#hideous hag

[sinduraisawitch]

Sindura is a witch who was reborn into the Singh fam.

She can't hide her identity

#sindura singh #sindura is a witch #sindura singh fc #bono main teri dulhunn #creepy #evil witch #sindura fc #creepy old witch #old witch #evil #sindura is so creepy and ghoulish #sindura you witch. just tell them that you're evil #hideous hag #sindura is just a witch

[umakmesic]

#hideous troll #poverty #disabled #god made me this ugly #hag #diabetes #schizophrenia #or was that just me

[gacha-incels]

“Arknights/Limbus Company/etc is obviously very political, why are these incels playing it?” Here’s a longer answer if you’re interested.

If you haven’t been watching gacha communities for the past decade this might be confusing to you, but these guys see the games as just apolitical stories with a majority or all-female cast being there to titillate the male viewer. They are for his consumption. It’s why in both eastern and western “gacha game” communities you can see them talking about how these games are better for having “beautiful” anime women versus the hideous hags of western media. I’ve seen so many people asking “how are incels playing a game with so many strong female characters?” They see them not as “strong female” characters but rather “eyecandy made for me”. tbh when it comes down to it I wouldn’t call any of the designs in these games absolutely groundbreaking for the anime genre they’re aiming for. Arknights even follows the standard “fully animal faced-guy” and the female equivalent “small featured anime animal girl with some fur”. This doesn’t mean the designs are bad or you’re foolish for enjoying them of course, there are a lot of fun ones. Anyway, you can see the same sentiment in the majority of anime communities as well. Like do you think that stereotype of an anime nerd who “loves 2D women but hates 3D women” means he’s a feminist because the 2D girl is still female?

To be frank, after some of the actions taken by these companies (ex. the firing of women for posting anything vaguely feminist) can you honestly say an “apolitical game with anime babes” is not the way the games are often enjoyed? The company Yostar who publishes Arknights in Korea literally wrote a statement saying the game is apolitical and calling feminism a dividing force. If the publisher can say something so flippantly like this just to appease their incel fanbase, how can the game be making any meaningful, hardline progressive political statements? I am of course not saying this renders any positive message you get from these games moot nor am I saying it’s impossible for the writers to be passionate about their work, I’m just relaying the thoughts of the incels/“gacha gamers” playing them because there seems to be confusion. What I’m writing here doesn’t mean the worst interpretation of these games are their defining interpretations. I’m trying to explain how the games that many people see as being antithetical to incel beliefs can have these same men as high-spending fans.

Gacha games are unique in the world of consumer media in their extremely close and constant relationship with the consumer. You have to not only love each character’s design (and sometimes story) but also be willing to drop serious gambling money to “buy” them every single month. It’s like merchandizing on steroids. I think the term “whale” has been watered down since younger kids have started playing, but these people spend thousands per patch. Over the years I’ve heard about multiple games like this being sustained by just a couple of high spenders. In 2018 there was even a western news article about a man who had spent $70k+ on FGO. The publisher can’t rock the boat too much to displease the consumer too many times without risking EoS. Every character design and story of a gacha game is affected by this FIRST while any artistic intent comes second.

A Korean woman who had lost her job due to similar “feminist hunting” tactics wrote an article describing the way these incel men think. I posted it here and part of it summarized: the men that play these games see themselves as buying and “owning” the female characters in gacha games, who are often dressed and presented to them in a highly sexualized manner and will obey their commands. In the same way they “own” these 2D women, they also want to own the thoughts of the real live female illustrators who work on the games. Therefore, if these women have expressed ideas that the male gamers find upsetting, they will be angry she doesn’t conform to what they want like the servile 2D girl and do everything to get her fired (this is where she mentions Limbus Company as the most recent example of this happening).

You can argue for some of these games, maybe the girls aren’t dressed super provocatively and give (you) shit instead of being a simpering doll, but in the end it’s not like they can physically walk away or stop speaking to you. For the “waifu” hunter guy it’s just a different type of anime girl to collect.

The stories in these games are generally not what gets targeted as much by incels. In gacha “gamer” communities, especially the Korean incel ones, their main concerns are: how revealing are the summer swimsuits? How many women work for the company designing characters? and related, Are the male characters designed for women or for men and do they “look gay”? If you search through this blog, you can see them directly speaking about these things in regards to their hatred of Genshin Impact and Star Rail. All of these have also been encapsulated in the original Limbus Company incel attack: they hated that the summer female character looked more “clothed” (wearing a skintight suit instead of a bikini) than the male summer character. They thought the collar necklace and open shirt on the male summer character meant he was “a slave” for the female viewers, so obviously it was designed by a woman. When they learned a man designed and illustrated those characters, they searched to find a female illustrator who worked in the game and went after her instead. These guys WERE FANS that played the game beforehand and didn’t think anything in the story was upsetting enough to attack the company about. They were familiar enough with the works of Project Moon to name their little group after an antagonizing force in one of PM’s previous (non-gacha) videogames. And Project Moon saw them as such a significant part of their gacha fanbase that they wrote an immediate apology and fired the artist. How do these actions in reality inform their fiction and the interpretation of it? Getting this out of the way, they were NOT in any danger, the “fans” were not clamoring to get in their offices or camping outside, they were let in and calmly had a meeting with some employees at the office. You can still find photos of them goofing around, the ridiculous write up they brought with them and a transcript of the conversation. This was not a “guy shows up at Mihoyo’s offices with a knife” situation. In the end it was a financial and moral loss for the studio with many new and longtime fans completely dropping the games and Limbus Company taking one of the biggest financial and D/MAU drops for a gacha I’ve ever seen. You can read more regarding the ramifications of this here, this post is already pretty long for this website anyway.

Again I’m not writing this to shame anyone who plays these games, loves their characters or enjoys their stories. I don’t really care either way, and I obviously find the genre interesting or else I wouldn’t have been monitoring it and the fans for a decade. I just want to shine a light on the thoughts of the more “incel” gamers that play some of these games since I have seen a lot of genuine confusion as to why they would play them. In the future my aim is to write a more in-depth post about these issues, their history and the way antifeminists think.

#Arknights #yostar #hypergryph #project moon #limbus company #Genshin impact #long post #korean incel #incel ideology #gacha #fate grand order #fgo

[vampirecorleone]

"Perhaps it wasn't obvious, but that's the sort of thing you should keep your mouth shut about when you realize it. That's the smartest way to live, don't you think? That's how everyone survived, including me. But it looks like you're far stupider than I could have imagined. And now, you're staring death in the eye for that same stupidity. It's such a pity Omitsu. What are you scared of? There's no need for you to be afraid. Dried out flesh of old hags like you tastes revolting. And you're hideous. Why would I eat you? I'm actually offended you assumed I would. Goodbye Omitsu."

#Demon Slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #gif #mine #made by me #photoset #gifs #gifset #knyedit #knysource #knydaily #demonslayeredit #dailyanime #animeedit #anisource #dailyanimatedgifs #animangaladies #fyeahanimegifs #fyanimegifs #shounenenedit #userjenny #userdabiluna #usertorichi #dailyanimanga

[yourplayersaidwhat]

Seduce the Hag

Background: An NPC’s husband has gone missing in the woods. We were hired to rescue him. We find him in the house of a Hag. Note: The Cleric is well known for hitting on many NPCs.

DM: She uses Hideous Visage. If you aren’t immune to fear, please roll Wisdom Save. That is just Cleric.

Cleric: I rolled a 17. I see she is ugly but not hideous.

Me (Rogue) OOC: Is Cleric going to seduce the hag?

Cleric OOC, strained tone in his voice: Probably.

Some turns go by. Cleric: I approach the Hag. “Hey, it probably gets lonely here in these woods. I’m willing to trade for the man you have there.”

DM: Roll to seduce the hag. I warn you, its going to be pretty difficult. Me, (Rogue) OOC: Nat 20. Nat 20. Cleric rolls a Nat 20. DM: Hag says “This man trespassed and owes me 150 years of service for doing damage to the forest. You are welcome to take his place if you wish and serve the entire 150 years. Cleric: What about a long sweaty night, or two, and we call it even?

Artificer, OOC: A night of pleasure with Cleric is worth at least 75 years!

#shit my players say #rpg #submission #shareable #dnd #seduce all the things #diplomancy

[loudrats]

Loud Rats Book Club 2023

This year the rats became literate!

We suggested a number of books each month and then voted on one to read (somehow Fish managed to read all 12 of them… wild!). The ones in red are the winners, but there are some other really good books in there.

Hopefully you can find your next favourite read below! :)

January

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson

The Butchering Art by Lindsay Fitzharris

Earthlings by Sayaka Murata

Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead by Olga Tokarczuk

Why Fish Don't Exist by Lulu Miller

The Death of Ivan Ilyich by Tolstoy

Fledgling by Octavia Butler

Pirates and Prejudice by Kara Louise

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin

February

Adua by Igiaba Scego

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

The Passion by Jeanette Winterson

Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Gailey

March

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

The Humans by Matt Haig

Cane by Jean Toomer

Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa

The Memory Police by Yōko Ogawa

The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin (#1 Broken Earth Trilogy)

Young Mungo by Douglas Stewart

April

Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrel

Dubliners by James Joyce

The Tiger's Wife by Téa Obreht

My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong

Entangled Life by Merlin Sheldrake

May

Mary: An Awakening of Terror by Nat Cassidy

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield

Where You Come From by Saša Stanišić

Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë

Gwen and Art Are Not in Love by Lex Croucher

June

Death in Her Hands by Ottessa Moshfegh

Our Hideous Progeny by C. E. McGill

Swimming in the dark by Tomasz Jędrowski

Girls like Girls by Hayley Kiyoko

Diary of a Wimpy Kid 17 by Jeff Kinney

Zami: A New Spelling of my Name by Audre Lorde

Lesser Known Monsters of the 21st Century by Kim Fu

The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

July

Kid Youtuber 9: Everything is Fine by Marcus Emerson, Noah Child

Bored Gay Werewolf by Tony Santorella

Hit Parade Of Tears by Izumi Suzuki

When Death Takes Something from You Give It Back: Carl's Book by Naja Marie Aidt

Pandora's Jar by Natalie Haynes

The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

Mapping the Interior by Stephan Graham Jones

August

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle

Small Game by Blair Braverman

Free: Coming of Age at the End of History by Lea Ypi

September

Hag-Seed by Margaret Atwood

The Employees: A workplace novel of the 22nd century by Olga Ravn

Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk

October

Linghun by Ai Jiang

Eyes Guts Throat Bones by Moira Fowley-Doyle

The City of Dreaming Books by Walter Moers

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley

Catch the Rabbit by Lana Bastašić

Kindred by Octavia Butler

November

Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut

Life For Sale by Yukio Mishima

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson

Liberation Day by George Saunders

Ripe by Sarah Rose Etter

Eugene Onegin by Alexander Pushkin

Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

December

Arsène Lupin versus Herlock Sholmes by Maurice Leblanc

The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien

Minor Detail by Adania Shibli

Prophet Song by Paul Lynch

Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy

#loud rats #book club #to be clear the ones who won weren’t the BEST choice we just love democracy here

[wandering-scavenger]

Friendly reminder that actors are actors and are not the fictional character they play!

