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flowerandblood · 5 months

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The Fall from the Heavens (3)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: oral sex, smut, angst, incest, obsession, violence, swearing, humiliation, chauvinism, mention of injury ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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When he learned of the death of Daemon's wife, he knew it was a sign from the gods that his time had come − Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragoness in the world, was left without a rider.

He thought that at last he would make his father proud, that he would take his niece to Essos as he had promised her.

It seemed to him that the heavens were finally smiling on him, that everything made sense and was slowly beginning to come together, that he could see above the mist that surrounded him his destiny.

As he fled from the fortress in the middle of the night he thought only of the fact that he might die and hoped that if he did, his betrothed would mourn him greatly and never marry any other man.

Her sign of love and loyalty, of respect for his sacrifice for her and their future family.

Vhagar was frightening and huge, like a giant, dark, moving mountain, with her every movement the earth shook around her; he couldn't believe it when she obeyed his command, his body trembled as he climbed the ropes to the great saddle on her back, he screamed with fear and joy as she flew with him into the skies.

He was like Visenya, like Aegon the Conqueror, and his future wife was like sweet Rhaenys.

Everything was as it should be.

He ran through the underground caverns to wake her and tell her everything, to kiss her, to spend the night in her embrace and listen to her assurances that he was fearless, that he was brave and that she was proud to become the wife of the man who had become the rider of the most powerful dragon flying in the skies in their lifetime.

It was then that he came upon them.

He thought he would never let them humiliate himself again, that bastards or weak, quivering little girls who couldn't even tame a dragon would never stand in his way again.

All that mattered was her, and though he knew she would be upset, he felt that she would forgive him, that she would understand that this was revenge for all the years of humiliation he had suffered from them.

And then Luke cut his face with his blade − he suddenly heard his own loud, squeaky, almost girlish scream and grabbed his left eye where he had lost his sight completly.

He was given poppy milk to ease his pain and a stick was put in his mouth that he was told to clamp his teeth on; his mother cried out loud, horrified when she saw what had happened to him, the maester said the eye could not be saved and would have to be taken out.

That he would be a cripple.

He wailed and screamed, feeling the cut of the heated blade on his skin, struggling and writhing like an animal, tied to a chair, and then he stopped feeling anything, staring dully ahead, his mother and Aegon unable to look at it.

He saw her as if in a dream, and though she always smiled at the sight of him, this time she screamed loudly, terror and fear in her eyes.

She covered her mouth with her hand trying to hold back the sounds that came from her throat.

Then he understood.

So what if he had claimed a dragon, if she would never desire him again?

How would she force herself to marry someone who was from now on supposed to look like him?

He returned to King's Landing with the thought that all was lost and he didn't want to see anyone, much less her.

He didn't want her tears of sympathy, her assurances that she still loved him, her pity, the fact that in order not to offend him she would refrain from showing how disgusted she now was by his face.

He was no fool.

Her letter only angered him − he tore it into little pieces clenching his lips, thinking she was an idiot, giving him books now that he had lost one eye, reminding him that he would never see well again, that he would always be defective, that he would have to learn everything from the beginning.

However, as soon as he did so he immediately regretted it and burst out crying, looking at the pieces of parchment lying on his sheets, thinking of how he wished he could read it again because it was her handwriting, her words to him.

His conviction of his ugliness and the fact that what had happened crossed him out in her eyes as a man she could desire deepened his state into complete withdrawal, sinking into the darkness of his thoughts, fears and desires.

He needed someone to loathe, to throw all his ill emotions at, and he had chosen Luke as such a person, however it was the thoughts and dreams of her that kept him awake at night.

Waiting for her letters was his obsession.

She sent one every two months, always on the same day, for many years. At first they were short and full of uncertainty, but then it seemed to him that she had the impression that he didn't read them anyway, so she began to write and confide in someone who no longer existed, revealing to him the darkness and suffering of her own heart.

He was embarrassed by his own reactions, that whenever he saw a sealed message from her lying on his table, he would take it reverently and sit down on a chair by the fire, as if in some kind of ceremony pulling off the lac and unrolling it slowly, feeling his heart beat fast.

Dragonstone appears to me like a prison, like a black coffin, the sky above me full of clouds. I can't remember the last time light dawned in my heart − when I wake up I wonder for a moment about the meaning of it all, only to realise that thinking about it is pointless, it only sinks me further into the darkness.

It seems that the more I move away from what surrounds me, the greater the silence that settles in my head.

After what happened something inside me died.

Not in the aspect of my body, but in the sense of a conviction that something is missing, like when you look in a mirror reassembled from hundreds of pieces and, even though it is whole again, you can clearly see its cracks.

I wonder, are you sleeping well, uncle? Are you having nightmares again? I often return in my dreams to that night. I see you and although I want to say something, I can't get anything out, just as I did then. I wake up with the conviction that I am still a child.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He repeated to himself in his mind that he would read her despairing, feminine ramblings to mock her, but in fact he was immersed in her thoughts, in her world, trying to imagine her, analysing each word with pietism, returning to the sentences that had taken the most root in his heart and would not leave him afterwards for days.

He read her letters for hours, treating such evenings like a sacred day, running his thumb over his lower lip, staring dully ahead in the light of the blazing fire, thinking of her words.

Although he pretended that what she wrote meant nothing to him, once in a while, usually when he was waiting for her next message, he would take all her letters and read them one by one, analysing how her handwriting had changed, now much prettier and assured, how her choice of words had evolved, rich and full of metaphors.

He knew that, like him, she read a lot.

She never brought up the matter of his or her family, the details of their conflict, their betrothal and the fact that his mother had insisted that he marry one of Lord Baratheon's daughters.

When he learned that Rhaenyra planned to marry his niece to her cousin of House Arryn he grabbed all her letters she had sent him over the years, which he kept locked in his wooden drawer, and almost threw them into the fire, hesitating at the last moment, squeezing them in his hand, panting with rage.

Although he kept repeating to himself that it was a good thing he wouldn't have to take a bastard wife, immediately his mind went into a fury at the thought that she might have become someone else's mistress, borne children to other man, and he found himself sinking into her letters again, as if re-appropriating her in this way.

He feared nothing more than that one day she would stop writing to him.

He dreaded what he would do then.

The days when Aegon could mess with him were long gone. His older brother the drunkard knew he was no match for him in hand-to-hand combat, he was taller, smarter and stronger than he was.

Yet it was Aegon who was to inherit everything that would not fall to Rheanyra as future queen.

He wanted to be his opposite in every sense of the word; his appearance made him even more isolated from the opposite sex and he didn not look at women at all, spending long hours in the Great Sept with his mother praying at her request.

If it had been up to him, he would have prayed to the gods of Old Valyria, but he saw her loneliness and loss, and wanted to be a support for her, a son she would be proud of.

Despite what he tried to tell himself, the tension he felt as a man grew stronger within him, even more so in the evenings when he leaned over her letters again, when he thought of her scent, of her hand holding the quill.

He wondered involuntarily what she looked like now, what he would notice if he undressed her, if he exposed her bare breasts to him.

Would they fit in his hand, would they be soft and warm?

Would she moan sweetly if he touched her there?

He tilted his head back, trying to read further, settling himself more comfortably in the chair, his free hand slipping under his breeches, gripping his already half-hard, throbbing manhood.

He imagined that it wasn't his hand but hers that was touching him, that she wasn't disgusted by him, that just like before her hands were stroking his cheeks, her lips were finding his in a sweet, warm kisses.

A murmur escaped his throat at the thought, a wave of heat surged over him and he quickened, fucking himself with his own hand until he came with a low sigh of relief, imagining that she was sitting on top of him, that he had just filled her with his seed, that she was begging him not to stop.

However, when he regained his sanity he felt rage and shame.

He hid her letters in a drawer and did not take them out for weeks, as if offended that it was their fault he had to pray again and beg the gods for forgiveness.

He promised himself that this would not happen again, however, it always ended the same way.

The knowledge that he could not forget her enraged and calmed him at the same time, as if this state was natural, the parallel hatred and desire for her became one and the same in his eyes.

He hated her because he desired her, desired her because he could not have her, could not have her because he hated her.

He locked himself in this circle, not allowing anyone to see what was poisoning his mind and heart.

If in the poems women appeared innocent and bright, she was to him the symbol of his downfall, his flame of his eternal suffering, which burned him every day, but which he did not dare to extinguish knowing that complete darkness would then prevail inside him.

When it became known that Vaemond Velaryon had challenged Luke's claim to the throne of Driftmark he laughed out loud at the Small Council meeting, amused, embarrassing his mother and grandfather.

He thought the gods were cruel but fair.

The grin disappeared from his face, replaced by a strong heartbeat when their Queen conveyed that Rhaenyra, along with her entire family, would appear in King's Landing in a few days to settle the matter.

With her entire family.

He sat by the fireplace that evening, running his thumb over his lips, feeling that there was complete panic in his mind, hundreds of thoughts running through his head.

He wasn't ready for this.

He didn't want to see her.

He wanted nothing more than to see her again.

He was disgusted by her and her brothers, by the fact that he would be sitting at the same table with her.

Would she touch him with her soft hand? Did she still smell of vanilla? Would she whisper that she missed him?

What was he to answer if she did?

Mock her, tell her that she should retain the remnants of her dignity.

Tear off her gown, press his lips to her soft, bare body, saying that he would sooner kill her than let her marry someone else.

He let out a loud shuddering breath, burying his face in his hand, feeling like his head was about to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

He had the feeling that he was losing his mind, that he was descending into madness.

When he saw Jace and Luke among the crowds, when he saw how small and skinny they were compared to him, when he saw their mouths wide open in shock as they realised who they were looking at, he thought he had never felt more satisfied in his life.

"Nephews. Have you come to train?" He asked in a deep, teasing voice feigning concern as he played with the hilt of his sword in his hand, flipping it between his fingers.

He wanted nothing more than to humiliate them in public.

His musings and wild excitement were interrupted by Vaemond's entrance into the courtyard − he grinned broadly at the sight of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction, sighing quietly, thinking of how the gods had rewarded his patience.

He turned impatiently, extending his hand to his servant, willing him to hand him another wooden shield and froze in half-step, out of the corner of his eye noticing a silhouette looking at him from the cloisters.

It seemed to him that his heart knew who was standing there even before it reached his mind, for it began to pound like mad, his breath stopped in his throat.

He forced himself to look there again and that's when he saw her − he couldn't believe how much she had changed.

Although he could see the obvious features and similarities by which he recognised her immediately, her eyes, her eyelashes, the shade of her hair, the shape of her nose and face, it seemed to him that if she had been a bud when she left the Red Keep, she was now a flower that had blossomed, a ripe fruit that begged to be plucked, to bite into its flesh.

He imagined his swollen lips brushing the hollow of her bare neck, the soft skin of her shoulders, the scent of vanilla he would smell and he shuddered, ashamed and horrified at how hard his manhood throbbed in his breeches.

This sight, so clear, blunt, final, completely shocked him, and though it lasted only a moment, he managed to remember the shape of her breasts and hips, the shape of her parted mouth, her terrified gaze full of longing.

He turned away from her, furious, thrusting his sword at Criston, their blades clashing in the air with a loud clang of steel.

That evening he felt that something hung in the air. He felt her presence in the keep and had the impression that if he turned he would see her silhouette behind him.

He played between his fingers with his dagger and looked at it, wondering if he would feel relief if he killed her, if he would then regain control of his body and mind again.

Maybe it was the right path.

Maybe it was because of her that he was unable to move on.

He shuddered and tensed all over when he heard a quiet knock on the door to his chamber − he felt a cold sweat on the back of his neck, knowing that it was her, that destiny had reached him.

He felt it in his bones.

He wanted to remain silent, he wanted to show her that she no longer had access to his world, that he recognised years ago that there was no way for them that they could walk together.

I pray a lot, although I don't know myself to which gods anymore. I guess to any of who would be willing to listen to me. They don't answer me, just like you.

He closed his eye, feeling a squeeze in his throat at the thought of those three sentences that echoed through his mind and heart like a bell, that undeniable desire on her part to be reunited with him that he pretended not to share.

"Come in." He said coldly, feeling the thrill of excitement, his heart pounding so hard that he felt like it was going to burst out of his chest.

The door opened with a quiet creak of wood, and she appeared in it, surrounded by the glow of candlelight, looking like a saint, like a ghost, like an innocent, sweet maiden who was lost in the black maze that had always been meant to lead her to him.

He resigned himself to the fact that there was no escape from it.

She closed the door behind her and turned to look at him; he wasn't sure if it was the flames that was trembling or if it was her body that was quivering all over with fear, in her big eyes terror, desire, suffering, everything she had written to him about.

Only after a moment did he realise that his jaw was clenched, that he was involuntarily still playing with his dagger in his hand as he looked at the indistinct silhouette of her naked body peeking through from under her nightgown, her long dark hair loose, its curls falling freely over her back.

He felt his length throbbing hard at the thought of her coming to him dressed as a lover, as if she were his.

He licked his lower lip with his tongue, catching himself breathing loudly.

Gods, how long he had waited for this.

"Did you received my letters?" She asked quietly, as usual without any further pleasantries, her voice trembled slightly betraying her fear.

He shuddered to hear that she no longer sounded like a child, the way she spoke was melodious and pleasant, soft, warm.

"Yes." He replied in a low, deep voice, sounding like an echo in an endless, dark bottomless well.

He saw that she blinked rapidly, as if she hadn't expected such an answer; she pressed her lips together and swallowed loudly, gathering the courage to say more.

