[coire-non]

i love dunkmaeker fics where the dynamic is, genuinely, point for point, “dad and the dog he didn’t want but now loves more than us”. fantastic stuff

[coire-non]

sometimes you get through the hard work day with your friends at your side. and sometimes it’s by thinking all day of a ridiculous scene post-Ashford (nobody died, everyone is some degree of concussed and lying in various unmoving crumpled heaps for a few more days before limping home.)

In a massive win for the maester who’s been treating him, Dunk gets to have a properly warm indoor bath for the first time in his life, which is fantastic. And there’s soap that doesn’t sting, and salve for open cuts, and the luxury of it is almost worth having bruises everywhere he can think of.

…and enter Extra Concussed crown prince, disoriented and not in fact in his own room. Which is odd, and then Baelor is very abruptly rolling his sleeve up a very nicely tanned arm and getting very alarmingly close to him and going to his knees on the stone and that’s more than strange -

Dunk finds himself having his first hot bath and his first handjob at the same moment. Also, the most confused and genuinely petrified orgasm of his life. He promptly decides maybe streams and rivers are safer in general for his heart. All that tugging on his hair (and other parts) and praise into his ear made him feel rather like he was getting lanced off a horse again and surely nobody’s meant to spend that much time airborne.

(Baelor (in agony) has a very hazy recollection of accosting someone he rudely intruded on and rather wishes he had been hit harder over the head if only to not have to deal with that horrendous moral problem. He’s also dealing with a strange issue of arousal around lavender soap.)

[coire-non]

urghh i do want to elaborate but i also want to be mysterious and chic and just drop it as a complete fic. but i never took impulse control classes

[coire-non]

loving the idea of dunk in the middle of an (XL) sandwich between baelor and maekar, but he remains oblivious to how kinky they’re actually making it. Not his fault he’s inexperienced and easy to please, and all of their sex is so convoluted because the brothers are a. Odd and b. Competitive to a fault.

Dunk, reporting on the evening: We had sex in my bed. Must be change of pace for a prince, to lay on rough sheets and press close.

Actual Playback: Baelor and Maekar fighting all evening about who’s been monopolising more of his attention, and deciding (as per usual) to share but making it more exciting by playacting “Dornishman and Valyrian seize territory from the subdued Andal warrior” (Disclaimer: loose historical accuracy). A very obliging (read: not good at resisting invasion) Dunk gets his arms tied behind his back, pushed down into bed, immediately pressed against on both sides, and peacefully enjoys some very heavy petting and grinding as the brothers play-fight over his head about birthright and negotiate their spoils of conquest.

Rinse and repeat. They’re very odd, Dunk can agree, but he’s not had bad sex with them yet.

[pissbataille]

You know the money shots in porn films? Well, this was a different substance: it was red.

– Director Roberta Findlay on the relationship between pornography and horror.

[tooersh]

somebody pointed out that maekar wears baelor's pin over his heart during the funeral, and the detail really stayed with me...

attempted a design of maekar's crown of iron points. reimagining it a bit more delicate, like a crown of thorns.

[coire-non]

sometimes you get through the hard work day with your friends at your side. and sometimes it’s by thinking all day of a ridiculous scene post-Ashford (nobody died, everyone is some degree of concussed and lying in various unmoving crumpled heaps for a few more days before limping home.)

In a massive win for the maester who’s been treating him, Dunk gets to have a properly warm indoor bath for the first time in his life, which is fantastic. And there’s soap that doesn’t sting, and salve for open cuts, and the luxury of it is almost worth having bruises everywhere he can think of.

…and enter Extra Concussed crown prince, disoriented and not in fact in his own room. Which is odd, and then Baelor is very abruptly rolling his sleeve up a very nicely tanned arm and getting very alarmingly close to him and going to his knees on the stone and that’s more than strange -

Dunk finds himself having his first hot bath and his first handjob at the same moment. Also, the most confused and genuinely petrified orgasm of his life. He promptly decides maybe streams and rivers are safer in general for his heart. All that tugging on his hair (and other parts) and praise into his ear made him feel rather like he was getting lanced off a horse again and surely nobody’s meant to spend that much time airborne.

(Baelor (in agony) has a very hazy recollection of accosting someone he rudely intruded on and rather wishes he had been hit harder over the head if only to not have to deal with that horrendous moral problem. He’s also dealing with a strange issue of arousal around lavender soap.)

[coire-non]

usually not very good at thinking of good modern au concepts. but. it would be worth any effort for a singular spearhedge one-shot where Baelor is getting a lot of side-eye and shit from his brother for involving himself with a gigantic, over-earnest, very endearing twenty-something rugby player. Up until the day Maekar laughs so hard he nearly chokes when Baelor squeaks into the room on a four-wheel walker after sustaining a pelvic fracture in suspicious (but foreseeable) circumstances

[coire-non]

hungry but there’s no “dunk obediently takes lyonel’s crown when he flings it at him to jump into the dancing crowd, and he waits with it held steady in his hands and doesn’t move one inch because it doesn’t immediately occur to him to do so and then, besides, he’s got a task and a role and that’s more of a comforting shield in a crowded pavilion than any drunken haze could be, and he would stand sentry for hours if needs must, and lyonel is so damnably thunderstruck by this lovely ridiculous giant of a man planting himself in place and obeying him to the most extreme conclusion of the order for the simple pleasure of it! to the point of discomfort in the glances he’s suffering and the faint ache of his arms! and of course they make it sexual, fast. cue stress position and honour bondage montage” in my fridge

