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valeskafics · 9 months

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"Seeds of Love" - Hades!Daemon Targaryen x Persephone!Reader

a/n: the second installment of my greek gods/goddesses au! the next one will be hephaestus!aemond or dionysus!aegon 🤭

Summary: Daemon, the God of the Underworld, claims you, the sweet Goddess of Spring, for his own.

TW: dubcon, canon typical incest (reader is a velaryon), profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, abduction, fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex, size kink/breeding kink if you squint

Word Count: 3,200 words

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Sometimes, Daemon loves his position as God of the Underworld. He is not tied to King’s Landing and all its politics, rather, he is free in his own domain. Perhaps it is a bit dark and a bit gloomy, full of the dead, of course, but it is his home. His kingdom. He was always meant to be a king, he thinks, and in a way, Viserys has given him that. So, he does his best to be grateful for the life he has been given.

However, there are days when even his three-headed dragon, Caraxes, is not enough to bring him joy, days where his nymph lover, Mysaria, is not enough to soothe the emptiness inside of him, the darkness that threatens to consume him whole. On those days, he travels to King’s Landing, walking through the gardens, the Kingswood, anywhere he can bask in the sun, if only for a moment.

It is on one of those days that he sees you for the first time. The Goddess of Spring, the sweet daughter of Corlys, the God of the Sea, and Rhaenys, the Goddess of the Harvest. From what Viserys has told him, your parents have kept you safely cloistered away, far from the eyes of any gods who may wish to claim you. The God of War, Aemond, and the God of Wealth and Luck, Jacaerys, both sought your hand but were swiftly denied by your mother, who went so far as to hide you on Dragonstone for a time, fearing that one of them would steal you away.

However, it would seem that you have returned to King’s Landing. Daemon remains in the shadows, watching as you walk, adorned in a dress of fine white silk, a symbol of your purity, flowers in your hair denoting your status as the Spring Goddess. He watches as you walk, flowers blooming everywhere you step. He cannot take his eyes off of you, admiring the way the sunlight glows on your skin, your dainty bare feet that prompt flowers to bloom, the curves of your body barely hidden beneath your dress…

Daemon watches as you enter the Kingswood, accompanied by your entourage of nymph attendants, one of whom begins braiding your hair. You look beautiful, he muses, as you braid one of the nymphs’ hair in return before turning your attention to weaving yourself a crown of flowers, specifically daffodils. Daemon notes with no small degree of delight that your mother is nowhere in sight. So, he approaches you, the nymphs scattering when they see him approaching, his presence formidable.

You, however, do not notice him at first, a fact which amuses him greatly. He takes a few steps closer before saying your name in a soft, almost whispering voice.

You turn to look at him, your lips parted in surprise, “Yes?”

He smiles at this, finding your reaction to his presence adorable. His violet eyes seem to almost pierce through you as he stands tall before you, taking another step closer, his gaze flickering down to your lips, so soft and so very kissable. He feels a heat growing in his chest, a desire to take you back with him to the Underworld and claim you for his own. However, seeing the trepidation in your gaze, he realizes he must be careful.

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld,” he says in a smooth baritone.

You stand up, backing away slightly, seeming to recognize him, “Does my mother know you are here, Prince Daemon?”

Daemon is not in the least bit put off by your reaction. In fact, he feels excited by it as he takes a step closer to you, his eyes greedily drinking in the sight of your curves as you move, so graceful and smooth.

“No, we happen to be away from your mother,” he says, not once looking away from you.

“Aren’t you meant to be in the Underworld?” you ask him, curious little thing that you are, gazing up at him, “Mother says you hardly come to the Keep.”

Daemon grins at you, moving in ever closer, “Sometimes I feel the urge to leave. To revel in the sun and its warmth. And when I do leave, I enjoy the company of beautiful women such as yourself.”

“She’ll be quite angry if she sees me talking with you,” you trail off, a bit uncertain as you continue moving away from him.

He continues walking toward you, slowly, almost like a lion getting ready to attack its prey, his gaze appraising you, “Why? Does your mother not trust her sweet daughter?”

“She trusts me,” you protest, your back hitting a tree, stopping you in place, “She says that it is men who cannot be trusted.”

Daemon’s grin grows wider at the realization that you cannot continue to move away from him. He moves closer to you, a primal urge deep inside of him taking control, a hunger growing in his stomach, though not for food. His eyes are filled with lust and his breathing grows heavier. He swears he can hear your heart beating just as fast as his.

“Does it not bother you to have people treat you like a fragile flower?”

You glower up at him slightly, bristling with annoyance, “I am a goddess. I am not fragile.”

Daemon enjoys the way you stand your ground, the fire in your eyes, as a mischievous smile graces his lips, “Oh, I know that, sweet one. The only fragile thing here is the restraint I am having to show in not just taking you and claiming you as my own.”

You arch a brow, crossing your arms and looking at him with an unimpressed expression, “I see why my mother says men are not to be trusted.”

He chuckles, loving the way you hold your own against him, your pride only further intriguing him, “That is a very narrow-minded thing for you to presume, my sweet, most men may be bad but not all. But,” he leans in close to you, his breath tickling your lips as he murmurs, “I do have bad intentions.”