Olivia Cooke shared that she was depressed and couldn't leave her own home after seeing people hating on her because of her role as Alicent Hightower. Just another example of how toxic asoiaf/hotd fans are, who've bullied even Kit Harington, Rose Leslie, Sophie Turner, and Lena Headey over opinions they've made about the story or simply playing characters that they dislike.

"Obviously. I had a scroll on Twitter. It’s awful. It’s hideous. People are so mean. That’s the thing, no one has anything nice to say. No one, who goes and has the gumption to commit thoughts to a tweet, has anything nice to say. So I was a bit depressed, and didn’t want to leave the house for a little bit. But you have to, it's weird. You have to pick the scab. You have to see what people are saying. I haven't been on it for a very long time since just 'cause people are wild. I'm an evil hag in so many people's eyes. I had no idea that that's what people would come away thinking. " - Olivia Cooke

Go ahead and hate the characters you hate, but please don't forget that the actors are human beings who are just doing their job.

#anti hotd fandom #anti got fandom #olivia cooke #alicent hightower #kit harington #sophie turner #rose leslie #lena headey #jon snow #sansa stark #ygritte #cersei lannister #emily carrey

[sapphicrow]

RE8 Lords (+dimi sisters) Opinion on crocs!

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

Mother Miranda

The bird mommy herself. A true lady. Gothic aesthetic and all.

I think she would be an avid croc hater

I mean, she works in a lab, closed toe shoes. They’re not very practical for experimentation or any thing else

Plus her other outfit is goddess apparel or old hag.

I just can’t see her enjoying them whatsoever. They clash with her whole vibe.

If offered, Miri would most surely wrinkle her nose and scoff at the very notion.

“Ugh. Begone, mortal. The day you goad me into those atrocities of footwear is the day I surrender my subconscious to the megamycete,” Mother Miranda waves you off with a flick of a taloned hand.

Mia left a pair in the lab once and she tried them on. They remind her.

Salvatore Moreau

Fish man!

Moreau would be a huge fan.

Seriously, he lives in constant sogginess. A pair of shoes that can fit his deformed and damp feet would be welcome.

He pads around the reservoir in crocs all the fricking time

Over time, the sound of the rubber squelch becomes associated with his approach.

He would be gifted his first pair, but soon amass a bit of a collection- his favorites are the blue pair and the black one, but he’s also got green.

(In the church) *squish squish squish squosh squish* “hi, mother!” Moreau garbles. “Like ‘em?” He asks, gesturing to the tye dye crocs currently adorning the lower half of his slimy body.

He doesn’t wear them in public after Mother Miranda glared at them though

Heisenberg

Metal bending dilf

My guy isn’t the biggest fan of crocs, they just don’t work for him

The factory is difficult enough to manage in steel toed boots. Rubber slippers are not ideal.

I think he wears them solely to meetings to piss off Mirander (it works every time)

He was approached by his nieces with a pair of solid black crocs, and they were too insistent for him to deny them entirely.

Heisenberg thinks they’re fine, simply not his cup of tea though.

“Fuck!” The lord curses, his voice echoing against the metal walls of the factory for the fiftieth time. “Damn pieces of junk.” Heisenberg mutters after dropping a piece of scrap onto his croc bearing toes once more.

Alcina Dimitrescu

No.

Just no.

Absolutely not.

Lady Dimitrescu , the countess, the favorite of Mother Miranda, mother of three, would not be caught dead in such apparel.

It’s less that she has an issue with their design, and much more that she’s disgusted with the thought of looking so undignified.

She wouldn’t be threatening anyone when she whips her crocs into sports mode before unsheathing her mighty claws.

Alcina doesn’t mind them on others, but not her. She’s a noble lady and far above such peasantry.

Also they don’t make them in her shoe size.

“What…” she drawls, looking scornfully down at the maiden presenting her with such blatantly hideous shoes, “are those?”

Donna Beneviento

The dollmaker and illusionist ~

Donna is chill, I’d imagine she wouldn’t have too strong an opinion on crocs

She owns a pair in black and likes to wear them around her workshop

They’re quite comfy, and since she’s not always on her feet, they serve as very nice house slippers

She likes to pair them with fluffy socks to really get the full coziness effect

Besides, her skirt is long enough where they’re not really noticeable

A quiet melody sways within the air of Lady Beneviento’s workspace. Humming to herself as she worked and Angie looked over her shoulder. Dexterous hands wield pliers to work the last bit of wire into the joints of her newest creation. And as a finishing touch, a mini croc is slid onto this doll. A small smile quirks her lips beneath the veil.

“I want some!” Angie shrieks once she sets eyes on the crocs.

Bela Dimitrescu

The eldest of the flies, and the blondest

Bela follows in her mother’s footsteps on this one, she despises crocs.

She simply doesn’t see the appeal.

They’re rubber, they’re not particularly fashionable, and they clash with the lace of her dress.

Eyeing her sister up and down, Bela just scoffs judgmentally before walking away.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Our delulu queen <3

She is the biggest crocs person ever.

She absolutely loves them, much to her sister and Mother’s dismay.

Dani just thinks they’re the coolest thing ever

You don’t have to lace them, there’s different modes, and you can decorate them??? What more could you ask for!

She had a whole wardrobe. I think she had every color. Depending on the occasion, she mixes and matches.

Dani is also big on jibbitz.

“Look!” The ginger squeals excitedly as she swarms into a maid’s face. “It’s a fly!” Dani says with a delirious giggle, shoving the new charm into the frightened woman’s vision.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

The ravenette of the trio

Cassie likes crocs a normal amount

She doesn’t own her own pair of course, the only reason she ever wears them is to snatch them from Dani and make her mad

She also delights in how Bela and her mom glare down at her whenever she wears them

All in all, Cass doesn’t wear them as a fashion choice, she wears them for the drama

“Hehehe, you’re coming with me,” Cassandra whispers to herself as she steals Daniela’s prized flamingo print crocs from her room.

#resident evil #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #mother miranda #karl heisenberg #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #salvatore moreau #headcanon #for funsies #i know no one cares #but this has been eating away t my brain space #I want Cassie to get Alcina a pair customs made #imagine her chasing Ethan around the castle #wearing bright pink crocs with heart jibbitz #idk how to tag this #I CANNT #crocs

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

If you still want prompts, how about someone saying 8 to Jaskier? <3

Here's some Geraskier! Can be read as gen or pre-slash.

8. “Put your head on my shoulder.”

Geralt grits his teeth as he hauls Jaskier back to their camp, the bard a limp weight in his arms. Jaskier appears to be awake, but in shock; his wide eyes stare blindly upwards. His doublet has a tear in it, the gash left by the grave hag’s tongue traveling from the center of his breastbone to his left shoulder. It will probably scar, which is the least the idiot deserves after strolling up to a grave hag to “get a closer look.”

“Geralt, I can’t see,” Jaskier says again, his unseeing eyes darting about frantically. “I can’t see.”

“I know.” Geralt is more gentle than he would like to be as he deposits the bard on his bedroll. “That’s because you didn’t fucking stay back when I told you to.”

“I thought it was dead! It was on the ground!”

“It was injured, not dead. That made it even more fucking dangerous.”

“Is it permanent? Oh gods, Geralt, I can’t lose my sight! That hag’s hideous maw can’t be the last thing I ever see! Why couldn’t it have been a comelier monster, like a succubus or a—”

Of course that’s the first thing he thinks about. “It’s the venom from the grave hag’s tongue. It almost always wears off in an hour or two.”

“Almost always?” If possible, Jaskier’s voice gets even pitchier.

Geralt thinks about lying, but the bard needs to realize how easily carelessness could get him hurt or killed. He thought Jaskier learned that after nearly getting his throat cut by elves a month ago and then nearly getting carried off by a wyvern a week after that. Not to mention all the times Geralt's had to haul him away from an angry father or husband. “Occasionally, the blindness is permanent. It’s rare, but it happens. Mostly to the sick and the elderly.”

“How sick? Because I was feeling a bit sniffly this morning.” Jaskier’s heart rate is getting faster, his breathing growing quick and raspy. “And how elderly?”

“Jaskier, you’re eighteen.”

“Almost nineteen!” His voice rises to practically a wail. “And I like to think I have an old soul.”

“You have an almost-nineteen-year-old soul,” Geralt says with his last scrap of patience. “I told you, you’ll be fine in an hour or two.”

