#tales from the plague chamber

[thoughtsofthegirlwiththecurl]

I have drunk half a bottle of honey in the last 2 days and it was STILL not enough to save my vocal cords. Truly, the first time in my life honey has let me down 😭

Now I'm out here like Ariel after Ursula gives her legs trying to mime shit to my family.

[sonolynn]

Forbidden Fruit

summary | Jace didn't want her, but Aemond did.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

tags | 18+ MDNI, Jealously, Aemond yearning, explicit sexual content, mentions of bastards, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, size kink (?), oral f!receiving, Angst if you squint. "Technical" infidelity but is it really if Jace started it? (yes). ooc!Aemond (probably). NOT PROOF READ (its one am, leave me alone).

w.c | 3.8k

note(s) | My first smut fic!! Ah I'm scared...I also think I have a problem with making Aemond want fem!reader when he rightfully can't have her. Also I swear I'm not a Jace hater!! I love Jace, but in this fic specifically I made him long and wish for Baela.

____________________________________________

“Why don’t you marry her then?” 

Aegon’s voice was taunting, as if pushing Aemond to say something. Aemond stared down at the cup in front of him; even with a stoic expression, his mannerisms betrayed him. He tapped his finger against the edge of the cup, he picked at the skin around his nails on the opposite hand-all the tell tale signs of thinking, a mind that cannot be stopped. 

“Because she is betrothed to Rhaenyra’s bastard.” His voice dripped with malice as he spoke. Aemond hated that Jacerys would inherit the throne enough; What his bastard nephew didn’t need was the girl Aemond had wished for his entire life. Ever since the two of them were children Aemond had a…weird infatuation with her. When he was a boy, he would pick flowers from the garden and he would purposely do good deeds for her, just to have her hug him or smile graciously at him. 

But now, everything was different. She was a woman grown, and him a man grown. She was to be engaged to his bastard nephew, and he would have to sit and watch as they shared a kiss, held hands, smiled and danced as newlyweds. He’d have to hold a straight face as the two of them left to Jacerys’ bed chamber, only knowing the connotations that came with what would happen on their wedding night. 

Ignoring his brother's tedious rants about hells knows what, Aemond stood from his chair, opting for a walk in the gardens.

____________________________________________

Aemond walked, hands clasped behind his back, and his gaze drifted into nothingness as he walked with just his thoughts, and the cool breeze that accompanied the summer evenings. He tried to distract himself from the thoughts of her, for they were all almost too painful to ever truly think about. 

But he couldn’t help himself. He thought of her as a sickness, one that lingered and grew stronger by the day until it fully consumed your every waking moment. He thought of her laugh just as contagious as the plague, her eyes as intoxicating as the finest of wines. He thought her to be a type of sickness, and he so desperately wanted to be affected. 

Aemond was never one to smile-one to truly-smile, his half smirks or half smiles were only ever in a sarcastic sense, but for some reason his smiles were real with her. With her he laughed a little more, with her he walked a little faster. He knew it was stupid, perhaps perpetually idiotic-to ever think, let alone long for such a pure and innocent creature. 

As Aemond walked, he noticed her sitting by one of the fountains in the garden. She looked breathtaking, he thought to himself. Her hair was down and cascaded down her shoulders, her face was just the perfect amount of shaded with the moon's light. And above all, she held that intoxicating smile that she always held. He never knew why she was always smiling, nor did he wish to find out. 

She turned her head, her smile widening at the sight of Aemond. 

“Aemond!” Her voice was cheerful, slowly standing as he walked towards her. 

“Princess,” Aemond smiled-a half smile-at her as he looked around, then slowly back at her. “It’s quite late. Should you not be in your chambers?” 

She always thought the way he cared for her, even if he didn’t show it outright, was extremely enticing. She knew how he was with others, but she knew the differences he had with almost everyone in court-so what made her so different? Why her, the object of the second son's affection. 

“Perhaps I do not wish to sleep. Perhaps…I quite like the quietness of the garden.” She smiled innocently, looking back towards the fountain as she started to walk. Aemond knew her well enough to see that this was a quiet plea for him to join her; Because no matter how much she enjoyed the quietness of the garden, she enjoyed it much more when he was with her. 

Aemond stared at her, as he often did, but this time, it was different. The stare he held was nothing short of primal. He watched the light in her eyes as she smiled up at him and for some reason, now, he wished to watch as the innocent light in her eyes slowly dwindled as he claimed her. 

“Aemond? Is something wrong?” Her voice snapped his thoughts back, if only for a moment. She stopped walking to look up at him and she crossed her arms underneath her chest. His eye trailed down slowly, fixating on the way that her cleavage just slightly out of her dress. He was like a man starved; Clinging to the littlest of details that would make his imagination run wild. 

She seemed to notice the way that his eye raked over her chest like a starving man, and her face flushed with embarrassment. She-though subconsciously-reached up to place her arm over her chest, but to her surprise, Aemond gently took her hand, and when she looked up, his one sapphire eye was locked with hers. 

“You needn’t cover up. Not around me.” He spoke calmly, though his heart was racing and his head spinning. He let out a shaky breath as he lowered her hand and looked into her eyes. 

She watched him carefully, searching his gaze for anything that would betray him. In truth she didn’t know what she was searching for, but she felt as if she should be searching for something. 

Aemond lifted a hand, placing the back of his knuckles against her hot cheek. The gesture was gentle, and slow, something he was not known for. His eye slowly trailed down her face, and his eye caught on her lips, his breath heavy as he reached his hand up and gently placed his thumb over her plush bottom lip. 

Her eyes followed his, big, and full of longing. She stared at him as his thumb pushed against her lip. She didn’t know exactly what to do; She knew that this moment was intimate, far too intimate to be happening between a betrothed woman and a bachelor. But, the way he gazed at her made her feel hot, and the way he trailed his hand over her face and body made her want to see where this could lead. 

His free hand shakily went up to her waist, cupping it firmly as he brought her closer. He leaned forward, just slightly, till his nose was pressed against hers. Her breath hitched, and her eyes instinctively closed. She waited for him to press his lips against hers, to feel his mouth on hers like she had (shamefully) always wished for. But, it never came. 

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Aemond breathing heavily, desperately trying to restrain himself. He pulled away slightly, and he shook his head,

“I shouldn’t take advantage of you…not like this.” Though his words held conviction, it seemed his body betrayed him. His hand stayed on her waist, slowly trailing up and cupping her breast in his hand. She gasped softly at the feeling, and his thumb went to her lip again before he connected his lips to hers. She responded immediately, putting her hands on his arms. 

He kissed her like he was dying, his body subconsciously reacting more to the kiss then he’d wish it to. He pulled her flush against him, his strong hands coming to cup her face, his shoulders shrugging in a futile attempt to have her closer. He opened his mouth, causing her to gasp at the feeling of his tongue against hers. Her mouth moved with his as if it was known to her; As if this was a dance she had practiced for years to perfect, as if the dance of her lips was a song that Aemond had mastered just for her. 

She practically melted in his arms. She had been kissed before; Jace was a good kisser but he was soft, and the kisses were never not chaste. But, kissing Aemond was like walking through fire. Her entire body reacted to the way he clung to her body, how he pulled her impossibly closer. It was like a fire had escaped through his lips and was now coursing through her veins and settling in her abdomen. 

Even though she didn’t know exactly what to do, it seemed her body did. Her hands slid down his arms and slowly made their way to his chest as she moaned softly. 

The moan grounded him, like he had been falling from the heavens and down to earth. He suddenly pulled away, breathless as he stared down at her. Her eyes opened steadily, and she looked up at him with confusion while a frown graced her kiss swollen lips. 

“We shouldn’t have done that.” He spoke breathlessly, his hand still gently stroking her side. 

“Maybe not..but it felt good.” Gods, the way she spoke held him in a chokehold. He wished desperately to dive back into her; To drown in her lips and never come up for air, but.. 

“Not again. You are to be married.” He suddenly pulled away and at the feeling of his hands leaving her body, she frowned deeper. 

“Aemond-” “Goodnight, Princess.” 

And with that, the prince turned and rushed back into the keep. 

____________________________________________

Aemond couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned in bed, picking at his nails, biting his lip-genuinely anything to help stop the incessant thoughts of her lips. 

The thoughts started off sweet and innocent. The way she looked up at him as he trailed his thumb over her lip, the way her lips pursed just slightly when he leaned forward. 

But then the thoughts got venereal fast. He thought about how he felt to finally kiss her. The way his lips practically burned when they pulled away. He knew that as he gazed at her kiss swollen lips his night would be harbored with thoughts of what they’d look like doing gods knows what else. 

His hand slid down underneath the sheets, firmly grasping at his length as he let out a shuddering breath. He hated doing this; Feeling so pent up and so desperate that he had to resort to using himself. But as of right now he couldn’t care less. 

He imagined her lips around his cock, her innocent eyes gazing up into his. He’d imagine the way she’d gag around him, how her lips would look kissing the head of his cock. 

He groaned at the thought, his head tipping back as he closed his eye and let his thoughts wander more. He’d think about how she’d look with his seed covering her lips and her chin, how she’d moan his name as he devoured her between her legs-

He peaked with a gasp, and a low moan of her name. The minute his orgasm washed over him, and he started to slowly come down, he felt an intense feeling of guilt, shame, but most of all pain. 

Guilt and shame because he hated himself for touching himself to someone who couldn’t be his. 

Pain because she’d never be his. Pain because he knew that no matter what he did, she’d still be betrothed to Jacerys. 

____________________________________________

The next morning, she sat alone at breakfast, supposedly liking it more that way. With her fiance practically ignoring her, and her father too entranced with kissing the king's ass, she learned to enjoy the solitude of just…nothing. 

Plus, she always had her thoughts. Even if they were only occupied with Aemond. 

She played around with the food on her plate as her mind trailed. She remembered the way he kissed her, how he held her. She felt happy, something she so rarely felt with Jacerys. 

She knew how he felt, how he longed for and wished for Baela. She did not blame him, she was beautiful, but she also didn’t feel sad, which, at a point did bother her but, not so much. 

At least, not after last night. 

She smiled to herself as she thought about the kiss, wishing that he would do it again, longing for the way the heat escalated through her body. 

She didn’t register the voice next to her until it spoke her name. 

She looked up, surprised. But, when her eyes met with Aemond’s, her heartbeat quickened, and she smiled. 

“Aemond.”

“You’re not hungry?”

“What?” “You’re not eating.” “Oh,” Her cheeks flushed red for a reason unbeknownst to her, and with a soft huff, she pushed the plate away, “It seems as though I have lost my appetite.” 

Aemond looked concerned at that, and he looked down at her. Despite himself, he found himself worrying yet again for her comfort, her needs. 

“Is something the matter?” She shakes her head, but for some reason, Aemond was persistent. “If this is about what happened last night, then I should apologize-” 

“Apologize?” She interrupted, sitting up straighter at the mention of the word. “Why?” 

“Yes…apologize. Because we should not have done that-”

“But I wanted it to happen.” 

Aemomd stopped and he slowly looked towards her. His eye pierced into hers as if to read every thought and emotion that crossed her brain. He just simply couldn’t believe her. 

“You shouldn’t say things you do not mean, Princess.”

“You don’t know that I don’t mean it.”

“Princess-”

“Aemond.” She said his name as if to challenge him, and he knew that he truly could never challenge her. He saw it in her eyes, he saw by the way she looked at him and smiled that she wished for him just as he wished for her. But these feelings-these blockages-would only cause unnecessary trouble. 

“Please, do not give me a hope that cannot be upheld.” Her heart broke a little at that, and, as he stood to leave, she instinctively stood with him, taking his wrist in her hand as she pulled on his arm. As if the small gesture would stop him from walking, (it did). 

“Aemond please..You do not know what I wish for.” 

His lip curled down into a small frown as he looked at her. He knew what she felt-at least he thought he did-but even if his suspicions were right, even if she did wish for him like how he longed for her, he couldn’t. He may dislike, perhaps even hate his nephew, but he was better than stealing his fiance. 

Right?

“We cannot. To be with you would disgrace your family and the alliance-” 

“Fuck the alliance!” She swore, her eyes boring into his as she studied his face. “Fuck the alliances Aemond, I wish for you. Desperately, I wish for you. Jace does not see me like how you do. Jace does not make me feel the way that you do-”

“It does not matter if Jace makes you happy or if he makes you feel desired-” “He does not wish for me as you do!”

“Princess-” “You do not understand! We are speaking of breaking it off. Neither of us wish for this.” Aemond went quiet at this and he sighed heavily, turning his full body towards her. He pried his arm away from her, staring at her incredulously, his body language giving no open window to how he was truly feeling. With no words coming from him, she continued. 

“I love you.” At those words Aemond showed his shock. He took a step back from her and he raised an eyebrow. 

“You do not mean-”

“Oh for the love of-Yes! I mean it! I love you, Aemond! I love you as if it is breathing! Instinctively, not thinking about it….I love you.” 

Aemond couldn’t hold it anymore, he walked to her and gripped her face tightly, her cheeks squishing slightly in his grasp as he smashed his lips against hers. She initially was shocked at the sudden kiss, but she kissed him back fiercely, holding his wrists as she leaned up to kiss him deeper. 

He led her back until he pressed her back against the table, holding her thighs as he pushed her onto the table. His body fit perfectly in between her thighs, just like he imagined it would. His hands gripped her thighs, one of his hands traveling up, feeling and savoring the soft skin as he groaned. 

She pulled away from the kiss to leave small kisses along his jaw. He bit his lip at the feeling, the action presumably so innocent and so sweet it almost made him chuckle. 

He pulled back slightly, his gaze intense and lust filled as his hand trailed underneath her breasts. 

“Tell me to stop.” He demanded. His head was spinning with the lust that clouded it. He waited for her to push him away, or to whimper a soft “I do not think myself ready”- But she shook her head, bringing his head back to hers swiftly to connect their lips in another passionate kiss. 

He pulled away from the kiss, groaning to himself as he left hot, open mouthed kisses against her jaw and neck. He looked down, his breath heavy as he stared down into her cleavage. He wished for nothing more than to rip her dress open and kiss every inch of her body, but being in the dining room came with its disadvantages. So, he settled for kissing her cleavage, before trailing his lips down the fabric of her dress till he came to her thighs.

Aemond pushed her dress up as far as he could, staring at her the whole time. He slowly pushed her thighs about, giving her time to stop him but she never did. Gently kissing the inner side of her thigh, he tried to reassure her. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes; The way she looked at him with both anxiety and lust. He stared up at her searching for any sign or signal that would make him stop. 

“Is this okay?” Once he saw the light nod of her head, he disappeared underneath her dress. 

She had never been intimate with a man-courtesy of her father, enforcing the “Women should be pure” melodramatic speech into her head ever since she could stand. She always thought it to be a chore, only having heard stories from unhappy married women who hated their husbands, and much less disliked their children a little less, but this? This was exciting, this felt good. 

