an oc-centric fic-verse | canon divergence, forbidden love, slow burn | cross-posted on ao3 and wattpad | containing mature themes (smut, major character death, graphic depictions of violence)
oc masterlists: main characters | side characters | historical | house brightflame (au)
reading order: part one | part two | part three (tba)
links: ao3 | wattpad | pinterest | spotify
𝐤𝐞𝐲: completed ✔ on-going ⟳ | general 🌱 teen 🌻 mature 🍂 explicit 🍄
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲
book one: meet me in the dark, kiss me in the moonlight ✔ 🌻
book two: a heart so golden, a sun so bright ✔ 🍂
book three: house of lies, city of blood ✔ 🍄
book four: wicked are these woods, haunted is this memory ⟳ 🍄
𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞
faithful (hotd; criston cole x masc!oc) ✔ 🍂
a funny thing happened on the way to ashford (akotsk; poly!kingsguard x fem!oc) ✔ 🍄
𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬
a sacred duty (time travel au, cerelle/ormund hightower) ⟳ 🍂
as if struck by lightning (mating bond au, cerelle/benjiamin) ✔ 🍄
dulled senses (omegaverse, cerelle/balon) ✔ 🍄
he screams, sometimes (modern, cerelle/henrix) ✔ 🍂
in the shadow of her willow (hades and persephone, jon/cerelle) ⟳ 🌻
modern!holiday au (jon/cerelle) ⟳ 🍄
pour it in a cup (post!season 8, arranged marriage, jon/cerelle) ✔ 🍂
redder the cloak (little red riding hood au, jon/cerelle) ✔ 🍄
sapphire steel (rhaegar won the trident, jon/cerelle) ⟳ 🍄
the root of all evil (masc!cerelle/balon swann) ⟳ 🍄
𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬
asoiaf x reader masterlist
asoiaf oc week 2025
oc intro series | fanfic moodboard series | houses of westeros series
true-born!loreon is honestly the closest parallel to canon!cerelle there is... like true-born!cerelle and twincest!loreon are still her (bc they are. y'know. the same character) but only true-born!loreon shares her experiences to this extent
✶⋆.˚ 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐍; sole true-born child of robert baratheon and cersei lannister. said to have been a melancholy child that now clings to his faith and his knighthood - one earned at just four-and-ten by a lowly hedge knight in the streets of flea bottom. mysteriously disappeared shortly before the death of jon arryn.
Hey so I read your Cerelle x Reader oneshot and I'm SQUEALING RIGHT NOW
HEHE I'M GLAD 🫶🙂↕️
the fun thing about this one shot is that i wrote it in a way to keep it canon within stars above. so you can view this as one of the many (untold) adventures of the golden paladin
(also writing cerelle as the paladin from someone else's pov is like, my favourite thing ever. fairytale hero frfr)
oh it's nothing just thinking about this gorgeous illustration i got at a medieval market yesterday that is LITERALLY cerelle in book 2 chapter 4 as she experiences rain for the first time since she was a child
(psst: art is by norman hothum, his website is here)
── chapter ten: "no fear, no doubt, only divinity"
ormund hightower x cerelle [oc]
synopsis: after a battle hard fought, ormund finds himself with yet another hurdle to cross
tags: time travel au, religious fanaticism, mutual obsession, manipulation using religion, shared bath, nudity
words: 1.377
masterlist
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He found her again long after the sun had set, after the dead had been counted, after the armies had combined, after the hymns to victory were still being shouted in some distant corner of the camp. She could not have been with any of them, too precarious their claim to divinity still, yet the way she sat cowered in a chair in a far-back corner of the tent was not what he had wanted, either.
Her many layers of silk had disappeared, revealing the simple cotton underdress she wore underneath. The white boots - not mere shoes, so she had insisted - he found thrown to the ground half-way between the curtain and her. Only her veil remained fixed upon her golden hair, front part folded back to let him see her eyes - brimmed with tears, fallen deep into despair. And with the way she had her knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them, face half-hidden behind them both, one could easily mistake her for a spooked child.
“You did marvellously today, better than I could have ever prayed for.” Ormund went to pour himself a cup of Arbour Gold. “I liked the part with the messenger boy, a neat-”
“Tell me we did the right thing.”
Her voice was so low, so broken, had he not become so attuned to her very essence he would have missed the words.
“What? Of course we did.”
“Then why do I feel so guilty?”
They both did nothing to defeat the silence that followed; her to wait for him to respond, him to force her to realise there was nothing he could possibly respond to this.
Feeling guilty over a victory! The nerve.
“They’re suffering. I still feel the tugs around my heart as the rest of them are being slaughtered, all on my command. Their screams echo in my mind and there is nothing I can do to stop it.”
Ormund sighed, put down the cup, walked to her, knelt on the ground by her chair.
