of the Boiling Isles. Hear me out, I have good reasons to believe so (and it's not just because they're my favourite character and I'm biased, shush):

1) As the former head of the Bard Coven, they'd certainly be qualified for the job: Raine has been part of the government before (as much as you can be when you're not the monarch in a monarchy lol) and knows how to lead.

2) They're probably more respected/trusted by the population of the Boiling Isles than most other public figures at this point - working together with the wannabe genocidal former emperor tends to ruin your reputation, so someone who led a rebellion against Belos (and fought against him personally in the final fight, though the question is if anyone except the people who were there knows about that) and has ties to other known rebels aka Eda should be quite well-liked.

3) They have already proven that they're able to make sacrifices for the sake of the whole Isles (for example: risking their own life and that of the woman they love to stop the Day of Unity in Eda's Requiem). Most of the other characters, like Eda and Luz, in comparison, have proven again and again that they would never be able to sacrifice someone they care about - which is an admirable trait, don't get me wrong, but you want a political leader to be able to consider what choices are best for everyone and compromise, if necessary.

4) It would be a great conclusion to their character arc: Raine spent half of their life trying to destroy the coven system from the inside and has witnessed its worst sides first-hand, let them be the one to build something new and better for the future of the Boiling Isled.

So in conclusion: Raine has the potential to be a great president....... as long as nobody forces them to make public speeches regularly.

Them being a member of the government would also explain why they are present when that coven sigil was removed: Why would someone who specialises in Bard magic be needed for something that seems to be based on Healing and Abomination magic? Because they're a representative of the government/the Boiling Isles!

Also...........

Give me power couple Raeda as president of the Boiling Isles and Headmistress of the University of Wild Magic!!

#the owl house #toh #raine whispers #eda clawthorne #raeda #toh spoilers #just to be on the safe side #toh theory #belos #toh headcanon #bards against the throne #covens against the throne

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vintagexherry · 8 months

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Treasure for Three Days [2]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

// Sexual harrasment, blood, minor character death, slight gore, consumption of alcohol, implications of sexual acts, Ooc Miguel, Miguel is mean

---

Previously

"Speaking of the entertainment district, why don't we give it a visit while princess looks for change of clothes." With that, the crew cheered, and the navigator smirked as he directed the steering wheel to the nearest land which you assumed where the "entertainment district" is located.

You gulp.

How are you gonna survive three days with these men.

It took hours to get to said island, and within those hours, you tried getting some sleep in the captain's cabin, but your thoughts keep you up.

What would you do if Miguel didn't keep with his words?

You let out a sigh, deciding not to think too much. Maybe Miguel is right. Your head just might explode.

As you sat straighter on the bed, you decided to look around the place, Miguel was still up the deck, probably talking to his crew or what not.

You stood up and checked the wall.

A jaw full of teeth of a sea beast is displayed by the side. You wonder how long it took for them to remove every bit of flesh and muscle just to get to the bone. All you know is probably messy.

You then turned to a barrel of rolled up papers, and you took one and unrolled what seemed to be an impressive handrawn map of an island. You must say, whoever was the cartographer, they need a raise.

Finally, you went to one of the shelves displaying golden statues and alcohol. Your attention was driven to a goblet, which edges are engraved with gold. You also noticed a symbol seemed to be stamped at one side of the goblet. A royal sigil, it seemed familiar.

"Took that one from a neighbouring kingdom."

You flinched and turned swiftly to see Miguel leaning by the door with his arms crossed.

How come you didn't hear him approaching?!

For his big size, his steps are unnaturally quiet.

Miguel took your silence as a sign to speak more. His steps led him to you in front of the shelf, and you took a small step back.

"We were pillaging this castle, y'know what pirates do? Yea, that. And while we're at it, I saw it gleaming nice at a table, so I took it. Aside from others' valuables, of course." He chuckled at the end.

His eyes then drifted to the skeletal jaw you were looking at earlier.

"And this bastard. Took me a while to get it but, it certainly did a number on me."

While he talked, you find yourself immersing in his stories. Being homeschooled and practically repeated a series of routines. You got curious about the outside world. Only finding solace in the books you read.

"... Once we killed it, I made my most experienced swordmaster do the honours of cutting the meat of its flesh. That beast was bigger than a regular cannon." His eyes gleam at the memory.

"A-are there any other creatures you encountered?" You hesitantly asked, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Miguel glanced at you for a while and seemed to be deep in thought.

"This one ain't a beast." He walked up to his desk and sat on the chair putting both legs up the table while you sat back on the bed.

"...but we encountered this island. We thought it was a newly discovered land since it wasn't on any map I've seen. But then I've seen why." His eyes turned dark. And you felt anxious of the tension on the air.

"...It was because no cartographer was able to get out alive to even draw it. Why? Cus it's an island full of cannibalistic people."

Your eyes widened. You only seen them in books you've read, but you only thought them as myths.

"C-cannibals?"

"Humans who eat other hu-"

"I know what it means." you annoyingly huffed.

Miguel just shrugged and put his hands up to a surrender.

It was safe to say this was the only conversation you both had that didn't feel like danger to you.

Miguel seemed to want to tell you more, but a knock on his door stopped him. The door opened to reveal a crewmate notifying him that they have arrived.

You gulp.

The light enjoyment you felt suddenly waned. But then you thought, If there's land there's people. If there's people then there's hope.

A hope for you to ask for help.

As Miguel and you left the cabin and headed for the deck, it was already sunset. Usually you would enjoy the view but nothing to enjoy when your headed to a place you barely know.

"Hm, it's almost night. What perfect timing." Miguel smirked.

He turned to you with a brown bag on his hand.

"Here, catch." He threw the bag to you which you caught it, feeling the weight and hearing the jingles in it.

Must be coins.

"Like you said, you want a change of clothes? Go buy then."

You felt the ship hit land within the docking areas where you see other people either exiting or entering their own ships.

You felt nerves underneath your skin, goosebumps all over it.

This could possibly be the first time you explored outside your country.

"You either just stand there, or you start walking."

You snapped out of your thoughts and followed Miguel down the ship, landing your bare feet in the sand.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Cheers and glass clinking can be heard everywhere.

You felt out of place.

After buying clothes, you wore a white and maroon dress, After shopping, you asked if you could go back to the ship.

"And miss out of the fun? Ay ay hermosa, live a little. Just make sure to stay within my sight." He chuckled as his crew went directly to a dark street full of bars, filled with drunk men, women, and even other pirates.

"Oy Miguel! Long time no see!" A drunk middle-aged man called out from a bar, and with that, you were left on your own.

Right now, you were sitting by the corner watching men chant songs and women gossiping. You also see men and women flirting with each other, some just drunkingly kissing, and some went up to the bedrooms upstairs.

At one side of the bar, a drunk Miguel being surrounded by women, all dressed provocatively and talking to him. Although what you don't see is his subtle glances to you time to time

You look around and thought, maybe this is the perfect moment to get up and go out and ask for help.

As you left the bar, making sure no one spotted you in the process.

As you step out, you feel the cold breeze of the night and hear crickets buzzing and the soft muffled noises from the bar.

You continued your way to the direction you remember where the docking place was at.

While you walk, a sweaty hand suddenly stops your movements, and you froze.

"Heyyyyy" A ragged man who seemed to have too much to drink greeted you.

"Wuz a pretty lady doin hir?" He's senteced were slurred as he hiccuped in between, and you winced im disgust when you could just smell the alcohol off him.

You didn't want any trouble as of tonight's events. So you pushed his hand away from your shoulder.

"I-its none of your business, i-if you don't mind, I sho-should get going." You stammered due to the freezing temperature but also the fear of what could happen if you got to the bad side of this man.

You started to walk away as fast as you could, but the man grabbed your forearm and pulled you towards him.

"Oi! Im bein nice hir pretty lady, why downt you be a grateful little bitch."

Oh no this isn't good, he's getting mad.

You tried pulling your arm away, and he angrily gripped the thin fabric around your chest. And for such a drunk guy, he seemed to possess unnecessary strength. Which resulted in ripping your fabric around your chest area, revealing your cleavage. The only thing saving you now is your corset to cover it.

If you're scared a while ago, you're definitely afraid now.

You screamed for help while you tried to fight his grip, but that only seemed to spur him even further. His slurred words angrily spit insults and words you couldn't get the meaning of.

His grip finally loosened and for an unexpected reason.

You froze from the sudden quiet in the air.

When you glanced at him, his face painted with shock and his torso painted with red.

Blood.

Blood with a sword coming through it.

You quickly stepped back as his face collapsed to the floor. Your eyes quickly drifted to the man above him.

Miguel O'Hara.

His face is devoid of expression, his usual smirk gone, yet there's rage in his eyes. Your body froze from the view in front of you. You don't know what to do first, thank him? be afraid?

He took back his sword and wiped the blood on the shirt of the dead man.

"We're heading back." He deeply stated, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I-"

"Shut up."

He didn't shout this time, but you know better than to disobey, he gripped your forearm, and you both head back to the ship.

This night marks the end of Day One

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taglist: @lionhearted-soldier

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #pirate #tw harassment #tw blo0d #historical

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gendrie · 22 days

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the main female character arya admires in the books is nymeria of ny sar. the first time she is mentioned is in arya's thoughts and it directly refers to how she "led her people". she was a leader before anything else. when valryia approached her city nymeria began a long, dangerous journey to safety. it was challenging but she stayed the course. when she arrived in westeros mors martell fell in love with her bc of her strength of character. she became the princess of dorne and lady of sunspear. she burned her ships so that none could turn back. she commanded armies, united dorne, and sent kings to the wall in chains. she put down rebellions and fought off invasions. nymeria ruled dorne for nearly 3 decades and continued to do so long after mors died - in her own right. she married two more times and had several children. she was "strong willed and indomitable".

nymeria is hardly a figure who represents indifference towards politics or prioritizing personal freedom over duty. things arya is frequently accused of representing herself. nymeria bore more responsibility than just about any other female character in the entire asoiaf historical canon. she didn't just bend to westeros' ideals either. when she married mors they combined their sigils and names; joining the sun and the spear. her eldest daughter ruled after her as was the custom of the rhoynar. she fought to secure her position and changed the culture. as arianne puts it: "she burned as bright as any man"

that is why she is arya's role model

she named her direwolf, the extension of her soul, after nymeria for a reason. arya takes nymeria as one of her own alias in harrenhal. she uses it again while creating her backstory as cat of the canals. this is not a meaningless connection. nymeria's story has been relevant to arya's from the very beginning. arya is forced to endure a difficult journey just like her hero. arya values her people and assumes responsibility for them bc "the pack survives". arya is willful and determined. even her wolf reflects her namesake as she has united all the wolves of the riverlands into a gigantic pack.

too often arya is interpreted as a character who wants to be free of responsibility above all else. she does not. both nymerias are proof of that. neither is a lone wolf. arya doesnt want to conform to the bogus ideal of being ladylike, but that doesnt mean she is an outlier who needs to be removed from the equation. nymeria of ny sar wasn't. arya can achieve an equal standing to the men in her realm. she can forge a new path for women in the north like nymeria did in dorne. at least she can try. but only if she stays and fights for it.

#you're going to look at me and you're going to tell me im wrong???????????#asoiaf nonsense

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mmikmmik2 · 7 months

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More miscellaneous The Owl House headcanons:

The other magical schools did not have a Gus or a Hunter watching out for them and almost all of their students did get branded and/or proceed to the Day of Unity celebrations with their families. Ruh roh!

Bard magic becomes incredibly popular among witches who just got their coven sigils removed and are starting to experiment with other forms of magic. Rhythm and melody are as natural and fun and mnemonically useful for witches as they are for humans.

Kikimora eventually writes a gossipy memoir about life in the Emperor's Coven that, unfortunately, is just so deliciously juicy and scandalous that it overpowers many people's common sense "what the fuck is wrong with you that you knew all this and still were a hardcore Belos loyalist" reaction... and she's still holding back. Lilith hates her so much it gives her headaches. Hunter has exerted great willpower to stop giving a fuck about her.

Hooty permanently moves out of the Owl House a year or two after Belos is defeated, and everyone is actually weirdly glad about it! Not just because the residents have never appreciated him as much as Lilith does, but because they're safe. Eda isn't a fugitive anymore. There's no forces against Eda or Raine or King or Luz that some normal-strength security measures + their personal capacities for self-defense can't handle.

King eventually does start sometimes jumping on Lilith or riding on her shoulder like he does with Eda and Luz, and even though she's psyched at Getting A Good Grade In Aunt she successfully forces herself to be cool about it :) except for Lilith being "cool" is still pretty dorky.

Gus eventually figures out a way to transfer images between human devices and witch scrolls/crystal balls (possibly with the assistance of other people he's roped in; Perry could probably help here) largely so he and Vee can exchange memes between dimensions.

Hunter dramatically lowers the intensity of his exercise routine and does little or no combat training. See above re: there are way fewer threats, and those remaining are much lower caliber. And he's almost constantly accompanied by at least one other powerful witch that would protect him with their life. And being constantly ready to fight isn't part of the life he wanted for himself.

#the owl house #some of these i might have posted before. whatever

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mrs-illyrian-baby · 5 months

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 9

Fallen | Loki x Reader

Your captors attempt to break you and Loki keeps up his searching. With the help of the Avengers, can he finally rescue you?

Warnings: 18+, reader is imprisoned - lack of food, talk of being hungry/hunger strike, psychological torture, angsty, very angry Loki.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

“Change your clothes back you insolent little welp”

You refused to change, hugging the forest green cloak tighter, staring into the fire. The more he tried to control you the more the leaden ball of hatred grew inside. Every day your clothes were laid out for you, restrictive and traditional, cloying and controlling. And every day you changed the colours to match the man you missed. The insipid colours chosen for you gave way to the blue grey of his eyes. Brown became rich jet black. And the silver of your sigil became lustrous gold.

