Do I doubt this will get very far? A little bit, yeah. But, I'll give it a shot anyway! Do as you so wish with this post, folks - tag people, reblog, whatever!
5 - I'll post a snippet of Chapter 4 of When You're Close to Me (Ghoap fic) -> found here
10 - I'll post a snippet of Spider. Eye. Lamb. (CoD x Outlast Trials fic) -> found here
20 - Every twenty notes, I'll truthfully answer an ask (unless, of course, it reveals personal info or is sexual towards me as a person irl)
30 - I write up a segment of my Trans!Soap x Gaz smut oneshot -> Found here
40 - I finish + post a Peacock!Soap doodle I have
50 - I post a self-insert doodle (regardless of it's state, finished/unfinished) -> found here
75 - I post a drabble/oneshot about an oc (you may request/offer suggestions for which fandom/oc!)
100 - I slowly start writing the backlog of requests in my inbox
200 - I finish + post Chapter 1 of my BG3 fic.
500 - I'll plan/write a Dadler fic. Like a full fic.
750 - I put all of the characters I write for onto a spinwheel, and write whatever 2 get picked, no matter who they are - so long as they are from different fandoms.
1000 - I give the link to my multi-fandom server.
Done | In Progress | Not reached
Some tags of people below the cut, no pressure to anyone of course!
My favourite Dead Meat gag is whenever they're talking about Lawrence Gordon from Saw, they always go; "Lawrence Gordon - he's a doctor," before playing the clip of him saying it 😭 I love you, Dead Meat and Dead Meat Podcast
Chapter Two of How Good A Knight Are You? Is finally finished!
18,000+ words! A 90 min read by itself, so plan accordingly if needed!
A snippet just below for you...
The journey to Ashford Meadows from King's Landing had been long, tedious, and above all else, uncomfortable. The only real 'comfort' that Aelor drew from it, was the fact that he didn't have to put up with traveling in close proximity to Aenar for at least a week. Twins they may have been, but for the majority of the time, they could not be more different from one another — and Aelor found his brother to be overly grating and boisterous.
And so, Aelor sat in the same seat that he had done for the past several hours — or days, if you didn't count the stops — backside numb, knees aching, and his mind bored beyond belief. Typically, when he was bored, he would talk with his personal Maester, Orys. Unfortunately, their favourite subject — how awful of a man his younger brother Aerion was — was not the favourite topic of anyone else within the caravan and entourage. Well, at least, it was never outwardly acknowledged to be.
Their father Maekar never entertained the subject, despite his obvious disdain and disappointment for the unruly boy's nature. Their uncle Baelor never made a comment, though an amused gleam could almost always be seen in his eye when he listened in on the conversation. The guards never really made their opinions known, but of course, that was part of their position. They couldn't pick favourites.
It didn't help, of course, that said brother was travelling with the entourage, and may-well have heard the Maester and the Prince if they spoke even a fraction too loud to one another.
"Tell me we're almost there." Aelor sighed heavily, stretching one leg slightly and rolling his ankle in a circle, making the joint pop quietly. Orys eyed his charge carefully, watching him like a hawk. He had been appointed as Aelor's personal Maester some years prior, after the prince had had an accident that had left him unable to walk at all for some weeks after, and not properly until some months down the line, after Orys had began seeing to him. It was an almost delicate balance, making sure Aelor did enough to remain healthy and yet not enough to strain himself. It was a wonder that Orys didn't have more grey hair than he already did.
The two of them got along well, it was easy to see. Orys kept Aelor's mind off of the pain with conversation or various brewed concotions, and Aelor indulged Orys in dicussions that only learned men could be bothered to have. It helped, naturally, that they were close in age. Only a year was between them, with Orys having being born the same year as Aelor's elder brother Daeron.
"I'm sure it's not far now, my prince," Orys replied, calmly, as he glanced out of the window. "A few more miles, I'd wager. Be patient," He tried to encourage, but all it earned him was a scowl from the younger prince. Patience? Aelor had already been patient for a week or more. How much more patient did he have to be? He wanted to walk, stretch his legs, do something, damn it!
