Years of writer's block will do shit to you, but for reasons unknown and not questioned, this has just happened in my brain, and then through my hand, and I am pondering whether it's the biggest foolishness or I should give it a try and continue.
Modern AU. Academic rivals to lovers. Aemond Targaryen x OC.
Aemond Targaryen has insomnia. It's recurrent at this point, has been happening more and more often, and has him worried. Lately, he's not been sleeping very well, and there are nights in which he can't get a sad minute of the most basic haze; he just lays in bed, wide eyed and ready to jump through the window at any given moment. He tosses and turns and tries every trick in the book, but it just doesn't work.
He's carefully revised every possible cause and nothing ever comes to mind. His habits are the same as usual, nothing in his routine has changed and he's eating fairly decently. But this can't continue under any circumstance. Last week, with bags under his eyes and something that felt like the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, he gave a clearly wrong translation of a passage to Professor Manderly, which prompted the old teacher to -not without harshness- proclaim if that was going to be the quality of his work, he should stop wasting everyone's time and abandon the program.
He had been left stunned. Seven Hells, even Alyx Tully had seemed perplexed.
And Alyx Tully is another problem, for sure. So stupidly accurate in each piece of work she presents, so annoyingly sharp in every debate, such a perfect little intelligent bitch who he loves to hate... but what beautiful blue eyes -damn them a thousand times over.
And with that, Aemond decides his insomnia is going to be everyone's problem tonight. He grabs his smartphone from the nightstand as Vhagar, his grumpy, old cat, actually snores at his feet, and opens his instant messaging app. No one is online, obviously, it's 1:00 AM...or better yet, someone is. Alyx Tully, dearest Alyx Tully.
He has her number from the disastrous time they actually had to work together and present a paper on Valyrian fricative sounds. The paper was brilliant in every way possible, but they didn't kill each other in the process by some miracle he had yet to completely understand. And, given she's online at this ungodly hour, she'll have to suffer from sleep deprivation with him.
He opens her contact and begins typing.
"Online at 1 AM on a Friday night? You do really have a sad existence, Tully..."
And it just so happens that Alyx Tully also has insomnia, and is lying totally defeated in bed and wishing she could just vanish from existence. In truth, she's always had some trouble sleeping, but lately it's gotten to a point where she only falls asleep when she literally can't stand it anymore and her body simply surrenders and her brain shuts down. She ignores the cause, but she's convinced it will only end with her dead and buried, counting green sheep in a mental health facility, or in the first case of apotheosis of the modern world. And with her options being either agony and death, institutionalization or divinity, she decides she'll book an appointment with her physician for tomorrow, and reaches for her phone to leave a message in his automated messaging service.
Unfortunately for her, she'll have to pass Aemond Targaryen's test before she can donate her body to science, because his message interrupts her cry for help.
"I can't fucking believe it...", she murmurs to the darkness of her room, half stunned, half weary. She types quickly, fueled by the sudden doubt about murder still being considered an illegal activity in Westeros.
"If it isn't the Devil himself! Why don't you do us both a favour and lose my number, pwetty pwease?"
So... should I give this thing a try?
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