#Castle of the Banned Lovers

[sacredwhores]

Riccardo Freda - Castle of the Banned Lovers (1956)

[bitchfitch]

Tbh I'm considering changing the time period of that monster-hunter x shapeshifter thing to modern day instead of "vaguely late 17th century bc Cha bitch has been thinking about embroidered overcoats A Lot recently"

Purely bc Cadfael's Twitter would be fucking radioactive. not even in a problematic way but in a 'oh there's something Deeply wrong with you' way. Thirst traps in between nonsense posts about blood and alchemy and matters of the state and such.

[mochinomnoms]

i understand the simping for the fashion dilf believe me i do

but i come offering other non simping thoughts for now

i can imagine yuu just casually braking into other dorms to sleep when it rains bc their dorm is still…extremely broken (because the BIRD MAN WONT FIX IT)

so their friends (and possibly lovers depending upon your preference) just wake up the next morning to see yuu on on couch in their common area with grim sleeping on them

-🐝

I love this alot but especially if it's a case that no one can figure out how the hell you're getting into their dorms. Even though they're easily accessible through the mirrors, the dorms are probably locked from the outside for safety reasons.

At my dorms and for most of the buildings, they were open during the day and at night they would only be accessible though student id/key cards. I think the students at NRC maybe could use their wands as their key cards, but you don't have a wand, just Grim with his stone. And people forget that Grim, even though he's just a lil ceacher....is still technically a student that can get into buildings lol.

Heartslabyul is the main victim of your sudden appearances, which makes Riddle a bit conflicted, as he understands Ramshackle is desolate, and the roof might cave in on you while sleeping... But there are RULES, and you're not supposed to leave your dorm after a certain time, AND you need permission from your housewarden to sleep in another dorm. But technically you're your own housewarden...and you did come into his dorm right before the deadline (Idia can pull up the timestamped camera footage to prove it if you ask). Ace and Cater get a kick out of seeing you in the lounge and may or may not have the urge to draw silly things on your face in marker. Trey and Deuce feel a bit bad since you are using the couch pillows to cover yourself, so they start leaving throw blankets for you to use. Riddle will get over it, eventually, and will start involving you in the dorm's morning routine and chores if you're there often enough.

The next most common is Scarabia, mostly because their lounge is super luxurious and Kalim doesn't care that you sneak in. In fact, he starts anticipating it (he can be perceptive if he really pays attention) and will sit in the lounge waiting for your arrival for an impromptu sleep over! It only becomes a problem when Jamil wakes up and goes to get Kalim up for the day only to realize that he's gone and oh god where is Kalim did he get kidnapped oh shit Jamil is gonna get murdered by Kalim and his own—WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING IN THE LOUNGE—PREFECT????? You promptly get banned for a few weeks before the cycle continues again.

For the next dorms, it's a tie between Savanaclaw and Diasomnia. Mostly because they're not as comfortable, like yeah Savanaclaw has a pool in the lounge and Diasomnia is a cool gothic castle but...they're not comfy to sleep in. Scarabia gets hot, but at least the lounge is comfy, Savanaclaw doesn't have loads of cushions, pillows, and blankets. Leona doesn't care much though, and he had you over once before, so as long as you don't disrupt his sleep again, do what you want. And Diasomina, while you'd be welcomed with open arms by Malleus, is kinda creepy...especially in the lounge....and you've woken up with Malleus or Lilia hovering over you, unblinking, staring until you wake up. They just want to greet you good morning! It's...sweet...but unnerving. But if you can't go to Heartslabyul, and you've been banned by Jamil from Scarabia for a while, then it's a toss of a coin between those two.

Your last options, in order, are Octavinelle, Pomefiore, and Ignihyde. Octavinelle, well they have a very lovely lounge with lovely ambience and quite comfortable couches! But, last time you got found by one of the students, you got reported to Azul who promptly made you work in exchange for sleeping in the dorm without reserving a room. Yeah, you forgot that Azul has rooms available to rent out, you can't get around that by sleeping in the lounge, work off your debt! It becomes a game almost, to see if they can find you before you sneak out of the dorm. You've been unsuccessful, as Jade and Floyd has an uncanny ability to find you no matter where you are. Once, as a joke and in retaliation, you managed to sneak into Azul's office and sleep on his couches. You'd planned to wake up and sit in his chair so that you could turn around with Grim in your lap like a James Bond villain (Grim asked what a James Bond was), but you ended up passing out for a solid 10 hours from how comfortable you were. You woke up to your head in Jade's lap, petting you like a cat, and legs over Floyd's lap, as Azul worked on paperwork. When you woke up, very confused and groggy, he asked how you would like to split your ten owed hours of shifts.

Pomefiore, while lovely, is not your favorite choice. Mostly because you don't want to deal with Vil. He's actually the most concerned out of everyone that you've resorted to sleeping in lounges, it's not good for your health. And as we all know, he is very concerned with his dorm members maintaining a good health and general wellness. So the moment he hears that you are sleeping around in the lounges, he waits, even puts Rook on watch for you. The moment you pass out in his lounge? He's snatching you and nearly motherhenning you. He's pushing you to sleep in one of the dorms, most likely Epel's room, since you're familiar with each other. And now, you've also been tied in with the same routine and rules as Epel. You appreciate the concern, but you don't know how to tell Vil that you kinda like the fun of running around between dorms and freaking people out. He probably wouldn't be amused, so you manage to escape his grasp and stay at Ramshackle for a while to let him cool down (he's a bit offended that you wanted to escape, so now he's biding his time and waiting for you to eventually crawl back when the other dorms are occupied.)

Ignihyde is last because, quite frankly, that bish look cold! And uncomfortable! And a lot creepier than Diasomnia!!! And also, Idia and Ortho have that dorm covered in camera and security measures, so you're not getting in. Sorry I don't make the rules, Idia just really doesn't want to deal with you in the lounge, especially when he runs out for midnight munchies and has to hold back his scream when he sees a random person in his dorm and oh no it's just you. Prefect, what the fuck?

[goldenocie]

Some canon info on the kids!!!

They are all genetically Ocies, as a bit of backplot on Ocies abilities is as she gets more in tune with being the ocean, she can shift her body. There are some constraints and if she’s adding mass she needs water and any mass shed becomes water but this why she has organs. Because she, for the entirety of fable, found herself as wanting to be more human.

Pre fable when she felt herself as nothing more than the ocean and a monster, if you cut off her arm it might’ve just disintegrated into salt water. During fable you’d have an arm laying on the ground. Post fable it depends on how much mental capacity she has on herself. Neutrally you get the arm on the ground, with some thought and willpower you get the water.

Adding on- as Ocie felt herself more human- she was able to have kids! She didn’t entirely do this on purpose, just thought “man I wish I could have kids” and suddenly- baby. ✨

Callie looks a lot like Centross. Like a lot. She has a bit of Ocies curls and fins ofc but her eyes, face, and hair color all look like centross. Her fins are even purple! He is in denial about this, he swears she looks like Ocie

Callie is a lover of history and mythology. She loves hearing about the old gods and her favorite old god from each court is: Rakai, Len/Soul, Casus, and Soraza. Talks of Fable are banned in the castle. Enderian is also a…touchy subject. She can only hear about these two from Oscar who finds it funny to scare her with some of the stories

Argo is named after Vorago! Just with some letters moved around. He looks the most like Ocie and wears a child sized chest plate that once was Oscar’s. He *never* takes it off. Getting him to bed each night is a struggle because Ocie knows he will not sleep well with it on. He does not care. Someone once pointed out that he acts a lot like Oscar did at this age and all the color drained from Ocies face.

The Chest plate once saved him when a political enemy of seaside flung a knife at him! Argo still has the knife and adores it. Ocie dealt with the intruder. Quickly.

Terry is named after- well Terry! He’s just a toddler as of the time period they’re all depicted and is very clingy to all of him family. He is usually found koala’d onto Ocie, Jerry, or Centross and is very fussy when put down.

All three children have met terry in Elysium. All three children did so with Jerry in the group. All three children were suddenly very confused on why there were two Jerry’s suddenly. Callie hid behind Ocie during her meeting, Argo tried to find out which one was the “fake one”, and Terry kept clinging to one before crying and wanting to be held by the other and repeating this process over and over again.

Oscar doesn’t do well with new babies as he was used to being the center of attention. Hell even when Veah was brought into the picture he told wolf to “return her”. Despite this- Oscar is the cooler older brother of all of the new seaside children and is constantly hounded by them to take them places and tell them stories. Despite being annoyed by them occasionally- Oscar loves his siblings and cousin a lot. He’s made a silent oath to protect all four of them with his friends and they do so as secretly as possible.

Oscar is about a teenager around this point and has to cope with centross being able to teleport in through a rift at a moments notice. The other guards don’t invite him to many parties as they know the fucking king will swoop in and crash it

[loojii]

what would get Amari to start falling for Leona?

All of the other couples I can picture being/eventually being lovey dovey at some point, but for now Amari seems like she barely tolerates Leona 😆

She's twisted from Zira so like her she dislikes the royal family (Zira was banned from the kingdom by Simba, Amari was "banned" from the castle for scaring Cheka with her stern face). She just assumes Leona is like his family but end goal is mutual respect (wow the character development). Like how Zira agreed with Scar's views, Amari does the same with Leona :)

In fanfiction world it's typical enemies to lovers where Leona buys her everything in red because he thinks that looks good on her but theres only so much cringe I can take I'll keep it at friends

[cuffmeinblack]

Dreamful Sleep

Garreth Weasley x f!reader

Tags: explicit | fluff | sex | friends to lovers

3.5k words

Summary: Garreth's habit of sleepwalking is driving his friends and roommates insane, until you start to find him in the midst of his dreaming.

A/n: Well, I do love a little fluff, some first-time smut, Garreth being Garreth. Nothing new or revolutionary here, just some good times with the most beautiful redheaded boy. I just love him.

ao3 link

Another night, another morning waking up surrounded by books, bottles and sweets strewn across the bed and the disgruntled mutterings of his roommates. Garreth never remembered his nighttime escapades, he was simply too deeply asleep to be aware of what he was doing. From his friends' recollections, it seemed as if he'd been trying to get out of the dormitory—his ultimate destination, he couldn't say, as he was usually swiftly bundled back into bed as soon as the commotion roused his slumbering roommates.

They'd threatened to tie him up if he didn't stop his mischief, but Garreth simply couldn't help it, nor offer an explanation. Weeks later, he'd woken in the common room to the sound of a shrill yelp, rattling his brain and piercing his ear drums; frankly, he was surprised the entire house wasn't woken. His blurry vision eventually focused on Nellie's horrified face, and the reason she'd let out such an ear piercing sound soon dawned on him. He told himself that it was time he started wearing more clothes to bed.

Whenever he dreamed, he rarely remembered the subject, though they often felt…familiar. Comforting, even. He had vague recollections of a friend and their piercing eyes and warm smile, though ultimately he’d never stayed asleep long enough for the stories to come to a conclusion. Part of him was curious, part terrified at what his unconscious body walking about the castle could accomplish. 

“You know I’m going to start hexing you in the night,” Leander grumbled as he pulled his shirt on the wrong way round.

“I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help it,” Garreth apologised for what must have been the tenth time that week.

“Fine, what about Incarcerous?”

“I’m pretty sure that spell’s banned at Hogwarts,” Garreth grumbled.

Maybe being tied up wouldn’t be so bad, if it did come to that. It wasn’t worth thinking about for now—in fact, it wasn’t worth thinking about anything, given how tired he was. Leander seemed to be thinking the same as he dropped the nagging much quicker than usual, shuffling his clothes around the right way on his torso with an irritated frown. 

-

You'd heard about Garreth's sleepwalking, and the endless recountings of Nellie's encounter that made you blush at the mere thought, but nothing had prepared you for coming face to face with him in the midst of his dreaming. The strangest sound lured you from your sleep; at first you thought it a remnant from your dream, until you heard it again.

Whoosh.

Thump.

Bundling yourself into your robe, you groped around the nightstand for your wand before heading out of the dormitory on softly padding feet. Silence engulfed you as you left your roommates' soft snores behind with the creak of a hinge and click of a latch. No more whooshing or thumping came from the room below. Still, it was worth investigating, and your first clue was the staircase which was no longer a staircase. Your heart pounded with shock as your foot connected with nothing underneath you, pulling yourself back at the last second with a wobble.

You'd almost fallen down the slippery slope in your haste, and the disappearance of the stairs could only mean one thing; a boy had tried climbing them to gain access to the girls' dormitories. Curious and slightly scandalised, you bunched up your nightdress and robe and sat on the landing, shuffling off to let gravity pull you down the slide. It took a lot of self restraint not to cheer as you whooshed down to the common room, landing on the carpeted floor with a thump, right next to Garreth.

Righting yourself, you opened your mouth to apologise for the near-collision but halted as you realised the redhead was fast asleep. Thank Merlin he was also wearing pyjamas this time; in fact, he looked perfectly cosy laying bundled on the floor in his baggy cotton ensemble, his eyelashes fluttering ever so slightly as his eyes darted beneath his lids. He was obviously dreaming again, the way his mouth moved almost imperceptibly and muscles twitched—whatever the narrative taking place, it had brought a smile to his face. 

A minute or so must have passed since you were left crumpled on the floor next to Garreth, and all you'd achieved so far was to stare at his sleeping form. Brought out of your reverie by the scraping of stone as the staircase rebuilt itself, your skin flushed at the thought of having been so engrossed by your friend whilst he slept, though nobody conscious was around to witness it. You supposed you ought to wake him, as cruel as it seemed, so you reached out to place a hand on his arm, noticing how very warm he was.

Garreth shuffled slightly in his sleep, humming happily at the contact, and a heavy lurch of your stomach caught you off guard as you looked down at him. Regretfully, you squeezed his arm to rouse him, watching as he blinked rapidly to reveal dilated pupils, staring up at you with confusion etched on his freckled face.

"Hey, Gar," you said gently.

"Wha-...what am I doing here?" he mumbled.