He ended up just scoffing, sinking further into his seat as he turned his gaze out of the small window in the door of the carriage. "I should have just ridden on horseback with father and Aerion. At least then I'd have something more to look at — or could get there faster by myself."
Orys said nothing, shaking his head slowly to himself. He knew better than to argue back at present. To push the idea of the carriage being the better and more comfortable form of travel for the prince at present would have only made matters worse; Aelor was in a foul mood, and his mind would not be changed until it improved.
Indeed, it was only a few miles further to Ashford — the castle and the tops of a few assorted pavilions visible in the distance — and it would not be long until the majority of the Targaryen family reunited with the others that had left ahead of them to prepare for the Tourney being held. Prince Aenar, and his squire Thad, had left alongside Prince Daeron and young Prince Aegon a few days prior, to arrive at Ashford in good time to register for the Tourney and get themselves situated.
Aelor somewhat wished that Aerion had been sent ahead with them with the others, if only to be rid of him for a few days. But, no, their father had insisted the rest of the immediate family travel together, with Baelor and Valarr, to show a united front and the strength of their house to the crowds at Ashford.
With any luck, neither Aenar or Daeron would have caused any problems. Maekar felt he didn't need to worry quite so much about Aegon. If he got into any trouble, it would be the fault of his older brothers no doubt. The young prince could be mouthy and argumentative, sure, but he wasn't an irresponsible drunk like Daeron, or recklessly violent like Aenar. And, generally, people were slightly more inclined to forgive a young boy, rather than a young man.
Either way, Maekar was keen to reunite with his other three sons at the tourney ground. At least then he'd be able to keep an eye on them, and keep them out of trouble if ne needed to.
Beside Maekar rode Ser Donnel of Duskendale, one of a few members of the kingsguard chosen to accompany the royal family on their trip to the tourney.
"Have there been any complaints from my son?" The prince asked, and Ser Donnel didn't need any clarification to know he spoke of Prince Aelor.
"Only to ask me how much farther to Ashford, my lord, some miles back." Maekar acknowledged this with a grunt. At least they hadn't reached the stage where Aelor was leaning out of the window of the carriage — or perhaps they had finally grown out of that phase. Maekar could only pray for such a thing, the elder of his twins had always been rather impatient when travelling, and it drove him mad.
Up ahead, the Crown Prince Baelor turned his head to look back at his younger brother. "Give the boy some grace, Maekar." He called back, ever the diplomat. Maekar ground his teeth as his brother went on. "The poor lad is just bored, most like — and likely frustrated he couldn't ride with us for the last leg of the journey." A pause fell between them, but only for a moment. "You can't keep punishing him for an accident, brother. It was years ago, and no one was at fault for it — least of all Aelor."
"It is not punishment," was all Maekar could retort with. He had no doubt that Aelor was bored — he would be too, if he were stuck in that carriage for even half as long as his son had been.
To Maekar, his own words were true. It wasn't a punishment. He was simply trying to protect his son from further pain and injury, as any father would. Riding caused Aelor discomfort, so, naturally, Maekar had removed the option for any future journeys, to make his son's travelling more pleasant — or, ideally, more pleasant. That was all. It was nothing more than that. It was no punishment, to be afforded such a comfort. Maekar was sure that any of the others travelling with them would want to take Aelor's place. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.
Truth was, Aerion was too prideful to simply sit in a carriage to travel; and Baelor and Valarr had best show their faces, as heir to the Iron Throne and son. Perhaps it would only be Maekar willing to take his son's place — under certain circumstances, of course.
Maekar rode up through the pack to ride closer to his older brother. "I do not much care for the insinuation that I am 'punishing' my son needlessly." He told Baelor gruffly.
