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#cursed fic
everlastingdreams · 6 months
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Weeping Monk x Reader Masterlist Part 2
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The Forbidden Apple:
Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a ‘gift.’ The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift’. You, a fey girl, were the gift.
Notes: Please do read the warnings ! I hope I got them all.
Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. 
Other warnings: ! Smut ! . Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.
Word count of this fic:  157K
Chapters:  27
Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  Chapter 27
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The Patience Of A Heart:
Story Summary: After fire claimed the lives of your family, the monastery of your Uncle Carden becomes your new home. As the niece of a priest you are expected to behave prim and proper, but not even the watchful eyes of the Weeping Monk can see all. An ancient magic returns to life when love and duty begin to blur.
Warnings: There’s a list of warnings for this story: Murder. Violence. Death. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor’s guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment. Threat of Sexual assault. PTSD. Misogyny, Self-flagellation. Gore.
Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Pining. Smut. Little Slow-burn. 
Word count of this fic: +138K
Chapters: 27
Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26  Chapter 27
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Pray For The Wicked:
Summary: When Father Carden and his Red Paladins arrive at the convent with their wounded brother, Aveline is tasked with serving them something to drink. What she did not expect was that she would catch the attention of the notorious Weeping Monk.
Warnings:  Strong Language. Smut. Dom(?) Lancelot. 
Word count: 4k+
Pray For The Wicked 
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The Last Flames Burn Together 1&2:
Summary: You were one of the many Feys trying to seek refugee from the cleansings across the lands. When you finally find the carriages that smuggle Feys to Gramaire, safety seems closer than ever.
Warnings: Violence, death, strong language. Spicy (?). No descriptive smut but spoken off.
Word Count: 7K
The Last Flames Burn Together  + Sequel 
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Cloaked Beauty:
Summary: The struggles with your body image begin to affect your happiness. Your two recently acquired companions, Lancelot and Percival, notice the changes.
Notes: Insecure plus size y/n. Fluff. Stuff I wrote when I was feeling down.
Warnings: Possible ED symptoms/signals (?)
Word Count: 3K+
Cloaked Beauty 
More to come...
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facewithoutheart · 2 years
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Thanks to @artsyunderstudy, @palimpsessed, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @confused-bi-queer & @captain-aralias for the tags!
I’ve started a new WIP. Actually, I’ve finished it. I may never post it. Gonna still inflict part of it on y’all anyway:
Again, she doesn’t touch him. There’s always a barrier between them: leather, rubber, wood or plastic. In his ear, she whispers, “How long?”
His face flushes with the answer. “Three hours.”
Her pleasure at this fact is a tangible thing; stretching through the space between them to wrap around his neck.
Annnnnd three more sentences for context.
He grits his teeth against the jealousy rising in his chest. If she speaks her ex-husband’s name, Davy will tell her the man’s remarried.
He’s been waiting for the right opportunity to drop that news.
Tags & hugs to @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @martsonmars @urban-sith @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @shemakesmeforget @stardustasincocaine @forabeatofadrum @aristocratic-otter @moodandmist @johnwgrey @takitalks @jbrrring @excalisbury @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @tea-brigade @cutestkilla @creepyspice @bookish-bogwitch @mrskrementz @bazzybelle @gekkoinapeartree @dragoneggo @letraspal @im-gettingby @orange-peony @rainnorwind @annabellelux
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A Song of Ash and Sky - A Cursed Fanfic
Chapter 21 - Betrothal and Betrayal
Nimue shares her plan to marry Arthur in a desperate gamble to take the crown and save the Fey. But her true desires are not so easily dismissed.
“Tell me that kiss meant nothing” he whispered across her lips. “Tell me, and I will go.”
Nimue heard her breath coming in short gasps.
He leaned closer, his voice now only a growl in his throat. “Tell me.”
~~~~~~
FINALLY some smut for y’all. This is the first time I’ve ever attempted to write it, so I hope I did okay!
Thank you for sticking with me thus far as I drag these angsty babies toward their Happily Ever After!
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pawfulsofmischief · 2 years
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Did i see you do that fic game/trend or did I imagine it?