“I’ve told you before about your behaviour. How can I make you a bride when you remain so headstrong? If you refuse to control your magic it will be removed from you.”

You had been caught again, playing with the mortals. Sneaking away from your guards. Drinking at parties, making flowers dance for pretty ladies, listening to the poetry of the gentlemen as it fell from their lips, their fingertips. Making love appear between them, making love to them.

To his credit, he was no liar. Come the morning your magic couldn’t even fizzle. Your clothes remained the same huge petticoats, the colours and sigils a perfect match for your families.

And Loki had vanished from your memories.

Somehow the memory of that day was clear, but then the next thing you could remember was the flat in London. Your Grandad, who you had genuinely loved and believed in. The warm memory of watching TV together and reading books. Grandad had always been kind, unlike the shadow of the men in your memories, he liked your jokes and you enjoyed the way he could do card tricks, often at the most surprising of times. And now he was gone too and the worst pain of all was that he was never truly real. The only family you could remember and he’d been another trick.

Tears tracked down your face silently, cutting through the dust that settled there from your filthy surroundings. Perhaps he wasn’t truly your grandfather, but he’d spent so many years at your side. Hadn’t he comforted you when you were sad, didn’t he laugh along with your jokes, he took care of you when you were sick and, though neither of you left the flat for long, he’d imagined a better life with you as well.

Perhaps he’d been told to do those things, perhaps it was a glamour or a trick of some sort, but his hand in yours, squeezing it tight as he said his final goodbyes, that was real. The indents of wrinkles on his papery skin, the feel of his pulse slowing under his wrist, it was all real. And that’s what you held in the dark on the night, when the days rolled past and Loki didn’t come, you had been loved before. You had loved Loki on Asgard and your grandfather had loved you in that little flat.

Love would come for you again.

When the sun rose you rose too, forcing yourself to leave your melancholy tucked between the thin blanket and the mattress of your bed. Instead, you paced the small room looking for a foothold to see out of the window that sat high in the wall. This morning your attempt was aided by a stool, left by a guard the night before. It wobbled terribly on the flagged floor, but it gave you enough height that you could reach across the rough rock, beneath your fingers you felt a small snag in the wall and dug your nails in, creating a hand hold.

Pushing yourself higher using the very edge of the bed frame your feet left the stool and you heaved yourself forwards and reached for the sill of the window, pulling yourself into the alcove it created.

Crisp air blew in your face, salty from the sea that stretched before you and fresh from the grass that curled behind.

Outside the waves crashed against a towering rock face and you wondered if you were very far from your first prison. Hopefully moving you between locations was enough to draw the attention of your Prince, but just in case you ripped a length of fabric from your dress and tied it to the bars of the window, pushing the rest of it out to dangle and blow in the whipping wind. Judging by the long grass that grew around the base of the tower, there were very few people visiting the area, perhaps something as off as a fluttering in a normally empty window would be enough to grant you some means of escape.

Slowly you climbed down, catching your feet on the hem of your dress.

Your new outfit felt completely ridiculous. Gone were your sensible jeans and warm sweater, replaced with a balloon of chiffon petticoats and floral silks. Deep in your memory you knew that this was how you’d been dressed after you were removed from Asgard, the heavy skirts keeping you slow so you couldn’t run, the restrictive sleeves reducing your ability to wield magic as Frigga had taught you.

At least in the flat you’d been allowed to choose your own clothes, at the compound Natasha and Wanda had ordered you leggings and sweatpants. Even the silken dresses and stylish, magazine inspired clothes you’d conjured with Loki had been more practical and comfortable. It seemed an impossible task to escape when you were dressed like a toy doll.

“You can’t escape,” a voice spoke from a dark corner of the room. His magic, pale yellow, swirled around him and yanked you back from the window and onto the thin mattress with a thump. The voice vanished back into the darkness, replaced with the shimmering vision of another, surrounded by a yellow yellow.

Loki.

The image stalked across the room, his face full of malice and a sinister smile curling at the corner of his lips. It was a vision of him you’d seen before, on the television news during the invasion of New York, but then he’d been under the influence of Thanos, controlled and tortured, desperate for escape. He’d told you all about it while you were still at the compound, a hushed conversation bourne of a late night spent on his balcony drinking mead and staring into the inky darkness. You’d taken his hand then and held it, allowing your warmth to sink into his chilly skin, and he’d rubbed his thumb over your knuckles.

This Loki was a different man, the God you knew would never dream of approaching you like this, with hatred and venom. He’d looked at you many ways, with intrigue and interest, as if you were amusing and entertaining, with lust and passion, before he lavished you with his pleasure, and, dare you think it, he’d looked at you with something akin to love.

No, your Loki would never look at you like this.

“Disgusting, fallen Goddess. Who could ever care for you?” He spat as you cowed back, the metal bed frame digging into your back, cold and unyielding. “Fit for nothing. We rejoiced when you left Asgard, you brought shame on my family. How will your own ever find a match for you when you display such depraved and wanton behaviour?”

The false Loki sneered again, eyeing you as if you were nothing.

You wanted to reach for him and brush the anger from his brow with your lips, to sate whatever force was controlling him and bring him back as the bright eyed and mischievous God you knew. But this was not your Loki, your Loki never judged you for your escapades. He only teased, tangling your fingers together to help you clarify your memories, sharing in the joy of them and encouraging you in your whims.

“Nothing to say for yourself, snivelling child?” You rubbed your face with your palms and made to stand, rising on the broken mattress instead of the stone floor, hoping that the height would give you some sense of control.

“You aren’t real, you can’t hurt me.” The words came out as a sob and you hurled the single pillow at him, expecting it to bounce through the vision as you’d seen happen with Loki and Thor while they fought and trained. But it hit his chest and fell to the floor with a sad thump. The Loki’s eyes followed it and then snapped back to you, and his grin made your skin crawl, your blood curdle.

“Loki?!”

He approached.

Your back met the wall as you tried to escape from the solid vision, cornering you.

“You truly are an idiot. These powers of yours have corrupted your mind, your senses. You can’t be trusted with them.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. Leave me alone!”

But the vision continued, berating you for your misdemeanours, recalling every stupid deed, every unkind word spoken, but this Loki knew so little. Like your own memories, the stories cut in and out from Asgard to London to the compound, there was so much missing in between. For a while you could use this knowledge to fight back, to ignore the most cutting remarks and stand your ground when your anger boiled hot enough.

But after a day, or two, your voice became hoarse, your mind reeling and pained, and your body weakened by lack of sustenance. And all the while, behind the cruel Loki, your guard sat, a wicked grin tightening his features.

After a week the lonely, stinging tears continued into the night, soaking your pillow as Loki’s voice haunted you, though the spectre of him had long since retired to whatever place it was these guards seem to spring from. Alone you clutched your pillow and thought of Loki, of the echo of home you’d built together in his rooms in the compound, the way his scent rose to meet you as he held you, cocooning you in the comforting richness of his presence. The way his arms held you back, solid and strong, his palms splayed on your back.

You clutched to those dreams as tightly, praying for him in the darkness.

During the day you sipped on stale water and nibbled on the dry bread left beside you, a far cry from the food that Loki had made for you. The bread made you heave and the stale water, though it kept you alive, only made the vision of Loki clearer to your eyes. So you stopped trying, allowing the dancing lights of your thirst to blur the image before you and the pounding of your headache to obfuscate his words.

In your dreams hands swarmed towards you, unforgiving and rough, the cruel whispers following you into the unconscious depths of your mind. And though you tried to tell yourself it was all a dream, your body ached when you woke, bruises littering your weakened body.

Every morning, when the twisted vision of Loki appeared, you returned to the Loki that you kept locked inside of your heart, falling back into your memories of him. Your Loki whispered praises to combat the poison poured into your ear, your Loki held you close when you were cold and scared. Your Loki - you drifted out of consciousness again, hungry and thirsty and tired.

Staring at the odd angles of the false Loki’s face. The pale imitation before you could never hold his face correctly, the subtle change to the rise and fall of his eyebrow, the twitch of a lip, you could read it all on your Loki. And nothing on this one.

Occasionally your energy peaked and, when the fight returned to you, you tried to irritate this fake and his handler as much as possible. You sang pop songs, told terrible jokes. Anything to keep the flame of your spirit flickering and alive. Deep inside you felt Loki’s magic calling back to yours, and it was on these days that you were the strongest, tethered to his sedir and allowing your own to reverberate down whatever bond had formed between you.

Your magic, bottled inside, continued to fizz, building on the already blinding headache that seemed to be permanent now.

And then it changed.

You kept picking away at the edges of the wards, kept pushing your magic forwards, trying to connect, trying to open the door. A little at a time you managed to let your magic creep through the gaps and you imagined it blowing into the wind like smoke, dispersed and invisible but still there, travelling into the distance, calling for help.

It started with a single flower, blooming rapidly as you watched it grow between the cracks of the wide rocks, it’s soft petals nudging the tip of your finger. You moved your hand away, and it followed, the spindly stem curling into the support of the mortar and then releasing it’s bud in a flourish of purple petals.

With a gasp you cupped your hand over it, turning your back to your eternal tormentor, and kissed the tiny flower, squeezing your eyes closed to stop from crying out with joy. There was something there, some magic, some feeling, that was still strong.

When your food tray was dumped on the floor you quickly took your glass, dipping a single finger into the water and collecting a droplet on the end of your nail. The water surrounded the flower as it fell, drenching the minute leaves, and then it bristled, as if shivering from the cold, and dipped its head back towards you.

You went to bed that night with a smile, but between dusk and midnight, the nightmares returned. Loki was always in official Asgardian leather, metal, gold. Sometimes he had a staff that he beat against the ground to wake you up and then keep you awake. So you clung to your reality of casual butter soft cotton shirts, dark jeans, the slippers he kept in his apartment and swore you to secrecy over, the brush of his fingers in yours, the way he held you, the way he touched your shoulder when he handed you a coffee over breakfast.

So when he came, you kept the vision of him in Midgardian clothes at the front of your mind, reminiscing on your time together at the compound and ignoring everything else.

Hands over your face you dredged up another memory. Showing him a tulip you’d grown in a pot overnight.

He had been impressed, you could tell just by the twitch of his mouth. It wasn’t a change in shape or a brief illusion, it was creation, organic creation. He was speechless as you slid the plant pot across the table to him.

“A gift, my Prince,” you had smiled.

Thor laughed, declaring it to be girl magic and you had looked at him, incredulous.

“I am a girl. What do you do, oaf magic?”

Loki had turned away to hide his laugh but had congratulated you as soon as Thor stomped off, huffy and indignant.

The more you focused on a clear vision of him the more Loki could feel the vibrations of your magic.

Somehow they’d picked up your trail, leading out of Norway, to Sweden and then into Denmark. Or, more accurately, Stark had been able to track your kidnappers.

The first set had, as Val worried, been the elderly men that lived in Tønsberg. Eventually they’d been able to trace some tourists who heard them planning the kidnap in the pub on the afternoon that you’d arrived, and a CCTV camera had caught them carrying your limp body down a side street before vanishing from the videos.

They’d been gone for a few days before there was another hit, the pair returning, beaten, bruised and worse for wear. And empty handed.

Valkyrie had them arrested as soon as they crossed the village square, but between their incoherent ramblings the only information the Asgardian’s had been able to glean was that they had been on a journey to the coast.

“It’s not enough,” Loki had raged, the cape of his formal leathers billowing out behind him as he turned to pace back down the length of the Long Hall.

Valkyrie sat in her throne, her head propped on one hand and shrugged, “we’re doing what we can, Loki, but they’re old, ancient, wittering on about Odin and some prophecy or other, what do you want me to do with them?”

“Let me look into their minds.” Loki kept to a stop, his hands on his hips, every bit the god and Prince he was brought up to be. Valkyrie’s council had left the room as soon as he’d strode in and now, alone, the hall was full of tension and unused, bubbling, power.

“There’s nothing in there, they barely remember each other, we look at the coastline.”

Loki glared and where anyone else might have withered under than look, Valkyrie sat taller in her chair. “I mean it, Loki, there’s nothing more to be had from those men. We look to the coast, that’s my final word.”

“Fine.”

Loki strode out, his long legs eating up the length of the hall in a few strides, and then he slammed the door behind him.

Refusing to speak to the Avengers directly, Thor passed information between the village and the compound. Stark had managed to track a trail of unusual energy into Sweden as well, but he failed to share the details with Loki.

Every day Loki felt a deeper pain in his chest, a gnawing feeling that he had seldom felt before. When he described it, Thor confirmed his worries. Hunger, you were hungry, and he was feeling it too. Having spent his whole life in the luxury of the palace, it was a sensation he was accustomed to and it pained him further to think of you that way.

In the night he woke to dreadful dreams, nightmares of his own doing, your screams ringing in his ears soothed only by a whisper of your voice, clinging to him and chanting his name like a prayer. His chest hurt then, too, and tears slid down his cheeks, wetting his hair as he hid his sobs in his pillow.

Capitulating to Stark’s demands was an equally bitter pill that left him feeling hollowed out and cold despite the warm breezes that brushed along the coast. He would work one, single, solitary, mission and only after they had found you and returned you safe and well.

By the time Stark denied to share his information with Loki the God was enraged, pacing like a tiger and snapping at anyone who looked at him wrong. The entire village scattered from him as he approached, Valkyrie’s council scurrying away when he slammed open the rooms of the Long Hall the day the Avengers arrived in Tønsberg.

“Tell me where she is, Stark.” Loki barked, his fighting leathers manifesting as he walked until he was clad from head to toe in leather and metalwork.

“And then you leave? We go together.” Tony didn’t even bother to look up at Loki as he spoke, continuing to press endless effusive buttons on the little device he liked to carry with him.