She placed a hand on his head, moaning his name under her breath as he ate her like a beast. His hands gripped her thighs as if to ground himself-He had tasted women before but for some reason she was so much sweeter, so much more divine. His eyes practically rolled back just from pushing his tongue into her heat, sucking gently on her flit before he pulled away slightly, focusing his attention on her clit as he dipped a finger inside of her. 

The sudden stretch made her jump, and gasp loudly. She may have pleasured herself before but it really never felt like what Aemond was doing to her. He eased his finger in slowly, dragging it back out, and then slowly pushing it back in. Hearing the moans that graced her lips, he continued the slow thrust of his finger for a moment before he added another one. 

She let out a loud moan, a hand on the back of his head as she pushed his head closer to her heat. She felt him chuckle against her, the vibrations only adding to the pleasure. She moaned loudly, perhaps too loudly for comfort, but Aemond only seemed to want more of those noises to come from her. 

He slowly curled his fingers, his mouth praising her clit. The added pressure with the curl of his fingers, and the sucking of her clit made her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Oh gods Aemond, I’m going to-” Just as her orgasm was going to consume her, it stopped. With her heavy breathing, and slightly shaky legs, she slowly sat up. Aemond smirked up at her, holding her gaze as he nipped at her inner thighs. “You stopped..” 

“Yes. Because if you are going to peak it should be on my cock.” 

Her face flushed at the words, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled his trousers down slightly to free his throbbing cock. As their eyes met, he seemed to notice the slight anxiety in her eyes, because he pressed his forehead against hers and lined himself up with her entrance. 

“Tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” She nodded in response, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he pushed into her. She let out a gasp; The feeling was new, discomfiting but..new. Her face scrunched up at the stretch, and Aemond shushed her quietly as he started to move. After a few thrusts, her body relaxed, and she started to moan his name. 

Hearing his name fall from her lips was like a prayer answered, like a lifelong dream he had been waiting for. He grunted as he started to rock his hips back and forth into her slowly. It took everything inside of him to not pound into her, to fuck her like he had fantized about. He wished that her father could see her now, her maidenhood gone and her body fully submitting to the pleasure he so gracefully gave her. 

“Aemond..Aemond oh gods-” Her voice broke as he went faster, her moans only getting louder. She tried to wrap her mind around the pleasure he was giving her, the way his hips moved slowly yet deeply, the way the tip of his thick cock rubbed against the spot so deliciously. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she held him close to her. 

One of his hands was on her thigh, the other on the table as he thrusted into her, as if holding the edge of the table would stop the creaking sounds, or the way she moaned his name, or how his groans got louder as his climax approached. 

White splattered her vision as her orgasm washed over. She cried out his name in pleasure, holding him close as his legs trapped him inside of her. The feeling of her core pulsating and tightening made Aemond’s head spin, and he grunted out a moan of her name as he came himself, spilling his seed inside of her. 

As the two sat there, basking in the afterglow of being intimate, neither of them would move for what felt like hours. Even though the position that they were in was compromising, they smiled, and laughed softly at the situation itself. 

Once they both got cleaned up-the best they could get cleaned up for just having sex on the dining room table-Aemond took her hand. She smiled softly at Aemond, her heart racing in a new, and exciting way. The two stared at each other for a while, trying to wrap their minds around the fact that now, they could truly be together, or at least, now, they had a hope that they could be together.

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[soracities]

i saw your tags, and i wanna ask what books "punched you in the gut" (i wanna get punched too)?

SO glad you asked anon omg

Let the Right One In, John Ajvide Lindqvist

i am lewy, Eoghan Ó Tuairisc

Antigone, Jean Anouilh

Tess of the d'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy

Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte

A Tale for the Time Being, Ruth Ozeki

"The Condemned", Stig Dagerman

The Snake, Stig Dagerman

A Moth to a Flame, Stig Dagerman

Giovanni's Room, James Baldwin

From A to X, John Berger

The Plague, Albert Camus

The Myth of Sisyphus: Essays, Albert Camus

How the Soldier Repairs the Gramophone, Saša Stanišić

Posession, A.S. Byatt

A Girl is a Half-Formed Thing, Eimear McBride

"The Husband Stitch", Carmen Maria Machado

The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter

On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong

An Inventory of Losses, Judith Schalansky

The Need for Roots, Simone Weil

Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets, Svetlana Alexievich

Deaf Republic, Ilya Kaminsky

Agua Viva, Clarice Lispector

Broken Vessels: Essays, Andre Dubus

The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy

A Field Guide for Getting Lost, Rebecca Solnit

A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini

Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

We, Yevgeny Zamyatin

Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro

Books Burn Badly, Manuel Rivas

The Memory Police, Yoko Ogawa

The Thirteenth Tale, Diane Setterfield

Uzumaki, Junji Ito

The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

For Two Thousand Years, Mihail Sebastian

[rainystarters]

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.

dialogue :

are you sure you want to marry him?

oh! how you must want me!

soon.

i had never been vain until i met you.

anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.

all the better to see you.

what is that key? the key to your heart?

every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.

all is yours, everywhere is open to you.

but now... what shall i do now?

my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.

there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

you are in some great distress.

any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.

oh god. i can smell the blood.

i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!

can't it wait until morning, my darling?

who can say what i deserve or no?

i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.

i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.

good fellow? i am no good fellow.

forgive me for robbing your garden!

all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.

and what else was there to be done?

they are the death of any tender herbivore.

so late! you will want sleep.

you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.

i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.

i am sick and i must die.

if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.

i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.

i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.

if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.

for all my pride, my heart is heavy.

if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.

i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.

you are a woman of honor.

nothing human lives here.

we have dispensed with servants.

take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?

all cats are cynics.

you read my thoughts, my love.

the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.

all will fall still, all lapse.

it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.

i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.

there are some eyes can eat you.

sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.

eat me, drink me.

dive in and fetch it for me.

now you are at the place of annihilation.

and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.

can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?

beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.

a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.

be he alive or be he dead.

coffee. you must have coffee.

welcome. welcome to my chateau.

i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.

this place is so lonely.

now the village is deserted.

often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.

i must apologize for the lack of light.

you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.

i am condemned to solitude and dark.

i do not mean to hurt you.

i will be very gentle.

and could love free me from the shadows?

i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.

you will feel no pain, my darling.

so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.

the end of exile is the end of being.

it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.

the devil is as real as you or i.

do not leave the path.

you are always in danger in the forest.

they are as unkind as plague.

fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.

besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?

actions :

clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.

opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.

choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.

carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.

spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.

cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.

ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.

keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.

harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.

lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.

call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.

note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.

death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.

hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.

servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.

hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.

hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.

bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.

reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.

bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.

voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.

powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.

stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.

weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.

dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.

flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.

prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.

song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.

caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.

green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.

tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.

stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.

wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.

thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.

china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.

blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.

wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.

muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.

[selinay-in-wonderland]

The princess and the jester pt.1

ART THE CLOWN X F! READER

Slow burn

**************************************

Once upon a time, in a prosperous kingdom nestled between towering mountains and deep forests, there lived a kind and beautiful princess. She was the light of her father’s heart, the king’s only daughter, and he adored her beyond measure. Her laughter filled the castle with warmth, and her kindness spread through the kingdom like sunlight, brightening even the darkest corners. Her people loved her, and her father, a strong and protective king, would do anything to ensure her happiness and safety.

But darkness knows where joy lies and seeks it out.

One winter, a terrible plague swept through the land. Crops withered, rivers dried, and sickness gripped the people. Nothing the king did could save them. Physicians, healers, and magicians from far-off lands tried their best, but each left the kingdom defeated. The people grew sicker, the fields turned barren, and the warmth of life seemed to drain from the once-lively kingdom.

Desperate and brokenhearted, the king spent countless nights in his chambers, searching through ancient scrolls and texts for any last hope. With every passing day, he watched as the light in his daughter’s eyes dimmed, as her laughter became a rare and fragile sound. “Please,” he would whisper to the heavens, his hands clasped in prayer. “Not my daughter. I cannot lose my only diamond. I would give anything to see her smile again.”

His pleas echoed through the halls of the castle, reverberating against the cold stone walls. Each night, he stayed awake, tormented by visions of a future without her, imagining the kingdom’s beauty turning to ash as the plague took hold. In his darkest hour, he came across an ancient tome, its pages yellowed with age, detailing a desperate solution—a creature known only as the Jester.

The tales spoke of him as a being of pure mischief and malice, a shadow draped in a twisted jester’s attire, marked by his ghastly painted smile and silent laughter. He was known to wander through sorrowful places, delighting in suffering. But it was said that if one were desperate enough to summon him and make a pact, he could grant wishes—for a price.

Haunted by his daughter’s weakened smile, the king cast aside his fear. That night, he crept from the castle and ventured into the cursed forest on the outskirts of his kingdom. There, beneath the twisted, ancient trees, he followed the ritual instructions he’d read, whispering words forbidden by time. And then, from the darkness, he heard it: the soft, squeaking honk of a horn.

The king turned to find the Jester—a terrifying creature standing just beyond the firelight, his face painted in a grotesque grin, his eyes dark and dead, yet somehow glinting with a twisted joy. The king swallowed his terror and took a step forward, clutching his sword. But Art the Jester didn’t move. He only tilted his head, his silent laughter seeming to fill the night air, a soundless mockery that turned the king’s blood cold.

Summoning his courage, the king made his plea, his voice trembling with urgency. “Spare my people from this suffering. Heal the land. I… I will give you anything. I will pay whatever price you ask.” Each word tasted bitter, the weight of his desperation hanging heavy in the air.

Art watched him, eyes glittering with dark delight. Then he pointed at the castle, at the highest tower where the princess slept, innocent and unaware. The meaning was clear.

The king’s heart broke. “No…” he gasped, voice cracking under the weight of his realization. “Please, not her. She is my only child… my light. I would give anything but her.” He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, I beg you! Not my daughter!”

Art’s gaze remained fixed, his grin unmoved, his finger still pointing toward the tower. The choice was clear: either his daughter or nothing. The king staggered back, feeling the ground shift beneath him as despair threatened to consume him. He had to think of something—anything! But with each passing moment, he saw his daughter’s face, so fragile, so innocent, fading before his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you!” he pleaded, desperation dripping from each word. “I will sacrifice my throne, my treasures, my very soul! Just… just not her!” He choked on his sobs, the torment of losing her washing over him like a tidal wave.

But Art’s cruel smile widened, reflecting the darkness that enveloped the king’s heart. The king sank to his knees, clutching his chest, feeling as if his heart was being ripped from him. “I accept your terms,” he finally managed to choke out, each word a knife twisted in his soul. The weight of his choice settled heavily upon him.

With a low, mocking bow, Art vanished into the shadows, leaving the king alone in the night, a shell of the man he once was. The pact was sealed ,leaving a devastated King behind…

[achaoticeternal]

he has beautiful bones | a.t

AEMOND TARGARYEN x FEM!STARK!READER

summary: after your quarrels with alicent and aemond, you and aemond must come to terms with his actions.  word count: 2.3k warnings: internalized misogyny a/n: i love this little war criminal and i don’t know whether to fix him or join him in his madness - but this is a fix him fic lol 

part one | all that he sees

Three full suns had risen and set since you last lay with Aemond in your room, much less spoke with him. Rather than accompanying your husband where ever he be in the walls of the Red Keep, you took up the company of youthful noble ladies and your lady-in-waiting. And while you laughed and soaked in their kind company, the ache in your heart remained. 

You had only seen Aemond, even Alicent, in passing through halls and gardens. Alicent would keep an eye fixated on you during the brief encounters, but you paid no mind to her as you passed by. You had nothing good or kind to say to the woman, so it was better that you keep your mouth shut. When Aemond would catch a glance of you, his expression became slightly hopeful, only to fall as you brushed past him. Instead of attending dinner, you took them in your maiden chamber within the presence of your lady-in-waiting and personal guards. 

There was no doubt in your mind that Alicent had plagued your husband's mind with terrible thoughts and words about you and your behaviors. A small part of you hoped that he would retaliate against the unkind words, but you truly expected him to silently accept her words or even laugh along. Cruel thoughts...

You had taken to a daily habit of checking in with the maesters to see if words had come and go from your brother, Cregan. At first, it shocked you to hear that there was no correspondence from either side. Only one response from the Greens, requesting time to deliberate while a swarm of Lords from the Southern region congregated at the Red Keep. There was some relief on your part that Aemond had not just simply acted on his mother’s wishes... yet. 

Currently, you were to be found in the grand library of the Red Keep. There was a pile of books on one of the desks closest to you; organized by records, stories, and histories. During your courtship with Aemond, he would often read you the histories of the Targaryen line and even the tales of Old Valyria. He thought it important that you knew and understood the family you would be marrying into. Admittedly, it was a kind gesture and a privilege that very few people who had married a Targaryen had ever received. 

The love both of you had for your separate heritages was what helped to plant the seed of love in your marriage. While he taught you small and loving phrases in High Valyrian, you would tell him of the fables that your parents told you as a little girl. Stories of the children of the forest and the first men in exchange for the history of Valyria before the Doom. Such a small act of love was what truly made you, a Northern lady, feel welcome in the Southern kingdoms.

In your searches for the next book you would be mulling over for the next day or so, you came across a children’s book with stories of the Sigils of each house and how they came to be. The illustrations were silly and you even giggled at the depictions of the Mormont bear and Greyjoy kraken. You flipped through the pages, continuing your amusements until the wolf of your own house came into view. Ironically, the pages for Stark and Targaryen were next to each other in the section of the great houses. You read over both pages...

House Stark - the Direwolf: a house of ice and honor

a man of the north is an honorable man as there ever was he is strong he is fierce he does what is best, right, and good

House Targaryen - the Three-Head Dragon a house of fire and blood

a man of the dragon with fire in his veins he is steadfast he is regal he does what is best for the house

Your forefinger traced over the words as you compared the descriptions of both houses to the men you honored most in your life - your brother and your husband. But then you dismissed such comparisons and thought of yourself - how you embodied such traits of both houses. With a firm nod, you closed the book and turned on your heels... you knew what to say to your husband now.

As if divine timing was on your side, one of Aemond’s personal King’s Guard entered the library and announced himself. 

“My lady, Prince Aemond requests your presence.”

“Thank you, ser,” You spoke with a curt nod as you began to exit the library, “And it would do you and others good to address me by my rightful title — Princess.”

The guards escorted you through the halls of the Red Keep until you came upon the familiar oak doors of your marriage chambers. As you approached, you waved the guards off to dismiss them and knocked at the great doors. There was a pause, and then Aemond opened the door.

Your husband, though still stoic and tall in posture, looked utterly exhausted. One might even conclude that he had barely slept since you were last properly at his bedside. This surprised you - as Aemond rarely showed any emotions outside of his amusements, teasing, and eagerness in training. His shoulders were even slightly slumped as his good eye met your gaze.