She knew she had ventured into the dragon's cave and might never leave it again.

He knew, he felt that she was aware of what was on his mind, that she saw it in his gaze.

"Have you read them?" She asked at last, there was something final in her question.

He parted his lips slightly, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture, stretching comfortably in his chair, wondering if he should humiliate her with words that he had burned them all.

To let her know that she no longer meant anything to him.

He wanted to say it, but he couldn't.

"Yes, my Lady Strong. I have read them all. Many times, here, in this chair." He hummed, running the blade of his dagger across the armrest, making a deep, chiseled line on it.

Go on, he thought, ask me why I didn't write back, what I thought of your tendentious, weepy musings, what I thought of your feminine, touching guilt, of your weakness, of your coming to me now like a dog to beg forgiveness.

She, however, asked nothing.

He shuddered and threw her a surprised glance as she suddenly moved ahead with a grave expression on her face, as if she had lost interest in the subject, making him feel discomfort.

"Does your mother-whore know you're here?" He asked dryly, wanting to take away her confidence, to embarrass her, to strike at her dignity, reminding her that she herself had come to a grown man in such a shameless negligee.

She, however, merely threw him a surprised glance as she approached his bookshelves, the small one he had been given as a child replaced by three new ones, made of oak wood, high to the ceiling, filled to the brim.

She reached for one of the volumes and he felt a squeeze in his throat when he saw that she had taken out The Reflections on the Dignity of the Ancient Philosopher Areon.

"My, as you put it, mother-whore, never knew when I visited you, uncle. I was very determined not to be caught." She said calmly, but with an air of regret and weariness, as if the situation between them was tiring her, as if she believed that facing him like a ghost from the past would allow her to move on.

He thought they both could have done it, but he wasn't sure if the blade he held in his hand wouldn't have cut her neck then.

He snorted, turning his gaze to the flames, involuntarily turning his dagger in his hand − he grinned despite being tense and bitter.

"Do you often visit men like this?" He asked reluctantly, though inside he was dying to prove to himself that surely she had already slept with her guards or other men who would give her pleasure, that the sweet, innocent girl he remembered was long gone.

He heard her footsteps and felt her presence; he lifted his eye to her, surprised, and noticed that her gaze was cloudy, her brow furrowed.

She looked as if she had been exceptionally offended by those very words.

"Have you no shame?" She asked him in a cool, trembling voice; he could feel the pain in the way she asked the question, his lips tightened into a thin line.

He was struck by how direct the question was.

He wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

But before he had time to respond with anything, to finally stab her in the back with words that were like poison, she began to speak, as if a dam had suddenly burst inside her and her thoughts poured out at him.

"I don't know who you are, the man who sits now before me, but if there is even a fragment of the boy I was meant to marry in you, let that boy know that he was and will be the only one in my heart. He was my beloved friend and I failed him. It is hard to live with the thought that someone you loved so deeply has died in a way, but there is neither a grave to pray over nor any hope of peace for his soul. What I fear is that the boy I knew has disappeared among the darkness and is dying in it every day."

He was ashamed that he felt a squeeze in his throat, that he felt a burning under his eyelids, that his heart was pounding like mad, that he froze completely in disbelief and shock as he stared at her wide-eyed.

She bursted into sobs in front of him, as if she was really mourning someone's death, and he didn't know what to do – even if he wanted to humiliate her, tell her to leave, he couldn't get anything out of himself.

He drew in air loudly and his whole body stiffened, the dagger fell out of his hand with loud clatter when she surprised him completely by sitting down on his lap, snuggling into him like a little child.

He had the feeling that she was not embracing him in the here and now, but a figure from the past that she missed so much.

"– forgive me – forgive me – forgive me –" She whined in a desperate, trembling, quivering voice.

He felt he was struggling to catch his breath, his nostrils filled with her scent, the smell of vanilla, her familiar warmth, his manhood hidden beneath his breeches swelled in response to this sudden, unexpected closeness, hitting her stomach.

She shuddered feeling it and looked up at him, her face flooded with tears, terrified and ashamed, her gaze asking him what she had just felt underneath her.

He began to breathe through his mouth, feeling the panic rising inside him because of the heat and tingling he felt in his lower abdomen.

There were drops of her tears on her eyelashes, her eyes big, her gaze hot, tender, terrified, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her lips puffy and plump, slightly parted in an accelerated breath.

"– can I kiss you? –"

He wasn't sure if he really heard it, it seemed to have only resounded in his head as his memory of that sunny day, but involuntarily he leaned lower.

He sighed as if relieved when her arms suddenly embraced his neck, her plump breasts snuggled into his tunic, and her wonderfully wet, soft lips pressed against his in a sticky, loud kiss.

They both moaned into each other's mouths as they felt his erection throb under her again, harder this time − he wasn't sure if it was his will that guided the movements of his hands as one clamped down on her hip and the other on the back of her neck, holding her in place, not allowing her lips to pull away from his as he slid his tongue deep into her throat.

They both trembled as he tentatively began to rock his hips, rubbing against her from below, teasing her palate with the tip of his tongue, overwhelmed by her familiar closeness and scent, her so-needed, gentle hands stroking his hair and cheeks, her thumb running over his scar under his eye patch.

The sight of her body, her sweetly parted lips, her hot gaze in which everything lurked, and her scent, the smell of fucking vanilla filled his entire mind.

He rubbed his already hard cock against the place between her thighs again and again, panting heavily, sliding his free hand under the material of her nightgown, placing it on her naked, hot hip, digging his fingertips into her wonderfully soft skin.

He saw the blush on her sweet, innocent face, her hips in a slow, smooth motion began to move back and forth, pressing what was underneath her; he shuddered all over feeling it and they both sighed quietly as her fingers ran over his jaw.

"− uncle −" She whispered softly into his mouth, exactly like in his dreams, like when he touched himself between his thighs with his hand.

With longing and desire.

He was unable to remember when she pressed her sweet-tasting lips to his again, hugging her soft breasts into the fabric of his tunic, what the reason for their disagreement was, it seemed to him to be completely trivial and unfounded.

He thought it was obvious that the lovers had argued with each other and then reconciled.

That was all he thought about as he undid the ties of her nightgown, sucking and caressing her fleshy, moist mouth, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders with his swollen lips, leaving wet, hot marks on her skin – his hands slid it slowly off her arms, revealing her bare body, her lovely breasts, unashamedly before him.

He delighted in this sight, almost mythological, noble, for breasts were the joy of husbands and the source of milk for their offspring, something beautiful, admirable.

He could feel her trembling all over in his hands, terrified by her negligee; he was sure now that no one had ever seen her naked before him and this thought spread like a wonderful, hot wave through his body.

"− easy − your uncle will treat your body with proper respect −" He murmured in a deep voice trembling with arousal, his large hand grasped one of her breast and squeezed it tentatively; he sighed feeling how warm and soft it was.

She moaned innocently in front of him, making his long erection press against her lower abdomen again.

He grasped her cheeks in his hand, with a brutal, sudden movement drawing her face closer to his, his fingers ran over her soft, wet, full lips.

"− please −" She mumbled, her gaze warm and hazy, her little body trembling in his embrance.

He decided to take pity on her, sliding his tongue deep inside her throat, stifling her loud mewl.

His thumb began to tease and play with her nipple, making her whole body shivered; he felt her hands tighten in his hair, her lips melt into his in a quick, hot dance of saliva and teeth.

"− uh − it tickles − here –" She muttered, rubbing against his swollen erection with her hips, as if she really didn't know what was happening to her, as if she wanted him to help her understand what her body was trying to tell her, however he, hearing this, lost his temper.

Despite the material of his breeches separating them where their bodies met, he could feel her moisture.

She was wet.

She wanted him inside her.

"− it's understandable − you missed your uncle − hm? −" He murmured into her mouth with a kind of tenderness and understanding that surprised him, as if it had been obvious that this was how it would end.

She nodded quickly like a child who agreed with his teacher, who wanted to be guided, to be shown what was right.

She squealed as he stood up with her, holding her in his arms, just thinking about the fact that he hadn't felt this calm for years, the sight of her, the smell of her made his head spin.

He couldn't even remember why he was mad at her, why he hadn't written her back, why he wanted to kill her.

How could he ever hurt her, his sweet little wife?

"− lie on your back − yes, just like that −" He murmured with delight, looking at her partially exposed body; her lips was pink and puffy from his caresses, her breath heavy as she looked at him dreamily, watching as he began to undo the fastenings of his tunic, getting rid of it, leaving only his shirt and breeches.

He climbed onto the bed with a loud creak of wood, not quite sure what he should do, sensing subconsciously, however, that this was the day of their reunion, their reconciliation after years of separation, the figures of Lord Baratheon's daughters and Lord Arryn's son seemed to him nothing more than a joke.

He knew that he couldn't take her maidenhood, deprive her of her virtue even it was the only thing he desired now and, desperate, he reminded himself about what his brother said to him one day.

Then he was embarrassed by his words, but now he thought that he could make use of them.

Aegon spoke to him of how wonderful it was to taste the woman between their thighs, that they quivered with delight when he licked them there, and since he would devour her whole if he could, he decided to try.

She was horrified and distraught when she saw his face between her thighs; he thought, lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips, that her womanhood reminded him of a flesh of a fruit, pink, moist and fleshy.

She tried to push him away, asking him fearfully what he was going to do as he leaned down, but she only tilted her head back as his tongue ran over her leaking, throbbing, hot slit, the sound she made surprised even him.

"− o-oh, gods −" She whimpered as he licked devotedly what spilled out of her, the taste and flesh of his future wife, her proof that she didn't despise him, that she still wanted him, that her little cunt was waiting for him and for his caresses.

"− have you touched yourself here? −" He gasped between one lick of his tongue and the next, her thighs trembling in his hands, her fingers clenched in his hair, trying to rub against his face.

He grinned involuntarily sensing her desperation, seeing that she nodded and ran the tip of his nose over the puffy bud hidden between her folds, making her moaned loudly.

Encouraged, he grasped it in his mouth and began to suck on it, licking it with his tongue; her whole body arched, uncontrollable whines erupted from her mouth. He tried to cover her lips with his hand, fearing that someone would eventually hear it, but she clamped her hands on his wrist, blocking his movements.

"− please, uncle, too much − too much −" She whimpered, trying to escape; he stopped, seeing that her body was shaking in convulsions, surprised how sensitive the female body was and how many secrets it hid.

He thought he now understood why it was Rhaenys that Aegon the Conqueror wanted in his bed.

In the art of the body, one could not be aggressive and brutal as on the battlefield.

What they were doing was some sort of a feast, tasting and satisfying their desires, full of moistures and hot embraces.

He hummed as he leaned down again, intrigued, and slowly slipped his tongue deep inside her, feeling how rough and wet her fleshy walls were, groaning quietly as her wonderful taste spread across his palate.

"− uncle − mghmm −" She mumbled, breathing hard, with each flick of his tongue inside her drifting away more and more, he could feel her insides pulsing all over around nothing.

"− it'll be wonderful to feel it clench around my fat cock one day − don't you think, sweet niece? −" He asked, pressing his face closer to her body, licking and rubbing her walls in place that when he touched it with the tip of his tongue she trembled the most, moaning helplessly, her hips coming up to meet his face, her breathing getting louder and louder.

"− oh g-gods, Aemond − oh gods,oh gods,oh gods −" She mewled, startling him as she raised herself up on her elbow, tilting her head back, bliss and delight painted on her face, her plump, glossy lips parted in sweet moans as if in disbelief that something so wonderfully pleasurable had shaken her body.

It was the first time he had ever seen female fulfilment and it was a stunning, wonderful sight.

He groaned low as he felt how much moisture flowed out of her, kissing her hot, throbbing entrance devotedly, slowly licking everything off, not wanting to waste a drop, even though she begged him to stop.

Everything he drank from her was for him, the wonderful nectar of his sweet wife.

He rose on his knees, wiping his face with his hand, looking at her in disbelief, panting loudly; she lay as if without strength, with her hands spread on either side of her head, her plump, puffy lips slightly parted in ragged breath.

His niece.

"Touch me." He demanded, slipping off his breeches, taking her hand in his, with a desperate, sudden movement clamping her fingers on his swollen, twitching erection, leaking from his own wetness. They both moaned helplessly when, with movements of his hand, he showed her how she was to touch him.

She looked up at him in shame, squeezing his long, swollen manhood with sure up and down strokes, feeling it throb all over in her grasp; he rocked his hips involuntarily, sensing that he was embarrassingly close to fulfillment.

"− fuck − fuck, come here −" He gasped, grabbing her by her hair, forcing her to rise up and kiss him − their lips collided in a sticky, messy kiss, the combination of their tongues and their saliva, the smell of her, the sight of her bare body, the scent of her sex, her moisture around them, proof of what they were doing.

Against their gods, against their family.

He didn't care what happened next.

"− don't fucking stop − faster − fuck-fuck-fuck −" He hissed and groaned low, surprised at the helpless sound that came from his throat, coming with a sigh of relief onto her nightgown, his translucent, pearly spend spurting out onto her, startling her; he hushed her with his kisses, whispering to her between the sticky brushes of their lips.

"− easy, it's just me − shhh −" He whispered, letting go of her hand, allowing her to release her grip, her fingers all sticky with his seed.

"− lick it off − don't waste a drop −" He growled, wrinkling his eyebrows.

She swallowed loudly, all red with shame at his lewd words, obediently licking her finger after finger, looking him straight in the eye. He watched her with satisfaction, grinning, thinking of how obedient and good a wife she would indeed be.