“I could leave as soon as we find her, what does it matter to you?”

“True. Best not to give you too many chances though.” Tony smirked.

“Stark, desist teasing Loki.” Thor cut in, gripping his brother’s shoulder, “this situation has upset us all, we should focus on the task at hand.” Silhouette by one of the floor length windows that lined the Long Hall Thor looked as if he belonged, strong and surprisingly measured while Loki simmered.

“I’m not teasing, I’m being practical. We all go together.” Tony sighed, placing his device on the table between them. “You can either come quietly and behave, or we take her anyway and don’t tell you.” He shrugged.

“You know that I would do anything, anything, to get her back to me safely.” Loki implored, “have I not agreed to work with you and your team? What more do you require of me?”

Tony stared at the God, both towering in his physicality, yet somehow diminished. He had seen Loki commit atrocious crimes, had seen the reasons why and fought them himself, and had grudgingly accepted a quiet truce. But he had never seen Loki so earnest or cowed, despite the green leather and daggers, he was accepting defeat in the only way he knew how.

“Nothing, Loki, nothing. Let’s get your girl back.” Tony fiddled with the device again, above them there was a roar of engines and through the windows Loki watched as the boats in the harbour wagged dangerously from side to side in the cross waves.

Thor pushed the doors open and allowed Loki to walk through first, revealing the Quinjet hovering above the low lying buildings. “Ready?” Stark asked, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Loki brushed past Tony, shouldering him out of the way, “don’t be absurd, of course I’m ready. And don’t call her ‘girl’.” He turned, his cape swirling behind him, picked up the wind, his hair was briefly wild, and the a golden helmet with two towering horns appeared, brushing each earnt curl backwards until Loki’s face was picked out and protected by the precious metal, “she’s a Goddess.”

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Five

When Aemond arrived back at the Keep on the eleventh day of the sixth moon, a strange sensation bubbled within him; an increased heart rate and warmth pumping through his veins. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time, reminiscent of the thrill he felt when he first claimed Vhagar as his own.

He continued to chuckle to himself about his encounter with the woman at Harrenhall, admiring her for biding her time yet enjoying the likely possibility of her being wrong. There was no possible way Lady Maera of House Wylde would be in the Capital, especially on this day. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he entertained the notion of cutting off Alys's head and proving that he was not so easily swayed by magical predictions and other silly notions.

Upon entering his rooms, Aemond shed is riding gear with a contented sigh and rang the bell, summoning a servant to assist him in preparing for dinner with his family. He exchanged the weathered clothes for more formal attire, opting for a black leather doublet adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen - three-headed dragons. His trousers matched the dark hue of his doublet, and he pulled on polished black leather boots to complete the ensemble. Allowing a maid to assist him, Aemond had his silver hair brushed back into its usual straightened look, securing half of it away from his face. With a nod of thanks, he dismissed the servant, allowing himself to gather his thoughts before facing his family.

Aemond reached into a box on his bedside and pulled out another eyepatch, this one made of sturdier leather and less weathered from riding. With reservation, he removed his old eyepatch, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His scar and sapphire eye stared back at him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of disgust. Quickly, he covered it with the new eyepatch, hiding the reminder of his past injury.

Departing from his rooms, a sense of duty compelled him to visit his mother, the dowager Queen, before joining the rest of the family for their meal. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, prompting him to pause in the hallway. He glanced out of the window, his gaze drifting over the expanse of the Keep Gardens, where the sun began its descent behind the distant hills. She wouldn’t actually be there would she? That would mean the whore at Harrenhall was right, and the chance of that being true was slim… Aemond knew there was at least an hour until dinner, so with a frustrated huff, he decided to go and at least check outside, unable to shake off the notion.

Descending into the Keep Gardens at twilight, Aemond found himself immersed in a serene atmosphere. The fading light cast long shadows across the lush greenery, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, their sweet fragrance mingling with the cool evening air. The sound of birds chirping and the gentle rustle of leaves added to the tranquil ambiance. Finding a secluded spot, Aemond settled on the garden wall, positioned high up behind a tall tree. From this vantage point, he could observe the beauty of the gardens while maintaining a sense of privacy.

As the gardens gradually grew darker with the setting sun, Aemond became mindful of the approaching dinner hour and the need to not be late. Preparing to descend from the wall, he couldn't shake off the slight disappointment he felt at not encountering Maera. Yet, as he readied himself to jump down, the sound of footsteps approaching along the path below froze him in place. Looking down, he saw a flash of blue and gold, and a curly mane of brown and silver. It was her.

Watching from his elevated perch, Aemond observed Maera's graceful stride as she walked down the path. Her turquoise gown, adorned with intricate golden detailing, caught the fading light and shimmered with every movement. He couldn't help but admire the way the tight bodice accentuated her curves, highlighting her ample breasts and slender waist. It struck him how much she had blossomed into a woman since he had last seen her.

Leaning in to get a closer look from his elevated position, Aemond's gaze lingered on Maera's dark brown hair, styled in an elegant half-updo. A delicate braid encircled the crown of her head, allowing the rest of her locks to cascade down her back in soft waves. Amidst the brown strands, her distinct silver streak caught the fading light, serving as a visible reminder of her Targaryen lineage.

When Maera walked toward the garden wall to gaze out at the shoreline, Aemond felt conflicted. If Maera was indeed here, specifically on this day, it meant that Alys had been right. Perhaps there truly was such a thing as foresight. And if that were the case, what other implications could it hold? What was this supposed "divine plan" the witch had mentioned to him?

“The Jewel of Rainwood,” he murmured into the air, his words filling the silent surroundings of the gardens, watching the Lady’s reactions closely. He noted the slight panic in her movements, the way her gaze darted around frantically, searching for the voice. As she reached for what he assumed was a dagger concealed beneath her skirts, he couldn't help but smirk. The notion that she could ever pose a threat to him seemed laughable.

He decided to humiliate her by speaking the language of his ancestors. Aemond was now fluent and whilst he knew Maera was also learning when they were children, he was sure she had not stuck to it. She was a Wylde, not a true Targaryen.

“Sīr, ao emagon māzigon arlī naejot dārys tegorīr?” So, you have returned to Kings Landing? He asked her mockingly, observing the wrinkle of her nose and the squinting of her eyes as she gazed up to where he was hidden behind the trees. He smirked, “Mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao istan hāre jēdri ag? Ao istan olvie vēdros rȳ issa mandia’s dīnilūks” Last time I saw you was three years ago? If I recall correctly, you were quite agitated at my sister’s wedding.

But the girl did not seem intimated. In fact, quite the opposite, maybe even irked. She removed her hand from dagger beneath her skirts and Aemond watched her stare up defiantly at his concealed figure. “Se mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao, aōha ego ēdan mazverdagon hae rōva hae aōha zaldrīzes.” And last time I saw you, your ego had swelled to match the size of your dragon.

The Prince’s confidence wavered at her reply, causing his eyebrow to raise in surprise at her perfect wording and annunciation of High Valyrian. Clearly, she had diligently maintained her studies, and her proficiency was almost on par with his own. Almost.

“Issi ao māzis hen? Nykeā lua ruaragon inkot se tēmbi?” So are you going to come out? Or continue to cower behind the trees? She called up to him in a goading manner as he breathed out a chuckle. With practiced grace, he leaped down from the wall like a cat, landing elegantly on the ground below. Stepping out of the shadows, he turned to face her, a mix of amusement and curiosity in his single violet eye.

Gods, she had changed. Yes, her features remained very similar to those in childhood. But now she truly was a woman grown, and he struggled to maintain his indifference as he stalked towards Lady Maera. Her face, still round as it had always been, now boasted higher and more defined cheekbones. Her once button nose had transformed into a graceful slope, adding to her newfound allure. Her eyes, still the same unique shade of green, now held a different kind of depth and intensity. They seemed to pierce through him, stirring something within him that he struggled to contain.

As the Lady displayed a low curtsy before him, Aemond felt a tightening in his chest, his doublet collar suddenly feeling constricting. There was an undeniable allure in her submission, a tantalizing appeal that sent a shiver down his spine. When she rose, the pair walked side by side down the path, their conversation seeming cordial to any outsider, but in reality, it was far from pleasant. Each word exchanged between them was laced with bitterness, cruel jabs, and sarcasm. Aemond seemed to relish in their verbal sparring, pushing the boundaries further with each barb, determined to come out on top.

"Rumors are quite persistent, Maera. They say the eldest daughter of the Master of Laws is not as virtuous as her family would hope,” the Prince sneered at her, hoping his words would shake her to her core, that she would feel at his mercy.

Instead, she met his accusation with a smile. "If I were a lord serving my King, I could frequent the street of silk as much as I pleased. But whether I have been…deflowered or not, who I take to my bed is hardly any concern of yours."

When Maera did not deny her indiscretions, it struck a chord with Aemond. She had been sullied, tainted by her actions, much like his sister Rhaenyra had been in the tales recounted by his mother over the years. The difference was that Maera showed no signs of shame, meeting his challenges head-on with an admirable, albeit foolish, defiance.

Attempting to provoke Maera further, mentioning his sister Queen Helaena was the only instance where Maera visibly reacted. But it wasn't for the reason Aemond had anticipated. Instead, he could see that Maera still harbored a strong and fierce protectiveness over Queen Helaena. No matter what accusations Aemond threw her way, Maera's loyalty to her queen remained unwavering. It was clear that she simply wanted to be there for her queen, as her friend.

Ending their conversation, with each party agreeing to avoid each other, Aemond couldn't hide his satisfaction as he watched Maera walk away in a huff. And when she turned to look back at him, his smirk grew wider. The game of cat and mouse had begun, and now he relished the opportunity to make her life hell, just as she had made his when she abandoned him all those years ago.

As her form disappeared from his view, Aemond chose a different route back to the Keep. Instead of entering through the main doors, he navigated the secret passageways hidden within the fortress. These tunnels, overseen by his ancestor Maegor the Cruel, were well-known to every Targaryen born at the Keep, and Aemond had mastered them over the years.

Swiftly and silently, Aemond made his way through the narrow passages, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. He maneuvered through the twists and turns with practiced ease, before finally reaching a hidden door concealed behind a tapestry. With a deft motion, Aemond pushed aside the tapestry, revealing the grandeur of the Great Hall beyond. He stepped through the doorway, his presence unnoticed by the occupants within.

The room was adorned with banners displaying the sigil of House Targaryen, creating an atmosphere of regal splendor. A long table was laid out in the centre of the hall, draped with rich fabrics and adorned with silver candelabras. Torches flickered along the walls, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Servants bustled about, laying out plates of food and pouring wine into ornate goblets. The air was filled with the tantalising aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced wines.

At the head of the table sat King Aegon, his imposing figure commanding attention as he chugged his wine with gusto. To his left sat Queen Helaena, her delicate hands fiddling with her cutlery as she stole glances around the room. On the opposite side of the table stood Lord Otto Hightower, his tall stature imposing yet regal, engaged in conversation with Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent. The two conversed animatedly with their voices hushed, coinciding with the peacefulness of the room.

Aemond's stealthy return was abruptly interrupted by the King's booming voice as he spotted his younger brother, calling out to him from his seat at the table. "You move like a ghost, Brother! Where have you been?" Aegon inquired with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Rolling his eye, Aemond responded nonchalantly as he walked towards his family, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. "I had matters to attend to before dinner, your Grace."

Alicent, who had been engaged in conversation with Lord Otto, Aemond's grandfather, left her discussion and approached her son, planting a tender kiss on his marred cheek. Aemond welcomed the affection from his mother, hoping it meant she was not still upset with him.

The dowager queen smiled warmly before inquiring, “And Harrenhall?" she asked, her tone tinged with hopefulness.

Aemond hesitated, reluctant to divulge the grim details of what had transpired at Harrenhall. "We shall discuss it in detail tomorrow, Mother. But rest assured, I handled it," he assured her, choosing to leave the darker aspects of his mission unspoken for the time being.

Satisfied with her son's response, Alicent nodded understandingly and returned to her seat. Aemond followed suit, leaving a deliberate space between himself and Helaena, anticipating Maera's arrival. He relished the thought of confronting her once more, eager to continue his clandestine game with Maera from a more public stage.

“Lord Jasper, and his daughter, the Lady Maera of House Wylde,” one of the guards announced as the doors opened. When the Master of Laws entered with his eldest daughter on his arm, a hush fell over the room, all eyes locking onto the young Lady who has finally returned to court after many years away. Aemond's gaze remained fixed on her, his single violet eye tracing her every movement with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“Seven Hells,” he heard Aegon muttering.

Maera's entrance was as graceful as ever, her turquoise gown billowing around her as she scanned the room. Aemond watched as her gaze swept past the assembled guests, lingering on each face before finally landing on him. A smirk played at the corners of Aemond's lips as he observed the furrow of confusion that creased Maera's brow. He could practically feel the gears turning in her mind as she tried to decipher how he had managed to arrive before her.

The sense of satisfaction that washed over Aemond was palpable as he reveled in the feeling of outsmarting her. With Maera's presence at the Keep, their game of had only just begun, and Aemond was determined to emerge victorious, his fixed steely gaze silently daring her to challenge him further.

However his smug smile disappeared when Aegon rose from his seat with a gleam in his violet eye and a Cheshire Cat smile. It was the same look that Aegon wore when he indulged in his more base desires, like when he bothered the serving girls or took a particular interest in a Lady at court. A grin that Aemond found distasteful, especially in this context. Watching Aegon approach Maera with such boldness, Aemond's jaw clenched involuntarily, his grip tightening on his goblet. He couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion, a complex mixture of indignation, frustration, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Seeing Aegon embrace Maera, his hand boldly placed on her waist, Aemond felt a pang of discomfort. His gaze narrowed as he observed the interaction, the uncomfortable look on Maera's face only adding fuel to the fire raging within him. It was a sensation akin to a primal instinct, a territorial instinct, but Aemond refused to acknowledge it as such. Instead, he attributed it to his protective instincts over his sister, the Queen, and his disdain for Aegon's lack of propriety in his wife’s presence.