He looked like a sleepy puppy as he propped himself up on his elbow, taking stock of his surroundings with bleary eyes and mussed hair. Even the little pout pulling at his lips was adorable. You put the thoughts down to your sleep deprivation and stood up, holding out a hand.

"You were sleepwalking again. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Mmmnh…I've never made it this far. How did you find me?" he asked, accepting your outstretched hand.

"I heard you. You erm…fell down the stairs."

"Well that explains a lot," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his bum.

Never having witnessed him half-asleep before, his amateur dramatics were downright amusing. Endearing, even. You had the urge to ruffle his already displaced hair and shockingly, kiss his flushed cheeks. Instead, you gave him a pat on the back and guided him by the elbow towards the stairs to the boys' dormitories. Once he'd said his thanks and disappeared out of sight, you trudged back to your own bed and fell asleep to the idea of being enveloped by Garreth's warmth.

-

The constant sleepwalking has taken its toll on not only Garreth, but his roommates and even you. Seemingly attuned to his clumsy attempts at gaining access to where he shouldn't be, if he made it as far as the staircase you were inevitably the one who found him in the dead of night. Leander looked more drawn by the day, furious with his best friend's antics and threatening him with a draught of living death. He'd even gone to Nurse Blainey, who had ruled out dreamless sleep potions as a cure for the wandering; apparently all it would achieve would be to wipe his recollection of the dreams come morning, not stop the sleepwalking altogether.

After a busy day of back to back double lessons, you were already flagging only a few hours after dinner. Trying to concentrate on a book, your eyes slid in and out of focus, the words becoming a garbled mess the longer you tried. After the fifth attempt at reading the same sentence you gave up, discarding the book and allowing your neck to slacken, head lolling to the side. Just a few minutes to rest your eyes then you'd try again, you told yourself—it was just a little eye strain.

By the time you woke, the sky outside the windows was an inky black flecked with light from distant stars, the fire no longer roaring and leaving the room cold and empty. Apparently nobody had bothered to wake you, likely deciding you needed the rest, but someone had draped a robe over you at some point. There also appeared to be a heavy weight pressed on your thighs, and as you became more lucid, you noticed the silken texture between your fingers and a familiar scent from the robe laid against your chest.

Sitting up from your awkward sleeping position with a flex of your stiff neck, you peered down into your lap to see Garreth sleeping soundly with your hand tangled in his hair. A slight panic rattled your brain, the urge to whip your hand away losing to the much stronger desire to smooth the strands under your thumb. The dim light from the candles and celestial bodies danced across his face, illuminating his fiery mane as you stroked slowly, gently. You also noticed a tiny dribble of drool forming at his mouth, making you smirk before your thoughts were preoccupied by just how plump and inviting his lips looked.

You shuffled slightly, trying to get a little more comfortable, the movement dislodging the robe from your shoulder as the slightly burnt smell of cinders, cinnamon and butterbeer hit you. A smile tugged at your lips at the unmistakeable mixture you'd come to associate with friendship, comfort, joy and something else you hadn't quite figured out yet. With a furtive look around the room—though you knew you were alone except the sleeping beauty on your lap—you picked up a handful of the robe, bringing it to your nose and inhaling deeply. The smell of Garreth flooded your nostrils, eliciting all sorts of confusing feelings; some entirely innocent, some not. 

You thought he must wake soon—surely he was due another sleepwalk. The clock on the wall ticked by, your own sleep now broken and filled with distracting thoughts of the boy laying beneath you. Midnight came and went; two o' clock, four o'clock, too, until dawn was upon you with the first birdsong and golden rays flooding the common room. You didn't have the heart to move him when he slept so soundly, sacrificing your own restfulness for his. Another hour passed by, by which point you'd picked up the book you'd discarded hours before, reading in the steadily intensifying light. Students would be waking soon, and whilst you knew your current predicament meant nothing, absolutely nothing, your classmates might use the scene as a source for gossip.

"Garreth," you whispered. 

No response.

"Gar, wake up," you said, louder this time.

He groaned, eyebrows pinching into a frown before his eyes flew open wide to meet yours, like a deer caught in Lumos. Visibly flustered, he awkwardly cleared his throat and flashed you a wide smile from your lap, making no attempt to move. You wished he would—the vantage point couldn’t have made for a particularly flattering angle.

“Morning,” he croaked, wiping the sleep from his emerald eyes. “Did I get up in the night?”

“No, actually. You slept through, which is why I didn’t wake you,” you replied, yawning widely.

Garreth frowned, finally leaving his resting place on your thighs, now ever so slightly numb but nevertheless missing his presence.

“Huh. Maybe I was just trying to get to you all along," he said with a soft smile.

You laughed, presuming he'd been joking, but his eyes locked on yours with an intensity you'd never seen before.

"What, really?"

"I think my subconscious has been trying to tell me something," he nodded.

He said something along the lines of miss you, but the pounding of your heart dulled your hearing.

"Why…why would you miss me?"

"I said can I kiss you?" he chuckled.

Before you’d had time to process his question, your head had nodded of its own accord and Garreth’s lips had pressed against yours. You exchanged soft, exploratory kisses, though he already felt so familiar and utterly perfect. With a tilt of your head, he took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, drawing a moan from you that he echoed. Every noise he made sent a throb of desire south, the tension you’d barely noticed between you now unravelling with a fervour that seemed impossible to stop.

He was pushing you back on the sofa before long, pressing his body between your legs with an unexpected confidence that had you reeling—clearly he knew what he wanted, and the way your body responded told him plainly that you wanted the same. You clasped his head in your hands and kissed him hard, desperately trying to convey your feelings wordlessly. This wasn’t a tentative fling you’d come to regret, this was years of close friendship and unresolved sexual tension pouring out.

Garreth growled as you kissed him, a low rumble from deep in his throat that pulled at something equally as animalistic in you. He rolled against you, the friction a welcome relief that you met with a shift of your hips. His already stiff cock found that sweet spot and had you sighing for more, both lost in the feverish grinding against one another’s clothed bodies. As good as it felt, this would never be enough—now you had a taste, you wanted all of him; every inch of his freckled body pressed against your skin until there was no space between you, not even a hair’s breadth.

"Gar…"

"Hm?" his muffled reply came as he buried his face against your neck.

"Fucking hell, take me upstairs."

The request came out as an order and without a second's hesitation, Garreth scrambled off of you, helping you to your feet far too fast. Your head swam as you followed him to his dormitory, praying that you wouldn't meet any early risers on the way. So far so good, you thought as you climbed the stairs, but your luck ran out as soon as Garreth pushed open the door. Leander. Still dressed in pyjamas and loosely clutching a wash bag, his attention turned to his roommate as soon as the hinges stopped creaking. An awkward silence followed when he spotted you; flushed, dishevelled and wearing yesterday's clothes.

Of all the reactions you'd anticipated in that short, agonising moment, Leander surprised you by having none of them. No gaping mouth, spluttering or endless questions—he merely looked between the two of you and nodded; in resignation or approval, it didn't particularly matter. You were sequestered away behind the curtains of Garreth's bed before Leander had reached the door, taking care to cast a silencing charm before Garreth's mouth claimed yours again, greedier than ever. The charm and privacy had thrown all inhibitions to the wayside as you both audibly, loudly, proclaimed your approval of each other.

Between searing kisses that had your insides squirming and heart fluttering, you both got to work mindlessly ridding the other of their clothes. A groan almost left your mouth as his shirt fell off his broad shoulders, your eyes flying open to drink in the sight of him—a sight you'd only dared ponder and dream of before now. He really did have freckles everywhere, and the overwhelming urge to kiss every one almost won your attention, until he peeled off your underwear. Breeches still on, he didn't let you rid him of the last scrap of clothing before his head had delved between your legs with shocking swiftness.

"Gar, what are you…?"

Your question was cut short by his rough manhandling of your legs, flinging them over his shoulders and gripping your thighs as his mouth found your aching heat. The wet warmth of his tongue was lost amongst your own heated arousal, but the pressure against your swollen clit sent your head spinning. You ought to have been embarrassed at how soaked you were already, but Garreth seemed to appreciate every last drop with loud groans as he lapped between your folds. The flick of the tip of his tongue against your nub sent shivers across your body to every extremity, or perhaps it had been the way he stared at you whilst he did so. Those piercing green eyes under hooded lids were the most addictive sight—you couldn't look away from him, seemingly drunk with pleasure from your juices.

He had no right being so talented with his tongue, whether from experience or outright enthusiasm—either way, your orgasm built steadily under his caress. A string of endless praise and expletives left your mouth, spurring him on to flick and twirl his tongue faster, his salacious moans growing louder still, until finally reaching a crescendo with your climax. What might have been the most mind-altering release you'd ever experienced ripped through your body, leaving your limbs shuddering and ears ringing.

"Garreth, that was…amazing…"

His blurry figure appeared above you, and you noticed your eyes were pricked with tears. It was like looking up at him from the bottom of a lake, his copper locks swimming into your vision with the sound of fabric rustling.

"I want you…all of you," his gravelly voice said, dripping with lust.

His hands gripped your thighs as you wiped away the tears, peering down to see him knelt between your legs, completely naked. Great Merlin, he'd been hiding that beneath his tattered robes all this time? The times you'd gripped his arm to walk with him or slapped his back jovially came to mind; you knew he was broad, muscular, but he was truly delicious. Especially those thick thighs that braced against your own as he gently stroked his impressive length. You couldn't suppress a gulp as you took the sight of that in; uncut, pink and throbbing with desire, you could have happily watched him play with himself and welcomed his release with an open mouth.

But he had other plans for you. His fingers gripped your chin, tilting your face towards him as your eyes dragged lazily away from his cock.

"Eyes up here, darling."

Good grief, Garreth Weasley would be the end of you. You offered a silent prayer as he towered over you, guiding the tip of his cock towards your entrance. You laced your fingers through his hair, looking into his eyes as he pushed himself inside you slowly, carefully, allowing you time to adjust to his size. A deep inhale and exhale and your body relaxed around him, leaving you with a satisfying sensation of fullness.

"Gods, you feel good," you whispered.

"Yeah?" he asked, pushing himself deeper than you thought possible whilst drawing your legs up closer to your chest. "How about that?"

"Fuck, yes!"

The first thrust had you moaning, the second had you begging for more as you tugged on his hair, now thoroughly dishevelled with strands plastered to his glistening forehead. His musky scent was intoxicating, mixed with his usual Garreth smell and the heady mixture of arousal made something you’d remember and crave again and again. Pulling him down on top of you, your eye contact finally broke as your lips crashed together in a kiss that meant much more than you would care to admit.

His pace was slow and steady but every roll of his hips hit you deep, precise, hard. He was holding back, prolonging the pleasure as long as possible. You had the sneaking suspicion that Garreth could easily pick you up and fuck you senseless in any position he wanted, the way his biceps flexed and rippled underneath him. With his weight borne on one arm, his other was free to roam your body, large hands gripping your flesh greedily in time to his powerful thrusts.

He skimmed your breast, a thumb and forefinger pinching the peak, drawing a surprised yelp that muffled against his smirking lips. Well, if that’s how he wanted to play. Abandoning his hair, your fingers flexed as they drew down his back, nails dragging across the skin in a way you were sure would leave welts and a little blood to remember you by. Garreth groaned, his hips twitching in response and plunging harder back into you.

“Oh shit…,” you gasped.

“Do it again.”

You complied, a little harder this time, and Garreth quickened his pace with gasping moans by your ear that sent shivers across your entire body. Again and again he pounded into you as you marked up his back and grabbed handfuls of him anywhere you could. A sharp smack on his arse sent him over the edge, and he bit down hard on your neck as he came. He gave no warning, his release spilling inside you in shuddering pulses as he clung to you tightly, muttering your name between kisses to your sore skin.

“Gar…,” you sighed, nuzzling his cheek as his rhythm slowed, his orgasm ebbing away.

Laying underneath his warmth, arms and legs wrapping his body was a comfort you’d never experienced, and you stroked his hair and kissed every freckle you could reach on his face. Garreth grinned, his eyes now hazy, almost drunk, as if he could happily go back to sleep wrapped in your embrace.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Good morning,” you chuckled back.

Garreth nuzzled his face back against your neck, kissing his claim on you with gentleness.

“You know…if you want our friends to keep their sanity, I think you’ll have to sleep with me from now on,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Is that so? I’m not sure that’s a proper thing for friends to do.”

“I thought it was obvious—this was me asking you out!”

“Ah, well then, this is me accepting,” you replied, pulling him into a deep kiss that made you very late for breakfast.

[ephie-om]

This is not proofread I finished it in ten minutes during my lunch break so if you see a typo no you don't

Day 23: The Demon Lord’s Castle

The royal castle sits high atop a hill, looking out over the kingdom. Its strategic position is unbeatable, and it exudes unquestionable presence. It has a long and storied history stretching out over millennia, such that books describing its original construction can only be found in the castle’s library itself. The castle has gone through many renovations, some from vanity, but mostly out of necessity.

The castle had an entire wing added to it in just three years when Diavolo’s mother took up permanent residence there. His father abjectly refused to let his lover live in anything but luxury, no matter how much she protested. He hired the Devildom’s best architects and engineers to create chambers fit for her, using only the best materials his realm had to offer. Her rooms came alive with rich greens and midnight blues, in contrast to the powerful red adorning the rest of the castle.

The chambers closest to hers were refurbished when she became pregnant. All sharp or heavy objects not tied down were strictly banned. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling was removed in favor of metal candle sconces.The walls were reinforced with steel girders and painted a soft pastel pink. A giant crib with a firm mattress sat in the center of the room, its frame colored a burnished gold. Every square inch of the young prince’s chambers was covered in layers of warding spells, along with his mother’s.

When she died, the only place that still had any trace of her were the prince’s rooms. Her own chambers were draped in black veils and sealed off from the rest of the castle. The king couldn’t stand to acknowledge any part of the wing, so the servants were ordered to avoid it. Years after, the young prince withstood a terrible scolding from his father after trying to venture in. He was fiercely punished and sent outside for hours, and when he came back, he saw the king had repainted his rooms in royal red.