Anyway,
I wish you wrote a fic where it’s Umbridge x Filch pregnancy fluff 🥰
You did indeed see me do it. I'm regretting it now, but your wish is my command, love. 🥰️🖕Here's 1k words of Umbridge and Filch being *gags* fluffy. Or as fluffy as I can get it at 6am
The results were plain as day, staring Dolores right in the face as the soft wisps of magic floating in the air before her. The bright white word positive hung heavy, weighing on her more than she could have anticipated. She couldn't possibly be pregnant, she cast all the correct spells every time! Unless... did the spells not work because Argus was a squib? It was possible, magic didn't work the same with muggles and squibs. Perhaps that was what did it. The spells hadn’t worked as well on Argus because he was a squib, and now Dolores was pregnant. It couldn’t be far along, not with how the test spell had taken nearly a whole minute to decide, but she was sure of it. Pregnant. She had just become the headmistress however, had only just managed to oust Dumbledore from his position at Hogwarts. Could she really handle being pregnant on top of it all? Would she be able to deal with the changing hormones, mood swings, and morning sickness that came along with it? Dolores had always wanted to be a parent, to raise a child of her own that she could form into the perfect prodigy. She could set up arrangements during the summer for maternity leave too, if it came to it.
With a deep breath, Dolores summoned Argus to her office. She busied herself with going over a few pieces of paperwork that she had been meaning to get to before testing herself. It kept her mind off it until Argus was knocking on her door. “Come on,” she called in her usual sweet voice. The door opened to admit Argus, Mrs. Norris trailing in behind him just before the door shut. “What can I do for you, headmistress?” Argus asked, giving her a small, toothy smile before glancing up at all the portraits of the previous headmasters. Ah, yes, they didn’t need to hear this conversation. Dolores plucked up her wand and turned to flick it at the portraits, freezing and silencing them all. They would not be allowed to let this information get out before Dolores herself was the one to tell people. When she turned back to Argus, he gave her a leer, liking thinking this was going in a very different direction. “I have something we need to speak about, Argus.” Dolores leaned back in her wingback chair, clasping her hands over her lap. “Something quite important, actually.” She waved at the chair in front of her desk for him to sit. That changed Argus’s demeanor, a curious look appearing on his face as he did as she bid, sitting on the chair a bit awkwardly. Dolores suspected Dumbledore never let him sit in the office before. “What is it, my love?” he asked, a cautious sort of curiosity in his tone. “It’s… nothing bad,” Dolores began, forcing herself to keep his gaze. If he didn’t like it, then she would simply have to be a single mother, she supposed. If she decided to keep the child. “Something has simply come to my attention that I need to speak to you about.” He nodded, but otherwise stayed quiet, allowing her to take a moment to gather her wits. “I have… become aware that I am pregnant.” There was a long moment’s pause as Argus thought the information over. A little bead of worry was beginning to form in Dolores’s gut when he didn’t react at first, wondering if she really would have to do it alone. But then a smile slowly crept it’s way onto Argus’s lips, joyful surprise taking over his expression. “Pregnant, really?” He questioned softly, his usually dullish brown eyes lighting up at the news. “Are ye- Are ye gonna keep it?” Dolores felt her cheeks heat up slightly in a wave of relief. “I am… thinking about it, yes. Of course with all my current duties, it could cause a problem, but… Well I have always wanted to be a mother.” “Well, whatever ye decide,” Argus began, a bit slowly like he wasn’t entirely in agreement with his own words, “I’ll support ye.” Dolores smiled, softening a bit. She stood up and walked around to him, unable to help herself. Argus didn’t stand up, but he did straighten his posture a bit as she came to stand in front of him, staring up at her with wide, almost reverent eyes. “Thank you, Argus,” she said softly, cupping his rough cheeks lightly, “that means a great deal to me.” Dolores leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he brought a hand up to rest on her hip and keep her steady. When she pulled back, Argus’s eyes flickered down to her stomach. Obviously she wouldn’t show for some time, but still he looked, almost hopeful. “You’d be a great mother,” he said, moving his hand on her hip to her stomach instead, gently caressing it. “A great mother indeed.” Dolores felt herself flush even more, glad he wasn’t looking at her face. “Yes, I would expect so. It is quite an intriguing idea, to have a child to raise as my own. A prodigy to teach the rest of their generation who the best is.” She smiled, resting her own hand on her stomach, next to Argus’s. He slipped his hand over onto hers, looking up at her again with his crooked, toothy smile. “A great child, just like their mother,” he whispered, his words as reverent as his eyes were. She couldn’t help herself as she leaned down and pressed another kiss to his lips. Argus pulled her closer, and she willingly allowed herself to be pulled down onto his lap. She drew back just enough to pull her wand out and throw a locking spell at her
office door, alongside a silencing spell. “Shall we celebrate?” Dolores asked impishly, smirking at Argus as his reverent look turned into a leer once more. Instead of replying, he leaned in to kiss her again. Perhaps they could do this, so long as they were in it together.