“My wife,” His tone was far softer than when you had last spoken with each other. His eye then trailed to the outskirts of the door, “Where are the guards?”

“I dismissed them,” You spoke bluntly, “We are speaking as man and wife, are we not? What reason do they have to be posted outside your door?”

There was no reason. Both you and Aemond knew that. He simply nodded his head, but there was a pause hanging in the air. It did not release until you broke it yourself. 

“May I come in? Or will be speaking at each other through opposite sides of the door?” You questioned, cocking your head to the side. 

Aemond’s eye trailed over your body before he fully opened the door and stepped out of your way. You could now fully step into the chambers and see what a disheveled mess it had become. 

“Have the attendants not been coming in? It looks a full mess in here. They-”

Aemond quickly cut you off, “No one has been in these chambers except myself since you took the bed in your maiden chambers.”

There was another long silence. Your eyes flickered across the room and looked anywhere but at Aemond.

“Why?”

“Because even if you left my side in anger, I did not want to see you erased from our marriage chambers,” Aemond spoke softly, truthfully. His stature was wavering, you could tell that he wanted to grab your hand but fought against his touch-starved desire, “My mother tried to send in maid after maid to clean and tidy, but I sent them all away. I would not have her commands pull you from me - even in the smallest of details like your soft scent upon the bed pillows.”

Your brows furrowed, not in hurt, but more in surprise at his words. Your heartbeat picked up with each honest word. Though he was never an overly affectionate husband, especially before others, he did have his own special way of always taking your breath away.

“Aemond...” You breathed out...

You shook your head, knowing that you wouldn’t betray yourself by returning to his arms with just a few kind words.

“I’m glad to hear that you dismissed Alicent’s requests, but why not have avoided any of this?” You ask him with a twinge of hurt in your voice, “Why not defend me to her in the first place?”

Aaemond thought for a moment about your question. He thought over the consequences of his lack of action and how throughout his life, he rarely stood up to or disagreed with his mother. It weighed heavily in his heart - the comparisons he made between his mother and his wife. 

When he thought of Alicent, he saw a woman who fought for her children. A woman who deeply loved him and cared for him when he lost his eye. A woman who admittedly helped to build him into a far better Prince than his elder brother. A woman who did her best to give him what he desired.

When he thought of his lady-wife, he saw a woman who seemed a direct foil of who young Aemond imagined he would marry. You were an engaging and intelligent young woman. You never wanted to simply bear the heirs of the Dragon Prince, but rather love him in the ways his family could never. You had taken the parts of himself that he hated or others had damaged and loved them.

"I am sincere in my apologies, my love." Aemond began, "I have... neglected my duties to you; made you feel undermined, underappreciated; and bit my tongue when I should have defended you."

He began to slowly approach you. As he came closer and closer, he reached out his hands to gently take one of your own between his palms. His gaze focus on your hand, more specifically the golden wedding band, as he collected his thought to continue his apology.

"I love my mother dearly — but I love you more..."

"When I was growing up, my father dismissed all of his children except for  Rhaenyra, so I depended on my mother who was fighting her own battles. Aegon was... he is just Aegon, and Helaena had to process her own life. I did not feel so open to cherish or love anyone until you came into my life," he raised your hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles. 

"I should have corrected Alicent instead of allowing her to brush you off. Your council is something that I deeply cherish and require with this matter. Please, join me tonight at the meeting of the small council so that we can finally provide an answer to Cregan."

 A smile twitched at your lips with each word. You could feel the sincerity in each word and tell how much thought he had put into such. This was the man whose hand you had accepted in marriage. With his lingering question, you answered with a grateful smile, "Thank you, Aemond. I would love to be at your side tonight, and to return to bed with you after."

Aemond chuckled and fully pulled your frame against his chest, "Good," he whispered. He pulled you into a soft kiss, glad to have you back in his arms.

A chair had been drawn up next to Aemond's seat at his orders long before the pair of you arrived at the meeting. As a couple, you both were the last to arrive before the top of the hour. You had other catching up to do outside of apologies...

 Once you entered the room, a small gasp could be heard — obviously from Alicent. The other Lords of the table held similar shock in their eyes but did not reveal their opinion with their words or faces. Arm in arm with Aemond, you approached your seats. Aemond pulled out your chair from the table like a gentleman and you stood in front of it. All members were standing, awaiting the arrival of King Aegon. 

Your eyes shifted about the room, looking from Lord to Lord. Based on their expression, you knew Aemond had a look on his face, daring them to say something.

"It is good to see you back by your husband's size, my lady." Alicent finally broke the silence, "But may I ask why you are present?"

As you reached for your chalice of wine and sipped from it, Aemond answered his mother's questions, "My wife is originally a lady of the North and Lord Cregan is her brother. She is an excellent resource for us in this current predicament. She is here to provide us with useful insight which we may be unaware of."

Alicent did her best to maintain a composed smile as her eyes flickered between Aemond and you, "Interesting..."

As you returned your chalice to the table, Alicent quite noticeably cleared her throat, "My lady..."

"The Prince is smart to bring in your assistance for this meeting. I do encourage you not to make many interruptions as there is much to discuss this evening. In fact, your advice should only be to your husband and not the council, my lady."

The Queen mother seemed content with her backhanded words as she finished with a nod. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Aemond's knuckles go white as he clenched his hand into a fist. Though you appreciated his refusal to back down, you rested your hand softly atop his fist, insinuating that you would handle her words.

"My Queen, it is an honor to join the small council this evening and provide my insight where it is needed," You spoke with a smirk, "but I must say - much as I respect and even admire all the hard work you've poured into the ears of these fine Lords, I expect that you acknowledge my words as well. For as you, I believe it would be appropriate for you to reciprocate the respect that you expect of me."

"My lady—" She attempted to interject. 

"My Queen, I wish for you to address me with my proper title — Princess..." You stopped her with a smirk.

All eyes were on you in shock that you had corrected the queen. However, your eyes glanced over to Aemond for a moment to see him smirking, clearly proud. 

Before another word could be said, King Aegon finally entered and the meeting finally began. As you took your seat, you felt Aemond's hand reach under the table to grab your own. He squeezed it affectionately and kept it there the entirety of the night.

|| thank you for all the wonderful comments on part 1 

|| i’ve tagged below those [the ones i could] who commented to part one

@violet2507 @malfoytargaryen @melsunshine​ @lol-im-done​ @thenovelcarnival​ @xoxo-pepprmnts​ @sl-ut​ @hoziersfairy​ @merovingianprincess​

[spectorcomplex]

love and war ↝ aemond targaryen x reader

you treat marriage as if it is war. who’s to say it’s not?

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!velaryon!reader (she/her pronouns)

warnings: cursing, targcest, reader is rhaenyra and laenor’s daughter but there are no physical descriptions. my first hotd fic pls be kind

word count: 5k words

my masterlist

You should be mourning. Truth be told, you were— an aching sadness that left you hollow as the adults paced around the room, grief heavy in the air with the loss of your Grandfather, the King. But the fear swirling in your gut overpowered sadness.

You were not oblivious to the opinions of the court, even if you yourself were not involved in it as much. Your mother’s rule has been challenged enough even when the King was alive and now the long awaited storm brewing from before might finally arrive to blow your family over.

Your mother is a strong woman, a true protector of the realm, but as you glance over at where she is stood by a window next to Alicent Hightower as they engage in a hushed conversation, you know that everyone, even her, is nervous for how the kingdoms may react to a woman ascending the Iron Throne.

She sent you and your brothers to your chambers after the funeral, heavy lidded and shoulders drooped, unfit for a royal, but she was not the Queen in that moment, but rather a grieving daughter. You hugged her good night and kissed her cheek as you often did as a child in her arms.

Sleep did not come to you yet and a history book written in High Valyrian kept you company. Until a knock echoed.

“Princess? I’m sorry to wake you but the Prince Daemon requests your presence,” The voice came from the guard stationed outside your door.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It was too late in the night and what would your step-father want from you at this hour?

Thankfully you had not changed into your night dress yet, still clad in your funeral attire, a high-neck black dress that had faint embroideries of dragons on the hem of the floor length skirt. Your heart grew heavy as you remembered the tales from your childhood when Viserys had time to indulge your requests in knowing more about Balerion.

The guard escorted you to the council chamber and you finally had a sense that this was an emergency meeting regarding the Crown.

“Sister,” Jace greeted you by the door. You glanced behind him to see your mother seated at the head of the table with a glum expression.

The sight of Queen Alicent in the room was no surprise to you, she was constantly in the presence of your family after she and your mother had rekindled their friendship. What did catch you off guard was the presence of her son, your uncle, Aemond. He was the only one of Viserys’ other children present in the room.

You wondered if Aemond too was feeling grief for his father but there he was seated, proper posture and a stoic face, the candlelight casting a sharp shadow over his features. The complete opposite of your plump cheeked younger brother Lucerys, who was slouched and yawning in his seat.

Jacaerys helped you into your seat and looked equally unnerved as you, though you were not sure if the reasons are the same. 

Daemon entered after a few minutes of silence. You noted that only family was present in this room. 

“Daemon, what is this about?” Your mother asked with a sigh. 

“The coronation is tomorrow,” Daemon began to explain but your older brother interrupted with a scowl on his face. 

“Exactly, which is why the Queen needs to be well rested for the ceremony,” Jace had been standing up to your step-father a lot more recently and you admired his ferocity. 

Daemon glared back, “There’s already whispers. Unsatisfied, doubtful, craven Lords who may not fully cooperate in this reign.” 

You could only frown. This exact scenario was what plagued your thoughts ever since you learned of the King’s passing. No one expects the passing of succession to go smoothly, but to be interrupted so soon?

There was a purpose as to why Daemon called this meeting; why only family was present. You racked your brain as to think of a way to help but none came to mind. You were a second child whose influence came in the form of what your dresses looked like instead of what you have to say.

“We need allies.”

All eyes turned to look at Aemond. His voice made it clear that he was speaking a matter of fact. 

Your step-father looked hesitant to address the younger prince but this was no time for revisiting petty prejudices of the past. 

“Precisely,” Daemon nodded. “And if I recall correctly, you’re already in the talks of a marriage pact to Storm’s End. We would have sent dear Y/N but there are no sons there to vie for her hand.”

The first part of his sentence went over your head as your nose flared in offense. “Is this why I was summoned here? To be shipped off to spend the rest of my life being miserable with some stupid Lord?” 

“Watch your mouth,” Your mother finally spoke, though her words were not what you hoped for. You looked at her in despair and you were met with pity. 

“I get to have a say how my life goes,” You stand up, furious. “I am a princess of this realm!”

“This realm you speak of will descend into chaos if you refuse to help your mother.” 

His words were carefully curated, constructed together to hit the tender spot in your heart reserved for your mother. You were already defeated in the matter of your liberty despite your stubbornness to pursue an argument. 

“I can help in other ways,” You said. 

“How? By the way of the sword?” Daemon’s nature was to always pick a fight and even his children were of no exception. 

“No need for violence all the time,” You match his scoff. “Diplomacy is an option and—“

“And diplomacy is to secure good relations with others, like marriage,” His tone was nearing a growl and you did not want the already exhaustive night to take a turn for the worse. 

“Alright,” You clenched your jaw. “For my mother—for my Queen.”

You looked at her, a glint of what you hoped was admiration shining in her eyes. She mouthed a thank you. 

Curious eyes followed you as you approached a guard stationed by the door. He nodded at your request and quickly returned to you with the item at hand. 

You unfurled the map of Westeros on the table. 

“Only if I get to choose which Lord I will be betrothed to,” You said. “It must be a very strategic alliance that will greatly benefit the Crown if it will cost me whatever joy I have left in this life.” 

As everyone peered at the inky outlines of the seven Kingdoms, a rogue stare strayed from the map and settled on you. 

“You look ready for battle, my Princess.” 

Your uncle’s whispered quip startled you so much that a breathy laughter escaped your lips. His sour relationship with your brothers had strained your own relationship with him. As children you would even play games of chasing each other when your respective lessons were done for the day. A few hearty laughs were shared if you saw Aegon stumble down a set of stairs, both too young and naive to know about the sensation of drunkenness. 

But now, years after the incident that forever changed the dynamics within the family, he seemed like a stranger. The boy you knew was gone and in his place stood a man with the mind of a scholar and the skills of a knight. You swallowed as your gaze met his. 

“Is marriage not war, my Prince?” 

His lips raised imperceptibly but you caught it. Though, you wish you hadn’t as your heart defied logic and started to race. 

“Well?” Daemon’s voice sliced through the tension and even if he was irritating you, you were relieved for the interruption. 

Your nimble finger pointed south. “There is a Martell son. Though they would see right through us if I was offered up to him. But if they did choose to look past that, we may even have the chance of strengthening the bond with Sunspear.” 

“Wait-wait,” Alicent spoke, her motherly gaze meeting yours. “No need to treat this as if it were the Stepstones, sweet girl. We can arrange a tour and maybe a love match may—“

“With all due respect, Your Grace, but a tour requires weeks of planning for travel on all parties,” You gave her a grateful smile. “We do not have the privilege of time on our side regarding this matter.”

You were not the closest to Queen Alicent after all these years of animosity, but you could tell she was trying and these were her true colors that your mother cared for when they were young. 

“And a love match is—“ You frowned. Even if marriage had always been a distant thought in your mind, you had always hoped that you would marry the one you love. But having that in this world is much rarer than dragons who breathe blue fire. 

“A love match is not possible,” You breathed out. You cast a glance at Daemon, who was nodding in approval. You were on the path of making right decisions until your eyes landed on Aemond across from you and the mistake was letting his already-there stare have feelings rise within you. 

You only shook your head before pointing back at the map. 

“This one also seems feasible,” You say as you circled the shape of an archipelago with your finger. 

“The Iron Islands, sister?” Lucerys, who had been awfully quiet for quite some time, finally spoke. 

“I’m a Velaryon,” You spoke with pride, though a distant sadness ached at the memory of your late father. “And you, dear brother, are heir to Driftmark. Our family can have control over the great fleets in both seas surrounding Westeros.” 

Mumbles of approval filled the air and you thought that, this is it, you’ll officially be surrendering to the water in which you came from. 

“A Greyjoy?” 

Prince Aemond is awfully opinionated tonight, it seems, and your fatigue was morphing into irritation. 

“Is there a problem with them, my son?” Alicent asked. 

Aemond scoffed, “The only eligible one for the Princess Y/N to marry is skilled at sea but useless on land.” 

“What seems to be the problem with that?” You asked, always having had admiration for the skills it requires to be great in ships. Traces of the fond memories of your father and grandfather’s lessons. 

But even if you were the one that spoke, Aemond refused to look at you. His gaze even seemed directed at your parents. 

“The Greyjoy son is even more bunglesome than the lowliest tourney knight,” Aemond explained, voice cool and turned your temper to flare. “How will he protect his wife? With a knotted rope perhaps.” 

And the most unexpected happened, both your brothers laughed at the remark. It was a sight from your childhood years that you never thought you’d get to see again. You elbow Jacaery’s side. 