When Maera locked eyes on the table, Aemond couldn't help but notice the slight huff of annoyance as she realized her allocated seat was uncomfortably close to him. He almost chuckled at her reaction, finding joy in her discomfort. As she passed by him to take her seat, Aemond caught a whiff of her familiar scent, a blend of vanilla and rainwater that stirred something within him. Despite his resolve to remain unaffected, he couldn't deny the uplifting effect it had on him.

Throughout the meal, Maera seemed to ignore him, focusing instead on her food and the conversation around her. Aemond took this as a victory, feeling a sense of superiority in their silent battle of wills. However, when Aemond looked up from his plate, his anger flared at the sight of Aegon's continued leering at Maera from across the table. In their childhood, the girl had never tolerated Aegon’s distasteful behaviour, and Aemond was disappointed to see her acquiescing now, even though he knew she couldn’t really protest because Aegon was the King.

Despite his anger towards the young Lady of House Wylde, Aemond noticed the positive effect her presence had on the atmosphere in the room. Helaena seemed more animated, reminiscing with her old friend, her violet eyes sparkling with joy. Even Aemond's mother, the dowager Queen, was seen laughing, a rare sight that brought a sense of warmth to the room.

"And do you still train with the sword, Lady Maera?" Aemond heard his grandfather ask her, causing his ears to prick up. Memories of their childhood training sessions, before societal expectations had stifled Maera's freedom, flooded Aemond's mind, and he could not help but be curious as to what her answer was.

However, before Maera could answer, her father, Lord Jasper, interjected, cutting off the conversation. A flicker of annoyance crossed Maera's face, swiftly masked by a forced neutrality. Aemond observed how she quickly composed herself, casting her eyes down as if to remind herself to behave and not cause a scene. This did not seem like the behaviour of the girl he once knew.

Refusing to let the moment pass, Aemond swiftly interjected, "The Hand of the King was addressing Lady Maera, not you, my lord." The one-eyed Prince turned his head towards Maera, seeing the look of confusion and suspicion on her face at his interruption, as well as something else. Gratitude maybe? "Lady Maera, I believe my grandfather is awaiting an answer,” he declared, his eye locked on her.

Aemond relished in the discomfort evident on Maera's face as all eyes turned to her, a faint blush painting her cheeks with embarrassment. However, when Maera looked straight at Lord Otto and revealed that she, in fact, still train with a sword, Aemond couldn't suppress a hum of acknowledgment. Despite his disdain for her, there was an admiration for her continued skill. It was a testament to her resilience and determination, proving that she hadn't succumbed to the role of a helpless Lady as he had assumed.

“Such behavior hardly befits a lady who aspires to find a suitable husband, no matter how beautiful and witty she may be,” Aegon commented with a smirk, seemingly trying to humiliate her.

Maera, undeterred, replied with a retort as quick as lightning, “Perhaps it's time that the lords of Westeros alter their attitudes, so that I might find one worthy of my time and affections.”

Aemond felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips, though he quickly suppressed it with a clearing of his throat. This was the Maera he remembered from their youth – fierce, honest, and unyielding.

The Prince was aware Maera's attentiveness to Helaena's emotions, her offer to escort the Queen to her rooms earning a grateful smile from his sister. Despite his irritation at the prospect of Maera's presence in the Keep, he acknowledged that Helaena would benefit from her friend's company. As Lord Jasper took his leave some time later, Aegon wasted no time in taking the vacant seat next to Aemond, launching into a conversation filled with lewd and exaggerated remarks.

“Gods, did you see that arse, brother? And those huge tits?! Holy Father, how I would love to-“

“Aegon, that's enough!” Alicent's stern voice cut through the room, her disapproval evident as she scolded her elder son. Aemond, of course, had noticed Maera's physical attributes, but he maintained a facade of indifference, refusing to engage in Aegon's lascivious commentary. He was above that, after all.

"You constantly used to call her fat and ugly when we were young," Aemond reminded his brother. But then, with a smirk, he added, “Let us not forget, she would not tolerate your vile behaviour either.”

Aegon grinned in response, unfazed by the reminder of his past humiliations. "But the ugly duckling can turn into a beautiful swan, Aemond," he retorted, his gaze drifting towards the door through which Maera had exited. "Very beautiful indeed." Aemond could feel the weight of his mother and grandfather's disapproving stares, but he knew they wouldn't challenge the King's behavior. After all, who dared to defy a monarch?

Aegon stood up, stretching dramatically. "Well, I'm positively exhausted. I think I shall retire," he announced, his tone dripping with faux weariness.

Aemond arched an eyebrow, skeptical of his brother's sudden desire for an early bedtime. "You never go to bed this early," he pointed out, his suspicion evident in his voice.

"Being King is exhausting, brother," Aegon replied with a smirk, placing a patronizing hand on Aemond's shoulder. "How fortunate you are to never know such a burden." Aemond clenched his jaw, suppressing his frustration at Aegon's jab. He watched his brother leave the room, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, and Aemond knew the true reason behind Aegon's early departure.

“Aemond…” Lord Otto's voice cut through the tension, a silent plea in his tone.

"I will see to it," Aemond declared, standing up with determination. With a curt nod to his grandfather, he exited the Great Hall, intent on finding his brother and ensuring Maera remained safe from his clutches.

The one-eyed Prince wandered the dark corridors, his steps heavy with anger as he searched for Aegon. His older brother's actions brought shame upon the family time and time again, his reckless behavior and disregard for propriety tarnishing their name. It frustrated Aemond to no end that Aegon faced no consequences for his actions, especially his mistreatment of women, which was widely known within the court.

As the ever-dutiful second son, Aemond felt compelled to clean up his brother's mess for the sake of their family’s honour. He couldn't help but feel disillusioned by the notion of an elder brother, someone meant to be looked up to and followed, especially considering Aegon's status as King. Yet, Aemond couldn't deny the bitter truth: Aegon's frequent disappointments had only reinforced Aemond's belief that he would be the better choice to wear the crown and lead the realm.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to his brother's hushed voice in the distance, drawing him closer with every word. Peering around a stone pillar, he watched in horror as Aegon stood close to Maera, her back pressed against the cold stone wall. The sight of Aegon brushing a stray strand of hair behind Maera's ear ignited a fiery rage within Aemond, like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

His horror turned to disbelief as he witnessed Maera seemingly play along, her fingers tracing a flirtatious path across Aegon's chest. Aemond growled under his breath, feeling betrayed by Maera's actions. He had always suspected her of being a harlot, a manipulative snake seeking to advance her own agenda by cozying up to the King like so many others. But to see her reciprocate Aegon's advances was a betrayal that cut him to the core, igniting a fury within him unlike any he had felt before. As Aegon and Maera leaned in for a kiss, Aemond's anger reached its boiling point.

“Ooof!”

The one-eyed Prince’s rage was replaced by astonishment when Maera suddenly drew her fist back and delivered a powerful punch straight to his brother's stomach. The force of the blow sent Aegon staggering backward, collapsing onto the floor with a groan of pain.

A chuckle escaped Aemond's lips as he shook his head in disbelief. It seemed he had underestimated her. Despite his initial suspicions, she had not succumbed to Aegon's advances, but had instead stood her ground and defended herself, just as she had done when they were young. It was a reassuring realization, and Aemond found himself feeling a newfound respect for Maera's strength and resilience.

As Maera hurried away, Aemond emerged from the shadows, casting a satisfied gaze over his fallen brother. He felt a surge of vindication, knowing that Aegon had received the retribution he deserved. Looking up, Aemond caught Maera's gaze as she glanced back over her shoulder.

At first, he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but when Aemond demonstrated his indifference, and even pride for what she had done, it quickly shifted into something else—a mixture of determination and relief. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of shared sentiments and shared enemies.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment, conveying volumes without a single word spoken. Then, with a nod from Aemond, Maera turned away and continued on her path back to her room. Aemond watched her retreat, a sense of respect a flicker of their old camaraderie shining through

“Do you believe me now, my Prince?”

Aemond returned to Harrenhall a few weeks later, not only to check on the progress of the guards, but, as a man of his word, he freed the witch. The Prince couldn't shake the feeling of being unsettled by her ability to foresee events, especially when her words had proven to be true. And yet, if she proved to have the power of foresight, what else did she know and how else could it benefit him?

The crackling hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating shelves lined with jars and ointments, giving the space a cozy yet mysterious atmosphere. Facing Aemond, Alys sat with an air of quiet confidence, her catlike green eyes sparkling in the warm glow of the fire.

"I understand it is difficult,," the witch began, her voice calm and measured. "To accept that there are things beyond your understanding."

Aemond's brow furrowed, his expression hardened. "There were many known ancient mysteries of Old Valyria," he countered, his tone sharp with skepticism. "House Targaryen and its descendants are the only people in the world who can bond with and fly dragons.” He paused, before leaning forward to emphasise his point. “I can assure you, what you tell me is not beyond my understanding."

Aemond's patience began to wear thin, his jaw tightening and his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He couldn't shake the disdain he felt for the situation—here he was, entertaining notions of magic and prophecy with a mere bastard of House Strong. The memory of the last encounter with a Strong bastard, ending in death, lurked in the back of his mind, casting a shadow over the present moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Aemond stood from his chair, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "You say that I want her, but you could not be more wrong," he declared, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She occupies my thoughts because she is the bane of my existence. I cannot stand her, and she in turn, cannot stand me."

Alys watched him intently, her gaze unwavering. "And yet you are bound," she declared confidently. "It is fate, my Prince, foretold by the Gods."

"The Gods tell you this themselves, do they?" Aemond asked, his voice laced with sarcasm yet tinged with curiosity.

"Or they show me," Alys replied, her tone calm and confident, accompanied by a serene smile.

Aemond's skepticism was evident as he approached her, looming over her seated form. "You mentioned a divine plan the last time I was here. The least you could do is tell me," he demanded, his gaze piercing.

"Why would I do that, my Prince?" Alys countered, her head tilted slightly inquisitively.

The witch’s disrespectful tone only fueled Aemond's growing irritation. Despite her lowly status, the witch seemed to believe she held the upper hand in their exchange. But Aemond was determined to change that. His gaze hardened as he met Alys's eyes, silently asserting his authority and refusing to be belittled by her insolence. "If you wish to return to the executioner’s block, just say the word," he sneered with a smirk.

Alys, not so easily intimidated, rose from her seat, meeting his gaze fearlessly. "But then you would not know what the Gods have in store for you," she pointed out. "I volunteered my knowledge for free last time. But since this is somthing you are now requesting personally, it requires payment.”

Aemond scowled, feeling a sense of unease creep over him. "What kind of payment?" he inquired, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

The witch's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Since this is something you want to know, the payment must come from you," she stated cryptically, her gaze scanning him intently. Finally, she settled on a suggestion. "A lock of your hair, perhaps?"

Aemond scoffed at the seemingly trivial request, finding it absolutely ridiculous, but the thought of uncovering more of the witch's insights compelled him to comply. Unsheathing his dagger, he deftly severed a small strand of hair from the back of his head. He presented it to Alys, who accepted it with a gracious nod, her eyes alight with satisfaction.

The witch twisted the lock of hair around her fingers, her eyes closed in deep concentration, reminiscent of Helaena's meditative muttering, Aemond observed. Though he couldn't discern the words she murmured, he was taken aback when she suddenly cast the silver hair into the fire.

Impatience gnawed at him, prompting Aemond to break the silence. "Well?" he demanded, his tone edged with frustration.

The witch turned to face him, a serene smile gracing her features. "Your brother, Aegon, is now the King, as is his right as Viserys’s firstborn son," she began, her voice calm and measured.

Aemond's irritation flared at the mention of his brother. "Yes, I know that," he hissed, eager to get to the point. "What is your point?"

Alys's smile remained, almost unnervingly sweet, as she delivered her revelation. "His reign will last no longer than two years," she declared cryptically, forestalling any immediate questions from Aemond. "Yet the King of Kings will be born directly from your blood."

Taken aback by her words, Aemond furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. Before he could inquire further, Alys continued, gripping him by the hand. "You need her. The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon," she proclaimed, her words laced with a sense of urgency. Aemond attempted to pull away, but the witch's hold remained steadfast. "You will ascend the throne. And she will be your Queen."

Ambition warred with morality as the Prince grappled with the implications of her words. The thought of ascending to the throne enticed him, fueling his desire for power and recognition. But the cost weighed heavily on his conscience—his dear nephews, Aegon’s sons, would have to meet a grim fate for him to claim the crown. Despite his ambition, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to wish harm upon his beloved nephews.

The mention of Maera’s involvement in the prophecy added another layer of complexity to Aemond’s internal turmoil. Despite their mutual animosity, the notion of Maera as his Queen seemed improbable, if not outright ludicrous. The enmity between them ran deep, and the idea of uniting with her in such a significant manner felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her grasp abruptly, his gaze fixed on Alys with a mixture of bewilderment and confusion etched on his features. Before he could articulate his barrage of questions, Alys forged ahead, her voice steady and unwavering."You will sire many children. But it is the union of a son and a daughter that will produce the greatest King of all," she declared, her words laden with gravitas.

Aemond's cautious inquiry followed. "My children? With her?" he asked, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

Not being entirely direct, Alys pressed on, her eyes seemingly fixed on some distant horizon. "I have heard the beat of his dragon’s wings across the world. Not only will he be King of Westeros, but he will unite the North, South, East, and West into a single Kingdom," she prophesied, her voice resonating with conviction. "And his rule will be a great one, with a dynasty of dragons to follow."