You gaze up at him through your lashes and question, “And what bad intentions are those?”

Daemon’s eyes run the length of your body before returning to your eyes, then down to your lips, “My intentions are bad, wicked. Dark. I have never felt like this before, but right now I feel like I have to have you, no matter the cost.”

You are about to answer him when none other than your mother appears, giving Daemon a scathing look for having dared approach you. She drags you off, Daemon is sure, lecturing you all the way on the dangers of speaking to him. Yet, you turn and glance back at him over your shoulder, curious, as you disappear back into the Red Keep. Daemon’s gaze on you is hungry. You may have eluded him this time, but there will certainly be another day.

Daemon, for the first time in a long while, goes to Viserys, the God of Lightning, his dear older brother, for advice. And Viserys, happy to spite Rhaenys, is glad to give it. After all, a goddess of your age should not be sequestered away in the Red Keep, as far as he is concerned. So, the two hatch a plan, one that will ensure that Daemon gets what he wants.

He finds you a few days later, gathering flowers, looking as beautiful as ever. He observes you for a few moments, the heat inside him rising to new heights. He thinks of the plan he and Viserys concocted, his blood feeling as though it is boiling beneath his skin. Daemon makes his approach, grabbing you by the hips from behind.

“Hello again, my beautiful goddess.”

You freeze in place, though not for fear of him, he realizes as you respond, “I am not supposed to speak to you.”

You turn to face him and Daemon stares you directly in the eyes, moving closer, “Your mother?”

“Yes,” you say, slowly backing away, dropping the flowers you were gathering.

There is something in your eyes that Daemon cannot quite put his finger on as he gazes at you. Curiosity? Or perhaps something akin to desire? He has every intention of finding out. He grabs your wrist, though not roughly, pulling you flush against his chest.

“I think you ought to learn to listen to how you feel rather than what others tell you,” he says, eyes darting between your lips and your beautiful eyes which continue to gaze at him.

That is when you hear it. A rumbling. You gasp, looking around as the ground begins to shake. And soon, a great chasm opens near where you and Daemon stand.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, panicked.

Daemon grins at you as he pulls you into his arms, dragging you down with him, murmuring into your ear, “You are coming with me, sweet flower.”

You close your eyes in fear as the two of you fall for what seems like an eon, but truly isn’t more than a few moments. When your eyes open, you realize where you are. Daemon’s domain. The Underworld. You look around, realizing you are on the bank of the River Styx, staring somewhat awed at the sight, only to panic once more when a restless spirit attempts to drag you into the dark waters. You yelp and cling to Daemon, your chest pressed against his side in a way that allows him to feel you in all your splendor.

Your sweet little noises excite the God of the Underworld even more as he holds you close, “Do not panic, little one. There is nothing to fear. I will take you to a place where no one will be able to find you, not even your mother. A place where you will be mine.”

You mumble under your breath, “I do not like it here…”

Daemon lifts your chin so that you meet his eyes, “You will soon,” he pauses before adding, “Have you any idea how badly I want you right now?”

You are about to answer when you are interrupted by a low growl, one that does not come from the man beside you. You all but shriek and grab onto Daemon even closer as his great three-headed beast, Caraxes, approaches, staring you down.

“Fear not, little one,” Daemon chuckles, “You are perfectly safe with me. Caraxes knows you are under my protection.”

As if on cue, Caraxes approaches you, one of his heads licking you playfully, the other nudging you, prompting you to laugh softly, resting your hand against his warm scales, “He… He is quite friendly.”

Daemon pats his third head, smirking, “See, my goddess? He likes you. Perhaps he knows you are meant to be my queen. Even he can feel the connection between us.”

You turn to Daemon as Caraxes wanders off, no doubt in search of food, and speak, “The Goddess of Spring is meant to remain untainted-”

Daemon raises an eyebrow, resting a hand against your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, “Do you truly think you remain untainted, my sweet? You so enjoyed the attention I gave you in the woods, did you not?”

He places his free hand on your lower back, moving it upward until he reaches the end of your dress, his fingers tracing your bare skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. He feels you shiver slightly, your body responding to his touch.

“I know you enjoyed my touch, your body responds to me in a way you cannot deny,” Daemon whispers, his thumb moving from your cheek to your lips.

They are so plump and soft that all Daemon can think about is kissing you, feeling your lips against his skin. You part them slightly and he moves his thumb between them, into your mouth. You gaze up at him in surprise, your lips closing around his thumb, suckling at it slightly. Daemon feels his breeches grow tight at the sight, loving the way you so naturally seem to know what it is he wants. He removes his hand, unable to rest any longer, pressing his lips to yours.

Daemon kisses you with an insatiable hunger, as though he wishes to devour your very being. And you do not wish to deny him. Your kiss is more shy, hesitant really, but you wrap your arms around him, returning his kiss with ardor. He bites your lower lip, just enough to get you to gasp and part your lips, his tongue moving into your mouth, dancing against your own as they meet. He picks you off the ground, carrying you off to his chambers, dropping you gently on the bed, staring down at you, his gaze ravenous, famished.