Diavolo’s father knew the signs well. He had known for centuries that this would come. He was suddenly lethargic, and his mind was overcome with a thick fog at times. But he needed to be strong for his son. Strength was everything. So he built the underground chambers in secret, right under Diavolo’s nose. It was incredibly spartan, more like a tomb. No luxuries were needed, no royal symbols or golden decorations, only secrecy. Diavolo found out only five years before his father’s sleep. He had his suspicions, of course. It was hard to hide things from him; he was like his mother like that. Diavolo watched from a distance with a heavy burden of relief in his heart as his father settled his gleaming draconic form on a massive stone pedestal and closed his eyes.

Diavolo spent months making his way through his mother’s chambers. It was like they were frozen in time, left exactly the way they were the day he was born. Many of her things he kept for himself, tucked away in his room. Some of her possessions, like the paintings with his father, he sent away to be stored. It was hard enough ruling the Devildom without two more figures watching over him.

The castle’s grounds near the royal gardens were ripped apart by seven figures crashing into the earth. They had split the clouds with their fury, and Diavolo looked up to see a gaping wound of light seeping into the Devildom. Part of his father’s rooms were quickly converted into a makeshift hospital. In the panic, some of them tried to run, and Diavolo’s servants were ordered to use sleeping spells as liberally as needed. The walls shook with howls of pain and anger, The smallest of the seven had eyes that burned bright green and claws that tore through the flesh of anyone careless enough to get close, spattering the ground with blood.

Diavolo unveiled the freshly furnished room with a flourish. Lucifer’s eyes scanned over the plaque that read “Royal Academy of Diavolo Board and Council Meeting Room”, stifling a snort at the awkward wording. This would have to do until the academy proper was finished. The prince had spared no expense to further his dream, evidenced by the grand table that could seat nearly thirty demons at a time. The chairs were almost thronelike with plush red seats and high backs. The only distinction that the seat at the head of the table was Diavolo’s was the small royal crest embellished onto it.

The guest room closest to Diavolo’s rooms is now kept permanently reserved for the human exchange student just in case. The bathroom is stocked with all manner of human-safe shampoo, conditioner, body wash, lotion, makeup remover, anything they could need. The sheets on the bed and flowers in the vase are refreshed daily in preparation for a visit at any time. It's one of the only rooms in the castle that brings Diavolo joy to see, and he eagerly awaits the next time it's used.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

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

Chapter Fifty-Six

After two days, the man known as Blood was captured, the head of little Jaehaerys in his satchel, yet there was no joy in this victory, for the air in the Red Keep and throughout King’s Landing remained heavy with grief and fear. The city itself seemed to shudder under the weight of the tragedy, and the news had spread like wildfire among the common people.

In the Red Keep, the once bustling halls echoed with a somber silence, the shadow of the heinous act looming over every corner. Maera, too, found herself entangled in a web of conflicting emotions. The reality of the horror that had unfolded left her grappling with a fear for the future, a fear that clung to her like a persistent specter. The atmosphere in the city mirrored the gloom within the castle walls. The streets whispered with the shared sorrow of the people, creating an eerie symphony of mourning.

Lord Otto Hightower's suggestion of placing Jaehaerys's body in the Sept for seven days, allowing both nobles and commoners to pay their respects, carried an undertone of political maneuvering. Maera couldn't shake the ambiguity surrounding the decision – was it a genuine desire to let the people mourn with House Targaryen, or a calculated move to publicly shame and condemn Rhaenyra's actions, further pushing the agenda that Aegon was indeed the rightful King?

The thought of witnessing Jaehaerys's body again, this time in the open for all to see, proved too much for Maera. The haunting image of that night lingered vividly in her mind, and the prospect of public mourning became a spectacle she could not bear to partake in. Choosing not to attend the Sept, she grappled with the internal conflict between personal grief and the political ramifications surrounding the tragedy.

The Greens had not yet retaliated over the death of the young Prince. When Maera had approached her father and asked if there was any update on this matter, Lord Jasper had stated no formal decision could be made without the King’s order or consent. It did not surprise Maera to hear that Aegon had sunk further into his cups since the death of his son, as opposed to being there for his wife and other children. She likened it to the distant dynamic she shared with her own father, Lord Jasper, where familial bonds remained strained, even if the desire for the best outcomes for their children lingered distantly in the background, unbeknownst to the offspring of the unapproachable fathers.

Aemond's emotional distance since Jaehaerys's passing weighed heavily on Maera. While she expected it, coping with both her own grief and his detachment proved challenging. Each night, Maera noticed Aemond's late arrival to bed, long after she had fallen asleep. Waking up frequently, she would feel his warm presence, his arm draped around her, and cling desperately to the fleeting connection. However, come morning, Aemond would vanish once again, leaving Maera grappling with the void of his absence.

Despite Aemond's physical presence in the Capital, symbolized by Vhagar on the beach, Maera felt he might as well have been miles away. Adding to her isolation, Maera found herself barred from seeing her dear friend Queen Helaena, who, in her struggles, had banned all visitors. Disturbing accounts from Maera’s spy, the laundry maid, revealed Helaena's distress, spending her days at the window, slipping into screaming fits. The Maester's visits were frequent, administering limited doses of milk of the poppy to soothe her anguish without harming the life growing within her.

Now that Jaehaerys was gone, the Realm expected Helaena to produce another male heir, and the members of the Small Council engaged in many conversations about the Queen’s health in order to produce another Targaryen Prince. A disgusting pressure for a mother in mourning, who could not even look at her remaining children due to the guilt she felt from that traumatic night.

Maera, a Wylde accustomed to the warmth of family and numerous siblings, felt a profound isolation in the unfamiliarity the chambers she shared with her husband. Frustrated by the monotonous confinement, Maera summoned her maid, Thena, yearning for a respite. She requested preparations for a walk in the Godswood, a small attempt to break free from the suffocating routine.

Draped in mourning attire, Maera was laced into a somber black dress, its high neckline adorned with embroidered golden dragons, a symbol of both her mourning and her place within the royal court. Sitting at her dressing table, Thena then began to braid Maera’s hair, intertwining the strands of brown and silver with intricate skill. Maera could see concern etched across her loyal maid’s face in the reflection of the mirror, knowing a string of questions would follow.

"I heard from the kitchen maids that you didn't eat breakfast, nor your dinner from last night, Princess," Thena voiced gently.

Maera sighed, "You know my appetite tends to wane during times of stress, Thena."

Thena, undeterred and beginning to pin the long braids back, replied, "I'm merely concerned for you. The castle has certainly been shaken by the death of the little Prince."

Maera clenched her jaw, discomfort evident in her solemn green eyes. "It is truly an awful tragedy," she acknowledged. What did not help Maera is that there seemed to be no escape. When exhaustion took over every night and she was forced to go to sleep, Maera was met with the same nightmare she always had. Not to only did she have to watch her mother perish, a devastating image all on its own. Now, in the background, a small headless body lay alone, cold and bloody on the stone floor.

After a pause, Maera opened up, "I see Jaehaerys every night. In my dreams. It is haunting to relive that experience constantly." She shook her head, as if attempting to remove them from her mind. Instead, memories of little Jaehaerys replaced the gory image, transporting her to a time that felt not so distant. It was as if the echoes of his laughter lingered among the leaves, a haunting melody of a joyous past.

The recollection of assisting Helaena in the birth of Jaehaerys and Jaehaera felt like a vivid tableau frozen in time. It was a day marked by anticipation and hope, a stark contrast to the current sorrow that enveloped Maera’s heart. During times when she wasn’t in Kings Landing, Helaena’s letters acted as windows into the twins’ world. The updates were like lifelines, each word painting a picture of Jaehaerys’ boldness and confidence that outshone his twin. The letters spoke of a little boy who walked sooner, his adventurous spirit giving Jaehaera the courage to explore the world alongside him. And now, within a blink, it was gone. Jaehaerys was gone.

Thena, finishing pinning the thick braids, placed a comforting hand on Maera's shoulder. “The world is a cruel place. War does not spare anyone, not even children,” the maid sighed, before reaching for a thick golden headpiece and delicately placing it on Maera’s head. The black mourning veil attached to it cascaded over Maera’s hair and neck like a shroud of mourning, creating a visual testament to the heavy heart she carried within.

“Grief is a heavy burden, and sharing it can lighten the load. I'm always here if you need to talk, Princess," Thena offered, the sincerity in her words reflecting the deep bond between maid and mistress, an alliance that Maera was thankful for in a place like Kings Landing.

The Godswood, once a sanctuary of serenity, now bore the weight of mourning since Jaehaerys' murder. The atmosphere, once alive with the whispers of wind through leaves and the chirping of birds, now held a heavy stillness. The ancient weirwood tree stood as a silent witness to the grief that echoed within its sacred space, it’s usually crimson leaves seeming duller than usual. The plants, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed to droop in empathy.

As Maera wandered through the winding paths, she found herself the sole inhabitant of this once-shared sanctuary, the silence was only broken by the soft crunch of her footsteps on the gravel path. Ser Arryk, her loyal protector, had offered his presence, but she insisted he stay stationed outside Aegon's rooms, where the King was guarded around the clock, given the recent incident.

Abruptly, the atmosphere shifted as a rainstorm swept through the Godswood. The rain descended with a gentle insistence, each droplet a soft lament against the hallowed silence. Normally finding comfort in the rain, its rhythmic patter echoing the familiar weather of her home in Rainwood, today it seemed to mirror the collective grief that enveloped her world.

With the rain intensifying by the minute, Maera hastened her steps, seeking refuge from the downpour. In her hurried search, she stumbled upon a small stone structure adorned with winding pillars. Its sturdy roof promised shelter, and she gratefully entered.

Inside, the Seven-Pointed star on the floor, meticulously patterned into the stone, caught her eye. It was a sacred symbol that seemed to offer a momentary respite from the storm both outside and within. A stone bench leant against the wall between two pillars and above it, a clear view of the Godswood, now cloaked in the gentle veil of rain.The rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof created a comforting melody, and through the arches, Maera could witness the dance of raindrops on the leaves of the ancient trees.

Kneeling before the bench, the rough surface beneath her knees grounding her, Maera clasped her hands fervently. The Seven-Pointed star on the floor seemed to connect her to the divine as she whispered her prayers, each plea a delicate breath escaping her lips. Her supplications sought comprehension for the violence that had befallen Jaehaerys, a plea for the ethereal care of his innocent soul. A heavy sigh carried the weight of her grief, anger, and fear, emotions entangled like the vines that adorned the Godswood.

Amidst her silent communion, the gravel outside crunched under familiar footsteps. The sound, like a delicate herald, indicated an approaching presence. The footsteps transitioned to the stone floor behind her, and Maera, caught in the vulnerability of her prayers, felt the weight of another's gaze upon her, a silent witness to her plea for answers in the face of inexplicable cruelty.

“Gaomagon ao pendagon pōnta rȳbagon īlva? Se Jaehossas, nyke nūmāzma?” Do you think they hear us? The Gods, I mean? The familiar purr of High Valyrian was a comforting sound amongst the rainfall.

Maera lifted her eyes and a mix of relief and uncertainty washed over her at the sight of Aemond standing over her in the sheltered space. Clad in a black cloak, he lowered the hood, revealing his straight silver hair cascading like a waterfall. His usual attire of black leathers adorned him, and the expressionless look on his sharply contoured face hinted at a stoic resolve. The atmosphere between them, however, felt strained and uneasy. The weight of grief hung heavily in the air, exacerbating the tension that had settled between them during the past week.

“Nyke daor unna. Issa pasābagon emagon issare pasābagon hen hēzīr.” I am not sure. My faith has been tested as of late, she replied, her voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Rising to her feet, the skirts of Maera's black mourning dress rustled softly as she stood before her husband. She couldn't help but notice Aemond's tall form, his figure towering over her. The once-familiar presence now seemed distant, adding to the strained atmosphere that enveloped them.

Aemond's voice, when he finally spoke, cut through the silence like a chill wind. “Pār skoro syt gaomagon ao johegzi naejot jorepagon?”Then why do you continue to pray? His question seemed to lack empathy, the emptiness in his tone mirroring his own inner turmoil, and perhaps his own current struggles with his faith in the Gods. Despite Maera being aware of her husband’s coping mechanism to shut down during difficult times, facing the emotional void he presented proved challenging.

Taking is question personally, Maera replied with a tense jaw, “Kesrio syt lo konīr iksos gīda nykeā kelinītsos naejot maghagon lyks naejot Jaehaeys’ gīs, nyke jāhor gaomagon ziry.” Because if there is even a slight chance to bring peace to Jaehaerys’ soul, I will do it.

The One-Eyed Prince simply hummed in response, causing Maera to tear her gaze away from him to instead look ahead at the rain-kissed Godswood, the sacred surroundings offering a sanctuary from the tension that thickened the air. A heavy silence lingered, like a fog that refused to dissipate. The space between them, once filled with shared sorrows and understanding, now seemed fraught with an unfamiliar unease, leaving Maera and Aemond stood side by side, grappling with loss, faith, and the haunting specter of tragedy.

And yet through it all, an unanswered question remained. A question that Maera had avoided asking her husband due to fearing what the answer would be. But in the wake of Jaehaerys’ unthinkable fate, the dread of an answer seemed eclipsed by the horrors already endured.

With a stern countenance, Maera turned to Aemond, her green eyes widened with a mix of trepidation and determination. “Why did you do it?”

Aemond turned his face towards her, his eyebrow raised in a silent challenge. Frustration mounting, Maera pressed further, her words cutting through the air, “Lucerys. Why?”

A gruff response came, “You know why.”

Scoffing, Maera retorted, “I thought you said it was a fair exchange. Evidently not, considering you killed him.”

Aemond turned his body towards her, anger flickering in his eyes. “You do not know what it is till have a crime against you go unpunished. To be made a cripple, with one slice of a blade.”

