#we have to fight against the oppression of the blackwoods

[allyriadayne]

what do you mean there are dozens of bracken fans. there are dozens of us. DOZENS.

i'm so glad we can form our own football team 🙏

[velieditss]

Forbidden Desires

Pairing: Davos Blackwood x Bracken!reader

CW: Just Brackens being the Blackwoods' number 1 haters

Summary: It wasn’t your fault that your brothers' feud with the Blackwoods escalated into a deadly duel, nor that it cost lives, but now, it is your responsibility to make him hate you... or love you.

An: 🤭

"You're mad!"

You shouted, pulling away from the fireplace. Your anger was mounting despite the day having just begun, and you shoved the poker back into its stand with a rough motion. Outside, a mischievous wind lashed the leaded windows with heavy raindrops and stinging sleet, its wild abandon mocking the oppression weighing down your spirit. The disordered tumult of dark clouds looming over the Bracken house mirrored your mood, accompanied by the fiery violet glare in your eyes as you stared furiously into the flames.

"You're all mad!" you shouted indignantly.

The word echoed in your mind. *Marriage.* What had once been a childhood dream had turned into a synonym for absurdity. It wasn’t that you were against marriage. Not at all! The education your mother had given you had prepared you to be a good wife. The problem was that, because of your brothers and their ridiculous duels with the Blackwoods, the situation had reached the ears of King Viserys.

And no, it wasn’t the first time the king had asked you to set aside your differences and maintain peace, but this time, their stupid fight had resulted in deaths, fires, and significant losses.

As a result, Viserys had ordered that, as a proof of goodwill to prevent it from happening again, the two families should unite in marriage.

"Why me?" you demanded, pointing at your entire family.

"Barbara is older; she should marry that ridiculous, dissolute Blackwood," you spat out the best insult you could muster in your moment of fury.

"I'm engaged, you fool," Barbara replied with a dismissive tone.

"For three years now. Be realistic and admit that Lord Banefort will never marry you!"

"Enough!" Lord Amos barked, silencing his two daughters.

You had never seen Davos Blackwood, nor had you cared to, but now you wished you had. In your mind, you pictured eyes too close together, a thin, hooked nose, lank hair sticking out and thin lips curled in a lascivious smile revealing small, yellow teeth. You completed your creation with a wart on the tip of a nearly nonexistent chin. The final image came into full splendor when you placed it on a scrawny, bony body.

Forced to bury the fantasies of youth, the prospect of married life held no pleasant promises. It was not at all strange for a young woman to reject the suitor her parents imposed upon her; what was strange was that they accepted the rejection and heeded the opinion of the affected party.

Lord Bracken brought one hand to his forehead, as if his head throbbed, and collapsed onto the sofa. He looked at his two sons, who had remained silent since the king’s representative had left.

"The king could overlook one duel, two duels caused surprise, and you were warned—and even those could have been overlooked because no one had died—but three, with deaths and fires..." your father sighed, exasperated.

"You could have refused," you accused.

"And be branded a coward? Of course, I couldn't refuse," Raylon replied. "At least this time, I nearly killed Davos; maybe the bastard will still die from his wounds, and we can put an end to this nonsense."

Restless, you walked to the window and, through the diamond-shaped panes, stared pensively at the cobbled path. The trees surrounding the village were skeletal, dark silhouettes behind the dense curtain of rain.

"Send her immediately," Olyver interrupted. "The Blackwood won’t accept her, and he'll be the one to lose a great deal of his fortune by paying a breach of contract."

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

You expected nothing else from him, who harbored not a shred of interest in you. Standing at six feet tall, nearly the same height as your father and just as handsome and robust as Amos had once been, Olyver had his flaws, but that didn’t make him any less attractive.

All the Brackens resembled each other, with the same black hair and light green eyes, the only variation being in height. Barbara and you had both surpassed your mother in height by a few inches, but Olyver and Raylon were as hedonistic as Prince Daemon. Or so they claimed; however, what was true was that, at their young age, they had already amassed a few mistresses. And yet, they had the audacity to seek the hands of Princesses Baela and Rhaena, before it was announced they would marry their cousins, of course.

"You two shouldn’t speak; you have no right after causing an atrocity that now forces us to mix our blood with those filthy Blackwoods," Lord Amos pointed at them.

"Those duels were insignificant, trivial. They were the first to draw their swords, Father," Raylon tried to justify.

Your father sighed and looked at you in silence, observing as you turned your back on them and simply listened.

