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Fire and Frost

The words from the letter before him hit him hard, and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him, probably because it had. He could not believe what had been said in the letter, he could not believe the king would do such a thing, he knew the king was mad, but this? This was an act of pure lunacy, something only someone so depraved and insane could do. That he had done it not to just one person but to all of Brandon’s companions was something that shocked him. It showed just how far gone Aerys was, he was no longer the smiling and charming man of his youth, in his place gods Rickard did not know what he was. As if trying to shake of the fear and the horror or rather trying to confirm it he spoke. “Can you read the letter again Maester Walys?” The maester who had been in Winterfell for as long as Rickard could somewhat remember looked at him sorrowfully and spoke once more. “In the name of his most royal highness King Aerys Targaryen, second of his name King of the Seven Kingdoms, we do hereby announce the death of Brandon Stark heir to Winterfell and son of Lord Rickard Stark. Lord Brandon proved to be treasonous beyond measure and threatened not only the life of our son and heir Prince Rhaegar, but has also been plotting to remove us from our gods given throne. For these crimes, we sentenced Brandon Stark to death by fire. We do hereby request that Lord Rickard Stark come with his children to renew his fealty to the throne, and to show us that he is not a traitor unlike his son.” If you enjoyed this Fanfic and want to read more, please consider supporting me on Patreon for advanced chapters! Your support means the world and helps me continue creating. Visit: my website https://percivallannister-shop.fourthwall.com or patreon.com/PercivalLannister. Thank you!
Percival_Lannister · 402.7k Views

Slytherin's Bloodline: Legacy of the Merlin

It bowed down to him, eyes of death meeting eyes of Avada Kedavra-green. " Bow to death, Harry ! " The voice was oddly warm, like a summer wind in autumn, tingling through the air like the unearthly voice of a High Elf. "It will be painless. I know, I have been there. Bow to death and move on!" A gentle hand cupped his head; the other hand moved to draw runes on his forehead and his scar. "Sleep well, precious child. May you never live again." And suddenly there was light all around him. His hands, still bleeding, scraped at the asphalt beneath him, lighting up with symbols he had never seen before. His chest ached as it began to glow through his shirt. His eyes hurt as his face started glowing from within, as if from underneath his skin. And then the Phoenix-Patronus returned. It stopped a few inches from his chest, a thrilling voice singing a song filled with death and resurrection. A phoenix-song. He tried to move, he tried to flee, but the hands had a tight grip on him and his limbs were limp. Even if he had tried, he could not move a muscle… Then the fingers on his forehead stopped moving and the hands vanished. He'd have sighed in relief if that hadn't been the moment the Phoenix-Patronus chose to act. Before he could react, the phoenix crossed the last inches to his chest and entered. Fire. A burning sensation filled his senses. Where his skin had glowed a moment before it suddenly was literally on fire. He cried with pain. His body was turning to ash. He could feel it. It felt like he was being sucked through the eye of a needle and then he was gone. He lost consciousness. If you enjoyed this Fanfic and want to read more, please consider supporting me on Patreon for advanced chapters! Your support means the world and helps me continue creating. Visit: my website https://percivallannister-shop.fourthwall.com or patreon.com/PercivalLannister. Thank you!
Percival_Lannister · 116k Views

THE HEIR OF THE BLOOD MOON

“She was death, and he was life. They were never meant to collide—let alone fall for each other.” Mellisent grew up believing she was nothing more than the daughter of a great soldier. Her father taught her to fight, to survive, and never to depend on anyone. Now, with his death behind her, she has one goal—to become a warrior worthy of his legacy and forge a destiny of her own. Determined to rise beyond the life she was born into, she enters Vaelora Academy, a prestigious institution where humans and other supernatural bloodlines train side by side. There, she meets a man who seems to embody everything she despises—power, arrogance, and divine blood. The son of a god. What begins as rivalry soon turns into something neither of them can control. But the closer they grow, the more the truth threatens to tear them apart. Because Mellisent is not who she believes herself to be. Born beneath a Blood Moon, she is the child at the heart of an ancient prophecy—one that foretold the end of a king’s reign, his death, and a threat that would one day reach all of Aelyrith. And the bloodline sleeping within her belongs to something far older—and far more dangerous—than she could ever imagine. He is the son of the very power that stands against everything she was born to become. As ancient bloodlines awaken and buried truths begin to surface, Mellisent and Valerian will have to confront the destiny written long before they ever met—and the love they never meant to have. _ _ _ _ _ “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Valerian,” Mellisent warned as a pair of strong arms pressed her against the cold wall. “I know exactly what I’m getting myself into.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, their breaths mingling. “I’m like a moth drawn to a flame.” Mellisent’s breath came in small, uneven puffs. “I’m not a flame.” Her eyes held his. “I’m an abyss. And an abyss leaves nothing behind but ashes.” A slow, knowing smile touched Valerian’s lips. “Then I’ll gladly burn.” And his lips descended onto hers.
Melkeveien_0506 · 30.5k Views