"− you are going to spend the night with me −"

______

From the author: In Stay and love, leave and die oneshot Aemond would not allow her to enter his chamber, he would remain silent - in his opinion, she had forgotten about him and suddenly wanted to regain his favor, which he found pathetic and irritating, not worth his attention. None of her letters reached him through the years, having been intercepted and burned by Otto. The next day, he informed his mother that either she would leave the Red Keep or he would, and she decided to return to Dragonstone so as not to escalate the conflict. In that universe, they actually speak to each other only in Strom's End.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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woodland-gremlin · 6 days

Text

Summoning Your Secret Boyfriend Pt. 5

First Previously AU Summary

“What do you mean by the Anti-Ecto Acts?” Constantine asked, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t what it sounded like. Because if it was it was likely they would be dealing with something worse than Trigon.

“The Anti-Ecto Acts declared all beings that produce or require ectoplasm as non-sentient and unfeeling imprints that are to be handed over to the government for experimentation and extermination. Every being in the Infinite Realms is made of ectoplasm, it is what carbon is like for us,” Supernova said.

“Those acts made the persecution and mass genocide of their people legal and their very existence illegal. The only reason they didn’t accept those Acts as a declaration of war for the whole planet or dimension is the innocent people. After all they were ruled by a tyrant for multiple millennias, they understood that the acts of one being or group doesn’t define the whole. But that doesn’t change the fact that they would protect their people if provoked. They already had a war with the organization that created those laws. If we told you about them you could have provoked them in condemning this whole planet. After all without the League we would be open to other invaders,” Red Robin finished.

Batman scowled. Everyone else looked horrified, especially the JLD. Zantenna’s magic glitched causing random things to levitate around her. Captain Marvel zoned out, trying to process all the new and terrifying information, while unknowingly to everyone else arguing with the Gods in his head. Raven looked even worse than when she learned that her Father would try to use her as a portal to invade Earth. And Constantine? Well, he looked like he was about to become the newest Halfa.

“You’re telling me that the U.S. government basically declared war against the Infinite Realms?! The in-between of the multiverse? The place that houses beings more powerful than gods? And yet we’re still somehow alive?” Constantine screeched.

Batman cut in, “If what you say is true and they are as dangerous as Constantine says it only means that you should have told us. It is our job to deal with issues like that.”

“Un-un,” Constantine grunts, “Did you not hear anything they said, Batsy?! We are lucky! Lucky, you hear me! It is a stinking miracle that the Realms didn’t just destroy our dimension and be done with it. Pariah Dark has done it for less.”

“Even so-”

“‘Even’ nothing. Now we are going to drop this, summon the new King, beg them for forgiveness and for them to deal with Trigon, and fix those disastrous laws!” Constantine declared while pulling out a book with a strange aura out of his coat pocket.

To be continued . . .

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raz-writes-the-thing · 2 months

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These Old Things (Gomens Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader

Summary: Crowley has a bit of a self-revelation when his wings pop out upon seeing you.

Fic type: romantic fluff.

EVERYTHING: @winchxters

GOMENS: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 @motionlessindoubt @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @florduarte @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @jaziona92 @slightlymediocree @strwbrrfd @paper-and-stardust (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Crowley didn't even realise it at first. He was so busy watching you. You- so perfectly human. So perfectly ordinary. You weren't even doing anything super out there either- you were just... out on your balcony watering a plant.

And yet to Crowley, a demon of Hell and a fallen angel, you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. How could you not be, really?

When you turn around, Crowley's worried he's about to get whisked away by some horrifying Hell-beast sent to drag him back down under and no, he doesn't mean Australia. Although sometimes he had to wonder if Australia wasn't some elaborately planned prank to poorly imitate Hell. But that was a different question.

Anyway, where was he? Oh, yes, when you turned around and made eye contact with him, Crowley thought that given the look on your face, maybe Hastur had somehow made a triumphant return. That would have been less than stellar and Crowley wasn't quite sure what to make of the implications of that if it were true.

"Mm- what," Crowley asked, brows creasing in concern as he twisted his rather bendy neck to look behind him. Seeing a swish of black cross over his shoulder, Crowley wondered just what it could- oh. Oh. His- his wings were out. Why were his wings out?

"You- you're-" you stuttered, pansies forgotten and drowning under the water you were still pouring on top of them.

"I am," Crowley replied, just as confused as you.

"God, Crowley," you breathed, setting the watering can down without breaking your gaze away from the feathered appendages stretching and flittering against the breeze in your apartment.

"Mm," Crowley hummed. "Not so much on the first, but go on."

He's nervous, you realise. About your reaction. He's worried you're going to react negatively and he's going to have to leave you. Silly demon. You could never.

"They're gorgeous," you rushed out, stepping towards him, hand outstretched gingerly. "Can I touch one?"

"Sure, I guess," he answered, actually looking rather unsure. He swallowed thickly when you make contact, fingers softly trailing the ridges of a feather. "These old things- had them for ages. Since the dawn of time, really... Almost."

"Where'd they come from?" You asked, ignoring his rambling. "As in- just now?" You clarified quickly. If you didn't, you were sure to receive a deflective answer.

"Not sure, really. Think maybe- because I was thinking about something. 'Bout you."

"About me?" Your eyes darted to his and you immediately understood. You could see it in those slitted eyes. He was in love. With you. Crowley was in love with you. Not that you didn't already know that- what with having been together for a good few months by now, but he had finally really and truly come to the realisation on his own. You were his forever.

"About you," he confirmed, voice soft.

It was a good think he was your forever, too.

#good omens #gomens #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #one shot #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #crowley x reader fluff #crowley fluff #david tennant #crowley gomens #crowley x y/n #crowley x you #gomens x reader #good omens x reader

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sissa-arrows · 4 months

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God, I read liberal Zionists & centrists and I’m just so insanely happy that Algeria got its independance 60 years ago, imagine the horrifying opinions and articles about the FLN.

I mean we still got the horrifying opinions and articles about the FLN and about Algerians in general but we sure did avoid social media and whenever colonizers open their throats online I’m glad that I wasn’t alive back then and I admire Palestinians and Sahrawi people especially the women who stay strong despite all the doxing, insults, threats and constant dehumanization.

1st headline: Brutal terrorist soar in Algeria

2nd headline: Algeria is France and France won’t recognize any other authority than itself on its own territory

3rd headline: Really bad situation in Algeria where outlaws attacked military outposts

4th headline: Mr.Guy Mollet will have extended special powers for Algeria

5th headline: De Gaulle “I understand you!” (It’s about De Gaulle speech reassuring the settlers telling them he understood them and intended to keep Algeria under French rule.

6th headline: Bloody insurrectional movement started on Saturday at noon is crushed in a couple hours

7th headline: Good catch in a murderers den in the Casbah (the people they call murderers were the Freedom fighter under the orders of Yacef Saadi)

8th headline: You need to get in the mountains and stay there. Out first objectif “pacify” the rest will happen naturally.

That being said… this is how it ended. With headlines about ceasefire and independence. And this is also how it will end for Palestine. With a ceasefire followed by freedom and independence from colonialism.

9th headline: A huge victory for peace: ceasefire in Algeria

10th headline: With independence and teamwork; Algeria will live.

#palestine #algeria #colonialism #settler colonialism #anti colonialism #ask

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tangerinesgirl · 9 months

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For my next trick...

Buggy X Fem!Reader

Summary: Buggy invades your village and takes you all hostage as audience members. You decide to stand up for yourself but Buggy has very cruel and unusual punishments.

Word count: 500+

Rating: 18+, explicit, no minors, yandere

Warnings: YANDERE/DEAD DOVE/DARK!FIC, smut, rape, noncon, 18+, cockwarming, public sex, a bit silly at times

"Gooooooood evening out there how is everyone?"

There's a horrified silence. Moments ago this clown pirate ransacked your home, your entire village, and now he's making a song and a dance about it. He's centre stage, spotlight on him, gesturing to everyone, to whoop and cheer.

"That's your cue, look there's even an applause sign, and you still fucked it up", he scrunches his fists against his forehead in irritation.

"Again! This time, if you don't clap your hands, I'll cut them off. Understood?"

There's a quiet sob coming somewhere from the crowd.

"Goooood evening ladies and gentlefolk, how are you doing out there?"

There's a smattering of applause, almost sarcastic.

"Okay a slight improvement I guess".

You don't clap, instead you follow a weird gut feeling, it'll probably cost you your life but you've already lost everything, and it'll be fun to mess with him you decide. So you cup your hands around your mouth and give a loud "BOOOOO!".

The clown snaps up at you and tilts his head, curious, "oooh a brave little girl, I think we've just had our first volunteer of the night. Let's give her a round of applause!".

A few of his lackeys grab you roughly by the shirt collar and drag you down the stairs, throwing you on the floor in front of him. He bends down and grabs your hair, pulling it so you're forced to look at him.

"You're so much prettier on your hands and knees darling", he whispers in your ear. You spit on his face and he lets go of your hair in surprise.

He looks you up and down, "that was actually really hot... do it again".

You try to run for the door but his crew grab you again and slam you down to the floor and tie you to it. Leather cuffs attached to a pulley system are being strapped to your arms and legs. You squirm but there's too many crew members to shake off. He keeps his distance this time and paces around you.

He steps on your head moving it to the side, investigating, "Just how I like my women, feisty and chained up."

He claps his hands in anticipation and talks to the audience, "So who wants to see my first trick up my sleeve?", the audience have no choice but to clap.

"Well actually, not technically up my sleeve. It's actually in here", he starts to unbuckle his belt.

You scream out for help, the chains clinking as you do.

"Crew, shut her up. And open those pretty legs of hers too while you're there".

Someone ties a cloth around your mouth, another turns a wheel that pulls your ankle restrains apart. The wheel stops just as you groan out in pain. Meanwhile the clown is hyping up the audience, you're not quite sure what he's saying as you're wincing in pain. He's unbuttoned his pants and the next think you see is his dick just flying around the audience, with various "oohs" and "aahs". You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion and bewilderment. Oh my god, this guy is an actual psychopath. You start to cry as you scream through the cloth harshly. The clown suddenly has knives coming out of his knuckles and he cuts your panties away. He giddily sits down next to your head. He licks away a tear and pats your face twice, patronisingly.

He turns to the audience, "I don't think she can take me, what do you think? Should I let her go?"

The audience boo and spur him on. His dick in mid air wriggles comedically like it's revving up.

"WELL okay, if you insist! 3, 2, 1..." His dick zooms past the audience and goes straight into your pussy. A crew member honks a horn off stage as it does so. You clench your toes and cry out in pain at the sheer force, and also at the size, as it hits right against your cervix. The dick removes itself and slams into you again and again.

The clown whispers, "you know I was going to cut your tongue out after this, but maybe I'll keep you. Even though my dick is detached right now, I feel everything," he moans, he's getting off on all of this.

His dick starting to slow down the pace, "You take me so well... Maybe I'll keep you... My personal slave".

His dick stops inside you, it twitches and you start to feel his seed seeping into you. He's panting and groaning right next to your ear, this sends you over the edge and your body betrays you and cums too.

He laughs and says, "Mm I felt that. You fucking liked it, you sicko. I'm definitely keeping you".

Your combined cum leaks out of you onto the circus floor, his dick still inside you.

"I think I'll stay here for a bit. You feel so good, I think I'll be up for round two in a moment. Maybe I'll fuck your mouth next. That will shut you up once and for all."

His words make you clench around him and he moans again, his dick already getting hard, "You're such a freak. You're gonna fit in here just fine".

#buggy x reader #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #fanfic #fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #yandere #one piece buggy #one piece live action #one piece netflix #fic #buggy the clown fic #fem reader #afab reader #buggy x y/n #buggy/reader #buggy/yn

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artiststarme · 4 months

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Here’s a little something something prompted by @nburkhardt. I wanted to go angstier but she specifically requested a happy ending lol.

Enjoy and leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

As fall grew into winter, Steve started to feel more and more wrong-footed. Gone we’re the dinner invitations from the Wheelers and the drop-in visits from Dustin. They had better things to do, he guessed, than have over the town’s loser for company. Just like the weather, he also grew cold. With each lost invite and every day alone, the chasm in his chest grew until there was only emptiness where his hope used to be.

One day though, it all made sense. Mike and Dustin blew into Family Video with Eddie Munson in tow. They were all laughing and speaking in weird voices that only they understood. It seemed that Steve had been replaced as the “older male figure”, still creepy, and he’d been replaced by Munson. The moat between him and the kids only seemed to widen when he refused to rent them a rated R movie and Eddie rented it himself.

He’d been replaced. After everything they’d gone through, the fate he’d always imagined but hoped wouldn’t, had come. Everywhere he looked, he noticed. He saw Munson driving the kids home from school, saw them walking in town together, and even saw Eddie being invited into the Henderson home for dinner on one particular Tuesday. His worst fear had come true; the kids didn’t need him anymore. Worst yet, it seemed they didn’t even want him.

Instead of wallowing in the well-deserved self-pity, he moves on. Steve distances himself from the kids (not that they notice) and picks up a second job. He doesn’t love working at Melvald’s but Mrs. Byers’ position was open and he was desperate. He needed to save all the money he could so that he and Robin could move once she graduated. Steve couldn’t let her leave without him just because he didn’t have the funds to leave Hawkins. He didn’t know what he’d do if she left him too.

So he worked himself to exhaustion and avoided Robin’s questions at work and Mrs. Henderson’s curious glances at the grocery store. He hides in the back room of Family Video when Munson tracks him down to gloat and locks his front door to avoid the kids if they were ever to come to his house and rub it in.

