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God!Gale x Reader | Following

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Your following had started small, a handful of individuals who found themselves drawn to you, not through Gale, but through their own adoration of the muse they saw within you. At first, it was almost flattering, a modest group that revered your guidance, your wisdom, your very presence.

They believed in freedom—freedom of creativity, freedom of expression, freedom of the muse and freedom from the structured devotion that Gale’s followers so rigidly adhered to. Where Gale’s ambition built power and domination, your followers found peace in fluidity, in the gentle touch of inspiration. And somewhere along the way, their devotion had grown into something of its own—something separate from Gale’s divine shadow.

At first, Gale hadn’t seemed to care. When your followers began erecting a small statue of you in the town, just a simple likeness of your face, he had brushed it off with an indulgent smile.

"It’s only natural they would want to honor you," he’d said, though his eyes had flickered with something darker, a flicker of emotion that you couldn’t quite place. Still, he played the part of the tolerant god, supportive, even amused by the burgeoning devotion that seemed to bloom around you.

But the following didn’t stop there. The statue grew bigger. The followers more numerous. The whispers of your name reached further and further, until there were some who whispered your name with more reverence than Gale’s. They called you "the Muse of Freedom," and they built a temple in your honor. Your own temple, a sanctuary where they could worship you, and only you.

And through it all, Gale remained outwardly calm. He pretended not to notice when your statue became the largest in the town square, towering even above his own. He smiled—smiled as they gathered in your temple, smiled as they converted some of his own most devoted followers to your side, luring them with promises of a different kind of worship. A more…liberating one.

"They’re free to worship as they please," Gale had said to you one evening, his tone light, almost casual. But there had been an edge to his words, something strained beneath the surface. "After all, you are my muse. Their devotion is simply an extension of my own, isn’t it?"

You had nodded, believing him, believing the soft words and the gentle smile that he gave you. You had believed that Gale was not bothered by your rising influence. That he saw your followers as harmless.

But in truth, Gale was seething.

He loathed them—the ones who dared to revere you more than him. To speak your name with a passion that rivaled his own, as if they could claim a part of you that belonged to him alone. He hated that they saw in you something separate from him, something free of his control, something they could love without bowing to his power. He hated that they were pulling you away from him—at least, that’s how it felt in his twisted perception.

He didn’t show it to you, of course. He couldn’t. He was a god, after all, and gods did not feel such petty things as jealousy. Or so he told himself.

But in secret, Gale was plotting. It started with whispers to Talos, a god of storms and chaos, under the guise of casual conversation. A request, veiled in the language of gods, for a little…disruption. Nothing too dramatic, just an earthquake. A freak accident that would shake the foundations of the town—and your temple.

And so it came to pass.

One night, the earth trembled. Your temple collapsed, a portion of your followers crushed beneath its sacred stones. The news reached you at dawn, and your heart ached with the loss of those who had devoted themselves to you, who had believed in the freedom you represented.

Gale was by your side as you mourned, his hand on your shoulder, offering comfort.

"It is a tragedy," he said softly, his voice thick with false sympathy. "But perhaps it is a reminder, a reminder that nothing lasts forever. Not even devotion."

You had felt a chill run down your spine at his words, but you didn’t suspect him—not then. Not yet.

But the attacks didn’t stop there.

Vandalism began to plague the statues and shrines built in your honor. Graffiti, desecration, broken effigies. At first, you thought it was the work of Gale’s rivals, perhaps envious gods seeking to diminish your influence. But then you heard rumors, whispered among your remaining followers—rumors that it was Gale’s most devoted worshippers who were behind the destruction. His hand was never directly involved, of course, but it didn’t need to be. A suggestion here, a command there, and they acted on his behalf, believing they were serving their god’s will.

When you confronted Gale about it, his expression was a mask of indifference, his smile thin and placating.

"Why would I care about a few statues?" he said, waving a hand dismissively. "They’re meaningless, my love."

Meaningless, a word that conveyed more than Gale realised. Meant to be used in a dismissive, comforting way, to diminish whatever worries you had.

But you saw the flicker in his eyes. The same flicker you had seen when the first statue of you went up. The flicker of jealousy, of possessiveness. The flicker of a god who refused to share his muse with anyone.

Meaningless, that is what he saw your follower's devotion to you as. Meaningless was the semblance of power and reverence you felt. Meaningless was your love for them. It was all meaningless to him.

And in that moment, you knew. You knew that Gale, despite all his outward calm, saw your followers as a threat. A threat to the power he held over you, a threat to the hold he believed he had on your heart.

You knew, but what could you do? He was a god, and so were you now—but his power dwarfed yours. And so, you played the role of the dutiful muse, even as you watched the remnants of your following crumble under his unseen hand. Even as you mourned the freedom you once thought you had.

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A little god gale piece for you all, I hope you enjoy it !! - Seluney xox

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