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible. Lady Maera is of a minor House and would never agree to a marriage. I am promised to a Baratheon also. My nephews…it cannot be," he countered, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Yet Alys remained steadfast, her proclamation resolute. "The path the Gods have set for you is magnificent. And when you tread it, I will be at your side to guide you. For the sake of your House, do not desecrate their vision, my Prince."

Notes: I’ll be uploading main ODAM after this now sorry, I’ve been hyperfixating on the Aemond chapters 🤣

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#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena #odam #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd x reader #aemond x original character

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quiteliterallyilliterate · 3 months

Note

Hellooooo? Is anyone alive? Is ok if you do... A part two of the yandere fierce deity? Please?

Order up!

Ngl this was actually really difficult to write! Y’all seemed to like Part one, so here’s the continuation!

Tw: Described murder and violence, obsession

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The sigil had since faded from the back wall of your home. It had taken many moons and many storms before the blood had truly faded. But it wasn’t gone. You picked up on the marking more and more, the swooping V shape with two lines intercepting. You saw it carved into the trees you tapped for sap, in the bones of the elks still left at your door and —perhaps most concerning— scratched into your skin. You awoke to it after awaking from a nap, and it came with a sense of all-consuming numbness. You bled, despite no knife piercing your skin and felt a hollow pain looking at the wound… but the gash itself was not painful. The scab on your palm itched as you walked through the markets, and despite switching the hand that held the basket, it only seemed to worsen. An itch is not bad so much as it is annoying. An instinctive feeling to pick and prod until a disturbance is removed. But the sensation has festered into thorns digging into your nerve with every graze of another’s hand.

“That’ll be… 300 total” The farmer handed over the produce youd carefully picked out, a frown of dismay pulling at your lips.

“That’s double last time” His smile faltered and his eyes darted far behind you, glassing over for a moment. He breathed out until his lungs had no more to give and his lips fell shut. It was only when you were about to turn around to see what had enraptured him that his tongue farted over his lips and he picked back up where he’d left off

“Sorry you must understand, it’s-“ His voice faded into the chatter of the crowd, a low hum fading into the back of your mind with a throbbing pain. So much for living here all your life, there was no reason for produce to cost half your wages. It’s not like anyone in this hamlet made much, nor was there any reason for one to struggle. The is community held up on its ties, it's only as useful as its people make it.

“Keep- Just keep it.” You would’ve felt bad at the way he sunk in on his feet with upset, but it was beyond your responsibility to help. Not without proper food in your stomach. You’d need to forage if you had near any hopes of not starving through the week. And so, basket in hand, you returned to the eerie empty of the wood.

The thicket was empty. The berry bushels had since been picked clean by the birds and the wild sprouts trampled or rotted in the soil. It was foolish of you to hope that perhaps whoever kept leaving you meat —your only source of sustenance— could provide you with something that could possibly go with it. Your spice cupboard is beginning to run dry and you had nothing aside from the carcass left behind to prepare.

“If only I had some potatoes… carrots… something- anything!” You threw your wicker basket to the ground, the thin fibres crackling. Anger burned within the humid draws of your breath, seeping into your lungs and through your blood and settling among your being. Thunder rolled in the far distance, but the wind had already made its way to you. The whispery gusts combed through the long grasses and shook the old trees, the wood croaking and groaning. The path back home was no different than it had been recently. No humdrum that followed life, only the cawing of crows. But, rather disappointingly, even they had disappeared as of late. The shadowing of the storm mounted atop your already heavy-hung gloom. It seemed as if every living thing, even those that surpassed mortality had vacated the forest. And as you pushed inward to the unkempt of the wild, you could only feel like you were leaving yourself to the execution block. Your legs faltered and trampled, your limbs felt stiff. And like a corpse of those slaughtered, you fell.

The deity knew that mortals were cruel. He didn’t need much knowledge about the world to know that fact. With such a gift of consciousness, Hylia’s creations were tainted with such bitter malice. That is what made them mortal. Their innate ability to surpass their better moral to kill and to hurt. He saw it every time someone used the likeness of his face. He saw the blood. He felt their drive— to stick cool, unforgiving metal within another. To crack and break and destroy the fragility of the world. The fragility of other people. Hunt or be hunted as it was. There was no matter for if they were above animalistic intent, for they were every bit predator and prey as the wolves and the rabbits. That is why he is so keen on protecting you. Only you have been so kind and pure —A divine among mortals, he’s certain— and such purity can only be tainted within a world so vile. The mortals even admit to it. Making their societies guard such fragility from the maw of itself. It was only himself he could trust to be your guard. Only he could be trusted to deliver you from such a system. He knew the cruelty of mortals upon one another. But for you to be denied sustenance? That was sacrilegious. Did they not understand that they were blessed to have been with you? If that was such a case then perhaps they weren’t worth the salvation you offered. The wretched mortals should bow at your feet, stumble over eachother and themselves to leave you offerings. For one to deny themselves such a right is to deny one’s god. And so, as the twists of his blade delicately carved out the heart of the worthless farm boy, he hoped this would serve a sufficient offering. He could afford to spend more time with you tonight with the storm’s onset. The rain would do most of the work cleaning the blood. The body would mingle from the earth from whence it came and be no more. Maybe if the damned was lucky, his blood could nurture the soil to make plants that you could eat from. Maybe then he’d have paid penance for his sins. Heart and produce in hand, he displayed them all lovingly in your discarded wicker basket and left it looped around the elk horn. He held his offering in one arm and your limp body in the other, carrying you the way to your little temple. The basket was hastily discarded upon the porch —though he doubted you cared much about the presentation— and he tucked you into bed. On his exit he wrangled the body so it would be easier for your untrained limbs to carry indoors. Offerings should be prepared to the highest degree— and you only deserved the best. He’d deliver the world to you exactly as you’d expected of him. Although the procurement of spices would certainly take a while longer, he’d meet your demands in full. Such is what’s expected of him as he’s courting you. Such is the way of devotion.

#yandere link x reader #link x reader #fierce deity x reader #yandere fierce deity link x reader #fierce deity x you #yan!link x reader

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love-and-monsters · 6 months

Text

Halloween Poll Story

Multiple gendered eldritch god X gn human, second person, 8,024 words.

Happy Halloween! This story was the result of polls you all voted on. I hope you enjoy some spooky Halloween romance. Just as a heads up, I might not be around on this blog too much for a while after this for reasons I will explain in a later post. But I thank you all for your support.

Content warnings: Possession and mind control of innocents, implied manipulation, some possessive/obsessive behavior.

Summary: You have been working as a cursebreaker for years, clearing curses on items sent for recycling. But an unusual curse turns your mundane job in a surprising direction and catches the attention of a powerful being.

Perhaps things would have gone better if you were less exhausted. A notification had shot you out of bed at nearly five thirty, letting you know that the E train had been temporarily closed due to an infestation of direrats. The only other way to your work was the D train, which took a more roundabout route, and a connecting bus. When you’d arrived at the station, the D train was teeming with people also trying to make it to work on time, so you’d needed to shove your way past people to actually make it on in time. The bus had barely been better, and when you tried to grab your breakfast, you’d been dive-bombed by a pigeon-griffon and dropped your hash-brown.

Your work was a bit quieter than usual when you entered. It was never quiet- there was always banging and whirring and mechanical noises from the various pieces of equipment. But the usual chatter and shouting was softer than usual. Everyone seemed focused on their own work. You followed their lead and headed to your work station for the day’s load.

Being a cursebreaker at a recycling plant was an easy job. Identify the curse, stamp it out, and break down whatever the curse had been attached to for processing. Nine times out of ten, it was just removing the curse sigil, easy enough to do with a solvent or paint remover. Technically, anyone could remove a sigil, but most places employed a cursebreaker to do it regardless- a cursebreaker could identify the curse itself, something that was important in case it was booby-trapped. A cursebreaker might be more expensive to employ than your average worker, but it paid for itself when they prevented a curse that turned everyone within six miles into stone from activating.

Most of the time, the job was easy, anyway. You’d just been getting into the groove of it, scrubbing away paint like a champ, when a more complicated curse slid across your desk. Metaphorically speaking. You didn’t have a desk. It was booby trapped, stubborn, and overly complicated. Unweaving the magic took so long that you blew through your lunch break, and it sapped your reserves. Holding a curse in stasis took energy, and this one had been fighting you the whole way. You tossed it aside, relieved that it was over and ready to get back to simple, prank-level curses that could be removed with acetone.

And the next one was like that! And the next one. And the one after that. And then you ran into a problem.

Most curses you got were attached to objects, usually small ones that could be carried around and hidden somewhere before activation. Jewelry was most common, but sometimes they were things like hand mirrors or books. Furniture was not uncommon either. Sometimes even random bits of garbage. The curses were usually painted on, or carved into them if you wanted to get fancy. Easy to get rid of, if you combined removing the sigil with deactivating the curse. But the next curse was… not that.

It was metal. Maybe wrought iron, though you couldn’t tell for sure. It sort of looked like a wrought iron fence. But it was not painted or carved with a sigil. It was a sigil. And it was huge, almost bigger than a hubcap.

You lifted it up to feel the weight in your hands. It was lighter than you expected, but still quite solidly built. Even through your gloves, you could feel the faint heat it emitted. Powerful stuff. More powerful than you’d been anticipating. That… wasn’t good.

See, you weren’t necessarily a good cursebreaker. Good cursebreakers either went into government positions or private contracting firms. Both of those jobs were cushy, or as cushy as a job only two steps away from disarming bombs could be. Curses were dangerous shit, and if you could disarm the manmade curses or even the significantly nastier natural curses, you were set for life.

Unfortunately, your level of skill was only good for a recycling plant- undoing the piddly little curses that people slapped onto garbage that ended up in the dump. So much of the job was just scrubbing away poorly-constructed sigils that they didn’t bother to pay well for it, and they didn’t bother to check credentials that closely. So if you hadn’t quite passed the full cursebreaker exam and your license was technically only provisional… well, it didn’t matter much, did it?

Except now, looking down at a sigil that was more complicated than it had any right to be, it mattered.

You could call someone. Get it bumped up the chain of command, have the sigil taken elsewhere. But that could risk someone poking their nose into why you couldn’t, and you didn’t want to take the chance that someone would take a closer look at your credentials and see they didn’t pass muster. You needed this job.

Then again, trying to break a curse without knowing what you were doing… that could end in ways a lot worse than unemployment. Okay, new plan. The sigil looked impressive. But it was, possibly, not actually that dangerous. People did that sometimes, tried to make sigils look more impressive than they were to impress clients, especially rich ones. So maybe you just needed to tweak a little bit and it would fall apart.

You placed a hand on the very edge of the sigil and extended your senses into it, just enough to see the shape of it. The sigil itself would reveal information once it was fully surrounded by your senses and it would-

A white hot bolt of pain snapped through your arm, ignoring your heavy work glove. You snatched your hand away on pure instinct, and the sigil wobbled and clattered to the ground. The sound barely registered with you. There was just the blazing, boring heat in your hand. It didn’t feel like a burn. It felt like a white hot worm was twisting and boring its way through your flesh.

You staggered back, panic flaring through you. Cursebreakers were resistant to most curses- you were all schooled in those basics. But being resistant wasn’t the same as being immune, and the curse was in you. There were only precious minutes before it fully activated. Minutes that you couldn’t waste. But the pain was so much you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t-

The pain vanished. It didn’t go away instantly. It gradually cooled away, more like sticking a hot piece of metal in water and letting the heat steam off. You slumped against the back wall of your workstation, panting heavily. Sweat poured down your face behind your mask. Trembles worked through your body, making your hands unsteady. What had that been? You could still feel where the pain had been, like something on the inside of your arm had been burned raw.

Cautiously, you approached the sigil. It sat innocently on the ground. You kicked it. The metal scraped on the floor, but there was no pain. After a moment of hyping yourself up, you picked it up with your good hand.

Nothing. The sigil wasn’t biting anymore, at least. But you hadn’t just been holding it when the pain happened. You set it on the table and eyed it cautiously. The sigil had activated when you’d pushed your magic into it. Not even a large amount of magic, just enough to get the shape of it. If it had defensive elements that sensitive in it, the entire thing was far beyond your pay grade.

You debated on it for a moment, chewing your tongue in frustration. You needed to turn the sigil in. That was what you were supposed to do. It was too powerful for you to break down properly, and trying to break it down improperly risked some serious issues. But you would need to tell your boss for that, and you didn’t really want to risk losing your job.

You wrestled with it for a moment. The sigil didn’t seem to be immediately dangerous, and there weren’t great records kept about what items were given to who and when times they needed to be cleared by. So…

You propped the sigil up against one of the far walls of your workspace and turned to the next curse on your pile. It would keep. You could decide what to do later, maybe after a good night’s sleep.

The rest of the sigils went by easily. Your arm didn’t hurt anymore, though there was a vague, weird feeling in it. Not quite like a tingling, which was usually what residual magic felt like. More like… a weird coolness? Almost like there was cold air touching your arm, but from the inside.

It was a weird sensation. You tried not to dwell on it too much.

The direrat nest had been cleared by the time you left work. A bit strange. Direrats could chew up sections of track, given enough time, so even small nests often needed days of repair work. But you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. You boarded the E train, which mercifully had only a few people, so there were seats, and dozed on your way home.

Perhaps that had been a bad idea, because you’d been groggy your entire walk home. And even though you probably should have eaten something and gotten some chores done, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Your arm still ached, even as you tucked yourself in to sleep.

Most nights, you didn’t dream. This night, you did. The dreams were disorienting, disconnected, and bewildering. Images of flying, falling, looking down over cities and up through the depths of the ocean. And the strange, consistent feeling of slithering through something like a wet tunnel, with walls on all sides and a single-minded determination to reach your destination.