“As much as I would hate to agree with him,” Jace whispers in your ear. “He does not lie, sister. I’ve sparred with the Greyjoy boy before.”

“Well,” Your mother spoke, voice commanding the attention of the room. “We keep our options open.”

You sigh quietly, eyes starting to droop and eager to get this meeting over with. But you were determined to secure a stable turnover from King Viserys to Queen Rhaenyra. 

“Alright,” You cleared your throat, feeling warmth slowly flood your cheeks as your finger pointed upwards of the map. “The North.” 

“Not just the North, I think,” Lucerys piped in, a familiar mirth in his eyes. “You want to be Lady of Winterfell.” 

“I do not!” You really wish you had composed yourself instead of succumbing to your sibling’s teasing because now all attention is on you. Except one, as you see in your periphery. 

“Cregan Stark,” Daemon hummed in contemplation. “Not an awful choice.”

That’s basically a seal of approval coming from him. 

“There’s no sense to a marriage pact with them. Northerners are honorable people, they won’t break faith to Rhaenyra even in doubtful times,” Alicent offered. 

The conversation was slipping from your control and you need to grasp it back for this was your freedom as a woman at stake. 

“Still wouldn’t hurt to have the largest region in Westeros, your Grace,” You said. “Plus, he is Jacaerys’ friend and I’ve met Cregan on quite a few occasions. He is… a gentleman.” 

“You think he’s handsome.”

Oh, you were definitely going to smother your brothers in their sleeps tonight. 

“He is smart,” You backtracked, the same rogue stare from earlier now back on you and burrowing deeper under your skin. “Already groomed to rule over his lands.”

“Alright, we start with the Starks,” Your mother said, the back of her hand rubbing over an eye. “His father will be at the coronation and if we’re lucky, Cregan will also be. But for tonight, we will all get rest.” 

That would probably be your favorite order from the Queen. 

“I am to fly to Storm’s End the day after tomorrow,” Aemond’s deep voice was like the thunder in the place he was to visit. “Your Grace.”

To anybody else, they would not be able to catch the subtle look of surprise on your mother’s face, but you could tell because you were probably mirroring her right now. Your uncle Aemond’s disdain for your side of the family had never been in question. To address your mother like that even if he’s made it so perfectly clear that the inheritance should pass onto Viserys’ sons was worthy of suspicion.

“Alright…” You saw your mother hesitate, “Brother. Good night, my family.” 

That last interaction was what made you so sleepy at the celebration after your mother’s coronation for it kept you up the night before. You were restless after the cordiality your family presented each other and every now and then you think you’re a fool for hoping it would last for a long time. 

But you were lying to yourself. You knew damn well the presence of Prince Aemond was what had you twisting and turning in your sheets. Your annoyance towards his incessant need to tap his fingers on the table, smug smirks, and opinions on your future marriage was a way to cope with the wave of nostalgia you felt every time you cast a glance at him. 

Aemond had always known how the royal family is above others, even back when he still had both eyes and a childish grin. His words tonight reminded you of the time when you were seven and Aemond nearly growled at the Baker’s son who gave you a plucked flower from outside the castle. 

You however found sleep after a few tears dropped at the loss of those innocent days, letting go of the prospect of Valyrian Dragonglass and finding marriage in another House.

—+—

Some Lords were confused at the serious faces of House Targaryen. Most of them were rowdily whooping and clapping after the coronation. But being a royal of this realm meant you had to be smart in assessing a massive gathering of all the nobility in Westeros. 

Daemon had reminded the family in the morning to be wary of the doubtful Lords he had mentioned the night before. 

You all had a better look at the attendees at the celebratory feast Alicent insisted on having in order to ‘lighten spirits.’ To no one’s surprise, the Martell son was nowhere in sight. 

You sighed from your place at the table that was raised on the dais, overlooking all the nobility starting the night with wine filled cups. You grimaced as you heard your Uncle Aegon’s slurred words start already. 

The poor dress that was custom made for you is currently suffering from scratch marks from your anxious fingers. The Greyjoy table was full of men who looked older than your own parents and the aforementioned weakling in swordsmanship is nowhere to be seen.

“Good eve, Princess Y/N. You look beautiful tonight.”

You startle as you see the Greyjoy you were looking for by the other end of the table. 

“Just tonight, Sir Rickon?” You jest like old friends even though you knew nothing but his name and status. 

He didn’t seem to think you meant no harm as he started stuttering, “No-I- you look beautiful all the- I’m terribly sorry.”

“I only jest, my Lord,” You say through gritted teeth and muster a convincing smile. Though your snickering elder brother at your left was seeing right through it. 

“Yes, alright,” Rickon clears his throat. “May I dance with you, Princess?”

You sigh, the sound thankfully lost in the noise of the hall, and nod. You grabbed his outstretched hand, calloused and littered with small cuts. 

“Have you sailed recently, my Lord?” You asked as the two of you got into position. 

Rickon’s face seemed to lighten at this and you put all your Velaryon knowledge to the forefront of your mind. 

“It has been two moons since then, Princess, we traveled to King’s Landing by road,” He explained. 

That was pretty much the meat of your conversation with Rickon Grayjoy. He was an average dancer and a worse conversationalist. Not good for diplomatic relations. 

Dornish wine had never been as appealing to you as it is now. As soon as the music ended, you rushed back to the family table and grabbed a goblet for yourself with enough quickness to even surprise your drunkard Uncle Aegon. 

Unbeknownst to you, another uncle was watching warily.

“Slow down, niece,” Aemond’s voice broke through the noise of the hall. 

You only roll your eyes and stumble back to the dance floor. Though you do get a sense of deja vu at Aemond’s words. 

These were the times in which a listener would find this memory hard to believe to be true. Too fictional to believe— as if it is meant to be a story immortalized on a tapestry. A speck of a memory that is so different from how the Targaryen family is with each other now. But you remember; girlish giggles and scuffs of shoes echoed throughout the stone walls of the Keep. 

You were summoned to the Dragonpit to start learning how to command your young dragon. Love for books had nothing against your excitement when Ser Harwin called for your attention. Your Uncle Aemond was in the library with you, equally enamored with his book about dragons of Valyria and you asked him to accompany you as to see the real thing compared to illustrations on paper. 

“Slow down, Princess!” 

You only snickered at Aemond’s warning. He only had a few years ahead of you and thought his prepubescent voice could scare you into submission. 

Despite being born and raised in the Keep, you have not yet developed muscle memory for every crevice in the castle and your foot slipped on a crack in the pavement. 

You plummeted to the ground, though your hands reached out to stop your face from colliding with the floor. Tears immediately flooded your eyes as your palms skidded on the gravel, following a sting and warm wetness which was most likely blood, and an ache surged in your twisted ankle. Stubbornness ran thick in Velaryon blood and you refused to cry in front of any of the boys but the pain was too much to hold it back. 

‘What did I tell you?’ You expected Aemond to say with a disappointed tut. But he only knelt next to you, brows furrowed as he helped you sit upright and inspecting your bloodied hands. 

He had one arm tucked under yours as he patiently helped you walk back to the main grounds of the Red Keep in which he then barked at Ser Criston to fetch a maester to tend to you. 

Aemond sat next to you and rested a gentle hand, still free of callouses from handling swords, on your forearm as the maester applied ointment to your scratched palms.

He never told you how much it stung when you didn’t do the same for him on that fateful day in Driftmark. 

“Princess.” 

The firm voice broke you out of your wine-induced memories. 

“Lord Cregan Stark,” You curtsied. 

The smile you greeted him with was genuine compared to Lord Greyjoy. Though the conversation from last night put a falter in your grin. 

You wanted to see Cregan as a friend, build a relationship on a foundation free of ulterior motives. But the plans made are needed to be put into motion to truly secure Queen Rhaenyra’s reign. 

“May I have the pleasure of dancing with you?” He asked and you wordlessly nodded as you felt the warmth flood your cheeks. Though your recollection of that day in your childhood added to the dizziness from the wine. 

Cregan was an excellent conversationalist, complimenting your dress and hair and still managed to verge into topics deeper than surface level small talk as you twirled to the music. He would make a good husband, you think. Though your heart dropped for a split second that this would not be a true love match if a wedding was to happen. He would be a good ally. 

“Have you caught up with Jacaerys yet?” You inquire, looking him in the eye to keep his attention. 

He started to answer enthusiastically and despite how much you complimented him the night before in front of your closest family, you could not fully appreciate Lord Stark and despite trying not to, you found yourself comparing him to the one eyed prince. 

“…Like a brother to me,” Cregan finished with a smile. 

Your eyes flickered to his mouth before returning to his sparkling brown eyes. He would make a good husband, you repeat in your head. Dark features and lips chapped from the harsh winds of winter. 

“That is good to hear,” You nod, switching to diplomatic mode immediately. You had to seal this partnership tonight. “That our families have a bond with each other.” 

A look of knowing flickered in Cregan’s eyes, almost as if he knew what you were insinuating or about to propose. 

Cregan leaned in, too bold a move for a public dance between a Lord and a Lady, “Yes. A bond.” 

Your breath hitched at his actions. 

Someone cleared their throat and you nearly jumped in place. 

“Lord Stark, would you mind dancing with the Lady Floris Baratheon?” 

You huff when you turned in Cregan’s hold and saw Aemond standing there next to the two of you, lips in a fine line. Said Lady Floris was next to him, almost looking defeated. You had to hold the urge of cursing Aemond out. What he said was not an offer but a demand. 

Cregan did not look phased but still obeyed the Prince after bowing, “I’d be honored to.” 

When the dark haired pair drifted into the rest of the dancing crowd, you scowled at Aemond. 

He was not bothered by this and placed a firm hand on your waist. You gulp. 

“What are you doing?” You hiss. A defense mechanism to emotions beyond irritation towards the Prince swaying with you. 

“Flirting is beneath you, niece,” He says in that low voice of his. 

“You know my intentions with Lord Stark and why,” You answer, the grip you have on Aemond’s leather clad shoulders turning tighter in aggression. “And you should be with the Lady Floris to finally get Storm’s End’s approval.” 

Aemond only hummed as he spins you out and pulls you back in, “I’d rather pluck my other eye out than to have Borros Baratheon as my father-in-law.”

As if on cue, the raucous laughter of the Lord of Storm’s End echoed in the hall. You both grimace. 

“Then who do you wish?” You chuckle, though not lightheartedly. “Daemon?” 

You scoff after saying your step father’s name. It was evident how much Aemond idolizes him despite his denial. All from the hair down to the ego. 

Your knees weakened when Aemond didn’t look phased by your jab, he even rather looked amused and that was a dangerous thing. 

“What are you saying?” He smirks and your blood runs cold when realization crept in.

“I only meant Baela or-“ You stutter. 

“Who are both already betrothed to your brothers.” 

Damn it! That smug smirk only seemed to grow wider and you swear you growled under your breath. You redirected the conversation. 

“You have a choice, I do not,” You start. “I do not understand why you would say yes to a marriage pact when you could just forge an alliance over a goblet of wine.” 

That seemed to put Aemond back into his stoic self. Despite the silence, you know he was forming an answer in his head. 

“I have to protect my mother.” 

Your cold facade melted a little bit. You understood where he was coming from with this. 

“I do too,” You answer, making sure your voice was not as confrontational as it was a few seconds ago. 

“You do not understand to what extent,” And with this, Aemond completely lets go of you even though the music was still playing. 

He leaves you on the dance floor and you hate how it left you with a tinge of sadness. 

But like children, you follow after him to pester more about his thoughts. This was how it was back then, you knew Aemond had the tendency to conceal his words but with a little push, he’d spill. Hopefully it will still work. 

You follow him to the dark corners of the hall, ignoring the inquisitive stares of the others. 

“Then make me understand,” You say. “Aemond.”

He only stops at the soft whisper of his name. Though he keeps his back to you, this does not deter you from moving closer. You knew he felt you, a tenseness in his body that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. But this was Aemond, you just knew. 

“It is not their loyalty to the Crown that is in question. It is their worries that there will be a civil war.” 

He let you sit on the words. Aemond never underestimated your intelligence; he may have thrown shallow insults ever since the rift between your side of the family and his but he never doubted your intellect. 

You sighed as it hits you. The atmosphere has now changed, yet you both are still players in the big picture. Even as royals, you are pawns in this game and the name one carries assures your survival. The loyalty to Targaryens is undeniable so now, who knows what they will do to a Hightower? 

“Viserys is no longer alive, she is not Queen anymore,” He continues. 

The son who took up ensuring the family honor. The eldest was never to be relied on and Aemond had made sure to be the child that would protect his mother. Rhaenyra was lucky to get sons and a daughter that will put her honor in mind before they act but the former Queen was not afforded that luxury. 

Alicent was never the warmest towards your family, but she was faithful to duty and did her best to ensure the family survives especially in the final days leading to her husband’s death. Even through conspiracies and whispers, she focused on keeping her children well without subconsciously excluding you and your brothers. 

This is what Daemon was pushing you for. Duty. To do right by your house and protect it to the death. You understand now. 

Aemond is not the type to believe in baseless rumors. He approaches the thoughts of those fellow politics with a clear head and if this is what he deems as important then you’ll defy your side’s expectations and stand with him. 

“We are Hightower and Velaryon,” You say. “But most importantly we are both made of fire and blood.” 

He turns to you then. Once again, torches illuminating intimidating features. Lilac eye glowers at you but you stand ground. Like you said, the same magic swirls in both your veins. 

“I understand,” You continue in his silence. “I understand what we need to do whatever it takes for the blood of Old Valyria to endure.” 

Alliances with other regions would be great, but if Aemond’s word was to be trusted you know that it is not enough. Banners will be raised behind two women who have no intention of fighting because of men’s beliefs. You will not let this tempest sink your family under. 

In order to protect the most important people in your life, enemies must be slain. A marriage bound by love is a rare gift— but a marriage for duty is a weapon. 

Aemond shakes his head at you and despite the pull, you resist from having your shoulders drop in defeat. Your mother may have been called the realm’s delight as a little girl but she now sits the Iron Throne and it is inevitable for her to be called a cunt by those who refuses her reign.

“I know what must be done,” You take a step forward toward Aemond. This is it, he could either make or break a pact that will ensure House Targaryen’s stability and hold on the realm. The tension between these stone walls could rattle a dragon. But never the two of you. “Do you?”

“You know damn well,” Aemond whispers. You’d be a fool to deny how he’d look at your lips just then. 

You raise your chin, “Pār gūrogon issa naejot zaldrīzesdōron se mazverdagon issa aōha ābrazȳrys.” 

Then take me to Dragonstone and make me your wife.

aaaa hope you enjoyed! reblogs and comments are appreciated :) i’m not the biggest expert on asoiaf lore but im really spiraling into learning about it lol but pls feel free to drop a message anytime!

