#Patron of Mercy

[portraitsofsaints]

Saint Mary Faustina Kowalska

1905 - 1938

Feast day: October 5

Patron of Mercy

St. Maria Faustina Kowalska was born in Glogowiec, Poland in 1905. The third of ten children from a poor family, she had little formal education. After applying to various convents in Warsaw, she was finally accepted by the Congregation of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy in 1925. For years Saint Faustina received revelations and visits from Christ. On Good Friday 1937, Christ appeared to her and dictated to her the prayers that He wished her to pray in a novena from Good Friday through the Octave of Easter, now known as Divine Mercy Sunday. Saint Faustina died in 1938, in Krakow, Poland, of tuberculosis. 

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

[winepresswrath]

I really want to know what Mercy's association with the eighth looks like. All the other OG lyctors have nice legible relationships with with their pet planets where you can look at their personalities and the corresponding cultures and philosophies and then extrapolate, but Mercy and the Eighth have me stymied.

It's not like there's no overlap- they both go in for dour fun hating, there's a certain superficial brittleness covering up genuine principle, someone with no talent for inference has probably tried to compile her most bitterly exasperated asides into a holy book. The mad science they absolutely got from her, the religious fervour makes sense in terms of where her head was presumably at thousands of years ago, but I cannot see her having the patience to deal with their appetite for ritual and the soul siphoning and breeding cavaliers for batteries doesn't feel like something she'd be into on an institutional level. the eighth reads like mercy left a bunch of freshly resurrected amnesiac zombies with a very terse orientation package, some absolutely deranged medical notes and very strict instructions on lab safety alongside a rule about how they should only contact her if a significant section of the planet is on fire and then they developed a whole religion and culture about it while she checked in very occasionally to yell at them more about lab safety. Then when the other lyctors told her her children were ruining the vibe and inventing fundamentalism she got defensive about how fun is overrated and they have self determination AUGUSTINE, not everyone needs to micromanage and also look at what the third has done with commerce. Absentee patron saint of the year.

[avellanaslesbianas]

Forever mourning this panel not making it into the anime

[nicollekidman]

everytime i think about fallout season two im like. omg we're gonna get accidental saint lucy of the ghouls aren't we.........

[uberoll-oystercrackers]

nothin to do nowhere to go i wanna be sedated

[womanlives]

LORE DUMP: Merce's criminal org edition !

THE DOCKYARD SYNDICATE.

Otherwise known as dockies, docks, or dockworkers. Derogatorily referred to by rival organizations as rats or ship rats.

Originated as a loose collection of gangs around the mid-1950s in Kingshore (think: New York City). Banded together for your standard reason: joblessness, poverty, persecution. And drug-running, of course, especially through the ports. Their early years were extremely profitable, but bloody. The Syndicate grew too large too quickly, and its rather informal structure began to collapse.

After eliminating the largest of their rivals in a brutal, yearslong struggle — and taking heavy losses to boot — the Syndicate had its own form of quasi-revolution. One of its key members rose to prominence and established himself as the head of the Syndicate, with backing by several of the other primary powerhouses. He wasted no time in establishing his influence and reorganizing the organization into something much more structured and much more lethal. No more gangs. Now a cartel.

Their leader is known as the Patron. Under his rule, the Syndicate has grown widely in notoriety and influence over the decades. While its ‘official’ inner-circle members remain relatively small in number, it has a reputation for hiring on other gangs/organizations as needed. And burning them just as quick.

Current operation: slowly but surely develop footholds in all government structure(s) where they do business. Kingshore’s owned by them already in everything except name.

Rot-Eyes works exclusively for the Patron as his go-to killer.

The Patron is widely believed to have ordered the elimination of the Roses. Rot-Eyes doesn’t listen to anyone else.

OPTIONAL FOR SUPERNATURAL SETTINGS: In addition to your standard drug-fare, the Syndicate is the sole smuggler of a rare substance known as stardust, which is the magic equivalent of steroids. Discovered within the last decade, stardust is highly illegal, highly dangerous, and incredibly valuable. Its existence is a closely-guarded secret, as the Syndicate actively eliminates any competitor that tries to broach this market.