“I’ll most likely be fine in an hour or two! What happens if I’m not? You won’t leave me here, will you? Geralt, you probably haven’t noticed, but I have no fucking idea how to survive on my own.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to hear him. “I can’t light a fire! The last time I tried to set a snare for a rabbit, I got caught in it. I get sick at the sight of blood, so I can’t hunt! Please don’t leave me here on my own.��

“I’m not going to leave you.” Geralt has tried to lose Jaskier a couple of times, but quickly realized that abandoning the bard in the wilderness was practically a death sentence for the lad. He’s been tempted to reconsider a couple of times, but he doesn’t actually want Jaskier dead in a ditch.

“Gods, I’ll have to return to Lettenhove, won’t I?” Jaskier’s blank gaze is fixed somewhere over Geralt’s shoulder. “Cordelia is never going to let me live this down. She told me I wouldn’t last a year on the road and I didn’t even last a season.”

Geralt goes to his saddlebag to get supplies to clean and stitch the wound. When he comes back, Jaskier is enumerating all the things that he’ll never lay eyes on again. It’s hard to tell what he’ll miss more: sunsets or tits. As Geralt dabs the dried blood and venom from the wound, Jaskier seems to settle on tits.

“And yes, I know I’ll still be able to feel them, Geralt, but it’s really an altogether different—”

Geralt can hear the hitch in the bard’s breathing that tells him that Jaskier is perilously close to hyperventilating. Fuck. He puts aside the supplies—the wound has stopped bleeding, stitches aren’t a necessity—and pulls Jaskier into his arms. Jaskier makes a startled noise, but comes willingly.

“Put your head on my shoulder,” he says.

“What?” Jaskier squeaks.

“Just do it.” When the bard complies, settling his cheek against Geralt’s shoulder almost tentatively, like he thinks it’s some kind of trick, Geralt adds, “Listen to my breathing. Match it with yours.”

Jaskier’s quick, panting breaths slow down, bringing his hammering heart rate down a notch.

“Just concentrate on breathing.” Geralt keeps his voice low and soothing, like he would if it were Roach startled by an unexpected noise or a rabbit in her path. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What if it is permanent?” Jaskier whispers.

“It won’t be.” With the arm that isn’t holding Jaskier against him, Geralt cups the back of the bard’s head, stroking slowly with his thumb. “But if it is, we’ll figure something out. You’ll still be able to play the lute and sing. Still be able to talk.”

Jaskier lets out a shaky laugh. “You say that like you think it’s a good thing.”

“Hm.” Since the bard can’t see him, Geralt lets himself smile. “Better than listening to you shriek about tits.”

“I don’t shriek.”

“You sound like a grave hag in heat when you get worked up.”

“Thank you for that horrifying mental image. Really, today hadn’t been trying enough.”

“Your own fault.”

“And here I thought you were being nice to me for once.”

“Saved you from the grave hag, didn’t I?”

“Not in time to save my eyes.”

“Your eyes will be fine, Jaskier.”

“So you say.” But the anxiety is slowly seeping out of Jaskier’s scent as he curls closer to Geralt. Geralt will probably regret letting him get this touchy feely, but that’s a problem for later, once the bard can see again and his heartbeat is back to normal.

“You’ll be able to see again by sunset,” Geralt tells him. “But I don’t think you have any chance of seeing tits tonight, not with the shit job you did flirting with the alderman’s niece.”

“Shit job? Geralt, she was charmed!”

“Have you ever met a woman before, Jaskier? One that you’re not paying to put up with you?”

Jaskier is so indignant that he spends a good part of the next hour telling Geralt about the people of various genders who have been won over by his charm and good looks. He doesn’t even seem to notice when his sight comes back.

(And Geralt doesn’t notice that he’s still holding Jaskier until the bard pulls away.)

***

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[imaginesofeverykind]

Witches Brew ~ Chapter 2

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Warnings: Catholic-Centric monotheism demonised, language, 18+ Minors DNI

Tags: DnD Fusion AU, Targaryens are just noblefolk, more vagueness

Word Count: 5k

Chapter Song: Harbinger - Kiki Rockwell

Yurisa and Ornmir aren't in a DND pantheon I just made them up for the purpose of the fic!

Series Masterlist

The power of words came from the ability to heed what is said, the Holy word of God revered by many and feared by others denounces the practices that don’t abide his word. Yet, your words — the words of a heretic, a pagan, a ‘devil worshiper’ — haunted the brothers, resounding in disembodied whispers cruelly reminding them of the events that transpired in wake of a seemingly ordinary day.

Neither spoke of what happened, in fear that speaking it outloud would make it a reality. It almost felt as though they shared a deranged and highly realistic dream that stubbornly did not disappear into the back of their consciousness when they were awake. A nightmare they were forced to reckon with when their Lord Father fell mysteriously ill, an infection that appeared seemingly from nowhere had him bedridden for a tenday.

His left eye had begun to fester and rot away.

Troublesome as the sudden ailment came, it all but made the brothers’ blood run cold when they soon realized the eye that had begun its necrosis would have been the same side on Aemond’s if he lost it that day. He did lose it that evening. And then a miracle — dark blood magic — brought it back. This had been the price. The saying ‘Eye for an Eye’ appeared to be most taunting in this instance.

Cycles of the moon that once meant nothing but something to measure time with became a looming presence for Aegon. A beacon of light in the night he looked onto with resentment and disgust where it once bore witness to his acts of sin and debauchery. Each phase a creeping reminder that he must return back to the decrepit hut, a threat he considered hollow until he felt the pull of the moon the closer to full it became.

The swamp surprisingly looked more harrowing during the day, perhaps it were because under the shield of darkness the night brings, many creatures were hidden away. The afternoon sun seared through the treetops, warming the marshy waters and in doing so lifted a pungent odour, souring the deeper into the bog it got. Sulfur fumes so strong it was hard to believe the sounds of nature indicated life thrived blithely, undisturbed in the thick mud pits, reedy bushes or trees when it so easily brought tears to Aegon’s eyes and made his lungs burn.

Fungus, abnormally larger than the toadstools that littered the edge of the Kings Road sat in halo’s of spores it created. Demanding reproduction and relentlessly over taking the grounds of which they grew, the damage a single spore can do to an entire ecosystem of plant life once it infected a single limb of a plant.

Nature was hideous and beautiful, harrowing and wonderous, unforgiving yet forgiving all at once. Amongst it all, as if tying the cacophony of life, death and all that sat in between nature oscillating and constant; A blissful humming. So subtle it was almost easy to miss the gentle caress in the area getting stronger, coaxing more fervently as it neared the epicentre of the swamp. 

The Elder Tree and the Hut entwined in its roots.

“Hello little lordling,” You appear behind him, but Aegon doesn’t jump. Almost as if he were expecting you to be exactly there. The same presence that plagues his thoughts, you could tell how restless he had become over since you last met. A smile pulls at your lips, tauntingly smug, “the moon is not full and yet here you are. Five moons early.”

He regards you slowly, though out of fear or caution you can’t quite tell until he speaks, “my father has fallen ill.” There is no sadness in his voice, no guilt, no indication that he is upset by what you’ve done to ensure his brother became whole again. 

You drag your feet toward him with a tilted head as you stare into his eyes of Violet, curling a hand around his jaw to look at him with far more scrutiny, your fingernails like thorns into his skin. Part of you is disappointed, the younger brother seemed to be a far more amusing moon servant with his boiled temperament, but when you look into Aegon, you see someone far less self involved — self serving perhaps but not one who uses a holy shield to look down on those who refute one God. 

He is as much a sinner as you were but for different reasons.

“That is the price, to meddle with the forces of nature.” You muse, taking away the hand that clawed into his soft cheeks, crescent moon indentations mark where your fingers had previously sat. Head tilted once again, you inspect his rugged appearance, the dark circles under his eyes and how stringy his hair looked. Leagues different in comparison to how he had looked the last time he had enlightened you with his presence. The moon gives and the moon takes, just like magic, just like nature.

”I didn’t come here to hear riddles, hag.” His lips downturn into, what you could only assume was, a frightful grimace with his brows casting downward. Haggard in appearance wasn’t the only change you could note, where he had last been in the clothes of a nobleman now he was wearing commonfolk garb. Though you are inclined to believe this is his choice to do so and not an artifact of disowning from the Lord and Lady of Oldtown.

“I’ve jokes if you would rather,” you smile tauntingly, though he looked less than amused on account of his eye twitching with an ire you had only previously seen with his brother. It must be the Moon. Though you don’t concede in your jest,“forgive me, I was under the impression you were the fun brother.”

He snapped, grabbing the scruff of your cardigan and pulling you up off your feet with a strength that seemed to surprise even him briefly, “there is nothing fun about what you did to me.” His eyes were wild, animalistic like he might just snap a little further over the threshold of man and monster. This anger appeared foreign on him, you could tell. The creases worn into his face like ridges in a tree were that of someone forlorn and closely recognised misery as a friend, not someone who was quick to anger and enmity. His ire was not of desperation as you had seen once before, it was an artificial plague of your making by bestowing him the curse of the moon in your actions of removing it from his brother. 

As if reading his thoughts you shake your head, “I cannot undo what has been done.” You have said this many times to many different people who seek you out, an echo of the woman who raised you, as she would say the same to similarly lost souls. This time it filled you with feelings distant to you but not entirely unheard of, it stirred a deep sorrow that you could not understand the origin or why. 

“Why not?” His grip loosened, a crack in his voice indicated that he will not lose himself to the beast that lives inside his very being now.

“What is taken, must be returned. Your brother's eye was returned to him, but only because it was taken from someone else,” his father, you don’t need to say as he is sure enough to understand on his own, “the curse bequeathed to your brother removed, but only because it was parted onto someone else.” You, Aegon. Your eyes watch his with great interest, his pupils begin to shrink and the violet in them return, and a faint whisper that barely passes as a thought but still registers in your mind are three simple words that shake you to the core: I’m so sorry.