“But where will I sleep?” you ask curiously, looking around.

Daemon smirks, “Right here with me. We will do more than just sleep beside each other, however. You will be my wife.”

“My mother will never allow it,” you say, a bit bitterly as you watch him move to lay atop you on the bed.

Daemon smirks, “She will have no choice in the matter.”

He runs his hands down your sides, caressing your waist, down to your hips, then your thighs. Your back arches off the bed as you gaze up at him, entranced by his every move. You weakly protest that your parents will be furious but Daemon quells your fears with his lips against yours. Your body is so soft and supple against him, it drives him almost mad with want. He moves to kiss your neck, biting down on your soft skin, leaving his mark on you, evidence of his desire for you. His mouth moves toward your collarbone, your hands threading through his hair, nails raking against his scalp.

Daemon makes quick work of your dress, sliding it down your body, his eyes greedily drinking in each bit of your exposed skin, your bare breasts, your hips… He removes his tunic, smirking as your delicate hands reach for his breeches, unlacing them with haste. You take his cock in your hand, so long and thick and heavy. He throws his head back as you move your hand along his length, slow and curious, before gently pushing your hand away and pressing his lips to yours, wanting to feel you.

He moves his hand to the apex between your thighs as he kisses you, his fingers teasing your entrance before he pushes one in. You feel so tight around him that it’s almost hard to move when he adds a second finger, but he continues, reveling in the little mewls of pleasure. His mouth moves to take one of your pert nipples in his mouth as he adds a third finger, pumping them in and out of you at a languid pace, his tongue tracing over your sensitive bud as he gazes at you, his eyes hooded, pupils blown wide with lust.

He brings you to your peak, feeling your walls squeeze tight around him, soaking his fingers with evidence of your arousal. He soon replaces his fingers with his tongue, wanting to properly prepare you for the moment he takes you, lapping at your folds eagerly, keeping his eyes on you all the while. Your hands fly into his hair yet again, fingers twisting in his platinum locks, both wanting to push him away and pull him closer. He alternates between suckling at your pearl and licking and sucking your sensitive core, making you cry out his name, reaching your peak against him once more.

Daemon pulls back, his lips shining with evidence of your arousal as he moves up to kiss you again, making you taste yourself on his tongue. The sensation is erotic, to say the very least, and you moan against his lips, whimpering slightly as you feel him running the tip of his cock along your center, teasing you yet again. You squirm, slightly oversensitized by his previous ministrations, but that is long forgotten when he pushes himself inside you.

He fills you up so perfectly, and gods, the way he makes you feel when he begins rutting against you, the the head of his cock brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust, his lips attached to yours, hands holding yours, his thumb tracing over your pulse point in a gesture that feels so very intimate. He’s so big that it is almost painful, but not quite, all you can concentrate on is the mind-blowing pleasure he is giving you. He pushes your knees up to your chest, allowing him to fuck into you at a deeper, faster pace.

Daemon feels you squeezing around him, knowing your release is imminent, and moves his thumb to circle your pearl, your release triggering his own, as he spills his seed deep inside you. As he pulls out of you, he replaces his cock with his fingers, eager to make sure his seed takes, to breed you. And you simply smile at him, blissed out in your post orgasmic haze.

Daemon makes the arrangements for you two to marry shortly thereafter, and as he said, you come to see the Underworld as your home. He has one of the minor goddesses, Alys, the Goddess of Magic, create a garden for you to tend so that you may be near your beloved flowers, something you find to be entirely thoughtful and romantic.

However, your blissful time as newlyweds is cut short when Viserys arrives with Rhaenys and Corlys on his heels, declaring that you must be returned to your parents, that Rhaenys has kept the mortal world in a perpetual state of winter, demanding your return.

You try your best to tell your parents that you love Daemon, that you want to be with him, but they refuse to listen. Your mind wanders to something Daemon had told you months ago, that if one partakes in food from the Underworld, they are bound to return, mortal and immortal alike. He never wished to trap you here, so he had Alys or one of the others go to procure you food from King’s Landing.

But you see a juicy, ripe pomegranate sitting on a plate before you, one that Daemon was just about to eat.

You look between your mother, her face stern as she stares back at you, and at Daemon, who seems entirely forlorn at the thought of you leaving him forever.

And so? You do the only thing you can think of.

You walk to your husband and take the pomegranate from his plate. You take a breath before biting into it, allowing the juices from it to drip down your chin, almost making it seem as though you are soaked in blood. And you kiss your husband once more, in full view of the Goddess of the Harvest, the God of the Sea, and the God of Lightning.

Never again will you allow your fate to be decided for you.

You have chosen him, and you would choose him again, given the chance.

Your Daemon, your husband.

Your king.

