#yes this is about my squires

[onaslansside]

Look, I know, I know, finishing the Squire's Tales requires reading The Legend of the King and having all the tragic finale part of the Arthurian Legends in one book. But consider: you get to read the beautiful trial scene.

[mayplantstarrwaters]

Love Valley ? Hi hi 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

A Chris Squire edit I made because I am very normal about him

Song I used here : Al Dente by Jack Stauber

[bbbrianjones]

really appreciate the cameraman for this random close up

[sk8rambler]

adding onto the yes show, (amidst all of the clash posts) i want to admit that i have created a whole two more seasons including bonus episodes and i wondered if anyone wanted to hear abt them !!

[eddie-rifff]

i wonder if chris squire had any idea how important that sweat rag he tossed me is to me.

[squireofgeekdom]

also also while im inviting spidered men to devour my brain the end of season 1 of marvel’s spider man (2017) legit has me a teary eyed mess in the best way

[squirsquirrel]

My motivation to write today: "I'm going to be the cringey 13 yr old I never was but always wanted to be"

As if I was never a cringey 13 yr old 💀

[tossawary]

One of my personal nitpicks for historical fantasy is a lack of servants, staff, subordinates, and... idk... subjects? Like, their absence is not... a total dealbreaker for me, depending on the situations the characters are in and whether or not I can just assume that other people are there in the background... but so many of the protagonists in historical fantasy stuff are higher-ranking (very often royalty), and/or have busy jobs, and/or have enormous houses that would necessitate having at least part-time staff.

Like, girl, you should have a maid! WHERE is your chaperone?! WHO is driving this carriage?! Where are your footmen? Are you trying to imply that a WEALTHY DUCHESS is taking a CAB?! You know that you probably have tenants, right? Where is your steward?! Where is your lawyer? Your accountant?! (Like, yeah, you're not going to have your lawyer living in your house, but you HAVE one, right???)

Or, man, you're supposed to be a military commander and you don't even have a single secretary?! Where is your SQUIRE?! (In the spirit of historical fiction, I am jumping wildly across time periods with every sentence here.) Man, I know you aren't looking after your own boots. Where are your GUARDS?! Who set up this tent for you?! Who is looking after your horse?! Who is making and carrying the incredibly valuable maps people are recklessly stabbing daggers into?!

SOMEONE has to be scrubbing these floors and delivering the mail and cooking the meals and doing laundry, and they're probably all DIFFERENT people! My dentist has at least three different receptionists and we can't even get ONE for our court wizard here? A sorcerer's apprentice to take notes? Someone like Sherlock Holmes could get away with just having a housekeeper and taking taxis, sure, but your character is supposed to be a KING?! Why is he answering his own front door? He's going to get assassinated. His SERVANTS should have SERVANTS.

Like, yes, I understand that a lot of servants in certain places at certain times were supposed to make their labor invisible, but there have always been servants who still had to interact directly with the masters of the house?! Yeah, there are potentially really messy ethics here, class divisions are bullshit, but I don't think that completely ignoring the reality that humans have ALWAYS been doing work for other humans is better than just including some well-paid and well-treated servants and employees? Because a complete absence of them, especially where logically for the worldbuilding there MUST be servants (and probably exploited servants, or worse, for some particular worldbuilds to work), often makes me think that your main characters just don't care enough to notice the "lower class" people or know their names.

Also, even Frodo Baggins had a gardener and Samwise Gamgee might be the best damn character in the story?! Sam saved the world?! Servants are PEOPLE. Servants are often the funniest and most interesting characters, tbh, with the most to say about a society and its workings (yes, Discworld is a very good book series, highly recommend), and also the joke of some romantic scene being carefully orchestrated by a stage crew of servants frantically diving into bushes to stay out of sight never gets old to me. Teamwork makes the dream work!

I don't want to gatekeep historical fiction, especially not historical fantasy, because the worlds don't necessarily have to conform to our own and may have magic and characters are often in very unique circumstances, but... sometimes I pick up a story and it's like... "Author, please tell me that you know there is a difference between a butler and a valet?!"

[divinesolas]

just a little 1k wc smutty drabble of jacaerys eating good, enjoy 😊

You wish you hadn't seen it. What they had been doing, for it is had been plaguing your mind all day. You try to shake off the burning desire in your stomach as you recall the events.

You can’t, for even while you're kissing your husband you are thinking about it. He pulls away from you, a small string of saliva connects the two of you and as he stares at you with hearts in his eyes. “Is something wrong dear?”

You and Jacaerys have always had a very standard time in the bedroom. It is always very pleasurable for you, though you now know that is not the norm after some very shocking and concerning conversations with the other ladies in court, and this leaves you feeling guilty.

Guilty for wanting more of him, wanting him to consume you, for wanting him to give you more when he has already been selfish enough.

“It is nothing dear.” You attempt to push your lips against his once more but he holds your shoulders firmly in place, looking at you worriedly. “You are not yourself. If you are not up for it tonight we do not have to bed, i will not force myself on you.”

This has your heart aching as you look down. He is always so kind and so sweet to you. Which makes you feel like a dirty animal for the thoughts you are thinking.

“I do want to, so badly dear its just,,,” You trail off , turning your head the other way. He is quick to grab your chin and tilt your head back up to look at him. “What is it? If it is something i can do for you i will do it.”

You know he can do it. Or at least you hope he can.

“I had been walking around and i stumbled upon something,” You hesitate, unable to believe the words that are about to drip out of your mouth. “they were a squire and a maid, in the wine cellar, he had he propped up on one of the boxes, he seemed to be giving her pleasure but,” “but what?” Jacaerys voice is shaky, his hands rattle on your skin, he is desperate to hear your words, his breath fans on your skin in a rapid rhythm.

“But his head was between her legs. It is sinful and it is scandalous but i have never seen or heard anything like that before. It had engraved itself in my mind and i cannot stop thinking about ti, the blissful look on her face, not that you do not give me pleasure of course but this looked like it was different. Im sorry i know it is wrong to think about-” You gasp as his lips press heavily against yours.