[forthegothicheroine]

His tattered mantle: In addition to Lear and Baudelaire's old man, Chambers may have drawn on another source for the King's garment: the Breton legend that he refers to elsewhere as "the Man in Purple Tatters." The French novelist Emile Souvestre wrote Le Foyer Breton, a collection of tales inspired by Breton folktales, which included "La Souris de terre et le corbeau gris" ("The Field-Mouse and the Gray Raven"). In that story, the heroine Tinah's fiance Alann returns from the dead: by day, he appears as a handsome youth wearing velvet, but by night, he takes on his true form of a skeleton wearing "a shroud in tatters". Le Foyer Breton was hugely popular, going into numerous printings and editions in France and inspiring a whole shoal of Breton-inflected stories. Chambers doubtless drew on Le Foyer Breton not only for "The Demoiselle d'Ys" but for his later collection of Breton-inflected and Brittany-set weird stories, The Mystery of Choice. He again refers to the tale of "the Man in Purple Tatters" in his story "The Messenger" in that collection. Another tale in Le Foyer Breton, "Perronik l'idiot" features "la dame jaune," a "yellow woman" in black silk named "la Peste," or "the Plague." A yellow figure bringing death, in other words.

Kenneth Hite, The King in Yellow Annotated

[lia1512]

Loki comforting the reader after a nightmare

In the dimly lit chambers of the Asgardian palace, the moonlight filtered through the ornate windows, casting ethereal patterns on the grand bed. You, the reader, had been residing in Asgard for some time, and your heart had found an unexpected connection with the enigmatic Loki.

Tonight, however, was different. A harrowing nightmare had awakened you, leaving you trembling and drenched in cold sweat. Images of darkness and despair still clung to your mind as you lay in bed, clutching the sheets tightly.

As if sensing your distress, Loki entered the room with his usual grace, a flicker of concern in his emerald eyes. Without a word, he approached your bedside and sat down, his presence providing an immediate sense of comfort.

You turned to him, your eyes reflecting the residual fear from the dream. Loki extended a gentle hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Tell me, my dear," he whispered softly, "what haunts your dreams tonight?"

With his encouragement, you found the strength to recount the haunting dream, describing the terrors that had plagued your slumber. Loki listened intently, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on the back of your hand.

As you finished your tale, Loki's expression shifted from concern to determination. "Fear not," he assured you, "for I shall banish those nightmares from your mind."

With a graceful wave of his hand, he conjured a shimmering, iridescent light that danced around the room, dispelling the shadows that lingered. His magic wrapped around you like a warm, protective cocoon, banishing the remnants of your unsettling dream.

Loki continued to sit by your side, his presence a reassuring anchor in the night. "You need not face your fears alone," he murmured, his voice like a soothing melody. "I am here, and I shall guard your dreams."

You felt a deep sense of gratitude and trust wash over you. With Loki's support, you knew that even the darkest of nightmares could not withstand the power of his comforting presence. Together, you found solace in the safety of each other's company, knowing that in Loki, you had found not just a protector, but a friend and confidant.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

The Elf Beneath the Ice, Part 2

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Reluctant Caretaker

Fandom: Original Work

WIP: The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure (Tales from Valaria)

<- Previous Part | Next Part ->

Words: 1300

Tag List: @badthingshappenbingo @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf @the-ellia-west

CW: unconsciousness, hypothermia, noncon undressing (nonsexual), old wounds, referenced plague, referenced injuries, panic attack

A/N: and so an unlikely partnership is born.

----------

With every step, he cursed his own curiosity. His business was with a lycanthrope, not with an unconscious, shivering, dripping-wet, surprisingly lightweight elf. Dammit. He couldn’t afford to look after him, but he couldn’t leave him there either!

Damn him and his bleeding heart to the depths.

When Draven reached the cave, his coat sleeves were soaked from the freezing water streaming from the elf’s body. By the light of the fire, the elf’s lips appeared blue, his skin pale and clammy. He still shook, his body trying to fight off the cold. That was a good sign.

However, he wouldn’t last much longer in his sodden clothes and armor.

Draven hissed through his teeth before laying the elf down as close to the fire as possible, shrugging off his coat and slipping off his gloves. Mumbling an apology to the lifeless elf, he quickly removed his vambraces, setting them beside the fire to dry. Hopefully, the water and the heat wouldn’t ruin the leather. Even if it did, if the elf was reasonable he would value his life over the armor.

The pauldrons came off next, then the breastplate, then the boots and graves and cuisses. This still left the elf in sopping cotton clothing, which still wasn’t great, but Draven had to draw the line somewhere and he drew it after pulling off the elf’s tunic and laying it out flat to dry.

He raised an eyebrow at the bandages wrapped around his guest’s shoulders and upper back before tossing his coat over the elf and sitting back, drawing his pistol and clicking through the chambers, thinking.

Click, click, click.

The potential for this elf to be the lycanthrope he sought was greater than zero. He was in the right area, in the right form. The bandaged wounds could be from the bite that transmitted the disease. He’d never heard of elves contracting the condition, but it was plausible. He didn't know everything. The elves had closed their borders shortly after the outbreak, and he’d heard rumors that they exiled anyone who got infected.

Click, click, click.

It was also possible that the elf was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, completely unrelated to Draven’s job.

Click, click, click.

Neither of those options explained how he’d gotten under the thick ice in the first place. By all reasonable assumptions, he should be dead. No other breaks in the ice implied that he’d been underneath before the lake froze. 

Click, click, click.

Which was impossible.

Click, click, click.

Even for elves.

Click, click, click.

Draven didn’t know how long the lake had been frozen, it was deep within the Fells, entirely possible he was the first person beside the elf and the lycanthrope to come across it in recent months. Long enough that the elf would’ve drowned or frozen to death ages ago.

Click, click, click.

He hissed between his teeth and tucked away the pistol, staring into the darkness.

Movement roused him from a doze. Draven opened his eyes to find the outside world beginning to lighten from the coming dawn, and his guest sitting up, a look of confusion on his face. He nodded to the elf. “‘Morning.”

The elf’s eyes darted around the small cave, taking in the dying remnants of the fire, his armor and tunic laying out to dry, Draven’s coat over him, and Draven himself. His eyes, appearing yellowish in the firelight, narrowed. “…where am I?” His tone was cold like the icy water had frozen it over.

“An old wolf den not far from the lake you crawled out of.” Draven leaned forward conspiratorially. “How’d you get yourself in such a bind, anyway? Did’ya get caught when it froze over three weeks ago?”

The elf glanced out the mouth of the cave, a brief look of realization and horror crossing his face before he smoothed it into a carefully neutral expression. “I…” he looked down, as if in surprise, and moved his right hand out from under the coat, the one closed in a tight fist since he’d emerged from the lake. 

His fingers uncurled, revealing a metal cylinder nestled in the palm of his hand. It was about as thick as a pencil, with strange symbols carved into its surface. Runes, perhaps? The elf’s jaw tightened as he stared at it before closing the hand back around it.

Draven raised an eyebrow and almost asked what the object was, but he decided against it. “What’s your name?”

The elf’s eyes flicked up. “I am Octavian de Silv.” The words came forcefully as if he were trying to remind himself of the fact rather than inform Draven.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Draven replied, sticking out his hand. “Draven Cozenson, lycanthrope hunter of the Guild in Zariya.”

Octavian ignored the offered hand. “Why?”

“Why what?” Draven stubbornly kept his hand out. “You’re supposed to shake the hand. Proper manners in the human lands.”

“Why do all this to make sure I don’t freeze?”

Draven sighed and dropped his hand. “Truth be told, I’m incredibly curious as to how you got yourself underneath the ice. You’re lucky I was in the area on a job, otherwise you’d probably be freezing to death on the lake.”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“I think it is my concern, actually,” Draven snapped. “For all I know, you’re the lycanthrope that attacked Belldeme, killing three and injuring eight, before escaping so deep into the Fells the village had to hire someone like me to track you down!”

Octavian blinked. “…what?”

Draven hissed in frustration. “What part is so difficult to comprehend?! The lycanthrope bit, the attack bit, the casualties, my reasons for dragging you to safety?!”

The elf flinched back slightly at his outburst. “I…” he stammered, “I’m sorry, I do not know what ‘lycanthrope’ means. The translation… I never learned it.”

Draven frowned in suspicion, but Octavian didn’t seem to be lying. He genuinely appeared confused. Damn the elves and their new border policy shit. “I see. A lycanthrope, as humans call them, is someone who is infected with a disease that forces them to transform against their will into a bloodthirsty monster every full moon. At least, that’s what we’ve figure out.”

“And… how long has this term been in use?”

“What kind of a… fine. I’m not sure, at least seven or eight years, around when the first outbreaks happened. How do you not know this?”

Octavian’s expression changed to something akin to desperation. “What of the Draigo?”

Draven shook his head, mystified. “Depths if I know. They barricaded themselves in their damn strongholds years ago.”

What little color that had come back to Octavian’s face drained away. Whatever he had been hoping to hear, Draven’s words were the opposite. His breathing quickened, coming in short, ragged gasps, his eyes glazed over, and without warning he jumped to his feet, Draven’s coat falling to the floor.

Draven jumped, half-expecting him to dash out through the mouth of the cave. Instead, Octavian, free hand running through his still-damp hair, paced to the back of the cave, mumbling in rapid Elven. He clutched the metal rod tightly like a lifeline, and every few seconds he reached for the bandages on his shoulders and upper back as if reminding himself of their presence.

Where has he been the past eight years if he doesn’t know about the outbreak? And why ask about the Draigo? They haven’t been seen for at least the past five, at least not openly.

Draven glanced outside, noting the rising sun. He needed to get moving if he wanted to catch up to the lycanthrope. But something about Octavian still nagged at him, something set him on edge. Not just how the elf seemed out of touch or crazy, pacing at the back of the cave. He still hadn’t answered how he’d gotten under the ice in the first place.

Draven trusted his gut, more often than not. And right now, his gut told him that he shouldn’t leave Octavian de Silv alone.

Not yet anyway.

[nellycanwrite]

His Timeless Love: a Preview

K'uk'ulkan x Reincarnator!Filipino!Reader Fic Preview

Summary: A God such as K'uk'ulkan has lived life by the hundreds, yet you wonder why he has not found his true love during his time of immortality. It might just shock you to believe that he had already loved you since the summer of 1592.

Or, in which K’uk’ulkan tells you the story of the four times he fell in love with you and the three times he saw you die.

Rating: 18+

Note: This work follows along the history of the Philippines and the influences of the colonizers throughout the years of subservience. I claim no historical accuracy to the plot but the timeline and the implications of each historical era was and is researched accordingly. As such, I am also of Filipino descent specifically from Bisaya, Ilonggo, and Ilokano backgrounds. 

This work is a connecting piece to His Queen. Both can be read separately and in any order.

"...You are hiding something from me."

As if the sea had sensed its rulers melancholy, it shifted and it hummed amongst the rocks of the royal chambers. It crashed into you like the waves of a full moon's midnight, pelting your eyes with the sting of tears. You know not of the reason for your own sadness, but you knew somewhere in your soul that it was connected to your husband's own sorrow.

He reaches up to caress your cheek, and like a subservient dog to its master, you lean in right away to the warmth of his loving hands. He traced your features, every curve, every freckle, every bump, and every line down to the very last detail. He was memorizing every inch of you. He was burning it to memory.

"It is not a tale that is to be taken lightly. It is a burden I alone must bear." 

You leaned down further until no space was left between your bodies. His breath hitched when you caressed his own cheeks, fingernails running through the planes of his chiseled face. He was a God in every way, and you worshiped every part of his divine countenance. 

"I am your wife. I am your queen. What you know, no matter how vicious of a tale, I must shoulder. It is also a burden I must bear with you."

"My queen—" you silenced him with your lips. He would have returned the gesture with fervor, but you pulled away just as quick.

"K'uk'ulkan, akong hinigugma, akoang hari," my love. My king. His body shook in response to your mother tongue. He wondered if it was your powers at play. He, the embodiment of the sea, so easily bent to the will of your prowess. It was hardly fair, he would muse. But he will do as his queen demands, "tell me. Tell me what plagues your heart."

He hesitated for a moment. Flashes of decades worth of memories invaded his sight. You sensed his plight—you always do—so you tore your eyes away from his own earthen gaze and rested your cheek against his chest where his heart thumped in speed. You tapped your fingers to the rhythm of his pulse, your breath matching his to give him a sense of comfort. That you were there to listen. 

And with a heavy sigh, he started;

"I've decided to make you queen the first time I saw you—during that fateful day you had fought off Spanish colonizers to reclaim your motherland."

"But I have not lived that long." The drumming of your fingers stopped. You felt his heart race faster. You did not look up, instead, you waited for him to continue. 

"Not the you of the present," he tangled his own hands to your hair, his fingers playing with the strands mindlessly. There was an edge to his voice now, but as soon as you found purchase to his free hand, he breathed in a centering inhale before he continued.

"...but the you of the past."

If you like what you see, make sure to comment if you want to be added to my tag list! This will be my first time doing a formal preview and tag list, so make sure to send your love if I’m doing it right HAHAHAHA

[icarusignite]

Before the Sky Falls | Prologue

A/N: lol the timeline has been shifted enough that Daenys and Aemond are basically the same age. I am kinda just lifting everyone's birth years from the ASoIaF wiki page and making adjustments.

Word Count: 2.1k

All chapters: Masterlist

AO3    |    Wattpad

110 AC

The springtime weather had finally arrived, bringing with it a sense of renewal and hope to the residents of King's Landing. The air was crisp and fresh, with a light breeze that carried the scent of blooming flowers and budding trees. As the days grew warmer, the castle's gardens came to life with vibrant colours and fragrant blossoms, and the sounds of chirping birds filled the air. The sun shone brightly in the sky, warming the stones of the castle's walls.

For the crown princess of Westeros, Rhaenyra Targaryen, who was heavily pregnant and due to give birth sometime in the spring, the change in weather brought both joy and trepidation. She felt the stirrings of new life within her, but also the weight of fear that came with giving birth. As the weeks went by, the princess grew increasingly restless and uncomfortable. The warm weather made her swollen feet ache, and the constant movement of the babe within her left her feeling drained and exhausted.

Her stepmother, and dearest childhood friend, Queen Alicent Hightower, had also given birth to her second son earlier that year and Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy as she thought about the queen's relatively unproblematic delivery. The maesters repeatedly told her that every birth was different, but she couldn't help but feel anxious about her own impending labour. Her mind was plagued by the sorrowful tales of her ancestors and each of the women who had lost their lives in the pursuit of serving their realm. If difficult pregnancies were genetic, Rhaenyra was sure she would have the worst of it. Her mother, Aemma Arryn, and even her grandmother Alyssa Targaryen. They had all died from the complications of childbirth.

Her mother's haunting words came back to her often these days.

You will lie in this birthing bed soon enough.

That was the last time she had ever spoken to her, and then she had died, stolen from her by the brother she never even got to hold. She also remembered her own words, her adamant resolution that she would rather die as a knight in battle. Oh, how the tables had turned and the restless babe in her womb made her take back every single one of her claims.