***

Blood curses on their own are incredibly hostile in nature, to meddle magically with the very rivers that bring a soul life, is to be inherently evil. You recall the night of your eleventh winter, the moon at its highest and forever etched into your memory was that it was red. A Blood Moon. Auntie, (as you referred to the woman who raise you as despite her being anything but) would regale you with stories of the various cities she had visited, the travels she would get up to and despite the discrepancies in her timelines you would always listen with a grin on your face and wide eyed.

While the Moon was the symbol of the wolves, the goddess commanded her soldiers and servants when it was at its fullest. A Blood Moon was the symbol of petrifyingly beautiful harbingers of death, lustful creatures seeking blood to keep their souls appeased and their hunger satiated. Though, to your recollection, you weren’t sure what a moon decorated in a blue hue meant and who served the Moon when she turned blue.

The bones of your beloved childhood pet ferret laid out before you indicated troubling signs for the evening's full moon, it warned of uncertainty and danger. “Gods be good,” you whisper and gather the bones of the late Yurisa, you had named her after the Goddess of Winter aptly because of the fur as white as snow. The Goddess of Winter was known to be cruel and calculating, worshippers often regarding her as the Mistress of Atrophy, for when she brought her touch upon the land, it withered beneath her.

To you, Yurisa was merely a name to call your furry companion. 

Now you are well and truly alone. No Auntie left to gently guide you through the mystical arts or teach you kindness and compassion. No more Yurisa to cuddle up with when loneliness crept up like a misfortune or to scuttle around your feet when you went foraging for ingredients. It seemed as though you were destined to be alone, abandoned by a mother, abandoned by another and left alone when death crept up and seized the soul from your small companion.

Perhaps that may have been the reason your thoughts lingered to mournful and sorrowful when lamenting on the impromptu visit for the lordling Aegon days prior. The same reason that voice whispered to offer mercy the night the brothers arrived. Though, you could lament no further out of frustration of not getting any answers and by happenstance due to Aegon’s arrival.

His footsteps were weary, despite being at the hut for a third time, though the weight with each carefully placed step had an adjustment to its cadence that piqued your interest. Blood curses with transformative properties were cruel and unusual on the body and the mind, the ebbings of change often appearing in those infected a few days before and after the Full Moon. It was already taking a toll on him. 

You opened the door at the moment he raised his fist to knock, startling him slightly though you don’t notice behind how disheveled and unwell he looked, “little lordling.”  

Through his tired eyes rimmed with red from exhaustion, he narrowed them, “stop calling me that.”

“Would you prefer Moon Servant? Wolf Pup?” You are hardly smiling or even joking for that matter, as you stepped aside and waved him through.

”Just Aegon is fine,” he grumbled, compared to last time his anger was at a low level — still foreign on him but low nonetheless. His face was more sunken in, hollowing at the cheeks and under eyes as if he were more skeleton than flesh. One of many unfortunate side effects he was about to endure and he was none the wiser about how awful it was about to get for him.

By the hearth you boil water and whisk around your cupboards for the right ingredients when the question in your mind suddenly fell past your lips, “how are you feeling?” It felt like a mistake to ask such a question, as it often is only asked when endearing someone, “the pain, I mean. Fevers? Anything out of the ordinary?” You quickly add, while fussing about the pot of boiling water and various ingredients swirling in a maroon brine.

”I feel…” He had to think about it, eyes lifted to inspect the ceiling while thinking, “I feel like I’ve been hung, drawn and quartered. Though I s’pose that is meant to be normal right, witch?” His tone laced in a particular type of venom, calling you a witch as if it were derogatory but it was nothing except a label of what you are. Sorceress, Enchantress, Hag, Witch — they all meant the same thing; Heretic.

You remind yourself that as far as he was aware, he was not here of his own free will which was far removed from the truth. The lapse in your wrath the night you had crossed paths with him had you wavering conviction and offering mercy. That mercy being that he would not have to face the Moon’s Curse alone and could do it in a place that concealed him far from the eyes of the many zealots within the walls of Oldtown.

Extending a clawed hand out, you gesture for him, “show me your fingernails.”

”Why?”

”If I wished ill fortune on you or even death, I’d have done it by now, no? Show me your fingernails.” You grew impatient.

He reluctantly holds out a hand for you to grab. Unexpectedly, they were red raw around the nail but not because of the impending transformation, this was purely habitual, a very human trait that indicated he was nervous and anxious often. The nails themselves though, were beginning to blacken at the nail bed and were more hardened than what was normal.

Holding one of his hands steady, you manifest a small jar of medicinal salve and begin to lightly swipe it over the affected areas. It wasn’t going to lessen the pain of his impending transformation, but it would help stave off infection. You feel his gaze on you, not hard or weary, rather just inspecting carefully as you silently tend to his fingers.

”Erm — I’ve had joint aches and mood swings. I haven’t eaten either.” He admits shrewdly, the violet in his eyes washing away from colour in his iris slowly. It felt rather ludicrous, hearing his ailments like he was a patient and you were a healer. Though to a degree you may have been just that, even if the circumstances were very different. 

You don’t answer him, merely nodding and turning back to your boiling concoction, opting to add a touch more Docrut ash before scooping a cup full of brine into an aged bowl. It is not grand nor lavish like what Aegon may be used to, but you didn’t care, offering it to him, “drink. It will help with the pain.”

Lifting the bowl to his lips, he grimaced with flared nostrils and took a gulp only to immediately splutter it back out and cough it all over you. Unsure if he was being overdramatic or he simply wished to indignify you for his shortcomings, nevertheless, you wiped your face of his spit silently.

”That tastes like piss,” he gagged, covering his face and mouth as though it would shield him from the steaming brew in his hands.

”I never said it would taste nice,” you smile with slight amusement, “though if you forgo what is helpful simply because of its taste, I can assure you, you will regret it come morning.” He was an interesting individual, thrust into a circumstance out of his control and yet finding ways to nitpick it like the true highborn soul he was. 

“Perhaps if you hold your nose and drink it won’t taste so bitter,” you offer, remembering when as a child how much you despised the mushroom bark stew Auntie made. She would tell you the same thing, because out in the Swamp you either ate what was given to you or went hungry. Choice was not a luxury you grew up having.

He seemed taken aback by how childish you sounded, or, you thought, it was because you had said something that wasn’t inherently monsterous in his eyes. So you decide to bite a little, a smile curling at your lips, “what? Even us Hags have to eat disgusting things despite ourselves… I’ll drink some with you, if it helps.” 

You scoop yourself a bowl, holding it up as if mocking a ‘cheers’ and bringing it to your lips. He wasn’t wrong at all, it smelt awful, eye wateringly awful and as pungent as the acrid scent of the swamp outside. Gods, don’t think about the swamp water. Yet, with a pinch of the nose to seal your nostrils shut, you tilt the bowl up and begin to drink. Eyes flicking over to Aegon who is dutifully following despite the exaggerated expression of disgust.

”See,” you cough and wince as the brew burned your throat and assaulted the senses, “it wasn’t so —,” an onslaught of coughs prevent you from finishing the sentence, though when you came too it wasn’t the fact that he had finished his bowl that came as a surprise. It was the simple and disturbingly pleasant fact that he was actually laughing - at you, yes - but laughing nonetheless. 

The feeling of delight, something as plain as hearing him laugh sent troubling waves of nausea within you. Stop that, you insisted to yourself for thinking too long on such a factor but unfortunately for you it seemed to imbue you with a sense of being. 

“I’m pleased to know it isn’t poison at least,” he jests half heartedly, setting the bowl down on the table beside him. His moment of weakness, laughter, subsided and his walls were back up, though as you look out the window you are reminded that he will very much be a very different kind of man soon, and even more come the morning.

There was still some time left before a long night began, a question that had been plaguing you since that night a month ago and had never found a suitable answer by speculating, “why did your brother get attacked that night? The Lycanthropes in the swamp… They are usually docile because of Ornmir.”

He looked over at you, brow raised in confusion that was met with your annoyed sigh, “right of course — The Swamp Spirit, she has domain over this area, nurtures the land and watches over the creatures.” You explain as if it were the most obvious answer, but recognise you were being unfair on someone who most likely had no idea there was a spirit of the swamp.

There’s a moment of slight humour back in his eyes, a scornful snort exhales from his nose as he laughs dryly, “I suppose then this fabled ‘spirit’ is responsible for the attacks on the nearby village then? A beast descends on a village to kill their livestock, that feels rather opposite to being watched over and docile, like you said?”

”hm,” you hum momentarily, letting his words settle, “perhaps it’s God’s will then?” You weren’t mocking him specifically, rather his family and those who sought to eradicate the magic in the world. The surrounding village’s littered on the outskirts of the swamp were often benevolent in the few times you had passed through to get seeds or fruit, yet the cathedral spires of Oldtown were a beacon that infected many people with prejudice and it reached as far as the closest Village.

Ornmir’s domain was relatively benign despite the creatures that reside, so it did strike you as odd that something had been thought to attack the villages, just like it struck you as odd that an attack happened to Aegon and his brother. Though, your question would remain unanswered for a while longer with the light fading to blackness settling outside of the hut’s windows.

It was always darker in the marsh long before the Sun had fully set, which was natural given the thick cover provided by trees taller than Oldtown's giant Cathedral. Though nightfall would turn within mere minutes, and with that, Aegon would be more monster than man. With great haste you beckon him outside of your hut and take him behind the Elder Tree. A lantern in one hand to illuminate the way and an old dagger in the other.

The humming that vibrated throughout the swamp seemed to permeate from the very roots of the Elder Tree; it was the largest and most intricate looking tree in comparison, even shrouded in darkness. Around it, the ground littered with moss and deceptively hidden soft mud that would encase your foot had you taken a wrong step.

You close your eyes and listen softly, to the wind and its direction, to the symphony of creatures and bugs that coexist within the heart of the marshy swamplands, the humming that never ceased. The moon was on the rise. You felt it, like a presence that made the hair on the back of your neck stand, like a feeling deep within the pit of your stomach. Many serve the Moon, but all life somehow feels its pull.