He grips your jaw with a fury as he kisses you like he never has before. He pulls away from you and presses your foreheads together as you catch your breath. “You wish for me to do that to you my sweet? i will i will do it, gods i have been thinking about this for so long. You let out a squeal as he lightly pushes you to fall onto your back.

“Truly? Then why have you never brought this up before?” He looks embarrassed but he cannot stop himself from tugging up your nightgown to pool around your hips and reveal you bare to him. “It is quite, carnal, i suppose theres no better word for it. I did not think i lady like you would be interested.”

He presses a kiss against your stomach before he looks up at you once more. Its breathtaking to see him at an angle like this, simply staring up at you, you try to catch your breath but you are unable to as he begins to trail kisses down your stomach before stopping right where you want him and moving instead to grab your legs and place them on either sides of his shoulders.

You should feel humiliated, shame should be coursing through your veins but the way jacaerys has an awestruck look as he admires you and the way his hands softly caress your skin is enough to quench any worries and fears you have.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, despite the fact that it had been your idea. “Yes.” There is not way you can stop your desire, certainly not with how desperate he seems, like he is dying to be able to put his head between your legs.

His face disappears from your view and you feel him kiss around your thighs. You whine as he continues to simply brush around where you want him and he chuckled, “i’m sorry i will not tease you.”

You wanted to say something back to him but you suddenly jump and a shiver runs down your spine as you feel his hot wet tongue push past your folds.

You harshly grip the top of his head as he hims content, the vibration adding another level of pleasure. You get why the woman seemed to pleased, this was on another plane of ecstasy.

Your head thrown back as he continues to lap against you, the sounds in the room leave your skin feeling hot. You continue to revel in the feeling of him licking at you, drinking up every drop you let out until you also feel something harder press against you. His nose.

You have no clue how he’s even breathing. But you cannot find it in you to care as you find your hips moving on their own, rubbing against his face, hitting his tongue and his nose so perfectly it has you seeing stars.

“Keep doing that please.” He pulls away for a quick second to speak before he is right back to it. You listen, continuing to rut yourself again his face, unable to contain your moans. You’re sure everyone in the damn keep could hear you but you don’t care.

You do notice something curious, he is rutting himself against the bed, the moans he pours into you adds to your pleasure. Was he surely so pleased by this? by bringing you pleasure he had no other choice than to try and quench his own hunger by rutting himself against your sheets like a dog?

You have no time to dwell on it as he brings one of his hands to your clit, taking it in his fingers and rubbing it around. You’re thrown into a whirlwind of pleasure like you couldn't believe. You're sure this is what heaven must feel like.

His hand slides up your chest and you lock your fingers with his as you feel yourself drawing closer and closer to your release. It is like your souls locking together. He grips you so tightly and you grip his back as your face contorts in pleasure as you burst.

You continue to wither in pleasure as he laps up every single drop of essence you spill out in your release. He sits up and stares at you with wide eyes, his usual brown eyes lost in a storm of black, pleasure seeping into his soul.

You can see the shine gloss all over his face, his nose, his jaw, his chin, his lips and his lip especially are noticeable as you can see they are redder and bigger. You watch as he licks his lips and grins at you. “That is so much better than i could have ever dreamed of.”

You have to agree

<3 went a little crazy and wrote this yesterday when i was freaking out of jace <3

Perm Jacaerys taglist

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife @jacesvelaryons

[idkyetxoxo]

Criston Cole - Guarded Obsession

Summary - Navigating court gossip and unwanted advances, a confrontation erupts where her obsessive protector, Ser Criston, steps in with fervent determination. His unwavering devotion to her becomes evident, revealing his willingness to defy all norms and protect her at any cost.

Pairing - Criston Cole x Targaryen reader

Warnings - Strong language

Word count - 2158

Masterlist for Criston • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"I believe he'ss warmed his lady wife's sister's bed more often than hers," I whispered, my wine goblet becoming an extension of my slight hand gestures as Criston's eyes tracked each subtle movement.

"Scandalous news," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the hum of conversation around us. Together, we watched the couple awkwardly mingling with other nobles, their forced smiles and stiff postures betraying the simmering tension beneath the surface.

"And yet, I hear Lady Marjaery is expecting," I continued, lowering my voice conspiratorially. "Though the whispers suggest the father might not be her esteemed husband, but rather the charming stable boy."

Criston stifled a laugh. "The stable boy? Imagine the uproar if her husband were to find out."

"Indeed," I agreed with a smirk. "And what of Lord Cedric's latest escapade, have you caught wind of that?"

"No, but I'm eager to hear," Criston replied, leaning in closer.

"Apparently, he's been seen slipping out of Lady Evelyn's chambers on more than one occasion but here's the twist, Lady Evelyn's husband has been turning a blind eye, likely because he's rather occupied with a young squire himself. It's a whirlwind of infidelities."

Criston chuckled. "It seems everyone's playing musical beds these days. Speaking of unusual liaisons, have you heard about Lord Tommen?"

"Ah, yes," I said, grinning. "Lord Tommen, who has more interest in the blacksmith's son than any lady of the court. It's caused quite the stir, but he doesn't seem to mind the gossip one bit."

"Bold as ever," Criston remarked with a smirk. "I suppose it takes all kinds to keep the court entertained."

"Princess, may I have this dance?" a voice interrupted, cutting through the murmur of conversation that surrounded us.

My head snapped up, momentarily forgetting the grand ballroom and its dazzling surroundings. A young lord stood before me, exuding an air of confidence as he awaited my response.

"That is a kind offer, my lord, but—" I began, attempting to frame a polite refusal. Before I could finish, my mother, Alicent, approached with quick, purposeful strides, her gaze fixed firmly on me.

"She would love to dance, wouldn't you?" she interjected, her tone a blend of expectation and command, as though the matter were settled by her mere insistence.

The young lord, Lord Baratheon, shifted awkwardly, his face betraying a mixture of eagerness and discomfort.