THE RATCATCHERS.

The Syndicate funds several of their best thieves and killers to act as ratcatchers. Ratcatchers are essentially recruiters who prey on the large population of impoverished children in the city. They offer food, safe places to stay, and basic sneak-training in exchange for these children to run their ‘errands.’ Errands can include everything from pickpocketing, causing a distraction, or even murder.

Most kids get caught, die, or try to form gangs of their own (which never last long). Those who stay with the Ratcatchers long enough are eventually passed off to smaller cells within the Syndicate’s network (ages ~13 to ~16). Or to wherever they will pick up a profit.

There have been six instances of ratcatchers trying to branch off with their recruits to establish their own gangs without the Patron's consent. All six were hunted down by Rot-Eyes. In spectacular fashion.

While invaluable to the Syndicate’s success, they are (rightfully) regarded within the organization with distrust and disgust.

Mercy was raised by a ratcatcher.

THE SILVER TIES.

A child branch of the Syndicate overseeing all money-laundering and public-facing operations. Run by a charming younger man named Benedict, who is the most recent to join the Patron’s inner circle.

The largest of the Syndicate’s ‘children.’ Launders money through cash smuggling (offshore banks), shell companies, trusts, round-tripping, but most importantly: cash-intensive businesses. The Silver Ties are the shadow owners of Kingshore’s most famous casino chain: the Golden Floors. (They also own parking structures, several bars and restaurants, and half of Kingshore’s beach resorts.)

The Golden Floors are large, multi-level casinos dispersed throughout Kingshore. All ground-level-and-up floors are public-facing and perfectly legal. But one out of every ten casinos operates underneath some random-ass building as a secret, clandestine location with a multi-tiered basement. The lower you go down, the more depraved — and illegal — the offerings.

Locked in a constant competition to curry favor vs the Blood Rats.

Dinks was a low-level member of the Silver Ties. 

THE BLOOD RATS.

The Syndicate’s enforcers. Run by an ex-military, ex-special forces operative who goes by Sam. He is the only person Rot-Eyes hesitates to fuck with.

Oversees weapons smuggling, countersurveillance, and security. Runs the Syndicate’s protection rackets (aka extortion).

Smallest of the Syndicate’s ‘children.’ It’s widely regarded as truth that the Patron only claimed control of the Syndicate in the first place because he had the backing of the Blood Rats behind him. They are considered the most loyal of all Syndicate factions.

Has access to military-grade arms and equipment — and sometimes even beyond. The Blood Rats don’t often have to roll out in force, but when they do, everyone fuckin’ knows it.

By and large regards the Silver Ties as wishy-washy corporate bitches.

Unlike most of the other Syndicate members, Sam has actually seen Dinks’ face. Worse: he remembers it, too.

THE ROSES.

Never officially a part of the Syndicate family, but came very close. An all-female gang with eight members, each named after one of the seven virtues. And Mercy. Their specialty was secret-thieving and surveillance.

Originated as a gift from the Patron to his favorite whore: Chastity, who founded the Roses. She targeted exclusively women in gangs and precarious situations to bring into her fold. Much of the Roses’ history is lost to the ashes, but within their short period of operation (~15 years), they skyrocketed to the top of the Syndicate’s ‘bitches to Be’ list, with Chastity acting as the Patron’s most beloved and most trusted confidante.

Then, one night, Rot-Eyes beat them all to death inside their hideout and burned it to the ground. And that was that. No more Roses.

The Syndicate has been in a state of slow but steady decline ever since.