"My daughter, I know you don’t like it—no one does—but these are the king's orders."

You averted your gaze to the path, feeling a dull pain, like a mild betrayal: you were just beginning to live, and already you were to become the wife of your worst enemy.

You had no desire to offer a kind smile to another, much less to one of those foolish dolts, and you sincerely hoped, even prayed, that some bridge, damaged by the rain, would collapse under the weight of the carriage transporting you, and both would be lost forever beneath the waters... you wouldn’t regret it too much. You were certain that the seven hells would be a more comfortable destination than the lands of the Blackwoods.

"So, when do I leave?" you asked resignedly, turning to face your family.

There was only a brief silence, a small one.

"You will depart at dawn tomorrow, with an escort and a lady-in-waiting."

They were sending you alone to the slaughterhouse. How amusing.

𖣂︎

"Make him love you, my dear. Make him fall deeply in love with you, and you’ll enjoy a good life by his side," your mother whispered before you boarded the carriage.

As beautiful as that sounded, it was more likely the Blackwood would tie you to a stone and throw you into the sea to drown once you set foot in his castle.

The carriage, bearing the family crest, had stopped at the main gate. You supposed that family pride required your arrival at the enemy’s door to be grand. In addition to the coachman, you were escorted by two footmen; the servants accompanying you had received instructions: they were to return home with you immediately if you were not received. Otherwise, the servants (except for your personal maid) were to return to Stone Hedge in the carriage. Your last hope was to trust that they wouldn’t let you in and that Lord Samwell Blackwood didn’t care about losing a large sum of his fortune.

The emissary had first gone to the Bracken house. From Stone Hedge, it took half a week by carriage to reach the Blackwood home at Raventree Hall. The representative was already on his way and was only a day ahead of you, which meant that the Blackwoods were still unaware of your imminent arrival. If the news enraged them when they received it ("and rightly so," you thought), it would be like leaving yourself in the hands of the stranger.

You wished you had more than a single day to regain your composure before your arrival.

It would have been logical to wait for the Blackwoods' reaction, but the Brackens were truly confident that you would be rejected.

You still remembered what Olyver had said to you:

"Marry him first, then poison him," was all he said. "If you do it right, we can claim half their lands, or all of them."

Of course, as if the rest of his family wouldn’t fight back and, in the process, make the stone-throwing scenario a reality.

"And what if I end up liking him?" you had replied.

You didn’t have much faith that it would happen, but it could...

"You won’t like him. You’ll be loyal to your family and hate him."

However, you said nothing, and masked your shock at the suggestion. You knew he was wicked and resentful, even cruel, but... *bloodthirsty*? And yet, he was so handsome, enjoyed so many advantages, and was even the eldest son of his father...

Even so, you took the vial of poison in your hands and hid it among your clothes.

"Can you remind me once more, why do we hate the Blackwoods?"

Olyver shrugged.

"They’re despicable, but other than that, I don’t know," he replied, snorting. "But don’t cross us on this matter, sister. We don’t want to be related to them through marriage. Not again, I hate seeing the Blackwood name in our records. His death will eliminate any other demands the king might make of us."

You gestured towards the door, and he gave you such a wicked look for dismissing him that you thought he might punch you to emphasize what he had just told you—it wouldn’t have been the first time he did so. But Olyver was still focused on his intrigue, and before leaving, he said:

"As a widow, you’ll enjoy freedom, more freedom than a family or a husband could ever provide. Don’t forget that, sister."

It was ridiculous that the only thing you knew about the Blackwoods was that they wanted to see your family extinct. You didn’t know if Davos was a cold or unstable man; he might even be engaged to another woman, in love with someone else...

If you thought about it, you couldn’t pity him more than you already did.

Poor man and poor family, but if he dared to marry you and take a lover, you would burn his lands to the ground, down to the very foundations.

Masterlist

Chapter 2

[kanisema-blog]

My Beloved Oppressor

The worn leather of the library chair creaked as I shifted, the scent of aged paper a familiar comfort. Outside, the rain lashed against the castle windows, a rhythmic counterpoint to the hammering in my chest. Today was the day Lord Alistair Blackwood, the bane of my existence and the secret object of my affections, would arrive.

It was a paradox I'd grappled with for years. Alistair, the ruthless Duke, had conquered our small kingdom five years ago, his victory leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet, the man who strode into the library that afternoon, his dark hair tousled by the storm, held my gaze with a captivating intensity that had nothing to do with war.

