#snakereign

          “DEAR BOY, HAPPINESS IS FOR THE WEAK,” Morticia coos at her son, kissing the top of his head. “Misery strengthens character and hardship fortifies constitution. Just look at your Uncle Fester. Still alive no matter how many times we’ve tried to bury him.” 

@snakereign​​ //  dark lord 2.0, failed version

THE WITCHER 3 PROMPTS // @snakereign Everything in this world is different to them. From the wood making up tables, bookshelves and furnishings, to the materials making blankets, clothing and curtains. Born from bushes, trees and animals the serpent has simply never seen before. But despite how foreign everything here is, it is they themself who remains the exotic and misplaced one. The outlander. If they had felt hunted in their old world - and how constantly tracked down like a witch they were - this new realm offered countless more enemies to contend with. Fools who wanted them for power, spare parts in wizard like potions, or zoology. While being formidable and immortal certainly aids them in staying safe, they know better than to take on a world of enemies. They had done it once before, and although they ought to consider themself lucky to have come out alive of that war, they had learnt some hard lessons. One was never too powerful to need friends. It was their luck that they had found the company of someone with similar interests and passions, someone who did not shy away from their more ferocious side, but did not treat them like some animal either. A man who could see them for what they were, a mixture of many, a multifaceted leviathan who could bring harm or fortune to those smart enough to use them wisely. And how Voldemort proved to be smart enough, perhaps even too smart for their liking. It was rare they had to stay on guard, yet be too sweet-talked and ensnared to remind themself of that. He knew how to offer them enough information to keep them around, but never so much that he outlived his use to them. He kept himself a few steps ahead, and they are both aware and complacent with this. He’s made too compelling an argument with that silver tongue of his, to ever have them drifting or losing interest. So they wait for him, even when he disappears on his own agenda. Knowing better than to ask him where he has been when he returns. Had he wanted them to know, surely they would have been granted the right to accompany him. After all, even the most vicious dogs swore loyalty to those who kept them well fed. And the young man knew precisely how to sate their appetite. The doors quiet groan is what alerts them to the fact that he has returned. As the sun starts to sink low enough to be engulfed by the horizon. Vanishing in brilliant oranges and reds, painting the room in vivid saffrons. Such colours catch upon the vipers porcelain skin, flesh white as snow now used as a canvas under the suns fleeting rays. Warm hues faintly reflected where their night kimono slips lazily down their shoulder. Ivory arms, collar and legs bared to gentle but flame like colours panting their figure. Perched on the stone window arch, gazing down from their godlike view at the forests hundreds of feet below. Not timid of the fall, but admiring the height. Admiring the newness, truly reborn in this moment, when they gaze at things they have never seen before. Their fingers had been idly combing through raven black hair, until eager eyes move instead to the sound of his return. He is greeted instantly by their light smile, one that so quickly loses its tenderness when the edges of fangs can be seen. They slip gracefully from the windowsill they had been seated at, to meet him at his side. To scan his eyes and body for anything that may signal trouble. Whether he had run in to any, they don’t know. They do know however, that if he had, he had handled it as usual, and returned to them unscathed. “I did as you asked,” they say, a tome left upon the desk. What knowledge lies within the weighted book they do not know, they can not decipher its meaning despite being fully capable of reading it. Too inexperienced in this world to understand the gibberish of spells, foreign creatures, lands and names. But he had asked for it, so they had provided. In full anticipation to have their efforts rewarded, and having exercised all the patience they had within themself simply waiting for his return, “will you show it me then? One of the forbidden curses those lesser wizards keep muttering about?” They live for these lessons, thrive under his instruction, his tutoring. Magic is a power that is not within their veins, much like the muggles of this world. Yet unlike those muggles, they are not completely without something special, the chakra they harbor enabling them to produce attacks monstrous in its own regards, something so very similar to witchcraft. They follow him to the small coffee table, finding their seat beside him on the couch, listening to each word from his mouth and watching the artifact he draws out. A wand. And they watch next as the little demonstration begins, as his simple command has the summoned snake, courtesy of Orochimaru, suddenly wrapped under mind control. It is so effortless, so tasteful, so immediate. While the conjured snake is a loyal companion to Orochimaru, and would do their bidding without question, it now has lost all ability to do just that. Imperio. Far more sophisticated than the mind control those in the vipers realm are capable of. They are in awe instantly, enamored by the demonstrated power, enamored by how he makes it look second nature. How within a moment of his attention, with a single breathed command, this venomous and lethal summon is his new play thing. Golden eyes shift to the man when he speaks, inquisitive eyes following his every movement. “Magic... I imagine such a word is interchangeable with power, is it not?” they reply, leaning against him now, giving in to their tactile nature. They watch the snake innocently obey each command, as they rest their head against Tom’s shoulder. Too comfortable perhaps, around the charming man. A man who has even lulled the infamously distrustful serpent in to deeming him their home, their place of refuge. Not because they mistake his power as anything less than it is, but because they are hellbent on surrounding themself with any and all power - if not from their own sylphlike body, then instead they would content themself being beside his. They draw their hand lightly down to run their fingertips over his wand, to feel the texture curiously, an elegant motion before their hand brushes over his arm a moment to be gathered back to their person, “... the magic of this world, can it be mine?” With their summon finally having its free will returned, the reptile makes its way over to the two humans. Ever so complacent with what had happened, seeing no difference in the requested duty of killing on command, or being puppeted a moment. A bronze body lazily slips away from the small table it had been perched on, sliding instead to creep up the coach and languidly lace itself around and over the laps of the wizard and shinobi. Their hand moves to brush over its scaled body next, “there are those born without magic in this realm, I have seen them. Have none ever tried to get it regardless? Have any ever succeeded?” A more cunning smile replaces their previous one now, as they lift their head from his shoulder ever so slightly, to instead correct a tassel of dark brown hair, “you shall mark the first king to never die, and be the founder of a realm indomitable,” they say, golden eyes meeting his umber pair, ensnared instantly by the intelligence so clearly living there, their gaze against his the contrast of the pale yellow moon meeting the midnight sky, “for as long as I am permitted at your side,  I will make it so, and you will want for nothing my dear Lord,” they place a hand to his shoulder now to get to their feet, to saunter across the room and fix them both a drink, even the alcohol a rather differing taste here for them. They lean on the table a moment to watch him, to inspect his reactions before offering him his drink and a more tamed smile.  “I do hope I have sworn myself to a generous king.”

“what you say?” the twitching of his lips did not match his raspy words. “you think ye can scare ol’ morfin . . . threaten him, eh?” morfin clambered to his feet and clattered his cane against the floorboards  —  causing an obnoxious crack to resound through the small shack. “EH !?” 

where on earth did you get the idea that i owed you any amount of respect ?

         “Carrie,” she introduces herself, extending a slender hand. It always pays to be polite. “I take it that you live around these parts?” 

          Lyanna set the flower down and shifted her clear, grey gaze towards her mysterious companion; they were half-amused, half-despondent, and perhaps a tiny smidge hopeful. “What do you say?”

           “ hm. you would. because it is what you do. ”