He continues his melancholic loathing until he couldn’t anymore. Eventually his lack of sleep and empty diet had to catch up to him and catch up to him it did. Embarrassingly, it caught up to him right as he started yelling about Munson replacing him right to Eddie’s face and he passed out in his arms like some damsel in distress.

When he woke up in the hospital, it wasn’t a huge surprise. He’d felt it coming just as he’d felt the kids pulling away. What was a surprise was the ringed hand wrapped in his and the soft lull of someone reading Lord of the Rings to him.

The sleeping Henderson mother sitting in the chair at the end of his bed was also a surprise albeit the hissing cat in her lap was not. God, Steve hated Mews 2.

When everyone woke up, there would be screaming and crying and an outpouring of love. Steve would see that Eddie didn’t replace him but instead aimed to join him as a part of the family. He’d show him through hand-holding, kisses, and bringing Steve lunch in his free period.

Steve could finally see how loved he was as part of the Henderson family. He also saw how fun it was to be the older brother once he could gross Dustin out by flirting with his boyfriend in front of him. And the best part? Eddie liked horrifying the kid too.

#steve and robin still leave when they have enough money #but steve brings Eddie and keeps contact with Dustin and Claudia #ugh not my best work #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #claudia henderson

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tobbotobbs · 1 year

Note

what about cod men with reader who BLASTS music like ayesha erotica, nikki minaj and etc randomly while chilling or has headphones and does that while on field

Ohhhh I think they would probably be all so confused or worried if it happened in the middle of a mission lol, here my thoughts to that scenario:

When Ghost heard you playing Nasty from Ayesha for the first time on the middle of interrogating someone they captured and kept alive on their mission, he was very irritated. Soap tried to get the new, right information out of the soldier meanwhile you two and Gaz stood in the darker corner, staring at the horrified man as you quietly sang the lines of the song playing over your headset.

,,Damn I'm sorry I blew you off, I was doing lunch with Microsoft. I'm sucking off a C.E.O, if he's not a millionaire then I've got to go~"

,,What the hell?! Y/n quit that singing! What even is that?", Ghost looked disgusted at you, questioning why he was even befriended with you in first place but quick to remember that you're actually his favorite person on earth, except for when you were listening to sich filth. In the middle of a mission. He quickly became used to it though, just told you once in a while to keep it down or put the music off if the operation was in need of your attention. He didn't enjoy the music as it was, the text too vulgar and flithy for his liking, but he couldn't deny that the melodies of some of your songs were quite catchy sometimes. Of course he grew even more annoyed when you and Gaz would play songs together on base and Soap would jump in on it with his ugly singing.

He didn't knew you were listening to that kind of music. He sometimes heard you playing some songs as loud as you could in your room, but he never understood a thing of what was sang and your door was always locked, as if to keep people out from seeing you dance some kind of risky dance to this music. Oh boy, if he knew.

Emo Boy was suddenly playing. It scared the shit out if Soap, Kyle and yourself even though it was your ringtone.

,,Oh shit! Sorry guys, Mama's calling. Don't wait for me with the movie!", you were smiling at them and quickly picking up and talking to your mum over the phone.

,,Was that-", ,,Emo Boy by Ayesha Erotica?", ,,Oh. My. God. I heard that right?!!?", ,,Yeah...I didn't know Y/n would listen to that type of music Soap!", ,,Me neither Gaz...it's a catchy song though", ,,Oh it really is. Probably why he chose it?", ,,Yeah...you think he's also into other songs of that genre?", ,,Maybe. Are you?", ,,Oh hell nuh. Not me, no no".

Gaz raises a brow at that and smirks. Then they both start laughing. ,,Oh you are so listening to this kind of music man!", ,,Pah, and if I am? You knew the song by name and artist by just a few seconds of melody playing!", ,,Ah yeah you got me there mate heh"

,,Alright guys, I'm back! Let's start this movie night shall we?", you grinned and sat next to Kyle again, who just smiled at you and nodded, reaching for the remote control. ,,Tell me, is that the music you alway listen and dance to in your room?", ,,Uhm yeah, whx Kyle?", ,,...Wanna show me one of those dances someday?", he grinned suggestively and you just giggled at that.

Oh this man showed you this tyoe of music, actually. He was playing some song from Doja Cat on the radio of the car from his so nicely called "Hype or Horn Me Up" playlist. You were confused at first. The words used in the songs were...interesting. And Soap was dancing and tapping to it like he was in some dance off. It was amusing and fun. Of course his taste in music wore off on you and so it surprised noone on the team when you were running past them on the field, gun in hand while looking as if you had the time of your life, the could hear for a short time the music blasting through your headphones as you went to go for the next kills.

,,I ain't tryna be cool like you hmmhmhmhmm", you sang while aiming to shoot an enemy, the new song coming on another Doja Cat favourite of you and soap. Hitting the target clean in the head you smirked. ,,I'm bitch. I'm a boss. I'm bitch, I'm a boss, I'm a shine like gloss!", ,,Oi yes you are Darlin!", Soap beamed from behind you. Price was just sighing and pinching his nosebridge while Ghost was just standing next to him like an annoyed older sibling.

You guys would play this type of music all around the base, 24/7. All week long. Until Price got so mad he made you do the dishes and gave you one month of cleaning duty. You did in fact not keep it down afterwards and everyone just had to live with it. Some of the younger recruits actually enjoyed it and envied you guys for that, made them feel less stressed and more relaxed.

Oh boy. Oh. Boy. He nearly died. First time you blasted that music on the car ride to some pub out of town because you guys all got some time off duty? He was thinking about how he could never go to heaven now, or even just into a church. He would perish just standing on the steps of a church. But then he remembered, he wasn't even religious. So that was fine. But then he thought "Why the fuck is this muppet listening to THAT?!!?!?". You currently sat in the driver's seat and danced to S.L.U.T by Bea Miller. Before that a song way worse was playing, Price recalled (it was I Want Your Bite by Cara Cunningham). This one now wasn't too bad. It was quite nice actually. Way more innocent than ghe other one. John was thankful for that, he grew very hot and was all flustered by the other song which made him feel a little uncomfortable.

,,Oh we're nearly there Cap!", ,,Y-Yes. Just...just put the car to a stop yeah?", ,,Whatever you say Captain!", you smiled while the next song came on. ,,Oh my god this one is so good!". Price looked over to you, awaiting something more innocent again like before. He thought wrong.

,,Ride it, slide it, bite, get inside it

Come on, touch my body

I know that you like it, you can't hide it

Come on touch my body

Hotter, bigger, faster, longer, thicker

Come on touch my body!", you sang loud and proud to the lines of Treat Me Like A Slut by Kim Petras. John officially was a tomato now. He loved seeing you having your fun, but this was surely and never will be his kind of music choice.

,,Treat Me Like A Slut, little dirty bitch I love to fuck!", ,,Okayyy I think it's- oh look there's the pub! Get us a good parking lot and then we'll have some fun kid, a'right?", ,,Yes!".

Poor guy always gets all red when he hears some of his boys play such music. And with Soap and you, and occasionally also Kyle, on his team that was a lot of times. But he wouldn't be too mad about it. Just sometimes id you played it too loud or while he was in an important meeting. He did enjoy seeing you all have your fun so he is not too strict with punishments.

You are playing some pretty filthy, nasty song in your shared house. Ale just came back from grocery shopping, Rudy in tow helping him with the bags. You were wearing just a shirt and boxers while singing to the song, looking through some magazines on the couch and just waiting for Alejandro to be back. He new of your guilty pleasure for those songs, this kind of music. He adored the way you would get all red sometimes when he talked about it to you, but he doesn't judge. He actually listens to songs like this as well. Obviously in spanish. He showed you some in his native language and you enjoyed them, even if you didn't know what was said.

Alejandro would laugh sometimes when you randomly put the music on while you were in a fight. It always made his mood go all the way up hearing and seeing you enjoy this music, especially if you would listen to the spanish ones he had shown you. For him it is no problem. He trusts you with being focused on missions so he allows you to listen to music, sometimes you even listen together over the radio.

The same goes for Rodolfo, but the poor guy would be worried sick if you would start blasting loud music on missions out of nowhere. Give the little guy a warning beforehand so he doesn't shoot you out of shock hehe. He also shows you songs in spanish, some that are not as filthy as yours but have the same kind of energy and he translates them for you.

Little german/austrian boy listens to filthy music himself. He is the biggest Rammstein fan there is. One of his favourite songs is probably Bück Dich (Bend Over) and Dicke Titten (Big Boobs/Big Tits). He also really enjoys Labyrinth by OOMPH! It's not really filthy with words but the meaning is pretty dirty. It's also a banger like, he was so happy you enjoyed listening to music with him. To that kind of music as well. He really wantes to visit a Rammstein concert with you someday, if you said yes.

He doesn't listen to music on the job though. And because he's your colonel he asked you kindly to not do it either. On the flight to wherever the mission was? Yes of course he will even listen with you to calm his nerves. At the base? Sometimes he even gets Horangi to join you guys, who really hates this kind of music because he heard too much of it in hia home country (he absolutely hates kpop and all the horny people coming with it).

When you showed him some of your favourite artists and they would sing too fast or use words he didn't understand, you would try to translate for him and the most funny german ever. He told you it was fine to try to explain in english but you really wanted to make him happy and maybe even laugh a little when you tried to explain that the person in the song just sang "Ich möchte in deinen Titten ertrinken" (I wanna drown on those tits/boobs of yours). He is so sweet if someone came up and would make fun of you listening to such music, like he would finally use his rank for once and make them regret for ever saying that to you.

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vetitiscripta · 7 months

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i wanna see ren grow horrified when he realizes mc only follows instruction because theyre literally being controlled by strade. i want to see him question it all and maybe even lose it a bit when he realizes mc hadn't acted alone. and most of the violence had been the same man he'd let bleed out that day on the ground. i want to see how bad that takes a toll on his mind.

anon your mind. mentally kissing you on the mouth anon

for those who missed it- this is regarding my ghost strade au

for this au, i like to think that strade can really only interact/“control” mc in certain moments, probably something like due to strong emotions (take that as you will 😏) or whatever

but god!! ren thinking that mc genuinely wants to do this type of stuff or hang out with him of their own free will only to find out its all because of strade. he would start thinking about everything that has happened and would wonder if any of it was genuine

he’d think about the time he found you late at night on the couch, watching one of strade’s old snuff films. he thought that you had finally understood, had come to appreciate the beauty of it all like he had. he cuddled with you on the couch as you put on another one on. (you had woken up that night in a cold sweat, an intense urge to watch one. strade stood in the corner of your room just watching you, smile on his face every time you looked at him. you tried to ignore the urge, ignore him, but it eventually wore you down. you trudged down the stairs and stood in front of the dvds, letting strade pick the one he wanted. you watched 3 films before ren found you, your tears already dried)

he’d remember the time you willingly slept in the same bed with him for the first time. it was late at night and he was trying to find an anime to watch when you softly knocked on his door. when he opened the door you were basically shaking, eyes darting around. “can i sleep with you tonight?” ren was over the moon when you asked, basically had hearts in his eyes (he’s down bad don’t make fun of him). he thinks you’ve come around, you finally see that you love him like he loves you. he happily welcomes you in his bed, arms wrapped around you so tight you fear he may snap you in half, anime playing in the background as you both fall asleep. (strade wouldn’t leave you alone that day. he was constantly around you, pestering you. sometimes he would just hover over your shoulder, watching your every movement, other times he would be telling you stories, the things he did and how he did them. every waking moment was spent with strade, you were so tired. you were happy when it was finally night and you could sleep. but then you felt the bed dip and felt hands on your legs, slowing inching their way up. you shot out of bed faster than ever and made your way to ren’s room. swallowing your pride for the night would be better than dealing with strade for another 5 minutes)

the encounter with lawrence was a staple in your relationship, you two were brought together since then (he believed) and he was so happy with you, he knows that he you were meant to be his

the day you tell him everything, he seems to crumble. he’s frozen as you tell him everything, fear on his face. he wanted to believe it was a joke, a bad joke that he could punish you for but you knew too much for it to be a coincidental joke. you were crying at the end of it, overwhelmed by everything that had been going on, and ren felt close to tears himself

he thought he was done with strade. sure his body is in the basement freezer, but he was no longer controlled by him, strade had no power over him anymore. (he might be lying to himself on that, he tries to be what strade was, tries to fill the empty feeling he got when he watched strade die)

and now you’re telling him that strade is still here just as a ghost? that strade was watching everything? that strade still had control?

i think that ren would try to regain control, would try to show that strade might still be around, but he is in charge now. he’d shock you before you can comprehend what he’s doing and you would wake up in the basement, tied to the pole. ren stood over you, knife in hand. strade stood just behind him, biggest smile you have ever seen on his face. you focused back on ren as he crouched down, “is he here?” you looked back up at strade before nodding. “good” a glint of metal caught your eye as ren brought the knife to your skin

#anon ask #boyfriend to death #btd #ghost strade au #ren hana #btd ren #btd strade #btd x reader #ren hana x reader #strade x reader #(kind of implied kind of not can be read either way tbh)

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rainbow-femme · 4 months

Text

Rewatching the animated Beauty and the Beast

-Right off the bat the thing in the opening that gets me is not the possible age implication but the fact that this prince is opening his own doors and to people he’s not expecting. You’re lucky it was just an enchantress looking to test the purity of your heart and not an assassin. Just power posing with the door fully open, no guards, going “Oh hey it’s someone I don’t know! I’m going to have a conversation with them alone” before god and everybody. Of course you got cursed, your guards should have rugby tackled her before she could get her wand out

-I never liked Maurice as a kid and I still don’t. Like he’s not bad he’s just annoying to me every time he’s on screen. The wind blows and he’s dying on the side of a cliff somewhere

-It is never not funny to me that Belle promises to stay in the castle forever and then just leaves three hours later

-I love Gaston having his whole “I’m going to get Belle’s father locked up so she marries me” scheme and then she’s fully just not remotely near the town. He’s living in a high stakes drama and she’s clapping along to dancing tea cups

-Hey when Maurice goes to look for Belle he grabs a bunch of rolled up pieces of paper and protractor. Is the idea that he’s just gonna invent and build something while actively walking? Sir you spent 6 hours in a dungeon and nearly died of being in a dungeon disease, you can’t help yourself out of a wet paper bag much less get your daughter out of anywhere with an invention you made out of rocks and sticks while clawing your way through the woods because you’re dying again

-But it is funny to imagine this revolving door of Maurice and Belle trading themselves for the other until the beast is just like “hey if I let you both leave will you promise to never come back”

-Belle is such a dick at the beginning it’s so funny. “Oh there’s one place in this giant castle I can’t go? I bet he’s hiding all the really cool stuff in there and I’m going to ignore his wishes and that of the staff. Oh no, consequences, the guy who said not to come here is upset I came here! Who could have foreseen this!”

