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leclsrc · 1 year

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sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath.

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended.

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?”

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.”

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned.

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.”

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements.

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.”

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach.

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply.

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway.

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after.

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet.

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff.

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are.

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?”

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy.

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately.

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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flowerandblood · 9 days

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (28)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: mention of masturbation, public dirty talk, sexual tension, smut, angst, swearing ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Even though he had expected nothing else, his wife's reaction completely devastated him anyway − her words cut through him like daggers, showing him his own face in the light of the truth.

What should I do now?

Divorce you?

Not speak to you for eight years?

He didn't know what he should answer.

The realisation that he was constantly searching for fault in her because he felt guilty himself, that he was accusing her of betrayal because he had betrayed her himself, caused him to no longer know who he was anymore. He felt so lost and heartbroken that he had simply burst out crying in front of her like a child scolded by a parent.

He just wanted her to forgive him.

When she told him what Alys had seen in her dream and informed him of her conditions, even though he was dying at the thought of spending even one more day in this fortress, he sat down at her oak desk the next morning to write a letter to his brother-king.

My King, our half-sister has agreed to our terms, however, she makes her own demands. I have decided, in order to alleviate the situation, to travel with my wife to Dragonstone, where we are currently staying. We want to try to convince them to change their minds − one order from you is enough for me to return to King's Landing. Your loyal brother

His niece was furious with him − he had never seen her like this before and preferred not to address her at all when she spoke to him knowing that he would only make matters worse. He hoped that his conciliatory attitude and the fact that he had fulfilled her wish would make her calm down.

The thought that he wasn't her prisoner didn't comfort him, because he felt like one anyway.

Wherever he went he might encounter someone he didn't feel like looking at, so he preferred to stay in her chamber and bear it somehow.

As soon as she had left her quarters he rose from his chair and began to walk around her room, looking at the various objects on the shelves and bookcases − he looked through the books she was reading, finding with satisfaction that most of them were also in his possession in King's Landing.

He spotted her embroideries in one of the drawers, including those he remembered well from his childhood, and smiled involuntarily at the thought, wondering if she had kept them for the sake of memories.

He shuddered as the door to the chamber opened suddenly and he slid the drawer back in, turning with a rapidly beating heart − Daemon stood with his hands folded behind him, sighing heavily.

"− come, nephew − we must discuss many important matters −" He said with a kind of boredom, as if what he was speaking of was a duty he had no desire to perform at all.

"− I will not go anywhere with you, uncle − I am quite comfortable here −" He said lowly, looking away, frustrated.

Why did he always feel like a little child in his presence?

Daemon chuckled at his question.

"− it wasn't a request − come, let's have a walk −" He encouraged him in a ferocious, mocking tone from which he felt rage and a clench in his stomach.

He knew he couldn't refuse.

Daemon led him out of the fortress through one of the side entrances − he checked a few times before the sound of the sea surrounded them that the dagger he always carried with him was strapped to his belt.

They stepped out onto a gigantic white beach seeming to stretch on endlessly to him, with only the water to their left and high rising rocks and mountains to their right.

They were completely alone.

His uncle finally stopped and turned to him, looking at him for a moment without a word.

"− why did you suggest you spend the night in Dragonstone? −"

He licked his lips, feeling his heart stop at his question.

"− that was her wish −"

"− don't fucking lie to me or I will pierce your skull with my sword −"

He looked at him in disbelief, his jaw clenched so tight he felt like it was going to burst, his fingers involuntarily tightening into fists.

Silence fell again, the sound of the waves around them, their hair and tunics blowing in the wind.

It seemed to him that his uncle's gaze was piercing him to the core.

"− Larys Strong had his own plans for you − I couldn't let that happen −" He muttered at last.

"− does she know about this? −" He asked coldly.

He swallowed hard at the thought that he was referring to his wife.

"− yes −"

"− did you tell her before or after we came here? −"

He lowered his gaze already knowing what he was leading up to, he felt like his whole body was quivering.

"− after −"

Daemon snorted in annoyance, shaking his head as he looked out at the sea stretching before them.

"− you fucking cunt − I was supposed to personally deal with his rats overdue in the Eyrie, but you ruined my plan − though surely that's good for you −" He confessed looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He felt a powerful, cold shiver run along his back at the thought that he knew everything.

He knew that they were about to be murdered.

And Rheanyra?

Seeing that he couldn't force out the question that was pressing on his lips his uncle laughed out loud.

"− the rider of the world's greatest dragon since Balerion's passing is unable to get a word out − shame has taken away your speech? − where is your pride that you always boasted so much? −" He continued, provoking him to explode, his heart pounding like mad.

What should he do?

How should he behave?

"− you are exactly as I assumed − you are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him − you are like a stone, unable to move on − my daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool −"

"− what do you want from me, uncle? −"

"− no − what do YOU want − are you able to name it in your head, or are you like a child in a fog without your mother? −" He asked in a raised voice, frustrated, making him feel a hot wave of humiliation flowing through his body.

"− I want her to be safe −"

"− what happened in King's Landing? −"

"− I −"

"− fucking speak − and you'd better say the truth −"

"− your spies in the Red Keep didn't report it to you? −" He hissed, his uncle taking a step towards him, looking him straight in the eye.

"− you're trying my patience −"

He pressed his lips together feeling his heart rise to his throat, cold sweat running down his back.

"− my mother gave her moon tea without my knowledge − she wanted to be able to pact with you and give her to Lord Arryn's son −" He said dispassionately feeling, however, that his voice trembled. Daemon looked at him wordlessly.

"− and what have you done to punish those who wronged my daughter, and your wife? −"

He looked at him feeling his whole body freeze.

"− what would you have done to her if she had been the one to fail your trust? − if she tried to fight for her freedom, if she stood up to you and threatened your mother? −" He asked, stabbing his words into him like daggers .

He didn't know the answers to these questions.

He never wanted to ask himself them.

"− I did everything I could − she is my mother − you would expect the same from your daughter yourself −"

"− and yet she was the one who came to beg her own mother to surrender her claim to the crown when yours was encouraging your brother to steal the throne that never belonged to him − gods, Viserys has taught you nothing, has he? − you see nothing but your mother's skirt to which you have always been clung −" He muttered with some kind of disgust from which he felt a cold, unpleasant shiver and discomfort in his stomach.

"− I regret − I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow − I did not, though it was my duty −"

He looked at him in disbelief, feeling with horror the burning under his eyelids. He laughed and shook his head, wishing he could somehow control what was happening to him − he hid his hands behind his back feeling how much they were trembling.

"− are you remorseful, uncle? − do you see that you yourself also contributed to the division of our family into two separate parts? −" He asked with mockery and regret in his voice feeling that he was weak.

What had happened in the last few days had completely destroyed him.

"− I want to hear the truth and I will ask for the last time − what do you want? −" His uncle asked with emphasis on the last sentence.

He shuddered, realising that deep down he knew what the answer was.

He always knew.

"− I wish it was all over − I wish I could take her to Essos, as I promised her − I am tired, uncle − I have been tired all my life − I only rest when she is by my side −"

Daemon looked at him for a long moment and let out a loud breath, looking out to sea. They stood like that, not speaking to each other.

"− is there anything else you have hidden from her? −" He asked coldly, and he felt a squeeze in his throat at the memory of the Witch of Harrenhal's words.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He raised his eyes to his uncle and met his gaze, proud and distrustful, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"− I −"

"− speak −"

"− there is − there is a woman in Harrenhal, called by some a witch − she came to me last morning and −"

"− did you take her to your bed? −"

His voice stuck in his throat at his question, so he shook his head quickly, horrified.

"− no, but she said − she prophesied to me that this would happen − that − that I would put my child inside her −" He muttered, feeling with what difficulty those words left his mouth. Daemon raised his eyebrows in disbelief and rolled his eyes.

"− and? − if she said so, now there's nothing left for you to do but put your cock inside her? − don't make me laugh −" He sneered, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"− she can predict the future − I −"

"− are you listening to me, or have you not only gone blind but deaf? − if she told you that you would run away with her to Essos and beget twenty children with her would you believe her too? − she told you exactly what she wanted to happen − she hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants − I don't know any man who would put his cock into a woman by accident or by fate − pull yourself together −" He said impatiently, causing a warm wave of embarrassment to surge through him.

He thought he really was a fool.

How could he have believed her with such ease?

Though he didn't want to admit it to himself, his words brought him relief.

"− do you have anything else to convey to me? − this is your last chance −" He asked coldly, and he shook his head.

"− very well − I'm glad we've got it behind us − you may leave −" He said dryly; he pressed his lips together at his words and simply walked away, swallowing his dignity and pride.

As he stepped into his wife's chamber he noticed her seated figure out of the corner of his eye, but he did not say a word to her − he felt humiliated and tired and did not feel like making conversation.

He also recognised that she certainly still hadn't forgiven him, so they might as well keep quiet.

He therefore sat down with one of her books by the fire, trying to concentrate on what he saw before him and not on his uncle's words.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

Though some part of him did not want to admit it, he knew that subconsciously he had been waiting for those words, for any praise or appreciation from him, the Rouge Prince himself, the greatest warrior and dragon rider he had seen in his lifetime.

So why did he feel so bad about what he had said to him?

You are still a boy who has lost an eye and who is waiting for his betrothed to come to comfort him.

My daughter has sacrificed everything for you, and you stand before me like some fool.

He swallowed hard, knowing that there was partly truth in his words.

For some reason though he wanted to, he couldn't completely free himself from the past and move on.

"− Jace kissed me − on the lips −"

He lifted his gaze to her from his book thinking he had overheard himself. He felt a wave of anger and disbelief surge through his body when he noticed in her gaze that she wasn't mocking him.

She meant it.

"− he did WHAT? −" He growled, getting up from his seat, throwing his book on the table and leaving immediately thinking he was going to kill this fucking bastard with his own hands.