"Lord Baratheon, the princess will join you on the floor," my mother continued, her words decisive and unyielding.

He opened his mouth as if to correct her but seemed to think better of it. "Please, Your Grace, Lord Baratheon is my father. I am simply Alyn," he said, offering a respectful bow before moving to the edge of the dance floor, where he waited with an awkward half-smile.

As my mother turned to me, her eyes flashed with a simmering rage that was impossible to ignore.

"I have told you time and time again to act like a princess," she scolded, her voice low but firm. "Stop standing off in corners to gossip and laugh. It is unseemly."

I sighed deeply, knowing this was a battle I was unlikely to win. The weight of her disapproval settled heavily on my shoulders.

"Ser Criston?" she called, and the man beside me tensed visibly. "I expect better from you. You may be her sworn protector, but that does not mean you indulge her in evading her duties," she continued sharply, her eyes narrowing at him.

Criston nodded, his expression stoic.

"Ser Criston is not at fault for my behavior," I interjected, but my mother spun to face me, her frustration barely contained.

"Do not defend each other," she snapped. "Frankly, I am tired of this friendship you've formed. Do not give me a reason to have you removed from your duties," she warned, her voice cutting through the ballroom's din.

Without waiting for a response, she turned her back on us, her skirts swishing with finality.

"Now go be a good girl and dance with Lord Baratheon's son," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the evening's expectations pressing down on me. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I set my drink down on a nearby table with a resigned clink.

"In a while, Ser Criston," I said with a wry smile, our eyes locking for a brief, charged moment. He nodded, his expression unreadable as he followed my progress toward the dance floor with a gaze heavy with unspoken thoughts.

As I approached Alyn, the weight of the ballroom's gaze seemed to press down on me. The glimmering chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, golden light, illuminating the swirling couples and lavish decor. Yet, despite the opulence, my focus remained solely on the young lord waiting before me.

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to guide me into the midst of the dancers. The music swelled around us, wrapping us in its rhythmic embrace.

Criston watched from the edge of the dance floor, his internal struggle evident despite his outward composure. He was painfully aware of the inappropriateness of his feelings, feelings he could neither voice nor fully suppress. 

An overwhelming sense of protectiveness enveloped him every time he saw me, a girl whose striking presence was only matched by the grace with which I moved.

As I twirled in Alyn's arms, I could almost feel Criston's gaze searing into my back. His jaw was clenched so tightly that I imagined his teeth might shatter. 

Though his face remained a mask of stoic professionalism, a storm of raw, turbulent emotions brewed in his eyes, a tempest he struggled to contain, lest it consume him entirely.

"Alyn," I said softly, slightly breathless from the relentless movement of the dance. The lilting waltz wrapped us in its rhythmic embrace.

"Yes, Princess?" he replied, his fingers pressing possessively against my waist.

"Perhaps we should take a break," I suggested, yearning for a respite from the endless spinning.

Alyn's eyes flickered with a darker emotion, perhaps frustration at his inability to charm me or an impatience born of entitlement.

"If you must," he conceded, his voice tinged with barely concealed exasperation, as if my request were a significant inconvenience.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath, my face contorting into a sour expression. I glanced towards my mother, who shot me a look that unmistakably said, "Fix your face before I do it for you."

As Alyn guided me off the dance floor, the crowd pressed in tighter, adding to my discomfort. Amid the swirling dancers, someone moving backward collided with me, sending a goblet of wine cascading over my dress.

The wine splashed across my gown in a scarlet cascade, the rich, red liquid seeping into the delicate silk like blood staining fresh snow. It clung to my skin, cold and sticky.

"Seven hells," I muttered, frustration evident as I felt the wine seep through to my skin.

"I apologize," the man responsible for the mishap stammered, his face flushed with embarrassment. I waved him off, striving to maintain my composure despite my growing irritation.

"Princess, allow me," Alyn said quickly, pulling out a handkerchief and beginning to dab at the stain. His touch, though ostensibly helpful, carried an unwelcome lecherousness, lingering just a moment too long.

"It's alright," I said, trying to gently push his hand away. Despite my efforts, he persisted.

Alyn's hands were unseemly, lingering on me with a familiarity that was far from appropriate. He seemed to relish this opportunity to play out his fantasies under the guise of assistance. The feel of his touch, so bold and unwelcome, made my skin crawl.

"I said don't touch me," I snapped, grabbing his hand as it trespassed to an inappropriate place.

The sharpness of my voice cut through the room, freezing the surrounding nobles in place.

In a blur of motion, Criston appeared by my side, his grip on Alyn's wrist like iron. The crack of bone echoed as he twisted Alyn's arm behind his back, eliciting a sharp cry of pain that sliced through the ballroom's murmur.

A hush fell over the crowd as Criston leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "She said stop."

Alyn's eyes widened in alarm, but before he could react, Criston's voice dropped even lower, edged with menace.

"So stop, or by the Seven, I will sever this very hand and feed it to her dragon," he hissed, his tone cold and unyielding. The threat hung in the air, a grim promise of the depths of Criston's protective rage.

My mother, her face a storm of barely contained fury and mortification, rushed forward. Her eyes, a storm of anger, locked onto me and Criston. 

With surprising strength, she pulled Alyn away from Criston, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

"Apologies," she said to Alyn, her voice strained as she attempted to maintain civility. Alyn mumbled curses under his breath, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

"Princess, Ser Criston, take your leave," she commanded, her voice resolute and devoid of any room for dissent.

I sighed deeply, the weight of my actions and the ensuing turmoil pressing heavily upon me. With a resigned nod, I turned to leave the banquet hall, my head lowered in shame and guilt.

Criston's heavy, measured footsteps followed closely behind, each step echoing the gravity of the situation as we exited the grand hall.

As we exited the ballroom, the cacophony of laughter and conversation receded, enveloping us in a tranquil silence as we moved into the cooler, quieter corridors. Each step took us further from the scene of my humiliation, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily upon me.