Conversations became a battlefield of wit, our arguments laced with a simmering tension that left me both breathless and frustrated. He'd challenge my knowledge of history, scoffing at my idealism, while I'd counter his pragmatism with fiery passion. Despite our differences, a begrudging respect grew, blossoming into something more.

One blustery evening, as we debated the merits of a new tax law, a flicker of understanding passed between us. A single, shared smile shattered the carefully constructed barriers, leaving us breathless. That night, beneath the watchful eyes of an ancient portrait, we confessed our feelings, an act of rebellion against both duty and expectation.

Our clandestine meetings were stolen moments, snatched from the demands of his role and the simmering resentment of my countrymen. The weight of his position and the shadow of my family's legacy hung heavy over us. Alistair, ever the pragmatist, saw no future for us. "My love," he'd say, his voice rough with emotion, "you deserve a man who fights for your heart, not one who conquered your home."

But love, it seemed, refused to bend to the dictates of politics. We clung to our stolen moments, finding solace and strength in each other's arms. He, the symbol of oppression, became my confidante, the keeper of my dreams. And I, the daughter of a fallen king, became the flicker of hope that challenged his cynicism.

Then came the rebellion. Fueled by resentment and a yearning for freedom, my people rose up, forcing Alistair to choose between his love for the woman and his duty to the crown he'd usurped. The weight of decision etched lines on his face, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own.

The battle was a bloody affair, the victory bittersweet. Alistair emerged the victor, yet defeat clouded his eyes. As he knelt before me, the vanquished Duke, I surprised even myself. "Help me rebuild," I said, my voice trembling with emotion, "not just the kingdom, but the bridge between our people."

Years later, the scars of war have begun to heal. We rule side by side, a bridge between two cultures. The love story we once had to keep secret has bloomed into a testament to the transformative power of love. My beloved oppressor, once my enemy, is now my husband, the King who conquered my heart, not my land. And though whispers of a tyrannical King and a rebellious princess still linger, a deeper truth resonates through the halls of the castle – a love story born from rebellion, forged in hardship, and destined to endure.

[lifblogs]

Banned Together Bingo 2020 | Feminism

Title: The Would Be Queen Fandom: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: N/A Word Count: 1364 Summary: Sabrina fights alongside her friends, family, and coven to stop the oppression of the Dark Lord’s rule. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

READ ON AO3

“You can’t have my throne! It belongs to me!” the Dark Lord yelled at Sabrina, voice layered with darkness and millennia of existence. His eyes seared a bright red, staring straight into her soul. 

Sabrina, bloodied from the demons she’d killed, stood her ground, standing before the throne of Hell. Her friends were there, her coven. Prudence stood ready with a sword should Sabrina’s attack fail. An hour before that sword had been used to sever Father Blackwood into a million pieces. The Weird Sisters had been saved, and now they stood strong beside her aunties, beside Lilith. Their magics acted as a barrier, a shield, keeping the Dark Lord from attacking any of them, or from escaping. They wished to help, but Sabrina had claimed this was her fight.

It was.

This was the man who had created her to use her, who had led her to him her entire life, who would see her oppressed and kneeling at his feet. He would have her do everything he wanted, and she was supposed to give of herself to him, to marry him. No. This ended today. The oppression of witches would be over.

“You should’ve thought of that before you treated me and other witches like scum,” she spat.

The two of them circled each other. Lucifer’s voice was tight, strained, as if he were frustrated by talking to a small child who did not understand, “I didn’t treat you like scum, Sabrina. I simply treated you as you deserved to be treated.”

“Oh, so we’re just you’re stepping stones?”

The Dark Lord threw his hands out, clearly trying to attack in a way that would catch her by surprise. A great heat fled from his hands, whirls of a Hellish storm. Sabrina yelled an incantation just in time, the magick deflecting. Where it rebounded against her shield, it turned into fire and fizzled away. He attacked again, and Sabrina recognized his hand motions even before he started speaking.

He was going to try and break her bones.

She prepared the counter-curse, and then when it came at her, the spell didn’t just stay free of her—a small section of its power shot back at him.

Now it was Sabrina’s turn. She didn’t even think, just knew words flew from her mouth, and she ignited her power into something that took over her entire body.

They stopped, breathing heavy.

“Sabrina, we can help!” Zelda cried.

“You’ve done enough, Aunt Zee!” Sabrina yelled back. “Like I said, this is my fight.”

She shot white fire towards the Dark Lord. He dodged it, and it burned and cracked the throne. A large fissure opened up right down the middle of it.

The Dark Lord, her father, screamed, and their energies met in the middle, their magicks fighting against each other.