“Aegon,” you address with a softer tone than necessary, “this may very well be the worst thing you will ever go through. It’s excruciating. It’s difficult. You will begin to recede back, as though no longer in control because you won’t be in control yet will feel, see, taste everything. You’re a shattered soul belonging to two now. A man and a beast.” 

A Primal beast that will exist on urges that would make men weep at the thought.

”We are going to have quite the night together I believe,” you smile wearily, bringing the obsidian dagger to the palm of your hand and cutting deeply into it. He grimaced at the sight of crimson dribbling down your forearm, but in the macabre lighting of the lone lantern and a cluster of fireflies you watch his eyes wash away all violet colouring.

Black consuming even the whites of his eyes, you gave him a playful smile, one that certainly wasn’t appropriate for the situation at hand and darted off through the swamp

***

Lycanthropy is one of the few curses that shattered both body and soul, and contrary to what is believed that the only instance of change occurs under the full moon, the blight is a month long ailment. To have bones, tendons and muscle rip, warp and rearrange to a completely different structure was harrowing enough to watch, though scholars tend to only source that this happened one night per month. 

Mending bones and muscle was no easy feat, nor was it something that could be done in a mere day. Especially under someone’s first transformation. Aegon had slept for a day and a half before awakening to what you could only assume was the worst pain ever to be put through. 

He complained, immensely, but you took that as a sign of him feeling better than anything to be annoyed about. Two days after the full moon his fingernails had finally regressed to their normal sizing, and both his hair and eyes had a semblance of life brought back into them. 

You had forgotten how nice it was simply having another person around, not even just to talk too, but another presence that made the hut feel less lonely. Though, you remind yourself that much like your Mother, Auntie and Yurisa — loneliness appeared to be your curse to bear.

”I promise this tastes better than it looks,” you hand over a bowl of seemingly beige modge podge that looks less than enticing and more like vomit. Aegon immediately grimaced but seemed to have caught himself and shook it off, probably in hopes that you didn’t notice. But you did.

His eyes widened in surprise when he shoveled a tentative mouthful of the unappealing looking soup, “this is delicious, what’s in it?” 

Snake and Eel. Against your better judgment you decide to refrain from telling him, lest he lose his appetite, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” A sly smile pulling at the corner of your lips as you tend to the daily chores around your abode. His watchful gaze never felt intrusive or rude, it was your understanding that he merely enjoyed people watching though he hadn’t said it, it was your own reticent observation that led to that deduction.

“You are strange, witch.” Without a hint of malice in his voice, it may have been the first compliment you received from him, one that you gladly took on. Invigorating you in a way that was unexpected and worrisome. Auntie had warned you that you had a tendency to grow attached too easily, a facet that rang true for all the creatures you helped mend themselves when they were injured or the travelers that passed through that you assisted her with helping them. 

“Strange is good,” you smile earnestly at him, and though your mind was yelling for you not too, your mouth opened on its own accord, “Bramble… Auntie called me Bramble because that's where she found me.” Though you refused to elaborate when he gave you an inquisitive glance. The memory of Auntie was somewhat sacred, that was something you wished to keep to yourself above all.

”An even stranger name…” he murmured, as though in his thoughts and you weren’t supposed to hear that. 

The remainder of the morning went as such, light chatter that felt more akin to a strategic game of droughts learning a small thing about the other as the morning progressed. He was a first born of four, wildly incapable of the pressures and responsibility of a first born, liked to drink his body weight in Ale and Fine Wine and was horrid at day to day tasks as you came to learn when he attempted to help you with something as mundane as hanging freshly washed linen out.

”Good lord what the fuck is that?” His exasperated tone caused you to turn, his eyes fixated in the distance and a finger pointed at the flying abomination in the air near a cluster of identical looking creatures. Features that looked not of this world, making it appear as though it was the gruesome victim of alchemistic cross breeding, beady eyes and a rat like face of a bat but its body looked like a giant mosquito.

You looked at it, unfazed and turned back to what you were doing, “Stirges, awful creatures…” While the flying monstrosity didn’t worry you, its presence did unsettle you greatly, having not seen a nest of them so close by before. Something strange was happening and it had started from before the night of the lycanthrope attack. You wished to know what events occurred that caused such a chain reaction. An attack on a human, an attack on the village and now an incursion of horrible blights that aren’t native to the lands.

“Aegon,” you slowly lifted your head to meet his gaze which was already fixed on you, “why were you in the swamp the night your brother was attacked?” It felt as though you asked this question several times before and never got a real answer out of him or the conversation naturally diverted elsewhere. 

While he was mostly open about his admissions already, you could sense him hesitate to answer this question. Perhaps he was gifted at deflecting and that was why you hadn’t received an answer for your question yet. Though the trepidation was not for lack of honesty or a need to conceal the truth, his eyes glassy and a slight tremble in his lip indicated guilt more than anything.

“Whatever is eating away at you, is not my concern. The reason is all I care for. Something isn’t right.” You hum, the nagging feeling eating away your insides like a looming sense of dread that was hard to pinpoint and it alarmed you grately that it took this long to figure out something strange was afoot. The humming of the Swamp droned gently, undisturbed and constant and yet there was a disturbance, over by the reedy shallows where the Stirges set their nest up. It was as though they came undetected, unseen.

He sighed, drawing your gaze to him, a look of shame and guilt marred his face, “I want not for ownership of the land, nor title or to become a Lord… but such is duty,” he was resentful and cutthroat, as if the word duty was an unholy word to be spit out. “Yet my father forces upon me what I push away — it’s my fault Aemond was hurt, he should never have been out there.”

Aemond, you repeat in your head, finally putting a name to the younger brother you healed a month ago.

“The village, Watercroft, asked my father to rid them of the beast that started killing their livestock and I was supposed to lead the hunting party. I would not do as he said, I cannot,” he looked away, gritted teeth as he spoke about his father like poison to the tongue. You couldn’t blame him, since you’ve lived in the Swamps his father has ruled Oldtown and whilst the locals revered him for peace, you had vehemently disagreed.

“So I drank, complained and let Aemond take the lead — he’s the one who deserves the power, the title, everything. And we’ve heard stories about beasts within the swamplands from travelers and locals, but this was different. A monstrous scourge that devoured six of our men whole before I sobered up enough to realize what was going on. Aemond.. he… he grabbed me and we ran… right into a den of Direwolves.”

You shake your head correcting him, “not Direwolves.” 

“Right.” He agreed quietly.

His story, while jagged and a mess to make sense of slowly began to click into place for you. It was unsettling at best and at worst borderline apocalyptic for the ecosystem within the Swamp and all the land around. There was only one beast in the Swamp capable of doing what he had described and that was Ornmir herself, in her natural corporeal form as a Swamp Drake. But this revelation only offered more questions than answers, the biggest one more alarming than any other speculation you had gone through prior to this.