"Fucking cunt," I muttered as we reached the sanctuary of my chambers. I began roughly removing my jewelry, the once-glittering gems now marred and sticky from the spilled wine.

"Did he offend you?" Criston asked, his eyes respectfully averted, though his internal struggle was palpable.

I could sense the tension in his posture as I attacked the stubborn stain on my dress with a cloth, frustration evident in each vigorous rub.

"Stupid Baratheon brat," I muttered, almost laughing at the absurdity of the nickname I'd invented in my irritation. The bitterness of it all brought a wry smile to my lips.

"Offend me, he did," I said, throwing the cloth aside in exasperation.

"My mother can't even see past her sense of duty," I continued, gripping my hair in frustration. "It's as if my well-being doesn't matter to her as long as I maintain propriety."

Criston remained silent, his presence a steady anchor amidst my storm of emotions.

I paced the room, venting without restraint. "She apologized to him," I said, disbelief and anger mingling in my voice. "She apologized to the man who dared to lay his hands on me, the princess," I finished, collapsing onto the edge of my bed.

Criston moved closer, his expression dark and protective. "Your mother is bound by duty, Princess, but her actions tonight were unjust," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Right," I sighed, closing my eyes and massaging my temples. "No doubt she'll be here later tonight, reprimanding us." I could almost hear the familiar knock on the door, followed by her stern voice. 

Criston's quiet laugh was a comforting sound in the tense atmosphere.

"I believe those are the only words she directs toward us," he remarked, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"The blind leading the blind, that's what she said last time?" I recalled, a laugh bubbling up as the memory resurfaced. It was a sharp, biting phrase, but now, in the safety of my chambers, it seemed almost absurd.

"Indeed it was," he agreed, his smile easing the tension in his face.

"She can't take you from me," I said, leaning forward with a fervent intensity.

"I will not let it happen," he replied, his expression resolute. Though his face was a mask of cool determination, beneath it lay his fierce resolve to remain by my side.

The bond between us was something neither of us would easily relinquish.

"I still remember the first time you stood guard outside my chambers," I said with a wistful smile. "You were so serious, as if the fate of the realm depended on it."

Criston chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "I remember," he said, his eyes twinkling with the memory. "I thought if I showed even a hint of levity, I'd be dismissed on the spot."

"I appreciated your seriousness," I said, my tone softening. "But I also remember sneaking out past you more than once."

"Ah, yes," he replied, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "You were quite the handful. Still are, if I may say so."

I laughed, the sound easing the lingering tension in the room.

"Thank you, Ser Criston," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Your loyalty means more to me than you know."

"For you, my loyalty is unwavering," he replied firmly. "No matter what your mother or anyone else says, I will stand by you." 

Criston knew there was no force that could sever the bond between us.

To him, I was his, his lady to protect, his princess.

A/n - Love a good gossip

[fluffypotatey]

If Nathan is an upper class hoe, Andred is a country ass hick, sorry, I don't make the rules.

andred and dagonet tell nathan the most outlandish and very exaggerated stories of their lives before being squires just to mess with him.

Nathan: "Ugh, why can't my father just let me go to a party without plotting my own marriage?"

Dagonet: "At least your father cares for your future."

Andred: "Yeah, yeah, at my old village, fathers would just kick their sons out when they turned ten and not even write to them."

Nathan:

[quotidian-oblivion]

How I picture Leon finds out that Merlin has magic:

Merlin was tired.

Not because of the abundance of chores and the fatigue that came from running around after yet another assassin, but because he hadn't used his magic at all for the past month. Yes, even with the presence of the assassin. Gwaine had fortunately been there to knock the guy out and throw him in the dungeons, catching him red-handed.

He had been trying to stay as cautious as possible, which was why he hadn't used magic in such a long time.

But the fact was - Merlin was born with magic. It was as natural as breathing to him. So when he didn't use magic for an extended period of time, he would get tired.

He needed to use magic. Just a small bit.

He would do it in the safety of his room, but he was currently carrying Arthur's armor to his chambers from the training field and it was heavy and he was so so tired and- well, it would only be a small spell.

He put the armor down, checked that no one was around, then held up a palm. His eyes flashed gold and a small fire appeared on top of it.

Just because he had missed his magic, he flashed his eyes gold and made the flame morph into a butterfly. He smiled as it slowly flapped its wings, staying on Merlin's palm.

Then Merlin heard a gasp and he snapped his head to the newcomer.

The thing about knights was that they were trained to be as quiet as possible even in armor. It was required for certain missions as well as hunting. But armor was impossible to be quiet, so Merlin, having spent a significant amount of time with them, had trained himself to automatically hear when they were approaching. And since they were always in their armor anyway, even sleeping in it sometimes, he had relied on that to alert him of anyone crossing the hallway.

After all, anyone else - servants and nobles alike - wouldn't bother quieting their footsteps while walking.

If they did, it would be because of malicious intent so it wouldn't matter if they saw Merlin or not.

But occasionally - very very occassionally - knights walked around without their armor.

That, combined with their light footsteps and silent movements, had caught Merlin unaware.

So when he snapped his head over to look at Leon staring with wide eyes at the butterfly made of flame in his hand, Merlin was surprised. More than that, he was afraid.

The two of them froze, with Leon's gaze on the fire butterfly and Merlin's on Leon, standing rigidly like deers caught in the wild.

Then Leon raised his eyes from the butterfly to Merlin, then back to the butterfly, then back to Merlin again-

Before he spun on his heel and walked the other way whistling jovially like he hadn't seen anything.

Merlin was still frozen like a deer. He didn't move until several minutes later when he did hear armor clinking against each other. That was when he got rid of the butterfly and hefted the armor up, walking back to his room, leaving Arthur's armor in favor of panicking.

~

When Merlin met Leon in the armory that evening, he tried to approach him. Leon, recognizing what Merlin was trying to do, let him, moving into a secluded changing room far from the armory with the other knights and squires and pages.