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terribletaletime · 1 year
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An unexpected gift
It was our wedding night. The ceremony itself had been amazing, we said our vows right in front of a massive waterfall and then danced the night away in a dining hall fit for royalty. That time was up, though. I now stood in front of our hotel room in my itchy wedding gown hand in hand with my new husband. This was the start of a new life, it was almost scary. He smiled at me and squeezed my hand.
"You okay, babe?" Alvin could tell something was wrong, he somehow always knew me better than I even knew myself. 
"This is all so new, I'm so nervous."
"About what?"
"I don't know... our new life together, I guess? There's so much we haven't done, we haven't experienced. What if I mess it all up? What if I get you to hate me?"
Alvin just gave me a blank, almost shocked look. I thought for a moment I had made my anxieties true, I thought I had made him hate me somehow. That was until his solid expression shattered into smiles and laughter.
"Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you! You're stuck with me until the end of time, my dear. No matter what happens in life, we're bound together."
We kissed and he swooped me up into his arms, carrying me to our bed. We had been abstaining for years now, and now it was finally our time. I was Mrs. Chipmunk, and I couldn't be happier to finally be with my husband. He was the man who grounded me at my worst, he was the man who made me laugh till I cried, he was the man who knew exactly what I needed when I needed it, and he was the man who I could come to with anything without ever fearing judgement. There was no man on earth I would rather give myself to fully.
Our lips locked in passionate joy, his hands softly travelled down my body. He slowly undid my dress, pulling apart the ribbon holding together the bodice. Once I was fully revealed to him, he threw apart his own tux and threw it to the floor. Finally, after years of desperate and true love we had fully joined as one.
It had been six weeks since the wedding, and life had hit a rather, er, rough... patch.
"Alvin, are you alright?" I said to my now vomiting husband, this now marked the eighth puke of the week. He had been experiencing nausea in the morning along with bad heartburn. Not only that, but he'd been moody like crazy and has been having these awful cramps. It was all so weird.
"Obviously not." He snapped, agitated. Ugh, another one of his mood swings. I rolled my eyes. This wasn't like my typically light-hearted love. It was time for a change, we couldn't carry on like this. 
"Alright," I said grabbing his arm. "Time to go to the vet."
The waiting room was silent and smelled like wet dog. I hated the vets, all the poor sick animals that had to be put down made my stomach churn. Every time I heard the distraught screams of someone getting the distressing news that the animal they loved was to soon die, I couldn't help but think of Alvin and every "what if" possible. I could tell he felt the same, his leg was thumping and he threw himself into his phone. He scrolled mindlessly on social media, any time I attempted a conversation he would just give empty replies, not even hearing my words as he was too deep in thought.
"Alvin?" The nurse called out.
"That's us!" I said in the most cheery voice I could, trying to put a light mood to the awful situation. I hoped that maybe Alvin would calm down if he thought I was somehow calm. We walked into the cold room and was met with an man with a withered and wrinkled face. A smile was stretched wide on his face as he tapped the pen to his clipboard.
"Mister Alvin, I've read your chart. It seems we need to do an ultrasound to see what's goin on in those guts of yours, a lot of puking and pain I hear? Don't worry, we'll get ya feeling nice with any hope real soon." He gave a wry laugh as Alvin got onto the large metal table and lied down.