Maera, her own anger rising, shot back, “Lucerys took something from me too: you! He took the boy I cared for away from me. And if he were anyone else, I would have killed him myself the minute you arrived back from Driftmark!” Pacing restlessly, her steps echoed the unease within. Quickened breaths betrayed the internal struggle, and her fists clenched and unclenched, mirroring the conflict that raged within her. Maera pressed on, her voice revealing her anguish. “But Lucerys was a Prince, and killing the son of an heir to the throne has dire consequences. Consequences that poor Jaehaerys paid for.”

Aemond, adept at masking his emotions, remained stood with a stoic facade at the words getting hurled at him. His face was a mask, revealing little of the turmoil within, his body language controlled. His unyielding composure clashed with Maera's expressive turmoil, each movement and expression contributing to the mounting tension.

A heavy silence settled in the Godswood, the rain creating a soft symphony as Aemond, after a pause, began to speak. His voice held an intensity that drew Maera's attention.“The bond between dragon and rider is not a simple one. It is one built on trust and a profound understanding of one another, a relationship that does not even need words to communicate.”

Maera, frustration etched on her face, couldn’t hold back her anger. “What in the Seven Hells are you talking about?”

Frowning at her interruption, Aemond implored, “Let me finish, Maera,” causing her to bite her impatient tongue and attempt to listen to his explanation, watching him skeptically.

“Yes,” he started, with a smug tilt of his head, “repaying the Strong bastard back for what he did would have been immensely satisfying. But I am no fool, I knew what the ramifications would be.”

Maera’s gaze narrowed but she listened on, torn between understanding the complexities of Aemond's motivations and grappling with the consequences that lingered in the shadows of their words. The rain, indifferent to the turmoil beneath the canopy of trees, continued its rhythmic dance, as if echoing the ebb and flow of their emotions.

Aemond paused, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “Dragons do not care for the intricacies of politics, nor the consequences of their actions.”

As realization slowly dawned on Maera, she watched him, the truth sinking in. Aemond continued, “Vhagar knows me better than most. Despite the control I maintain, deep down, I wanted Lucerys dead. And Vhagar delivered.”

Maera nodded, though her gaze turned away, grappling with the unsettling truth. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stated, “What’s done is done now.”

She remained beside her husband in silence, the relentless storm continued on, but the comfort of the rain could not soothe Maera’s growing concerns for her future. The murder of Jaehaerys, an unspeakable tragedy, cast a long shadow over her psyche, each raindrop a reminder of the tears she had shed for the innocent life lost. The ongoing war between the Blacks and the Greens added another layer of dread, the conflict threatening to engulf everything she held dear.

Worries for Helaena's fragile mental state intensified Maera's anxiety, the haunting image of her friend sitting by the window etched in her mind. The unpredictability of war left her in a constant state of unease, wondering about the safety of her family and herself. Fear gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, raising questions of what if she became a target, or worse, if her family faced the wrath of the turbulent times.

“What if it does not stop?” Maera asked aloud, the vulnerability in her voice causing Aemond to face her, a frown on his face as she continued. “What if the Blacks feel one death is not enough? What if I am in danger? My family?”Her green eyes, usually vibrant, now reflected the storm of emotions within, and her shoulders bore the tension of the fears she dared to voice.

Aemond’s response was not just words. With a determined resolve, he seized her face with both hands, tipping her head back to meet his fierce gaze. “You are my wife, Maera. I will not let any harm come to you.”

His thumb brush over her cheek as tears began streaming down Maera's face. "If they managed to get Jaehaerys, what is stopping them from trying again? And this time, killing the wife of the person who murdered Lucerys?"

A growl rumbled in Aemond's throat. "They are trying to break us, but they will not succeed. They will not break me, and they certainly will not break my wife. Do you understand?" he demanded.

In a silent acknowledgment, Maera nodded, her eyes momentarily cast downward. Aemond, refusing to let the fear linger, lifted her face once more. In a moment that transcended words, he pressed a hard, rough kiss to her lips. The intensity of the kiss served as a promise, a shared defiance against the fears that threatened to unravel them. As Aemond's nibbled on her bottom lip and began tasting the inside of her mouth, the passion between them intensified, a flame rekindled amidst the rain-soaked Godswood.

Maera, caught in the intensity of the moment, felt herself being gradually pushed back. The world around them blurred, the raindrops forming a hazy curtain as the kiss became a fervent exchange. The stone pillars of the garden structure loomed around them, and her back eventually met the unyielding surface. Against the cold stone, the heat of their shared passion persisted. He span Maera around so her face and chest were pressed against the pillar.

Aemond yanked the black mourning veil from her head, discarding it across the Seven-Pointed star floor buried his fingers in the roots of her hair, causing her head to tilt to the side. With better access, Aemond began to lick and suck at her neck, leaving blooms of red and purple markings in his wake, his strong hands settling on her rounded hips. He then pressed against her, and through the thick black skirts, Maera could still feel his long hard cock digging into her backside, becoming aware of his intentions.

“Aemond,” she breathed, stifling a moan as he bit her neck. “We can’t.”

“Be quiet,” the Prince spat at her, his voice low and commanding as he desperately bunched up the back of her skirts in order to gain access to her. Maera felt the fabric of her smallclothes being ripped and heard the remnants of them hitting the ground, the cold air hitting her now bare core, which was now slick with her arousal. The sound of the unbuckling of a belt hit her ears and before she could turn to look at him, Maera felt her husbands thick cock enter her fully, causing her to gasp. Filling her to the hilt, Maera welcomed the stretching feeling of being reunited with her husband in this way.

“Fuck, so wet for me. And I barely even touched you,” Aemond groaned as he began to rut into her deeply. Hanging onto the pillar for some form of support, Maera pushed her hips backwards, desperate to take in more of him as he fucked her against the stone. The Prince pressed his face to hers as he licked the shell of her ear, breathing heavily and quickly next to it, causing Maera to shudder with excitement. He then turned his attention to one of her hands which grasped at the stone wall, bringing it towards his face and sucking on two of her fingers, coating them with his saliva.

He then withdrew them from his mouth before whispering into her ear. “Touch yourself, Princess.”

Maera gasped at his demand, a blush tinting her face. “I cannot,” she whined in response whilst he continued to thrust into her harshly, embarrassed that he would ask to see her do such a thing. She yelped as he smacked her behind sharply, the stinging sensation acting almost as punishment for denying him.

“Do as your Prince commands,” he hissed, kissing along her jawline, making her lean her head back against his shoulder in pleasure, a silent plea for more.

Wanting to be a dutiful and obeying wife, Maera reached under her skirts and began to rub vigorous circles against her clit with her now wet fingers, her jaw falling open and her eyes squeezing shut at the ecstasy that began to build within her. Spurred on at the sight of her, Aemond began to pound harder into her, each time hitting that spongey spot deep within her core, causing her to moan loudly with pleasure. Thankfully, the rainstorm had continued in the background, muffling any noise that the pair made within the stone structure.

The nerves on her lower body were on high alert as she began to approach her peak, her walls clenching around the Prince, causing a deep “fuck” to leave his lips. The stone of the pillar scraped against Maera’s face, but she did not care as she teetered on the very edge of pleasure. And Aemond knew it.

“Yes, that’s it. Let go, let me feel you,” he purred, and that’s all it seemed to take. Maera’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as a warm wave of pleasure hit her, sending her mind reeling. As her cunt fluttered and squeezed around him, Aemond too felt his release, spilling his seed inside of her with a deep and guttural groan.

Small whimpers left her mouth as Maera’s breathing began to slow, coming down from her high. She felt Aemond lean against her, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. With a hiss, he withdrew his cock from her and she could feel his hot seed spilling down her leg, a feeling that was not unpleasant and made her smile with pride. As Maera let go of her skirts and smoothed them out, erasing any evidence of the encounter, she looked up at her husband, seeing that he had removed his cloak and was holding it up, so they could both find shelter beneath it.

“Let us go back inside,” he implored, a smug smile on lips. “It is getting too cold.”

“Thank the Gods then that I have you to keep me warm, husband,” Maera replied cheekily as she dove under the cloak beside him before the pair ran down the gravel path to return to their shared chambers.

Notes: Here, have some smut; it’s nearly Christmas after all 🤣

Tags: @blue-serendipity @watercolorskyy @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[theqtinkblot]

The Great Seven’s Forbidden Spells:

Author’s Note: This is something I’ve thought about while reading some Twst fics. So we all know that the Great Seven are still the classic Disney Villains we all grew up with, so it be possible that they still had their own villainous and or dark spells under their belt, right?

Summary: MC is in the library looking through some history books, doing research for an essay assignment. But as they looked, they stumbled upon a chapter in the book that reads: “Forbidden Spells, Beware.” Being curious as they are, MC begins to read each of the spells from the book. This is the list of spells and their history.

Call of the Jabberwocky

“Throughout the Queen of Hearts reign, she had created and enforced her rules throughout the Queendom of Roses. However, in the first years of the Queendom, many of her subjects would not obey and plan a rebellion with an enemy kingdom. But before they could raise their swords and storm the castle, they would soon become the meal of a ferocious dragon-like beast called the Jabberwocky. The legend goes, “One, two, through and through, the rebels went snicker-snack, losing their heads and the rest cowardly ran back.” It's unclear if the Queen summoned the beast, yet whenever she was asked, she only gave a simple grin.”

Roar of Revival

“It’s a well known rule in Sunset Savanna, the world is connected in the great circle of life. However the King of Beasts believed that a soul can persist after their death and so, he created a ritual that would allow any of his followers to revive him long after his death. To achieve this, they would need to sacrifice a sacred bakora staff and cast a powerful roar within a volcano to bring the mighty king back. Many historians had attempted to cast this ritual but were unsuccessful.”

Deadly Seafoam

“Before the Sea Witch became the most powerful being in the Coral Sea, a lot of her spells had to be perfected enough to grant the merfolks’ wishes. Even so, some of her earlier spells were considered deadly, mostly in terms of what happens to a person if the deal wasn’t met. One potion she tried was given to a mermaid who wanted to become a human, however when their debt wasn’t paid on time, the person ended up dissolving into sea foam the next morning. Needless to say, this spell was banned by law after this incident.”

A Lamp’s Chain

“The Sorcerer of the Scalding Sands was very knowledgeable about arcane lore, from alchemy to astronomy. During his studies of ancient artifacts, he was able to discover the whereabouts of a magical lamp that can grant any wish. However, even after gaining the lamp and becoming a powerful sultan himself, he later discovered that by obtaining phenomenal cosmic powers from the lamp, the owner will forever be bound to it. And should the lamp be destroyed in any way, that person will die as well. As they say, “all magic comes with a price.””

Control of the Heart

“As this would be the first era of magic, many people in the Shaftlands would believe that magic was considered deadly. None have been more dangerous than having the ability to take a person’s heart, allowing them to take control of a person’s life or even ending it if they were truly wicked. The Fairest Queen was rumored of having this dark ability, yet many of her servants would debunk these claims and say she was pure of heart. Historians would debate whether or not these claims were true or a ruse.”

Fruit of the Dead

“The Lord of the Underworld never took a lover or had any companionship during his rule, but he was able to create a sort of measure that bound any soul to the underworld. Myths have stated that if a living person was offered a pomegranate seed by the lord himself, they would forever be tied to the underworld and can never leave. Though many would consider this as a romantic tradition in the ways of a marriage proposal, this was ultimately forgotten by the masses and be regarded as just a myth.”

A Fae’s True Name

“It’s common knowledge amongst the fae of Briar Valley that a name holds power. Even the Thorn Fairy’s name was considered the most powerful. The reason for this is that if a fae is able to get a human to tell them their name, that person has given the fae complete power over them. However if a human is able to trick them into learning their true name, the fae would forever be bound to them. As such, the Thorn Fairy concealed her true name to prevent others from gaining her power. Nowadays, fae don’t seem to be too concerned about conversing with humans.”

[nelida-alvarez]

Tomorrow

@charliemwrites

I debated for some time whether or not I should post this, but in the end, my desire to share stories won.

Cw/Tw : mentions/discussion of losing faith (religious) & mentions/discussion of child death. Take care of yourselves <3

It was rare for Nélida to be uncomfortable. Sure, there were things that annoyed her, things that stressed her and things that made her afraid. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that- she was human, and it was in Men’s nature to feel, whether the emotions were positive or negative. Things that made her uncomfortable though? Things that made her skin crawl with unease and the desire to be anywhere else than where she was at the moment? Those were rare. Oh, they existed. And they made her soul tense up when mentioned.

“I don’t think that’s right, though…” Nova said, sprawled on the couch with Keegan as they argued. Nikto was sitting in a love seat, doing crosswords almost absentmindedly as he quietly listened to the sergeants talking. Castle was reading a book, not really paying attention. Meanwhile, Nélida was sitting on the ground in front of her Captain, her back leaning against his legs.

“No, I’m quite sure… It's like that thing with Adam and Eve, right? Banned from Paradise for touching the forbidden fruit or something.” Keegan replied.

“Adam and Eve were expelled from Eden to prevent them from eating from the tree of life, which would have made them eternal, not because they ate the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” Nélida absently corrected, shocking the two sergeants into silence. Noting the absence of talking, she blinked and looked up, meeting the bewildered gazes of her team.

“What?” She asked, a bit confused.

“I didn’t know you knew so much about… Bible-y things.” Nova said, tilting her head in curiosity.

“Oh.. yes, I guess I just… never talked about it.” Nélida tensed slightly, her hands playing idly with Castle’s shoelaces.

“Are you Christian?” Keegan leaned forward, eager to know more about her. A small pregnant pause followed the question, broken by a shuddering breath Nélida took.

“…was.” She whispered. Nikto frowned, shuffling in his seat.

“Oh.. well, what is, or was maybe, your favorite Bible quote?” Nova frowned a little at Keegan’s question, eyes darting between his oblivious self and Nélida’s crisped expression.

Castle had put his book down, lips pursing at the tense atmosphere in the room. He let one of his big paw-like hands slowly come down to rest against Nélida’s nape, the weight reassuring.

Keegan, realizing his mistake, opened his mouth to apologize, before being cut off by the older woman.