[coire-non]

sorry i need to shovel more bites of this into my mouth now that i'm cooking it - core point: this is the most under negotiated kink - the whole crown-holding thing goes on in the pavilion and Dunk has zero idea of what has just happened there. meanwhile 60% of Lyonel's brain has wandered off to revolve around the sight of Dunk patiently waiting by his throne with his crown on his order and he's melting. a little. - Lyonel is reckless as a rule and to the end of their conversation (he can rapidly see any chance of luring Dunk to his own tent slipping away) pulls a ring off his fingers and stuffs it into Dunks's grasp claiming that it's to ensure Dunk will be back for the next feast with provisions made this time for his squire and horses, so there will be no reason for him to have to escape away into the night. and of course because he has to return the gold sitting in his very clammy hand. Lyonel, in ecstasy: ughh this is so clever of me. and so unbearably hot to imagine him carrying the damned thing about for an entire day and half a night just for the sake of returning it to me Dunk, in fear for his life: is he insane? is this a test? am i to be accused of thievery by daybreak? how am i supposed to take care of a ring? all lords must be terribly eccentric. oh gods i want to bring it straight back to him just to have the weight off my chest and why does my stomach feel - too much wine, I suppose. Dunk ties the damned ring to about three cords of twine around his neck and can't stop pressing his palm to his chest to feel for it and doesn't quite breathe right until he's squeezing back into the pavilion the next night and shouldering his way to Lyonel's side and pressing the ring into his hand and exhaling. Lyonel is having a very hard time not thinking about the ring being warm from Dunk's chest. Dunk has a Very Hard Time standing when Lyonel grins and pats his cheek and calls him wonderfully honourable and - a little lower, a good man. - Things escalate. And Dunk has a lot of thoughts about why he should be excited by servitude, and strange rumblings about the relationships of the peasants and lording class, his yearning for approval, and gives himself a headache. - Dunk eventually ends up in Lyonel's own tent, very emotionally torn up about the entire affair, and would probably continue to agonise about it if Lyonel didn't take matters in hand and very plainly make his case: it feels good. Why agonise? - Key scene to all this: Dunk is fully clothed and told to stand facing the end of Lyonel’s very nice four-poster bed, Lyonel presses himself up behind him, takes hold of both of his arms, and directs them up until he’s standing slightly leaned forward with both hands pressed to the canopy rail (too worried to grip it in case the pretty polished carvings are damaged) and simply tells him not to move his hands or his feet. I could write an essay on Dunk just thinking and his arms twitching as he fatigues but the dogged urge to hold fast is such a hot weight in his stomach that he’d rather die before giving up. And other people walk in and out of the tent seeking Lyonel’s audience and Dunk stays there in his stress position with his head tucked and his breathing heavier as Lyonel lightly tells them not to worry about him (occasionally gets sharp when someone stays looking). And his arms hurt, and his face is so hot, but he throbs everywhere and the simple strain becomes so meditative that he just closes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

(he gets sucked SO good for doing so well. Lyonel fucks his own TMJ beyond the abilities of his maester)

The line i need to sprinkle in is: “and he would do anything for Lyonel, really, not just for the pleasures of being fed and touched and rewarded, but for the thrilling shake that comes over his body when Lyonel says good, and good boy, and sweet, lovely thing and twenty-odd variations of those wonderful words.”

[coire-non]

if i could fellate a fic -

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82256616

[coire-non]

every time i reread les mis i remember how fucking funny it can be at points. valjean is a man of so few words. he gets to the point (unlike his author)

[pangur-and-grim]

[coire-non]

i’ve never wanted to hit my head on the wall so much as i just did when i realised (while going back through old writing and notebooks) that ever ship i have ever shipped is literally just about hope. every single one. it’s all just irreconcilable differences and looking across a divide and loving what should be unlovable because what is there to do but hope for understanding from each other

[noknowshame]

resurrected dead wife watching her own montage: wow I looked so hot in that

[coire-non]

hungry but there’s no “dunk obediently takes lyonel’s crown when he flings it at him to jump into the dancing crowd, and he waits with it held steady in his hands and doesn’t move one inch because it doesn’t immediately occur to him to do so and then, besides, he’s got a task and a role and that’s more of a comforting shield in a crowded pavilion than any drunken haze could be, and he would stand sentry for hours if needs must, and lyonel is so damnably thunderstruck by this lovely ridiculous giant of a man planting himself in place and obeying him to the most extreme conclusion of the order for the simple pleasure of it! to the point of discomfort in the glances he’s suffering and the faint ache of his arms! and of course they make it sexual, fast. cue stress position and honour bondage montage” in my fridge

[coire-non]

so addicted to niche ships that I have skipped all the obvious (and good) stops for akotsk shipping and arrived at hedgeanvil. in my head it’s all just grief sex and baelor getting 24/7 Dead Wife™️ treatment

[nightcrews]

Maekar calling his dad to explain what happened at the 13 year old girl's birthday party he made them go to

[coire-non]

hello hope you’re doing well!! just wanted to say that i missed seeing you on the tl :3

I am alive! I’ve had a month of weeping like a widow for my fics as I do Actual Writing For A Study

I have also started slavering over a whole new possibly worse niche (AKOTSK). give me ten big fucking irish hedge knights please