Primordial of the Abyssal Flame

I've been sick ever since I can remember. My dad's a drunk prick, and he doesn't treat my mom very well. My girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend, because she figures I'm going to die soon anyways. They all do. Hell, they're probably right. I've been to countless doctors, and they can't figure out what is wrong with me aside from the fact that my body is slowly shutting down. I don't have any friends anymore. My dad doesn't allow me home anymore, and apparently, I'm not even their real son. That was a real kick in the teeth. Only my mom tries to talk to me still, but there's always hell to pay if my dad catches her. At this point, I've accepted my end, and I wish it would just hurry up. At least, that's what I told myself, until I came across a new fuzzy little friend that would change my entire life. My name is Elias Crosse, and my tale is about get crazy. Notes: This story features an OP MC, so power development and growth isn't really present for him, although there is some. A lot of the growth mainly comes from other characters, and features a focus on said characters. Elias is also not someone who puts up with other character's bullshit, and routinely puts them in their place. I am tired of the trope of characters hiding their powers, or letting other characters walk all over them and theirs because they are not strong enough to do anything. I don't exactly know how to describe my story in terms of a genre. It has action, it has slice of life, and it has romance. There is no fade to black, and I can be very descriptive. This is also a HAREM story. If you don't like that kind of thing, you will not upset me by not reading it. I'd prefer you didn't, honestly. I have been fixing, updating, and changing somethings for consistency, to improve the story, the grammar and errors, and for things to make more sense. Some things may change, as this is a work in progress. The more I write, the better I feel I am becoming. I just write, and I have the ideas of where I am going in my head, but other than that, I just write the story as I see fit. As such, I forget some things, I miss somethings, and most often, some ideas in my head get jumbled together and it ends up not making sense some times. I am working to correct that as best as I can.
D_G_Harbinger · 332.6k Views

The Names... RIYURA SHIKO! - 名前は…リユラ・シコ!

Some people perform joy so completely that nobody notices they’re drowning until the water is already over their head—and Riyura Shiko has turned that performance into an art form. Fifteen years old, purple-haired, red bow-tied, and explosively cheerful in the specific way of someone who learned early that being cheerful was safer than being honest, Riyura arrives at Jeremy High not as a normal transfer student—but as a walking thunderclap in a school uniform. Officially, he’s there for a “fresh start” after an incident involving pudding, a ferret, and one tragically heroic trampoline. Unofficially, he’s there because wherever Riyura goes, normality quietly packs its bags and leaves. Jeremy High is no ordinary school. Founded in 1876 under impossible circumstances—three suicidal teenagers, letters from a descendant who wouldn’t exist for a century, and a foundation built as much on suffering as it is on survival—it attracts the broken, the chaotic, and the unexplainable. Riyura fits in immediately… and completely disrupts everything anyway. From shouting greetings at trees to challenging athletes to dribble pineapples, from staging lunchtime operas about dumplings to turning every hallway into a stage, he floods the school with a kind of absurd, relentless energy that feels almost supernatural on its own. But beneath the chaos is something quieter. Something fragile. Because Riyura isn’t just trying to be seen—he’s trying not to disappear. Over the next four years, what unfolds is everything. Not just the ridiculous, high-energy nonsense of flying fruit and social disasters, but corruption networks, government conspiracies, psychic abilities tied to Edo-period bloodlines, time manipulation, preserved souls, and a brother who dies… and comes back? Government agents become allies. Truths unravel. The very sanctuary that saved them reveals the cost of its existence. And still—beneath all of that—the people matter most. Yakamira, sharp and analytical, alive against all odds. Miyaka, opening her pencil case every morning as an act of quiet defiance. Subarashī, scars catching the light as he declares himself to the world. Jisatsu, holding steady, fourteen months without a crisis. Pan, baking at 4 AM not because he has to—but because he chooses to. None of them are whole. All of them are trying. And together, they form something stubborn and unbreakable: a family built not from perfection, but from the refusal to let each other drown alone. Then comes graduation. Osaka. Cherry University. Cherry blossom seasons that feel too soft for everything they’ve survived. And the slow, difficult realization that surviving and living are entirely different skills. And many more characters in the main stage at that as per-usual. Riyura Shiko isn’t just the loudest person in the room. He’s the one most afraid of silence. His absurdity isn’t there to make you laugh—it’s there to overwhelm you, to push past the limits of what “normal” even means, to prove that being alive isn’t about fitting in, but about refusing to disappear. The humor isn’t clean, or even traditionally funny—it’s chaotic, excessive, and sometimes deliberately irritating. Because this story doesn’t aim to be funny. It aims to feel. Loudly. Uncomfortably. Honestly. This is the complete story of Riyura Shiko. From a teenager hiding behind a crooked bow tie and a perfectly rehearsed smile… to someone who slowly, painfully learns what genuine laughter actually feels like. From impossible walls to open skies. It costs something. It leaves something behind. Neither cancels the other out. THE NAMES… RIYURA SHIKO! - RATED MA26+. Still here. That’s always been enough. Because this series has the worst humor you could ever wish for. >;)
Shyzuli_Lolz · 135k Views