“It..” she started, clearing her throat as her voice broke.

Nikto crouched down next to her, presenting his gloved hand, palm up, to her. Nélida took it, taking a deep breath, before starting to speak once more.

“It is… or was, perhaps, Isaiah 41:10." She admitted, clearing her throat once more.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" Keegan started, before being cut off by Nélida throwing a small smile his way.

"It's fine, amor, you didn't know."

Silence reigned for a while, before Castle hummed.

"Well now, what do you all say we play a game, hmm? Anyone up for strip poker?"

As Nova got up to go take the cards, Nélida squeezed Nikto's hand in thanks and threw a grateful glance over her shoulder at her Captain.

~~~

Nélida prefered to be the big spoon when cuddling. She just liked that position better. But sometimes, she just wanted to be held, to feel like nothing could hurt her when she was safely cocooned in her lovers' arms.

Castle rumbled quietly, scratching at Nélida's scalp gently.

"What's bothering you so much, mamí?"

"...just.. memories.." The woman mumbled, her voice slightly muffled due to the fact that her face was burried in the older man's pecs.

"Wannna talk about it?" Castle gently asked, like she was a feral animal that was being cornered.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." She erupted in cries, Nélida's body was wracked with sobs, the comforting weight of Castle's hands caressing her back seemingly ineffective.

"I prayed.. I prayed so fucking much-! And my s-son, my son still.. still-!" Nélida gasped breaths in as Castle grounded her, his voice in her ear telling her to breathe helping.

"Doctors said it was CNS tumors..that there was nothing they could do, that- that it was too late.. that I noticed it too late.."

"I just- I- I miss him so much.. I wondered, why God? Why my son?" Her voice broke on the last word, trailing off into whimpers and sniffles.

Castle hummed, pressing a kiss to Nélida's forehead. He didn't quite know what to say, but he knew that what Nélida had said had probably been weighing on her for quite some time.

It took a while for Nélida to calm down, her eyes puffy and red with her anguish.

"Thank you for listening.. I-.. it's probably not fair on you, but I really needed to talk about it.."

Castle smiled sadly, a thumb drying one of his mamí's tears.

"I know this was difficult to talk about, but I'm glad you let it off your chest, love. If you ever want to talk, know that I'm here. If you don't want to talk and just want someone to hold you, I'm also here." He said, gaining himself a wobbly smile.

"Thank you, Castle... I really appreciate it."

Thye both knew she would hide anything was wrong the next morning. That she would burry her feelings deep inside her heart until they rose to the surface again. But for now, they fell asleep. Tomorrow would be different.

"...Perdí a mi bebé... Mi hijo- mi hijo sólo tenía dos años y- murió..." : “…I lost my baby… My son- my son was only two and he-.. he died…”

~~~

Isaiah 41:10

“Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

[desiresiwant]

𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

word count: 5.3k~

warnings: mentions of war, name-calling, vulgar paintings, strong vulgar language, Targaryen/Dornish mixed bastard, mentions of sexual themes, and overall mature setting for mature (18+) audience.

a/n: this is the 5th chapter of my AU HOTD longfic featuring my Black!OC, and the last chapter of this fic that’s posted here. If these previews interested you enough, be sure to check out the masterlist on where to read the rest!!! Hope I’ve gotten your attention by now. If there’s a warning I forgot to add let me know.

<- PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST ->

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗙𝗶𝘃𝗲 | 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁

                    𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑲𝑬𝑬𝑷, and Sylvia grew hatred toward her constant studies with Maester Ollins reading massive leather-bound books, thick with extensive history behind the legendary House Targaryen and their ties to Valyria—including hundreds of houses within Westeros and political relations with and against the crown or with each other.

        Reciting words never used in her vocabulary would lock Sylvia’s jaw and copying pages upon pages with shitty handwriting and barely any practice back home with her own mother, would tire her wrists out and left her fingers cramped. Her mother was far advanced in both reading and writing, taught later in life after Sylvia’s birth, but her teachings weren’t consistent. She could only practice reading after every written word her mother wrote for her father to one day read given her popular status in the house. Writing was rare and Sylvia hated it.

        And once freed of Maester Ollins, left hours in Meya’s care as she taught Sylvia the ways of a proper lady of the court. The study of etiquette involved far more than walking in pretty dresses and keeping one’s mouth clean of cake crumbs. Curtsy when in the company of new peers and those of higher political status. Never address them by name but by title unless given permission or were under Sylvia’s status, such as Meya and many others. Head up, back straight, chest out, arms locked in front, and walk with grace as though she levitated. Not with a boyish posture, as Meya described. She was determined to cleanse the boyish nature from molding her bones. Never say too much. Never say too little. Then would clutter the table with various utensils to use and label.

        You must act as though even the Gods are watching you, Meya would say, because being a lady isn’t just a privilege of improvement and betterment, but an example to the people—lower-classed women and the poor who’d do anything to be where you are, and has convinced themselves that if they do what you do, they will one day stare behind your eyes.

        Sylvia didn’t think being a lady would be challenging and she was wrong.

        She grew delirious and starved of her freedom. She missed home and drunk travellers, and ex-lovers—still friends—laughing over countless fools. She missed her splinter-prone bow and running off to the woods with Yanis to hunt. She missed her loose-fitting clothing and the effortless movement it provided. She missed being outside. Free instead of being cooped up within the same walls for hours.

        She thought more freedom came with holding her father’s name, but freedom never tasted sweeter than it did back home. And perhaps, she didn’t know the extent of her freedom in King’s Landing because she was afraid that if she stepped out of line, King Aul would take back his word and ban her from the city. 

        But enough was enough.

        She walked out in the middle of Maester Ollins’ dreadful monologues in need of a break. A walk to clear her mind and explore the majestic castle. And a strange shriek and heaviness in the air that interrupted her lessons many times.

        Sight of a massive erotic mural of the same and opposite sex engaging in sexual activities with each other and a dragon came into view. Sylvia cocked her head as she inspected the art. “This is interesting. . ." She said. "And new."

        Meya reached her lady’s side and viewed the mural, a light tint in her cheeks almost the same color as her hair. “Very, my lady. These murals of different acts are scattered along the castle walls. You will see them quite often.” She said.

        “I assumed they were traditional. Modest."

        “It prevails by day but is another story behind the curtains. House Targaryen are quite accustomed to queer customs and often aren’t shameful or demeaning toward expressing sexuality. Much like Dorne though quite different and forced behind closed doors.” Explained Meya, lowering her voice as a few castle staff passed by. “Your father once used to host parties of such acts.”

        “Without the dragons, yes?”

        Meya laughed at her highly concerned expression. “Of course. So I’ve heard, they were extravagant and would last for days that men would leave their wives to attend and gifted their most prized possession for an invite.”

        Sylvia's brow lifted with surprise. Beyond hearing of her father's ruthless personality, it was the first she heard of his life when he lived outside of her mother’s stories. And she wanted to know more. "What more have you heard about my father?" She asked.

        “I began my work here after his passing, my lady, so I fear my words aren’t recent or credible.”

        “I’d still like to know.”

        “I heard he cut the tongue of a man who slandered his house in public as an example for his filthy mouth. Then flaunted his tongue around his neck as a necklace, rotted with flies. Before his marriage to Lady Vana, while courting her, he asked her to give him a name. Any name. The name of any who caused her heart to squeeze with stress whenever they were within her presence, so she did. And on their wedding day, he delivered her uncle’s heart on a silver platter to wipe her heart clean and transfer that stress onto his.” Meya continued. “He always made such a presence that no one dared speak unless spoken to. One might even lose their eyes if they're met. He was quite intimidating and twisted."

        “He was a prince. I imagined he’d have to be. If one steps out of line, it's one's job to push them back or others will follow behind." Words taken out of Yanis' mouth filled hers with ease.

        They spun to the cheering formed within the training pit around two men fighting. At the center, Prince Viseron pointed his steel sword, taunting his sworn protector always a few steps behind his shadow with half of his wooden shield missing.

        Having the best view above, Sylvia leaned against the rail, watching impressively. He was quite skilled and his movements were fast, just as good as Yanis. Maybe even better. Her eyes overlooked his skills and traveled below to the sweat glistening his bare chest and highlighted muscles that were hidden beneath his clothing the first they’d met. Only trousers and boots were worn during the fight, leaving nothing to imagine, but oddly, left her curious to see more while it’s shown.

        “And what of him?” Sylvia’s lip tugged between her teeth without her knowledge, studying the prince who once tried to get her naked. He hadn’t tried since then not that she’s had time for him. “What stories you’ve heard?”

        “I dare not say anything, my lady. I’d like to keep my head another thirty years.”

        “Oh, come on. Your words are safe with me. Who would I tell? My piss pot?” Still quiet, Sylvia rolled her eyes as she reminded, “I wasn’t giving you a choice. I want to know about this prince.”

        Meya was hesitant for good reason, but given the vast differences between their status, she had no choice but to obey. “Some believe he was born from the wrong father.”

        “Why so?”

        “Because he takes after his uncle, Prince Daemon. Their fury burns strong. There are far too many stories to share and talking about him makes me shiver. But one thing is certain, he’s betrothed to Julie Lannister.”

        Standing off the side near her attendant was Julie Lannister. Long golden strands with multiple braids hung in loops and intertwined delicately down her back, emerald green eyes fearful of her betrothed’s safety. She was not only quite young—around six-and-ten (16) possibly—but beautiful too. Her black dress with a crimson outline shaped her womanly frame well, some could easily believe she was older than she appeared.

        “Such a fragile thing paired with a ruthless prince who doesn’t give a damn whether she lives or not. Tis probably why he's held off the marriage for so long. About—three months I believe. Although war and house relations has preoccupied the prince's time." Meya informed and Sylvia appreciated the information. It did come as a surprise to her. She hadn’t heard a thing about this girl and the Prince didn’t present himself as a man set to marry—if there was a certain way a man should act.

        It’s not uncommon for a prince or anyone of higher status to already be betrothed as it was to become her faith too. On the outside, they looked well-suited, but if their wedding had been halted then perhaps something was happening on the inside that no one knew. Answers Sylvia was curious about.

        The crowd displayed Prince Viseron’s victory by clapping their hands with glee. Lady Julie rushed to her betrothed with words of praise but he shared his win with his component and sworn protector, Sir John—Sylvia finally remembered when she was tested to name everyone within her house and their titles while walking backward and bumped into him. He apologized first though it was her fault, his voice gruffy and deep. Lady Julie was ignored completely and stood aside as she patiently waited to be included.

        As though Sylvia’s presence was felt above, his head lifted and met her stalking gaze. She pulled back from the ledge but it was too late to pretend otherwise and grabbed her dress to dip her knees in a cursty. Like a proper lady who hadn’t been spanked on the palm of her hand with a stick or straightened until her back ached and thighs burned, and all the boyish nature had washed out of her. Most of it.

        He’s impressed by her growth, his lips pulling into a half grin with approval. Then dipped his head to greet her. 

        Sylvia lifted and couldn’t hide the gushing feeling of pride forming in the pit. She’s worked hard perfecting herself that some acknowledgment would be nice. Expected even. She greeted Lady Julie as well when following the Prince’s attention, only she didn’t return the gesture. Her bottom lip turned pink from how hard she chewed, looking at him and then back to her before lending a stiff smile.

        Meya touched her lady's arm lightly. "We have spent much time walking these halls I'm afraid Maester Ollins might assume you've abandoned him and your studies. We should return."

        The Prince took his leave. Lady Julie followed after.

        "That's because I have abandoned my studies," Sylvia admitted. "Maester Ollins is an old fuck who never keeps his eyes on the books—“

        Meya gasped. “You must mind your words, my lady. Such foul language is unacceptable for a lady.”

        Sylvia ignored her and kept speaking. “He speaks in one note, for a very long time, and isn't patient with me when I'm doing my best. What more does he want from me?”

        "We can request another, but you mustn't put off your studies. You made the King a—"

        Sylvia walked away from her attendant. She headed in the direction of the Great Room so she could continue her studies and force herself awake whenever Maester Ollins spoke. She knew very well of the promise made with the King and hated when Meya reminded her at every given second.

        “There she is!”

        Sylvia’s steps halted toward four noble women—judging by their pretty dresses and well-kept hair—rushing in her direction like children at the Sand Festival held every year back in Toland. Silly betting games where men would run bare-footed and nearly naked across the hot sand for three days for life-changing coins and honor, suffering nasty blisters, dehydration, and even death. There were also cake-eating contests. But inside was filled with poisonous sand scorpions, eating until one ultimately died or was saved in enough time. There’d be endless music and hard syrup candies for the children. Joy all around, joy that Sylvia was forced to experience from afar.

        Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to pinpoint their attention but there was no one behind them. No one of importance unless they were signaling a passing servant or patrolling guards. But as they neared it was clear she was their pinpoint. A bunch of strangers. Rather close by how they clung to each other. 

        Meya greeted the noble women and Sylvia followed in pursuit. “My lady, this is—”

        “I shall introduce myself,” a blond-headed woman with loose curls down her back and wide sharp eyes dismissed Meya as she stepped forward from the group. She bent her knees into a proper curtsy and lifted herself, her eyes glazing upon Sylvia’s scales with mere interest. “I am Lady Clarice Hayford, Daughter of Lord Benjamin, House Hayford of Crownlands. This is Lady Mercia Rosby, House Rosby of Crownlands. Lady Anya Buckwell, House Buckwell of Crownlands. And Lady Emma Wode, House Wode of Riverlands.” The last house was said in a mumble but had caught on learning briefly of the Riverlands. Of all their houses that were loyal to the crown.

        Each lady kneeled into a cursty. And as Sylvia met each woman as they rose, her gaze fell upon Lady Mercia, if she remembered correctly. Golden brown skin, shades darker than sand on its brightest day, with thick brownish red curls too wild to tame but were a looser patterning than the mess on Sylvia’s head—pinned from her narrow face with dangling ornaments, dressed in the colors of the leading house.

        Pretty, Sylvia thought to herself, she’s very pretty. They each had their own charm, whatever it was, but Lady Mercia stuck out.