#daemon targaryen x you #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x you #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targeryan #my writing #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #targcest #daemon oneshot #mythology au #velaryon!reader

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poppedbubblgum · 8 months

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Sketches for @turquoisespace35’s mythology au

I love these two so much <3

#my art #sketchy #mythology au #I’m sorry if the colors are a bit off 😅

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jadequarze · 1 year

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Protégé and Mentor

#jade draws #critical role #cr au #mythology au #orym of the air ashari #keyleth of the air ashari #repeats warrior of the mind for vibe #critical role fanart

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elleniemae · 1 month

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How does Tumblr work, idk. Also first post yaayyyyyy [confetti]

Have my owl house doodles (ft. turquoisespace35’s mythology au)

#huntlow #the owl house #hunter toh #mythology au #my art #digital art #doodle #willow park #first post #help idk what im doing

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angstyhikka · 3 months

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W h a t h a v e y o u d o n e t o m e ?

@turquoisespace35 inspired me to draw Belos from their Mythology AU! It was a very cool transformation sequence ><✨

#toh #mythology au #emperor belos #belos #phillip wittebane

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

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Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

#könig x reader #könig x you #mythology au #arthurian au #historical au

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glassduck · 2 months

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Some fanart of @turquoisespace35 's awesome huntlow mythology au! This got me out of the art block rut I've been in. Go check it out!

Here's a close-up:

#huntlow #hunter toh #willow toh #au #toh au #mythology au #the owl house #toh #toh fanart #ship fanart #digital art #my art

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catspawcreates · 3 months

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Ruthlessness is Mercy Upon Ourselves…

This was inspired by @witchysolfan and their SaMS Epic AU (Greek mythology). *edited to their UN on tumblr

If you aren’t familiar, sketch and more below after their video.

youtube

I love angry protective Dadcode. This is a Greek Mythology AU where Bloodmoon is left a wreckage after a battle, but “mercifully” left alive to suffer and Kill Code (separating from Moon magically) is none too happy about this.

If you haven’t listened to Epic the Musical I Highly recommend it! Greek mythology never sounded so good. The animatics all over YouTube are also delightful.

I was so worried about rendering it, but I’m extremely happy with the result. Now the song will continue to be stuck in my head. 😹💕

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turquoisespace35 · 11 months

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What if a mythological creature and a near-blind girl sent to die met?

Silly AU idea

#toh #the owl house #willow park #hunter deamonne #huntlow #willow toh #hunter toh #au #mythology au

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demigoddessqueens · 9 months

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only on Olympus

A/N - I’m a huge fan overall of folklore/Old World stories/world mythology, and still on that ASTV high so I wanted to combine the two

ares!Miguel and aphrodite!reader

ares!Miguel, whose anger is a source of jokes and headaches for the pantheon, but not to you

Aphrodite!you who is fairly used to his war habits and flared tempers but you enjoy aspects of his company despite the others

Of course, he notices this at first because when did anyone want to spend time with him???

But he soon finds himself seeking out your company more and more, always caring what you have to say or what you think of him

ares!Miguel who is a wonderfully loving and protective father to Gabriella (akin to Harmonia, who is Ares’ daughter)

An entirely touch starved fierce warrior who melts under your touches

at first, he was scared that the battle scars and reddened eyes who turn you away, but you’re so soft and gentle with him.

ares!Miguel who kisses you so fiercely and passionately, tightened grips around you because he’s afraid you’ll slip away

It sometimes feels undeserving to a war god, but somehow you remind him that even he is deserving of such love

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mangywayway · 5 months

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Please just let me sleep and ignore everything else

(as in, literally, I have been sleeping so little and I'm honestly exhausted 😩)

#art #fanart #werecat steve harrington #harpy billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #mythology au #mangywayway

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valeskafics · 6 months

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"Pomegranates & Roses" - Persephone!Aemond Targaryen x Hades!Reader

a/n: a request from @the-shadow-queen02 🤭💕

Summary: Aemond, the God of Spring, pursues you, the Queen of the Underworld, despite his mother's warnings.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, oral m receiving, breeding kink, p in v sex, death

Word Count: 3,305 words

Rating: 18+, MDNI

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

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Aemond knows that his mother means well. It is only natural that the Goddess of Motherhood would wish to protect her most cherished child from anything she believes might bring him harm. He spends his days in the gardens of the Red Keep, creating new blooms, experimenting with what he may bring to the mortals when spring comes again. There are plenty of nymphs to keep him company, as well as his brother and sister gods and goddesses. But still it feels as though there is something missing. Something he longs for that he does not quite understand, an emptiness inside of him that grows and grows with each passing day.

His mother oft warned him not to speak to strangers, whether they be immortal or mortal, that they could have ill intentions and that he must be kept safe, her precious boy. But Aemond is curious, he always has been, so when he sees you standing in the gardens one day, a dark beauty if he has ever seen one dressed all in black, he cannot help but be drawn to you. He wonders if you are in mourning, for in all of the Red Keep, no one dresses as you do. He watches from a distance, fascinated by how hauntingly beautiful you are. You gaze at the roses, a flower he created for the mortals so very long ago, admiring them, really. Aemond approaches you and leans against a tree nearby, his one-eyed gaze piercing, his remaining eye the color of a clear sky at sea.

“Beautiful, are they not?” Aemond asks, though his gaze is on you and not the flowers.

You nod without looking at him, a fact that irks him slightly, though he is utterly bewitched by your voice as you speak, the sound being like music to his ears, “You made them bloom, God of Spring?”