You blinked your eyes open and groaned. It was like you’d barely gotten any sleep at all. Your head was fuzzy and pounding, though not with pain. It felt more like your blood was just pulsing around your brain.

It took several minutes before you could manage to force yourself out of bed. Your arm felt… strange. Not bad. Not even tingly, which was, again, the normal thing magic would have done. It felt a little warm, and it seemed to pulse in the same rhythm as your head.

For a moment, you entertained the idea of just calling in sick to work and avoiding the whole mess. You didn’t feel sick, but you did feel weird. But your therapist had been telling you to ‘avoid avoidant behavior’ and it wasn’t like you were getting paid for not working. After taking some time to mull it over, you decided to go in.

After showering and feeling somewhat more human, you headed out. The sky was cloudy, but not just a normal fall storm- there was a nearly green tinge to the clouds, like a summer thunderstorm before a tornado. You tucked your coat closer around your shoulders. Your arm and head pulsed.

The streets seemed emptier than usual. Even early in the morning, there were usually a decent amount of people around. It wasn’t entirely strange, considering that it looked like there was going to be a bad storm, but the streets were eerily quiet. It was unsettling. Your arm and head pulsed.

The ride to work was quiet. You dozed a little. It was peaceful. The tunnels were quiet and dark and traveling through them felt right. Your dreams and the real world merged in a strangely pleasant way. Your arm and head pulsed.

Work was the same as usual, with the same ambient noises. You stepped into your station and froze.

The sigil was gone.

You’d left it propped up against your workstation, just next to the table everything rested on. It was unmissable. Even if it had fallen over or rolled, it would have been visible from the entrance. It was gone.

Your blood ran cold. And at that exact moment, your boss appeared at the entrance of the hall. “C’mon back. I gotta talk to you.”

If possible, your blood ran even colder. You nodded and followed him.

It was a short walk to his office. That was nice. It didn’t give you much time to think about all the different ways you were fucked.

He stepped inside the office, gestured for you to head in as well, and closed the door behind him. The room seemed weirdly dim- it had a window, but the light was gray thanks to the clouds, and the fluorescent lights were off. There was a votive flickering at the corner of the room. Weird. Were candles allowed in this building?

Your boss sat at his desk, drawing your attention toward him. As you looked, your blood turned to an icy slush in your veins.

That was where the sigil had gone. It was sitting behind his desk, just barely visible. It didn’t look restrained- that was something of a relief. Maybe it hadn’t been as bad at you’d been thinking and you were just going to get scolded for not taking care of it the day you’d been assigned it. Maybe you could bluff your way out of it.

Your boss leaned over your desk. He was a big man, bearded, large stomach and beefy arms. He could definitely be intimidating when he wanted to. And you were expecting him to glower and glare and demand explanations.

What you weren’t expecting was him to smile. “How’s your arm?”

You’d stopped paying attention to it, in the cold terror you’d felt when you’d been called. But now that your attention was drawn back to it- it was warm. Pulsing. That strange feeling was still there. Maybe stronger than it was before. You glanced down at your arm, but it looked normal. Same as it always does. “It’s fine. Of course.” You clear your throat. “Why do you ask?”

His smile widened. The lighting of the room made it look… almost unnatural. Like it wa too wide. “It was your point of contact. Mortals can react unpredictably to it.”

A slow, prickling sensation crawled up your spine. That smile… that was wrong. Your boss didn’t smile like that. You’d been working here for a year and a half. He’d never smiled at anyone like that before. He didn’t smile, period. Especially not to someone who fucked up the rules. And you couldn’t imagine him calling anyone ‘mortal’ either.

Good cursebreakers used their brains. They thought about what they did, had models and scientific understandings of curses. Years of knowledge, practical and from books. A good cursebreaker survived by thinking about things, coming up with theories and applying their smarts.

You were a bad cursebreaker. Bad cursebreakers survived on their instincts. And your instincts were saying to get the fuck out.

It took seconds to get out of the room. Only a minute to get out of the building. You fled down the street, not trying to go anywhere in particular. Just trying to get away. After several blocks, your lungs and legs were screaming for a break and you had to stagger to a stop.

No one was following behind you. And, after taking a moment to assess, you realized that you probably hadn’t been followed at all. There had been no footsteps following you as you ran.

You took a moment to think about that. He hadn’t bothered to pursue you, which meant either he didn’t care where you went or what you did. Or he figured he was going to find you anyway. Both those options were chilling. It meant he believed, at least, that you were powerless to do anything against him.

Bereft of anything else to do, you slipped into a nearby café and contented yourself with nursing a small coffee. And thinking. Your boss- no, that hadn’t been your boss. In retrospect, you should have seen it sooner. He had a slight accent that this voice hadn’t had. In fact, the accent your boss had spoken in had been identical to yours.

Your arm pulsed with warmth again.

You fumbled for your sleeve and yanked it up. Again, there were no physical marks on your arm. Except…

On your palm. Right where the sigil had initially touched your skin. There was a tiny spot, almost like a burn. You didn’t remember seeing it when you last looked at your arm, though it was small enough that it would have been easy to miss. You ran your finger over it. The mark didn’t hurt, though touching it did make the warmth pulse strangely.

You’d already had your suspicions, but this more or less confirmed it- whatever was happening to you, to your boss, it was because of the sigil. It had affected you, somehow, as well as affecting other people.

Okay. You knew now that it was due to the sigil. Now what? Go to the government? There was a cursebreaker office only a few stops away by train. They would know what to do. Probably. If you’d been infected by touching the sigil and your boss had done the same when he moved it, then another cursebreaker should be able to fix it by breaking the curse without touching. Not easy, but possible.

You headed back out into the storm. It hadn’t started raining, but it looked like it might do any second. It felt a little like there were eyes on you as you headed for the station. Maybe your guilt conscience was prickling at you.

The train ride was mostly empty. That was a little unusual, but you were grateful for it. You just wanted to curl up in the back of the car and close your eyes.

Once the train stopped, you hurried toward the cursebreaker’s office. You’d only been there a couple times, and neither visit had been pleasant. Nausea curled in your stomach as you headed through the large doors at the front.

It was a typical office building, with a few plants and an overly-fancy looking waiting room. A bored-looking secretary sat at a desk, clicking away at a keyboard.

You approached and she, predictably, glanced up. Then she beamed. A wide, overjoyed smile. It was so out of place it stopped you in your tracks. It wasn’t the smile of someone greeting another shitty customer. It was the sort of smile you give when a loved one you haven’t seen for years shows up unexpectedly at your door.

“Hi!” she said, leaning over the counter toward you. “What can I help you with? You glanced over your shoulder, just in case she was maybe addressing someone else. There was no one else there. “Um. Hi. I was looking for a cursebreaker?” You couldn’t help the hesitation in your voice. It was just weird, the way she was looking at you.

“I see.” She didn’t look back at her computer. Her gaze on you was unrelenting. “And what do you need a cursebreaker for?”

You felt a prickle of sweat bead on the back of your neck, despite the coldness of the room. “I need to break a curse.” Surely this wasn’t protocol, to make someone explain their curse issue in the lobby. Even if no one else was around.

She smiled indulgently. “I can take you to one of our cursebreakers, then. I believe Tamson will be available right now.” She stood. “Follow me.”

“I’m sure I can figure out their office if you just give me a number,” you said. You sort of didn’t want to spend more time with her than you had to. There was something about her that was just… Unsettling.

“Now, we wouldn’t want you to get lost,” she said. “And it’s certainly no trouble. Slow day, after all.” She laughed to herself, like it was some kind of clever joke you didn’t get.

There was a part of you that was considering just leaving, but you weren’t sure what else to do. And cursebreakers were always vaguely weird, right? Everyone said so. Maybe their secretaries were weird too.

You followed her down a series of halls lined with doors until she came to one marked ‘Aaron Tamson.’ She didn’t even bother to knock before opening the door.

Tamson was sitting at his desk, staring right at the door when you walked in. Like he’d been expecting you to be there right at that moment. He must have heard your footsteps. The secretary stepped into the room behind you and closed the door.

“Thank you, Molly,” Tamson said. You glanced over your shoulder at her. She was standing right in front of the door. Blocking the doorway. Like a guard.

Your stomach curdled. Your arm pulsed with warmth. Did they know why you were here? Was this the prelude to an arrest? No, they would have called their actual guards, if that was the case. Not a secretary. But they were definitely trying to keep you here.

“Don’t mind Molly,” Tamson said. “You just gave us such a surprise when you ran before. We don��t want that happening again.”

“Wha- what are you talking about?” A bit of anger made its way into your voice. Anger was good. Anger felt safe. Like maybe you could fight your way out of this. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just- I just need a cursebreaker.”

He laughed. Molly, behind you, joined in his laughter, making it an eerie chorus. Your skin prickled and your arm throbbed with heat. “Oh, come now. We both know that’s not true. You bit off a bit more than you could chew in the curse department, and I think that’s frowned on by most humans, yes? Poor thing. You couldn’t possibly have known what you were getting into.” Cold sweat dripped down the back of your neck, contrasting with the uncomfortable heat in your arm. “You know about that?” “I don’t see how we couldn’t.” Molly spoke that time, and you whirled to look at her. There was something unsettling about her expression. Not just in the way she was smiling, which was still creepy just due to the situation, but the fact that her expression was the exact same as Tamson’s. Not just that they were both smiling, but the way the corners of their mouths were positioned, the amount their eyes crinkled at the edges. It was subtle, but looking at two very different people with completely identical expressions made your uncanny senses go off like crazy.

This was not ‘two slightly weird people trying to intimidate you because they knew about your crimes.’ This was wrong.

“Please, don’t be so frightened,” Tamson said. You spun back toward him. He was standing, leaning over the desk. “Nobody here wants to hurt you.”

“Yeah?” Your voice was shrill, trembling. “Then why are you trapping me in the fucking room?”

“Not trapping,” Molly said. “Not like that, anyway. We just want you to listen to what we have to say.”

“All I want,” you said, “is to get a cursebreaker and to destroy that sigil and to have things go back to normal.”

Molly’s brows drew together. “No,” she said in a gentling voice. “You don’t want that. You just think you do right now.”

“Let us explain first,” Tamson said. “Then we’ll see how you feel afterward, all right?”

You swallowed. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“There are always choices,” Molly said. “But you won’t be leaving the room until we’ve said our piece.”

You slumped into the chair used for consultations. “Okay. Then talk.”

They smiled. The same smile again. And then they spoke. In unison. “The sigil is ours. We did not make it, but it belongs to us. We do not know the circumstances of its creation, only that it gave us a pathway into this world. We could see into this world, this realm, and see the million tiny spots of magic. But the pathway was not large enough for us- a window, to use your terms, instead of a door. We needed a door.

“The sigil was taken, moved. We were powerless to stop it, but we could nudge. Make our sigil less obvious. Let it drift, until it came upon a place where we could extend our power.”

The sweat on the back of your neck was like ice and your stomach was rolling. “Which was me.”

“Correct.” Molly and Tamson gestured toward you in the same motion. “Think of it was an incomplete circuit. With one last application of energy, you completed the circuit. And thus, we were freed.”

The picture of what the hell was going on was becoming slowly clearer in your mind. Other realms. Needing to use doorways to come through to your world. They were old creatures, creatures from a place not quite like Earth. Sometimes, they were referred to as gods- people had even worshipped them a long time ago. But eventually, with the advent of cursebreakers, they’d been sealed away. The only fragments of their power that remained on Earth were the curses that people could use. The ultimate curses were ones that would bring the old gods back, the ones the allowed them to extend their reach into Earth once more.

The curse you’d been working on hadn’t looked like that. It had looked like, if not a normal curse, than at least a human one. But if they’d been able to disguise it, then maybe you wouldn’t have known.

Your arm was radiating heat. Not like burning, but like there was just warmth pulsing out from inside it. You glanced down at it. That little burn spot you’d noticed before seemed… bigger? Or maybe you were just imagining things due to stress. “Are you going to kill me now?” It seemed a logical step. Murder the person who knows about you so they can’t stop you. Why they were telling you this, you didn’t know. Maybe it was like a weird, elder god brag.

There was silence for a moment. Then Tamson stepped forward and slipped his fingers under your chin. You had been looking down at the ground, so he had to press a bit to get you to lift your gaze to his. Molly pressed in close to your side. “You think we’re going to kill you?” It was hard to get a read on his tone. He could have been sympathetic. He could also have been winding you up you it was funnier when he stabbed you.

“You are the one who called us into the realm. You reached out to us and brought us in through your form,” Molly said. Her voice was very close to your ear. “Your magic was the spark that allowed us to enter. Through you, we became whole.”

You shivered. “Does that mean- I’m still important to you so you’re not going to kill me?” Maybe if they killed you, the sigil would no longer work.

Tamson’s brows drew together, but he smiled. “Yes. I think that’s a good way to put it.”

Okay. That was… good, right? Terrifying, but good. You were going to live, and the longer you lived, the more time you had to figure a way out of this. “Okay.”

“Good,” Molly said. She headed toward the door, tugging it open. “Then let’s get going. Lots to do.”

Tamson puts his hand on your back, pushing you relentlessly forward. You dug your heels in, stumbling a little when he kept moving. “What? Where are we going?”

“There’s much to set up, I assure you. But currently, we’re going to collect the sigil,” Tamson said. He pressed both his hands to your back, practically shoving you in earnest while Molly doubled back to grab your arm and started pulling you down the hall. Your legs were barely moving at all, but they were dragging you along with little issue. Weren’t cursebreakers supposed to be sort of noodley? Did being possessed by an elder god give you weird strength?

By the time they got to the door, they were practically carrying you, supporting your weight at either shoulder. A couple people were doing… something on the sidewalk, sketching something out on the ground, and they smiled at you as you passed. A prickle shot up your spine and your arm pulsed again. You were getting real sick of that sensation.