Why was the spirit of the Swamp so angry?

~~~~~

Tag List: @karlachs-soldier @serving-targaryen-realness @deltamoon666 @bogbutteronmycroissant

If you want to be tagged let me know :DDD

#imagines #imagine #fanfiction #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x reader #house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x you

[vacantgodling]

OC in 15 Or Fewer

this is fun thank u for tagging me @jezifster 💛💛💛

Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

we’re obviously gonna do hya, lbr. but i may do more of these for other ocs cuz why not✨

i’m also gonna leave this as an open tag. open, as in, if you see this you have to do it by law. even if you already did it, do it for another oc 🫵🏾

Hyacinthus Shrapnel

“Shut the fuck up you battered, wrinkly, putrid hag.”

“I have no qualms about coming across this table and removing your head from your shoulders.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t possibly relate, being a wife myself.”

“Tell them that their wife is in utter upset.”

“Suck it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“That ring is hideous, and I refuse to wear it.”

“Threats sound oh so trivial when they come from the mouth of a silly servant girl instead of the mouth of the one making them.”

“Fuck you, butler.”

“You can’t love me. You can’t.”

“Shut up, Amon.”

“Don’t play stupid. I know you’ve read the papers.”

“Let’s say that I’m invoking my right to presume abandonment and am acting accordingly.”

“Your insistence to call me anything less than ‘Your Royal Gods Above’ is your worst trait yet.”

“Legality and money have been weaponized in our age. To defy it… That is the kind of companionship I seek.”

#obsessed with him #obsessed with asserting that he’s a wife because he IS #*gestures at paramour worldbuilding* #obsessed with how he talks #with HIM #god doing this made me want to write paramour so bad #i need to finish cage first THEN i can start redoing a more detailed outline ok at me #s: paramour #ren writing

[princess-ibri]

can we have a madame mim backstory.

Sure! Sorry it took a bit

Mad Madam Mim was born Lady Miriam of Mousehole, a free spirited young woman who was tutored in the ways of witchcraft by her nannies, a trio of ladies from the land of Morva who absolutely falsified their good references to get the position, and may have been planning to eat baby Mim before she showed an early talent for magic and they decided to train her instead

Mim's great aptitude and appreciation for magic was countered by her having absolutely no inclination towards behaving as a proper lady should, she was always getting into mischief and dirt and declared she would rather be the one turning princes into frogs then kissing them

Despite this declaration she did end up eventually marrying King Bagdemagus, of the land of Gorre, who she was incredibly disappointed to find out was a quite polite and disgustingly normal man, and not an evil wizard as the name of his kingdom seemed to suggest

He was however very willing to let his mad wife run wild as long as she turned anyone important back from frogs at the end of the day which Mim appreciated, and together they had several daughters and a son, Maleagant, who with the witch Hellewise are the parents of Matilda "Mad Maddy"

Eventually Mim got bored of being Queen and giving her husband a peck on the head (she was a bird at the time) she flew the coop and settled down in the Forest Savage where she could be her prefered horrid hideous hag-like self

It was while living there she met Merlin and promptly decided her new favorite pastime was driving the fussy wizard to distraction, and they've been battling each other ever since

#asks #disneyverse #villain backstory #mad madam mim #the sword in the stone #the black cauldron #king arthur #the once and future king #Arthuriana #disney villains #canon descendants #disney descendants #mad maddy #Maleagant #hellewise #witches #merlin

[fatashellidols]

"Sooo, what do you say? Not bad for an hour's soak in a 'silly old myth'."

There were plenty of stories and more about this lake, far out in the woods. That demons had possessed it. That an angry old hag had drowned in it. That there were cursed barrels of grain at the bottom, that there was something awful about it, that supposedly turned any fair maiden that touched it's waters into a hideous parody of herself.

Nevertheless, you grew up playing in the woods between this lake and your house. Playing with this pretty little girl your age, who never seemed to come over to your place, and could never be found when you wanted to introduce someone to her. "Fauna" her name was. But as you grew older, tag and tumble became just as rough, but far more intimate between you two.

She was always on the softer, chunkier side, with juuuuust enough pudge to have some proper love handles for you to hold onto. She knew where all the nice spots where plenty of food was. She knew this place well and then some. So, maybe, just maybe she could elaborate on what all the lake was. It was so incredibly deep within the woods you had never seen it yourself, but you heard it plenty of times.

"Hideous...Parody?" She seemed confused when you asked the question. "I know that place. Follow me~"

Her being nude wasn't anything new to you, and seeing her wade into the lake, it all seemed normal, and you sat on the bank, talking with her as she idly swam around...then you saw her double chin was more prominent than it was before. And her hips were wider...

"But I don't see you complaining~" Was all she had to say on the matter as she slowly swelled up.

And when she got out...seeing her hips jiggle and her belly lightly clap against her thighs as it hung down...you were almost tempted to shove her back in...

#Fauna

[training4theapocalypse]

A Nest of Vipers (Cormac McLaggen x Original Female Character - Slytherin)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.3K

Warnings / Tags: Smut, Secret Relationship

Summary: Una Montague wouldn't be caught dead dating a Gryffindor. Luckily for her, the feeling was mutual as far as Cormac McLaggen was concerned.

A/N: Dear god, please forgive me for what I wrote while ovulating. First time writing an OFC but I think it's still as hot as reader-insert. OFC and McLaggen are both 18. Also I just want to say that I fucking hate JK Rowling and am gleefully bastardising her work.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @ratsys, @aweidlich, @navs-bhat, @stainedpomegranatelips, @chiaraanatra, @xxvelvetxxxx, @ohnoitsrosie, @dracosisteer, @daisydark, @intense-sneezing, (let me know if you want removed/changed at any point btw!)

Chapter 1: Smudge

The Slytherin common door shut with a thundering echo. Una Montague looked up from her Astronomy homework and locked eyes with Meredith Prewett. Uh-oh.

Professor McGonagall had asked Sabine to stay behind after Transfiguration that day and judging by the way her high heels stomped across the stone as she stormed towards the group of sixth-years sitting by the fire, it had not gone well.

“You’re in my seat,” said Sabine Zabini with a cutting glare. 

Pansy Parkinson sprang up without argument. “Sorry Sabine. Let’s go,” she added to her friends who hastily packed up their things and made themselves scarce.

Una and Meredith rushed over from the little alcove at the lake window as Sabine sank into the onyx wing-backed chair with a woeful groan.

“Sab, are you okay?” fawned Meredith, perching on the arm of Sabine’s chair. 

“If I ever see that old hag again, it’ll be too soon,” she hissed. 

Una sat down on the hard marble table in front of them. “What did she want?” she asked. When McGonagall had asked her to stay behind, Sabine had told Una to go on without her, and so had she made her way down to the dungeons and found Meredith studying in the common room.

“She told me if I want to sit my Transfiguration N.E.W.T., I’d have to start taking remedial Transfiguration lessons with her.”

“No!” gasped Meredith. Una didn’t say anything. She knew from sitting beside Sabine all throughout the previous year that she was lucky to have even made it to seventh-year Transfiguration. But the first few weeks of term had made it apparent that she was not keeping up with the curriculum. 

“Well, of course, I told her where she could stick her remedial Transfiguration.”

“You didn’t!” said Meredith. Sabine caught Una’s eyes before rolling hers.

“Of course, I didn’t, Meredith. No, I thanked her very much for the kind offer but told her I’m withdrawing from the class. Obviously.”

“Oh, Sab,” Una groaned. “You should have just done a few extra lessons with her.”

“Ugh, as if.”

“Who am I going to make fun of her hideous hat with now?” Una smirked, trying to hide her excitement and Sabine returned it. There was one person in Transfiguration who didn’t have a partner and Una was already making silent plans to sit next to him.

Cormac McLaggen. Tall, stupidly beautiful, beautifully stupid Cormac McLaggen. God, she wanted him. But Slytherins and Gryffindors barely spoke to each other here unless completely necessary in lessons. Both houses liked to think they were the others’ opposite. But Una knew that they were simply two sides of the same coin. 

Cormac barely even looked at Una. And for some reason that made Una want him more. 

When she, Sabine and Meredith walked down the corridor arm-in-arm, boys - even the Gryffindors - couldn’t help but stare. Slack-jawed, awestruck, terrified by the trio’s powerful feminine energy. But not Cormac. He was head and shoulders taller than the three of them so he didn’t even need to avert his gaze - he just simply looked over them as if they weren’t there.

Sabine and Meredith (but especially Sabine) would be horrified if they knew about Una’s crush. Sure, he was good looking but it would be social suicide to date a Gryffindor. Even one as well-connected as him - apparently his Uncle was extremely high-up in the Ministry.

Una had a stupid habit of wanting what she couldn’t have. And, fuck, she was desperate to have him. Even just once. Just to find out what he’d be like. He was so big and broad and downright intimidating. But Una was sure she could have him whimpering, begging for her-

“Hello? Earth to Head Girl?” Sabine and Meredith looked at her expectantly. Una blinked a few times and shook her head.

“Sorry - I was thinking about… Transfiguration. What were you saying?”

“Who are you going to sit beside tomorrow?” asked Meredith.

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Una made a show of rolling her eyes. “I’ll probably just sit at the back by myself. I’ll get a lot more work done without you there,” she teased Sabine.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes,” said Sabine, pulling her long, black braids over her shoulder. “Whatever are you going to do without me leading you astray?”

It wasn’t so much a question of what, thought Una, but who.

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

A bag landed on Cormac McLaggen’s desk with a thud and he looked up in surprise to see Una Montague perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at him. “You’re good at Transfiguration, right?” she asked abruptly.

He furrowed his eyebrows together. “Me?”

“Yeah, you. Can I sit here?”

What fresh hell was this? What was one of the Vipers doing sitting on his desk? It was rare to see any of them alone. Cormac looked behind her sceptically. “Where’s your friend?”

Sighing heavily, Una pulled her bag back onto her shoulder. “I’ll sit somewhere else.” 

She turned to walk away, swishing her hair as she went. But before she took a step he said quickly, “Wait - yeah, you can sit here.” He supposed it would be poor manners to let a pretty girl, albeit a notoriously mean one, sit by herself at the back of the class when there was a perfectly good empty seat next to him.

“Only if I’m not inconveniencing you.” 

Already feeling like he was about to regret it, he gestured to the seat.

Cormac continued to look unsurely at her as she slid into the seat next to him. “What happened to Sabine?”

Una rummaged in her bag. Cormac expected her to take out her textbook but instead, she withdrew a small, black compact mirror and some lipgloss. “Oh, she dropped Transfiguration...” Cormac watched quietly as the lipgloss wand drew across her lips, spreading a shimmering pink glaze over them. And for some reason, he felt like he should look away. Like he was watching something extremely private. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “She couldn’t handle it.” 

