I feel baelor would always be trying to feed dunk, baelor pushing extra servings towards him. more snacking platers during meetings, while they are having a serious conversation baelor is mindlessly handing candy to dunk.
eventually, dunk notices and goes ????. baelor basically answers: "you used to never know where your next meal would come from, just let me take care of youuuu."
I love the very sweet and wholesome prince/knight of it all. But I really, really feel that we all need to pay more attention to the fact that all those images/gifs/clips that we have of Baelor looking someone up and down and staring at them with the the most “finally some good fucking food” expression I’ve ever seen in my life??? You know the ones. The ones being used for every edit, faceclaim, roleplay etc
Yeah he’s staring at Dunk.
Dunk hadn’t even opened his mouth and Baelor stood there thinking “Is this three-course-meal worth of man for me??”
Then Dunk starts talking and reveals himself to be the sweetest, most earnest person to walk the face of the earth and Baelor’s like “Oh! Yes. Yes he is.”
There are a lot of people who start creative projects with no business or financial plan, because "who cares, it isn't important, we'll figure that out later". And you can't let yourself become that person. Not because I'm a sneering finance bro who thinks your woke animated youtube series wont make money, but because if you don't you'll wind up financially exploiting your friends for years
Look, it's none of my business if you wanna work yourself to the bone for no money so you can make your dream project a reality. I think you shouldn't, but also let's be real that's basically a rite of passage for young creatives. But as soon as you start involving other people? You need a plan. You need to be able to compensate them for their time, and you need to have it in writing
have some more young!baelor/older!dunk time travel au, following pretty much directly on from the last bit I posted
[be warned. this is literally just pwp. very much nsfw, I can't stress that enough.]
For all Duncan’s teasing, Baelor is not completely ignorant as to how men can enjoy each other’s bodies. It may be true that he has not taken the opportunity to gain any practical experience, but he knows how it is done, and what he wants from Duncan. His mouth, as lovely as it was, will not satisfy. Now that Baelor knows his feelings are returned, can he be blamed for being eager? For so long he has wanted, and gone on wanting.
He knows that being fucked must be pleasurable, or else men would not do it. Knows too, from his research into the subject, that fingers can also bring pleasure to the same region of the body. Yet there must be a technique or a method to it that Baelor has not yet discovered, for all that moving his fingers inside himself has brought him is boredom. His cock, which stood proud when he began this experiment, now lies soft and sedate on his thigh, utterly uninterested. His fingers feel heavy, clumsy.
Perhaps this is not the most dignified of positions for Duncan to discover him in, but Baelor refuses to feel shame for his actions.
“I thought that we had agreed to wait, my Prince,” Duncan says after a moment of breathless silence. His eyes are very wide, and only grow wider as Baelor spreads his legs a little more, and pushes his fingers a little deeper within his hole. He’s up to the second knuckle now. From what he’s seen of Duncan’s cock, he’s going to need much more. Already, his cock is beginning to take an interest, from nothing more than the knowledge that Duncan is here, watching him.
“I have waited,” Baelor tells him, pleased that his voice does not shake, even as he removes his fingers from his hole. “A day and a night.”
Duncan looks unimpressed. “That is not so long,” he says, walking slowly towards the bed. Too slowly.
“You did not specify a length of time,” Baelor points out helpfully.
“I suppose that’s true,” Duncan admits.
What does Duncan see when he looks at him? A soft boy, a spoiled princeling, who has never known physical hardship or deprivation, longing to play the whore?
“Please, Ser,” Baelor whispers. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”
He’s sprawled naked on the bed, exposed and obscene, hard as he’s ever been in his life, with Duncan standing over him like the Titan of Braavos. And he’s saying please.
Duncan’s hand touches his jaw, guides his chin higher. “My Prince,” he says, and oh how Baelor loves how he says it, emphasising my. That could be true, could it not? Baelor has already done his duty to his family, to the realm, married for advantage and given them two fine, strong sons. The line of succession is secure, he has no need to marry again. He can simply remain as he is, and be Duncan’s for the rest of his days. “There’s no need to beg,” Duncan tells him. "I'll give you anything, you only need to ask." And then, as if to prove it, he leans down and kisses Baelor. When he tries to pull back, Baelor refuses to let him go, wraps arms and legs around Duncan and clings to him. He steals kiss after kiss from Duncan’s laughing mouth, drags him onto the bed.