꧁ SACRED ꧂

Nothing is set in stone—not time, not fate, and certainly not Death. But in Rudra's existence, one thing has remained constant: a person. In her tears and rage. In her love and hatred. Now, Rudra is determined to figure out why she was the only one who mourned his death while the rest of the world celebrated his demise—especially since they had always stood on opposite sides of the war. And her answer might be the one thing he holds most dear—the only truth that remains truly sacred. In the kingdom of Partha, power does not negotiate. It descends from the mountain, absolute and ancient, in the form of Ravaan Azhdar — the Dragon King — and his son, Prince Rudra, who inherits his father's fire and none of his patience. In his first life, Rudra did what dragons do. He wanted the Saintess of Benevia and he took her — flew across half the known world and carried Teresa Williams out of her country like a thing claimed, imprisoning her in the cursed land of Alaka for months while the kingdoms of men scrambled to respond. He was not cruel to her, exactly. He simply did not think of her as something that required particular consideration. She was leverage. She was a statement. She was, in the particular arithmetic of dragon politics, a piece on a board. He did not expect Percival Leonhart. The hero came through Alaka the way heroes do — through impossible odds and worse terrain, carrying the legendary sword of Mamon, and he killed Rudra with it. Not cleanly. Not quickly. But definitively. Rudra lay dying in the ruins of everything he had built, alone, which was no more than he deserved and he knew it, and he waited for the end with the specific resignation of a creature who has no remorse, no regret whatsoever. Then Tish appeared. Not rescued, not triumphant, not standing over him with justified contempt. She appeared the way she always moved through the world — quietly, purposefully, and in this case with her hands already reaching for him, her holy magic already trying to knit shut wounds that had no business being knittable. She was crying. She was afraid. And she was, against every law of sense and self-preservation, trying to save the dragon who had taken her from her home He didn't understand it. He asked her why, once, in the way a dying thing asks questions — without real expectation of an answer. She didn't explain. She kept healing. And then an arrow found her, from somewhere in the dark, and she died in front of him before he could — before he could what, exactly, he would spend a great deal of time not finishing that thought. Then Rudra woke up in his bed in Ashkavar. Three years before any of it happened. He lay there for a long time. Long enough for the disorientation to pass and the facts to arrange themselves into something he could examine. He had been given time back, though by what mechanism or mercy he couldn't say. The world was reset. Tish was alive somewhere in Benevia, being saintly and blessed and entirely unaware of everything that hadn't happened yet. He did not love her. He wants to be clear about that, if only to himself. He had barely known her in the first life, and what he had known he hadn't particularly liked — she was stubborn and principled and had an infuriating tendency to keep extending grace to things that hadn't earned it, chief among them apparently him. He did not miss her. He missed the answer she hadn't given him. He missed the specific shape of a question that had no other possible source of resolution. Why had she tried to save him. And for that answer, he was determined to burn everything down all over again. (I will be posting this story on RoyalRoad.com )
Archieaval · 37.2k Views

Emerald Eyes and New Beginnings (Harry Potter)

On November 1st, 2001, the magical community rejoices over the defeat of Voldemort, crediting the miraculous event to the infant Harry Potter. However, Albus Dumbledore, wary of Voldemort's true fate and understanding the protective magic invoked by Lily Potter, ensures Harry's safety through a powerful blood ward anchored at the home of his aunt, Petunia Dursley. Ignoring the family's inevitable resentment, Dumbledore leaves Harry with the Dursleys, confident they will protect him. The Dursleys, deeply uncomfortable with Harry's magical nature, treat him with increasing cruelty as his accidental magic manifests. This culminates in a violent outburst when Harry is six, leading Vernon Dursley to abandon him at a London orphanage. At the orphanage, Harry faces further abuse and learns to suppress his magical outbursts. A year later, Harry is adopted by the wealthy Shaws, who view him as a status symbol rather than a son. Despite their indifference, Harry's life improves as he receives proper food, education, and the freedom to practice his magic in secret. Years later, Hogwarts sends Harry's acceptance letter to his new address, puzzling Dumbledore. McGonagall visits the Shaws to explain Harry's heritage and secure his attendance at Hogwarts, despite their initial reluctance. She ensures Harry is prepared for his magical education while uncovering the true hardships he faced with the Dursleys, leaving Dumbledore to ponder the consequences of his decisions. You can support me at my Website or Patreon at patreon.com/PerseusBlackfyre and perseusblackfyre-shop.fourthwall.com respectively, where you can early access to chapters and some exclusive content.
Perseus_Blackfyre · 447.4k Views