“It is normal to react as such after one’s first battle. Tomorrow-”
“It wasn’t my first battle!” Her breathing had turned heavier. “And I know what you will say next, that I merely have to sleep on it and will feel better tomorrow but I won’t! I thought that by being sent here the gods would have fixed me, but I still carry that accursed blessing of the Stranger inside me, and it is tearing me apart. Every death out there feels like one I was supposed to prevent.”
She stayed silent once more, preferring to wallow in self-pity rather than see her words for the folly they were, permitting him to fully comprehend her words.
"The blessing of the Stranger?" he asked, pointedly slow. "Care to explain?"
Cerelle let out something that could have been intended as a laugh, yet one that broke off half-way through. "When someone dies nearby, I can feel it. It- It's like a tug around my heart, pulling me in the direction." She refused to meet his eyes.
"Since when did you have this ability?"
"Birth, I believe. I can't remember ever not experiencing it."
There was a part of him, one he controlled around her and had never let break out, that wished to scream his next words. "And when were you going to tell me?"
"What's it matter? Would it have changed anything about our plans?"
"You are touched by the gods-"
"As are you! Yet do you see me causing an uproar about it? It were the Seven that sent me here, with or without Blessing that should mean enough for the both of us."
A different course of action seemed in need, if Ormund wished to sooth her temper and return things to the way they should be. This was an information he would keep close to himself, and reveal at the most opportune time.
(To receive a god's blessing was certainly not unheard of, yet as far as his own research and knowledge of the topic went, not entirely sure to even be real. Septons had long theorised a man's prowess in battle to be the result of divine interference, or a king's might granted only through the Seven's permittance. It seemed that, despite all the voices against it, Ormund now held the answer to this centuries long questioning in hand.)
"You doubt our way, even with all the faith the Seven Above have repeatedly proven to have in you?" he asked, voice bright and comforting. "We did the right thing. Let them strike us down as we are now shall it not have been so."
Moment passed. Then a minute, then perhaps an hour. Nothing happened.
Cerelle brushed the back of her hand across her nose, closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and purely.
"May I help you out of your armour?" she asked quietly. "I- I need to distract my mind."
"That is Daeron's purpose."
"He is not your squire anymore." She smiled, took ahold of his hand. "Please?"
As in all else, Cerelle set about her task silently yet with diligence and refusing to let her focus be ripped elsewhere. Her hands were mere whispers above the clothing she revealed, digging into his flesh only where absolutely necessary. The clasps opened, the metal fell, yet his breathing turned more complicated with every piece removed.
When the bathtub had finally been filled, placed at the foot of his bed, body enveloped in the comforting heat, they found themselves alone once more. Cerelle stood before him like a lost lamb, forgotten to be taken towards the slaughter.
Ormund reached out a hand. "Come, join me. It will sooth your mind."
This is not proper! he had expected her to shout. You dare suggest ruining me?
Instead, she headed, without answering, to her small corner of the tent, searched through her chest, and returned with… a small line of fabric.
She knelt behind him. "To prove to the gods we mean no offense." Then, the linen was laid across his eyes.
A blindfold. Clever girl.
It smelled of her, too.
The water moved - that was the first thing he felt - then slowly her body began brushing against his; against his shins, his thighs, his hands. He reached out, found her waist - fingers digging in against his will - and gently pulled her between his legs. There it was she settled after a while, leaning back against his chest, resting her head upon his shoulder, laying her own hand upon his to keep them settled there.
Ormund did not regret his loss of sight, for it made the experience of it all enter like a primal force into his memory. The gods had permitted them this, had seen what Cerelle and himself had concluded long ago - they were naught more but two widows, only taking what little joy they still could from this world.
He wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her against his body. Her hand followed, ensuring he would never be able to change his mind. Somehow, his half-hard cock bothered her little. It would be an easy feat to let his fingers slip lower to return the favour.
"You said I was as blessed by the gods as you yourself are." His lips traced the strands of golden hair before his mouth, chasing their taste. "What did you mean by that?"
"You are blessed by the Crone." Her fingers traced the length of his own. "Wisdom. Cunning. A belief in your own eternal correctness. An unrivalled willingness to fall into obsession and fanaticism. Deeply religious, seldom seen in others." She did nothing as his thumb traced the underside of her breast. "The blessings are quite obvious if you know what you are looking for."
"You seem even more convinced in my case."
"I have met one of your kind before." A pause. Heavy, poignant, full of agony and longing, if the way she forced his other hand onto her skin as well spoke of anything. "I refuse to let it end the same way."
Perhaps the husband she denied herself any mention of.
"And if I swear not to let your story end as it did previously, as well?"
after the death of her younger brother at the hands of robb stark, cerelle baratheon is given little choice but to accept the crown and become the very first queen of westeros. it is a tumultuous time the realm has found itself in, with enemies in all directions, of fire and ice, of salt and snow, and one the young queen is forced to navigate all on her own. is it truly such a surprise, then, that she tries to find comfort in the arms of her most trusted queensguard and sworn shield?