-Like it’s not bad writing, it’s her character arc that she was mainly focused on herself and her interests and pretty judgemental of people who weren’t like her, so her disrespecting someone’s boundaries because she want to sets up something she grows from, and she learns to connect with someone else on their level even if that person is different from her and she learns that people are more than their surface appearance and even an angry beast has depths if you actually get to know them and see their view of the world, and connecting with people who are different from you enriches your life. Which is why when the townsfolk later try to kill the beast because he’s different we see she’s now understood the danger of that way of thinking and is horrified

-But that’s such a funny thing to do just immediately upon entering a castle owned by a big scary beast. Day one hour one she’s like “oh boy I know where I wanna go!”

-I don’t want to be a CinemaSins and point out how improbable it is that Belle got a giant unconscious beast onto her horse when he would be hundreds of pounds. But I do want to see the scene of her doing it. I’m picturing the horse sorta laying down and the beast is on the ground like a sack of potatoes and Belle has her back against him and is pushing with her legs to try and roll him over. Or she’s got her shoulder against him and is trying to push that way but her feet keep slipping in the snow

-Oh my god I forgot they told her about the library before the beast “gives” it to her. She was already allowed to go in there and knew it existed, “giving” someone a room they had full knowledge of and access to is very funny

-But you know what if he’s the kind of guy who thinks that will work and she’s the kind of girl it works on then they’re perfect for each other. Just two people with zero social skills bumbling around a castle together, making weird decisions and the other is like “wow they’re so cute and normal”

-I love the sweeping faux crane shot during the ballroom dance. Over 30 years later and that shit still slaps, more animated movies need to act like they’re being shot and edited like live action

-Maurice really can find a way to immediately die in any situation. When he’s at home he’s fine but the second he leaves the town border he develops tuberculosis and begins losing all function in his limbs

-I’m going to be honest with you guys, I’ve seen various versions of Beauty and the Beast and every time it’s the letting Belle go scene I have the same thought: I absolutely would not have read that social interaction correctly, I would have been fully under the impression we were all aware I was running an errand and coming back later. Because if I’m Belle, and I can live in the cool castle with a friend and people who are nice to me or a town I specifically stated not liking filled with a guy who is pushy and makes me uncomfortable and people who are mean to me and zero friends, I would not have been like “oh thank god I can finally go back!”

-“You should go to him. I release you, you are no longer my prisoner” See to me that reads “We are friends and I am removing this technicality between us so you can go run out and do something that is clearly important to you.” I would not have picked up on everyone in the castle thinking I was leaving forever. I’d just show up two hours later like “boy, it’s been a day, huh?” and the beast is just laying face down on the floor in his room listening to a sad boy playlist

-But the beast is clearly part dog so I guess it’s a normal reaction for him to have

-I don’t want to victim blame, but if you have a sick dad and are equidistant between “castle where everyone likes you” and “town where everyone is mean to you” and your dying father can be cured by a nap, I feel like it’s a bit on you if bad things continue to happen in the Bad Things Happen To Me town

-Not saying she should have anticipated a mob coming to incarcerate her father but I do feel like it would be expected that the people who have been mean to you and your dad would continue to be mean to you and your dad in the Everyone Is Mean To You and Your Dad town

-Because if the forced incarceration hadn’t been an issue, they would have gone to town the next day and someone would go “Hey Belle, your dad said you were kidnapped by a beast.” And everyone would point and laugh and he’d start waving his arms and going “It was the biggest beast you ever saw! 18 feet tall and claws bigger than my head!” and people would probably suggest that the guy they all call Crazy Old Maurice may be crazy and Belle would need to prove he wasn’t. I just don’t think we would have ended up with much of a different situation in any timeline that involves going back to the town

-Ok. So. If I live in a town. And I find out there is a beast within walking distance that is sentient enough to take villagers prisoner. And this guy is like “yeah he took me and my daughter prisoner, he’s terrifying!” I’m not saying I would have been part of the mob but I do think I would be worried about there being a beast and two people he previously kept prisoner living next door. And her saying “no he’s actually very sweet” would sound like those people with exotic pets who get their faces eaten by their pet tiger. Like yes they’re wrong but Belle also thought he was scary and violent until she’d been there a number of hours. I feel like if instead of giving herself up she went to town and asked for help and they created a mob to get her father back she would not have been against the idea so it’s not wholly their fault for having the same idea

-“Is it dangerous?” “No, no, he’d never hurt anyone” Every owner of a dog who wants to bite you so so bad

-So when Belle and her father are alone she is clearly telling him that the beast let her go and is kind. When asked about the beast by the town, Maurice starts yelling about how he’s the most terrifying monster in the world. Belle has to show the beast to back up her father’s claims to try and save him for the second? third? time. And then they’re locked up and she says “this is all my fault” and this man does not for a second contradict her or take blame at all. “Yeah I can’t believe you specifically caused this mess.”

“We won’t rest until he’s good and deceased.” I know there are only so many words that rhyme with beast but that’s such a funny line in a bloodlust song. I will not rest until this animal has been declared legally dead by the state

-“We will fight even though the danger just increased” I’m obsessed with all the words they had to use to rhyme with beast

-It’s so funny that this is canonically France and he is canonically a prince. They didn’t make him a duke or a lord he is directly related to the royal family and in the line of succession. Likely not the dauphin because they wouldn’t have sent him to run a castle in the countryside away from the center of politics so probably a younger son but still, this guy is part of the royal family. They didn’t have to explicitly state this is France but they do, and they reference the baroque period so it’s after the construction of Versailles. The beast is actively being stabbed to death while sentient furniture watches and at the same time his family are canonically pissing on the walls and floors of their own home

-Oh my god the beast is brooding on a chaise. Did he drag it over to the window just so he could dramatically sit on his chaise and stare longingly out at the rain? Absolute break up mood

-He’s also in a different outfit that isn’t the fancy one or his every day one, he went and changed into a breakup outfit. Important to note the breakup outfit includes a cape and what he was previously wearing did not. He chose to put on a cape as part of his breakup outfit

-So Gaston points his arrow at the beast. The beast acknowledges it then looks away. Gaston then fires and hits him and he reacts all surprised and angry that it hurt like my dude you let him shoot you with an arrow, what did you think that experience would be

-It is so wild that Gaston assumes the beast is in love with Belle. Like yeah he’s right but what a wild assumption to make when you’re not even sure this thing comprehends human speech. Again my thought would be he’s attached to her like a dog is attached to its owner, I would not see a big furry animal and be like “this thing is fully sentient and feels romantic attraction to human women”. Yeah he’s wearing clothes but still that feels like a leap. Pointing at a dog in a sweater following its owner and yelling “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

-The beast’s arc is partly him controlling his temper, and we see him want to kill Gaston but controls himself and lets him go, immediately resulting in his own death. Gotta be honest I feel like less self control would have been helpful in that specific scenario

-I didn’t remember the blood spray after the beast is stabbed followed by the stab wound bleeding a good amount of blood. Are there other Disney princess movies with onscreen blood? I think in Mulan we see blood oozing out through clothes from an injury but that’s the only other one I can think of. Eugene gets pretty bloodlessly stabbed

-Best scene in the movie: The beast floats up in the air, actively transforms into a human in front of Belle, stands up, says “Belle, it’s me!” She then squints at him, touches his hair a bit, squints at his face, and when she recognizes his eyes she goes “It is you!” Ma’am what the hell else did you think was happening. If you didn’t recognize his eyes would you have just been like “Hmmm I dunno…”

-Ok so at the end there is an entire royal court watching them dance. Again I don’t want to be a CinemaSins I just want to see the missing scene. Like did he explain what happened to him? If yes then again I want to see that conversation of him explaining to his family how he was literally transformed into a literal beast for the last ten years and they had no idea this was happening to their family member. If no, imagine just going back to being a prince after 10 years as a beast and you just have to pretend like everything has been normal this whole time. I want a sequel that’s just the human beast reintegrating not only back into society but French royal society, which was notorious for having some of the most intricate and complicated social etiquette in all of Europe

-The final shot is a stained glass window of them with a prominent rose. Now in the original he had a whole rose garden he was very attached to, so that makes sense. But I feel like this beast specifically would have only negative connotations with roses and that window would probably be seen as a little tasteless given the circumstances. “It’s a rose! You know, the physical manifestation of a curse that was clearly quite upsetting for you for nine years and roughly 360 days, reminding you daily of your flaws! Isn’t that fun?”

“Original score by Alan Menken” Look up his IMDB, if you live in at least the US this man has written the score to your entire life

#long post #I’ve been called out for being long winded so here is your warning #beauty and the beast #disney

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geekgirles · 2 months

Text

The Doll and the Dragon

Chapter 1: Desperate Measures

Word Count: 9339

Read on AO3

Next Chapter

Summary: In a reality where the Eliatropes arrived at an already populated World of Twelve, their presence and the concerns it rises amongst their people have forced the twelve gods to act. After all, they too had their motives for considering the portal-making race a potential threat, especially their king, Yugo.

In an effort to placate both their visitors and worshippers, Sadida is tasked with repeating a feat from the Primitive Era: create a new Divine Doll to seduce the Eliatrope King with and bring peace to the World of Twelve. After all, he is an Eliatrope and she is a Sadida Doll; they're falling in love is inevitable.

The arrival of the Eliatropes turned their world upside down.

Until then, the inhabitants of the World of Twelve, consisting of both the followers of the twelve gods and the many other races that coexisted with them, lived in perfect harmony. Beyond a few, mostly harmless stereotypes, the Twelvians knew peace and prosperity under the six Primordial Dofus created thanks to Sadida’s intervention.

Their world was prosperous and lush, encompassing large continents filled to the brim with opportunities to settle down, make a living, or even set out on countless, unforgettable adventures. All thanks to their gods, who, despite their own mischievousness and unpredictable nature—just ask Ecaflip’s followers…—, were always looking out for their people.

Such peace and happiness couldn’t last forever, however. One day, practically out of nowhere, the horrifying sight of an enormous mechanical contraption, as big as a mountain, descended from the heavens, wreaking chaos among the Twelvians.

Nobody understood what was going on. Did something happen? Had they somehow offended the gods and now they were being punished for their insolence with certain doom? Was it really the end?

Turns out, it truly was the end. The end of an era.

The falling monstrosity they saw falling from the sky wasn’t any form of divine retribution, but the Zenith, an advanced mothership belonging to a whole different race from a whole different world: the Eliatropes.

Unlike the Twelvians, the Eliatropes did not follow any of the twelve gods, they didn’t worship any of the deities populating the World of Twelve, for that matter! No. They were actually descended from the Great Goddess herself, the creator of all life in the Krosmoz! As such, they shared her innate, intimate knowledge on wakfu and, more importantly, her portal-making ability.

Finding out wherever they went they could never be able to escape their unexpected visitors did not help soothe the Twelvians’ already frazzled nerves.

And yet, despite how eerie, how otherworldly the Eliatropes were, they were nothing compared to their leaders. The Council of Six, consisting of the Primordial Eliatropes and their dragons. Indeed, not only did the Eliatropes bring six dragons with them—which were revered as some of the most powerful creatures in existence—, but they were actually semi-divine. As it were, the Eliatrope Council were demigods, and especially rare ones at that, too! Each of them was gifted with a unique ability or skill they mainly used to serve their people, but not for that were they any less formidable.

And because that wasn’t enough, they even had their own set of Dofus and their knowledge on wakfu allowed them to both manipulate those sacred artefacts to their full potential as well as develop incredibly advanced technology. Because, apparently, they needed further advantages over the Twelvians to thrive.

When the Eliatropes formally introduced themselves—by crashing an official meeting of the Council of Twelve meant precisely to discuss what to do with them, in fact—, they insisted they simply wanted a place to settle down after their homeworld had been devastated during a most ruthless war. They had been voyageing the Krosmoz for years until they finally found their world, and now all they wanted was a place they could call home and thrive in.