When he finally walked into the right chamber he breathed heavily and grinned, feeling as if all the frustration, the things that had been happening to him after his conversation with his wife and uncle were going to find release at this very moment.

Jace stood up from his chair, pale at the sight of him, clearly knowing exactly what awaited him.

"− haven't you learned yet not to take what's not yours? − hm? −" He murmured teasingly, feeling the presence of his niece beside him, the scent of vanilla filling his lungs again.

"− Aemond −"

"− your sister when we were children told me that she never desired you as a man − she knew even then that you were a cunt −" He sneered, cocking his head to the side, resting his weight on his right leg, watching curiously as his nephew turned all red with embarrassment.

"− Aemond, that's enough −"

"− how dare you? − you are a guest under our roof − get out −" Baela growled, his smile widening even more at the sight of her, her lips tightening into a thin line.

He thought he would love to hit her in the face again before he remembered that she was a woman.

What a pity.

His wife appeared suddenly in front of him, looking at him warningly.

"− we are leaving −"

He felt like laughing at her words.

Her brothers were getting away with far too many things.

"− no − I'm speaking with my nephew −" He said sweetly, looking his nephew straight in the eye thinking with amusement that this time would be different.

"− we are leaving, uncle, or I swear I will never return with you to King's Landing −"

"− so I'll stay here with you − Jace as ruler of Dragonstone will surely be delighted to host us, won't he? − he seems to have a weakness for you, sweet wife −" He muttered in a voice filled with challenge and poison seeing that Baela looked at her betrothed in disbelief.

Always pretending to be so righteous, so wronged.

He was nothing more than a pathetic brat who was once again reaching for what didn't belong to him.

"− Jace, say something at last! −" Baela thundered, clearly wanting Jace to stop being a scared cunt, which unfortunately he was unable to do.

He could feel his own heart pounding fast, his hands clenched into fists, his breathing quick and deep.

He was ready to attack him, he was ready to rip him to shreds.

Some part of him wanted to do it.

A fucking would-be King.

You'll never sit on the throne − he thought with satisfaction − and in my wife's eyes you were never a man she could desire.

"− I made a mistake − I shouldn't have done it, forgive me − I −" He mumbled in horror as he looked at his niece with pleading eyes.

Did he really think that he would let him hide behind her skirt like a coward?

That he would allow him to escape the consequences of his foolishness again?

"− you made a mistake? − I seem to be able to understand the feeling − I have made a similar one many times, as well as others, even worse ones −" He hissed grabbing her cheeks, heard her draw in a loud breath, shocked, as his lips pressed against hers in a hot, aggressive kiss − she moaned quietly as his slick tongue forced its way deep into her throat with his low sigh of delight.

He pulled away and met her simultaneously terrified, enraged and thirsty gaze − she only mewled when he turned her with a confident tug with her back against him and pressed her figure against his chest, gripping her neck with one hand, the other sliding down her lower abdomen.

He involuntarily licked his lower lip when he felt her fingers tighten on his wrist trying to stop him from doing what he wanted to do, her mouth parted in disbelief.

"− so beautiful, isn't she, nephew? − I couldn't help myself either − I can't count how many times I took her − how many times I have filled her with my seed − right here −" He breathed out, not really understanding himself what he was actually doing, focusing more on her than on them as he dug his fingertips into her womanhood lying beneath the material of her gown.

Her head was tilted back, her thighs clenched, her lips struggling to hold back the moan from which his erection slapped impatiently against her buttocks in his breeches.

He thought he will fuck her with his fingers in front of his eyes.

"− u-uncle − stop −"

In fact, he had to stop when Daemon walked into the chamber − the ashamed, horrified expression on Jace's face who couldn't even look at them and the accusing look his betrothed turned towards him was reward enough for him.

He wanted to watch his world, everything he desired burn and fall apart in his hands.

He wanted him to know what it felt like.

He knew his wife enough to know that her rage was mixed halfway with the desire and tension he himself felt. He wanted to respect her request not to take her and break it at the same time, feeling that he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so he did something that stopped halfway between both, coming with a sigh of relief on the material of her nightgown when he heard her moans of sweet fulfilment.

He wanted nothing more after this than to lock her in his arms and fall asleep.

"− let me embrace you −" He muttered.

"− no −" Her frustrated, trembling voice answered him.

He huffed loudly, heartbroken, at the same time understanding her and longing to take refuge again in the warmth that the closeness of her body gave him. In a gesture of desperation, he simply pressed his face against her neck, taking in her scent.

"− move away, uncle −"

"− I inhale the wonderful scent of vanilla after having experienced fulfilment with my wife −"

"− your wife does not wish for this −"

"− sleep −"

He heard her sigh heavily, annoyed, but said nothing more. When he finally felt she had fallen asleep, his hand slowly touched her waist and slid to other side, taking its place on her warm lower abdomen.

"− no −" He heard her quiet, unclear mumble, her body stirring in his embrace.

"− shhh − let me −" He whispered in her ear, his lips placing a soft, warm kiss on her cheek.

"− mhm −" She muttered, twisting towards him immersed in a deep sleep − he sighed heavily as her body involuntarily clung to his, her face sinking into the hollow of his neck.

He swallowed hard, feeling the squeeze in his heart and the tears under his eyelids that, one by one, began to run down his cheeks as his hands wove through her hair and the material of her nightgown at her back, pressing her close to his body.

He thought that for some reason during the nights he spent with her he was most vulnerable and weak, her presence, the warmth of her flesh, her closeness made him feel as if something was melting inside him, not allowing him to pretend that Daemon's words had not hurt him.

Despite repeating to himself that his uncle's words meant nothing to him, as a child he had looked up to him, dreaming of being like him − fearless, ironic, intelligent, confident, proud of his family and his heritage.

I regret that, seeing this, seeing Viserys fail you, seeing Otto make you his pawn, I was not a fatherly figure for you to follow.

He pressed his lips together at that thought, at his words, which cut into his heart like a sword, because although he had tried to find his pattern of masculinity in his father, in his older brother, in his grandfather, in Ser Criston, it was his uncle that his gaze had always followed, it was his uncle's reaction that he looked at when he and his father watched them duel.

He never heard a single warm word from his lips.

The fact that he was his mother's son had crossed him out in his eyes, and he had no intention of apologising for anything.

So what was he to do with his words?

That he did not know − nor did he know what purpose the conversation had served or why he had told him about the Witch of Harrenhal. He thought with shame that guilt and fear had crushed him so much that he had to get it off his chest, and he had chosen the worst person to do so.

What if he uses this against him?

Poison his daughter's thoughts with words that her husband feared that he would betray her in the future, beget a bastard child with another woman?

He felt a cold shudder run through his body at the thought, but for some reason he had a feeling that this would not happen.

She told you exactly what she wanted to happen.

She hopes to still use you in the future by doing so, and you reflecting on her words are doing exactly what she wants.

He was right.

This woman, whoever she was, was playing with him and his wife.

He thought she was hoping to frighten them both and lead them to lose trust in each other.

That this was perhaps also part of Larys' plan.

He had no intention of killing his wife.

He wanted her to do it herself.

That thought, that realisation flashed through his body like a flame, his fingers clamped down on her flesh as he swallowed hard, feeling some kind of indescribable relief, finding meaning in it at last.

They knew that if his wife disappeared, he would join the war.

He sighed quietly, thinking with surprising calmness in his soul, stroking his wife's soft, dark curls with his fingers, that he would cut off the heads of all the vipers plotting against her, one by one.

He intended to personally inform his brother what their grandfather and Lord Strong were planning to do behind his back.

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amiascv · 3 months

Text

"My greatest enemy, scoring a date!"

Alastor × F!Reader —

tags: enemies to lovers, no established relationship yet. <more platonic than romantic>

content warning: includes swearing, ooc alastor, ooc everyone really, your regular hazbin hotel content.

series?: <i think?>

START!

. . . "Y/N! Alastor! Please could you put off your bantering for one moment. I really, like, really need to focus and I just can't with all the noise right now!" Charlie raged at the two overlords standing behind her as she was busy planning her next course of action to get the Hazbin Hotel to attract more sinners.

"Of course, sweetie! I wouldn't dare imagine causing you no good!" Y/N, the Library Demon, babied her princess. But not out of pure love, Heav- or more fittingly, Hell no! It was out of spite against the Radio Demon beside her.

However, why were they fighting in the first place? You see...

"Our little princess seems to be quite the hardworker lately! Isn't she, Ali?" Sing-songed Y/N, admiring the heir to the throne of Hell as she researched and scoured all the books gave to her on how to attract more sinners towards the Hotel. (courtesy of her, the Library Demon, obviously!)

"She certainly is, N/N! At this rate she'll gain more knowledge and power than ever before! Power which I can guide..." Voiced out Alastor as static soon took over most of his vocal cords in excitement. Excitement which didn't go unnoticed by his dear overlord buddy.

"Aha... aha... Say that part one more time for me?" She threated which caught his amusement. Y/N had a lot of powers, but controlling her temper when it comes to her possessions? Nope, no, nuh uh! Not one of her traits, that's for sure! But Alastor? He definitely took advantage of this weakness of hers every single chance he got. Like now, actually!

"Hmm? I do believe I've made myself clear, sweetheart, having ear trouble? I know a good otolaryngologist around these parts if you're interested, my dear!" He teased. Y/N wasn't really this easy to be shoved and pushed around, but why could he do it like it's his one true purpose in life? It infuriated the Librarian even more. So much that she'd even attack the little shit right here and now.

She didn't even need Charlie's power, she just wanted it out of boredom. So why was she so affected?

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU RADIO DEMON!"

Hours past after she apologized to Charlie, and now she was busy taking off her steam at Rosie's side of town. Cannibal town!