Sabrina was losing. Her power was being pushed back and it was weakening. It felt as if her very bones were being heated with a branding iron. She screamed, her voice fierce. But, she couldn’t hold. Her magick was torn through, and she was shot backwards, banging into a pillar. Stone crunched beneath her skull,

Not knowing who she was anymore, only knowing pain, Sabrina fell to the stone floor, blood pouring out of the injury in her head. Her body twitched.

The Dark Lord tried to approach her, and Lilith yelled, “Oh no, you don’t!”

She joined the fight, she and the Dark Lord firing spells and curses and bursts of energy at each other almost as quickly as he and Sabrina had. Cuts opened up on her with each little bit of magick that hit her.

The Weird Sisters had run to Sabrina, and each put a hand on her head, fingers wet and sticky with her blood.

Together, they saved her, they healed her brain, her skull.

Perhaps Sabrina could still come back from death, but there was no time.

The fight was now.

Sabrina, healed, rose up to her feet, holding the hands of Dorcas and Prudence. Agatha held her waist.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Do you want that sword now?” Prudence asked, clearly worried, but giving her a smile as dark and seductive as ever.

Sabrina was panting, covered in sweat, and grime, and she looked over at her father. Perhaps she did need help. And why not? Why not let the witches who had been harmed by his rule stand side by side with her?

“Prudence, Agatha, Dorcas, I want you to target him from behind and the sides. Be careful. Stay out of the way of spells. Aunties!” she cried. “Weaken him. Pummel him and don’t stop! And Roz?”

“Yeah?” her friend asked, stepping up, nervous as magick fired through the air around them and destroyed the throne room.

“Prudence has a sword for you.”

Grinning, Prudence tossed the sword to Roz, and the women in Sabrina’s life, all powerful and beautiful in their own right, joined the fight.

“Your rule will no longer harm witches!” Sabrina cried, taking Lilith’s place before him. He was quivering with rage. A beastly, inhuman roar left his mouth.

They attacked, and seeing an opening, Harvey, and Nick, even Melvin, Theo, and Robin jumped in to help.

The oppression would end. Witches and warlocks, men and women, and beings of all sexes and genders would be equal under a new rule. Sabrina would see that carried out and lived.

A spell was thrown at her that broke her arm, and she screamed. But adrenaline having a hold of her, she unthinkingly threw out her other arm and yelled, filling her voice with all her might.

Power radiated from her in a violent blast. Her friends were pushed back, the force of it buffeting them, and having dust and debris fly outwards from the radius of the spell’s power. Lucifer held it, snarling.

With a fierce scream, the scream of a woman who had been pushed down under the rule of a man all her life, her magick became blinding. It stabbed into her father as pure light, light that he would never know, light that she had created with the love of those around her. It pierced him right through the chest.

Night-blue blood began to seep out, and then it poured.

The Dark Lord fell to his knees upon the dais steps, blood leaking out of his nose, his ears, his mouth. Even his eyes.

“S-Sabrina,” he choked out. “Don’t. We can…” He gagged and spat blood, he fell over,  holding a weakened and bloodied hand to his chest. “We can—rule—together.”

His chest was ripping open, blood spurting, and still it came out of his orifices.

Sabrina looked down at him, looked down at her father who had created a world in which witches were less, and she smiled.

“I don’t think so.”

He reached out for her with trembling fingers, his face going pale, light burning through his body that was being torn apart.

“Sabrina.”

He died in a great burst of light, everyone having to shield their eyes. His insides which were turning to ash rained down on them.

Sabrina staggered, the pain in her arm increasing tenfold, and other pains making themselves known in her body.

The Weird Sisters and her aunties raced to her and held her up.

“What will you do now… Queen Sabrina?”

Retreating into the shadows of the room was Lilith, the light of the fires shining off of the tears in her eyes. Sabrina reached out her good hand to her, but Lilith refused to come forth.

“I think I’ll denounce my right as queen and give it to a woman more deserving.”

That was when tears rolled down Lilith’s cheeks, and she came forward and grasped Sabrina’s hand.

“You would truly do this, Sabrina?”

“We’re equals, aren’t we? And you’ve gone through more than me. You’ve waited so long for this. It’s yours.”

Sabrina cradled her arm to herself, and then she knelt. Everyone followed suit in reverential silence, even the boys.

“Hail Lilith,” they began to chant.

“I promise I will not fail you. I will rule with equality.”

Sabrina looked up, tears in her eyes, and smiled.