He smiles, a bit proud and yet bashful at the acknowledgment of his work, nodding, “Indeed I did.” Aemond pauses before asking, intrigued by your presence, “What brings the Goddess of Death to my gardens?”

“Is the Queen of the Underworld not allowed to walk in the sun from time to time?” you ask, your voice sharp.

Aemond continues smiling, undeterred by your tone, “You are allowed to do whatever you wish, my lady. But I would wager that the sun is not often kind to the Mistress of Death.”

You hum in acknowledgment, still not bothering to look at him, continuing to admire the roses, “When our father made me the Queen of the Underworld, he made it sound so wonderful. I would have my own realm to preside over. My own space…” Aemond hears the morose note to your voice as you touch the petals of one of the roses, murmuring softly, “He neglected to mention nothing grows in the Underworld. Not even flowers.”

He takes another step closer to you, longing to give you comfort, yet not knowing how. And when you turn to leave, he follows you, quickly catching up, his footsteps in sync with yours. Watching you walk is like watching a siren walking, he muses, utterly enchanting. And he wants to hold on to that feeling.

“Do not follow me.”

Aemond does not stop. He keeps pace with you, your words only serving to fascinate him more. His eye lingers on the curve of your hips as you walk, how they sway.

“Why?” Aemond questions after a long moment, stepping around you to face you, resting his finger beneath your chin, tilting your face up so that you are forced to look at him, “I have never seen this Queen of the Underworld of which you speak.” He steps closer, leaning in so that your faces nearly touch, gaze piercing and voice soft, “All I see is a beautiful goddess with fire in her eyes.”

“Then you are a fool,” you say coldly, turning on your heel, “Give Father my regards.”

Aemond cannot describe it but your coldness and short temper only add to your appeal, a siren call indeed. He blocks your path again, leaning in to kiss you. You shake your head, putting your hand up before he can reach your lips and shake your head.

“Run back to your mother, God of Spring. Do not seek out that which you do not understand.”

Aemond watches as the ground splits before you, a great chasm forming and you step inside, giving him a last look over your shoulder before you disappear back into the Underworld. His hand reaches out to you as the fissure closes and he calls out your name, pleading.

“I have only just met you,” he says, voice desperate, “Wait!”

Alicent approaches, seeing her son looking distraught and questions who he was speaking to, a motherly hand on his back, hoping to soothe him.

“The Goddess of Death,” Aemond says without flinching, knowing she will not approve but unable to care.

Alicent scowls, demanding that he never speak to you again before storming away, back toward the Red Keep. But it does little to deter her son.

Your brief moment with Aemond in the gardens has him longing for more. He has never seen anyone like you. The near kiss haunts his dreams, leaving him hungry for you, no, ravenous. In his dreams, he imagines holding you in his arms, your lips locked in a deep, passionate kiss. He imagines the two of you in a field, surrounded by roses, taking one black rose and pinning it in your hair. He knows when you smile, it must be absolutely beautiful. He yearns for you, he burns for you.

One moon later he finally sees you again. It is late at night and sleep evades him, thoughts of you the only thing on his mind. He walks out to the gardens, wishing to see how they look bathed in the moon’s glow. And there you stand, beside the roses once more. His eye lights up when he sees you, dressed in black again, his mind taken back to his dreams of holding you close.

He keeps his footsteps light as he approaches you, freezing in place when you turn and meet his gaze, speaking coolly, “Did I not tell you to stop seeking me out?”

“You did,” he says quietly, “I could not help myself. My dreams are haunted by you. Your touch, your kiss. I cannot resist the pull I feel towards you.”

You shake your head, scolding him, “Foolish boy.”

Aemond blocks your path before you can leave, taking your face in his hands and whispering, “Your eyes are like fire. The sun itself pales in comparison to your beauty.”

“Do not compare me to the sun,” your voice is cold as are your eyes, which only makes him desire you more, “There is no light to be found in my realm, in my life. Only the absence thereof.”

“You are not like the sun, for you are much more beautiful than it,” he leans in, his nose brushing against yours, as he murmurs softly, “There is light within you. And I will find it.”

“There is none.”

Aemond catches you by the hand, gaze pleading as he states, his voice an impassioned plea, “Then I will fill you with light.”

Amused by his words, your lips quirk up ever so slightly, not enough to be called a smile but it still makes his heart race as you speak, “I must take my leave. I have left my realm unguarded for too long.”

“Must you go?”

He sounds like a little boy, his tone soft and tender as he brushes your hair from your face.

You nod, “In the last few hours alone, some thousand souls will have come to me, seeking judgment. I must go.”

Aemond stares at you, pondering your words, a sense of dread filling his heart at the thought of losing you again. His jaw sets with determination. He cannot allow you to forsake him again. He will not.

“Then take me with you,” he says, more of a demand than a request.

You laugh incredulously, “Are you mad? Your mother-”

“I do not care what my mother wants,” he replies firmly, taking your hands in his, “I only care about what you want. And if you want me, then I am coming with you.”

He protests when you pull a hand away, only to quiet when you rest it on his cheek, “You are the God of Spring. You are not meant for my realm.”