"Aelor used to love riding. Now I hardly ever see him do so." Baelor countered, calm as ever. "And I know that that was not a choice of his own making." Maekar huffed indignantly at his brother's words. He knew that Baelor knew full well the reason for such a decision. He scowled, but refrained from biting any further — or, he restrained himself from doing so in public. No doubt that his temper would flare again once they were in private. For now, though, he held his tongue, falling back slightly to ride behind Baelor and Valarr as he stewed in his thoughts.
The entire entourage fell quiet for the rest of the journey, and the mood steadily grew more and more sour the closer they got to Ashford. The only members of the family who seemed anything other than displeased in that moment were Baelor and Valarr — though Aerion's foul mood was more than likely related to the fact that he had to be within several feet of both his older brother and his maester, both of whom oftentimes made comments about his behaviour. He put up with it for the most part, especially in front of their father, but by the gods did he have to grit his teeth to do so.
Aelor didn't need to look out of the window to know that they had finally arrived in Ashford; the cheering crowds were more than clue enough. He sighed and adjusted how he sat once more, stretching out his back as he prayed to the Mother that he did not have to wait much longer to get out of that gods-forsaken carriage.
"Our Lord of Ashford humbly welcomes the great and honourable Baelor Targaryen, first born son of King Daeron the Good, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King and heir to the Iron Throne," Came the call of the crier, audible even from where Aelor sat in the slowing carriage. There was a pause, before the crier then announced; "Uh— and his brother, Meerkar!"
Aelor couldn't help the sigh that passed his lips. As if the journey itself hadn't been annoyance enough for his father, the mispronounciation of his name would definitely put him in a foul mood. That was certainly going to be fun to deal with.
Orys was the first of the two of them to exit the carriage, and the maester turned to hold out a hand to help Aelor down. By rights, Aelor should use a cane, but he often refused to, especially for public appearances. Targaryen stubbornness, at its finest.
Reluctantly, the prince took the maester's hand, and stepped out of the carriage. One of the first things he took notice of was his younger brother speaking to a rather large serving boy — oh, not a serving boy, by the man's words. Aelor debated the truth of his words; some servants would try anything to get out of their duties. But for the moment, that was Aerion's issue to deal with.
"I have… I have the honour to be a knight." Now, those words had caught the prince's attention. Aerion looked the self-proclaimed knight up and down slowly, before he uttered a quiet 'oh'. He paused, sucking on his teeth as he considered his words for the briefest of moments.
"Well. Knighthood has fallen on sad days." He mused, before turning to depart and follow his father and uncle into the castle. His horse wandered off of it's own accord, and Aelor scoffed.
"Twat." He shook his head at his little brother's behaviour — ever the ungrateful man. "Pay him no mind," He advised the knight. "He enjoys insulting those he feels are beneath him. Which is, unfortunately, most people." He gave a humoured chuckle — as if he would not have spoken to Dunk in the very same way, had Aerion not insulted the knight first.
The man looked familiar to Dunk, though it felt like his face was covered in a hazy shroud in his memory — damn the amount of ale he drank last night!
Dunk wasn't sure how to respond. A prince of the realm was not only speaking to him, but trying to… Reassure him. What was he meant to do? "I— um… Thank you, y-your highness…"
I was playing Outlast Trials the other day, one of Franco's trials (I think it was Poison the Medicine) and every time he appeared I went "Omg, problematic fave Franco Barbi...."; someone asked me what I saw in him. And honestly? I don't know. I just know that he's one of my problematic faves.
He is so. So goofy. I love him. He deserves everything. A stable job. Lots of money. A warm hole. Lots of water and blankets. My undivided attention and affection for 3-4 business days.
Sorry (not really) for being so horny out of nowhere but I NEED to sit on Lyonel Baratheon's face. Like
you can't give me this
and expect me to be normal about it. Like the entire intro scene of him in the Baratheon tent in ep 1 has me not normal.
I go about my day and can barely THINK because THIS IS ONE OF THE MEN IN MY HEAD.
Like I'll rewatch the dance scene and I'll STILL feel like I'm being courted like a bird. It's been WEEKS. I just want to know what it's like to fuck him and be fucked by him.