“My man,” he says, over and over, until the words lose all meaning. Baelor hardly knows what he’s saying anymore, but as long as Duncan doesn’t stop kissing him then he doesn’t care. My man, mine, my own. How can Baelor doubt that now, when Duncan has foregone the honour and glory of the white cloak for his sake? Any other man would have accepted the position regardless, Baelor had told Duncan in the Godswood, pressed so close together that they shared breath.Duncan had looked grim at his words, though the gentle hand that reached to brush a loose curl behind Baelor’s ear reassured him that he was not the cause of Duncan’s dark expression. That may be so, Duncan had told him. But I don’t see how you could trust a word I said if I did that. If Duncan had asked, Baelor would have dropped to his knees right there, or bend over and let Duncan fuck him in the grass.
My man, who gave up honour and glory to be with me. No victory on the tourney field had ever felt so joyous, so triumphant as that thought.
“How did you find this place?” Duncan asks him, once he’s got Baelor pinned on the bed. He’s barely even out of breath. Once more, Baelor wonders at Duncan’s strength, at how easily he is able to hold him down and keep him still.
“Brynden,” Baelor says, grinning at the look on Duncan’s face at the mention of Lord Bloodraven.
There are many passageways in the Red Keep, and many secret rooms. Some are known to most, a few to all. This one, so far as Baelor can tell, is only known by a select few people. And since neither Brynden nor Shiera are at court, this room may be as close to a private one as Baelor can find in the Red Keep. He is surprised that Duncan managed to find him so quickly, even with the directions that Baelor had left behind, along with strict instructions to burn them as soon as they had been read.
In truth, he had expected to have more time to prepare himself for Duncan’s arrival. He had hoped to be already ready and open by the time his knight found him. An arsehole is not like a cunt, the books he’s read have made that very clear. It needs preparation to take even the average cock, and Ser Duncan the Tall is far greater than average, in that regard as in all else.
Baelor had not wanted him to have to wait.
“They say that Maegor hid Queen Rhaena, his black bride, in this room, where only he knew where to find her. Later it became a hiding place for Aegon III, when he wished to escape the eyes of his regents and their spies. Supposedly, Queen Rhaenyra conceived her three eldest sons in this very bed.”
There are other stories that Brynden and Shiera have told him of this room, but those Baelor does not care to repeat. The last person he wants to mention while in bed with Duncan is Daemon Blackfyre, however much Shiera insists that this was the room where her father brought Daena the Defiant when she commanded him to give her a babe.
Duncan’s eyes have glazed over a little, so Baelor shifts a little, not truly attempting to break free of Duncan’s grip, but enough to get his attention.
“Will you take me now?” Baelor asks. “I am — I have bathed, and washed inside myself as well as I could, and I have —” he gestures to the bottle of scented oil standing on the bedside table. It had been a gift from the Prince of Dorne on his last nameday, and smells like nothing else, infused with petals of flowers Baelor has never seen. He’s never had the courage to wear the scent in public, but he had thought that Duncan would like it. There’s little enough that Baelor can do about his appearance, but he wants to make himself appealing, if he can.
The look on Duncan’s face is strange as he releases one of Baelor’s wrists, reaches up to touch his cheek, thumb gentle beneath his purple eye. Baelor wonders if Duncan has also heard the old jokes about his prince’s one good eye — there had been a period, shortly after his father had come to the throne, when he had heard them every day. The thought that Duncan might be thinking of it now is an uncomfortable one.
For a moment, Baelor thinks he can see tears in Duncan’s eyes, but he’s distracted when Duncan claims his mouth in a rough kiss. Once he pulls back, the tears are gone, and Baelor can see only desire on his face. He can feel Duncan’s cock beneath his breeches, as hard as his own, pressing against his naked hip. Baelor leans into Duncan’s warm palm, and doesn’t speak.
“Yes,” Duncan tells him simply.
Baelor shivers.
Duncan will put his fingers inside him, and then — and then. Baelor has already taken Duncan’s cock in his mouth. How much better will it feel to take him this way? Duncan will fill him up, touch and pet and stretch his hole, until it’s loose and wet and ready, and then Duncan will give Baelor his cock. Every inch of it. Baelor will accept nothing less.
He needs it, having dreamed of it for so long.