Unfortunately, despite swearing up and down they meant no harm and even wished to ally themselves with the world’s native nations and play by their rules, the council only became even warier of them. Especially when they proved their demigod nature when the World of Twelve’s greatest heroes and warriors—having been sent to cow their unwelcome visitors into submission—were soundly defeated by the Eliatrope King and greatest warrior himself, Yugo.

After that, most Twelvians quaked in their boots whenever they believed to see a spark of blue from the corner of their eye—more than one poor, unsuspecting Feca had found themselves subjected to a beating as a result of their hair colour. A market’s jovial if busy atmosphere became awkward and stuffy the moment anyone caught a glimpse of an Eliatrope hat or, even worse, their portals. For their part, while they genuinely wanted to have a peaceful coexistence with their new neighbours, the Eliatropes chose to try avoiding further conflict and isolate themselves in Oma Island, where they’d built their new civilisation.

Even so, the Twelvians’ paranoia only grew each passing day, and with it, their gods’ concerns. Fear and distrust reigned supreme, so much so, ever since the Eliatropes’ arrival, the only prayers the gods received from their worshippers were asking them to please do something about those outsiders. Some asked for them to be kicked out of the planet, while others begged for their gods to find a way to protect them or at least ensure the Eliatropes wouldn’t try anything to harm them.

Unbeknownst to their worshippers, however, the gods had their own reasons for being wary of the Eliatropes. So much so, it didn’t take them much convincing to decide to convene on what to do with them.

....................................................................................................................

Far, far away, deep within Inglorium, the land of the gods themselves, the reigning divinities their followers owed their powers and appearances to were gathered within the Communal Palace. Seeing as it kept the recorded life of every single mortal, regardless of their alliance to which god, the palace was the only place where no god had greater power or influence than the rest. Thus, the reason why their war room was located there, as everyone would be forced to listen to what their fellow deities had to say while they remained seated around the same table.

And at that very moment, a very heated discussion was taking place.

“I simply do not understand why we don’t just annihilate them!” Bellowed Sram, who had grown tired of his cohorts dismissing his ideas as ‘too impulsive for an assassin god.’ “No creature has ever been known to withstand the full power of a god, not even demigods! This whole ordeal would be over already if all of us joined forces to vanquish those outsiders!”

“They are not simple demigods, however. Which is exactly what turns them into such dangerous foes.” Cra reminded, her voice poised and collected, but that, much like the Great Huntress herself, belied a cunning mind and nerves of steel.

“Besides, have you already forgotten the reason why our dear Iop isn’t with us anymore?” Ecaflip added sarcastically, leaning back in his seat to jab a claw towards the empty chair the god of war used to occupy.

“Indeed. As much as it hurts my pride, there is no guarantee we will actually be victorious if we were to battle the Eliatropes.” Sacrier agreed from her chained position, letting out an almost imperceptible wince at the familiar sensation of one of her worshippers exchanging their pain with her.

However, Xelor himself was in agreement with the assassin god. “While it is a high gamble, the Eliatropes’ presence threatens the very balance of the world! Their mere existence is unlawful, who knows the kind of chaos they might unleash were they to stay?!”

Ecaflip raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses, using two of his arms to lean in closer to the god of time while the remaining pair filed his claws disinterestedly. “Look at you, talking about gambling! Last time I checked, that was my specialty, Cuckoo-clock.”

“Then perhaps you should start living up to your reputation and take more risks, god of chance.” Xelor fired back, sneering derisively at the feline deity.

For his part, Ecaflip couldn't help but think privately how having to look down at someone’s chest to notice their eyes narrowing in on you would never stop being weird. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

“Except Iop’s absence is precisely the reason why sparking a confrontation against the Eliatropes would lead to disaster.” Feca spoke up, her clipped tone revealing her irritation at some of her cohorts’ shortsightedness. “Iop was the physically strongest one among us. What chance do we have of beating opponents equally adept at combat without him?”

“You seem to be underestimating us, Feca. After all, while their prowess over wakfu is certainly versatile and impressive, we are still gods. Each one of us possesses a varied array of powers that go beyond human comprehension. Compared to us, they are nothing but a one-trick dragoturkey.” Eniripsa countered, looking down at her nails as if this whole conversation was beneath her. As if to prove her point, she conjured a scroll written in a long-lost language, one only she and her followers could still read, of course.

“On the contrary, my dear fairy.” Enutrof said, uncoiling his golden, serpentine body to make use of his height and rise above the rest, drawing every eye to him. “Feca is merely trying to point out that we should not underestimate our opponents. After all, there is much to lose.” His red eyes glinted menacingly when he said that. As the draconic god of fortune, there was nothing Enutrof hated more than losses.

“And why don’t we simply welcome them to our world? With enough bamboo milk, the more the merrier!” Pandawa suggested, taking a generous sip of the aforementioned beverage as if to prove her point.

As the gods kept arguing about which course of action to take, whether to face off against the Eliatropes to drive them away from their world or to try looking for a different solution, Cra’s trained eye noticed how Osamodas and Sadida had yet to say a word. What’s more, while the chimeran tamer remained composed even under all the in-fighting, not even Sadida’s mask could hide the gravely air around him, especially when the green of his skin seemed to have lost its lustre.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Woodland Beauty opened her mouth to force her fellow gods to confess what they were undoubtedly keeping hidden from them. “Pray tell, Osamodas, what is on your mind? Is it possible you have already drafted a plan?”

Despite her open attempt at turning the other gods against him, the Master of Beasts remained unperturbed. His tail flicking around as he stroked his long, silver beard, a wry smirk graced his features. “As a matter of fact, dearest Cra, I do have an idea that might help us keep the Eliatropes in check.”

“We expel them from our world to never return, correct?” Sram ventured, a devilish smirk stretching over his face.

Osamodas shook his goat-like head. “That course of action could bring forth unforeseen consequences, I’m afraid.”

That made Sram pout.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Sacrier asked, sharing a worried look with Pandawa.

“Same thing we did to bring peace and harmony to our world the first time.” He smirked.

This time, it was Ecaflip who chose that moment to chime in, voicing everyone’s thoughts. “Um… Last time we created the Dofus. Are you suggesting we create more to drive them off? Wouldn’t that unsettle the balance?”

As his fellow gods voiced their agreement with the King of Fortune’s summation, as well as voiced their disagreement with what they interpreted as Osamodas’ plan, Sadida broke them all out of their own thoughts when he spoke for the first time since the meeting began. His voice, while naturally rich and deep, lacked the usual vitality associated with the god of nature.

“Our goal would be to prevent them from unsettling the balance by ensuring they have no reason to use their Dofus.” He said somberly.

“And how do you propose we do that, exactly?” Xelor questioned, his eyes narrowed in suspicion—and causing Ecaflip to shudder in disgust yet again.

The smug look never left Osamodas’ face. “As I was saying, we simply must follow the same procedure as with the Primordial Dofus: we seduce them.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, almost every eye in the room settled on Cra, scanning her curvaceous body from head-to-toe. Flinching at the unexpected scrutiny she suddenly found herself in, the Master of the Bolt snapped, “What?!”

“He said we ought to seduce the Eliatropes, and since your beauty is known for bewitching anyone but your followers… I suppose that means it is up to you, my dear.” Enutrof sentenced. With a snap of his claws, he conjured up a very revealing red dress and a matching pair of heels that Ecaflip presented proudly to her with his four limbs and a winning smile on his face.

Her eye twitching at the offence, Cra’s immediate reaction was to materialise a series of light-based arrows she wasted no time firing at her fellow gods. With a yelp, Ecaflip dropped the clothes right before he and Enutrof scrambled to try in vain to avoid the goddess’ wrath.

All Osamodas could do in response to that was let out a long-suffering sigh, one hand pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose in vexation.

“None of us shall seduce the Eliatropes, you fools!” He bellowed, catching their attention as he slammed his hands against the table. “Have you already forgotten what we did to create the Dofus?!”

“It has been a long time, I would know…” Xelor muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest—ehrm, face? “And, again, won’t seducing the Eliatrope dragons result in more Dofus? What about the balance then?”

“Ah, but I never said we would be seducing their dragons, now did I?” Osamodas pointed out, wagging a finger in the air.

The gods’ eyes widened. They exchanged mistified glances with each other, silently asking if anybody knew what the Master Tamer was trying to get at.

Rising from his crouched down position over his hind legs, Osamodas began circling around the others counterclockwise, his hands to his back as he finally shared his plan in full detail. “Objectively speaking, each and every one of the Eliatropes is a potential threat, especially the members of their council. However, it should be noted the biggest threat by far would be the one they call their king and greatest warrior, Yugo.

“Given his battle prowess and divine nature, it would be unwise to make an enemy out of him. As for his people and their interactions with ours… Well, it is undeniable their help could be crucial in the development of our world…”

“What are you suggesting, Osamodas?” Eniripsa queried, the fluttering of her wings betraying her genuine interest for how this would all play out.

“Much like Pandawa suggested, it would be much more beneficial for us to have the Eliatropes as our allies, instead of our enemies. All we must do is ensure they feel no need to assert their dominance over our worshippers.” He explained, though the enigmatic nature of his answer didn’t do much to dispel the other gods’ doubts.

“That’s great and all…” Sram waved a hand dismissively. “But what does that have to do with seducing their king?”

Just as the assassin god posed his question, Osamodas reached Sadida, whose forlorn gaze was fixed on the table before him. Lowering his torso slightly to speak as face-to-face as possible with the nature god, the chimaera simply said, “Would you care to do the honours, my friend?”

Sadida’s face contorted into a pained grimace. It looked as if it took every ounce of his strength not to break down right there and then. In fact, he seemed to be in so much pain, Cra was already on her feet to reach out to him and console him when he finally spoke.

“I shall craft one last Divine Doll specifically to be gifted to King Yugo.”

A series of loud gasps echoed throughout the room, though no one was as alarmed as Cra.

“You desire to create another Divine Doll, and to seduce the Eliatrope King with her?! Sadida, surely you don’t mean that...”

“It worked with most of the primordial dragons, and the boy has draconic blood running through his veins.” He retorted simply, although he didn’t seem to be able to look the goddess in the eye. “Besides, unlike dragons, men are simple creatures. And I intend to make my eleventh doll my masterpiece. If he falls for a gift we made specifically for him, then he should have no reason to ever turn against our world.”

“Conversely, upon discovering we entrusted the Eliatrope King with one of our own, our people should eventually feel more at ease. Since it would appear we do not consider them a threat.” Sacrier concluded. As the other gods spoke, she had been quietly connecting the dots.

“Is it really such a good idea, though?” Enutrof questioned, still nursing his behind, where Cra’s arrow hit. “Divine Dolls are essentially your daughters, Sadida, which makes them demigoddesses in their own right. So is Yugo, and a powerful one at that. Do we really want to risk them siring a child together?”

Away from their eyes, the masked god clenched his fist so tightly his knuckles almost turned white. “That is precisely why offering one of my dolls is the best course of action, old friend. Unlike your children, they cannot bear offspring.” Then, noticing the uneasy looks they were sending him, he added, his voice low and serious. “I will make sure of it.”

A heavy atmosphere fell over the gods after that. All they could do was exchange nervous glances. Cra in particular was trying desperately to lock eyes with Sadida, worry for her old friend overwhelming her senses. She was about to close the distance between them to try to talk some sense into him when Ecaflip clasped all four of his hands.

“Well, I like it!” He declared, smiling broadly. “We’re betting it all on love; is there a better, or riskier, game than that? Count me in!”

“Now you sound like yourself, you fleabag!” Xelor laughed, clasping the feline on the back.

One by one, each and every god eventually gave their consent, seeing as it truly was the best idea any of them had come up with since the Eliatrope issue first appeared. Eventually, seeing herself outnumbered, even Cra had to give in, but not without making the resolution of talking to the nature god about it first.

.....................................................................................................................

“I already made up my mind, Cra; so did the others. Even you cannot impose your will over a unanimous decision.” Sadida sighed, not even turning around from his table at his atelier to look his old friend in the eye. If he did, he knew the Woodland Beauty would be able to see his resolve crumble like dust.

“Technically speaking, it wasn’t unanimous. Iop wasn’t there to vote.” She said matter-of-factly, trying to relieve the tension with that wry humour they had in common. The small smirk on her face at her observation fell when not even that elicited a response from Sadida.

After the meeting, the archery goddess wasted no time following Sadida back into his lands, despite knowing she possessed no power there, and into the hutt he used for his creations, which wasn’t unlike his people’s houses on the top of the trees. Seeing as the nature god hadn’t told her to leave despite having already taken out the materials he would need to first design and then create his newest doll, Cra took her chances. With measured steps, she made her way over to the Leafy God, placing a delicate but firm hand on his shoulder to get him to look at her.

She put on her most reassuring smile. “I am simply worried about you, my friend. There is a reason why you haven’t made any more Divine Dolls ever since the end of the Primitive Era.”

“The reason being there was no need; we already had six Dofus and that was all we required to bring peace to our land.” The masked god scoffed matter-of-factly, turning his head away from the archer.

“We both know that is not the only reason…” Cra said testily, before realising her slip of the tongue.

In an instant, Sadida had swirled around to face her with the most furious expression she had seen from him in centuries, not even his mask was enough to hide the depth of his anger. However, even without her prodigious sight, she knew deep down he was more hurt than angry. Still, knowing he was a few seconds away from kicking her out of his workshop—an order she would have no way to refuse, seeing as these were indeed his domains—, Cra was quick to act.

“My deepest apologies, my friend. I should have known better than to reopen old wounds.” She said placatingly, though not any less sincerely. “I…I just… I merely worry about you. I do not wish to see you get hurt.”