"And then he just laughs it off?! He laughs at the sight of ME?!" She rants, demon horns coming out of her head and scaring off other sinners and hell-born alike trying to approach Rosie. Her listener only laughs in amusement at her friend's retelling. It was certainly amusing when she knew both sides to the story. It's like trying to solve a puzzle knowing the end would be a masterpiece to remember!

Her giggles die down as she soon replies, "Deary me, have you tried telling our old friend to stop? Maybe he could if you ask!" She almost choked at her statement. Ask one of the scariest overlords? To stop messing with her? Fuck no! Y/N was prideful of her capabilities, but not too ignorant enough to ask Alastor to just stop.

"If you wanted me to get killed that badly, love, then say so!"

"Well I know for certain you could get something off of asking him!"

"Like what?"

"Maybe... a deal, darling?"

"A deal with the cannibal with shits for brains?"

"Uh-huh! Maybe he's pushing you to your limits so you can have a one on one talk!" She convinces her even further. She does know him better than her... so maybe, it wouldn't hurt to try.

"... If I'm dead by tomorrow you know why," And with that, pages flew around you, enveloping you in their magic and transporting you back to the hotel. Meanwhile with Rosie...

"Alastor, dear, better not blow this thing sideways with her!" She calls out to the shadow hiding behind her. Making his entrance, his smile not faltering, he brushes off the dust he's collected from listening on the two delightful women's conversation.

"Oh don't you worry, my lovely! I wouldn't dream of wasting your opportunity given to me!"

"You better not."

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x you #x reader #x you #imagine #how do i tag this

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marytoppins · 1 year

Text

All of the book owners (so far) are the fictional authors of fictional fables and stories.

Mother Goose collection has Cinderella, Master cat or Puss in Boots, the sleeping beauty in the wood, little red riding hood, the fairy (all written for Louis the XIV in the 1690’s appx… the Grimm brothers are more relevant retelling sod the stories for an 1800’s Germany

Scherezade from 1001 Arabian nights started as one thousand nights and evolved to what is is now known as titular and story content wise. Having the ebony horse, the thief and the merchant, the adventures of Sinbad the sailor, and Aladdin and the lamp.

An interesting tidbit if the most famous stories from the collection (Aladdin and the Genie, Sinbad the sailor and Ali baba and the 40 thieves) they were either independent and added in later editions or added for the French publication in the 1830’s

And Aesops fables are from Ancient Greece and contain the basis for all fairy tales and fables such as the tortoise and the hare, the boy who cried wolf, the lion and the mouse, and others.

All of these story tellers also share things in common, all of them are either historically (Aesop) or designed to be (Mother Goose and Scherezade) people who are not wealthy, do not hold a position of power but wants to help the future.

Aesop was a Greek Slave who wanted to document the oral stories being told amongst the common folk and to also make commentary on the politics happening as well. With the commentary being seen as moral lessons for the children to grow and learn with.

Scherezade is the extremely learnéd daughter of the Vizier who agreed to me the next bride for the king to stop him from killing all the virgin wives he had. She constantly gets him to postpone her execution with the fables and changes his mind so he doesn’t assume all women will cheat immediately after sleeping with him. Giving the reader an idea of what knowledge can do.

Mother Goose is supposed to be a village woman who met a goose who laid golden eggs for her and eventually spun tales for the children of the village, entertaining and imparting lessons to them.

They all have some aspect of their stories that undermines their influence on change as well. For Aesop is is his state of slavery, for Scherezade it is volunteering to try and avoid death as long as humanly possible, and for Mother Goose it is the witch connotations that came about.

All of these coincidences and similarity paints a beautiful picture of humanity and imparting knowledge to the youth reading them but to have them all be relevant? WHY BRENNAN LEE MULLIGAN! WHY?!?!?!?!?!!?! WHY ARE ALL OF THESE SIMILARITIES APPARANT?!?!!? WHAT IS THE REASON?!?!!? WHAT IS THE IMPORTANCE?!?!!?

(Hi I am a Double Major in Psychology and History currently on a national scholarship research program, I just did a research paper on how popular media in each time reflects the politics of the time, meaning I did a LOT of digging into 1001 Arabian nights in terms of Orientalism, Mother Goose fables for the return of theatre (because of pantomime and an evolving comedia del arte) and Aesop was recent boredom research. Please message with questions if present!)

#dimension 20 #neverafter #dimension 20 neverafter #aesops fables #scheherazade #mother goose #mother timothy goose #brennan lee mulligan #ally beardsley #fairy tale #fables

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lady-phasma · 11 days

Text

18+ MDNI

New: Targaryen bloodline ask ✧︎ His general appeal ✧︎ Short Alys ask ✧︎ Book Aemond ✧︎ Really long ask about PTSD ✧︎ His sexuality (written Jan 2023) ✧︎ Ticklish headcanon ask ✧︎ Tie-in ask about c*ckwarming fic

Anon ask about his depiction in the series as "grey" character

Breeding k!nk ✧︎ Sex scenes opinion ask ✧︎ His biggest fears

His love interests ask ✧︎ Episode 4 ask - did he spare Rhaenyra?

Another Ep 4 ask ✧︎ Random hair ask ✧︎ Short hair ask ✧︎ And another

Ridiculous boredom ask ✧︎ Age ask ✧︎ Rhea Royce ask

Dettles ask ✧︎ Petty Daemon ✧︎ Age ask (very short) ✧︎ Anons are interesting ✧︎ The same anon ✧︎ They chilled out a little but it still makes me laugh ✧︎ What is not to like? ask

Rhaenyra, Alicent, and Helaena after the cut

Copy of other characters ask ✧︎ Stages of Love ask ✧︎ I need you Uncle ask ✧︎ Would she have been happier with Harwin ask ✧︎ General marriage ask

Aromantic ask ✧︎ General opinion ask

Marriage to Jace ask ✧︎ Aemond's view of her "seer abilities" ask

I love it when anons want to learn! House Velaryon dragon ask

Bonus: Contextual Formalism as Film Theory

obviously I really like asks

Main masterlist

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shieldagentcoulson · 3 months

Note

“Never, in the history of boredom, has anyone been as bored as I am, right now.“ (from Ali)

"We can't have that, let's make up a game to pass the time until we get to... where's your next tour stop again, Vegas?"

@blackwidowandco

#blackwidowandco #//road trip?

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asimp4bee · 3 months

Note

💕

💞 - Any Ships? Who's your current fav? | Ask Game

Ooh this is tricky

Mmm as of late, my favorite ships are RatchOp (TFP) and Dratchet (MTMTE,LL)!

BUT I do like other ships, such as:

-Breakbee (Earthspark)

-Grimbee (TFRid2015)

-Megatron x Ultra Magnus (MTMTE,LL) (I forgot their ship name—)

-MegaOpLita(Earthspark)

-OpLita(TFA)

And other more that I can't list cause I forgot :3

#maccadam #maccadams #transformers #ask game #ali's boredom

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exquisiteserotonin · 8 months

Text

Footsteps to Follow

Part 1: Saudade

Summary: The loss of a loved one lasts forever and every person finds different ways to heal.

Saudade /souˈdädə/ noun an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone

Pairing: Food Truck Owner Joel Miller x Female Character (based on someone from a movie but has become all her own in this)

Warnings & Tags: Mature (18+ only), but I will also put an E for explicit here for future chapters. Chapter contains heavy angst.

Word count: 1.8K

A/N: I have had this idea for some time and working on it and trying to flesh out this female character. AU Joel Miller, no outbreak, but has still lost Sarah.

And as always a big, big, big thank you to my magical sluts ilysm @legendary-pink-dot @imalrightllama @youandmeand5bucks @sparklefarts38 @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @basicoccult

Footsteps to Follow, Part 1: Saudade

Alice tapped the pristine, white table cloth with her fingers. Her chipped burgundy nail polish stood in stark contrast to the elevated ambiance of the restaurant. A deep exhale of boredom and frustration unintentionally escaped her as she stared back at her mother and her mother’s husband, John, who sat across from her. Ear shattering silence emanated the air between them as her mother looked at her, the corners of her mouth twitching in judgment and disappointment. Beside her, she felt the forceful and exasperated exhale that pushed against her from her older sister, Molly.

Alice reached for one of the artisanal dinner rolls from the basket at the center of the table that no one else seemed to be eating. She broke it in half with enough zeal that crumbs scattered over the table. One even managed to jump into John’s glass of water. Alice shook and pressed her lips tightly together, trying to stifle the laughter that wanted to leave her body. She took a bite, frowning almost immediately.

If this artisanal bread passes for good, I’m scared at what dinner entails. She thought to herself.

Alice reached into the pocket of her leather blazer for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. As if her mother’s disdain couldn’t be more egregious, she let out a loud huff as she glared at the contents in Alice’s hands.

“Seriously, Alice,” her mother tutted, “still with that disgusting habit?”

Alice rolled her eyes so hard, she could feel them press against the back of her eyelids. Her lips that she held so tightly together bubbled with a quick snicker. She stared back in amusement as John eyes darted back at her and then at his wife.

“Carol, come on now,” he said, his voice quaking with growing panic as he made futile attempts to quell his wife’s obvious derision.

“No, no, John,” Alice snapped back, lifting a hand to thwart any words that he tried to add, “I’m going to give you all a minute and take my disgusting habit outside.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have come,” Alice heard her mother say as she strutted away towards the front door of the restaurant.

She barely noticed as her older sister followed behind her. The cool air greeted her kindly giving her a place to think and breathe, unlike the stifling air of the lavish restaurant that confined her to a suffocatingly small table for four.

“Alice,” her sister’s shrill voice cut through the benevolent fall air, “why can’t you just give mom a break?”

“Seriously, Moll,” she said as she took a drag off her freshly lit cigarette, “after all that shit mom’s put me through I think I’m entitled to be a little bit of a bitch.”