[lolochaponnay]

Le patron d'une grande entreprise embauche un veilleur de nuit. Deux semaines plus tard, ce dernier dit à son patron : - Monsieur le directeur, ne prenez pas l'avion aujourd'hui. Il va s'écraser !  Superstitieux, le patron renonce à son voyage, et l'avion s'écrase, effectivement. Le lendemain, le patron convoque son employé. Il lui dit : - Merci de m'avoir sauvé la vie. Comment avez-vous pu deviner ? - La nuit dernière, j'ai fait un rêve prémonitoire ! - Très bien. Merci encore, mais vous êtes renvoyé ! - Ben...Pourquoi ? - Pour faire un rêve, il faut dormir. Or, vous êtes veilleur de nuit !

[poured-my-past-down-the-drain]

She IS pretty cool from what I've heard and seen :D!!! She's very awesome, and I think that she's uhh swag :]]]

your parents are.. certainly interesting!!

WAIT YOU AREN'T INTRODUCING ME AND BOO TO YOUR MUM ARE YOU?? *nervous pacing around core*

– tubbo.

[ooc notes; tommy blogger.. I. I think you should yap in the tags more. Like NOW!!! /silly]

I MEAN I COULD 🤗🤗 do you want to meet my mum :)) do you want to meet my mum :)) do you want to meet my mum :))

It would have to be over altar unless she visits 🤔 but she isn’t a ‘give me your most sentimental possession’ type god, honest 🤗 just maybe a cup of tea or a plant :) mum likes plants.

[corvianbard]

#6383

Goddess, whose eyes are widely opened, Patron of brave heroes yet a sword sharpened To slay every foeman without showing mercy, Show us the way to stop the war's lunacy.

[hikarinokusari]

One of my players may get Warlock levels in our CoS and wants Strahd as their Patron.

Please the Dark Powers have mercy on both of us for that because if it happens, Ill know no limit for my love for warlocks is great and my Strahd's will to see the worth of the party is far deeper than the seas C'tulhu resides in.

Though I'm pretty sure the PC just wants to enact revenge on his brother NPC, who works with Strahd's and is the family's favorite. Warlocking only to tell his little bro " See, you work with him, I learn from him and have a part of his powers. You're bringing food to the castle so the resident can feast on while I'm inviting to the table dining with him and sharing a part of his powers."

Pretty sure this is one of the motivation of the PC. Like, yes warlocking is fantastic and brings a lot to the table and mechanically wise, but the PC can be petty. Wouldn't be surprised if a scene like that would happen.

[alapagedeslivres]

Bilan JUIN 2024 : 8 lectures

En juin, le bilan est relativement positif au vu de mes contraintes familiales et professionnelles. J’ai eu peu de temps pour moi, encore moins pour lire et pour tenir le blog… Mais, je ne me plains pas (je fais ce que je peux…). Les lectures sont quand même diversifiées : trois romans historiques (2ème guerre mondiale deux fois… et un thriller médiéval), deux BD et deux romans contemporains et…

[endawn]

i think one of the only ways for pax’s soul to be saved from going to coldharbor upon his final death would be for the aedra to directly intervene. merge their divine essence together as a personal fuck you to molag. like, you stole our hero of lore from us and now we’re stealing him back. bring him to aetherius. though, would they? i don’t know.

[thebibliosphere]

I've had a couple of messages over the last few days from folks saying things like, "Sorry, I can only afford to get your book through the library," and I need you to know I am gripping you by the shoulders, I am shaking you gently, and I am begging you stop apologizing for using library services.

After Amazon and Payhip, the quarterly checks I get from Overdrive/Libby are my biggest and most reliable source of income.

My readers have been nothing but feral in their quest to get Hunger Pangs into as many libraries as possible, and while library lending pays an exceptionally modest amount, if enough people do it (which many of you evidently are), those pennies add up.

I am guaranteed at least $20 a month in library lending royalties. That might not sound like much to some folks, but to me, that's my b12 supplements covered for the month. That's the thing I need to keep me alive paid for.

I will never resent anyone who uses libraries instead of buying books.

I'm a disabled author who lives month to month at the mercy of my medical expenses. Even though I have incredibly generous patrons and supporters, I know what it's like to not be able to afford things.

Use the library. Please.

Use it guilt-free. You're helping the library and the authors, probably more than you realize.