With a glance at her genuinely remorseful face, obscured by fallen locks of her long, golden hair, Sadida’s own expression softened considerably. With a heavy sigh, he hung his head, before bringing a hand to his mask as he reprimanded himself for his callous treatment of his friend.

His earthy fingers taking hold of her gloved hand startled the archer out of her thoughts. “Please, forgive me, my dear Cra. It is not you I am angry with, but myself.”

Understanding the reason for his anger without words, only the long-lasting bond they shared, Cra ventured. “Then why give in to Osamodas’ request? We found a way to make Eliatrope pay for her crimes, we can find a way to deal with her people too!”

“Because her people are not any more at fault for what happened than ours, Cra.” Sadida’s solemn declaration made the goddess gasp in surprise. “It would not be right to punish them for a crime they did not commit. Just as it would not be just of them to vent any residual fury they might be feeling towards our actions against our followers.”

He let go of the Great Huntress’ hand, his eyes fixed on the floor as he reflected. “As much as it pains me to admit it, Osamodas and Pandawa are right. The best way to protect our people is by not giving the Eliatropes reasons to attack them. And if creating an eleventh Divine Doll is the way to achieve that…” He shrugged, although the action wasn’t enough to dispel the burden he carried over his shoulders. “Then so be it.”

“If you have truly come to terms with what needs to be done, then why do you look so troubled by it?” Cra challenged.

Sadida’s answer broke her heart, especially because she knew nothing she could say or do could dissuade him.

“Because I will still be sending my youngest daughter elsewhere shortly after being born with no guarantee of her ever returning.”

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At first, everything was dark. A black abyss presented itself before her and, despite having the feeling she would not be harmed, the fact that she didn’t know how to navigate the darkness was still alarming. However, those fears were slowly but surely disappearing the more her newly acquired senses developed.

First came touch. She could feel herself being seated over something smooth, yet porous. Sturdy, but light. The more she connected with her sense of touch, the more she awakened other, more refined abilities. After a while of marvelling at the sensations, a startling realisation materialised itself in her mind, unbidden: wood; she was sitting on something made out of wood. But why did that wood feel like a part of herself?

Then came the sense of smell. Taking a deep breath, soon she was enveloped by a myriad of aromas that immediately put her mind at ease. On the one hand, she perceived a waft of something rich and earthy, and she immediately gained a deep understanding of concepts like blades of fresh grass or wet, fertile soil after a delicate spring shower. But on the other hand, her nose was assaulted by far more delicate, though not any less pleasant, fragrances; a flower’s perfume, the aroma of fruits and vegetables, aromatic herbs and plants she couldn’t quite identify but had a feeling she would soon.

When sound finally arrived, the first thing she registered, even before opening her eyes, was the cacophony of warm, loving voices echoing all around her.

“Oh, she truly is marvellous, Father!”

“I really like her overall shape; it’s really cute.”

“Says the doll that could be mistaken for a loaf of bread…” Another voice said, her tone somewhat derisive.

“Not all of us can be shaped after adorable bears like you, Lophapharo.” The second voice countered with a hmph!

“Personally, I believe she could use some more mushrooms in her overall design, but the end result is quite pretty as well.” This voice was prim and proper, though the tiniest bit judgemental.

“Oh, hush, Razeriana! She is not for you, but for the Eliatrope King. It is him whom she must please.”

“In that case, I don’t think her lack of mushrooms will matter. Eliatropes are essentially humans; they are far shallower than dragons and our sister looks… like this.”

“Ibago! Are you suggesting Father’s creation is imperfect?!”

“Oh, don’t get your stitches into a twist, Sallydally.” A scoff. “I’m merely trying to look out for our sister’s well-being; as she is right now, she will be lucky if the Eliatrope King takes her in as a pet.”

“Ibago!” All voices exclaimed in unison, scandalised.

“Now, now, my dolls. I assure you, your sister is as gifted as all of you. After all, she is mine.” A deep, rich, masculine voice—how did she know that?—cut through the others. Just then, she could feel herself be scooped up in two mossy hands and raised high above. Whoever was talking to her used his thumb to rub gentle caresses on her cheek. “Come now, Amalia. Try opening your eyes slowly.”

Amalia… Is that my name? The little doll couldn’t help but ask herself. Still, compelled by her creator’s encouraging tones, she did as she was told. With slight difficulty, she unglued her eyelids, wincing at the burning sensation caused by the unfiltered light making contact with her retinas. Thanks to a few slow blinks, she finally regained her senses, only for them to be flooded again at the explosion of colour that greeted her upon setting her gaze on the figures in front of her.

Wherever she looked, she was assaulted by wide, curious eyes. Some of them belonged to three beautiful humanoid women with plant-like features, be it the colour of their skin and hair or the clothes they wore. Others she found on the faces of six nature-inspired… dolls? They certainly looked like dolls —and the masculine voice had described them as such—, even if she couldn’t understand how she even knew what those were; with their small, stumpy bodies, that somehow didn’t detract from their own unique beauty. And yet, as dissimilar as the nine creatures before her were, they all had something in common: they all proudly displayed a series of stitches going up and down their skin.

But what truly got her blinking in amazement was the imposing yet oddly loving figure right in front of her. The same one that had scooped her up in his palms and commanded her to open her eyes.

He radiated unmistakable power, a kind of power that, weirdly enough, she could feel herself responding to, resonating from her very core. His body was lean, yet his muscles firm, not unlike tree bark; the ebony tone of his skin coursing through his shape until it reached a loincloth, hiding what lay beneath; or his hands, covered by moss and fungi, and a lighter shade of the same bark comprising his body; and his head…

Despite her limited understanding of the world around her, Amalia was sure she could not see his face. All she could see was a large, green and orange wooden mask with both ends donning completely different decorations. The lower end gave way to a white, scruffy goatee; while the upper end was adorned with rows of palm leaves and even luminescent mushrooms that ended in brownish leaves hanging from matching golden rings on each side of his head. Truth be told, the holes in both eyes and mouth made it a very impressive mask, but it still wasn’t an actual face.

For a second, Amalia couldn’t help but wonder if she too had a mask instead of a face and that was why—what was her name…? Oh, that’s right!—Ibago found her ugly before. She gulped in horror at the mere thought.

The figure chuckled, the sound reverberating from his throat with fondness and mirth. “Worry not, my dear. I can assure you, soon you will be one of the most beautiful creatures to walk the World of Twelve. If your suitor isn’t careful, he might find himself having to fight off hordes of young men and women vying for your affection.” Even though she could tell that it was meant to be a light-hearted joke, his tone darkened slightly at the mention of her ‘suitor.’

Speaking of which…

“What is a ‘suitor’?” She found herself asking and, goodness! Was that her voice? Was that really how she sounded?

“Someone who wishes to sweep you off your feet.” The figure explained. Then realising it might be too soon for her to understand metaphors, he corrected himself. “Someone who wishes to make you fall in love with them. Although in your case, your own suitor has yet to realise that…”

“How is that possible?” She questioned, not sure she understood the strange new rules the world she was in seemed to be run by.

“Uh… I shall explain it all in due time, my dear, but first, let me introduce myself and your sisters.” Carefully passing her from both his open hands to just one, he used his new free hand to gesture at himself. “I am Sadida. God of nature and patron of the tree people inhabiting the World of Twelve. And these are your sisters: Maminala, Lophapharo, Belladona, Peparava, Yopo, Razeriana, Ladysally, Ibago, and Dathura;” he gestured to each and every one of them as he listed them off, “they’re all Divine Dolls, such as yourself, my dear.”

“A ‘Divine Doll’?” She tilted her head in confusion. “What is that?”

“My creations.” He responded simply. “I am your father and you, my dear, are my masterpiece. And you were created with a very specific purpose. But before going into detail, allow me to tell you all about the wondrous world you’re about to discover…”

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Despite the relatively short amount of time their race had inhabited Oma Island, their history, their culture, their very essence as people have already been engraved onto each and every nook and cranny composing the area. The inside of their rulers’ place of residence was no exception; the corridors inside the Eliatrope palace were an architectural marvel. Covering the expanse of the tall, sturdy walls were murals depicting their people’s history, with the Council of Six and their dragon siblings front and centre.

In that very moment, walking down the path connecting the council room with the throne room were four figures; three of them looked quite similar and humanoid, while the fourth one stood out thanks to his reptilian, if still bipedal, appearance. What they all had in common, however, was the brisk pace at which they marched, although one of them, the one leading their little group, was visibly more ruffled than the others.

“This is unbelievable. Just… unbelievable! The natives treat us like monsters for months on end, the gods don’t even acknowledge our presence—”

“Which we must not forget might be for the best.” The voice belonging to the reptilian silhouette cautioned wisely.

“—and now, out of the blue, they send us—no, scratch that—they send me something called a ‘Divine Doll’ to take as my bride?! Just, who does that?!” The agitated voice belonged to none other than King Yugo of the Eliatropes, whom anyone would be able to tell was at the verge of losing it from just one look at his face.

The reason for his ire and disbelief was simple. Shortly after arriving at the World of Twelve and choosing the distant Oma Island to settle down and restart their civilisation, the Council of Six, composed by him and his siblings—Adamaï, Qilby, Shinonomé, Nora, Efrim, Glip, Baltazar, Chibi, Grougaloragran, Mina, and Phaeris—, had come to the decision that they needed to introduce themselves to the other races populating this world and show them they meant no harm.

Originally, they simply wanted to establish a mutually beneficial relationship between them all in order for their respective civilisations to thrive. However, their hopes of fostering positive relationships were dashed when the natives immediately responded to them with nothing but scorn and distrust. No matter their attempts at proving they only wished for a peaceful coexistence, the Twelvians regarded them as outsiders. Even worse, as invaders just waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

They kept trying to reach out to them for months on end, to no avail. The fact that the Twelvians sent their finest warriors specifically to drive them out only cemented what they already knew.

They were not welcomed.

Unfortunately, even if it would have been better to just leave this world and look for another place they could call home, the Council knew it would not be possible. Their people had already spent decades navigating the Krosmoz, looking for the perfect substitute for their own world, and in all that time the only planet that met all their requirements and would be able to satisfy their needs was the World of Twelve. Who knew how long it would be until they found their next candidate? And what if they couldn’t stay there either?

No, it was better to remain where they were and limit themselves to only interact with the outside world when strictly necessary.

Considering the uprise and unrest their arrival caused, the Yugo and his siblings were fully expecting this world’s gods to intervene, probably even cast them out or at least force them to fight for their right to have a place to belong. They even dared hope the deities might intervene in their favour and convince their followers to give them a chance. But it was all for naught. No one came.

Which made the fact that one of their guards was forced to interrupt a council meeting to inform their king something called ‘a Divine Doll’ had been sent directly from Inglorium as his bride-to-be all the more infuriating.

“And what’s more!” The Eliatrope went on to say. “How can they just assume I need a bride? How do they know I’m not already married, or betrothed?!”

Adamaï perfectly understood where Yugo was coming from. He was his very own dragon twin brother, after all. As with most council meetings taking place indoors, he was making use of his humanoid yet draconic form to walk beside his brother inside the palace. Even if he understood how his brother felt, however, he couldn’t help but shake his head with a sigh at his words.

“Yugo, they are the gods of this world. They probably oversee everything that happens here.” He was quick to remind his king. “Meaning, they’re most likely aware you are very much single.”

“Have been in all your past lives, as a matter of fact. A few, several-years-long flings here and there, but you have never taken a queen in the entirety of our history.” Another voice chimed in, sounding somewhat amused.

Said infuriatingly smug voice belonged to an older-looking Eliatrope clad in a long, white tunic over brown pants and shoes, its hood resembling a pair of horns that ended in a tuft of dark fur at the back. He had a long face that culminated in a braided beard the same hue as his long, dirty blond hair. A small pair of round glasses over his nose only amplified the sharp intellect reflected in his hazel eyes.

“Thank you, Qilby.” Yugo groaned tiredly, rubbing his eyes in frustration at his brother’s need to remind him of every single event that had ever taken place in the course of their many lifetimes. “My point is, whatever it is they’re trying to do, it won’t work. The only reason we’re not sending that thing packing is because Mina and Phaeris advised us against it.”

“As much as I agree with you, brother, Mina and Phaeris believe doing so will only be worse, as it could be taken as a declaration of war against the gods themselves. And I’m afraid they’re probably right.” Nora spoke, her pink eyes trained on the path ahead of them.

Her hair as pale as her porcelain skin, it was mostly covered by a long, magenta cloak that reached down her knees. Whenever her movements would force the cloak to open and reveal what lay behind, a matching magenta, form-fitting, sleeveless suit and fingerless gloves up to her forearms appeared. Despite their initial role as their people’s joy-bringers, the war against the Mechasms had hardened both her and her dragon brother Efrim into capable warriors in their own right.

“Nora, is right, Yugo.” Adamaï said, putting a claw over his brother’s shoulder. “You don’t have to take the Divine Doll as your bride, but it would not be wise to rudely reject a gift from the gods, either.” Then, a small gasp leaving his throat as he came to a realisation, he added, much more enthused. “What if this ends up being the chance we were waiting for? What if this is the key to convince the Twelvians we are not a threat?”

“Not even them would be able to reject our presence for much longer if they learned we have their gods’ blessing.” Qilby pointed out.

“I know, I know.” Their king said, running a hand through his hair from under his own hood in frustration.” You’re all probably right, I just… I don’t know… I mean, what even is a Divine Doll?!” Yugo wondered aloud, his mind racing.