“Are, uh. Are those…” you trailed off, casting your eyes deliberately at the people on the sidewalk.

“Part of us, yes,” Molly said.

You swallowed. “Is- is there anyone here who isn’t?”

Tamson laughed. “Looking for someone else to talk to?” His tone was light, but your stomach sank like a rock. That had been so stupid. Never let your captors know you’re looking for an exit plan, that’s like the first rule of being kidnapped. “There are others. Some people have more fortitude. Some bodies just aren’t needed right now. But you won’t be seeing many of them out and about.” He flicked a finger up toward the sky. “The storm, I’m afraid. Most people won’t venture out into such things,”

The sky rumbled ominously with his words. You shuddered. “It’s just a storm,” you said, trying to push forward. There was no hiding the tremble in your voice, though. Molly gave you a sympathetic look, leaning in like she was trying to comfort you.

“It is a storm, yes, but it’s also a manifestation of our power. Think of it like this- when we poured into this world, we moved to take bodies. But not all bodies could contain us. So a part of us possessed the storm. We’re in many places at once. And no mortal would wander out into a storm made of our power.”

“Except me,” you said. The thunderstorm didn’t register as anything unusual with you. Did other people really see it as so strange?

“Well, you are touched with our power,” Tamson said. “You’re hardly a mortal anymore.”

Your arm burned. Not painfully, but certainly enough to get your attention. You flinched. Both Molly and Tamson took that as an opportunity to secure their grip on you.

They pulled your toward the street and a car pulled up. You weren’t a car expert, but it looked fancy. Did elder gods care about that? Or were they trying to impress you specifically? Tamson and Molly shoved you inside, settling on either side of you. The backseat was tight, but both of them still seemed closer to you than necessary.

The car ride gave you time to think. You were not the only person in the city who wasn’t possessed, but anyone who was possessed was probably cowering in their houses. Further, you didn’t know how far this whole thing spread. If you could look at your phone without them seeing, you could get a better idea of how bad things were. People commuted into the city- there had to be some sort of awareness that something had gone wrong. Unless it had spread a lot further than you’d thought. If you could just check the news, you’d at least be able to get your bearings.

Molly leaned against your shoulder. She hadn’t let go of your arm since you’d gotten into the car. “Thinking hard? You jumped. “Don’t look so worried,” Tamson sighed, directing your attention to him. “You’re as jumpy as a frightened kitten.”

“You really don’t believe we’re not going to hurt you, hm?” Molly sighed. She gave you the saddest set of doe-eyes you’d ever seen.

“I don’t have a lot of reasons to think you won’t,” you said.

“We already said we weren’t going to,” Tamson insisted.

“Yeah, well, you’ll forgive me for not thinking an interdimensional creature that possessed a bunch of people is going to tell the truth all the time,” you muttered. Molly and Tamson frowned, their expressions perfectly in sync once more.

“We’ve never lied,” Tamson said. “We’re not lying now.”

“You keep saying that. It doesn’t mean I’m going to trust you.”

“All things in good time, then,” Molly said. “You’ll see.”

The car pulled to a stop outside your work and Molly swung the door open. You boss smiled at you as he passed the sigil inside. Molly practically shoved it at you so it was sitting on your lap. As soon as it came in contact with you, your arm blazed with heat. Sweat started to bead on your brow. Tamson sighed, leaning against you. “There, you see? The power it contains and the power you contain… They’re quite closely linked now. One and the same.”

Without a conscious thought, you started tracing the lines of the sigil with your bad arm. The warmth pulsed as deep as your core, like something in your soul was stirring.

You were so entranced that you didn’t notice the car was moving until it stopped again. Molly tugged gently on your arm. “Come along, dear.”

You blinked. The car had parked outside of a church, one of the more ornate ones in the city with stained glass windows sending colored light onto the sidewalk. Tamson and Molly pulled you inside, with you still clinging to the sigil.

Inside, the church was surprisingly dark. Candles illuminated the stained glass, but most of the seats and the pulpit were shadowed. You tripped over the uneven flooring and Molly steadied you. “Watch your step.”

“I can’t watch anything,” you snapped back. “It’s pitch fucking black!”

“We’ll watch for you,” Tamson suggested. “If it was bright, it would spoil the surprise.”

“What surprise?” Neither of them answered, just giggled in unison. You ground your teeth.

Both of them hauled you up to the pulpit, then past it and into a tucked away little corner. It seemed to be designed as somewhere for the choir to stay, given the closets holding robes and the dinky electric piano tucked into a corner. Tamson hovered next to me while Molly took the sigil. “I apologizer for not taking you home right now, but churches are just such lovely places to coalesce energy.”

“What are you coalescing energy for?” you asked.

“For you,” Tamson said, simple as you please. You blinked. You’d been expecting a plan to take over the world/galaxy/universe, not… that.

“Sorry, for me?”

“Yes,” Molly said from where she was mounting the sigil on the wall. “Humans are so woefully deficient, after all.

“Defi- I really don’t understand what’s going on.” You made a halfhearted attempt and running away, but Tamson just grabbed you in what seemed to be a really enthusiastic hug. You felt rather squished against his chest.

“You don’t need to understand. We’re going to take care of everything,” he smiled. Molly’s smile, equally beatific, radiated across the room.

“I might not need to understand, but I’d like to,” you pushed, tentative. They didn’t seem keen on actually hurting you. Maybe if you nudged them, they would be more willing to explain.

Tamson’s expression shifted, almost like he was considering it. He traced a hand along your arm, touch feather-light. The warm and pulsing almost seemed to subside for a moment. You’d gotten so used to it that without it, your arm felt cold.

“Isn’t it usually the case that the paladin receives some of their patron’s power?” he asked, so quiet it was almost like he was musing to himself.

Your brain stuttered over the word. “The paladin?”

“There are other words for it,” Molly said. You startled. She’d practically appeared right in front of you. “Priest or priestess? Disciple? Chosen one? All similar concepts. One who serves and is served by us or our kin.”

“I’m not serving you,” you sputtered. Molly and Tamson shrugged in unison.

“You did. You opened the gateway, did you not?” Their voices were in sync again, a perfect chorus. You shuddered, but the only place to retreat back into was Tamson’s embrace.

“Not- not on purpose.”

“No? And yet, your magic jumped so eagerly to us. We felt it, dear paladin. Dear walker of Earth.” They were cooing at you, pressing up into your personal space. “We know you, dearest to us. Down to your heart. When your magic opened the gateway, the first thing we knew of this beautiful place was you. We reached through you and we knew you and we knew you would be ours.”

“I didn’t ask to be yours,” you said. Your voice was strangled. Your body was fighting itself. You should be leaning away from them, and there was some terrified, rational part of yourself that wanted you to do that, but there was another part that said to lean in. They were close to you, warm and sweet. Perhaps you’d just hadn’t been held in a long time, but your entire body yearned for the contact. They couldn’t be telling the truth, that they cared about you. But you wanted them to be.

“Maybe you didn’t ask with words,” Molly said. “But we know you and we know your longing.”

“For things to be different. Safer. A world where you never need to be afraid, or stressed, or in pain. You have brought us here, and we saw your heart and your pain and we adored you, because no one can ever see that deeply into another’s soul and not adore them. So we will protect you, now. Our dear paladin,” Tamson sighed.

“Together, we will bring this world into a new age,” they said, their voices unified again. No, not just their voices. You could hear, faintly, other voices saying the exact same thing. Like the entire city was speaking in unison.

“I-” you choked out. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were going into shock. Your companions (companion?) didn’t seem bothered. Tamson rocked back and forth in a slow, soothing motion. Molly brushed her fingers along your scalp and made comforting noises. You closed your eyes for a moment, sagging with the utter exhaustion of the day.

“It’s all right,” Molly said. “Let it all go.” Your arm was warm, still, and it still pulsed, but there was something pleasant about it. Like lying against someone’s chest and hearing their heartbeat. Like the warmth of a fire on a chilly night.

After some amount of time, Tamson shifted his weight, lifting you up a little. You moved to get away instinctively, and tumbled right into Molly. She made no effort to hold onto you, but you didn’t move that far away from her.

“We weren’t sure if you were feeling up to walking,” Tamson explained. “It’s time to go downstairs.”

“What’s downstairs?” you asked.

“You’ll see,” Molly said. She linked her arm with yours. “We’ll show you.”

You allowed yourself to be led, with one of them on either arm. You actually passed a few other people as you made your way to the basement. No one you recognized, though all of them broke into beaming smiles when they saw you. They also bowed at the waist, a reverence that you hadn’t been expecting.

The basement was down a set of stairs in the back of the church. Now, you’d been a church basement once before, due to being dragged there for some kind of event, and that time, it had resembled a sort of dingy little storage area. There were a couple different rooms, the paint was peeling, it smelled kind of musty. This was not the sort of church basement you were expecting.

The area was spacious, almost cavernous. It was so big, in fact, that it didn’t actually seem to fit under the church. Maybe it was an optical illusion, but the ceiling seemed too high.

The entire place was bathed in purple light, though there was no visible source. The area just seemed suffused in it. Smaller points of reddish light came from candles that were stationed all around the… room? It was hard to call it a room. The walls were undefined, fading into darkness. In the center of the room, there was a platform, with more candles clustered thickly around it. Molly and Tamson guided you toward it.

“Am I supposed to sit here?” you asked, eyeing the platform. There was a fancy, throne-like chair in the center. It looked iron-like, with an ornate designed along the back of it. The pattern looked a little familiar.

“Yes, of course.” Molly pushed you up closer to it and you paused. Yes, the back of the throne was familiar- it was made up of a lot of tiny little sigils, all intertwining with each other to create one, large pattern.

“How is this possible?” you asked, stretching your hand out to touch it, though you thought better of it before actually touching it.

“It’s remarkably easy to warp physical things within our realm of power,” Tamson said. “And when the sigils are fully formed, we can bring more power into the world and affect more.”

“It’s a wonderful system,” Molly sighed, leaning her head on your shoulder. You shivered. “And you shall be part of it now.”

“I sit here and what, you give me your power?” Suspicion was starting to prickle over your skin again. It looked dangerously close to something that would suck your soul out or mind control you.

“We offer you some of our power, as our paladin.” Tamson put his hand on your lower back and gave you a little push toward the throne. You slid a cautious step closer. Tamson pushed a little harder. This time, you dug your heels in, feeling a bit like a stubborn child trying to avoid going to a doctor’s appointment or something. Tamson paused, with a questioning little, “hm?”

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, her breath a inch from your ear. You froze. “It’s all right. The power is frightening, but we’ll be right here with you. We’ll help, adored one.”

“I don’t know. I can’t-” Your arm was overly warm, making sweat prickle along your body. Your breathing was quick and shallow.

“It’s all right,” Tamson said. “Are you frightened of us?”

You pressed your lips together and didn’t answer.

“Yes. It’s all right. We can show you that you don’t need to be,” Molly offered. She reached down and lifted your arm, the one that was still warm. The heat was centered at your hand, radiating outward. Her fingers felt cool against your skin. “Here.”

You glanced down at what she was indicating. The red part of your palm had spread. It no longer looked like a small burn mark or spot. It looked like a pattern, the red mark splitting into multiple red lines that created an ornate picture. Something you recognized.

The sigil had appeared on your skin.

You trembled. It wasn’t complete yet, but you could see the red spreading, bit by bit. It would be complete soon.

Molly smiled. “You see our connection,” she murmured. “The mark of our favor on your skin.”

“It’s not done yet,” you said. You couldn’t keep the shake out of your voice. “What happens when it’s…”

“We can show you,” Molly said. She pressed a finger to the center of the sigil and something at the back of your mind unfurled.

It was like you had been curled in a tiny ball for your entire life and just now you were getting the chance to stand up and stretch your limbs. There was pain, almost like your brain was splitting open, but it was relieving as well. You could feel your body shuddering, but your body wasn’t important. Why would something as constrained as a body be important? You could see and feel the entire building, like you were surrounding it with your mind.

Something else touched your mind, gentle as a nudge. It was difficult to describe what your senses were doing, but the best description was that you ‘turned’ to ‘look’ at what had nudged you.

It was them. You could ‘see’ them. They were ‘curled’ around the bodies of Tamson and Molly, and you could ‘see’ other parts of them extending into the other bodies in the city and stretching up into the sky. They were bigger than you, much, much bigger, even in your expanded form. They ‘nudged’ you again, affectionate and warm. Each touch gave you a str age sense of what they were feeling, like their feelings were akin to body warmth. Their love pressed against you with every ‘touch.’ You reached out to them, following their ‘motions’ and trying to reclaim the adoration they were giving off. It was so much and so overwhelming and so good. You had never felt as genuinely cared for- their mind gave off pure gratitude and love for your entire being, for your humanity, for your soul.

With a near-painful abruptness, you were back in your own body. Your face was wet. Tears, yes, but also sweat and drool. Molly and Tamson were cooing at you, holding you in both their arms. Your body was sore, and not pleasantly so. You felt like you’d been sprinting for miles and been hit by a truck.

“What was that?” you groaned.

“Us,” Tamson said. “You, as well, though mortals are poorly suited for such a strenuous experience. You could only endure it due to our influence.”

You groaned again and made an attempt to get up. Molly and Tamson lifted their arms in time to catch you as you fell. Tamson allowed you to lean against him until your breathing stabilized again.

“Do you see now?” Molly asked. “The depth of our affection for you? How we adore you?”

You shuddered. Yes. You could feel it in your chest. The certainty of it. Tamson stroked your head and you leaned against him with a shuddering sigh.

“Come now,” Molly said. You whined as she tried to pull you upward. “I know you are tired, but you need our power.”

Tamson joined in on the tugging at you. “Just a modicum of our power and you’ll feel better. We promise.” With both their coaxing, you were dragged to your feet and hauled over to the throne. You were pretty boneless at first, but you were soon moving with them, reaching for the throne.