His eye flickers to your hand, cheeks flushing as he looks at you once more, “You may be right. I am not meant for it, and yet here I stand. Begging to be yours.”

The ground opens once more and he feels his heart break as you turn and begin descending, only for it to become whole once more when you speak softly, “Follow me if you wish.”

His heart leaps with joy and he follows after you, into the Underworld, longing to see its wonders, for how can a realm you rule over be anything less than beautiful? At its gates, he sees the guardian of your realm, a mighty three-headed dragon, shimmering scales as black as night and crimson eyes.

“Cerberus,” you greet the fearsome beast, resting your hand on one of its snouts, “My sweetheart.”

Aemond looks on in awe. Each of the gods are blessed with a dragon, but none so fierce as Cerberus. And here you are, treating him like a mother would a babe. He moves to touch the dragon’s snout as well, grinning when it purrs like a kitten. You give Aemond the barest hint of a smile, but it is enough to send his heart racing. The two of you continue to walk, now passing the River Styx, walking along its banks. The sky overhead is dark, only the stars providing light, and yet Aemond does not think the Red Keep can hold a candle to the Underworld’s beauty.

“My queen.”

Aemond’s head snaps to the side as you are greeted by a man, one whom he does not recognize. You greet him with a nod of your head, murmuring his name softly.

“Cregan.”

Aemond frowns, waiting for Cregan to take his leave before questioning, “Who is that?”

“My lover,” you say simply, “From time to time.” Before Aemond can say anything, a woman comes to greet you, one who is nearly as beautiful but not quite. You greet her as well, “Alys.”

“My lady,” she says, smiling up at you coyly, frowning when she sees Aemond, “What is the Spring God doing here?”

“Behave, Alys,” you warn, “He is my guest and will be treated as such.”

Alys gives him a scathing look before turning to you and nodding, “Yes, my lady.”

As she walks off, Aemond questions bitingly, envy coloring his tone, “Another lover?”

“Just so,” you say as the two of you continue to walk.

His temper flares. The God of Spring is just as mercurial as the season he reigns over. The thought of you in the arms of another does not sit well with him.

“I do not plan on sharing you.”

Already, he imagines tearing Cregan and Alys limb from limb, trampling them in rage, cursing them.

“Is that so?” It is as though you can hear his thoughts when you turn and arch a brow, taking him by the hand and leading him to a balcony, overlooking the Asphodel Meadows, “Beautiful, is it not?”

Aemond stands beside you, but his gaze is not on the Meadows as he speaks, rather, it is on you, “It is. I could look at it for years.”

You turn and give him a small, almost imperceptible smile, “I will have Alys arrange a room for you. You are welcome to stay for as long as you wish.”

Aemond grins, but grabs you by the hand before you can leave, waiting for you to face him before he speaks again, “I do not want my own room. I want to stay with you,” he says firmly, his words bold, “I want your chambers to be my chambers.”

Your lips twist upward into a smirk, “You dare question my authority in my own realm? That is quite cheeky, Aemond.”

His cheeks flush at your usage of his name, the first time he believes he has heard it fall from those sweet lips, and smiles, “My question still stands. Will you allow me to share your bed?”

“Fine,” you shake your head, biting back a rueful smile, “You may share my bed.”

“Wonderful,” he says happily, a flutter in his chest at your words and the promise of what is to come, though he finds it necessary to ask, “And what of your lovers? Will you make them leave?”

You laugh softly, “Are you jealous?”

He nods slowly, “Yes. I cannot share you with anyone. I want you. All of you.”

You rest a hand on his cheek, watching as he nuzzles against your palm slightly and murmur, “I will dismiss Alys and Cregan as my lovers if it will make you happy.”

Aemond leans in, his lips brushing against yours, shy and hesitant. He gasps when you pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Never in his immortal life has he felt like this, one of his hands twisting in your hair, the other on your back pulling you close so that your chest is flush against his. His heart races, body burning as you, the Queen of the Underworld, kiss him. Your lips are softer and more tender than he ever imagined, your kiss electrifying. And when you finally part, you are pleasantly surprised to see that rows upon rows of black roses have grown around the two of you. You let out a delighted laugh, the sound making Aemond’s heart soar with joy.

“Did you do this?”

“We did,” he smiles at you.

“I never thought anything could grow here,” you say wistfully, fingers grazing the petals of one of the roses.

He looks at you with tenderness, and just as in his dreams, he places a rose in your hair, “Just as I never thought anyone would ever fill my heart the way you do.”

You smile at him, hands resting on his chest as you wonder aloud, “Why me? You are Spring. Rebirth. Here, you will only find death.”

“Death is but another beginning,” he shakes his head, “Is this death? Then I wish to spend eternity in it. You are what gives me life, my lady.”

“Two halves of the same whole,” you muse.

“Indeed,” he murmurs in agreement, lifting your hand to his lips, “My soul comes alive thinking about you. I wish to stay here with you forever. I love you, I need you more than words can express. The thought of returning to the Keep without you fills me with agony.”

“Your mother would never allow you to rule by my side,” you say softly, “She would drag you back to the Keep to make sure you are safe. And I should allow her…”

“But?” Aemond prods, holding your face in his hands.