Without even having to look at him, Yugo could just feel Qilby perk up in excitement at the prospect of explaining something. And then Glip was supposed to be the teacher…

“According to my research on this world and its lore,” the bespectacled Eliatrope began, “Divine Dolls, also known as Sadida Dolls, for that is their creator, the god of nature; were created for the sole purpose of making this world’s primordial dragons fall in love with them to get them to produce Dofus.

“Apparently, there are ten dolls and ten dragons, but only six of them succeeded in their mission. Meaning, much like us, there are only six Dofus native to this world.” Although he finished his retelling, Qilby was clearly not quite done, for he pushed his glasses up with one finger before adding, “Considering they were created by Sadida himself, despite the unconventional means behind their conception, they are regarded as demigoddesses in their own right. In fact, they are said to be the only ones besides the gods themselves that get to live in Inglorium.” At his siblings’ astonished expressions at that piece of information, all he could do was shrug. “Yes, it appears they’re that special.”

“So all the more reason not to be disrespectful towards our guest. Just wonderful…” Yugo let out a tired sigh.

“Look on the bright side,” Nora said, a wry smile dancing at her lips, “that means you at least won’t have to worry about your different lifespans. All demigods are virtually immortal, after all.”

Knowing his sister and her love for messing with him, Yugo only narrowed his eyes at her, unamused. As terrible a thought as it was, this doll living for as long as he did only meant he would not be able to rid himself of her until he died, when normally, he would have only had to wait a few decades before being free. Again, just wonderful.

“I don’t understand, however.” Adamaï said, his chin caught in between his thumb and index finger pensively. “You said Sadida Dolls were meant to seduce dragons.” A nod from Qilby. “Then why would they send one to Yugo, instead of one of us, Eliatrope dragons? I don’t like this…”

Nora’s expression sobered up at the grim reminder. “All the more reason to keep our eyes peeled for anything.”

Right as she said this, they reached the door leading them into the throne room, where they had been informed the doll would be waiting for them. Taking a deep breath in a feeble attempt to reign his thunderous emotions in lest they came out in full force and risked offending their uninvited guest, Yugo sent a nod towards the guards positioned at either side, silently signalling for them to open up the doors.

As the gates creaked open, the three Primordial Eliatropes and the dragon accompanying them could finally take a good look at the creature waiting for them inside. As his eyes registered her form, all Yugo could think of was how this… wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting.

Standing in the middle of the room was the tiniest thing he had ever seen in his life—a thought he kept to himself in case Qilby felt like correcting him on how a baby singing whale he saw back in their 3215th reincarnation was actually the smallest thing he had ever seen, or something. Looking back at him with wide, brown eyes—he thought they were brown; it was hard to tell with her size and the distance between them— was a simple, dark brown rag doll. Her shape could not have been any more complex than a figure with a body, four limbs with no discernible fingers or toes, and a big round head with a small mouth shaped like an ‘o’, the aforementioned pair of brown eyes, and a leafy tuft of green hair on her head.

As his siblings exchanged confused glances and he heard Adamaï muttering ‘This are the famed Divine Dolls that made dragons fall in love with them?’, despite himself and his best attempts at being cordial towards the poor thing, a disbelieving Yugo could only blurt out, “If this is supposed to be my bride, then I don’t think the gods know much about our anatomy…”

His words broke her out of her trance, an embarrassed blush making its way over to her cheeks. She really had intended to present herself in the same elegant, refined manner her sisters had suggested, to display her divine heritage in its full splendour. In fact, ever since she was guided to the throne room to await her suitor—as Father called the Eliatrope King—, she had been discreetly rehearsing what she would say and how she would present herself.

But the moment the large, beautifully detailed doors opened to reveal the Eliatrope King, her mind skidded to a halt at the same time as her little heart skipped a beat. Walking towards her was the most handsome man she had ever seen—granted, she hadn’t really met that many, but there was still something very special about him. Even if he wore a long, blue cloak and his head was covered by a wabbit-shaped hood, his chiselled body was easily discernible underneath. His every curve and muscle was only accentuated by a dark blue, tight, fingerless body-suit with golden detailing.

What little she could see of his face didn’t disappoint either. Despite his chiselled features, he had this boyish quality to him, something that made him extremely endearing. Only hammering this fact were his sharp and alert, yet big and kind dark brown eyes and his short, messy dirty blond hair.

But when his words registered in her mind—why did his voice have to be attractive, too?!— Amalia couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious about her body. For a moment, she feared Ibago’s warning against humans, especially men, had been right and her appearance would pose a problem. But just then, her eyes glinted determinedly as she remembered both Father and Dathura’s teachings: as the eleventh Divine Doll, she was not as restricted by her physical form as her older sisters.

Moreover, she had an ace up her sleeve.

But first things first.

“Greetings, Your Majesty and members of the Council of Six. It is a great honour to be here.” She bowed politely, her body bending ninety degrees. “My name is Amalia. I am Sadida’s eleventh Divine Doll. The gods send me as proof of good will between their followers and your people.”

Just as Yugo’s mind scrambled to understand what she meant by ‘eleventh doll’ and the implications behind it, the doll in question—Amalia—interrupted his train of thought. “It appears my current physical form is disconcerting. Please, allow me to rectify that.”

Before anyone present could even utter a word, a veritable hurricane of pink flower petals came to surround the little doll, swirling around her and hiding her from view. Despite himself, the breeze that originated from it was so strong, Yugo couldn’t help but avert his eyes as he covered his face with his forearm, his siblings following his lead.

When he finally felt the wind dying down, the Eliatrope tentatively lowered his arm. Blinking slowly, he finally allowed his gaze to settle on Amalia and, eyes widening at the sight, promptly lost all ability to form a single coherent thought.

The first thing he noticed was that her eyes were indeed a warm, chocolate brown, as well as big and doe-like, luring him in with their siren song. The second most eye-catching thing about her was her hair, elegantly framing her face. It was almost paradoxical, how such an untamed, forest-green mane could also look so silky, which also created a wonderful contrast with her smooth mahogany skin, not a single blemish in sight. Her green locks were pulled back in a high ponytail by a wooden, forked headband that circled around her head only to then rise up beyond her forehead, emulating two antlers or even the branches of a tree.

Yugo couldn’t understand why then, but at the sight of it, his hands itched to just reach out to her hair and touch it. To see for himself if it was truly as silky as it looked. Then, almost as if drawn to it, his eyes couldn’t help sweeping down her body and taking it all in, drinking her in.

She was clad in what at first glance looked like a dress but that, upon closer inspection, the copious amount of skin it showed proved it was actually a two-piece joined together at the front and with several straps on her thighs and back. The upper half consisted of a top made from orange leaves adorned by a rather large white daisy in the very middle. Said daisy was then connected to a leaf the same colour of her hair that went down her equally orange leaf skirt, the same as the one covering her posterior. She was adorned in matching green anklets and armlets that reached up to her shins and forearms, respectively.

At the sight of her silhouette, Yugo, the Eliatrope King and greatest warrior his people had ever known, could only gulp with slight difficulty. Her exposed legs were long and toned, going all the way up to her invitingly mouthwatering hourglass hips. Despite her modest bosom, her petite frame managed to imbue her alluring figure with a certain sweetness that somehow only highlighted her undeniable beauty. Just as sweet was her round, symmetrical doll-like face, which he assumed was to be expected since she was a doll, only now he was beginning to understand just how truly divine she truly was.

As he stood there, drinking her in, all his admittedly short-circuited mind could think was that she was the loveliest flower he had ever seen. He had a feeling not even Qilby would be able to correct him on that.

Adamaï could only blink blankly at what had just happened, astonished. Sure, as a dragon, he was no stranger to shapeshifting, but seeing an unassuming rag doll turn herself into a wild beauty with only the help of a torrent of flower petals was a stretch even for him!

He was about to comment on the change with his brother, leaning closer to whisper in his ear, when he had to do a double take at the state his twin was in, his own mouth hanging open in silent shock.

Yugo was staring intently at Amalia, his whole expression speaking louder than a thousand words. He stood there, slack-jawed, eyes wide and unblinking, and the most furious blush Adamaï had ever seen on his brother’s face had erupted all over his skin.

He looked more like a hormonal teenager seeing his crush naked than a centuries-old king.

Remembering Yugo’s comment right before Amalia literally stole his breath away—seriously, he didn’t look like he was even breathing—, Adamaï couldn’t help himself and leaned in closer to whisper to Nora. “I’d say the gods certainly know what they’re doing…”

“If he doesn’t want her, I’ll gladly take her.” Nora whispered right back.

Qilby simply raised an intrigued eyebrow at this development.

Their whispering, coupled with Amalia’s face contorting in the slightest confusion, was enough to finally break Yugo out of his trance. Clearing his throat in an effort to appear nonchalant, and failing miserably, the king stepped closer to his guest to say, “It…It is an honour to have you here with us as well, Amalia. Although I believe you can imagine how unexpected this all is…”

“Oh, yes. Father did warn me you were not originally aware of my imminent arrival.”

Nora refrained herself from saying something rude about a god, especially in front of what was essentially his daughter. Everyone else in the room could already tell what she was thinking, after all. Efrim in particular must have felt it from all the way over to the opposite end of the palace.

“Nevertheless, I trust your stay with us will be a pleasant experience for you.” Yugo went on, trying very hard not to lose himself in those brown eyes of hers for what he had to say next was very important. “Amalia, if you don’t mind my asking, what exactly were you told you are to do here?”

The question seemed to take her aback for a moment, her cheeks colouring as she gathered her thoughts. Shyly tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, she answered. “I was told I am to remain by your side for as long as you permit me, Your Majesty. Hopefully, that will result in you falling in love with me.”

Adamaï almost choked.

Before Yugo had time to get his heart pumping blood again, Amalia added, a little bashfully. “Though, truth be told, I do not even fully understand what ‘falling in love’ is, let alone how I am supposed to achieve it. Father calls you my suitor, but I still don’t fully understand what it means, let alone what it means that I am to be your bride.”

Oh, so she had no idea what she was even supposed to do here. That made things easier somehow.

Yugo panicked when Qilby began to speak.

“Well, you see, my dear, a bride is a woman who is either married or about to be—.”

“Thank you, Qilby.” Yugo said loudly through gritted teeth, at the same time as both Nora and Adamaï clamped their hands over the eldest Eliatrope mouth to get him to shut up. Turning back to Amalia, he willed the heat to leave his cheeks. “Um, yes, brides and marriages usually go hand-in-hand.” Then, grabbing her hands to get her to look him in the eye, his voice turned serious. “However, Amalia, there is no guarantee you and I will get married.”

Her brow furrowing in confusion had no business being so cute. “Why not? Is it my appearance? Is it not to your liking?”

Yugo’s heart stopped. That was definitely not the problem. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” He hated how strangled his voice sounded, and he especially hated his siblings chortling at his expense. What was the point in being king if it didn’t save you from brotherly teasing?

“Then what is it?” She pressed on. At the same time, she stepped a little closer to him, and suddenly all the Eliatrope could see was her beautiful face.

Oh, what did he do to deserve such sweet torture?!

Mustering every ounce of strength he possessed, he took one deep breath before looking her straight in the eye. But seeing her big, doe-like eyes staring back at him in wonder deflated his resolve somewhat. With a sigh, he settled for explaining things from a different angle.

“It’s got to do with what you said about making me fall in love with you.” He settled on. “Love is a very complicated thing; there’s no guarantee that will ever happen, therefore, it would be foolish to marry only to be miserable.”

Eyes widening slightly in realisation, Amalia had the strange feeling something inside her broke. Weird. She had been born recently and Father was a master craftsman. She should be in perfect condition. She shook her head and with that those wayward thoughts; now it wasn’t the time for that.

She looked back at the king. There really was something magnetic about him, even if she couldn’t tell what it was.

“Then I suppose I should make my way back to Inglorium and explain the reason for my return to Father. You have my deepest gratitude for your time.”

Just as the Divine Doll let go of his hands and bowed down to them yet again, turning around to abandon the Eliatropes’ territory, Yugo and his siblings panicked, terrified at the prospect of the twelve gods taking their fury out on them.

While Adamaï and Nora sent him pointed looks and gestured wildly at Amalia’s retreating form (Qilby just shrugged), Yugo acted without thinking. He pointed one hand at the floor beneath him, creating a portal underneath his feet that immediately transported him right in front of the Sadida Doll, who could only take one startled step back in response.

Eyes glimmering in fascination, looking him up and down, all Amalia could say was, “Incredible…”

Taking advantage of her stupefied state, Yugo reached out for her hand again—was it weird how much he’d been doing it in the sparse few moments he had known her? Should he be worried?—; with her attention back on him, he rushed to say. “However, even though there is no guarantee love will ever blossom between us, I meant it when I say we are honoured to have you here. And if the gods expect us to spend our time together, then it will be my pleasure to be your friend, Amalia.” Then, he added. “Oh, and if we’re going to be friends, you can just call me Yugo. I was never good with formalities.”

“You have my thanks, Yugo.”

Her smile was so blinding, Yugo had the feeling his subsequent reaction to it was not a good sign for a perfectly platonic relationship.

After that, he formally introduced his siblings, with promises of letting her meet the remaining members of the Council and tours around the palace, and maybe even the island. They had to part ways relatively soon since Yugo and the rest still had some urgent matters to attend to, but he instructed some of his guards to guide Amalia to what would be her room from then on.

As he walked back to the council room, flashes of Amalia’s smiling face materialising in his mind, Yugo couldn’t help but wonder what awaited him now that the Sadida Doll was here to stay.

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