She pressed her lips together and pouted a little in the mirror, examining her neat work. The way she preened herself made Cormac want to reach out and smear the gloss over her face, just to see her reaction.

She snapped the compact shut and jolted him out of his daze with a start. 

“I should give you two for flinching,” she smirked. 

Professor McGonagall strode past them to the front of the class and the chattering students quietened down. She announced that they were going to be working on conjuring birds today.

“Might I remind you that your N.E.W.Ts are only a few months away and none of you are yet to successfully conjure more than a feather.”

The class groaned and got to work, trying with limited success to conjure birds using the Avis spell.

“Why is this so bloody difficult,” grumbled Cormac after some time, concentrating on his wand tip while Una lazily brushed a comb through her hair - her wand abandoned on the table. “Conjuring inanimate objects? Fine. But birds…”

“Have a lot of trouble with birds, then?”

“Oh, very funny.”

“I’m serious. I’ve never even seen you with a girl.”

Cormac lowered his wand and turned in his chair slightly. Oh, so this was why she sat here, was it? He couldn’t deny she was good-looking. But still, a Slytherin.

“Oh yeah, been watching me, have you?”

“I’m just very observant.”

“I’m single if that’s what you’re asking?”

Una rolled her eyes. “You wish, Cormac.”

Cormac leaned back in his chair and looked her over, resting his arm on the backrest as he did.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” she asked innocently, putting her brush in her bag before raising her wand and pretending to concentrate on conjuring birds.

“I’ve never seen you with anyone. Except for the Vipers. Or is that a thruple situation?”

“The Vipers?”

“You know, Slytherin’s other monsters. Sabine and Meredith.”

Una laughed. He had half-expected a shrill cackle. But her laugh was warm, even genuine. “Oh, so is that what they’re calling us in Gryffindor Tower?

He shrugs. 

“It’s catchy.”

“So? Are you?”

She too lowered her wand and leaned in closer to him. “Are you asking if we fuck each other?” she murmured, staring intently into his green eyes. “Are you picturing me rolling around in the sheets with them in the Slytherin girls dorm? Making them moan my name?” she teased.

Cormac paused and swallowed. “What if I am?” he said, and was pleased when it sounded more confident than he felt. They were both playing with Fiendfyre, talking like this so brazenly in the classroom. But he wasn’t sure who was more skilled in this Dark Art.

“I should slap you,” Una said, moving closer still so he could hear her barely audible admonishment. He felt her bare leg in her stupidly short skirt pressing against his.

“Don’t. I can only get so hard.”

Her eyelashes dipped as she looked down at his lap. Una drew a sharp inhale when his fingers twitched suddenly towards his belt.

He smirked.

“I was joking. But I should give you two for flinching.”

Uno looked up again at him coolly. “You’re not gonna give anything to me.”

“Oh yeah?” He gave her an arrogant smile as if he found it hard to believe. “Why’s that?”

“First of all, I’m not that easy. And second of all, I wouldn’t be caught dead dating a Gryffindor.”

“Who said anything about dating? What if  -”

“Miss Montague, Mr McLaggen. Is there something amusing you’d like to share with the rest of us?”

Silence fell over the class again and Una and Cormac turned hastily in their seats to face the front.

“I was just explaining the theory, Professor” Una said sweetly, seemingly unphased by the interruption.

“Then perhaps you could demonstrate?” Professor McGonagall challenged, calling her bluff.

Una pointed her wand and out shot six yellow twittering canaries.

McGonagall’s lips pursed together in a thin line. Cormac was sure she was about to award Una points but instead she addressed him. “And Mr McLaggen?”

Cormac extended his own wand. A stream of feathers erupted from the end and floated down onto the floor. Una bit her lips, trying to stifle a snicker at his expense.

Any further embarrassment on his part was saved when the bell rang signalling the end of class and McGonagall dismissed them.

“I suppose I’ll see you on Friday?” asked Una casually, positioning her bag on her shoulder.

“Thursday.”

“The next lesson’s not 'til Friday.”

“Slughorn’s dinner thing. You’re not ditching it again, are you?”

“I don’t know… Sabine and Meredith say it’s a waste of time, sucking up to an old has-been like Slughorn.”

“They don’t need to come.”

“Trying to get me alone, Cormac?”

Cormac laughed. “It might just be nice for you to make some new friends. You’re not that bad when you’ve slithered away from the Viper’s nest.”

Una narrowed her eyes. “I happen to like my current friends, thank you very much.”

“Sure but I only meant  -”

“Believe it or not, I don’t actually care what anyone from your house thinks of me or my friends. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my thruple.”

And with that, Cormac watched as Una strutted out of the classroom, leaving him to kick himself for managing to fumble the quaffle so hard - right when it was going his way too.

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

“Did you miss me terribly, Una?” cooed Sabine when Una found her and Meredith beside the common room fire that afternoon.

“It was the worst,” she said, plopping herself down on the sofa, watching the way the fire danced against the green tiles. “McGonagall picked on me and didn’t even give me a measly point for doing the Avis spell correctly. And nonverbally I might add.”

“Typical,” said Meredith. “It’s so unfair. She hates us.”

“Who did you end up sitting next to?” asked Sabine, flicking through her magazine.

“Erm, that guy… McLaggen,” said Una, as if his name was of little consequence.

“Not that oaf.”

“I know,” said Una. “And it’s not like I could even copy him - he was about as useful as a chocolate cauldron. I’m surprised he’s not in remedial Transfiguration.”

Sabine laughed but Meredith paused thoughtfully.

“He is quite handsome though, isn’t he? And rich, I think.”

“Eugh, Meredith. You have terrible taste,” said Sabine.

Una quickly copied Sabine’s look of disgust while Meredith backtracked.

“I just meant he’s alright to look at. Still a Gryffindor though, obviously.”

“And an idiot. Didn’t you hear how he ended up in the hospital wing last year? Eddie Carmichael dared him to eat Doxy Eggs for a bet. Some Head Boy he is, Una. Between him and McLaggen, you’ll have your work cut out for you this year.”

Una wrinkled her nose.

“Poor Una,” said Meredith sympathetically.

“I did find out some good gossip though,” said Una raising her eyebrows and leaning back on the sofa. “The Gryffindors call the three of us The Vipers.”

“That’s rude,” said Meredith but Sabine shrieked in a fit of giggles.

“I love it!” she laughed. “We really are just living in their heads, aren’t we?”

Una grinned. “I know.”

Sabine closed her magazine and stood up. “Let’s go down to the Great Hall. I’m starving. What do vipers eat anyway?”

“If they’re anything like Ashwinders then insects. Raw eggs,” said Meredith in an attempt to be helpful.

“That’s disgusting, Meredith,” said Sabine, linking her arm through Una’s. Meredith hurriedly latched on to her other side. 

“Speaking of dinner,” Una said. “I’m thinking about going to Slughorn’s on Thursday.”

“Ugh, pass,” said Meredith.

“Why?” asked Sabine, giving Una a shrewd look. “Blaise said it was terribly boring.”

“I know but I probably ought to as Head Girl. Bit of a snub if I don’t go twice. And maybe it’ll help my marks in potions.”

“You reckon?” asked Meredith.

“Well, it can’t hurt my marks if he likes me.”

“That’s a good point,” said Sabine thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll come too then. I need all the help I can get since I’ve got one less N.E.W.T. this year.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Shit, thought Una. 

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

Blaise Zabini was waiting in the common on Thursday night when Sabine, Una and Meredith finally ascended from the girl’s dormitory.

“Mum was complaining you’ve not written to her yet,” he told Sabine.

“I’ve been busy.”

“All four N.E.W.Ts proving to be time consuming, then?”

“Shut up.”

The four of them made their way along to Professor Slughorn’s office. They opened the door to find several plush seats already occupied around the extravagantly decorated table. Una felt irked when she noticed McLaggen was notably absent. This whole thing really would have been a waste of time if he didn’t turn up after all.

“Welcome, welcome!” Boomed Professor Slughorn. “So nice of you to join us. Blaise, good to see you again - and you’ve brought your sister!”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for inviting me,” said Sabine graciously as they found their seats and Slughorn beamed. Sabine had such a way of making people feel flattered, even special just from her presence. 

“And our Head Girl, Miss Montague. And Miss Prewett! I taught your father, you know.”

“Yes, sir. He spoke extremely highly of you,” said Meredith, sitting down.

Una sat on Sabine’s right, leaving a few seats next to her empty. Just in case, said a small voice in her head.

Slughorn began introducing everyone. Una was surprised to notice the way Blaise’s eyes lingered on a fifth-year girl, Ginny Weasley. Though she wasn’t sure if it was distaste or something entirely opposite. Interesting. Una didn’t say anything - she just made a mental note of it, the way she so often did with snippets of potentially damning information.

Slughorn’s office door opened again and Una looked to see Eddie Carmichael entering. Her heart sank as she turned back around again.

“You could have held it open,” said Cormac McLaggen’s voice. Una froze, not daring to glance at the door, incase Sabine noticed her constant fidgeting in her seat.

“Sorry, mate,” said Eddie, pulling out the free seat beside Una.

Cormac slid into the open chair before Eddie could. “That’s more like it, cheers mate.” He looked at Una. “Alright? - ouch!” 

Eddie slapped the back of Cormac’s head before sitting down on his other side. Cormac ran his hand through his dark, curly blonde hair.

“Idiots,” scoffed Sabine under her breath.

And Una had to agree. 

Cormac shuffled his seat in closer to the table. His shoulders were so broad that Una could feel his arm pressing up against her. Even if she folded her arms, she could still feel him, taking up far too much space.

As the evening went on, they listened to Slughorn regale stories of all the famous students he had taught, each of them members of what he called his ‘Slug Club’. Every time he said the name it made Una cringe. He fawned over Cormac, asking him about his father’s Ministry connections, praised Meredith’s dad’s apparent Potions prowess as a youth and asked Sabine and Blaise what their famous mother was up to. He didn’t have any questions for Una. Although Una was pleased about this - it seemed like only she, Eddie Carmichael and for some reason, Ginny Weasley, were here because of their own merits.

After dinner, Slughorn summoned a bottle of Elf-made wine with a flourish of his wand. “Just for those who are of age,” he chided the younger students in a sing-song voice, “And only a glass each. Or else you’ll need an Awakening Draught tomorrow!” He chuckled. “And speaking of which - “ Slughorn looked at the seventh-years mischievously, “- you’d do well to brush up on that ahead of our lesson on Monday.”

Sabine grinned at Una and Meredith. It had been worth enduring the evening after all, if they were getting tips about the following class.

As Una drank her glass of wine, she felt Cormac’s leg brush against hers. Maybe the wine had emboldened her but she didn’t shrink away. Instead, she shifted slightly, leaning her leg against his. 

On Una’s left, Sabine and Blaise began sniping at each other again when Blaise suggested that their mother might send her a howler. On her right, Cormac was telling Eddie about his plans to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. 

Una lifted her glass to her lips but paused when she felt something. A large, warm hand grazing her bare leg. Cormac’s. She looked down but her lap was covered by the tablecloth. 