"This'll be cold." The old man said as he put the gel onto my husband's abdomen. He moved the stick around before gasping.
"How... no that can't be right." We started to get worried now. He shouldn't be saying that. Was he sick or dying? Did he have cancer or some fatal disease? Alvin grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. This was the first time in weeks that he initiated any form of physical touch. 
"Doc, please, what's going on?"
"It appears, ma'am, that your husband is... pregnant." Shock filled my body. How the fuck is this possible? He's a man, a biological man! This shouldn't be possible. I was reeling. How... how could this be? It was then that I heard light sobbing sounds coming from Alvin. I was so trapped in my own feelings that I hadn't even considered how he was feeling. After all, he was the one who was pregnant.
"Alvin..."
He ripped his hand away from  mine and huddled up into a ball. The vet looked at us and excused himself, giving us time to talk in private.
"I'm sorry," all he could say over and over was that he was sorry.
"What for?"
"This, this... cursed thing! I've ruined us, how could you ever love me when I'm like this?"
For a moment, I was left speechless. I just stared at him, he was so miserable, but I wasn't. I was happy, I was so happy. The idea that we may be starting a family, no matter how we got there. He was still my husband, no matter how moody. I had to make this right, but I didn't know how. All I could think of was how much I loved him, how much he meant to me. That's when our wedding night came to mind. I smiled and took his hand back.
"Nothing you could do could ever make me hate you! You're stuck with me until the end of time, my dear. No matter what happens in life, we're bound together. You said those words to me on our wedding night, you promised me a future together. What makes you think I'd ever feel differently?"
He looked up at me and smiled. Together, we laughed and kissed. This was the start of a new life; this was the start of a life where the two, or rather three, of us truly lived together in bliss.
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serethereal · 1 year
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hi! i just found your fics on a03 and they are so GOOD!!!! firstly starting off with cursed😭 im so excited exes to lovers is hands down one of my favorite tropes ever so I cant wait to read more. force of habit is amazing as well!!! i love greys and i’m so glad you didn’t make james an attending that always bothered me in the show lol but yes so glad i found your account :)
hello !! thank you so much 😭 AND ME TOO !! I used to hate exes to lovers but I read this one fic a while back that rewired my brain so fast and so hard it left me reeling with it. like the history.. the tension.. wanting to go back but having something hold you back...wary of getting burned by a familiar flame..
Also, Derek being an attending made it so creepy to me like yuck no. but thank you I'm really excited for both these fics!! I'm posting ch 2 of cursed today so that's gonna be fun 🌚
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shurisneakers · 2 years
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https://momentofmemory.tumblr.com/post/631374896616833024/so-tumblr-broke-your-tags-again
Does this help?
i tried it, but nothing seems to be working for now! I've written to support (for the first time ever lmao) and told them about my issue, so hopefully, something comes of it
but anyway, in case y'all are seeing this
read bridges break (i) here!
since i got no other way of reaching a wider audience fkjfdhgjkdfg
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retrogradedreaming · 2 years
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“Ao3 needs an algorithm” no it doesn’t, part of the ao3 experience is scrolling through pages of cursed content looking for the one fic you want to read until you get distracted by a summary so cursed that it completely derails your entire search
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spooksier · 3 months
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relistening to tma and losing my mind more with each episode. anyways. today we're talking about how there are three characters in the show who are meant to be/groomed to be "the chosen one" for some specific purpose (agnes for the lightless flame, gerry to carry on some esoteric bloodline, jon for the watcher's crown/the web's escape plan) and all three of them have that running theme of being completely powerless in every aspect of their lives despite being made to be something powerful. we never get agnes' own perspective on her own life, gerry dies and is kept in limbo for *years*, and jon is marked to be the antichrist from age 8, like all of them were used as tools rather than people and if you couple that with all three at some point expressing that their fantasy is to live a normal life and be a normal person but they were trapped by divinity......fucked up if true
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wispscribbles · 4 months
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❄️ Remember to bring blankets for your recon mission ❄️
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barbieaemond · 5 months
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A curse for a curse
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Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)
Word count: 8.5K
Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond by the lovely @valeskafics.