“This will take some time,” Duncan warns as he undresses, having moved out of Baelor’s reach to avoid getting sidetracked by his wandering, unrepentant hands. “I’ve no desire to see you harmed.”
“You will not harm me,” Baelor smiles up at him.
“I know that, because I’m going to do this properly.”
Duncan spreads Baelor’s legs wider so that he may fit between them, kneeling. He pulls Baelor further down the bed, until his legs are hooked over Duncan’s thighs, keeping him open and exposed. His cock is hard and wet against his belly, but Duncan ignores it. He uses much more oil than Baelor had, soaking his fingers and pouring it directly onto Baelor’s hole, leaving him soaked and dripping.
Somehow, Duncan’s fingers feel different from Baelor’s own, even though he makes no attempt to penetrate Baelor’s hole yet. Instead his fingertips press against Baelor’s rim, and the sweetly tender skin beneath his stones. Gentle, then firmer as Baelor shivers, rubbing the oil into his skin as the muscles of his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping still. Duncan doesn’t stop touching him, caressing the tender skin of his hole.
“How does that feel,” Duncan asks, as he finally, finally, pushes in. Only the tip of one finger, and already it feels better than anything Baelor had done to himself.
Duncan’s fingers are larger, of course — his hands as broad and long as the rest of him — but the angle is better too, and each shallow thrust feels like a revelation. Baelor wants more. He wants to never feel empty again.
“You seem to be making a lot more effort than most hedge knights would —” Baelor gasps, “— when taking a maidenhead.”
It’s a foolish jape, but Duncan seems to take it seriously, tilting his head. “Am I taking it?” He asks. “I thought you were giving it to me.”
“I do — I do give it to you,” Baelor says, when he remembers how to speak again. It seems important that Duncan knows. “It’s yours… it’s yours.”
Then he introduces a second finger, and Baelor loves it, he needs it, he thinks he might be crying. He rocks down on Duncan’s fingers and wills himself to stretch wider. He can’t think of anything beyond the pressure and pleasure of it, the fullness that brings tears to his eyes from how right it feels.
Once he’s buried up to the hilt, Duncan widens his fingers, twists them, and when he goes to pull them back they brush against a new spot inside Baelor, more sensitive than anywhere else in his tender hole, and so very good that Baelor gives up on dignity, and wails.
“There it is,” Duncan grins down at him. He quickly pulls his fingers back, though Baelor can feel his hole clenching hard around them, as if to keep them in place. “None of that now,” Duncan tells him. “Unless you want to spend right now.”
Baelor has to pant for several moments, but forces himself to relax. Duncan rewards him with a gentle thrust, another finger, and a sweet kiss pressed to the side of his knee. Three fingers he has inside Baelor now, more of them than he’d managed himself, and bigger too.
Baelor knows that he can take more, but when he says as much to Duncan, the older man simply laughs.
“That’s what you said when you tried to take all of me in your sweet mouth, my Prince,” Duncan points out. With his free hand he reaches up to cup Baelor’s cheek affectionately, brushing away tears with his thumb.
“This will be different,” Baelor insists, gasping. It’s not fair of Duncan to hold that against him. Anyone would struggle to take the whole of Duncan’s cock in their mouth, however glorious it feels to make an attempt.
“It will be different,” Duncan says. “Because I will not give you any more than you are ready for.”
Words cannot describe how Baelor feels to be so denied, so he simply whines, digs his fingers and toes into the bedsheets, and lets Duncan’s broad, beautiful fingers do what they will with him.
“Please,” Baelor says, can’t seem to stop saying. “Please, please —” He feels like he’s been begging forever, and Duncan isn’t even moving his hand now, just holding it in place while Baelor tilts his hips, shoving himself down against Duncan’s fingers, impaling himself on them deep and hard.
“I know,” Duncan is saying, over and over. “I know, princeling, I know what you need, I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything.”
Every thrust now seems targeted at that sweet spot within him, every movement he makes only brings more pleasure. Before Baelor knows what’s happening, he is coming and coming and coming, seed spilling out across his chest and making him sob and cry and pull Duncan down, until he’s close enough to kiss.