“Ali, what are you talking about?” Molly’s voice cracked, too reminiscent of their mother’s. “She gave you everything you needed.”

Rolled eyes and exasperated sighs seemed to be the special order for the evening. Alice allowed herself one more drag before she turned to her sister.

“First of all, don’t call me Ali---only dad got to do that,” she said, her voice and her words were unbothered. “Second of all, she sent me to that hell hole of a school.”

“You needed help, Alice,” she said with so much desperation you almost felt sad for her.

“No! What I needed was dad!” Alice snapped, tapping ashes off her cigarette. “I needed you to acknowledge that I probably fucking needed therapy---I dunno, someone to validate my feelings about dad.”

“Dad was a murderer, Alice.”

“And you, mom, his fucking best friend, and the government threw him away and treated him like shit,” she took a bold step forward toward her older sister. “That fucker couldn’t even be bothered to tell us about dad---no body, no funeral…nothing.”

“You really think he deserved one?” Molly’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Another chortle escaped Alice as she stared back at her sister, her jaw slightly agape as she shook her head.. She felt her chest trembling and her jaw tighten as tears started to sting the corners of her eyes. The pain was unexpected and hit her like a stray bullet. Hope still harbored inside Alice that she would somehow still be able to commiserate with her sister after all these years. Through the pathos of it all, she had to turn her eyes from her sister glancing briefly at the food parked only a few meters away from where they stood. Her eyes met briefly with the man inside who seemed to be staring back at you, no doubt eavesdropping on your heated conversation.

“You know what, I can’t do this,” Alice sighed, dabbing at tears peeking from the corner of her eyes with the palm of her left hand. “Mom was right about one thing---I shouldn’t have come.”

“Alice, come on please,” Molly pleaded.

“No, it’s fine, you guys do your thing, I’ll do mine,” Alice replied, “Not that it matters, but I already asked the maitre’d to run my card---your dinners are paid for. Have at it.”

Alice swaggered away as Molly called after her, one, two, three times before she disappeared back into the restaurant. It was her weakest effort at best. In spite of her lack of expectations, she found herself crying in a mixture of real sadness but mostly frustration. Her stomach rumbled, the crumbs of the artisanal bread sat low in her stomach, emphasizing her hunger. Her eyes maneuvered towards the food truck she had spotted earlier, thinking it was as good an option as any to satisfy her hunger. She examined the words written in stylized paint on the outside of the humble food truck: Texas BBQ Beef Brisket, Hot Dogs, Smoked Sausage. The man she had seen earlier emerged from a hidden corner of the food truck. He leaned his right elbow against the wall, looking down at you with his other hand resting at his hip.

“Hi there,” the man answered, his voice traveling through the cool, fall air like warm mulled cider. “Can I help you find something, miss?”

The man’s face had Alice taking a few uneasy steps backwards. He was quite a bit older than her, she surmised. In his early to mid 40s at least, she surmised by the subtle, but weary lines on his face and the pops of gray that were sprinkled throughout his brown hair and patchy beard. There was a familiarity in his ruggedly handsome face, his full bottom lip that peeked beneath his mustache, and his furrowed brow that looked like it was stuck in a painful memory.

“Miss, you doin’ alright?” He asked, surprising her with genuine concern that she just wasn’t used to hearing. “Can I suggest somethin’?”

“Umm, yeah, sure,” she replied and then added, “you’re not from around here are you?”

“No miss, I am not,” he confirmed with a nod, “I suggest the brisket sandwich, if you want a true Texan flavor; there really isn’t anything that can compare.”

Alice found herself biting her bottom lip at the suggestion, wondering if she created the innuendo in her own mind while he was simply offering a polite suggestion. The thought was fleeting and she turned back to thoughts of the back and forth words between her and her sister. The terrible burden of her family still weighed heavily on her. Feelings of confusion and second guesses about her feelings of loyalty toward her father consumed her. A killer? Yes. A killer driven to kill? Evidence pointed to it. A father who loved her who was taken from her too soon without explanation or apology? That was an absolute truth.

“Miss, miss, excuse me?” The man waved at her to get her attention, his brow heavy with concern.

“Oh Jesus,” Alice answered, recovering from the intrusions on her brain, “I’m sorry…I’m just in my head.”

“I’m not tryin’ to pry or anythin’” the man said, drawing her in again not just with his voice but a warmth and kindness that emanated from his dark, brown eyes, “but you sure you’re alright?”

She reached over the counter to receive the bag that had the sandwich that the man had prepared for you. Her finger tips grazed his as she met his gaze with hers and her face flushed with emotion. The man’s lips curled up to the right side of his face revealing a dimple with his reassuring smile. An unease settled over her as she felt compelled to offer an explanation in exchange for his concern.

“I’m fine, just some family stuff,” Alice replied, “but who doesn’t have that?”

“Truer words never spoken, huh?” He said with a nod “I’d say try not to let it get you down, but it ain’t that easy.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Alice asked. “It’s just, you remind me of someone I used to know.”

The man's eyebrows lifted upwards in surprise. He held a large hand to his chest as he looked to his left and right, in mock surprise. “Me? The name’s Joel.”

“Joel, huh?” Alice smiled. “Nice name for a nice face; I’m Alice, Alice York.”

“Well, Alice York, it’s good to meet you,” Joel said, keeping a steady gaze on her as he leaned over the counter inside his food truck. “For what it’s worth, now you know where to find the best Texas brisket in town.”

Alice laughed, feeling more joy in this moment than any second she had spent inside a fancy restaurant with her so-called family. A low buzzing vibrated in her jacket. Taking her phone from her pocket, her screen was alight with text message notifications. The lightness she was feeling left her stomach and she felt her shoulders tighten with heightened awareness of everything around her.

“Well, I’ve gotta run,” Alice said, as she turned back to Joel a feeling of disappointment welling inside her, “but thanks for the food and the kindness, Joel.”

He waved kindly to her as she walked away. Her attention turned to her phone reading the messages before she dialed.

“France? When does the flight leave?” She said briskly. “Zero-six hundred? Got it. I’ll notify you when it’s done.”

There were no goodbyes, just a click from the other end. Pulling a paperclip from her pocket, she dismantled her phone and ejected the SIM card. She tossed it onto the sidewalk, crushing it under the heel of one of her boots. She turned back to look at the unassuming food truck, to Joel, brooding and handsome, who she caught still looking after her as she walked away. The truth of it all, was that she wished she could have just stayed there just a few more moments to have a real conversation with an attractive man like other single women her age. Perhaps it was the curse of being her father’s daughter. And as she often did in the countless quiet moments she had to think, she wondered if she was making him proud.

#juice collective #juice bar collective #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x female character #equalizer 2 #dave york #pedro pascal characters #the last of us hbo #au joel miller

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idontunderstandchemistry · 1 year

Text

Indecent Proposal (An academic rivals to lovers fanfic) - Tim Drake x Latina!Fem!Reader.

Sinopsis: Being a scholarship student at Gotham's most expensive school is not easy, especially when your academic rival, your nemesis, who coincidentally is the owner's son, decides to make you a rather usual proposition.

Tropes: Academic rivals-to-lovers, contract/bet, he loved her all this time, everyone else sees it except them, opposites attract, etc.

A/N: Is it just me or you guys also think that the baftamily has some weird abilities? Like, I can picture it very clearly in my mind: Tim is the master of voice imitation, no one can imitate Gordon or Bruce, or even Alfred, better than him (and he sometimes does it to make Damian laugh when the poor baby has to be stitched); Jason is abnormaly good at the kitchen (no wonder why he is the only one allowed in the Manor's kitchen, it also comes in handy at family hollidays); Dick can unwrapp sweets inside his mouth (It doesn't seemed very useful to him until he had his first kiss, obviously), etc. For those of you that want to read some chapters ahead, feel free to acess my AO3 account here.

Happy New Year's Eve, guys :)

Warnings: Non graphic oral sex (M receiving), sexting, etc.

Wordcount: 2222.

Chapter twelve

Chapter Thirteen: Batman is on the phone

It was a slow week. You decided not to think about Red Robin anymore. He was probably hurt and you couldn’t expect him to act like nothing happened. Yesterday, a package arrived at your house. A bouquet of purple delphiniums and a box with a red silk ribbon, and a note. You quickly hid the note and got inside with the package. Your mother was in the kitchen and saw you when you got inside with the flowers in hand.

— Hm… it seems like someone has an admirer — She said, leaning against the counter with a smile — What's his name, honey?

— I wish I knew — You said — No card.

— I don’t remember the last time your father bought me flowers. Enjoy this one, my love — She said and your father, who was sitting at the sofá watching football, lifted his head and looked at her — Yeah, I’m talking about you, Y/F/N. What are you gonna do about it?

He got up and got the car keys.

— Get you some damn flowers — He said, offended, as he put on his shoes.

— Remember, I like…

— Roses — He said, reaching the door — I’ve been married to you for 26 years, woman. I know you better than your parents at this point.

You laughed as you got upstairs.

When you got upstairs, you read Tim’s note.

“Purple delphiniums mean i’m thinking about you. Not that it is some kind of surprise. I’m always thinking about you. - Yours”

You kept the note in the middle of your book and took the Red Carnations off the vase, putting the delphiniums in their place. And the ribbon… you were using the ribbon he sent you. And, God, his glare was fixed on your back and it was so satisfactory that you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

Unfortunately, history class was absolutely tedious today. Maybe it was the effect of the rainy atmosphere of the gothinamite Autumn, or because you've studied today's topic a million times already, but you were utterly bored. You only wished you were an applied student like Aly when it came to history.

Your boredom did not last long, though. Your phone vibrated under your skirt - you've always kept it there, in case of an emergency. And also, this is Gotham. If you were to be robbed, you would like at least to keep your phone so you could call an uber home.