Leon nodded at Merlin in greeting when Merlin closed the door.

"Leon," Merlin started. "What you saw-"

"That you were shirking Arthur's chores? No worries. I didn't give you away before, I won't do so now."

Merlin blinked. "What?"

Leon sighed. "Look, Merlin. I don't get paid enough, even as a knight. Not with all those missions and calamities that keep getting Arthur into trouble. So I refuse to deal with anything above my paygrade. Even you avoiding chores."

Merlin blinked again.

Leon clapped a hand on his shoulder, and with a smile, left the room.

Merlin looked after the knight, wondering for the first time, exactly how many times the knight had committed or aided or turned a blind eye against treason for him to be this casual about it.

[mayplantstarrwaters]

Pics of some musicians I love in rainbow color palette

[minzart]

Blazing eyes

Maleficent x Reader(GN) x Hades . ROR-VKs & You

“professor-” he slams the door close, leaving you alone… you naturally louch yourself to the door and try to pry it open, sadly it won't budge “cursed old fucking man -OPEN! ABRACADABRA! PRESTO! BIBIDBOBIDIBO! COMONNNNNN BITCH-”

“poor thing has lost it” Hook whispers.

“we haven't tried bitch as a pass wold tho” Morgie added in “didn't work, but it would have been so funny if it did”

“OPEN SESSAME!”

“alright alright alright” Uliana gets up from her seat “calm down, we don't bite”

“much” Hades adds and seconds later Maleficent hits his head firmly.

Or... how you got recruited as a new VK and the drama that comes with being friends (and for some more) of the young villains

In a world of princesses, princes, knights, evil fairies and gods you were neither, perhaps one could say you were even less, a commoner, a plebeian with the most average sprinkle of magic yet to set foot in Merlin Academy again. Never a stand out and when your voice was heard it was almost as if the room could swallow it whole for how little it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

What would you be when you graduated? A tug? A squire? Perhaps if lucky an advisor or even a right hand confidant of a big name hero or villain. Maybe just a normal baker, who's to say, after all, the unremarkable have their own gift, destiny, profecies and duty wasn't yours to claim after all, so your life is yours and yours alone to mold, change, waste, thrive and live.

But oh that doesn't mean you can't impact lives, no, rather the opposite, you can be the last straw or the first domino that will never see the finish line but will be remembered as fondly and bitterly as the eyes that saw you last.

And our story starts not by your eyes, but by hers, a young fary sits bored out of her mind in a perfect, dreadful, evening at detention with the fools she calls… allies…. Yes, that felt… correct enough, and with the infant God she could only denominated as a passing interest at best, a boyfriend at worst.

Morgie, being the little snake that he is, can't keep still and out of the woods for long before he starts budging the magical reinforced windows, she won't blame him, after all she herself did the same thing some months ago and now the windows have a reflective spell to “keep students safe”, as if they didn't threw out weaklings out of those even before her… “sneeze incident”, as if she could even make mistakes, that was a purposeful fire breaking breath right into the window's direction and not because Uliana's cologne was too strong that day, absolutely preposterous of principal Merlin to spread that ridiculous rumor about her, she had to curse twice the students to shut their giggles that week all because of that pompous old man.

James had given up cheering for Morgie and now laid back, boots staining the desk shining his golden rook and by his pout being extremely disappointed in his eyeliner not being as sharp as it was 20 minutes ago.

“Uliana~” he called, a melodic tune echoing in the almost empty classroom “dear, scariest witch of the sea, seafoam of my dreams”

“call me that one more time and I'll give your other hand to tictoc as a gift asshole” the leader of this little band of mischief smirked, pointing her little switchblade at him, she sat at the teacher's desk, marking one more tally to their monthly visit and, before being interrupted, curiously checking to see if new marks were made by new potential allies “what do you want?”

“do you have that miraculous eyeliner in you again? I think I missed a spot” the young sea witch rolls her eyes in amusement and one single tentacle leaves her back, the black tube almost reaching Hook's good hand, then it doubled back and threw it in his bad hand's direction, the boy caugh it without much fuss and dangled it in her direction, wiggling his eyebrows in victory.

“much thanks beauty”

“your parents should have named you Narcissus”

“and you should try being a pitcher to this years baseball team”

“you would be too good for them tho” the young God spoke from behind the black fary, playfully passing the same blue flame around his fingers “I saw Jame's fumble a bit this time”

“I didn't fumble anything!”

“yes you did”

“did not”

“did too”

“did-”

The door of the class is slammed open by what Maleficent can smell is the dire's magic, his voice getting closer and closer, Uliana decides to move to the closest chair, not interested in prolonging the tedious lesson with an extra 15 minutes of more lecture.

“I'm again so thankful you could come dear” Merlin's voice echoed inside “it's so hard to find generous students like yourself, always ready to help the ones with the most difficulty”

All teens roll their eyes and look at each other's direction just to confirm that they weren't just hallucinating the most basic and fakest sweet talk to ever exist, and by all means they did experience each “baby's first manipulation” attempt, and they were not as fake sounding as his.

“you are too kind professor” the nervous little laugh gave away whoever they were wasn't as ingenious as half this school seemed to be ”I did say i wanted to try everything once at least in my years resolution papers, and I mean it”

“such admirable dedication to academics I sure hope you pass a little bit of that for this… study… group” the hesitation in Marlin's voice made Morgie snort and fall to the ground, wich made Hook tremble and poke his own eye, which prompted him to swing his hook in ager back, ready to curse the son of Morgana, but his hook went flying off its place hitting Hades’ foot, making the God scream in pain, losing control of the little flame that hit the teacher's desk making if catch fire so bright it flames so wild that a stray one reaches Uliana's pants.

It is in that moment that you and professor Merlin walk in the class, the VKs growling and cursing at each other in the middle of chaos. The professor calmly puts the fire out, as does Uliana, Hook grabs his hook back, Morgie scrambles to go back to his seat, Hades takes a deep breath, hair turning back to it's blue hue and Maleficent holds the biggest ugly laugh she can fell boiling from the deeps of her core.