Rhaenyra Targaryen went into labour a fortnight too earlier, like her grandmother Daella Targaryen, much to the horror of the maesters. The midwives rushed around the room, trying their best to help the princess through her pains, but the stifling atmosphere in the birthing chamber only made her more ill-tempered. She forbade the maesters and all men from entering, and only allowed her sister-in-law, the Lady Laena Velaryon, to remain at her side. Lady Laena held her hand and tried to comfort her as best she could, but even she could not soothe the wailing heir to the Iron Throne. She had been in labour for almost two whole days, and the babe still showed no signs of coming.

As the labour pains intensified, Rhaenyra felt her body convulse with pain, causing her to cry out in agony. Her breathing became more strained and she could feel the sweat dripping down her forehead. With each contraction, she clutched Lady Laena's fingers tighter, her knuckles turning white. As the hours passed, the pain only grew more intense, causing her to feel as if her body was being ripped apart from the inside. She swore to the gods above, the old and the new, as fear rose within her. Something was wrong. The baby was not coming out as easily as it should have.

"I'm scared. What if I don't make it? What happens then?" Rhaenyra whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

Lady Laena smoothed the hair away from her face and dabbed a cool, wet washcloth on her forehead, "You will not die, princess. You will survive this and you will live to raise your child."

"But what if I do? Fuck, what if I don't survive this? It's too much, too much!"

"I will not hear you speak of such things! Just breathe Rhaenyra, you will be fine," Laena took deep measured breaths and motioned for the princess to follow along.

On the third day at dawn, a baby's cries filled the room, and after cutting the umbilical cord, the midwife finally held up a small, squirming bundle to the exhausted princess. Tears of relief and joy streamed down her face as she reached out to take the newborn child into her arms. The room erupted into cheers as the news of the baby's safe delivery spread throughout the castle.

Laena kissed Rhaenyra's forehead, "A daughter, princess. You did so well."

Rhaenyra held her daughter close, overwhelmed with emotion. The child was small and fragile, but she had come into the world kicking and screaming with unbridled energy. There was a smattering of silver-gold hair on her head and when she opened her eyes to blink up at Rhaenyra slowly, they were a deep violet. Rhaenyra exhaled in relief. She was beautiful.

Laenor Velaryon burst in through the door just then, a broad grin on his face.

"A girl, they said. And what a girl indeed, you can hear her from across the castle," he exclaimed joyfully. "Why she's got the lungs of a dragon!"

Laena laughed at her brother's words and vacated her spot beside the princess so that he could take her place. He sat at the edge of the bed cautiously, taking the wet cloth from his sister's hand and wiping Rhaenyra's brow with it.

"The lungs of a dragon indeed. She will not stop crying," Rhaenyra chuckled.

"It is a sign that she is healthy, princess," one of the midwives smiled.

The room was filled with chatter as the midwives cleaned up and the servants rushed to bring in fresh linens and hot water to wash Rhaenyra with. She smiled weakly, tears of happiness streaming down her face as she kissed the crown of her daughter's head and handed her off to Laenor. Only then did the baby stop howling, and blinked up at him with innocent eyes.

"Oh look, I think she likes me better," Laenor joked, nestling his daughter gently, and admiring her delicate features that were so different from his own.

"Thank you for being here with me, Laena," Rhaenyra murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't have done this without you."

Laena squeezed her hand, "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Next to arrive were the king and queen of Westeros, along with Princess Rhaenys and her husband, Lord Corlys. King Viserys's face was filled with joy, but Queen Alicent's demeanour was more reserved and observant. She immediately sat down on one of the divans in the room, still recovering from her own labour a few months prior.

"I have a granddaughter I hear. Let me see her then, the future heir to the Iron Throne," King Viserys beamed.

Laenor handed his daughter to her and the king cradled her, proudly showing her off to her other grandparents.

"She has her grandmother's eyes, just look at them!"

"What will you name her?" Lord Corlys pondered.

Rhaenyra smiled at her father, "We were thinking that you might have a name for her, Your Grace."

Viserys gazed upon the child thoughtfully, and he couldn't help but tear up. She looked just like his beloved Aemma. The Targaryen family was filled with great characters from which he could have chosen his granddaughter's name, but it didn't feel right to give her the name of just another warrior.

"Many in our line have been dragon riders, but very few among us have been dreamers. Her name will be Daenys so that perhaps she may inherit her ancestor's gift of prophecy," he declared and handed the child to Lord Corlys.

"Daenys Velaryon, a fine princess, and the future heir to the Iron Throne," Lord Corlys looked forward to the day when someone with his name would finally sit on the throne. History remembered names after all, not blood.

Princess Rhaenys ran a finger across the baby's nose, "We have picked out an egg for her as well, from Meleys's latest clutch, to be placed in her cradle."

Queen Alicent nodded politely as everyone in the room continued to speak amongst themselves. When Rhaenyra reached for her, she went and sat by her side and held her hand, but she could not shake the feeling of despair that clawed at her from the inside. She wished that her husband had shown this much enthusiasm at the birth of his own children, as he did for his grandchild. She wished that he had taken this much care in naming their own daughter, then perhaps Helaena would have been named something else that reflected his passions this deeply. It was this bitterness that she just could not let go of, even as she congratulated Rhaenyra and wished her a speedy recovery. However, when she was finally handed the babe, she couldn't help but smile. The small blonde girl reminded her of her own little Aemond, and she couldn't bring herself to hold any animosity toward the child itself. If she noticed that the newborn's features bore great resemblance to those of the Commander of the City Watch, she kept it to herself. It was only one child, perhaps it was a coincidence that her colouring was nothing like Ser Laenor's, she told herself.

"You're beautiful aren't you," she cooed at the baby. "We shall let you get some rest Rhaenyra, you have had an exhausting few days."

King Viserys kissed his daughter farewell and ushered everyone out of the room, Queen Alicent taking the babe along with her to get her cleaned up. Only when they were all gone, could Rhaenyra truly relax. She took several deep breaths, her body still sore from her tireless efforts and her head slumped back against the headboard. There was a hesitant knock on the door and she croaked out for them to come in.

Ser Harwin Strong entered the room slowly, a bouquet of spring roses in his hand.

"Princess," he said, bowing respectfully. "I heard the good news, and I just had to come and see for myself."

Rhaenyra looked up from her bed, her face still flushed and sweaty from the labour. She smiled weakly at her sworn shield.

"Ser Harwin, it is good to see you. The child has been taken away to be tended to, she is not here."

"She is not the only one I have come to see," Ser Harwin walked over to her bed and handed her the flowers. "For the new mother."

"Thank you, Ser Harwin. They're beautiful."

"If I may Princess...?"

Ser Harwin reached toward Rhaenyra, and after a quick glance at the closed door, Rhaenyra nodded, allowing him to press a kiss to her forehead. Just as he was pulling away, Ser Laenor, walked in.

"While it is obvious that my little princess prefers my company, I thought she might like to meet another very important person," he teased, handing the baby to Ser Harwin and closing the door behind him once again when he left.

Ser Harwin held the child gingerly, his eyes full of adoration.

"She has your nose," Rhaenyra commented softly.

Ser Hariwn sighed, "I am glad that it is the only part of me that she has inherited. The rest of her is lovely like her mother and her grandmother."

"Do not say that."

"I speak the truth princess, but you should know that I love her with all my heart. What is her name?"

"My father has named her Daenys. I think he hopes that she will be a dreamer, although I doubt that will be true. She looks like a fighter to me."

Daenys Strong.

Ser Harwin tries out the name on the tip of his tongue, low enough for no one but his own heart to hear. His firstborn daughter. He would never call her by that name but for a single silent moment, she is his and he is hers.

"Daenys Velaryon," he finally says. "A wonderful name indeed. What makes you say she is a fighter."

"A mother's instinct. And she has got the blood of a warrior."

"A blood of a warrior hmm."

"You should have seen her scream when she came out, already so angry with the world, as if it had done her some grave injustice. Although if she is to be a woman, I suppose the world will do her a great many injustices. I just hope that I am able to protect her from the worst of them."

Ser Harwin kissed Daenys's rosy cheek as she slumbered in his arms, "I will protect her for as long as I live."

"May that be a very very long time indeed."

The two of them sat in silence for a few moments, gazing at their newborn baby and basking in the joy of the moment. Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, they were content to enjoy these stolen moments where they could find them.

Taglist (comment to be added)

[cherryrainn]

Hi cherry, It's great to find another scooby doo writer fella here!

If it's not much trouble could I get shaggy rogers and scooby doo (platonic and from the Mistery Inc series, the one from 2007 I think) with a fem teen reader, like in her 12-13-14, that is part of the gang but is highly afraid of the dark?

Maybe the gang has to go through a dark tunnel and the reader is very scared so she turns to Shaggy and Scoob for comfort.

All fine if not though! Have a nice day! <3

YES YES YES!! i love mystery inc so much! thank you for the request <33

☽ ༚  ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰  ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ 

— glimmers in the dark

shaggy and scoob x child reader

as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the sprawling landscape, the mystery machine trundled down the winding road that led to hollow creek. the dense forest surrounding the town seemed to whisper secrets, its ancient trees stretching out like gnarled fingers, beckoning the curious souls forward. the air crackled with anticipation, carrying a sense of mystique and foreboding that wrapped around the gang like a second skin.

hollow creek, with its cobblestone streets and quaint cottages, appeared frozen in time. but beneath its picturesque facade, a veil of uncertainty hung heavy, shrouding the inhabitants in an enigmatic haze. the locals whispered tales of inexplicable phenomena that plagued their once peaceful haven: ghostly apparitions, vanishing objects, and unexplained noises echoing through the night. It was a place where the ordinary intertwined with the extraordinary, creating an aesthetic of eerie beauty.

as the gang stepped out of the mystery machine, your presence seemed to awaken the town from its slumber. the lamplights flickered to life, casting long shadows on the cobblestones, and the wind whispered secrets in your ears.

as night settled upon hollow creek, the town transformed into a dreamscape of ethereal beauty. softly glowing lanterns adorned the streets, their warm light casting gentle shadows upon the cobblestones. the moon, full and luminous, emerged from behind the wispy clouds, bathing the scene in an otherworldly glow. the air was laced with the scent of damp earth and the distant rustling of leaves, heightening the senses and sending tingles down spines.

the library was a sanctuary of knowledge and antiquity, its shelves lined with weathered books, their leather spines adorned with intricate golden filigree. sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting vibrant hues of crimson, sapphire, and emerald onto the worn wooden floor. dust particles danced in the sunbeam, creating an ethereal atmosphere of suspended time.

velma, her glasses glinting in the dim light, eagerly poured over crumbling manuscripts and delicate parchment scrolls. her nimble fingers traced faded inked lines, unraveling the secrets woven within the pages. ancient tomes whispered tales of forgotten rituals, mysterious disappearances, and long-lost legends.

daphne, with her resourceful spirit, scoured the library's hidden corners, pulling out drawers and flipping through the pages of faded newspapers. her fingers grazed delicate yellowed clippings, revealing headlines of inexplicable phenomena that had haunted the town for centuries. her determination led her to a hidden alcove, where an ancient tome lay tucked away like a forgotten treasure.

daphne opened the book, revealing a fold-out map that had remained untouched for generations. its yellowed edges crinkled as she carefully traced the faded markings. the map whispered of hidden passages and concealed chambers, leading to the heart of hollow creek's mysteries.

excitement surged through the group as the discovery unfolded before them. the map's delicate lines pointed towards a hidden tunnel, rumored to hold the answers they sought. but as you approached the entrance, a sense of trepidation washed over you, the darkness of the tunnel casting a foreboding shadow on your resolve.

turning to shaggy and scooby-doo, you expressed your fears, your voice laced with a mixture of anxiety and vulnerability. "i'm scared, i don't wanna go in. it's dark." you simply said, your voice shaking.

the duo looked at each other with understanding, their eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight, and shaggy's voice carried a soothing reassurance.

"like, we totally get it, y/n. dark places can be, like, really spooky, you know? but, uh, remember, we're in this together, and we haven't even gone in yet!" shaggy's voice quivered slightly, his empathy radiating from his lanky frame.

scooby-doo nodded in agreement, his expressive eyes filled with unwavering loyalty. "rhat's rrright!" he chimed in, his tail wagging ever so slightly, as if to provide a comforting presence.

the mouth of the cave welcomed you with a cool gust of air, as if exhaling its ancient secrets. you took a deep breath, the air tinged with the earthy scent of moss and anticipation. the gang, their wide eyes reflecting the dim light of the flashlight, stood beside you, their presence a reassuring anchor amidst the encroaching darkness.

stepping into the cave, the jaws of darkness eagerly closed behind you, swallowing the light as if it hungered for its warmth. shadows danced and flickered on the rough cave walls, their ethereal movements conjuring phantoms and specters that seemed to writhe and twist in the corner of your vision. the eerie silence was occasionally broken by the distant drip of water, echoing like whispered secrets through the subterranean labyrinth.

as you ventured deeper into the cave, the weight of the unknown pressed against your senses, causing your heart to quicken its pace. each beat reverberated through your chest, seemingly amplified by the vast expanse of the underground realm. the distant echoes of your footsteps mingled with the whispers of the cave, creating an eerie symphony that sent shivers down your spine.

shaggy's voice, though tinged with unease, cut through the darkness like a ray of light. "hey, y/n, you doin' okay? don't worry, we've faced scarier things than this! remember that time with the ugly ghost girl?" his attempt at levity brought a faint smile to your lips, reminding you of the countless adventures you had overcome together.

scooby-doo, his ears perked up, joined in with a reassuring bark, his tail wagging in solidarity. his presence was a comforting reminder that you were never truly alone in this eerie journey. the bond forged through countless mysteries became a lifeline, weaving a tapestry of courage that bolstered your resolve.

but as the tunnel stretched on, the darkness seemed to deepen, pressing against your senses like a suffocating weight. the whispers of fear crept closer, echoing in your mind, preying on vulnerabilities. doubt tugged at your footsteps, causing them to falter in the face of the unknown.

in the midst of your internal struggle, you, shaggy and scoob all found yourself behind fred, velma and daphne, you were no longer in the front.

you took a deep breath. steadying your trembling hand, you pressed forward, your steps resolute, guided by the collective strength of the gang.

"this place's even spookier than we imagined." shaggy's voice quivered, his words a testament to the palpable spookiness that filled the cave. the dim light reflected in his wide eyes, mirroring the apprehension that gripped your heart. but as he glanced at you, sensing the depth of your fear, his lanky frame straightened, a determination replacing his earlier slip.