“But I have grown attached to you,” you admit, “I love you and wish for you to stay here, to rule by my side. To be my king.”

“That is all I could ever wish for,” Aemond whispers, “Tell me how I may stay here with you forever,”

A pomegranate, cut in two, materializes in your hand that you hold out to him with a soft smile, “If you partake in the food or drink of the Underworld, you are bound to it forever. To me forever.”

Without hesitation, Aemond takes a handful of its seeds and chews on them, its juice dripping down his chin, deep red liquid coloring his flawless alabaster skin. You watch as he devours the fruit, a smile on your face as he proves his devotion to you.

“Now I will never have to leave your side,” he whispers, pulling you into his arm, laying you down on a bed of black roses, holding you close, “I am yours and you are mine, my queen.”

You move to straddle his waist, ridding him of his tunic and undoing his breeches with a coy grin, one that he cannot get enough of as you kiss his bare chest, down to his stomach, just above the waistband of his pants. He gasps as you free his cock from the confines of his clothing, stroking it, slowly, gently, your thumb pressing down ever so slightly on the vein that runs along its underside. You watch his arousal pool at the tip, and keeping your gaze on him, you lick at the head of his cock, watching him grit his teeth, his entire body flushing. You take him into your mouth, fondling his stones as you bob your head up and down on his cock. He lets out the sweetest little moans, his hand moving to run through your hair as you bring him closer and closer to the edge, his entire body tensing, soft whimpers leaving his throat.

“My queen,” he murmurs, “I am so close… I…”

With a moan of your name, he spills himself on your tongue. You swallow his spend, giving him a little smirk, allowing him to pull you close and press his lips to yours. He rids you of your own gown, revealing you to him in all your splendor for the first time. And it truly takes his breath away. He kisses your neck, moving down to your breasts, caressing one with his hand while he takes the other in his mouth, his tongue laving attention on you, feeling your nipple harden at his ministrations, suckling at you before switching to your other breast. Your hand threads in his hair, holding him close to your chest as you roll your hips against his thigh, loving the way he worships your body.

You feel him growing hard once more against your thigh and smile to yourself, pushing him to lay back. He gazes up at you, awestruck as you sink down onto his cock, throwing your head back in pleasure. His hand caresses your throat as he sits up and kisses you, moaning against your lips with each roll of your hips against his. You feel so warm and wet and tight around him that he thinks if he was not a god, he would have spilled himself inside of you within a minute.

“I want to fill you with life,” he whispers, “I want to watch our child grow inside of you. The seed of our love blooming.”

“Then give me your seed, my love, my king,” you whisper in his ear, burying your face in his neck as you continue lifting yourself and sinking back down onto his cock, feeling him fill you up perfectly over and over, his cockhead brushing against that spot inside of you that brings you ever closer to your peak, “Spill yourself inside me. Let your seed quicken in my womb.”

“You will look so beautiful with child,” Aemond sighs almost dreamily, “You are so beautiful I can barely stand it. I love you, I love you,” he groans as you increase your speed, “Gods, you are so perfect.”

“As are you, my darling,” you murmur, your lips meeting his once more.

You reach your peak, squeezing around him impossibly tight, moaning his name. Aemond reaches his own climax soon after, spilling his seed deep inside you, smiling to himself as he imagines the future that lies ahead for you. Aemond holds you close, your legs entwined, as you fall asleep on the bed of black roses he grew for you.

Sleep does not find him quickly, and why should it? All his dreams have come true.

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cowyolks · 1 year

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FORBIDDEN FRUIT

Chapter One. Midsummers Masterlist

Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader

Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.

A/n: This series is heavily influenced by Hades and Persephone, while I will not exactly state if this is Greek Mythology, I want to add lots of folklore and myths into this series! So let me know if you like it so far!

“Daughter!” The chilling voice of your mother startled you from your book, the passage had managed to suck you in and away from your current reality. Oh how you wished you could stay there.

It was Midsummer, a time of the year that you truly despised.

It met you had to be under the watching eye of your mother, who searched far and low for a suitor for you.

She was the chieftess of your clan, something she made sure to remind you of every waking hour. To put it simply, you were a trainee, a soldier, in her quest of power.

You were not her daughter, but a pawn.

“I’m coming, Mother.” You announced as you carefully put the bookmark down against the paper, hoping you’d return to the pages sooner rather than later.

You left your room reluctantly, taking a glance at the setting sun outside of the window. It was nearly nightfall already, which meant it was time to leave.

“Oh Gods, look at you! Did you fall asleep?” Your mother bounced around you, yanking the uncomfortable corset tighter around your waist and pulling your hair away from your ears to make you look more sophisticated and older.

“I was just reading.” You mumbled, hands gripping the flowing train of your dress, specifically tailored for the Midsummer feast. The color was a crimson red, fading into a soft blush as it reached your ankles– it was the color of your clan.

“You should have been cleaning up, I’ve got three potential suitors coming to visit tonight. You need to be on your best behavior.”