        Another, Lady Anya, stepped forward. “We are very pleased to make your acquaintance. We’ve already heard so much about you.” She was very soft-spoken, light and airy like a whistle in the wind. Wide-eyed with ghostly white skin and hair as black as night. It didn’t help that her eyebrows were nearly invisible, so she appeared sickly.

        “What have you heard?” Sylvia inquired, wanting to know what had been said about her.

        Lady Anya exchanged a look with the other ladies and Sylvia could’ve sworn one had shook their head, as if to refrain her from speaking the truth. Their smiles were wide and bright and clean of evidence when she tried to confirm the gesture. “Just silly chatting. You know how it is in court.” She didn’t. Not one bit of it. “When someone new comes around, everyone is so eager to know everything about them. Few are convinced they’ve known them their whole lives. But with you here, in our circle, I believe we’ll be great friends. The bestest.”

        “My God, Anya, we are not that desperate. Be calm.” Said Lady Clarice, tugging the girl back who sent a soft glare.

        “It was your idea. You wished to confirm if the King had lost his mind bestowing a b—.”

        The woman hissed in a manner that shut Lady Anya up. She lowered her head with a pout and stepped even futher back upon the lady’s gesture. 

        Then chuckled with nerves, ironing out the creases of her dress that shaped her figure. Her manipulated curls played the illusion that her hair was voluminous, but the knitted hair piece pushing everything back showcased otherwise. “You misheard me. I would never speak ill of anyone or question one’s decision, especially the King’s.” Said through clenched teeth, still smiling. 

        “Liar.” The girl mumbled loud enough to be heard.

        “Your scales,” Lady Mercia blurted and she had Sylvia’s attention almost immediately. “They are real, are they not? I have never seen anything like it before."

        Before she could speak up, Lady Emma interrupted her. “Of course, they’re real. Why wouldn’t it not be? She has dragon blood in her veins. Only with their blood is it possible."

        It’s said the women from Riverlands were all too ugly to look at and lacked feminine hygiene and beauty, as the writings said. Swamplands and ruins from war. Emma Wode was the only beautiful daughter her mother bore; a head of brunette strands down her back, pepper green eyes, and a curvy figure to look past her flat face. A beautiful girl like her should be seen, an end to vile rumors of their house and Riverland women.

        Sylvia stood before Lady Mercia, leaning slightly forward. “Would you like to touch them?” She offered and her eyes brightened with excitement mixed with surprise.

        “Could I? Is it not rude?”

        “Not if I’m offering.”

        Lady Mercia reached out her hand and touched the scales along Sylvia’s cheek. Her touch was hesitant at first before she grew comfortable, gentle as her soft fingers outlined its trail. It was true that no one aside from Yanis and her mother had touched her scales, but there were rare occasions when Sylvia would allow a few selectives to explore her face. In exchange, she could explore them. 

        She wasn’t expecting the same deal with Lady Mercia. Not yet at least.

        “They’re beautiful,” Lady Mercia whispered, shying away from Sylvia’s intensive contact appreciating her beauty at a closer range. She liked the greenish mixture in her brown eyes. Realizing how close they were, she pulled back her hand with an apology.

        “Can I touch too? I’m curious.” Lady Anya raised her hand.

        “Me as well.” Said Lady Emma.

        It wasn’t until Lady Clarice cleared her throat that the rest stopped pestering Sylvia and followed back in line. Clearly, she held reign within the circle, leaving the question of just how powerful her house was. And much of it she didn’t wish to lose to a bastard. “You will have to excuse their excitement. Young new faces are rare to come by. While some lack discipline, they also lack personal space.”

        Many didn’t react lightly to being put down for something they couldn’t control. They were all around Sylvia’s age and younger. Full of energy and light. Trying to make the most of their life before they were no longer a girl but a married woman with duties to their husband and house. She didn’t mind their lack of discipline or personal space, or even their constant questioning. She was new to court, to their world. It’s to be expected. 

        But what she didn’t like was someone putting down others to make themselves look good. “And what do you lack?” Sylvia asked Lady Clarice. “No one is perfect, not even me. I’m curious if you lack discipline too. A mouth that just keeps talking.”

        Her mouth twitched and her eyes seemed touched with irritation as she narrowed in on the lady who dared to question her. But then the moment passed, all traces of anger left, and she offered her a stiffened smile. 

        Her lips parted with an answer prepared, but Sylvia realized she didn’t care and spoke over her with more questions to ask. “What brings you ladies to me? Whatever it is it’ll have to wait another time. My studies call to me and Master Ollins doesn’t seem like a patient man to be kept waiting.” . . .studies she would do anything to get out of with a teacher she was close to hating, but it was her promise to the King. While she prepared herself for marriage, he would provide whatever was necessary so she could learn of the house who’ve stolen her features.

        Lady Anya jumped off her feet toward Sylvia, taking her arm to lock tight. It was the kind of strength that felt the girl was scared she’d run off, and she would if given the chance. The action was sudden. “Then we shall walk you to your destination and chat. We know the way. Maester Ollins won’t say a thing with us by your side.”

        “Ah. . .okay.” Sylvia managed to say.

        Lady Emma occupied the other arm, the other ladies at their side, dragging Sylvia forward as if she were a rag-doll with weak stringy legs, vulnerable to even the mildest of control. Meya remained a few steps behind with no means to interject. She looked content with her lady with others than just her putting up with Sylvia, a break from bending and molding her bones and attitude into a proper lady. Lessons that still needed time to sink into her bones. And apparently, her brain.

        Multiple conversations were had and many questions were left unanswered due to lack of time to answer them before the next question was thrown out. It seemed Sylvia was learning more about them than they did about her. She preferred it that way. Her life was nothing of interest compared to highborn ladies who’ve seen more of the world than she had. Their hands were untouched by hash labor, smooth to the eye, their nails long and perfectly round. No scent of piss, puke, and sex lingered from their skin but the sweet aroma of lavender and. . .berries? There was not one strand out of place—thoroughly washed and brushed with limited knots and tangles, carefully curled with overnight remedies and styled to utter perfection. Not even the wind could displace their attendant's hard work.

        Even their stories were untouched by the cruelty of the world and filled with mindless pettiness, harmless pranks, and endless fun, surrounded by riches and an arm's length of friends. They were perfect. All of which Sylvia lacked and couldn’t help the jealousy pitting deep in her belly.

        A reminder that two worlds stood before them despite their feet walking the same land.

        “We remain at court while our fathers and many noble lords have been called to discuss trivial matters that have disarrayed our house and its people.” Said Lady Merica as they directed Sylvia down the wide-set stairs and through the long halls that were endless and beaming from the sun burning through. She had no idea what the subject was but went along with it.

        “I came to visit my brother. He’s recently joined the Knighthood. My father thinks it will strengthen his heart and bring forth honor.” Said Lady Anya.

        Lady Emma tugged on Sylvia’s arm, pulling her closer from Lady Anya’s previous tactic to have the girl to herself. A constant game that forced Sylvia to break free. It surely didn’t stop them coming back. 

        “But that isn’t all, is it?” Lady Merica sent a mischief look in her friend’s direction and it was the first her face had color, warming up as she refused to admit her true intentions. 

        Sylvia was very much lost. “What am I missing?”

        “She has eyes for Prince Aelor.” Lady Clarice unveiled and Sylvia scrunched her nose with disgust. She wished she hadn’t asked. 

        The girl gasped out with shock. “I do not!”

        “Do too.” Lady Emma teased. “The biggest crush. He is all you ever talk about. His kind eyes. His long legs. His calming nature. His beautiful hair.”

        Kind eyes? Calming nature? What version was she seeing?

        She unlocked their arms to cover her ears as she shouted. “I will not hear of this—this slander! And neither will either of you speak another word of my affections—should I have any—or else I’ll scream my lungs bloody and never stop until the sky roof caves in, crushing you whole.”

        “Why not save your screaming on your wedding night? You’ve practiced long enough.”

        A squeal of giggles bellowed from Lady Mercia as she took off running when Lady Anya chased after her. They laughed at the two using passing servants to block each other’s contact. Lady Mercia seemed like a shy woman at first but she was far from it, at least around her friends. There were occasions when she’d speak less that was practically invisible, and occasions when she’d make herself known and make use of it. A balance of both. 

        Sylvia certainly didn’t see what Lady Anya saw in the Prince and was convinced the girl got hit in the head by an apple or something heavy. They wouldn’t be House of The Dragon together but House of The Ghost. Uncanny and unsuited.

        Finally having Sylvia to herself, Lady Emma tugged her closer and Lady Clarice was quick to fill the empty spot. Their constant attention and closeness made her uncomfortable for reasons that she wasn’t used to. “My father claims it’s to spare our ships and men to prepare for the war up ahead. Only the best shall prevail.” She was back on the conversation of their reasoning for being at court. 

        “Except we need strong men and strong ships that won’t flood the first wave it's met.” Said Lady Clarice, in a tone that held a known story close to Lady Emma which she ignored.

        “But while at court, we accompany the future Queen to strengthen our relations that’ll benefit our future and make our house proud.” 

        “Future Queen,” muttered Lady Clarice with a sense of mock. “Whenever that will be. It's embarrassing enough having to listen to her delusions and pretend to care. There is only so much advise one can give before it’s time to return home.”

        Their shared laughter made known they knew of Lady Julie’s current predicament with Prince Viseron. Neither Sylvia nor Lady Mercia—when returning after the two grew tired and heavy with breath—found the situation humorous. She didn’t know the girl enough to find the joke and feared she’d contract her faith by downing her misfortune.

        But Sylvia couldn’t move on from their current topic deciding which games they should indulge in before supper when something Lady Emma had mentioned weighed on her mind. War.

        War was nothing new to her. Horrid stories roamed the fires back at Toland from men and former knights drinking away their trauma to any ears that would listen and even she had her first taste of it. But what concerned Sylvia was where this war was taking place and who was the intended enemy. She came to King’s Landing to create a future and safe home for her mother when she came, and couldn’t do any of that if her future was at risk. Based on many blurred lessons of war around the world with Maester Ollins, King’s Landing wasn’t all that invincible given the history of why the wall was built in the first place.

        “Will it be here? The war that's to come?” Sylvia asked.

        They grew quiet, having silent conversations with their eyes that Sylvia couldn’t understand. But when Lady Clarice was quick to fill the void when answers were sought, it was then she understood why they were hesitant to speak. “The Conquest of Dorne. The battle to last over centuries to come.” She held no filter as she played her fingers through her golden locks, eyeing Sylvia’s expression. She remained calm. “The Martells will never concede. Never to bend the knee to the crown nor compromise their terms to end this shitful fight, ultimately wasting our resources and men. Them vipers aren’t grateful no matter what we do. But enough is enough. Should they refuse us once more, we will come back harder.”

        One could not live in Dorne and not know of its conflicts not only within the country but outside of it. Even for someone like Sylvia, who didn’t care to know as it was never her concern nor was she sitting at the table with something to offer. It was strange living on the outside of the world, on the lands of the same enemies that were plotting against her home.

        Sylvia didn’t know where to stand. 

        While her roots were in Dorne, her lineage was far from it. One came with traumatic memories and a life that served no purpose while one was an opportunity in a lifetime, a purpose of many should she choose one. Or perhaps she didn’t have to choose. With her given title, she could pursue anything. There was no limit as far as she knew.

        Sylvia would always be proud of her home, grateful of her upbringing, and prideful of her Dornish roots—but wasn’t stupid to risk her life for the damn country or piss off others who were against them. The same one that took everything from her. Her mother included. And it’s people they claimed to care for. Her loyalty never extended beyond that.

        “I see,” said Sylvia, uncomfortable with their eyes on her every movement. Probably they were expecting her to curse this country and accuse Lady Clarice of spreading lies to fuel more propaganda. 

        They soon reached the door that led to the Great Room. Maester Ollins was currently inside because his distinctive voice carried through the cracks.

        Lady Anya waved her hand, dismissing the short awkwardness. “Enough of that depressing subject. Let’s leave it to the men. Why don’t you join us for a round of fox and hound after your studies before supper?”

        Sylvia never heard of this game before. “I don’t know how to play this game.”

        “You never heard of fox and hound?”

        “No. Should I? Is it popular here?”

        Lady Anya’s jaw dropped as if the girl was learning her first word, and one of the ladies had to remind her that Sylvia was not from around.

        “I can teach you. It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it if no one’s adding any last-minute rules.” Lady Mercia offered, and Sylvia would like that very much. “I’ll be the fox for the first round if you like. Just until you grow comfortable.”

        “That goes against the rules. Every newcomer must be the fox. Even I had to be for three rounds.” Lady Emma argued.

        “Surely we can bend one little rule for our new friend. That which you are—a friend in our circle. A position quite hard to obtain, even Lady Julie scrambles for our companionship that we offer you at no obligation.” Lady Clarice scooped Sylvia’s arm, walking closer toward the door and leaving the rest of them behind. Only Meya joined a few steps behind. “I hope you make up your mind soon and join us for a round or two, milady. It is a fun game to know more of each other and I can show you great hiding spots. As my father says, it’s good to have friends in every corner of the world each with something to offer.”

        Her sharp eyes and naturally arched brows made her appear as though she was constantly plotting. But while her aura was mean-spirited, she didn’t look like one with much motive other than hoarding friends under her belt within her control.

        Sylvia never had friends outside of the pleasure house or around her age, especially highborn ladies of such status—a status they shared. Making a variety of friends could serve her well in the future. She wasn’t sure what it could be or when, but knew it was in her best interest to join their inner circle. Be their friend. Accept their companionship and maintain good relations. And play a few rounds of fox and hound.

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

If you like what you read and wish to read more of this fic, you can read HERE

[biaswreckme]

exile | yungi

"You're not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town Now I'm in exile" or Yunho has magic in a kingdom that has banned it. And is in love with the crown prince.