And if you're in the US and haven't signed up for a @queerliblib free library card yet, you should! it doesn't matter what state you're in, the Queer Liberation Library offers free access to their catalogue of queer media across the US.

And if you've got the means, maybe help them out with a little donation. They're only able to expand their collection via the support of their patrons, and the work they're doing is hugely important.

[lolochaponnay]

Une secrétaire dit à son patron : - Monsieur le directeur, comme vous allez être papa, j'ai le plaisir d'être la première à vous féliciter! - Merci, mais comment savez-vous celà? C'est ma femme qui vous l'a dit ? - Non, c'est mon gynécologue!

[eraenaa]

Virginal Whore

Aemond Targaryen x Celtigar Reader Tag List

Synopsis: Prince Aemond sets out to find a whore to warm his bed; he finds a virgin instead. 

Warnings: Dub-Con, Oral Sex (f receiving), Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 3,345

Sequel: Prince's Whore

Strife, suffering, and sorrow are all the Prince now feel— perhaps even then. He could no longer stomach the tolls of the war that was reigning havoc on the lands of Westeros. He sought a moment of reprieve, solace in the arms of a lover that he could take into his bed. Harrenhall was bent to his will; everyone was taken and at his mercy. He had women in his grasp, serving girls and some highborn ladies, even a bastard of House Strong, yet as comely and shapely as they were, none were able to stir the need brewing deep inside him. He could not find the want to take them into his bed and warm his cock.

He was, for a moment, entranced by a witch who held the name Rivers. The sorceress tried to seduce him with her lingering glances and mysterious presence, and he was ready to give in, to take her to his bed, but he had caught her placing her spell upon him. Slipping a vial of an unknown substance into his wine, Aemond could not tolerate such acts. He invited her into his chambers, luring her in with the pretense that he had succumbed to her charms, and as she sank to her knees before him, his cock in her mouth, and he was on the verge of spilling his seed in her throat, he took a dagger and slit her throat— him coming undone as her lifeless body fell and her blood pooled onto the floor. 

That sufficed the need in Aemond for a short moment, but just a few days later, he found himself in want of release again— something that would quench the ache in his loins and the fire in his veins. Not just a mouth around his cock but a cunt as well.

He blended into the night and reached town; slipping into a whore house, he heard a few of the soldiers muttering about. When he entered the establishment, nothing of note came into view. It was the same as any houses of pleasure he had stumbled upon during the night. He was in desperate need of company. Scattered around him were the perfumed bodies that masked the smell of vile scents wafted about the room. His eye searched for something that could possibly sedate his raging cock. 

He peeled away his hood, uncaring that the whores and their patrons could see his silvery locks; surely they have more pleasing matters to attend to rather than his presence. As he announced himself, he was quickly approached by a rather well-dressed man who he supposed was the owner. “My prince, welcome… you honor us with your presence.” He bowed lowly, and Aemond simply scanned his eye about the room once more. Without another word, the owner snapped his finger, and Aemond saw some workers hastily running across the establishment, surely readying themselves for him. 

Aemond was led deeper into the den of depravity and into a secluded room where a bed waited along with a line of whores on their knees, waiting for the prince to take his pick. Aemond still paid no mind to the owner as he tried to sell the girls. Aemond assessed each one of them, presenting him with their seductive gazes and trying to allure them with their smiles, pushing together their breasts in the hope that would press even further desire into the prince. 

He sneered as he almost finished assessing the lines of girls, ready to demand the owner to present him with a new batch, but his gaze was then caught by a cowering figure. Her eyes were planted on the floor, and she had used her long, flowing hair to cover her body, trying to display at least one ounce of modesty. 

Aemond strayed closer to you, his curiosity peaking. When the owner’s gaze noticed the prince had focused on you, he quickly stood by your side, who was kneeling at the end of the line. “A newcomer, my prince,” He said and forcefully yanked the back of your head in order to raise your face so the prince could see your features. “I think you would like her, my prince… the prettiest one we have.” 