You lifted the hem of your skirt discreetly so you could see the notification bar, and smiled as you realised who was texting you. Him.

Very carefully to not attract any undesired attention, you turned your head in his direction and saw him smiling at you. Damn.

You unlocked your phone and read the message.

Playboy: I see you got my present

Playboy: You look great in my colours, by the way

You: the package arrived yesterday. Thanks for the flowers, also. My mother is becoming a fan of yours.

You: your colours? I didn't realise you owned the colour red

Playboy: it's just my favourite colour... it suits you

You: I am gorgeous, tim. every colour suits me

Playboy: i can't say i disagree

Playboy: Also, I pla to make your mother love me. Just to let you know.

Playboy: So you hide your phone under your skirt... damn, i wish i was this phone so i could be that close to your legs all the time, too

You: Hm... we can solve that. Or kind of

Playboy: Wdym?

You: I'll give you one of my ribbons

You: Then you can wrap it around your wrist. or your thigh. or your cock, like a pretty gift for me

You: That's a package i'd like to unwrap

Playboy: I see... next time I want to give you a ribbon, i'll strap it to me, so i can get your hands all over my body

You: Its almost break time…

You: You've got something to do or would you like to go to the bathroom with me?

Playboy: Oh, i wish i could

Playboy: I'm leaving early today, Cass has a concert and all my family will gather to prestigiate her. She’s going to play Giselle

Playboy: I'd like to fuck you at the ballet's bathroom, though. That would be a really interesting experience. Almost a dream.

You: Tell me more about your dreams. They might come true

Before you could read the text that had just popped on your screen, Mr. Tanner exclaimed so the whole class could hear:

— What a shame, Mr. Wayne. Using your phone during class.

Surprisingly, no one thought it was weird that you bursted into laughter when Mr. Tanner commanded Tim to read out loud the messages he was exchanging, since they were so much more interesting than the actual class.

Little did they know it was, actually, a nervous laughter.

Tim tried to warn him that the content was inappropriate, however, Mr. Tanner's pride spoke louder. Then, Tim got up, cleared his throat, and started with a wild grin on his stupid pretty face.

— Last night i thought about you before going to bed — He started, confidently — About how pretty your hair is, how soft it is to touch your skin and, mostly, about how much i wanted to hold a handful of your hair as your pretty mouth went on sucking my coc...

— That is enough, thank you, Mr. Wayne, now go to the principal's office immediately.

***

Tuesday you went to Tim’s house. It was weird to call it a house, but he insisted, so you tried to accommodate.

— That was actually fun — You said, laying beside him.

— Well, I have to admit, it really was — He said — Telling everyone what I wanted to do to you, even if they did not know I was talking about you. It felt amazing.

— Hm… seems exhibitionist to me — You teased,smiling with your eyes closed — The principal went through our messages?

— Briefly, yes — The boy said, looking at you like you were the only thing he has ever seen, even though you could not see the look in his eyes.

— And how did he react when he realised his best two students were the most naughty ones? — You asked, turning over your stomach so you could see his face.

His beautiful face.

— Oh, he didn't — He said, getting his face closer to yours — Your contact doesn't match your name on my phone, and he didn't go much behind to see me calling you by your name. Neither opened your profile's photo.

— How is it saved, then? — You asked, provocatively.

— I invoke the fifth amendment — He replied with your noses touching.

— A shame — You said.

— Why? I thought having a perfect report card and a reputation to match was your life plan — He stated, putting a lock of your hair behind your ear — Tired of pretending you don't have a wild side in front of others? Should I worry that you gonna tease me to fuck in public?

— No. Apparently, I’m the one who should worry about that, Mr. “I liked telling them what I wanted to do to you” — You replied, quickly, sitting back on your heels — Just thought it would be really funny to see Principal Farehd flustered whenever he looked at one of us.

— Silly me thinking you wanted to take us out of the shadows.

— There's nothing wrong with being discreet — You said, putting your hair up in a ponytail.

He arched an eyebrow.

— What are you doing? — He asked while you started to unbutton his pants.

— You said you wanted a fistful of my hair while my mouth was around your cock — You explained — I'm trying to make your wish come true.

— Seems more like you're trying to make me come — He said as you leaned over to his cock.

— Oh, that's just a plus.

Tim was so fucking vocal you were glad that Damian had a chess competition at school today and Bruce, Duke and Alfred went to cheer for him. It would be embarrassing to a 10 year old to hear his brother moaning like a whore on the end of the corridor, and you were sure that anyone could have heard it.

— Fuck — He said after he came in your mouth — That was so fucking loud Alfred must have heard from Damian’s competition.

You laughed.

— I like it — You said, laying beside him. Tim pulled you closer — My ex barely did any sound in bed. It was weird, like being fucked by a corpse.

— You never told me you had an ex — He said, caressing your waist with his thumb

— He isn’t worth talking about.

— Why not?

— Hm… — You said, thinking if Tim was trustful enough for you to tell him. It has been almost a month since you’ve started this agreement and apparently, not a soul knew about you guys. Maybe Duke, but it was Tim’s fault for not being able to hold his pretty moans back — Lets just say I don’t have good memories of him.

— None?

You shook your head negatively.

— Everything that was good about him was gone the moment he decided to be a jerk.

— What do you mean, Y/N?

— Let's not talk about him, please? — You asked, looking at him with sweet eyes, a glare you knew that had some power over his soul — He is in the past. I rather like the present.

Tim smiled.

— Why don’t you give me a present and sit that pretty pussy of yours on my face — He said, caressing your hips — I miss your taste.

— Your desire is an order, Mr. Drake — You said and he got really excited. As you took off your panties to sit on his face, as he demandes, your phone rang.

You were confused. It was 15h. Who the fuck would be calling you. You walked towards your phone and as you saw the name on your screen, you started to gather your things.

— What’s going on? — Tim asked, sitting on the bed.

— It’s Aly — You said, putting your panties on again — I had to meet them at Fabio’s studio to see something about our costumes and I forgot. Fuck, I’m the worst friend there is.

— Don’t say that about yourself — He said, getting up and dressed. You were so busy putting your shoes on that you simply couldn’t stop Tim from picking the phone up.

— No! — You exclaimed and he started to talk.

— Hello, Alysanne — Tim said, though his voice was pretty different, but at the same time, quite familiar to you. Where have you listened to that deep, cold voice before? He put the call on the speaker.

— Hm… Who is it? — They asked.

— You probably know me as “Playboy” — He said, winking to you as he spoke to Aly. You just wanted to find a hole to bury your head.

— Oh, so you’re the mysterious lucky man. Mind if we talk on a video call? Y/N is gatekeeping your face and I have an urge to judge her taste.

— You want to see my face?

— Do you have any hearing deficiency?

— I would rather stay mysterious for now.

— Hm… so you’re ugly?

— Oh, quite the opposite — He said, smirking — Well, how can I help such a worried person?

— Y/N was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago. I know she is probably taking some very well deserved dick, but I can’t reschedule our appointment. Would you mind borrowing her to me?— Aly asked after a laugh. You could see that they already liked the “Playboy” — I promise I won't require any of her private parts. I know you’re probably inside her right now. She was always silent and you know what they say about the quiet ones. They’re always the nastiest.

— Oh, they really are. That’s one of the things I like about her — Tim said and you threw one of your shoes on him, but he deflected impressively fast — I will take her to your meeting point, don’t worry. She’ll be there in ten minutes.

— Y/N, be prepared to be interrogated when you arrive — Aly said and then hung up.

— Why are you so red, my darling?

— Can you kill me? — You asked, hiding your face with your hands — I rather die than listen to Aly tell Fabio about how you were supposedly fucking me while you talked to them on a phone call.

— You know, that’s something we can try someday — He said, smiling, as he approached you with your shoe in hand. He left a peck on your pouted lips before helping you to put your shoe on — It would be fun.

— You say that like you can shut up when you’re inside me — You said — You’re more vocal than a fucking radio.

— Yeah, and you fucking love it — He said, helping you to get up — I’m really upset that I don’t get to taste you, though.

— You are a weird man — You said as you got out of his room — What was that voice?

— Hm… let's just say that the Waynes have pretty competitive game nights — He said holding your backpack with one hand and your hand with the other — And I had great opportunities to improve my imitation abilities.

— And who were you imitating? — You asked.

He laughed as you got closer to the garage door.

— Batman.

#tim drake #tim drake x reader #timothy drake #tim drake smut #red robin x y/n #red robin fanfic #red robin headcanon #red robin x reader #batboys x you #batboys fanfic #batboys x reader #Spotify

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liesmyth · 5 months

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what are your book recommendations of books you've read this year? :)

Literary fiction: My Oxford Year by Julia Whelan. It was cute, it made me unexpectedly emotional and even got me grinning, and the audiobook is great. I went in expecting a romance, but it definitely goes beyond that genre, and I think it's a much better book because of that.

Nonfiction: The Biggest Prison on Earth: A History of the Occupied Territories by Ilan Pappé. I read this a few months ago and I really recommend it to people looking for more resources re: the ongoing war in Gaza. It's more of an archival investigation than a book about politics and history, but it's very comprehensive AND approachable, imo.

SFF: I actually didn't read much fantasy or scifi this year, so ???? idk. I'm currently reading Floralinda and I'll report back!

YA: Dare Me by Megan Abbott. Homoerotic teenage friendship plus a backdrop of competitive cheerleading. Not my favourite Abbott but I LOVE the dangerous boredom of teenage girls.