I hope you'll like it, lovely Bel! 🫶🏻💖💖💖💖
Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver (y’all i can’t remember the others, I had my taglist in my old blog so…sorry 🫠)
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Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.
She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.
The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.
But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.
“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?
Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?
What is he doing with that bastard woman? 
“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.
“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”
He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.
“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”
His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.
He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.
She has utterly bewitched him.
Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.
He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.
Soon.
Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.
It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.
The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”
She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.
“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”
“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.
Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”
She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.
She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.
She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.
“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”
They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.
The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.
“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”
He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”
“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”
His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.
“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.
The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”
She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”
“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”
“Does he keep her in his chambers?”
“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”
“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”
Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”
The wound between her ribs cracks open.
There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?
“I want to see her.”
“Princess, it is not wise.”
“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”
 Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”
“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”
“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”
Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.  
“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”
A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”
Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”
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Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.
She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.
There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.
“Alas, you have come.”
The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.
“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.
The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”
“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”
“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”
“His mark?”
“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”
The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?
Lovers?
“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”
“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.
“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”
She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.
“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”
She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.
“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”
“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”
“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”
“To see what?”
“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”
The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”
Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?
“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”
“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”
The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”
“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”
“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”
It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.
“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”
The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.
“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."
“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”
“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”
The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"
“I told you, I don’t want—”
“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”
Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”
She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.
The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”
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Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.
Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.
“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”
There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.
“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”
“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”
They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.
“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”
He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.
“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”
“What do you mean she’s not here?”
“S-she left, your Grace.”
The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.
“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.
“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.
He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.
“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”
They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.
The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.
“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”
She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.
“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.
“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.  
“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”
The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”
She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”
“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.
“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”
“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”
“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”
“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.
“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”
“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.
“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”
“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.
“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”
His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”
“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”
“The Blacks will not attack.”
“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”
“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”
“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”
“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”
The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.
“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”
Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.
“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”
She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.
Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.
“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”
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This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.
A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.
She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.
“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death. She had looked at him like he was some kind of lunatic.
As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.
As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.
She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.
“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”
And yet.
She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?
She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.
She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.
“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.
She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”
She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.
“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”
She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.
Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”
“What?”
“That you’re with child.”
“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”
He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her.  “You will stay here with me.” Another order.
Another rejection. “I will not.”
“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”
“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”
Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”
He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.
His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.
He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."
“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”
“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”
“Did you want me to fuck her now?”
“I wanted you to need me, not her.”
His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.
Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.
He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.
The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.
No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.
She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?
“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”
His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.
He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.
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Aemond didn’t believe in curses.
He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.
He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.
For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.
Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.
In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.
He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge. 
He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.
And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.
But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.
He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.
She, of course, had sensed it immediately.
“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.
He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.
“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”
“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”
The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.
She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.
The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.
The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.
He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.
He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.
“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.
“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.” 
He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.
He doesn’t have a clue.
He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.
“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.
She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.
Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?
“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”
He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.
“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”
“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.
She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”
Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.
“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.
He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”
“As if you didn’t like that.”
A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.
They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.
In all truth, she doesn’t have to.
He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.
“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.
“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.
“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.
She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.
She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.
Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.
Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.
He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.
“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”
Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.
“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.
“Prove what?”
“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.
She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”
“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”
She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.
“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”
He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.
“Chain me.”
She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.
She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."
He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.
Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.
He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.
The chains metal clink as he winces.
She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.
“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”
“I need you to fucking do something.”
“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”
He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.
She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.
Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.
But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.
“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”
She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.
“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”
Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.
“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”
“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”
Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.
“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.
“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.
His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.
“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”
“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”
She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.
The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”
“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”
He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.
But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.
“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.
“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.
“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.
“Louder, my love.”
His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue. 
“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”
A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.
“I can’t take it…let me come…”
“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”
“You’re cursed, woman.”
“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”
She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.
“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”
In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.
She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.
“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”
She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”
Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.
“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”
“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”
The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.
He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.
The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.
That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”
If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.
“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.
Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.
Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.
“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.
“You are not in charge here, my love.”
“Then quit the act and fuck me.”
Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.
She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.
“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.
“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”
She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.  
They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.
He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.
“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.