"like, i didn't mean to make it sound scarier, y/n," shaggy stammered, his voice softer now, laced with empathy. "but hey, no worries, we totally got this! we've faced way creepier stuff before, remember the haunted amusement park?"

his attempt to allay your fears did not go unnoticed. you took a deep breath, your grip tightening on shaggy's arm, finding solace in his presence. his unwavering support, even in the face of his own fears, reminded you that strength could be found within the bonds of friendship.

scoob, sensing the tension, nodded in agreement, his tail tucked between his legs, a silent testament to his own apprehension. yet, despite his unease, he stood by your side, offering a steadfast companionship that warmed your heart.

as the tunnel curved and twisted, the darkness became an impenetrable veil, shrouding the path ahead in an eerie obscurity. every creak and echo magnified, playing a haunting symphony that danced with your imagination. but in the face of this mounting terror, you found solace in the shared fear that bound you, shaggy, and scooby-doo together.

you all pressed on, your footsteps cautious but resolute, each stride a testament to the unyielding spirit that propelled you forward. just as despair threatened to take hold of you, a faint glimmer of light pierced through the darkness, a beacon of hope drawing you closer. with each step, the intensity of fear gradually waned, replaced by a rising tide of anticipation that surged through your veins. the light grew brighter, casting ethereal hues of gold and amber upon the tunnel walls, as if nature itself celebrated your progress.

finally, the trail led the team to a massive stone door, its surface adorned with intricate carvings that spoke of the secrets held within hollow creek. the carvings seemed to breathe, their stories unfolding in a symphony of artistry and mystery. it was clear that this door held the answers they had relentlessly pursued, but opening it would require more than mere strength—it demanded the unraveling of a complex riddle.

velma, her intellectual prowess in full display, analyzed the carvings with unwavering focus. her eyes scanned the symbols, her mind connecting the dots with rapid precision. "to reveal the truth," she began, her voice resonating with confidence and purpose, "we must embrace the light within and face the shadows of our fears."

with velma's revelation, the stone door creaked open, its ancient hinges protesting the passage of time. the heavy slab yielded to your collective will, revealing a hidden chamber awash in a gentle, otherworldly glow. the soft light spilled forth, casting a serene ambiance upon the room, and as you stepped inside, the mural adorning the chamber walls greeted you.

fred's voice resonated with a mix of awe and determination, the weight of the discoveries settling upon the group like a mantle of responsibility. his eyes widened, reflecting the magnitude of the secret that hollow creek had guarded for so long. "so, this is what it's all been about," he said, his words carrying the weight of realization. "hollow creek has been guarding a secret that could change everything."

the gang stood together, your gazes fixed upon the mural that revealed the hidden truths. a sense of accomplishment radiated through the chamber, as each member of the gang absorbed the revelations before them. the tangled web of mysteries and conspiracies that had plagued the town was finally unraveling, and the truth now lay within your grasp.

yet, as a foreboding tremor coursed through the chamber, the atmosphere shifted once more. shadows twisted and writhed, their very essence taking on a menacing presence. it was evident that someone or something did not want the secrets of hollow creek to be exposed to the light.

in that moment of uncertainty, fred stepped forward, his voice commanding attention. his words carried the weight of determination, cutting through the tension that hung in the air. "listen up, gang! we've come way too far to back down now," he declared, his eyes flickering with unwavering resolve. "we'll face whatever's waiting for us together."

a surge of solidarity coursed through you all as you readied themselves for the final confrontation. the shadows loomed, their sinister forms threatening to consume the chamber. but in the face of adversity, the gang stood united, drawing strength from your unbreakable bond. shaggy and scooby-doo, in particular, exuded a bravery fueled by loyalty, their unwavering support an anchor in the storm.

the adventure had tested your bravery and resilience, taking you on a rollercoaster of emotions. through every twist and turn, the bond between you and your friends had grown stronger, a testament to the power of true friendship. even in the darkest moments, your unity radiated like a beacon, illuminating the path ahead.

together, you took another step forward, the darkness no longer quite as foreboding. with shaggy and scooby-doo close beside you, their presence like a shield against the encroaching fears, you knew that no matter what lay ahead, you had the strength and support to face it head-on.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Hi! Here on your blog for the first time!

I saw your fic idea list and I am amazed by the range of your ideas.

I would like to know more about the following fics -

• Aemond falling in love with a female ghost

• Criston x greek mythology reader or was it Criston x reader but make it greek mythology

Sorry, my memory is too short!

Thanks for writing and sharing your fanworks with us!

Hi dear! Thank you so much for your kind words! Sorry for the delay, we're currently in an intense heatwave and I couldn't bring myself to write. Here's the first story - keep your eye on my blog and the second one should appear soon as well. I'm sorry if it's OOC or feels weird - I have never been able to master the craft of writing scary stories.

"Princess of Sorrows "

Aemond Targaryen x F! OC - 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: death, supernatural beings, ghosts, slight angst, mentions executions, mentions suicide, also MAEGOR (although not explicitly).

The room was hollow yet imposing, as if the walls were made of solid stone and stretched for leagues. Flickering candles illuminated its contours, adding an eerie quality to the opulence of the mahogany furniture and heavy tapestries. In areas where shadows lurked deepest in the chamber, mythical creatures seemed to move like ghosts in a faint fog, ever out of reach. At the far end, an ornate fireplace filled the room with warmth, while in the center lay Prince Aemond Targaryen's bed. It was large and majestic, boasting fine silk sheets and a down-filled mattress, surrounded by exotic objects that glowed like spectres in the night.

A painting of a woman with long white hair and crown stars perched atop her head hung on the wall like a menacing reminder of days long gone. She was draped in a rusted wine gown and stared out from the painting with an emotionless, yet weary gaze. Her white eyebrows were knitted together as if she were about to unleash some indescribable fury on whoever had painted her. He had never heard any tales about the painting; but he swore, it seemed to have been there even before he was born. It watched him intently, like a dark sentinel guarding his chamber. He had taken to referring to the woman as the "Princess of Sorrows".

As he sat there in the shadows, pouring through ancient books telling the Targaryen family's stories, Aemond felt a frosty chill ripple down his spine. Occasionally he had the sense that secretive eyes were watching him, and then he'd have to hold his breath until the sensation faded away. Even though his dread was mounting, Aemond never spoke of it out loud. He feared doing so would only manifest its presence further. It was on one of those nights when the moon shone brightly, that Aemond swore he saw a silhouette in the corner of his eye turning the page of a book. His heart skipped a beat as he jumped to his feet armed with a sword, but the figure had suddenly vanished, leaving behind the whisper of skirts. He stayed still waiting for its return, but nothing stirred. Was it all just his overactive imagination? No one could tell.

The next morning, he hesitantly dispatched one of his guards to scour the palace. But not a single one among the thousand women living there resembled the figure he thought he had seen. He was now more certain than ever that his chambers were haunted, yet still afraid to accept it and acknowledge his fear of the dead. Evening after evening, he sent the guard back again and kept his hand firmly grasping his sword. Days passed, yet nothing changed: Alone in the chamber, the Princess of Sorrows seemed lost within her thoughts...and then suddenly, as soon as he started feeling at ease, he'd catch a glimpse of her again. He was determined to unravel this mystery that was plaguing him, but didn't know how to proceed. He kept his guard close by and searched for any other signs of her presence - all in vain.

Finally, after weeks of haunted nights, Aemond had had enough. He gave the silent command and all his guards began their search anew, combing every inch of the palace for any sign of something out of place. But nothing emerged. Defeated and discouraged, they returned to Aemond but he seemed unfazed by the lack of results. He still felt that something was lurking in the dark shadows, hidden from his sight. He kept a keen eye on every corner as he patrolled with his sword, when suddenly one night he spotted something strange darting away from him. Instantly he leapt into action and charged after this mysterious being, running through the darkened halls in pursuit.

As he ran, he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He had no idea what he was chasing, but he was determined to catch it. The sound of his own footsteps echoed through the halls, and he felt the cool night air whipping past his face. His mind was racing, trying to anticipate his prey's moves. It was then that he saw her again: the Princess of Sorrows, darting ahead of him like a wraith, her crimson gown fluttering behind her.

He took off like a raging bull, stampeding through the castle without regard for consequence. She ran with grace and agility, always managing to stay one step ahead of him. His lungs burned and his heart pounded as he pressed on, determined to catch her this time. Time seemed to stand still as he lurched around corner after corner, hearing nothing but her echoing laughter in response. Eventually, she came to a dead end near his chambers and before she could turn tail and flee, he had her cornered.

He charged towards her, sword swinging. Stopping just short of her, he could feel the heat radiating off her. Her long white hair framed an angelic face, illuminated in the orange light of the torches. Her eyes were like galaxies, dark and deep with a sorrow that seemed to tear through him. She wore a gown of blood-red silk, and in her hands, she grasped a rose as white as snow. Aemond stood frozen in time; mesmerized by this beautiful apparition.

Aemond stood there, his breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon her beauty. He had been taught to fear this entity, but she seemed almost...human. He reached for the sword at his side and found it forgotten. "My... Lady?" he said, not sure what title would be appropriate for such a mysterious figure. The Princess of Sorrows met his gaze with a small, yet pained smile before disappearing back into the mist. Anger boiled within Aemond's veins as he marched back into his chamber, eyes fixed on the portrait of this wretched princess - her face still contorted in pain and anger.

The days seemed to fly by in a frenzied fever, yet the nights crept past with an agonizing slowness. Aemond yearned for the darkness; unable to sleep as he waited for her to appear. He was up before the sun, lost in thought in the shadows of his chamber, desperate for any sign of her presence. Though scared and uncertain, she had him in an unbreakable spell - he couldn't shift his gaze from her as they shared their clandestine tete-a-tetes.

He started to notice delicate shifts in her gestures - the way she'd linger in front of a painting as if it were speaking to her, or gaze out of the window with an enigmatic expression. He realized then that this mysterious creature had feelings like his own, and emotions and thoughts he could barely comprehend.

Aemond found himself captivated by the woman's delicate figure, her perfectly coiffed hair and petite features. Every time he saw her from afar, his heart raced as he walked closer to her in order to get a better look. He opened his mouth each time, but his courage failed him and she seemed to sense it; she quickly faded away like a phantom into the shadows, leaving Aemond perplexed and dejected.

In desperation, Aemond ventured out into King's Landing’s most notorious street - Flea Bottom - seeking out mystical knowledge from an old witch who gave him a spell that will trap any ghost in place if used correctly. Armed with newfound knowledge Aemond returned back to his chambers determined to get closer to the Princess of Sorrows and uncover the secrets that surrounded this captivating creature who had stolen his heart without even uttering a single word.

Aemond cast the spell within his chambers and sure enough, the Princess of Sorrows appeared before him looking less translucent than she had been previously. Her features were clearer, her skin more visible and her eyes filled with a mysterious and deep emotion. Aemond was taken aback at this new transformation; he had never seen the ghostly figure looking so lifelike. She stood there in her usual red gown and her touch was cold and clammy. It made Aemond's skin crawl whenever she got too close to him.

The Princess turned to Aemond, her gaze filled with sadness as if something inside of her was crying out for help "Why did you trap me?" she asked him. He could not bring himself to answer, instead he asked: "Why are you haunting me? What do you want from me?" The princess’s expression softened and she replied: "Your death is near, I only wanted to warn you."

Aemond felt his heart break at those words - the ghostly figure seemed almost too familiar now. He took a step closer to her, desperate for answers yet still wary of what he might uncover. The Princess watched him curiously but said nothing - it was clear that she would not offer any more information until Aemond answered her own question first.

Aemond inhaled sharply, his face grim. "I trapped you because I wanted to find out your secrets," he uttered darkly, his voice like a whisper in the night. His hungry gaze bore into hers and her heart raced. Slowly she nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she murmured softly. "There is much more hidden underneath my surface than meets the eye - mysteries only time will unravel. But I cannot tell you now."

Aemond felt his heart breaking as she uttered the words. He had been so certain that she would be able to bring him the answers he so desperately sought. Yet here she was, still refusing to tell him what it was that she seemed to know. How could someone be so secretive and why? His voice betraying his emotion, Aemond asked again, "Please, just tell me what you're keeping from me! What are you hiding?"

The Princess of Sorrows sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging, tears welling up in her eyes. "There are things in this world that are better left unsaid," she replied cryptically. "Things that would only bring more pain and heartache if they were revealed."

Aemond frowned, not satisfied with her answer. He took a step closer to her, his eyes searching hers. "Please," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Help me understand. I am willing to listen, no matter what the cost."

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated for a moment before finally nodding her head. "Very well," she said, her voice eerily calm. "But be warned, you might pay dearly for it, dear Prince."

Aemond felt a shiver run down his spine at her words, but he didn't falter. He was determined to learn the truth, no matter what it might cost him. "I'm ready," he said, his voice steady.

The Princess of Sorrows sighed as she prepared to tell her story. "We had a love that was forbidden," she said, her voice quivering with emotion. "It was passionate and fiery, yet we managed to keep it hidden from those who would have forbidden us. But our luck did not last. They found out and I was forced into marriage while he...he was put to death." Her voice trailed off as tears spilled down her face.

Aemond listened in stunned silence, his heart breaking for the pain and suffering this woman had endured. He could see the pain etched into her features, the sorrow in her eyes. "Who was your husband?" he asked softly, knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground.

The Princess of Sorrows hesitated before finally replying. "He was your ancestor," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was a Targaryen prince, just like you."

Aemond felt his world come crashing down around him. He had always been proud of his family's history, of their legacy. But now...now he felt tainted, stained by the sins of his ancestors.

"Who was he?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a sad smile. "Maegor was my brother," she said softly. "And my husband."

Aemond felt a wave of nausea wash over him.

He stumbled back, his mind reeling with the revelation. "How...how could this be?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "And what of you?" he asked, his voice soft. "What happened to you after you were forced into marriage?"

The Princess of Sorrows let out a bitter laugh as she wiped away her tears. "I was never truly alive after that," she said, her voice hollow. "I tried to make the best of my situation, but every day was a struggle. My husband was cruel and abusive, and I spent most of my days trying to avoid him. But eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to be free, to escape the pain and suffering that had become my life. And so, I did the only thing I could do - I jumped from my dragon and ended it all."

Aemond felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to her tragic tale. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her, to have lived through such pain and torment. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion. "I had no idea."

The Princess of Sorrows gave him a sad smile. "It's alright," she said softly. "You couldn't have known. But now that you do, you must pay the price."

Aemond felt a chill run down his spine at her words. "What price?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Princess of Sorrows looked at him with a steely gaze. "You must be my lover," she said, her voice cold and firm. "And you must die."

Aemond felt his entire being freeze. Time seemed to stop as he heard her words. He couldn't process the meaning, but before he could act on his confusion, he felt the Princess of Sorrows grab him and pull him close. Her eyes were intense and mesmerizing, trapping him in their embrace. Slowly, she leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his. Aemond felt an indescribable sensation course through every inch of his body. It was a strange combination of pain and pleasure, as though something was being taken from him, some essence that he had never known existed until now, flowing gently from him into her.