Your eyes travel slowly through the most infamous trouble makers of this school, from Uliana's defiance, to Hook's flirtatious, Morgie's mischievous, Hades’ unimpressed and Maleficent's cold stare. Taking a deep breath and clenching your bag you turn 180 degrees and start marching out of class, professor Merlin was not so happy with your attitude since he decided to grab your shoulders firmly and smoothly turn you back around.

“today class, a very generous classmate offered to help me supervise you all” Merlin smiles “which is just so great because I'm need for a very important meeting and am already-”

And in that moment you made the biggest mistake you could have made that day, you defied the authority figure right in front of the punks wannabes of Merlin Academy “absolutely not” you dance around his grasp and just didn't bolt out right in that instance because the old man was blocking your path.

“now now” your name falls from his lips as if he's talking to a child “I know you have the good it takes to help those unfortunate individuals”

“I don't have shit!” you could feel all eyes turning to you, the class has your attention.

“language child!”

“I could teach math and potions and curses and counter curses to anyone, but being responsible for a whole class that will harass me to death if I don't let them out was not in our agreement sir“ you try to dance around the sorcerer again.

“watch your tone, those are very heavy accusations”

“yes we would never do something like that” Uliana puts more log to this blazing circus as Morgie tries to hide better the straw and paper balls he just finished doing in broad daylight for all to see.

Merlin cleans his throat, bringing attention back to him as he side eyes the girl “as I was saying, it will only be for some minutes! I'll be back as soon as possible” the headmaster starts to get out of the door still facing the class “I'm sure you can handle them”

“professor-” he slams the door close, leaving you alone… you naturally louch yourself to the door and try to pry it open, sadly it won't budge “cursed old fucking man -OPEN! ABRACADABRA! PRESTO! BIBIDBOBIDIBO! COMONNNNNN BITCH-”

“poor thing has lost it” Hook whispers.

“we haven't tried bitch as a pass wold tho” Morgie added in “didn't work, but it would have been so funny if it did”

“OPEN SESSAME!”

“alright alright alright” Uliana gets up from her seat “calm down, we don't bite”

“much” Hades adds and seconds later Maleficent hits his head firmly.

“we can be civil see” she shows her gang, all… sitting in various degrees of proper but sitting still nonetheless “now what's you name? I didn't catch it seeing some so…”

She looks you up and down, judging from you clothes to your hair to your posture, her month forms a thin line as she thinks in how to describe you ”comum, sticking it to that old man was kinda impressive”

You rest your head in the door, a defeated sigh leaves your lips with your name in it, Uliana tests it a few times and sits in the closest table “you don't happen to have famous parents do you?”

“take a guess” you mumble, choosing to sit down and accept your fate.

“that explains why I don't remember seeing you around here”

“we are in the same classes…”

“I skip those, anyways, so the headmaster is in a meeting? Do you know what class it’s happening in? ”

“why would I know?”

“You two just seemed so close y'know” You roll your eyes, a headache already forming inside your head.

“he got my name wrong but sure whatever makes my life easier, did any of you try breaking the windows?”

“Morgie dear was just about to start biting them” an offended “hey” can be heard in the background as the boy momentarily stops gossiping with his friend.

“do you know if it's a spell? A charm? A ward? We need to get going and I think you would be happy with us gonne too”

“it could be a potion for all that i know”

“you are quite useless aren't you?” her eyes lock with yours, daring you to fight back… you double down.

“you have no idea” you raise your chin and summon your biggest smile “a snail is more useful than I!”

You immediately let your facade down, head resting between your closed arms “just leave me be and continue doing whatever it is that you do”

The girl grins in amusement “aren't you spunky, color me impressed” she gets out of your table and lowers herself to your eye level “I see some potential, we could be friends, what do you say?”

“...” for a moment, the young sea witch thinks “hook, line, and sinker” but her expectations are shattered as you point behind her and says “your rescue has arrived”

Turning around she sees her little group of misfits, the ones that were still out there one stacked on top of the other, curse book in hand, they wave excitedly to her and signal for all to move out of the way.

Hades immediately gets up pulling Maleficent with him, and a blast breaks the glass “it wasn't supposed to shatter it!” The caster panics, making their little tower lose balance and fall, hopefully they weren't hurt too badly.

Uliana sighs annoyed, but moves to the window anyway “out we go then! Don't think I forgot about you, I'll be keeping a close eye, and if you change your mind, you can find us it's not that hard” she looks at you as her four tentacles graciously take her down and out of detention.

Hook winks at your direction and jumps out “pleasure meeting you sweet, sorry we couldn't talk longer schemes to make, pranks to pull you know the drill”

“bye!” Morgie waves at you as he also jumps out.

Hades moves to leave, a half wave at your direction as he waits for the horned fae take his hand, Maleficent looks at you up and down, he eyes lock with yours, they glow a neon green and you feel as there are eyes everywhere “see you around”

At least it's only you, the shattered window and deep feeling of dread creeping in your back.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: it's saturday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You follow the king into the great hall. Despite the sun beaming in through the open doors and the chirping of sparrows from the courtyard, it is a dour affair.  

King Geralt marches across the hall as you stand by a tall candelabra near the door. It remains unlit as the summer lights much of the space through the long windows and broad doors. He approaches the bishop in his robe and sash and points the man with a terse grunt. Lord Dustan and Lady Rozlyn stand behind the cleric, looking fraught. 

“Where is the bride?” The king growls as his golden eyes skim the stone walls. 

“Your highness, we’ve just called for her--” 

“She is aware of our impending nuptials, she would keep her betrothed waiting?” The king rebukes, “you summer souls and your flimsy spines.” 

The duchess twitches in offence but does not rebuff the insult. The wine has subsided well enough to allow her some sense. Lord Dustan’s lips press tight and he claps. 

“My daughter, at once,” he hisses in your direction. 