“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”
“Who said I didn’t?”
She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.
“Besides, it’s your turn.”
She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”
“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”  
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everlastingdreams · 19 days
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When you want to talk about the fic you're writing, but can't.
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The only thing I can say is that I'm focusing a little on the characters finding selfworth.
And I'm currently writing a part where y/n tries to resist the urge to kill the Weeping Monk so that's fun.
I should start on that summary :S
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multifanritz · 1 year
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Jason: *sneaks into titans tower to kick some robin ass*
Tim: *hurt/crying/sleeping/sick/etc*
*all Ao3 writers collectively* Jason:
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A Song of Ash and Sky - A Cursed Fanfic
Chapter 20 - A Love in Ashes
Nimue learns that the situation for the Fey is more dire than ever. Morgana tells the full story of her time as the Widow. And Nimue makes a fateful decision that may save the Fey, but put happiness forever out of her reach.
She turned to face the hearth, then knelt. Confused, Nimue craned her neck to see the black-clad figure digging into the ashes at the edge of the fire, barely missing the embers that smoldered there. Rising back to her full height with a fistful of soot, Morgana murmured a few unfamiliar words, then scattered the ashes into the air in a sweeping arc.
The fire vanished and the room was plunged into darkness.
~~~~~~
Sorry for the lack of smut but I do hope you enjoy the angsty set-up for some sexy conflict next chapter! Already working on it!
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lilbeanz · 12 days
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Draco Malfoy will return in...
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Coming Soon to an Ao3 browser near you!
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terribletaletime · 1 year
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Gluttony and wrath
 It was Monday June 19th, 12:01 a.m. When Jon woke up with his stomach biting and growling. He was starved; the one thing on his mind was a savory midnight snack. Well, with how hungry he was it would be more like a midnight feast. He threw his comforter off of his body and hopped onto the floor. He quickly jumped back onto the bed when his feet hit the floor. For some reason, the floor felt as if it were burning.
"What the hell?"
He wondered what could possibly explain this phenomenon. Jon considered for a moment that maybe he was just in a really weird dream, that the boiling floor was just a figment of his imagination. His stabbing stomach quickly proved that theory to be wrong.
"Well... it is summer, I guess. Maybe this is just some global warming thing."
Jon reached down to the floor and grabbed the slippers next to his nightstand. Luckily, these padded his feet enough from the heat to make the ground walkable. He headed into his kitchen to see what delectable delight there was to devour. Even the air in the kitchen felt hot. He was relieved when he opened the fridge and was blasted with a wave of cold air. He smiled to himself when he saw his leftover lasagna from the night before. It was his late great grandmother's recipe. To him, nothing in the world compared. She was fresh off the boat from Italy, and had magical hands when it came to food. Now, his wasn't nearly as good as hers, but by god was it close enough.
Jon walked over to the couch and sat down next to his sleeping dog Odie. He made a chchch sound to delicately wake the dog up and threw him a small piece of the lasagna. Odie snatched it and ran into the next room to devour it. Jon let out a chuckle and turned on the TV. His joy abruptly ended when he saw the screen. There, in bold letters, he saw on the news "HUNDREDS DEAD OVERNIGHT!" His stomach dropped, what was this? John turned up the volume on the TV.
"For the past nine mondays there have been hundreds of unexplained deaths. Entire families go to bed and the next morning nothing but their bones are found. The bones that are found are miraculously completely clean, there is not a speck of flesh or blood found on them. From in-home cameras we're able to estimate it happens sometime after midnight, as all of the camera outages we've tried to recover midnight is the time it goes completely black. Police departments everywhere have said they have no clue how these deaths are occuring. Please, lock your doors and be vigilant."
Just then he was interrupted by a pained whimpering sound.
“Odie?"