Romance: Predictably, Ali Hazelwood! Check & Mate was my favourite of hers I read this year, I stayed up at night for it, no regrets, it was CUTE! The MC is a grouchy stubborn teenager chess prodigy, and I wasn't expecting to have so many feelings about a YA romance. (I also liked Love Theoretically. I am such an Ali simp sorry 2 say)

#Anonymous #book talk #ask

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mirambles · 1 year

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Wahaj Ali to the Rescue…

I have been in a Kdrama slump having barely watched 3 dramas so far. Dropped 2 and one is ongoing. I have been watching a lot of crime and dark series in British and American TV. Farzi is the only Hindi series I have watched in this new year and I loved it 😍

I have been craving good series from the subcontinent and asked a few folks on twitter to recommend Pakistani dramas. I haven’t watched them in last 7-8 years. So after 3 dramas, I started watching Tere Bin and got totally bowled over by Wahaj Ali’s Murtasim!

So I hunted for more dramas of his and am currently watching Mujhe Pyaar Hua Tha which is also currently airing and his 2021 drama Ishq Jalebi. I’m so impressed by his acting, screen presence, charisma and charm with a capital C! The current craze behind him is reminiscent of the craze behind Fawad Khan a decade ago when people discovered Humsafar and Zindagi Gulzar Hain. There is none like Fawad and he is an eternal favourite, but I’m totally falling for each and ever character that Wahaj is essaying with such finesse and panache.

Be it the proud and arrogant but hopelessly in love Murtasim

Be it the soft hearted, reticent Saad who harbours one-sided love for Maheer (literally watching MHPT only for him, cause the show is an utter disaster of a melodrama that reminds me why I don’t watch many series from the sub continent)

Or my favourite character of his right now - Basim from Ishq Jalebi. Basim is so flawed - he is immature, impulsive, stubborn, a tad selfish, sometimes a man child and even carries an inferiority complex but once he realises he is in love with Bela , he fights for it like no one’s business. His comic timing and dialogue delivery is impeccable - his dynamic with his parents is best part of the drama after his lovely, soft chemistry with the female lead Mahida. Her soft spoken, caring , mature Bela is the perfect foil to Basim. The drama is also so wholesome with fun characters that there isn’t a single moment of boredom! It reminded me of my favourite Marathi show Eka Lagnachi Goshta (The story of a marriage).

Wahaj Ali is playing 3 absolutely different characters in the 3 dramas of his that am watching simultaneously and I cannot believe it’s the same actor. The mannerisms, the voice modulation, the gait , the look is completely different. That’s the hallmark of a great actor ! Colin Firth, Fawad Khan, Kim Seon Ho were my biggest actor crushes that gave the most epic characters in history of TV viewing and now Wahaj has entered this elite list. Actors when they are on my screen, I can’t take my eyes off the screen.

Wahaj Ali has saved my 2023 TV viewing cause I have seen his filmography and his drama arc is so similar to Fawad’s that I can’t wait to watch his dramas. Fawad’s Ashar & Zaroon, Wahaj’s Murtasim and Basim are all heavily flawed characters and yet both these actors have made us ladies swoon and fall in love with them thanks to their amazing acting abilities and effortless performance. It’s an added bonus that his voice , his mischievous smile and the look in his eyes when he is in love is totally swoon worthy!

So until I find the right Kdrama again, this space will be reserved to obsess over the awesomeness of Wahaj Ali 😉

#wahaj ali #Ishq jalebi #tere bin #mujhe pyaar hua tha #Murtasim #basim #Saad #colin firth #pride and prejudice bbc series #fitzwilliam darcy #kim seon ho #startup kdrama #han ji pyeong #fawad khan #zaroon #zindagi gulzar hai #pakistani drama #romantic heroes

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librosamarillos · 1 year

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passed down like folk songs

chapter 21: would you pay the price?

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

chapter index

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Alys never had much interest in the lessons Septa Sarah insisted on giving her. Her younger sister Jeyne was the shining star in all her lessons, a perfectionist and loved all the praise the old Septa showered her with. Her youngest sister, Hannah, was not as stellar as Jeyne, but she still tried, especially focusing on her embroidery. Alys never bothered. She preferred to run off and hang around the taverns in her town, loving the attention she received for being the daughter of the town’s leader. Her father made it no secret that he hated this. But, unfortunately for him, he was almost always away, somewhere in town, meetings, other boring shit she didn’t care about. He thought he could rely on Septa Sarah, but she was quite old, Alys could easily trick and escape her clutches. She bribed the guards, and ran off into town to show off her dresses, her hair, anything really to cure her from the suffocating boredom that consumed her in her home.

Her eldest brother, Jon, was her father’s heir, following him around at all times. Her two younger brothers, Dennis and Adam, had the honour of being knighted very young and went off to fight these rebels that were causing such a fuss. Septa Sarah was basically in charge, along with perfect little Jeyne. Her father made it no secret that he did not trust Alys to be responsible, so he left his middle daughter in charge instead. Alys did fight him on that, but she didn’t truly care to be in charge. She cared that Jeyne was the perfect little daughter, and Hannah was happily following in her footsteps. She didn’t get along with her brothers, she barely spent any time with them, so in her home, she truly felt alone. Even when her mother was still alive, she doted on the two younger girls, deeming Alys a chaotic lost cause. So she ran into the town to seek attention, entertainment, hells, even approval from elsewhere.

Her adventures were suddenly cut short, when her father returned from the battle with a brand new title: Lord of Harrenhal. She had seen the castle before, it was huge and spacious, not to mention the massive boost in status. Her father always went on and on about advancing the family, but she never cared too much. She was eight and ten, soon she’d be married off to advance the family. What did men want of their young wives? Beauty and heirs. She possessed great beauty, out of all her sisters and cousins she could say she was the most beautiful. And as the oldest, she was to be married off first. But at least she could enjoy the new giant castle for a while before that came to be.

She was exploring the many rooms, all of which were an absolute mess, only their bedrooms, kitchens and dining hall being presentable and clean. Her father had ordered the maids to clean up as soon as possible, for Prince Maegor was to visit soon. He wasn’t just a Prince, her father stressed, he was also hand of the King, and largely responsible as to why Harrenhal became theirs to begin with.

Lucas Harroway had sat them all down, his three daughters and three sons. He confided in them something very important, something he made them swear they wouldn’t speak of to anyone else. He spoke to them about the Prince, about how they were indebted to him, and how they needed to be on their best behaviour. When he said that, he was, of course, looking at her. Alys rolled her eyes, but alas, swore she wouldn’t act out, nor speak to anyone of her father’s business with the Prince.

She was going through a lot of the messy rooms, before the maids could, out of curiosity and boredom, to see if she could find anything of interest that the last lord and his family left behind. Old books, surely Jeyne would love them, but nothing but old clothes remained. How did people even live here with so many old and random things?

“Alys?” her father’s voice startled her, making her nearly drop the leatherbound book she was inspecting. “Must you always escape your lessons? You know Septa Sarah cannot bother to chase you anymore in her age, some manners would not hurt you, you know?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question. As Alys turned to face him, he seemed irritated beyond belief. It was a bad time to be caught, when his nerves were like this. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I merely wished to explore our new home, father. I was curious to see what the previous people left behind. But it’s all quite dull, I’m afraid. Just some dusty old books only Jeyne would find interest in.” she pouted slightly. She wasn’t sure if it truly was persuasive, or if it just annoyed her father enough to leave her alone. It usually resulted in him sending her off, sending her back to her Septa, but now Lucas just crossed his arms and looked directly at her with an intense look in his eye, one she’d never seen before.

“House Qoherys was given Harrenhal by Aegon the Conqueror himself. And what became of them, just half a generation later?” he asked, but not really her. He began walking closer to her. “Dead, gone forever. Rebels tore them apart.” he stopped right in front of her. “They let their guard down, they were foolish, they didn’t take the threat seriously and now their entire House is dead and gone. How many times must I tell you that you need to behave, not just for your own reputation, but for all of us? How will I get this through that thick head of yours? I need you to go back to your lessons right this instant. I've asked Septa Sarah to teach you some manners, so you don’t embarrass us when the Prince arrives.” he said, not yelling per se, but stern enough to shut her up. There was no room for antics today.

“I understand, I’m sorry father.” she bowed her head and ran off to find the damn Septa and her sisters. She was a woman grown and hated it when her father spoke to her like she was a damn child. He always had this attitude toward her and she didn’t remember a time when he didn’t. She wasn’t sure what came first, her attitude or his, but she supposed it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have to deal with him for many more years anyway.

She found her sisters and the Septa in the bare sitting room, Jeyne in her usual books and Hannah with her embroidery. They seemed a bit surprised to see her attend the lesson, Jeyne biting back a clever remark. She huffed and took a seat on the sofa, the one furthest away from everyone.

“Lady Alys, I’m happy to see you here.” the old Septa spoke, clearly trying to use kindness to lure her into paying attention. She didn’t hate the woman, she just found her annoying and boring, much like the rest of her family.

“Father forced you, didn’t he?” Jeyne gave her an amused look, one that held no smiles. Alys scoffed at her younger sister. Boastful of her smarts, oh so eager to make their father proud. He never showed much affection to them all, but it was clear that Jeyne was his favourite. Perhaps she reminded him of their mother.

“Shut it.” she crossed her arms. “I was only curious and wanted to see what was around before the maids threw everything out. You’ll be pleased to hear that it is mostly old dusty books. Lots of you to busy yourself with.” she spat out sarcastically. Jeyne only shrugged, as the Septa scolded Alys on her language.

“That curiosity of yours is going to get us all in trouble one day. You best follow father’s word, we have a big guest coming. He wants us to impress. It could help us secure matches in the capitol.” Jeyne scolded, but masked it as a helpful comment.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Alys? You could find a match somewhere more interesting, isn’t that what you wanted?” Hannah asked innocently. Her youngest sister didn’t have it in her to be vicious, unlike Alys and Jeyne. She truly did seem to be positive, but Hannah still annoyed her too. Perhaps because she was Jeyne’s little shadow.