Before you can turn on your sole, the king grunts, “fetch her yourself. How can I trust you to keep my kingdom in order if you cannot bring the same to your own house?” 

“Yes, your highness,” Dustan blanches, “it was only I thought it would be swifter to send the maid.” 

“It would be swifter if you stilled your tongue,” King Geralt barks. 

The duke recoils and hurries off. Your eyes meet the king’s and he gives a slight tilt of his head and you resume your plaintive stance. Lady Rezlyn looks him up and down before she withdraws her gaze and instead focuses on the portrait of her husband’s predecessor.  

The air grows stagnant as you wait. When at last a stirring comes from above, the king is gripping the dagger on his belt. He is not impressed with the delay. 

“Father, I am here, I am here, unhand me,” Lady Jazlene blusters in ahead of the duke. She wears the red and ivory and matching ribbons have been braided into her curls. She has several necklaces piled around her neck and her hands are adorned in tones of silver and gold. “I am ready,” she sighs as she approaches the bishop and face the king, “it is not the wedding I dreamt of but for a king, I might settle.” 

King Geralt’s golden eyes narrow. He looks through his bride and she wavers on her feet as she reaches for him. He does not offer his hand nor his arm before he faces the bishop. 

“The vows,” the king demands flatly. 

“Er,” the bishop falters and searches the chamber. 

“Where is the writ?” The king hisses, “do you not have a scribe?” 

“Here, your highness, here,” Dustan waves to a squire waiting near the outer doors. “It only requires ink and seal, after the vows of course.” 

The king exhales hotly and faces the bishop again, signaling with a curt flick of his fingertips. You only then notice Merinda across from you, she must’ve followed the noble daughter in. She exchanges a glance with you, she is not more amused than King Geralt. 

“Ahem,” the bishop adjusts his tall cap, “let us begin. We commune here today to--” The king waves his hand dismissively and the cleric flinches. “Hm, uh, sir, your highness, my lord, King Geralt, of Rivia and the Hinterlands, and the Summer countries,” he stutters as his eyes droop, “do you swear, by the sacred rites and the laws of the realm, to take this woman in blessed matrimony? To attend to your duties as husband and keeper, until death?” 

The ceremony is as brusque as anything the king does. He does not have time or patience for the pageantry or prolonged talking. His shoulders rise with his breath and he heaves out, “I make this vow.” 

“And, Lady Jazlene, daughter of Debray, do you swear, by the sacred rites and the laws of the realm, to take this man in blessed matrimony? To attend to your duties as wife and servant, until death?” 

Jazlene sniffles and makes a show of blotting her face with her sleeve. Her mother blubbers from the side and Lord Dustan hushes her. Their threatrics are almost humourous amid the solemn air. King Geralt rumbles and stares over the bishop’s head. 

“I... I make... I make this vow,” Jazlene bawls and pulls out a handkerchief from her bosom. She covers her nose and wipes away her tears. “I shall love the king and serve him better than any w-w-wife.” 

The bishop hesitates as he looks between the bride and groom. He nods and beckons forth Lord Dustan, “so we will seal this marriage in ink and wax. Sign your names and let the royal stamp be applied to set in bond your fates until the black night sees you to rest.” 

Dustan comes forward with the parchment and signals to another unseen figure. A servant brings forth a quill and well as the contract is laid out on the table near the wall. The king approaches as Jazlene weeps at his side, trailing after him as she trembles. The king signs first, with a slash of the quill, then Jazlene barely keeps hold of the pen as she loops her name across the rough surface. 

She drops the feather and fans herself. She looks around, preening, and grabs onto the king’s arm, “so we are married.” 

He doesn’t react. He turns without acknowledgement as she stays latched on, pulled forth by his easy strength. His gaze touches yours as you watch the strange and strained scene. This is unlike any wedding you’ve ever seen, though you haven’t seen a noble one in all your life. Only the whispered vows of servants behind the stables or in the meadows. Those ones that are only written in spirit. 

His eyes quickly flit away and he sets his sight on the doorway beside you. He walks forward with his bride dragging on his arm. His mail jostles loudly with his steps as his soles scuff. 

“Let the marriage be consummated,” he mutters without look back, “you will be ready to travel at dawn.” 

“Your highness?” Dustan stumbles forward, “dawn?” 

“Husband, am I to come with you?” Jazlene murmurs. 

“A kingdom must be rebuilt,” King Geralt states without inflection. “I will not rule over a resentful people, I will show them I fought for them, not against them. And you will follow through on your vows to me or find I am not so weak as that fool, King Waleran.” 

⚔️

You help Merinda with Lady Jazlene’s travel chest. You pack away as much as you can; shifts, nightclothes, gowns, stockings, all that you think she would like to take with her. The sudden departure allows you little time for ponderance, you only do as you must. As ever. So is life. 

“She will hate it in the Hinterlands,” Merinda scoffs, “when I served for the earl, there was a man from the Winter Isles. He was missing fingers from the cold. He told me how they turned black and fell off.” 

“Then she will need to find some mitts,” you shrug as you roll up a cloak. Much of the lady’s clothes are not suited to a colder climate. She has no furs; they are not needed in the Summer lands. Midsummer through to High Summer offer little more than a cooling rain between mild to sweltering highs. 

“Perhaps she should bundle up against her husband too,” Merinda snickers, “he is icy as the tundras he hails from.” 

“He is a king, he has much to worry for,” you sniff. 

“Mm, I suppose, though he hardly ever looks concerned for anything. Speaks even less,” she muses, “I suppose Lady Jazlene will speak plenty for both of them.” 

“Queen Jazlene,” you correct her bleakly. 

“Oh, he should worry for that,” the other maid chuckles again. “Though I suppose now she will have all the gowns she likes.” 

“Perhaps,” you allow. 

“Let us prosper here without her demands. Where it is warm and sunny,” Merinda sighs. 

“It will be rather quieter,” you agree. 