Early next morning, two guards stumbled upon the lifeless body of Aemond on his grandiose bed. His mouth was agape, his eyes still open in horror as if he had seen a ghost. The maester pronounced him dead due to a mysterious heart failure that was brought about by some unknown force. Despite performing several tests, the maester could not find any clarity as to what had caused Aemond's demise.

Viserra's portrait hung above them, no longer frowning angrily but grinning widely instead. Despite the cheerful canvas painting, the mood in the room was somber as they all mourned Aemond's death; a death that had brought about by one woman's hard-fought desire for freedom after years of agony and servitude. No one noticed the strange smile cast down upon them or how it seemed to cast an ominous feeling around the gathering. Shrouded in grief, each person gathered in this chamber lost in their own sorrow and despair; unable to comprehend what had happened and why it had been allowed to occur.

[the-book-wyrm-reviews]

The King in Yellow

By Robert W Chambers

Book Wyrm's Review is under the cut

Page Count: Ranges from 108 - 330 pages per book depending on the publisher and/or year it was reprinted

Estimated Word Count: 79000

Genres: Decadent literature, horror, supernatural, weird, romance

Year of Publication: 1895

Overview

A man pursued by a church organist who wants his soul. An artist plagued by repeated sightings of a watchman who looks like a coffin worm. Ghosts, wayward cats, and scientific dabblings with dire consequences. Each of these ten tales is chilling in its own right, but taken together, they weave a wickedly eerie spell that is sure to enthrall.

United by vague references to a play with the same name, which never appears in the book―a play that "induces despair or madness in those who read it"―The King in Yellow is undoubtedly Robert W. Chambers' finest work. The book quickly gained an influence over generations of writers of "weird tales," long before there was even a name for them. H. P. Lovecraft greatly admired the book, hailing it as achieving "notable heights of cosmic fear."

Chambers' genius will take readers to the most horrifying place of all―their own imaginations.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

★★★☆☆ = 3/5 Stars

I went into reading this book expecting Lovecraft and wound up reading short stories. Yes all of the stories are interconnected but its not the insanity that the book had been hyped up to have.

Why name the book "the King in Yellow" and yet only reference the book of the play and the insanity and blasphemy that book/story/play is causing? I Digress.

For the book as written, it is a good story though deffinately a product of its writers time. Being written in 1895, It does have situations, names, and terms that may or may not upset more modern readers.

As for me, I would love to ACTUALLY read the story of the King in Yellow, not just the stories referencing the play/story so that I could properly experience a more horrific kind of story but for that, alas, I will need to turn to H.P. Lovecraft if I want horrors beyond my own comprehension.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Would you like your own copy? Grab one at the link below!

I am not Sponsored or Affiliated with Amazon

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 19

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Rest evades you,” 049’s voice carried across the dim room. “An inability to sleep indicates a chaotic mind.”

AO3

The SCP was right about one thing: you needed rest, desperately. You didn’t know what time it was, the small biomonitor strapped to your wrist like a watch didn’t tell the time, but by the heavy sluggish weight of your limbs, you could guess it was getting late.

A small meal was provided on a tray through the deposit bank in the wall. It was a light soup, along with a cup and pitcher of water, but that was more than enough for you. After not having eaten in so long, the vegetable and herb broth quickly filled you up, and you had to sip slowly so it wouldn’t come back up.

Once you returned the tray and bowl—keeping the pitcher because it made getting water from the sink easier, and if they wanted it back Leahy could damn come get it himself—you changed into what looked to be pajamas. 049 offered to go into the other chamber while you dressed, but you didn’t want to kick the SCP out of what little space it had, so you said if it wanted to just turn around that was just fine.

Honestly, you would have been more comfortable with the SCP watching you undress than that blinking camera in the corner. You were so tired that modesty with 049 wasn’t really a bother—after its hands had been on you, there wasn’t much left to be shy about, anyway—but that camera made you feel like an exhibitionist, and you wondered if you’d ever get used to it.

You located a light dimmer on the wall, definitely something that hadn’t been there before the “renovations,” and when you asked 049 if it minded the lights being lowered, it assured you it did not.

The SCP was occupied with reading, and even though there was a lamp on the small desk, it didn’t turn on the light. Maybe it could see in the dark. You turned down the overhead lights until you were just able to make out the plague doctor sitting at the desk with its book.

You knew from going over the supply logs that its bookshelf contained titles that it had once requested while at Site-19. Some of them were the classic French and English literature you’d expect, along with medical and biological texts, but the thing that perplexed you the most were the romance novels. 19th and 20th century literature had plenty of romance, but you wouldn’t have guessed an SCP with an obsession for a mysterious illness would be fond of bodice-rippers or tales of eternal pining.

Maybe it was just bored. Something as old as 049 probably read whatever grabbed its attention. It’s not as it if were capable of love or romantic feelings—

You forced yourself to lie down, pushing the wayward thoughts out of your mind. It was natural to be curious, but trying to sleep in the SCP’s bed was not the time to have such wandering questions.

It was unfortunate sleep wouldn’t come. No matter how long you laid there and tried to slow your breathing or give in to the exhaustion of your body, you remained stubbornly awake.

“Rest evades you,” 049’s voice carried across the dim room. “An inability to sleep indicates a chaotic mind.”

There was no use denying it, not when it could sense you so easily. If it could see you in the dark, maybe it could hear your breathing or heartbeat. You recalled at one point it was even able to smell you.

A startling thought occurred to you. If it could sense you so easily now, surely it would have known the kind of reactions it had caused from its examination? Those less-than clinical touches remaining somehow professional even when your heart had raced, and your muscles had trembled. It had to have known what it was doing, yet it treated you the same afterwards as it ever had.

“It’s been a difficult couple of weeks,” you said, an understatement of the century. “And it’s unlikely to get better.”

There was a quiet shuffling followed by silence. It was so quiet that when the bed dipped next to you, you flinched like you were about to be struck.

“I apologize,” it spoke from where it sat on the edge of the mattress. “It wasn’t my intention to startle you. I thought, perhaps a tale to quiet the inner workings of your mind would be welcome.”

You relaxed a little. It was only 049. This wasn’t a test, and you weren’t being subjected to an experiment.

“It’s not your fault I’m easily startled these days.”

You turned on your side toward 049, very awake but no longer in fight-or-flight mode either as you plumped up the pillow and rested your head on it.

A bedtime story, huh? You gazed up expectantly at the SCP, and 049’s expression seemed amused at your attentiveness.

“Yes, I suspect that’s why you cannot sleep. I had hoped something to take your mind off recent events would help. Perhaps, a recounting of my various travels? If you are receptive to it.”

“Yes!” you said, maybe a little too eagerly. “I would like that.”

049 made a low, pleased hum in its throat, one that sent goosebumps across your skin. You resolutely ignored your reaction.

“In that case, I shall start at the beginning.”

The SCP took a moment to gather its thoughts, or at least, you assumed that’s what it was doing as it stared off into the dark. And then, it spoke.

“My earliest memories originated in the 1300s, where my wanderings took me far and wide across Europe. Before that time, I can recall very little, and even now, I am unsure as to why that is. But the first I heard of a widespread instance of the Pestilence was from rumors of a devastating sickness, one which destroyed entire villages without mercy. I wasn’t the only one who heeded the call to Italy.”

049 huffed, displaying its disdain with a slight upturn of its beak.

“These amateur physicians had gathered to try and battle this devastating malady. It was 1348 in Avignon, and the disease was so rampant that Pope Clement VI paid these… doctors, myself included, to cure the ill.”

It paused for a moment, but you never moved, your attention rapt on its face. It may have had a chitinous mask for a face, but its eyes were so expressive, showing every flick of emotion in its words. You almost felt like you were there, seeing and feeling all the same things as 049.

“Suffice it to say, not many survived, including the other so-called physicians. All of them perished, either dying to their own stupidity or… well, as far as anyone knew, they simply vanished.” 049 let out a breath, one that wasn’t entirely happy. “They were charlatans, claiming to be healers but further spreading the Pestilence wherever they went. I made sure they would do no further harm.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened to those other doctors. And considering how difficult 049 could be to work with, you wouldn’t be surprised if the rest of the doctors had turned on the SCP towards the end, to their fatal mistake.

“As I was the only surviving physician, I took what funds were given to me in payment and gave them to future patients as I met and cured them. I had very little need for monetary reward, and at most, in return for my services I would simply ask for a hot meal and a place to rest. I had no need of either, but, well… such things can be a balm to the soul. Perhaps, I’m growing sentimental in my old age.”

It gave a chuckle at that, one that warmed the pit of your stomach.

“I understand,” you offered quietly. “After being without warm meals and a soft bed, having those things again makes me feel… human.”

049 watched you, eyes softening.

“Indeed.”

You wondered about the patients it cured. To you, being “cured” by 049 meant a swift death and a grueling reanimation. It didn’t make sense that the SCP would give money to these shambling corpses. Had it actually cured people, truly cured them without resorting to death? You would have to ask at another time, for now, you wanted to learn more of its history. As far as you could tell from the records from other Sites, you were the first to get it to recall so much of its past.

It continued on, its low, mechanical voice soothing in the dark.

“For the sake of continuity, I shall skip forward 300 years to France where another instance of the Pestilence took hold of the land and its people.”

Ah, France. Montauban had been where the SCP had first appeared on the Foundation’s radar. It was interesting how it had taken so long for them to discover 049’s existence, but then again, 049 was very old compared to the somewhat young organization.

“The first known written record of myself, as far as I am aware, was in the year 1619 during the outbreak in Paris. Royal Physician Charles de Lorme, in service of King Louis XIII, followed in my footsteps as I cured the ill. He had so many prodding questions, wanting to know everything I did, even if he did not understand the finer points of it.”

049 spoke with a mixture of annoyance and fondness, recalling this man. There was a small pang of envy. Being trapped in the middle of a devastating bubonic plague would have been terrifying, but to get to observe 049 outside of these clinical walls, watch as the SCP tended to the sick—and it must have actually cured the sick, otherwise this physician would have fled—it made you oddly jealous over a man who had died hundreds of years ago.

That was why you were envious, you told yourself. Not because 049 spoke of him with warmth in its voice.

“Writers are an odd lot, curious even at the threat of their own health,” 049 mused. “But the Pestilence did not touch him, and he did not mock my methodology, so I let him be. He was a polite enough fellow, though I did not appreciate the manner in which he compared me to a ‘stooped, fastidious crow’.”

You pressed your lips together not to smile, able to pull up the imagery too well. A studious bird, perched over its work.

“The outbreak of the disease was… quite extraordinary. Monsieur de Lorme took my teachings and applied them in sometimes effective, sometimes mysterious ways…”

“How so?”

049 gave another light huff, clearly miffed about something.

“He decided part of his treatment regime should be to dress like me. Including a beaked mask, a cane, and waxed, leather robes, he insisted I wore these things to keep the Pestilence at bay. An utterly ridiculous notion from an utterly ridiculous man!”

You bit your lip hard, slowly losing the battle not to grin. 049’s offense at a 17th French physician dressed in long robes and a beaked mask was… well, it was something.

“Is that where they come from? The… plague doctors?”

Your question drew its attention, and it sat up straighter and smoothed down the front of its coat.

“Unfortunately. The monsieur even went so far as to believe lavender was a defense against foul odor and miasma simply because I sometimes took it with my tea.”

“Really? I thought lavender acted as a sedative for you.”

“Yes,” it said slowly, “and like any sedative, when taken in minute doses it can act as an enjoyable relaxant.”

Huh. It had a point there. And now you were picturing 049 in a cozy study with a flickering fireplace, a book, and a cup of lavender tea.

You hadn’t expected a story of various outbreaks of medieval plagues to end with you imagining the SCP in such an appealing setting. But, well, here you were, mind tingling with the curiosity of other ways 049 would relax.

Christ.

“Sorry,” you said. “I don’t mean to interrupt. Please, continue.”

049 was calmed from its slightly rumpled state, its gaze turning warm and drawing you in like a moth to flame.

“There’s no need to apologize, my dear. But, yes, I was the unintentional and unfortunate source of the… plague doctor phenomena.”

It let out a heavy sigh, almost dejected before it continued.

“German engraver Gerhart Altzenbach published an illustration of myself in 1656, which I did quite enjoy in its accuracy. What I did not enjoy was Paulus Fürst’s rendition of the same drawing, the nickname of “Doctor Beaky from Rome” given to the subject of the portrait. Not only was the name insulting, but the depiction of myself wearing a top hat was most inaccurate, and Fürst claimed my sole purpose was to frighten people and take their money.

“I most certainly did not,” 049 huffed. “I never took from the suffering or poor, nor would I. To compare me to those other masked charlatans is an insult, an outrage, and—… Is there something humorous, Doctor?”

“No, no. Course not.” You were unable to keep the smile from your lips this time. 049’s offense of being drawn wearing a top hat was just… too… damn cute.

049 continued to give you a cool look, eyes half-lidded in a lack of amusement, but it only made you smile more. Maybe you were getting too comfortable with the SCP—you were, after all, about to sleep in its bed—but you couldn’t help it. This was the lightest you’d felt since this whole mess began, and it was nice to just… smile about something.

The SCP’s gaze softened, and something stirred in your stomach. A trend you’d noticed happening with more frequency, but like before, you pushed it out of your thoughts. Deal with it later was becoming your motto.

It continued to speak on the various plagues that went beyond Paris, turning the tale toward those it had helped and eventually cured, and your smile faded. It was a good chance each “cure” was a life taken, though you wondered if maybe 049 had done things differently back then. There was little chance of that, SCPs didn’t generally change over time. They seemed to be stuck, chained to their nature, and 049’s history was a grim reminder of that.

When it spoke like this, low and rhythmic and soothing, it was impossible not to relax and sink into the mattress. You had begun to slip below the level of full consciousness when its voice trailed off, and there was a light brush of something soft against your temple.

The mattress shifted, the weight disappearing along with the SCP’s presence, but you didn’t want it to leave yet.

“I’m not… a doctor,” you mumbled.

“Hmm?”

“You call me Doctor,” you said, the words laden with almost-sleep. “Not a doctor. Just a junior researcher. Was… a junior researcher.”

There was the quiet scuff of a footstep and the mattress dipped again. You peeked open your eyes to find 049 returned, sitting on the edge and half-turned in your direction. Its eerie pale eyes watched you, but there was warmth there. In a way you would never admit while fully awake, you felt… safe.

“You’re inquisitive,” it said. “Observant. Wield a critical mind but do not possess a cold heart. You wish to aid those you meet, even a man like myself. You’re far more a woman of science than they could ever hope to be. No official title or academic proclamation could dictate your worth.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you swallowed down the lump and took the compliment with a silent burning of your cheeks.

“That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.”

The SCP gave a gentle bow of its head before standing again.

“I shall let you rest. Pleasant dreams, Doctor.”

“Goodnight, 049.”

Once the SCP had retreated out of your vision, over to its desk by the sound of it, you buried your face into the pillow.

Jesus. 049 was going to be the death of you, and not in the way you’d imagined.

Next Chapter