She moved in closer to the table and Cormac made to withdraw his hand when he felt her shift but she placed her own hand firmly on top of his, before returning hers to the table.

Cormac continued talking to Eddie as if nothing had happened while Una felt his hand trail further up her leg and under her skirt. She took another sip of wine and pretended to listen interestedly as Slughorn started waxing lyrical about a friend he had who was writing a biography about a Vampire.

“I simply must introduce you to Eldred Woprle, Miss Carrow. He has a lot of contacts at the Daily Prophet, you know.”

Una felt blood rushing below her waist as Cormac’s fingertips traced across her inner thigh. Her own hand gripped her wine glass with more force than was necessarily required, just for something to keep herself steady.

“I was sort of hoping Potter would be here tonight. It’d be good to get him on side before tryouts.”

“I don’t know why you’re arsed, mate. I keep telling you - football. Now that’s a real game.”

The plush, cozy room now felt stiflingly hot. Adrenaline coursed through Una’s body as she shakily raised her glass to her lips to try and hide her face. Cormac’s hand skirted over the crux of her thigh. Wine met her lips as she tilted her glass, letting the fruity, slightly sour liquid infiltrate her mouth.

“Well maybe I’ll tell Mum that you’ve got detention with Flitwick already - then we’ll see who gets a howler.”

Una’s heart raced in her chest. The several conversations going on in the room turned to white noise. Slowly, carefully, so as not to brush against Sabine, Una moved her legs apart. A silent invitation. She breathed shakily as she felt Cormac’s fingertips slip under the hem of her soaking wet underwear.

“My my!” cried Slughorn suddenly, causing Una to flinch and inhale an entire mouthful of wine. “Look at the time!” Cormac quickly removed his hand as Una began choking and spluttering.

Sabine gave her a concerned look as she coughed. “Are you alright? You’re bright red.”

Una wiped her lips, trying to compose herself quickly. “I’m - I’m fine,” she gasped. “Just went down the wrong way. And wine makes my cheeks flush.” She extracted her compact mirror and lipgloss, re-applying it hastily.

“It’s gone straight to your face too, mate,” said Eddie Carmichael, looking at Cormac. 

Cormac laughed and touched his hand to his warm face. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, I suppose it does a bit.” 

Una looked at him and felt herself flush even deeper when she saw him press two fingers thoughtfully against his lips. They were wet.

“Oh, how time flies when you’re having fun. You’d all better be off back to your dormitories. And if Mr Filch gives you any trouble, you just send him straight to me,” said Slughorn, waving his hand in the air.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Sabine, standing up abruptly.

Una pushed her chair back and followed her, Meredith and Blaise out of the room without so much of a backwards look.

As soon as they got out into the corridor, Meredith laughed.

“What a drag that was. Honestly, it would be worth failing Potions if I never had to endure that again.”

“I know,” agreed Sabine.

“I think I preferred it to another evening with Malfoy and the rest,” scoffed Blaise. “They’re always brooding these days. And I suppose the wine wasn’t too bad. If you don’t choke on it, that is.”

“Hilarious,” said Una.

“What did you think, Una? You were unusually quiet.”

Una’s abdomen tingled. Her brain worked overtime to come up with an excuse while blood rushed in her ears.

“Well, I had you lot squabbling on my left and two idiots on my right talking non-stop about Quidditch.” Una rolled her eyes convincingly. “But it wasn’t too dreadful. At least we know what’s coming up in Potions on Monday.”

“Well, that’s it sorted then. You can go with Blaise next time and report back to Meredith and I if Slughorn gives us any more hints,” said Sabine, with finality. 

Una mulled this over, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. It certainly would be easier to talk to Cormac McLaggen if she only had one person keeping an eye on her. She could hardly just be expected to talk to Blaise and only Blaise all night. She was allowed to network, right? And perhaps, she thought, Blaise would like to network with Ginny Weasley.

“Fine,” said Una. “But you owe me. Big time.”

Sabine linked her arms between Una and Meridith as they sauntered along the corridor to the dungeons. Una still felt faintly embarrassed about her unseemly choking display. With her free arm, she searched for her mirror in her tiny handbag, wondering if she had any wine down her front.

“Shit,” said Una, stopping and the four of them halted. “I think I left my compact.”

Meredith groaned. “I’m not going back in there. If I have to hear anything else about Vampires-”

“It’s fine - go ahead. I’ll see you two in the dormitory. See you later, Blaise.”

Una untangled herself, turned on her heels and passed the last few stragglers leaving Slughorn’s dinner party.

Her heels clicked as she walked back up the deserted corridor and around the corner.

“Forget something?”

Cormac McLaggen was sitting on a window ledge in the dark hallway, checking himself out in Una’s little black mirror. He snapped it shut and hoisted himself off the stone ledge, walking towards her.

Una extended her palm expectantly.

“What’s the magic word?” he asked, standing in front of her. Una looked up at him as he towered over her. He was so tall she had to strain - her face was only at eye level with his chest.

“Avada Kedavra?” suggested Una, attempting to snatch the compact from his hands but he reacted quickly, pulling it out of her reach.

“Ooh, not quite,” he grinned.

She took a step towards him, their chests almost touching as she looked up at him through her lashes. “Please, Cormac?”

He hadn’t expected her to surrender so quickly. Cormac grudgingly gave her the compact back and they stared at each other for a few moments, neither of them daring to address what had just happened in Slughorn’s office.

“You know, that lipgloss is very pretty,” he said, curling two fingers under Una’s chin. Her heart pounded in her chest again as she looked up into his strikingly green eyes. His own lips were rosy, tinged slightly pink from drinking the same wine. “Too pretty.”

Cormac took his thumb and slowly dragged it across her bottom lip, smearing it down her chin. He squeezed her face roughly and Una smacked his hand away, scowling.

“There. That’s better.” He gave her an arrogant smirk. “See you tomorrow.”

Una let out a scoff of disbelief as Cormac walked away, leaving her standing alone in the corridor. 

She opened her compact and examined herself in the mirror - a pink, glittering streak was smudged across her chin and there were faint red marks from where he squeezed her face.

He was right, she thought as she looked at her slightly dishevelled appearance, she did look better like this.

Chapter 2: Struggle

#freddie stroma #cormac mclaggen #slytherin #slytherin fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #cormac mclaggen x original female character

[michelleleewise]

Tale As Old As Time

Pairing: Jotun Loki x plus-size reader

Warnings: curses, swearing, angst, self destructive behavior, fairy tale au

Summary: once there was a handsome prince, but he was spoiled, and cruel. One night a woman comes for help and well......

*based on this request. I've wanted to start this for awhile, but got super busy. But, here we are!! I'm excited to get it started!! Hope you guys enjoy it!!!

Part one-

====================================

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away there lived a handsom prince who ruled his kingdom with an iron fist. He was as brutal as he was beautiful. Kingdoms fell to his army, and woman fell to their knees for him. He had no shortage of lovers, he could pick any lady that struck his fancy, and he did. With his long raven locks, deep emerald eyes, and chisled features every woman wanted him and every man wanted to be him. There was nothing he couldn't have.

On a particularly cold night in the dead of winter he heard a knock coming from the main doors. He called one of the servants to answer but got no reply. "Well, if you want something done." He muttered, getting up opening the door, revealing an old woman. She was hideous, dirty, and shivering as she looked up into his emerald eyes "my prince, I beg of you, may I take refuge from the storm for the night?" She asked shaking as the wind whipped around her. He looked down his nose at her "and what pray tell will I receive in return, you don't expect me to just let you stay here." He scoffed crossing his arms.

From her bag she pulled out a single rose, holding out to him "all I have is this, the last of my possessions. Please sire, only for a few hours?" She asked again holding the rose out to him. He took it from her throwing it on the ground stomping on it "do you think me a fool? You'll probably rob me or try to murder me in my sleep." He said glaring down at her. "And I would never have the likes of you step foot in my palace, be gone before I get my gaurds." He said sternly as he began to shut the door. "Do not be decieved by appearances, beauty is found within." She said as he laughed "I said be gone old hag." He sneered.

Hearing the woman laugh he paused, opening the door as the woman's appearance began to transform. "My dear Prince Loki, you disappoint me." She said, shedding her rags to reveal a beautiful enchantress. "You have so much, but offer so little, not even a warm fire for a homeless woman." She bellowed as Loki stared wide eyed at her. "You have no love in your heart Prince Loki." She said as he kneeled down before her "I beg of you, I did not know. Please take mercy on me." He said as she shook her head. She leaned down touching his head whispering an incantation as Loki watched his skin turn blue, ridges rising under his skin. "W...what is happening to me?" He said, hearing his voice deepen, seeing a bright light engulph the castle.

Bending over he felt his muscles expanding, his clothes ripping as his stature grew. He gazed into a puddle seeing blood red eyes looking back at him. She held out the rose that she had offered, Loki watched as it transformed into a beautiful snowflake. "Prince Loki, this snowflake will remain frozen until your 21st year, If you can truly learn to love another, and earn her love in return by the time it melts, the spell will be broken, but if not you will remain a beast for all eternity." She said as she faded out of site.

He held the snowflake in his hands, hurrying inside before anyone saw him he called out for the servants. He was shocked to see the furniture hop over to him "sire, what has happened?" He looked, seeing the clock talking to him "i....I believe we have been cursed. He said. Running upstairs to his chambers he set the snowflake down, seeing a mirror glowing on his nightstand he picked it up and was appalled by his appearance. He threw the mirror running to the bathroom seeing the same reflection greet him, cobalt skin and blood red eyes. He growled, smashing the mirror.

"Sire, what are we to do?" He heard the clock ask as it hopped into his chambers. Loki grabbed a glass cloche, gently placing it over the snowflake as it hovered in place, a light shining from it. "I...I must find love before my 21st birthday." Loki sighed "how are you supposed to do that?" It asked hopping onto the table. "I....I do not know." Loki said looking out the window.

Appalled by his appearance he locked himself away, the mirror the only window to the outside world. As the years passed Loki fell into despair, and lost all hope of finding anyone to help break the curse. Because who could ever love a beast.....

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[dawdlingsleeper]

The main villain/boss of the precures

The Evil Queen, the one who’s behind all of this chaos on Earth’s atmosphere. Taking all the creativity and colors from the people of Story World and people of Earth. Why is she doing all of this? Well to be the fairest of all the universe combined. But during the fight, back in Story World, Sister Light turned the Evil Queen into an old hag.

The Evil Queen doesn’t go out of the castle much, she says she doesn’t have enough energy to go attack the new worlds, it’s because she doesn’t want to be seen in such an hideous state.

#precure #precure villains #precure fan series #precure: land of lore #precure fanseries #precure oc