You carry on until the chest is near overflowing. You sit on the lid as Merinda buckles the straps. You will need some male servants to come carry it to the stables. That should wait until morning. Lady Rezlyn bid you wait in her daughter’s chamber should she emerge from the king’s. 

You pack a smaller chest for her jewels and her cosmetics, and a few books she’s worn down with her fingertips, and her sewing hoops and needles. Oft, she only holds onto those possessions as she gossips with her mother. You suppose that will be difficult. When the duchess and her husband return home and their daughter must face her obligation without ally. 

There are servants like Merinda who might covet gems and pretty things, but you’ve never much envied the noble type. They have overly much responsibility. You only need swab a floor or lace a dress. Life could not be simpler. 

“Hm,” she hums and gives a cluck of her tongue. 

You wind up a length of ribbon and put it in the chest. You feel Merinda watching you. You look up and arch your brows. “What?” 

She smiles, “you remind me of him.” 

“Who?” 

“The king,” she tinkles with laughter, “you are both so... quiet. You never say more than you need to. I can appreciate that given who we serve but you are a hard nut.” 

“I don’t have much to say, suppose,” you reply. “Don’t know very much of the king, either.” 

She’s quiet as you carry on. You assume some things will need to be sent after the lady; the queen. It will be a long journey and not one which you think would entail many banquets. It’s a scary unknown ahead of Lady Jazlene, though it is overdue. 

When the smaller chest is full, you and Merinda lift it onto the larger. It is late and the night hue surrounds you as only a single flame is lit. You yawn intermittently but neither of you dare lay down to sleep. You wouldn’t want to be accused of idleness. 

You sit on the window bench and watch the moon as Merinda paces through shadows. You rest your chin in your hand but only for a moment as suddenly the hinges groan and cut through the din. You stand as Merinda faces the door sharply. 

Lady Jazlene drifts in. The ribbons in her hair are loose and her dress is still laced tight, though her skirts are rumbled and wrinkled. She leaves the door ajar behind her as she ambles stiffly towards the bed. She turns to fall onto the bench at the foot of the four-post frame. 

She doesn’t speak as she stares ahead. Merinda shuts the door as you inch towards the noble woman. She offers no reaction as you hover near her. She presses her hands above her knees and shudders out a breath. 

“My lady,” Merinda speaks first, glancing at you cautiously, “your highness, would you... would you like a bath?” 

Jazlene doesn’t answer. Her head moves subtly back and forth then dips again. She balls fabric in her fists. 

“I did what mother said,” she croaks, “and... I was... I was aroused. I was ready...” she murmurs. 

You and Merinda stand in silence. You’ve never heard the noble daughter speak so smally. She lifts her head. 

“I did it. I did my duty,” she declares, “but he...” she rises and you back away as she sweeps around the bed, a hitch in her step. She goes to the mirror and leans in, touching her cheeks, turning her head this way and that, “I’m beautiful, aren’t I? Mother says, father says... but the king... the king...” 

She blows out her breath and is silent. She spins and clutches her bodice. She looks down at herself. 

“He didn’t even let me take this off,” she babbles, “then he just... sent me away.” She puts her hand to her chest, “a bath? Did you say a bath?” She looks at Merinda, “yes, I must wash. Wash it all away.” She clears her throat and drops her hand, rolling her shoulders, “tomorrow we must leave--” her voice catches, “I must go to my new home with my...” she puts her back to you and sits on the cushioned seat before the vanity, “...husband.” 

You nod to Merinda and cross the room to meet her at the door. You share a look, one which doesn’t need conversation. Even though she’s laid with a man, your fellow maid looks distressed. You go out into the hall, pulling shut the door gently in the nocturnal dim. 

“Do you think he was cruel?” Merinda asks. 

“It isn’t our concern, is it? It is a wife’s duty...” you whisper, uncertain. 

“It was her first,” Merinda remarks, “perhaps she was unready.” 

“We shouldn’t speak of it,” you gird. 

“You needn’t be so chaste,” she reproaches, “if I didn’t know her wrath, I might even feel sorry for the lady.” 

“Mer,” you warn again, “let us get some water for the bath.” 

Merinda chuffs, “you are so... boring.” 

You walk away from her, ignoring her chiding. You don’t care if she thinks you dull. It isn’t your place to judge the marital matters of the lady and her husband. It is even dangerous to gossip over royal business. You will not chance it. 

She follows. You descend and go to boil a pot in the kitchen. Merinda lights several candles as you go to work. You carry the large vessel between you. Several trips up and down to fill the large tub. Merinda undresses Jazlene as you go to return the pot. 

You place it near the fire stove as the embers burn low and orange. You stand in front of it, the cindery scent tinging your nostrils. You should go back but unease lingers in your gut. The way Jazlene just stared, how hollow she sounded, you’ve never seen her like that. 

The candles behind you flicker and you turn to the swirling shadows. There’s a figure just inside the doorway, almost ghostly, much too towering to be the cook. You gulp and fold your hands against your stomach. 

“Hello?” You utter to what must be a wraith. 

There is no answer, the silhouette merely moves towards you. You steel yourself, a scream caught in your throat. The tint of the fire stove reflects off golden irises and the king’s figure comes clearer in the night. You suck in air and steady your feet. 

“Your highness,” you gasp. 

“Ale,” he sneers. 

“Yes, your highness, I will fetch--” 

“To my chambers,” he demands, looming over you. 

“Yes, your highness, ale, at once,” you go to spin and he grabs onto your arm, drawing you back. He grips tightly, squeezing as he pulls you into the haze of warmth radiating from him. Or perhaps that is the oven. 

He holds you, puffing out breaths as he glares down at you. You’re trapped in his simmering sights. You look up at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. He lets out a low snarl and slowly releases you. 

“I hate these summer lands,” he grumbles as you stagger back. 

You still and stare as he backs away. He turns on his heel and stalks towards the door, leaving you in frightful curiosity. You open and close your fingers, your forearm tingling from his firm grasp. You rub it through your sleeve as you spin towards the cellar. You will be certain to grab a full cask for the king’s thirst.