Fandom: Ateez

Pairing: Yunho/Mingi

Member: Yunho, Mingi

Word count: 1580 words

Genre/Tropes: Alternate Universe (Fantasy/Magic), Angst (with a happy ending), Hurt/Comfort

Rating: pg-13

Triggers/Warnings: magic is banned in the kingdom, inspired by BBC's Merlin, banishment, exile

You can read it on: AO3

How cliche, one could say about them, a royal and the magician falling in love without the possibility of actually being together in a kingdom in which magic had been banned for decades. They had grown up together, the heir to the throne and the nephew of one of the court physicians, running around the castle until they had to face their responsibilities. The young prince started his classes while the other boy started to aid his uncle in preparing for his practice. The prince started attending council meetings while the apprentice started learning how to care for sick people. The prince started traveling all over the kingdom accompanied by the guard’s men, and the apprentice stayed, longing for his friend to come back soon. 

And as they grew, soon Yunho discovered something new about himself, something that pained him to hide from Mingi. There was a spark in Yunho and his uncle noticed, urging him to hide yet at the same time helping him hone his skills little by little, whenever there was no risk of getting caught. It was much before their time when the previous King sentenced all magic practitioners to death, enraged by his wife passing away and the uselessness of magic in that situation. And his uncle taught him, showing how he also possessed a tiny portion of something magical in him too, all of his family did, and he chose to work so close to the new King in the court to be able to control and disguise it under the guise of being a physician. There was always a little something extra in his uncle’s draughts and ointments, just enough to increase the healing but never enough to warrant any suspicion, and he learned to do it just the same way. 

During the day, they were prince and physician, each to their own in the castle, staying apart, performing their assigned and assumed duties. During the night, they were first friends, then slowly evolved into lovers. The progress was so subtle that when they kissed for the first time, there were no doubts between them, only certainty that it was what both wanted. But deep down, Yunho knew he was running against the time, and sooner or later Mingi would find out the truth about him. It hurt him to hide this part of himself from someone he loved so much, but they had never really discussed opinions on magic - it just wasn’t done by anyone in the kingdom; everyone knew to stay silent on the matter apart from accusing and bringing up evidence on someone. 

And then they were adults. The King had begun to pressure his son into forming an alliance with a neighboring kingdom by marrying him to their princess. There was already a treatise drawn and ready to be signed, the King had informed him, and he would start visiting the princess to court her, whether he wanted to or not. Their secret meetings turned even more rushed, each time Mingi had to leave and pretend to be interested in the alliance a painful mask for both lovers. There were hushed goodbyes with Yunho’s magic wanting to sparkle out of him, having to clench his fingers and pretend there was not a buzzing permeating his entire body. 

Until one day, in Mingi’s absence, the King came to his uncle’s practice in the castle, silently entering the room right when Yunho was infusing a small glass bottle with energy. To his luck, his uncle was not present at the moment, and he could lie for him, stating his uncle had no idea, begging the King to be merciful to the old man, tears running down his face, his desperation apparent in the form of hiccups and shortness of breath. His own life was spared, the King stated, solely because he knew the truth about his relationship with Mingi and the prince’s feelings for him. There was nothing he did not know about his own castle - with the exception of the two practitioners of magic under his nose until that point. Yunho was to pack what he could carry and leave immediately, forbidden from leaving word to the prince. Forbidden from ever stepping into the kingdom again.

So he ran. Yunho ran until his legs gave out on him, never looking back, barely able to look at what was on his way, a constant of tears blurring his vision. And with each and every step forward he felt his magic screaming at him, his body shaking, the sensation of pins and needles in his fingers and toes, his spark demanding the presence of his love to hold and comfort, but there were only empty and cold beds and fear of not running fast enough. It was only when he stepped over the borders that he could breathe properly again, yet each inhale sent shivers down his spine until he found an abandoned little rundown cabin in the woods near the first town from this foreign kingdom he would now call home. 

Some days he wondered if it had been Mingi that found him, would he have heard him out, would he have given him a warning sign? 

This new homeland was strange to him, not truly home. He could imagine Mingi with the princess, arms wrapped around her just like the prince used to do to him. He could imagine other moments, his heart breaking in the process, alone on cold winter nights and on warming days of spring. He could feel the spark in him faltering at times, each shattered piece of his heart breaking tiny shards of his magic, freezing fingers trembling whenever he attempted to channel this strength into creation. Some people had already stumbled by the cabin, and although he learned this land did not have a ban on magic, he still hid it from others, being more careful than he should have been in the castle. 

Or at least he thought he did.

His heart raced when the same scene happened again. He was so absorbed into trying to make something with what little of his spark there was left, that he didn’t hear his front door opening. The new buzzing under his skin should have been the first sign, but he thought it was just his focus that day. His eyes were closed, and he could feel energy gathering for the first time in months, from the tip of his toes to the ends of his now outgrown hair, fingers shaking in excitement instead of anguish. 

“It is true then.” 

The ceramic bowl shattered, liquid spilling everywhere. There was Mingi, his prince, his lover.

“Mingi, I…” Yunho could barely speak, voice shaking, tears long gone were filling his eyes again. And fear. Fear took a hold of his body, his arms crossing in front of himself, protecting, bracing for what could come.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho began, but Mingi interrupted him.

“Don’t be. There’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m the one who’s sorry that you had to hide from me this entire time. Please, don��t fear me.” Mingi’s eyes shone under the candlelight, hands, entire body pleading. “I’m not my father. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, but you did a good job in hiding.”

Yunho chuckled almost humorlessly, “I disagree… Apparently I’m not that good at it. First your father caught me, now you.” He shook his head. It was difficult to believe that Mingi was right there, that look in his eyes that spoke louder than his words. 

Mingi walked closer, slowly, as if he were approaching a wounded animal in the forest - which Yunho was, in a sense. “Your magic is beautiful, Yunho. You shone with it when I didn’t even know and I want to be able to see that every day for the rest of our lives. You don’t deserve to hide it, nor to die because of it. The spark chose you, and so do I now, so I signed the papers.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Yunho asked, confused. The only papers he knew about were the treaty with the other kingdom.

“I abdicated.” Yunho gasped, reaching out to him, and Mingi accepted Yunho’s hand, holding onto it. “I don’t care about being king, never did, especially if I can’t have you by my side. I don’t want to marry and have children with someone I could never learn to love, at least not like I love you.”

“I love you too, but.. are you sure? You’re leaving everything behind to be in exile, I can’t ask that of you,” this time, Yunho was interrupted with a kiss, soft lips touching his; a kiss of reassurance, of fondness, of longing and yearning. Countless minutes passed, a comfortable silence broken with a surprising question.

“Will you teach me?”

“Teach you?”

“How to make my spark turn into magic like yours.” Mingi confessed, smiling, finally feeling free.

“You… Is this why it has always felt like this with you?” Yunho asked, touching Mingi’s hand, feeling the familiar sensation of comfort and love that he longed for so long, the electricity in the air making sense after all their time together. Mingi nodded, saying he would explain everything, but it was not something he learned until Yunho left. “Like… home.”

And it was. With their magic mingling and growing stronger, they found home in each other.

[geraltic]

A/N:

I’m so sorry on how long this turned out. I really wanted do a fanfic for 7 deadly sins, as I've not seen a lot of posts for it.

I’m really sorry for my grammar and stuff. I have a disability that kind of affects a lot and makes myself paranoid about my writing on here.. But I wanted to dip my toe back into writing again, so I thought why not do the sins. (also thank you to my best friend for telling me I should post and stop stressing myself out ♡ @xthescarletbitch is amazing)

If you want part 2 of this; please let me know.I also want to do other stories for other fandoms i’m in.

Female reader x Meliodas - no smut or anything. Just normal Meliodas

Y/N pov

The holy knights changed so much, they suppose to protect the kingdom. Not turn it into a playground.

I've been running for a long time, my cloak is ripped and my body hurts. The knights hurt me a lot, they wouldn't let me leave the castle without a fight.

My legs are so tired they are beginning to buckle. I feel so drained.

Looking over I saw a tavern, shaped like a hat. It seems safe enough to hide in for a while.

I hope they don't recognize me, I just need to stay low and out of sight.

-no pov-

The young women pushed open the tavern door and slowly stepped in.

Her cloak was ripped and she had some blood sitting on her lip.

She seemed beaten up, and really tired.

“May I stay here please” she pleaded.

Meliodas grinned of course he was happy to help a damsel in distress, Merlin rolled her eyes and sat down watching Meliodas help the young woman.

“Welcome to boar hat tavern,” Meliodas said in his usual flirty manner.

The young woman looked around and scanned the room, she turned to Ban who gave her kind wave, then to Merlin who simply nodded and drank her drink.

“Excuse me” snapped a voice from the ground.

Her eyes widen as she landed on hawk who snorted proudly.

“I’m a Hawk, captain of scraps disposal,” he said proudly.

“Nice to meet you hawk.” the young woman said giving him a tiny smile.

“Who are you?” Merlin asked raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms, of course, she going to be weary of random women just barging in.

“Oh, I’m y/n. I’m farmer girl.” The woman lied and held the cloak tightly around her body.

Merlin made a “hmpft” sound and walked out of the room leaving Meliodas and Ban alone.

Y/N pov

I just lied to that woman, I couldn't tell them I’m a princess, What are they going to think?

They would come up with bad scenarios or worst send me back to the castle, where I’ll be locked up and won't be able to help Elizabeth or my family.

The young blonde boy stood in front of me, his eyes were calming and had an emerald green tint to them.

“I’m Meliodas, I own the tavern. Of course, you can stay here as long you need to” Meliodas boasted confidently and gave you a charming smile.

“That’s very kind of you Meliodas, I thank you for your kindness,” you said softly and felt your heart stutter a bit as you spoke his name.

“I’m ban, nice to meet you. I also cook great food if you are hungry” Ban said kindly.

“Nice to meet you too ban”

“And the odd woman who left the room is Merlin” Meliodas chirped in and sat down on the other side of the table.

The shooting pain rose once again, you've kept the injuries to yourself.

Meliodas could sense something wrong with you, as he slowly pushed out his chair and move your cloak to see the damage all over your body.

-Meliodas pov-

I sensed something wrong, her body was tensing she was guarding herself or something else.

From what I can sense she seems to be trustworthy. She's also very pretty, ban has Elaine not physically but he loved her, he kept telling me that previous lovers and moping over them won't make me happy. I need to pick myself up and explore the world with new eyes.

I didn't think I would be starting my adventure with women barging into my tavern, looking ripped apart and needing our help.

Ever since Elizabeth decided it was time we spilt up and do what the goddess and demons asked, I didn't think I could love again.

But the ban has a point, I can't sit in self-pity forever.

But this woman feels like I've seen her before, I can't place where.

I gazed over her body, I tried not to look at her chest area. She appeared pretty injured and she had a long blood mark along her cheek.

She began to tense under my gaze covering her face.

-y/n pov-

He moved my cloak and looked at my body. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, as he examined me.

I sat in silence then Meliodas spoke.

“Your pretty injured, and seems like you've had a crazy day” he spoke.

Nodding quickly and tears form around my eyes, I've never had to deal with this before. Elizabeth has had her fair share of adventures, but I thought I would never had flee as I did.

Meliodas stood up slowly and gave me another warm smile, and looked at Ban who leaning on the bar.

“Ban can give us a minute,” Meliodas asked starting at the other man.

Ban quirked his eyebrows and simply nodded leaving both of us in the empty bar room.

Meliodas turned back to me and kneeled down, he made eye contact and my breath hitched slowly.

“Princess y/n. Elizabeth’s younger sister. I can't believe it's you” he said.

Then my whole body froze and my eyes widen.

-no pov-

Meliodas knew when he first saw the cloak and long wavy hair, the colour of your hair and the way you presented yourself.

Elizabeth guided you and made sure you would be fit to rule over the kingdom, she wanted more than her father had planned, and in that, your father placed the burden on your shoulders.

Meliodas slowly pulled the cloak down and saw the princess, he knew when she was younger also.

He protected you and Elizabeth, he made sure you both were happy and had everything you needed in the castle.

-your pov-

He stared at me and shook his head slowly. I felt my whole body freeze, I didn't know what to say.

Meliodas stood up slowly and turned away from me and looked out the window. He finally spoke again, “How is Elizabeth”

“E-Elizabeth,” you asked confused how does he know about your sister?

He simply nodded not facing you anymore.

Now the tears began to fall dropping on the tavern floor.

“We got separated, and they locked her in the castle,” you said as the tears kept dripping from your eyes.

Meliodas stood in quietness before turning to you with a small smile.

“I best go save her again”

Your eyes widen as you realise who he is.

“Your the 7 deadly sins, aren't you,” you asked standing up as the cloak fell down to the floor showing your injured body and ripped long the chest area (have a suit on like Elizabeth from the first episode)

Meliodas grinned and announced

“I’m Meliodas, Dragon's Sin of Wrath. Captain of the Seven Deadly Sins. And I’m going help you and your sister”

[annachum]

Imagine growing up in a huge and wild household filled with powerful magical royal demons. You are always close with your father since birth. You can never connect truly with your biological mother no matter how much you tried.

Your true relatives love you. Yes they did. But the generational trauma and dysfunction runs deep in your soul

And then your father suddenly sent you to boarding school in Tartarus at 11. You didn't question him. You feel it's good explore Realms outside of the palaces you grew up in. But with every holiday you stayed at the Moon Castle you gradually feel something is off

Then everything suddenly clicked - your biological mother turned out to be one of the worst people walking on Hell ( that is saying smth ), abusing your father behind closed doors in every way possible, even trying to financially bleed tour paternal relatives dry. As you grew, you watch in confusion and dismay as your paternal and maternal relatives gradually distancing themselves from each other. Some even tried to gauge you to take their side, but you are just overwhelmed and confused

Then your father began to have an affair with Blitzo, causing your biological mother and your maternal relatives in tow to barrage your father ans your paternal relatives on ALL counts. You wanted to run but you can't because you aren't yet 18. Your father fighting tooth and nail for a better life for you. And you watch as things get out of control helplessly, so you start resorting to goth music to help yourself cope.