They carefully placed you on the seat and you sagged into it. The chair was not comfortable, but it made your arm steadily heat up. Your skin tingled.

There was a sensation like being watched. Like hundreds of eyes falling on you. No being watched in an oppressive fashion, either, but like reverence. Molly and Tamson knelt at either side of the throne, their hands on yours, drinking in the sight of you.

And then- it wasn’t like before, like your body had split open and sent the inner essence of you billowing up. It was more like there was a crack in your back and some of your essence had instead, slipped out, curling and billowing outward. You were still within your body, but you could extend more of yourself outward.

You fumbled, trying to acclimate yourself to new senses. Power surged through you and, fumbling, you scrabbled against the edges of reality, trying to orient yourself, and nearly tore it.

Their presence curled around you, lifting you up and away from the edge and balancing you next to them. There, now, my dearest. None of that. I am here with you now. Their ‘voice’ was warm, kindly, and almost… awestruck.

Dimly, back in your body, you were aware of the city folk bowing their heads in your direction, whispers of prayers and praises on their lips. All echoes of what this being felt for you. But you could only stretch your mind out toward them, and shudder in joy and relief when they stretched back and suffused you with adoration.

Come, adored one. We have much to do now. A city is only a fraction of what we can do, and you deserve continents upon continents of love.

You were a bad cursebreaker. Maybe you could be a good god.

#exophilia #monster romance #halloween poll story #monster lover #monster partner #eldritch god #eldritch being

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speakeasyaoi · 8 months

Text

Serafine Savoy x F!Reader

> Requested by @snakesart | I got so wrapped up in roleplay + work recently I haven't been able to work on these- but this was fun!!

PROMPT: N/A

If it's not how she initially met you, she's more than eager to recruit you into her voodoo congregation, which...includes her carving the sigil into your chest, same as she did to Mordecai. Something that has nothing to do with her wanting to see you topless. At all. (Totally.) Now, she's willing to put it off for as long as you might need if you're anxious about the idea or don't want to rush into it, but in the end it's pretty much a non-negotiable, the most you'll be able to do is get her to make it smaller and less extreme of a scar. If you're really all that nervous, she'll just let you drink some of her rum until you're too drunk to be lucid or feel the pain, and dress your wound while you're intoxicated and half-conscious, and go through with it as quick as she can without messing up her linework.

And if you're not drunk during the process and still sensitive to the pain of it, she'll shush you and sweet talk you and try to keep your mind off it by peppering kisses along your neck and collarbones. She'd still poke fun at you for it, though, but it's all in good fun.

She will take the masculine role in the relationship, regardless of your masculinity and/or dominance. She's the one to take you out places, buy things for you and cover your bill if you're out to eat, and in general likes being the one spoiling you and I'm control of things.

During her little 'parties' hosted with her, Nico, and the rest of the congregation, she finds it more than entertaining to parade you around on your arm like a peice of eye candy. She flaunts you and shows you off and probably even does some PDA in front of everybody; it's just as much a challenge for her to make you flustered as it is to make everyone else jealous of her, and she's determined to reach that goal.

And on the topic of PDA, Serafine loves it. More often than not she uses it to affect those around her (she finds it especially entertaining to be all lovey-dovey and handsy with you around Mordecai to watch his reaction), but in more genuine moments, she has no reservations about being intimate in public and around a crowd.

If you're in any kind of relationship with her, it's unavoidable that you'll also be involved with Nico somehow. That might consist of a romantic, polyamorous-type relationship, similar to the dynamic they share with Mordecai, or it could just as well be him serving as more of a familial, brotherly figure. Either way, they're inseparable, and dating one is more a buy-one-get-one-free.

Expect to be covered with numerous lipstick stains, bite marks, scratches and hickeys, especially so on your neck and arms, where other people can see them. It gives her a bit of an ego boost to see your body marked by her, and finds your attempts to remove them or cover them up adorable.

Her and Nico would probably end up inviting you to stay with them at their suite in the Maribel hotel rather early on in the relationship-- they've never been one for slow-burn or subtlety. You'll be given the choice to sleep in Serafine's bed with her or just crash on the couch, but unless the suite is bigger than I imagine it is, you won't be getting your own bedroom. (Serafine's big spoon.)

Other notes: I've found that when it comes to F!Reader or M!Reader I really struggle with not keeping things gender neutral out of force of habit- I should probably work on that

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy x reader #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy comic #lackadaisy serafine #serafine savoy #serafine savoy x reader #lackadaisy x f!reader #lackadaisy x f! reader #lackadaisy x f reader #serafine savoy x f!reader #serafine savoy x f! reader #serafine savoy x f reader

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odue-sp · 1 year

Text

Asmodeus x Male Reader

Part 2

Muffled moans echoed the bedroom, Asmodeus had been torturing the human for days after what had happened, his possessiveness exceeded the moment he realized that he had a threesome with MC and that he had touched what was his. His precious human's body marked in everyway he could managed. The demon even added more demonic sigils onto his body and it wasn't a pain free process. M/n couldn't go to class, thankfully Divalo heard about the situation he was out in. Soft sobs echoed the room, feeling his orgasm cut short like many in the past.

His hand clawed at his lover's hair trying to thrust into him but clearly the demon was much more stronger. His eyes held no love as he leaned down and bit at his neck. A shout left the human's lips before being silent by a rough kiss. It was endless until Asmodeus became bored, finally letting the other enter him... "Why aren't you moving," he asked but nothing but silence. "M/n?" He asked once again. He reached over and grabbed his face. Tears feel silently as the human was unconscious. Asmo stared before leaning over and giving him a gentle kiss at his temple. The moment the demon removed himself from the other's cock he laid down and hugged the human tightly.

The moment the demon fell asleep, the human snapped his eyes open. His eyes red and dazed. M/n slipped away, putting on whatever he could get his hands on; a pair of boxers, shorts and a undershirt. He walked out, his body trembled in pain as he leaned against the hallway wall. His breath rigid and fast. "One step," he repeated, he needed some space from the lover. His eyes watered again as nearly fell to the floor. "M/n?!" MC shouted hearing a body hit the floor, the brothers snapped over seeing the human cling to the other human.

"Take me... To Barbatos." He whispered knowing that MC could hear him. "He wants to see Barbatos." The brothers looked at each other before Lucifer picked up the exhausted male. "M/n? Did you fall?" Asmo yawned before noticing the mood... "What's... Going on?" He looked at the male confused. "M/n wants to see Barbatos." MC said pointing at the human, Asmo stared confused before looking fearful. "No! Luci! Please no!" He reached for his lover before Lucifer disappeared.

Lucifer took M/n to Barbatos, who was angered by the state of M/n. "What did Asmo do?!" He shouted, snatching the human away from the other... Sobs finally left the silent male's lips, he clung to the butler demon. "Hurts... It hurts." He whispered as Barbatos glared at Lucifer before slammed the door in his face... Lucifer stared.

It had been weeks, Barbatos didn't let anyone see M/n, who was recovering from everything. His body still had marks, the sigils still glowing when someone touched him, and his tongue burned but he knew because it was the longest he had been without a taste of his lover. His breath hitched at the thought. He laid in bed only thinking about his lover but knew he needed some space... At the moment, Asmodeus was just a plague invading his desires and mind.

He closed his eyes.

— • —

M/n was able to go to class, his neck and hands covered in bandages, he reeked of antiseptic, and he looked exhausted. Whispers spread through the school of his arrival. Running footsteps rushed to the class, Asmo burst through the door, a smile broke before it dropped seeing the state that his lover was in. MC shoved his hand into his face and pushed him out the classroom. He shut the door as M/n covered his face... "I wanna taste him." He whispered feeling an unsatisfied thrist return.

The two argued. "I haven't seen him for months! Let me through, MC!" He shouted glaring before MC raised his hand and punched the demon who stared in shock. "Don't you remember why he left in the first place?" MC snapped back. "He's my lover! You have no right to budge into our relationship!" The demon snapped right back. The shouts slowly became louder before the door slammed open, the s/c male stared at the two. "Could you two do this somewhere else? My classmates are trying to do attendance." His voice was dull.

Asmo stared before walking over and held his face, as if he was fragile. "M/n," he was cut off by MC yanking him away. "Sorry, m/n! I'll keep him away!" M/n stared before heading back to class. He hugged his stomach, there was one sigil that didn't leave. The demon brothers made sure to keep Asmo away, it wasn't until lunch time that M/n stood Infront of the group who was trying to stop the brother from crying so loud.

"Asmo," his voice rang out, the brothers looked at him, it was probably the first time in the day they've seen the human. "M/n." Asmo cried breaking free and clinging to the human who stiffened. "I'll take him to the house. Thank you for trying." He said as he picked up the crying demon.

Asmodeus hands gripped at the bandaged and slowly pulled them off. Sounds of wet kisses against the s/c rang out in the room, Asmo sighed fondly as his hands traveled over the body of his lover who merely stiffened at every touched before Asmo carefully held his face and eagerly kissed him... M/n was surprised by the sudden gentleness and care. He nearly fell into the kiss before the strawberry blond slipped his tongue in, making it harder to breath. "Does your body hurt a lot?" He asked between the kiss before nibbling at his bottom lip. "The sigils hurt the most." He whispered back before wincing in pain as his hands brushed against his stomach.

He carefully lifted up his shirt, the sigil glowed brightly, Asmo felt bad, and he leaned down licking the wound. His tongue tasted his blood, it was bitter since he knew it caused so much pain. His eyes gazed over the faded marks he gave... Some leaving scars. Tears fell.

"I ruined you."

He gasped out, his body shaking in guilt before M/n sat up. His hand caressing his face. "I'm sorry," he repeated until he was silenced by a kiss that grew deeper. M/n pushed his lover down and coddled him. "It's okay. You're all I have, Asmo." He whispered, that sentence alone made him shake again. "Why can't you hurt me back?" He whispered, it was like clockwork, M/n closed his eyes ignoring his words before falling asleep.

— • —

Asmodeus seemed to regret a lot, his attention was solely on M/n, it was quite disturbing. Small spa days, make up trips, and f/f dates. "I'm not hurting you," M/n finally spoke, Asmo glared slamming his hand on the fldinner table, alerting the brothers and MC. "M/n! Your body is scarred because of me! Can't you just at least slap me?!" He shouted annoyed. "You know I can't. You're too pretty."

Silence.

"I... Don't try and pull that on me!" He shouted embarrassed. M/n glanced at him. "The demon of lust needs to be flawless, if I hit you then you'd be flawed. I won't hurt you." Asmo scowled, frustrated that this simple human couldn't lay a single hand on him. "But I," he was cut off by a sharp look. "Enough. Asmodeus, I've had enough of this! You can't keep pushing this our of guilt!" The two glared at each other. "You guys are ruining my meal." Beel grumbled. "Sorry, Beel." M/n said before being dragged off by his lover.

— · —

Asmo slammed his hand over his face glaring at him. "Just hit me! Take charge or something!? Aren't you pissed?!" Silence. "I'm tired now." He looked away trying to avoid any unnecessary talking. "M/n!" He kepts his eyes closed. "Can't you pretend to have human emotion!? Is living for thousands of years break you?!" His hand trembled at the thought. "If you're that bored then I'll cut our contract," E/c glared at him. His hands opened the door before throwing Asmo into the room. "Cut our contract? Are you that eager to kill me?" His eyes stared into the eyes of pink. Asmo trembled, he had never acted like this... He couldn't help it. "You're worn out. You think I'd be satisfied with an obedient dog?" He should've kept quiet.

E/c eyes changed, they seemed much more darker than before. His hands travels over his body, marking the demon's body nearly identical to his own. Of course, the marks wouldn't last as long or leave scars. His teeth bit down at his skin, his nails dug into his hips, before his hand squeezed everywhere. "M/n.... M/n..." His cries echoed, his eyes tearing up... Karma. Everything that Asmo done to him, he was returning. His tongue brushed over his crying cock, his tail wrapping around his wrist to stop everything. "Break... Please." He whined out.

His tongue flicked over to the slit before pulling away and licking the spade of the tail. His body jerked. A moan ripped out as he cummed on his face, M/n ignored it and continued to jerk him off not caring for a second. The demon couldn't help but watch the human, his body trembled at the sight, being treated so roughly wasn't bad but he saw the bitterness and resentment. He couldn't help but want to stop M/n. He hated it.

"Why're you crying?" That sentence snapped Asmodeus out of his thoughts. He felt his cheeks wet from his tears and shook his head. M/n was weak, he leaned down and gently kissed him. "I can't cum anymore, I'm sorry." The demon whimpered into the kiss.

Soft whined left his lips as M/n carefully pushed his length into the blonde who shuddered. He tensed, expecting the male to ruin him further... His eyes widened heard soft breathing. His head turned seeing that his lover fell asleep. His breath hitched feeling the warmth of his dick throughout the night. His hands gripped the sheets trying to keep calm, s/c arms trapped him still, his breath hitting his neck and sometimes his ear. He wanting to move, just a single—

His mouth opened feeling the cock dig deeper as M/n cuddled him closer. He covered his mouth. 'Hell. It's completely hell.' the blond couldn't help but think.

— · —

Asmo didn't sleep. His breathing was slowed down as he twitched every second. It was overstimulating, the gently brush of his hand against his stomach, his lips brushing against his skin, and even the sudden movements that M/n would do in his sleep. His shorts completely soaked with cum and water. "Asmo?" M/n whispered tiredly, he finally woke up! "Don't move. I'm trying to sleep." He whispered and pressed against his stomach.

"It's... Too much." Asmo moaned weakly before passing out as M/n hummed and fell back to sleep.

#male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #male y/n #pseudo's ff #seudo's ff #om! asmodeus #asmodeus avatar of lust #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmodues #obey me x male reader #obey me

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