Aemond said no word nor made any reaction, only studying the way your lips quivered and your eyes pooled with tears as you tried to avoid his gaze. “If her face does not please you enough, I am inclined to tell you that she is a highborn lady snatched away from her traitorous lord father’s care at the start of the war,” He added in pride. It was most beneficial for his business to have an asset such as yourself. Pretty, filled with youth, and had the blood of nobles coursing through your veins. 

Aemond blinked as he felt his cock strain further into his trousers. You were certainly far from his usual type, but only you had stirred such a need in him that he had not felt in many moons. “And if that still isn’t enough to please you, your highness… I shall as well inform you that she is a virgin. Untouched by any man… but I do warn you that may not be the case in a short while.” The owner heinously laughed. Aemond did not know how to take such facts. He was accustomed to experienced hands bringing him pleasure and comfort… but there was just something in your innocence that he found wholly more appealing. 

He turned to the owner and gave a nod. You breathed sharply as the room quickly emptied out, leaving you alone in the presence of a cruel prince. You were still on your knees, and your gaze quickly panted themselves on the floor once more. Aemond placed his hood by a chair and assessed your trembling frame that still knelt on the cold floor. “What house do you come from?” He questioned and brought a chalice already filled with wine to his lips. He drank two sips from it, but you still have not answered his query. “Speak, girl. Are you a mute?” He questioned, stepping before you. “N— no… my prince,” You say, ever so silently. He reached to grab your face in his hands, his fingers squeezing your soft cheeks together, a horrified expression screaming in your eyes. 

“What traitorous house do you come from?” He almost spat. “House… House C—Celtigar, your Highness,” You almost cried, and Aemond was silently surprised. The blood that coursed through your veins was not from any plain noble house; the blood in your veins was the blood of Old Valyria. “Hm,” Aemond hummed as his fingers that held your cheeks savored the way your soft flesh felt. “And how have they taken you?” He questioned and raised the cup of wine to his lips once more, waiting for your answer. 

“I was to be sent to Essos, but they— they commandeered the ship and slain the captain, and I was— was sold off from one man to another.” You explained, your hands clenching at the sheer fabric they made you wear, the material so thin that it did nothing to hide your body. 

You boldly raised your gaze at the prince, hoping to find at least one speck of empathy in his lone eye, but you paled further as you saw a sinister smirk rise to his lips. How fortunate was Aemond to stumbled to the whorehouse at this moment, having the pick of the litter. An overly pretty, untouched noblewoman is now kneeling before him; the gods seem to take pity on his needing state that had plagued him for moons that had left him restless and irritated. “Stand,” he commanded and finally let go of his hold on your cheeks. Watching as you slowly and wobbly obeyed and stood on your feet. 

He raked his eye upon your body, from your pretty face to the apex of your neck to your breast that hid behind the curtain of your hair. His gaze continued to travel downward from the curves of your hips and waist to your sex that was hidden by a dark shadow and to your plush thighs— as he saw the limbs of lavish flesh, a deeper sense of lust overcame him. He placed the chalice down and stepped closer to you. Aemond’s smirk widened as he heard a whimper leave your lips and your eyes tightly closed as he tore away the sheer fabric they made you wear. 

He threaded closer and brushed away the hair that covered your frame, feeling you shiver beneath his touch as his hand trailed to the small of your waist, then upward to your ample tit, your nipple pebbling beneath his cold and calloused touch. He lowered his head and placed it in the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent that was not riddled with the generic perfume that they bathed the whores with. Compared to them— you were a breath of fresh air. 

You gasped and turned stiff as the prince, without warning, pushed you upon the silk-covered bed. You cowered towards the headboard, petrified at the sinister smirk on the prince’s lip, completely enjoying your fear. “I must admit… I’ve never fucked a virgin before,” He said lowly as he took off his tunic, and you looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. “I’ve always preferred my women to be ones with experience… but there is, I suppose, something appealing in being the one first to taint a maiden— perhaps that is why my brother could smell them from a mile away,” Aemond said, a bit amused as he now realized the reason for his brother’s preference of seeking out virgins to be brought to his bed. 