Your biological parents began to have this uneasy custody, which you complied out confusion. The stays at Andrealphus' place began to be increasingly toxic - you and your bio mom's fights began to be more intense and erratic, to the point she begins to thrash wine bottles around you and you slowly distance yourself from her, while stays at your father is always loving and understanding despite it all. But you are terrified to tell your father what's happening at Stella's place because Stella has tried to silence you with threats....until you simply can't take it anymore after your father finally kicks Stella out and you both have eye opening confessions to each other about A LOT OF THINGS

A week later, the ugly divorce disputes turned into a full scale Goetian war across the 7 rings - your father ended up in hospital for 2 months, so you stay at your uncle Vassago's place, all the while you fight against being stalked through mirrors by Stella and her disgusting cronies

Again, you are afraid to tell Stolas about this because you are once again threatened to be silenced

At this point you just want a refund on your life.

Almost

And then one night, at your father's place, Stella tried to threaten you to kill your own father through a mirror. You were about to take a fatal slit of your left wrist....

When suddenly your father and his lover Blitzo jumped through a portal and physically restrain you from harming yourself

All at once everything is a blur - between emergency calls and frantic hugging in tears, your father reluctantly agreed you to be sent over to your paternal grandparents' place for extra safety and healing until the whole madness blows over

Everyone else kept telling you that all the divorce madness is not your fault. Yet you struggled to believe it at first. Gradually, as you regain joy through astrophysics and the stuff you enjoy, you receive the clarity you need, become better and determine to become the cycle breaker the Goetias so need

Your father luckily didn't have to be stripped off of his titles, but you are tired, so you decided to move out to recollect yourself after all that.

You witnessed how your allied kin became closer after what happened to you. Your father was eventually banned from the frontlines until the whole war is over after nearly burning down Sloth Ring, because Andrealphus taunted him over your condition and Stolas just SNAPPED. Your soon to be step father starts to visit your father more often to help him recover from such an intense snap and work on divide and conquer strategies on Team Stella after all that. You keep getting well meaning guidance from a certain team of assasins that truly care for you and helped you heal from deep depression. You became happy for your dads as they also start healing too through therapy, and your dad being closer to his older siblings while your step dad becomes closer to his crew.

And moving out to your own fancy apartment you did after the divorce war. After everything, your past aggressors are finally defeated and executed, and you can begin anew with your future step sister Loona ( who moved next door to your new apartment )

The later parts are just my theories for Octavia's journey later on. I hope she can be okay and healing after ALL THAT

[bronte-deserves-better]

“I don’t know where to go” IF you have time

Fun fact, this is the ask that sparked the entire Ancillary series. I was sitting down to finish some undone prompts, including this one, and I had the idea 'oh, what if this was Tiergan at Bronte's door? Well, why would Tiergan be at Bronte's door? What if Sophie's mind was broken and they were trying to figure out how to fix it?'. By the time I'd gotten the 7k words of that oneshot out of my brain, it didn't actually fit the prompt anymore, so I just posted it separately.

Anyways, thank you, anon. Have some Pyren Bros angst for your troubles. (Fic under the cut- this got long!)

Bronte expects many things from his life as a Councillor. The world’s crises are unpredictable, and though he does not like it, he’s long since accepted that he cannot expect things to remain exactly the same. Over the many years of his reign, he’s developed a routine that largely remains consistent no matter the crisis; there is a rhythm to his days, which allows him to function through most things.

At the moment, he’s proceeding through his evening routine. The Council has finished all their planned events for the day; he and Emery, when doing the Council’s weekly schedule, make a point to not schedule anything to end later than 10 pm if possible. The only reasons for them all to be called up after that is an unexpected crisis, which he and Emery can’t exactly plan around. Today has been a late day, so the clock over the mantel of his living room fireplace reads 10:45 as he settles down with a cup of coffee.

It’s also a Tuesday, hence why he’s alone in his castle. Friday evenings are for baking or going out with Oralie, and on Thursdays, he and Terik have a regularly scheduled discussion (and debate) on the finer points of dwarven literature. But today is Tuesday, so Bronte retrieves his book from the bookshelf on one wall. It’s a thick, ancient tome- he acquired it sometime during the late Gold Era, as he recalls. The history of the elves it presents is riddled with inaccuracies, of course, but it’s an interesting perspective on how historians approached their studies in the Gold Era.

He cracks open the book and settles in for a peaceful evening of reading.

The universe, of course, has other plans. About twenty pages into his tome, he’s interrupted by the plink of something hitting his window. Irritating, but not unusual. Perhaps it will be a rainy night in Eternalia.

Bronte turns the page and determinedly ignores the second plink that follows, and the third after that.

What he can’t ignore is the clunk of something much heavier hitting the window.

He sighs and stands up, fetching his emergency dagger from the drawer of the side table next to his chair. Whatever this is, it is going to regret interrupting his peaceful evening.

Dagger in one hand, he pulls aside the curtains and opens the window, faced with a sight so unexpected that for a moment, he thinks he must be hallucinating.

Because crouched outside his window is his errant younger brother, blond hair matted to his head with a dark fluid that Bronte truly hopes is not blood.

In their younger days, Fintan’s appearance outside his window was not too unusual; Fintan always did have a knack for getting in trouble, coupled with a desire to be as large a pain in Bronte’s backside as possible. He would appear outside Bronte’s window often- running away from a scorned lover (or lover’s fiancé), with some new (and often idiotic) plot, or just to bother Bronte. Bronte would sigh and let him inside, never able to resist those pleading eyes.

But they are no longer young or carefree, and Fintan is a criminal and Bronte a Councillor.

“What are you doing on my roof?” It’s déjà vu in the worst way- Bronte can remember uttering those words so many times in more lighthearted days, back before the chasm of the pyrokinesis ban lay between them.

Fintan smiles, mouth curling up with no true amusement behind it. “Not even a hello for your beloved younger brother?”

“Do I need to list your wrongs against me?”

“What wrongs?” Fintan is doing the same faux-innocent voice that he always did when he tried to convince Bronte to get him out of trouble in their youth.

“Killing one of my friends, for one,” Bronte answers. The handle of the dagger digs into his palm.

Fintan’s smile falls. “I don’t- look, Bronte, I don’t know where else to go.” He holds out his hands; his arms are covered in dark slashes, some just barely scabbed over and others bleeding freely. Bronte can see dark patches seeping across the ragged grey tunic he’s wearing, and bruises mar his pale face.

Surprisingly, Bronte believes him. After everything that has come between them, Fintan wouldn’t be here if he had anywhere else to go.

“How did you even get on my roof in this state?”

“Sheer determination. Can I come inside? It’s cold out here.”

Against his better judgement, Bronte steps aside to let Fintan crawl through the open window. There is a kind of practicality to it; Fintan will be easier to capture if Bronte knows where he is. Perhaps he should think better of putting himself alone in a room with the elf who burnt down Eternalia- but this is his brother. Bronte knows how to handle Fintan better than any other elf living.

He looks over Fintan’s injuries and concludes that yes, they do need immediate treatment.

“Follow me,” Bronte orders.

Fintan, for once in his life, does as he’s told.

Bronte takes Fintan into the bathroom where he keeps the most extensive of his medical kits- almost every bathroom in the castle has one, but this one is the most well-stocked.

“Sit.”

Fintan does.

Bronte retrieves some disinfectant and a cloth.

This, too, is familiar. Out of the corner his eye, Fintan is a battered teenager again, whining and shifting in his seat as Bronte gathers the few supplies he has to treat his injuries.

He turns, and the illusion is broken. This Fintan is long-haired and wild, bright blue eyes sharp with the edges of his cracked mind. It’s a far cry from the bruised, short-haired teenager Bronte had known, though the burning defiance remains the same.

Bronte banishes the memory to the far corners of his mind and focuses on ensuring Fintan won’t die. Whatever he might deserve, he is more valuable alive than dead.

Fintan is largely silent as Bronte methodically cleans and bandages each wound on his arms, only wincing slightly in discomfort.

“Am I to assume there are more under your tunic?” Bronte asks at last.

Fintan shrugs.

Bronte picks the dagger back up, not missing Fintan’s flinch. “I’d rather cut it off than risk reopening the arm wounds.”

“Not gonna kill me? Not gonna finish what you and the Council started?” Fintan’s smile is a white slash of teeth.

“Why would I kill you when I’ve just spent this much time healing you? Hold still.” Surprisingly, Fintan sits still and lets Bronte slice neatly through the seams of his tunic, panels of bloodied fabric falling to the floor. The wounds on his torso are equally severe as the ones on his arms, and Bronte reaches for the disinfectant again.

The bandages are all tied in place before Bronte breaks the silence between them. “How did this happen?”

“Ogres aren’t kind to the allies who fail them.”

No. No, they aren’t. Bronte’s scars itch. “Had you considered not allying with them to begin with?”

“It’s not like the Council left me a lot of other options.”

“The Council didn’t know you were alive.” I didn’t know you were alive.

Fintan actually rolls his eyes. Honestly, the immaturity. “If I had revealed that I was alive, I would have been immediately arrested, since you all have your knickers in a twist about the arson.”  

“You burned down Eternalia and killed my friend.”

“Oh, come on. You didn’t even like Kenric.”

It’s half the truth. Bronte and Kenric were never as close as either of them was with Oralie. Bronte also had his own suspicions about some of Kenric’s activities. Still, Bronte is not afraid to admit- if only to himself- that he had harbored some protectiveness over the younger Councillor. His death had still been a blow.

“Oralie loved him,” Bronte says, rather than admit that to Fintan.

Fintan looks away. In the sharper light of Bronte’s bathroom, the blood matting his hair is fresh and scarlet. “I didn’t mean to kill him. He was just…collateral.”

It might make him a fool, but Bronte believes him. He’s known Fintan for too many years for Fintan to lie to him without him knowing. “Work with the Council. Help us stop the Neverseen.”

“And what then? Should I step away and continue to play that perfect part, the humbled former Councillor? Should I deny myself the flame that is my savior?”

“You know that I never believed in the ban.” Banning an ability had always been foolish. Bronte had gone along with it, in the end, because of Fintan. He had hoped it would soothe the other’s guilt. What a fool he’s been proven.

“What about the rest of the Council?” Fintan demands.

“I cannot promise anything from them, but I will try to make them see sense.”

“I’ll think about it.” It’s a tenuous agreement that Bronte knows better than to try and push further.

“Good. Now come here. Your hair is a mess.”

[lumosatnight]

Untagged Fest 2023 favs!

Untagged Fest 2023 just ended, run by the HPFC Discord server! This was my second time participating and I had just as much fun as I did last year. It's always a new experience reading a fic when it's first published with absolutely zero tags. Here are a 10 of my favorites (listed by title)!

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💜 hollow hearts by @girl-with-goats [Teddy/Victoire, T, 7.0k] — Fabulous world-building, wonderful imagery, packed full of colorful metaphors and heartfelt emotions.

Surviving in the post-apocalyptic, totalitarian world where emotions are banned from adults is not an easy feat. Victoire Weasley tries to navigate it and not lose herself in the process, all while falling in love with her best friend, Teddy Lupin.

💜 Just a Minerva in Time by @bluestringpudding [Hermione/Minerva, G, 6.4k] — Time travel, BAMF young Minerva, intrigue, romance! This fic has everything!

Hermione is going to need to remember how she got there, if she wants to go back.

💜 Master of None by @nanneramma [Cormac/Severus, G, 5.5k] — Hilarious and made me cry tears of joy. A masterpiece in comedy. Severus has finally met his match in himbo (and buff!) Cormac.

Severus tries new things, and meets someone unexpected.

💜 mephistopheles by @hang-the-deejay [Hermione/Harry, E, 6.4k] — Mind the tags!! Includes rape/non-con!! This is dirty, dark, and CRAZY GOOD. A dead dove fic that had me at the edge of my seat and yelling into the abyss (or in the Discord server).

when i'm at the pearly gates, this'll be on my videotape

💜 of all the gin joints by @northernroyal [Hermione/Dean, E, 2.2k] — HOT SMUT IN YOUR AREA!!! I am in love with this Dean. He is the new loml.

in all the towns in all the world, she walks into his.

💜 Oh, to be alone with you by @min1nova [Bellatrix/Luna, M, 3.3k] — The prose is stunning. Bellaluna is such an underrated ship and the author made me fall in love with them. Such a fantastical fairy tale AU.

Her grey-scale painted lips, darker than the billowing curls and sharper than her teeth, never turn down. They are lighter than the oily drip down her temples, glittering in her hair. She is always smiling. It surely is a marvel, to behold the presence of the Mad Queen. 

💜 Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] — One of my absolute favorite portrayals of Peter I have ever read. The dialogue, the characters, the angst. I want to tattoo this fic directly onto my brain. Perhaps my new fav fic of the year!

Two prisoners, both a little broken, set out in pursuit of their survival.

💜 Unspeakable Acts by @ladyvoldywrites [Rufus/Dolores, M, 4.8k]— A wild pairing with a wild premise! The banter is perfect. This fic converted me to a Dolores lover and I didn't think that was possible.

The death of a child. A stolen Time-Turner. In an effort to solve this heinous act, an unlikely duo falsify a betrothal to gain entry into an underground crime ring.

💜 who lives in the castle? by @luxuriousmalfoy [Cho & Harry, M, 2.5k] — The ambience, the vibes!! I loved the mystery and the world-building. And of course, I love my girl Cho.

A century after the abrupt disappearance of magic, they seek out the place they hope to find it again—only to find themselves wondering if it was worth the cost. Cho and Harry have one question. Who lives in the castle?

💜 You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Angelina/Romilda, T, 6.8k] — The perfect romcom fic. Romilda is such a hoot, and her antics are so on brand. If this was turned into a movie, I'd be the first one at the theater.

Romilda is determined to seduce her nephew’s Quidditch instructor, even if she has to get a bit creative.

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And my submission for the fest!

💜 Such a Sweetheart by @lumosatnight [Fleur/Bellatrix, T, 2.4k] — a horror coffeshop AU!

Her shift starts like any other.

Read more in the collection on AO3!!