He cried out for his dog, but there was no response. He crept through the halls, trying to be as delicate as possible. After what he saw on the TV, he was paranoid that even the slightest noise would get him killed. He walked into his bedroom when he saw the most horrific sight. Odie's bones lay on the floor in front of him. He felt as if he were in a museum looking at a dinosaur exhibit. The bones lay there perfectly cleaned and arranged. He slowly backed up when he heard a creak from the hallway. He ran into the closet and held his breath. Slowly, a giant beast crept into the room. It was cat-like in appearance. It walked on all fours, it was fuzzy and orange with brown stripes, it had whiskers, triangle ears, and a long snout, but there was so much off about it. Its legs dragged as it walked, it was about ten feet in height, its teeth were long and sharp, frothy white foam dripped from its mouth, its eyes were a bright red, its body was engorged with fat, and it had claws the size of a butcher's knife.
"Jooooooooooooon," it said in a deep growling voice. "Where are youuuuuuuuuu? I'm so hungry, perhaps you could feed me."
What was this this thing, how did it know Jon's name, how did it get into his house, and how the fuck did it do that to Odie? All of these questions raced through his mind. His lungs started to burn and his vision was getting spotty. He was holding his breath in for too long, he needed to breathe. The creature circled the room and started to head out when Jon finally let his breath out as it stepped over the threshold. In a moment, the creature ran to the closet door and pried it off.
"Well, hello there friend. I've enjoyed our little game of hide and seek but unfortunately you've lost."
It's laugh rattled the room. In a quick moment, Jon grabbed a coat hanger and jammed it in the creature's eye. It screamed so loud his ears started to ring. While it ripped the hanger out Jon made a run for it. He ran to his front door and tried desperately to run out when he discovered the door wouldn't open. He looked out the windows and everything was pitch black. He couldn't even see the faint glow of the moon. He heard furious thumps quickly approaching and had to think fast. If he couldn't escape, his only hope was to fight. He bolted to the kitchen and grabbed two of his biggest knives. One in each hand, he stood ready for the beast to approach. It didn't take long for the beast to catch up to him. Its eye was bloody, but somehow healed. The hanger... it did nothing. How was that possible, how has it healed already?
"My oh my Jon, what do you have there? What do you plan on doing with those?"
Jon clenched his hands around the knives and grit his teeth. He was terrified and shaking, but he did his best to stand strong and appear as menacing as he could.
"Go to hell!"
He screamed as he ran and stabbed the beast. One knife went through its skull and the other through its heart. The beast wailed in agony and fell to the ground. It lay there unmoving bleeding out. Jon kicked it to ensure its death and let out a sigh of relief once it remained still. He did it, he beat the beast. He avenged Odie. He avenged the hundreds of people that had died. He fell to his knees and wept. All of this was horrible, so so horrible. A rumble came out from in front of him.
"No... please... no..."
The rumble became louder, and soon a laugh followed it.
"Don't you get it, Jon? I can't go to hell, we're already there."
"What?"
Jon lifted up his head towards the beast who was slowly rising.
"I am hell, I am glutton, I am sin. I am Garfield. With me I bring the burning fury of the world, ready to devour all of you pathetic mortals. You pollute the earth with your filth and betray your fellow man with your selfish desires. For every one good deed done by a mortal, there are a hundred horrid actions done. I am here to rectify gods pathetic mistake and eradicate every last one of you."
The beast now stood tall, fully healed from its wounds. He had tears in his eyes, he had never been more scared.
"It's over oh my god it's over I'm dead I'm so dead"
He repeated the same thing in his head over and over again as the beast got closer, when he noticed there was an opening. He ducked and sprinted underneath the beast's legs and ran for his life. He ended up running down the stairs and shoving himself into his basement closet. He was trapped. It was only a matter of time until the beast would find him. What was he going to do? He couldn't escape the house and he couldn't fight the beast. He felt hopeless until he noticed something in the corner of his eye. A box of rat poison sat on the shelf next to him. If he couldn't kill Garfield from the outside, maybe he could from the inside, but how would he get him to ingest it? He thought for a moment until the sad reality dawned on him. There was no escaping Garfield's wrath. He will find Jon, and he will eat him. This was an inescapable truth. However, if Jon eats the entire box of rat poison, and then Garfield eats him, maybe he too will be poisoned. Maybe Jon's death can mean something, maybe, just maybe, he can save others. The beast's footsteps grew louder as Jon shoveled the fistfuls of poison into his mouth.
"This will work. It has to," he thought as he heard the closet door behind him creak open.
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