Aemond undid his trousers, standing bare before you as you curled into a ball at the head of the bed. Aemond relished in your cry for help as he pulled you toward the edge of the bed— thrashing upon his hold. You feel your tears slip from your eyes as the prince spreads your legs, and your cunt is fully exposed before him. You inhaled a sharp breath as you felt his breath fanning your folds, assessing you. Aemond bore witness to the truth that you truly were a virgin, your maidenhead still intact and just waiting for him to be ruined. 

He thought about how to proceed; usually, he would have a maiden on their knees or on her stomach and take her from behind— no tenderness or foreplay, simply taking what he wanted and be done with all the bother. But somehow, your cunt was calling for his lips. He never found the appeal of it, feasting on a cunt that had been used and abused by differing men, sullying himself with the taste of other men on the body of a woman. However, you were untouched, and Aemond indulged himself with an act he was rather more curious about. 

You froze as you felt the prince’s fingers trace along the slit of your cunt, the sensation new and disturbing as no one had ever touched you in such a place before. You felt his hand press your fold together, his eye on every movement you made. Aemond marveled at your cunt, never truly assessing one before— he never thought a cunt could be so… captivating. When he ran his fingers in the middle of your slit again, he chuckled darkly as he felt wetness gathering in them; despite your reluctance and defiance, your cunt was begging to be touched. Aemond’s mouth salivated at the thought. 

A gasp left your lips, and you tried to close your legs as you felt the prince’s tongue replace his finger and lick a clean stripe in the middle of your folds. Aemond could not help but moan at the taste of you, tart and sweet, and he began to wonder if this was how his depravity would begin, with a taste of a virginal whore.

You bit your tongue as you felt his lips latch on the sensitive pearl, his tongue darting out and licking you further, teasing your hole and bringing further wetness. “Stop acting so demure and coy; you enjoy this, do you not, my lady?” He menacingly said against you, refusing to let his lips stray away from the sweet nectar of your womanhood. 

You shook your head and felt your tears fall further, but any denial you do did nothing to stop the arousal dripping from your cunt. Aemond chuckled and used his tongue to tease you further, slipping it into the void of pleasure. 

You finally let out a moan, one that was unexpected, and you felt shame as you found pleasure in such actions. That spurred further determination in the prince, darting his tongue in and out of you, his fingers sinking into your plush thighs as he, too, was overwhelmed by the pleasure of feasting on your cunt. Your sensitive pearl rubbed itself against the high bridge of his nose, your blood alight, your skin glimmering with a thin sheet of sweat, and your body ready to succumb to pleasure. Aemond felt it too, that you were close to what he concluded to be the first climax of your life, your body agitated and uncertain, your moans wry and held fear. He was debating if he should let you come undone now or wait when until his cock was buried deep inside your cunt. He was straying towards the latter, but as the thought of tasting you further infiltrated his mind, the prince obliged you to reach your peak and taste your orgasm. Your uncertain moans turned loud and sure, and your hands instinctively clutched the silver locks of the prince’s hair as you came undone by his tongue. 

Aemond hummed in content, feeling his cock weeping at the taste of you. “I’ve never thought a cunt could taste so delectable,” He mused and planted his weight on his knees, staring down at your bare, flushed body and your face that was still trying to comprehend your first taste of pleasure. 

The prince did not give you much time to grasp what had happened as his rough hands found home on your waist, and his cock was aligned against your dripping entrance. Your pleasured-clad face morphed into one of pain as you felt his length penetrating your undefiled hole. It was mean and sadistic, but Aemond found pleasure in taking away your innocence. He was filled with further satisfaction as he glanced down and saw how his cock was tainted with red, your maidenhead taken by him. 

“What lord will have you now, my lady? Now that you’re the prince’s whore?” He grunted as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, the tip of it brushing a spot he knew all too well. “Are those tears of pain or pleasure?” Aemond taunted as he bent down closer to your face, his fingers brushing away the salty water that spilled from your eyes. “If it is the former, I will try not to take it as an offense. There are worst fates than being my whore, my lady— just ask the girls that served my brother,” He smirked and kissed away your tears, his lips straying further to yours.