“Yes, Hannah, I’d love to live somewhere more exciting.” she mused. She had the better chance of that happening. She was the prettiest of the three, surely there’d be a lot of lords interested, wouldn’t at least one of them be someone more interesting than her boring family? “There’s a lot of rumours flying around about the Prince. The soldiers told me he’s a brutal man, that he took out most of the rebels on his own. They say he’s an angry, dangerous man, one we should avoid, and yet father wishes to bring him here…” she said, playing with the ends of her hair.

“Lady Alys, it is improper for a young woman to be hanging around soldiers, let alone listen to rumours. Your father is doing what is best for House Harroway.” Septa Sarah scolded with her ancient voice and Alys had to fight to not roll her eyes dramatically.

“How is it a rumour if they were there to witness it?” she challenged the Septa, folding her arms once more. Hannah put down her embroidery hoop, her attention now fully on Alys. Jeyne sighed, as if she were talking to an annoying child. How ironic.

“Battle brings out the worst in men. When he comes to visit, it will not be for battle. He is the hand of the King, so no matter how cruel or mean he is, he’ll leave soon enough and our father will have the King’s favour.” Jeyne explained slowly, in her stupid condescending voice, as if she were explaining it to a dumb child. How Alys wanted to strike her smug expression right off. She scoffed and remained silent for a moment.

“At least the visit will be something interesting. He claimed the biggest dragon alive, I wonder what dragons look like up close, I’ve never seen one.” she mused. “I wonder what it is like to fly. Do you think if I ask nicely, he’ll let me fly?” she was thinking out loud, but Jeyne shoved her with her foot.

“Be serious, and don’t embarrass us.”

Time went by so slowly when there was no town to run to, with all the new guards at every castle gate. Eventually, well, finally, new maids arrived, the castle was cleaned up and organised and the Prince sent word that he would be arriving soon. Alys was actually quite excited, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. This man could be the key that unlocked a potential match that would get her out of there. She’d prefer the Crownlands, or the Westerlands, anywhere but Riverrun or the cold North.

Her sisters often talked about the boys they thought were handsome in the town, the conversation then turning into what they’d want their husbands to look and act like. Jeyne had a preference to the Dornish look, for some reason. She loved their tanned skin and brown curls and brown eyes. Once, a dornish merchant passed through town with his son, and Jeyne all but made a fool of herself, staring at him all through the day. It was hilarious. Hannah, on the other hand, was a very dreamlike girl. She loved the fairytales, the knights in their shining armours and blond hair. She was painfully shy around men, so unless she grew out of that, Alys knew she wouldn’t be so lucky.

Alys never really cared what her husband would look like. She never really saw boys and men as anything but playthings to entertain herself with. They’d shower her with compliments and praises, as she fluttered her eyelashes at them, but she couldn’t honestly say that any of them caught her eye. She never had any feelings for any of them, no crushes, no dreams, no fantasies, nothing. She never admitted this to anyone, there didn’t need to be another reason for her to feel isolated and alone in her family. She lied and said she wanted a handsome husband, but in truth, she didn’t care if he was an old man on his last days. As long as he had money and left her alone, Alys could be happy. She’d give him a child or two and then enjoy a wealthy life of pretty dresses and gossip.

She had spent hours last night curling her hair, so then in the morning they came out curled and gorgeous. She got all dolled up, wore her best dress and wore her perfume. Jeyne made a comment about it being way too strong, but what the hell did she know? She always dressed so plainly and did the bare minimum to her hair, who was she to judge Alys for being too pretty? If the Prince was going to help them secure good matches, she wanted to be the first to go. Jeyne, as usual, wore a plain dress, Hannah a more modest dress, more appropriate for her young age.

Their father had them all lined up outside in the yard, and she was eagerly looking up at the sky, hoping the Prince wouldn’t arrive by horse, so that she’d have a chance to look at a dragon at long last. In a few moments she would do just that. The dragon flew over the castle and it was as if day turned into night and she heard Hannah gasp in horror. Alys stared at the giant beast in awe, as it landed in a clear patch close to the castle. The black dread, that’s what they called him and she understood why completely. It was so huge, she could barely make out the man that climbed down from the saddle, as in comparison, he looked super tiny.

As he got closer, he wasn’t tiny at all. Alys wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting the Prince to look like, but he certainly lived up to the rumours she had heard. He was a huge man, towering over everyone, his eyes suspicious and his lips in a permanent frown. She heard that Targaryens had this other worldly look about them, almost ethereal, with their silver hair and purple eyes, but Prince Maegor was none of that. He was eerie, his presence unsettling as he stood in front of her father. His hair was short, his beard trimmed, he looked like a warrior, that was for sure.

“Prince Maegor, thank you for honouring us with your visit. I do hope your journey here was easy.” her father spoke politely, too politely. He was kissing ass, for sure. Prince Maegor seemed to see right through his attempts at flattery, but didn’t address it, only nodding. “Allow me to introduce you to my children. This is my eldest, Jon. Dennis and Adam are the two who fought by your side in battle.” he boasted for his boys, as always. The Prince didn’t seem to care that much, only nodding and sparing them a quick acknowledging glance. But then his eyes landed on Alys. “These are my three girls, Alys, Jeyne and Hannah.”

Her two sisters curtsied politely, Alys following suit. His eyes were a deep violet, and they were piercing, his gaze harsh and suspicious, but there was a moment when something else flashed in there. She wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps a moment when he appreciated her beauty- she had that effect on men before, but none of them were this creepy. It sent a chill down her spine. The moment was gone as soon as it came, as the Prince handed his bag to a servant and spoke up.

“Thank you for hosting me in your new home. We have much to discuss.” his voice was deep and powerful. It fitted a warrior, a king even. It was a command for her father to hurry and get to business, which he did quickly, leading the giant man inside.

Alys remained in place for a moment. Her eyes went back to the giant dragon that was visible from where she stood, his giant red eyes meeting hers as he lay down to rest. It was a dangerous look, a look of warning to stay away. She wondered if dragons were intelligent creatures, if they had a mind like people did, or if they were like giant lizards with wings. She couldn’t know for sure, but her eyes remained on Balerion as her thoughts went back to the Prince. She supposed he was quite handsome, in a creepy and unsettling way. She wondered what went on in his mind.

Maegor was relieved to be back in the red keep. Truthfully, he couldn’t call this his home, as his true home was Dragonstone, but it was still a relief. He was well rested after his return from Harrenhal, satisfied with the crushing of the rebels, and went off to meet with Aenys. He had much to discuss with him, the faith being one of them. Tensions were building up and they needed to kill any more rebellions at the root.

He found Aenys in his solar, in a good mood, something that was rare for him these days. He had been reading a raven scroll, but put it down on the desk when he saw he had arrived, getting up to greet him.

“Brother, I am glad you’re back! How did you find Harrenhal?” he asked, his voice much more relaxed compared to before. Aenys didn’t seem to be fully aware of what went on in the realm, preferring the safety of the keep, not even venturing into the city. He seemed to believe that since Red Harren was beaten, that things were looking up. They weren’t.

“It was fine. Lucas Harroway is eager to be on the crown’s good side, so granting him the seat was wise. I’ve taken care of the defences, so that any new rebellions will not wipe out the House.” he spoke plainly. Lord Harroway was not terrible company, once he dropped the bullshit that he assumed worked on other lords. Not on the dragons though. Maegor gained another ally, someone who would follow him in his future plans, as he was the reason for his family’s good fortunes. It seemed like a good strategy. Aenys sighed, tilting his head to the side.

“New rebellions? Gods, brother, tell me you’re not implying there’s to be more.” he was only half joking, his smile not faltering much. Maegor wanted to scoff and make a rude comment about how coddled and sheltered Aenys was, despite travelling all over the realm with their father, but he didn’t.

“Do you not feel the tension? The faith, brother, they are just waiting for a reason to explode on us. It’s only a matter of time. But worry not, I’ve been preparing for such a situation. Should they dare to do so, I’ll fly to Oldtown and burn their High Septon myself.” Maegor crossed his arms, leaning onto the wall. Aenys shook his head.

“The High Septon is your wife’s uncle, you mustn't speak like that. Father took me to meet him, he seems like a reasonable and good man. He wouldn’t turn on us.” Aenys protested. Maegor frowned at the mention of Ceryse. He didn’t hate her, not at all, it was just that she felt like a thorn on his side, as he was sure he was a thorn on hers. They were on speaking terms, but preferred to ignore each other. He was still on edge about her failure to provide him with an heir and he was so close to snapping at her once more.

“Regardless of his relation to her, he still does not like us. Do you let flattery blind you completely? We took their power away because we have dragons, but their influence remains. If we do not stay on top of this, it will be a disaster. If you keep dismissing it, they’ll call you weak.” Maegor’s words were harsh, but part of him wanted Aenys, his brother, to just do something for once. So far, all of his decisions were not truly his, rather Maegor and Visenya’s. It was a good thing for Maegor and his end goals, but still, part of him wanted Aenys to fight, to at least try. His brother did not take offence, instead sighing with a small smile, as he took a seat on the sofa, inviting Maegor to join him. Maegor remained standing.

“I think you’re being overly cautious. But rest assured, I will not turn a blind eye to anything that might come up, okay?” he smiled more as Maegor nodded. “Weak… it’s not the first, nor the last time I’ll hear it, worry not, it does not bother me. I know I’m no brave warrior, I never pretended to be.” he laughed lightheartedly. “You, on the other hand, were truly born a warrior, were you not? But that is perhaps unfair to say, as it implies you didn’t put years and years of work to achieve it, even when there was pouring rain! The other day I was chatting with Lady Evergreen, and she told me about it.” Aenys beamed, praising his brother.

Maegor froze. If Aenys noticed, he said nothing. He felt a flash of fear- actual fear. Why the hell was his brother even talking to Rowan? What did she say? Did Aenys remember anything that could put her in danger? No, no, he had to take a small breath. His sweet Rowan worked for his mother, it was only normal that they might interact. Aenys perhaps heard that they were friends in childhood, it was not a lie, there was nothing wrong with that, she had no reason to hide it from him, right?

