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    Baelor Targaryen. The most noble of them all. The king who never was.

    Everyone present at the tourney of Ashford saw the tragic end of his story. But what if, after the dust settled, they called for his death way too soon?

    Mhyra hated being at crowded places. Troubled by her secrets, she usually loved Ashford for its quiet charm and its steady peacefulness. But as the tourney‘s healer, thanks to Lord Ashford himself, she had to watch the whole unsettling mess unravel.

    She was the only one who dared to spend a closer look.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
    14/?
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    23 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    "The crown suits you, you know," said Ser Duncan over the cacophony, and brought Baelor back to himself. "Makes you look... you know. Kingly. Which I suppose makes sense, given that you're the king now." A look of anguish crossed his face. "Oh, hells, I shouldn't be calling you 'you,' should I? It's 'Your Grace.' Please don't take—"

    Baelor resisted the urge to rest his hand against the lad's back, as one might soothe a skittish horse. "No offense was taken, ser."

    "Thank you," Ser Duncan said, then immediately amended, "Thank Your Grace...ness. Seven fucks, I'm getting another drink." And he whirled away into the throng before Baelor could say a word.


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    8/?
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    23 Feb 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Baelor Breakspear dreams of his fate at Ashford, amongst other horrors, including white walkers, dead sons and.... a northern maiden.

    He does things quite differently and the song of ice and fire is forever changed.

    Language:
    English
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    178,310
    Chapters:
    38/?
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    17 Feb 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    A brown skinned young woman looks up to see a man gazing at her across the train.

    He’s older than she remembers, with white stubble grown out into a beard, and a tattoo on his arm she doesn’t remember.

    She looks exactly the same to him.

    He’s standing. She’s sitting. The train rocks, daylight flashing through the windows, casting a warm glow over her skin. Neither of them move. She stays seated, because he makes no move towards her.

    He stays standing, because the sun has cast a halo around her body. If he moves, he’ll block it. They exchange no words, no physical contact.

    But they remember it all.

    (Dedicated to @yannaryartside of Tumblr, for making the post that sent me down a rabbithole, into a hyperfixation, and then writing the first Abbmira fic ever! (and also a lot of Rollins stuff that I won't own up to))

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    8/8
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    27 Jan 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    George was used to finding a silver lining in shit situations, but retiring from his home race after putting it on pole didn’t leave him with much to work with.

    George scrolled through the recommended feeds, eyes half-lidded and sticky with exhaustion. Then one headline caught him: FORMULA ONE SILVERSTONE REACTION.

    Not exactly original, but the description below made him snort: “RIP GEORGE RUSSELL.”

    Yes. RIP, indeed.

    OR Max is a sim racing streamer and George is a driver and a fan.

    Language:
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    Chapters:
    12/?
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    30 Dec 2025