“Yes ma’am.” You sighed, eyes watering at the thought of losing your freedom to a man twice your age. Clans around you didn’t have suitors your age, so it was likely you were to be married off to a man full grown, who would force you to have heirs. It was enough to make you shudder.

A loud caw shook you from your thoughts. Your eyes travelled to the window, where a large crow sat perched upon the sill, it’s beady eyes glancing at you as it always had. It was common to find the bird near you. Something your mother detested, which made it much more interestingto have the crow return to you. You’d read that offering the bird trinkets or food was a way to build trust. So in the springtime at dusk you’d set coins and seeds out for the crow.

It would return with its own gifts, so much more extravagant than the ones you’d given. Golden brooches, silver earrings, and necklaces of stunning ruby; one that you wore on your neck now.

“Shoo!” Your mother cried, as she attempted to smack the bird out of the sill and into the night, and reluctantly the bird left, not without bringing its beady eyes to you first. With a flap, it flew into the night.

“Damn that bird, it’s a wonder people don’t think of you as a witch.”

Sometimes you wished you were one.

It was later in the evening when you saw the bird again. He didn’t make a loud caw as he usually did, instead he perched on the rafters of the pavilion, beady eyes flashing against the gold goblets and lanterns being paraded around.

“Madam-”

You jumped, not noticing the looming presence behind you until he spoke. You wheeled around with a hand upon your chest, startled.

“I did not mean to startle you…” he started.

“No sir, it’s quite alright. It seems I was only lost in my mind.” You brushed off, instead searching over his features. He was old, at least older than you, with a clean shaven face and head, and violent eyes that swirled in the light. It seemed to come as a great effort to keep his rage at bay.

“Hershel Shepherd.” He introduced, holding a large hand out to you. Hesitantly you placed your palm in his hand, his grip tight and uncomfortable. You bit back a wince, faintly hearing the crow caw indifferently.

You turned to the bird slightly, instead catching your mother’s stern stare, she vaguely made a gesture to the man that had spoke to you.

A suitor.

He was so old.

With a gulp, you turned back to the man known as Shepherd, plastering a fake smile upon your lips. With careful words you introduced yourself, watching as his eyes fired again at the greeting. Was that flames?

“Care to dance?”

As if your mother would allow you to say no.

You looped your hand in his, settling the other gracefully on his shoulder, just as you were taught.

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t swooped to marry you yet.” His tone made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. There was something off about this man, and it made your throat tighten in wary.

“All the suitors say I’m too strong-minded.”

“An easy fix. You just need some discipline.”

You stopped dancing, feeling how tight his grip was upon your waist and hand. It hurt, but you didn’t want to let him know that.

“Excuse me?” You asked incredulously, now actually seeing the flames burn in his irises.

“I think you’ve heard perfectly clear, little bird. I plan to propose to you this fortnight. I already have your mother’s blessing.”

The crow cawed loudly.

You felt like puking.

“If you’ll excuse me.” You squeaked, hating how shaky your legs felt as you forcibly ripped his hands from your body. Your heels clicked upon the marble, your dress whisking in the nightly summer breeze. Dodging through people, you made your way to the opposite side of the pavilion, trying to calm your nerves as much as you could.

“What the hell was that?” The irritated voice of your mother made you shrink down in stance, even though you were several inches taller.

“He disrespected me, I wasn’t going to stand by and let him insult me.” Your voice was uncharacteristically small– you blamed it on Shepherd.

“You will let him do as he pleases.” She snapped through gritted teeth. Your mouth opened slightly in shock, never before had she been so bluntly angered. It made frustrated tears well into your eyes.

“I won’t marry him.”

“That’s not your decision. It’s the clan’s, and they’ve already concluded their vote. You’re to be married at dawn. Betrothed.”

“No…” you whimpered, now wishing more than anything that you could run far away. Possibly sailing the seas by your lonesome, or climbing trees in the jungles, or hiking mountains larger than the skyline.

“Yes. Now go catch some air, gather yourself and come back a woman. Not some whimpering child.” With a small shove, she pushed you out of the pavilion and into the dark night.

With a cloudy brain, you began to walk down the stone path to the gardens, far from any lingering people. Here, the only sound was the croaking of frogs, scent of flowers, and singing of crickets.

As if a string was cut, your eyes began to water, tears falling freely down your cheeks in hot trails. Hastily, you wiped the droplets, approaching the briar of winter roses. The petals bloomed full year, having the resilience you only yearned of having.

Your fingertips brushed over the soft petals, hardly taking note to the small fluttering of wings upon the top of the briar, until the bird cooed as it fluttered down to your eye-line.

“At least I’ll have you, huh?”

You felt ridiculous talking to a crow, but the bird was the only one that did not shun you. It gave you time to be yourself, without protesting and interference.

With a hesitant hand, you reached for the bird, gently enough for it to know you didn’t mean any harm. When it made no move to fly away you brushed a hand to its feathers, watching with amusement as it cawed softly, before playfully nipping your finger.

“I wish I could fly away with you.” You whispered into the night air. Not noticing the man hidden in the shadows, watching on with a curious spark in his eye.

Finally. You were here.

“Then why don’t you.” His deep voice cut through the balmy night.

Chapter Two

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