He never found much pleasure in the act; he would only sometimes oblige the old madame in his once-favored whorehouse with the act because she seemed quite keen on it, but he never liked the way she tasted on his tongue after. But you, gods, was it too much if he would say that just one taste of you has had him on the verge of addiction?

You took in sharp breaths of pain as the prince thrust into you; he was kind enough to slow down his movements, letting you accustom yourself to his length, but by the second, Aemond was growing impatient. His moves started to move at a faster, almost violent pace, ignoring your cries of pain as he was certain they would soon turn into cries of pleasure. He had never had a cunt as tight as yours before; he had never truly paid enough attention to every fluter, every clench, every movement of the woman he was fucking, but now he could not help but focus on anything that you did underneath him. 

He savored every moan and sigh that left your lips, every line on your furrowed brows, every scratch of your nail on his back as you felt his length rutting inside you. Aemond let out a groan as the moons of need started to overwhelm him. He was close to the peak he desperately sought, but he was genteel enough to coax one out of you first; you were a noble lady; after all, it would be terribly rude of him to leave you need and unsatisfied. 

Aemond straightened his back and felt his cock twitch as he saw the site of you laid before him, your legs on his shoulder, his fingers sinking on your soft thighs, and your tits bouncing at his every thrust. You watched through hazy and pleasured-filled eyes as the prince licked his thumb and placed it flat against your nubbin, and his other hand pressed down on your lower stomach and spurred you further into pleasure. Your lips spewed out his name as you came undone, and the prince was quick to follow you. Filling your cunt with his seed, and finally, Aemond felt relief and satisfaction over him. 

The prince panted heavily as he tried to regain his thoughts; he removed his length from your cunt and felt a lazy grin come to his lips as he saw the essence of both of you spill from your hole. Through your haze, you did not expect the prince to dip down and capture your lips into a kiss once again; tongue sought entrance, and you could not find it in yourself to deny him. 

Both of you panted as your lips parted. You stared into the unique lilac eye of the Targaryen prince and were soon overcome with the implications of what had just happened. Your cheeks further turned red as you avoided his gaze once more, ashamed at how you relished and had enjoyed being defiled by him. 

Aemond smirked and collapsed atop of you, savoring the feel of your intertwined bodies for a moment. You just lay there beneath him, and somehow, that was enough for him. But as he felt your hands wrap around him and your hand went to comb through his hair, he let out a further satisfied sigh at the feeling of comfort he never thought he could find in another. 

It did not take long before Aemond had drifted into slumber. The cacophony of his release, fatigue, and you lulled him into a deep yet quick slumber. When he woke, he found you asleep beath him as well, looking so peaceful with your tear-stained cheeks and plush parted lips. Aemond delicately removed himself from you and silently walked out of the room. 

When you woke, you found a pouch filled with coins by your side and the distant sound of moans and footsteps approaching. You raised the sheet of the bed to cover your naked frame as the curtain was lifted, revealing the silver prince. You stared in confusion as he tossed the dress you wore when you were abducted on the bed. “Get dressed,” You could only stare at him in further confusion, your limbs refusing to move. 

Aemond smirked as the fear returned in your eyes. He was halfway through his return to Harrenhall, but the thought of you haunted him. He finally found the release he sought, and it would be foolish of him to let it wander free. Aemond was a selfish man. He could not oblige the others and let them have a taste of the pleasure that only you could present.  

“Get dressed. I have brought you from your master. You’re all mine now, my lady.” 

[wellthatsclever]

Took a peek at subreddits about people working/invoking with actual Biblical demons and it was story after story of people getting their life turned upside down, divorce, relationships ending, becoming homeless, one story about someone getting their imagination stolen from inside their mind, etc. And these people would all rationalize it as good because they bounced back or found stability or whatever after. It's like reading a bunch of testimonials of people with stockholm syndrom