“Don’t stop,” Baelor gasps, when he remembers how to speak, and realises that he’s horribly empty. Duncan has removed his fingers, but cock is still pressed along the line of his inner thigh, hard and insistent and leaking warm seed against his skin when it should be inside him. “Please, don’t stop.” He must be loose enough now to take Duncan, can’t imagine how he could possibly not be, and Duncan had promised, had sworn to give him anything. Baelor cannot think of anything he wants more than this, even though he’s spilled his own seed already. What must Duncan think of him, to be so wanton that he has finished without a hand on his cock, or a cock in his hole?
Whatever Duncan is thinking, it cannot be so bad, since he’s leaning down to kiss Baelor, bending him almost in two. Duncan holds Baelor’s face in his hands, holds him still and helpless to do anything but accept each kiss, each thrust that grazes his hole and makes him shiver. He’d be begging if he could. He’s open, wanting, longing, crying against Duncan’s mouth and clinging to his hair, rocking against his cock as much as he can, each time hoping against hope that this time Duncan will slide inside him. Fuck me, Baelor tries to say against Duncan’s lips. Take me. Use me.
Duncan comes silently, his hips stuttering erratically once, twice, followed by the spread of warm, wet seed over Baelor’s thighs.
“Does — does it always feel like this?” Baelor asks later, dazed, clenching down on nothing, and mourning the emptiness. He might do just about anything if it means that Duncan will fill him again.
Duncan smiles down at him. “If you wish it to, my Prince.”
stavos is a funny ship because stannis has extensive textual references that point to his queerness while the only thing that makes davos bisexual is that he’s crazy
i support universal free healthcare for one simple reason: if you are diagnosed with a terminal illness you should quit your job. quitting your job is the correct response to terminal illness. but you can’t do that if your healthcare is tied to your job
listen if somebody knows that they will be dead in a years time, and you are forcing them to continue to come into work, that’s fucked up. terminally ill people should be able to quit their jobs and live their last few months to the fullest. i don’t get how that’s a controversial opinion
For some reason I feel especially empathetic towards this fool and despite it being my second playthrough I still cried on the Skalitz cutscene and then cried for a second time when I was telling my mom about that silly game I am playing right now. What does it say about me? Probably nothing good, but this game was a blessing for encouraging my obsession with knights, fairytales and other stuff I was supposed to outgrow.
my biggest word of advice to anyone scared to post their work/ocs/involve themselves in creative spaces online is to earnestly get interested in other people. be kind to others, like/reblog their work, tell them what you like about their work, get to know them as people.
this isn’t to “weasel” your way into anything or having ulterior motives or whatever. if you become friends with someone then that’s great! but there’s always something very personal about posting any kind of creative work. we’re all trying our best to connect with each other and the best way to get comfortable is to get to know others and show up as yourself. 🫶🏾
There’s an organization called Advance Peace in Fresno CA that combats gun violence by providing mentoring and social services to people likely to commit gun violence that has singlehandedly reduced our local violent crime rate and recently the federal funding for it has been denied for some reason and surprise surprise the violent crime rate is going back up OH WHO COULD HAVE PREDICTED THIS
The city council is considering rededicating the city’s marijuana tax funds to Advance Peace and I sure hope they do because frankly by removing funding from organizations like Advance Peace the Feds are killing people.
Fresno has a lot of gang activity and drug trafficking and a lot of poverty and the population is always growing as the rest of California becomes less affordable. The murder rate in this city has gotten to some of the lowest rates I’ve ever seen in my whole life since Advance Peace became associated with the local government a few years ago and the federal funding being taken away from it is really pissing me off.
Also, it saves the city money. Every murder prevented is a lot of resources the city doesn’t have to spend on investigations and other expenses. Even beyond the saving human life bit, this organization benefits everyone.
I’ve read that Agatha said she loved being married to an archaeologist because the older she got, the more interesting he found her. And I think that is one of the best quotes about love that I have ever heard.
Baelor lives AU where Baelor doesn't suffer any permanent health issues either is very entertaining to me cause personally I'm quite certain Maekar would not utter a single apology for bludgeoning him like that unless there are serious consequences. Like I know from the fanfics that everyone expects he'd drop the grumpy brat act and be so sweet and kind to Baelor but like me personally I think as soon as the maester tells him Baelor will be fine he'll become even bitchier.
Putting the term "male gaze" on top of the fridge until everyone remembers that it refers to a cinematographic trend and not the act of looking at things while being a man
annaxmalina
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areudirty
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