“You spoke to Rowan?” he asked without thinking. Aenys seemed a bit surprised at Maegor not using her formal title, as it showed that they were indeed very close. The King’s smile did not falter as he nodded.

“I went looking for Aunt Visenya, but she wasn’t in her solar. I found Lady Rowan in there waiting for her, so we waited together. She’s such a well travelled lady, I must say! Turns out we have quite a few things in common.” Aenys explained, as Maegor found movement in his body again to sit down on the sofa as well. “I thought she looked familiar from before, and I asked her about it, turns out my memory did not deceive me! I don’t mean to sound mean, but I couldn’t imagine you being friends with anyone. I’m so happy I was so wrong! She said you were so dedicated to training, you’d still train for hours in the heat and pouring rain! Did you truly, or was she just being flattering?” he laughed lightly, giving Maegor a playful look.

The memory came back to him as Aenys spoke. It was alive and so vivid, more vivid than Aenys who was right next to him. It was one of those days when Rowan had returned to Dragonstone with her father and needed time to rest and settle down, and Maegor was so restless, he refused to leave the training yard. It helped him calm his nerves, it helped him clear his mind and keep focus on his goals. His goal had always been the crown, but on that rainy day, when the rain fell harshly on his face, his only goal was to impress her. They must’ve been ten years old, maybe eleven, and he remembered yelling at the master of arms to keep fighting and to keep going. Just when Maegor was getting ready to call it a day, he caught a glimpse of her lovely green eyes, worriedly looking at him. Just knowing she was there was enough to give him a surge of energy to keep fighting. Afterwards, like most days when he’d push himself over his limits, she’d dote on him, gently tending to his wounds, praising him on his dedication… gods, what he’d give to have that again.

“Yes, the rain never bothered me.” he said. For some reason, he couldn’t think of what to say, the memories flooding back had rendered him speechless. It made his heart sting that he hadn’t had the time to apologise to her amid his return from battle and the meetings and his trip back to Harrenhal and… Gods, he wished everything could just go back to the simple way it was. Aenys seemed to pick up on his sudden surge of emotion, much to Maegor’s dismay, and his face turned into one of sympathy.

“Were you two close?” his voice became more gentle as he asked the question carefully. Despite the fact that they were slowly becoming closer, Aenys still treaded carefully around Maegor, as if he had to watch what he said. Maegor stalled a bit. Then he spoke up.

“We used to be close, yes.” he said after some time. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to say, how much to reveal. He knew Aenys wanted them to be close, but this… only his mother and Duncan knew. Could he truly trust his brother with this? Why should he even bother to talk to him about it? He never spoke of it to anyone except Rowan herself, not even his mother. But maybe… just maybe, if he talked to someone else about all the hell that he was feeling, it would lighten the load just a bit.

“Used to? Why’s that, if I may ask?” Aenys asked gently. Knowing Rowan, she probably said it was because they grew apart. It wasn’t a complete lie per se, it was just that they were torn apart by his father. Maegor sighed.

“A lot of reasons. I suppose we just grew up.” he said, his voice much lower than before. He thought back to those moments of absolute bliss when they kissed for the first and last time. Those hidden moments in the forest, those smiles she gave him, that hope that sparked that he’d make her his wife and they’d live in Dragonstone together. Those days when all he could dream of was that one day he’d crown her his Queen. It was two years ago, and still, he yearned for her lips against his, to feel free to be around each other without worry.

“It’s a shame. It sounds like she was very dear to you.” Aenys’ voice brought his attention back to the present. Maegor’s eyes snapped at him, a look of surprise on his features, but his brother had a look of understanding in his eyes and a sad smile on his lips. Was? If only he knew that Rowan was more precious to him than the air in his lungs! By the look of it, it seemed like he was connecting the dots. Maegor nodded his head ever so slightly. “Perhaps you two can mend your friendship somehow. It’s a shame to not at least try, right?” Aenys’ question was genuine and Maegor took a breath.

“Perhaps.” he replied, after a long pause. The silence spoke volumes for Aenys, but he didn’t push the issue any further. He only nodded along, unsure of what to say.

The two brothers sat on the sofa in silence for what felt like forever. Maegor wanted to change the subject, for fear that he’d spiral if he thought too much of his Rowan, his sweet girl, and the fact that he couldn’t run to her embrace. He missed it when they’d find any excuse to meet ‘by chance’ in the library to study, sneakily speaking in High Valyrian under the guise of him helping her learn. He missed her soft voice while she read to him, how she’d be so patient with answering all his questions- he truly felt that she could become a maester if she could. Most of all he missed when they could spend time together, before the fear of scandal came along. He never felt so free with anyone else, so relaxed and completely at ease. What he’d give to hold her in his arms forever.

“I… I was planning to throw a feast, in honour of your recent victories.” Aenys changed the subject for him, and for that, Maegor was grateful. He was, however, unsure if it was a wise thing to do, while the danger of rebellion was still high. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Surely it would further promote his end goals, by Aenys himself acknowledging him as the more capable one in front of everyone important in the Crownlands.

“I see. It will be an honour.” he said, his mood still not improving regardless. He didn’t feel like celebrating, not when things between him and Rowan were still so tense, but it would be foolish for him to throw away an opportunity that could be used to further push himself on the throne. “Perhaps it would be a good distraction from the unrest.” he said, and Aenys’ mood immediately brightened.

“Not just a distraction, but a celebration! There is a lot to celebrate.” he said, but his eyes widened, as if he did not mean to say the last part out loud. Maegor caught this, and raised a brow. Aenys contemplated for a moment, before shaking his head and speaking up. “Well, it’s still too early to announce now, but Alyssa is with child! It will not be announced at the feast, of course, it’s far too soon, but oh, what a joy! I shall find the best singers to bring to the feast, the ones that she likes best, so she enjoys the evening!” Aenys continued to beam, as he went on and on rambling about what he needed to bring for the feast, as he got up to find some parchment to write a list for it.

Maegor remained on the couch, after muttering a small ‘congratulations’ to his brother. He was feeling a new type of bitterness as he sat there and listened to his brother go on and on about how excited he was for the new baby. Aenys was to have his fourth child, while Maegor still had none. He didn’t even realise how hard he was clenching his fists, until his eyes focused on how white his knuckles were. It was as if something snapped inside him, like he was looking for a sign that what he was planning was the right course of action, and this was it. Ceryse could not provide him with the one thing he needed from their union, a child. He had to take another wife, just as his father did, for he would not disgrace himself with siring a bastard to be legitimised.

His mind went back to Harrenhal, back to one of Lord Harroway’s daughters, the one with the brown hair that was curled in such a way that he was sure in candlelight, it would appear auburn. Her nose could almost look like Rowan’s, he could pretend her brown eyes were actually that green he fell in love with. He knew if he were to take Alys as a second wife, she’d face scrutiny from the faith and the pious lords, but he didn’t care. He’d give her the money to live the life of a princess, and once he had his heir, he’d even crown her a Queen, so she shouldn’t care either. The Harroways never struck him as a pious family anyway.

Unlike the Hightowers, who’d surely take offence, but again, once he crowned Ceryse a Queen, surely they’d see his reasoning. What were the pious going to do anyway? He was the greatest warrior in Westeros, rode the biggest and mightiest dragon and wielded both Dark Sister and Blackfyre. Let them dare speak against him.

But then, as he excused himself under the guise of meeting with his mother, his mind raced to Rowan, his love. How would she react? She wouldn’t take it well, he knew it. He couldn’t bare to know that he would hurt her, but surely, she’d understand why he did what he did, once he wore the crown at last, right? Surely she knew that only she held his heart and that this was only out of practicality, right?

He went to look for her in the gardens, to apologise, to perhaps talk to her about what was on his mind, as much as he did not want to burden her with the depth of his and his mother’s plans. She was too kind to ever consider that he’d do it, but when the time came, she’d see that he was doing his brother a favour, no?

Maegor stopped in his tracks when he saw that she was already talking to someone in the gardens. Tybolt Lannister was once again there to piss him off. He was clearly showing off his bruises and injuries he had gotten from battle, a swollen eye, a broken arm. Thankfully, she wasn’t alone, as her father seemed to have joined her for her walk. The three were chatting, Rowan looking at Tybolt worriedly, while her father had his arm around her shoulder affectionately. Why Duncan would ever entertain the idea of giving his daughter off to that pathetic fool was beyond him. Maegor always thought that Duncan was one of the smartest people in Westeros, so this bothered him beyond explanation.

He huffed, knowing it would be unwise to interrupt them in such a public place, so he found himself making his way to Ceryse’s rooms instead. He fumed at the idea that there was a big chance that Rowan would tend to this blabbering fool’s injuries the same sweet way she used to tend to Maegor’s. Just the thought that her gentle hands would go anywhere near that man made him regret not ‘accidentally’ killing him off during the battle of Harrenhal.

Ceryse was on her way out of her chambers when he entered without knocking. She seemed surprised to even see him, as it was still midday and he only ever visited her at night. An awkward silence fell between them, until Ceryse spoke up.

“If it is what I think it is, my moonblood is still here. Perhaps in two days.” she said plainly, after the surprise wore off. Truly, he couldn’t think of many occasions where they had any meaningful conversations, aside from a fight or two. He appreciated how straightforward she was, but that did nothing to dim his frustrations. It was yet another failure to conceive, another sign that what he planned to do was the right thing. He cleared his throat.

“Very well. I also wanted to tell you that it should be safe for your family to travel if you still wish for them to visit. I did not forget the promise I made the other day.” he said while looking at her. Ceryse nodded, eyeing him suspiciously, but did not voice her doubts at his intentions. She was smart. She’d make a capable Queen once his plans came to be.

Now he had to head back to Harrenhal.

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