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Maekar: Some men will say I meant to kill my brother. The gods know it is a lie, but I will hear the whispers till the day I die. And it was my mace that dealt the fatal blow, I have no doubt. The only other foes he faced in the melee were three Kingsguard, whose vows forbade them to do any more than defend themselves. So it was me. Strange to say, I do not recall the blow that broke his skull. Is that a mercy or a curse? Some of both, I think.
Duncan: I could not say, Your Grace. You swung the mace, m'lord, but it was for me Prince Baelor died. So I killed him too, as much as you.
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i think a fun little detail in a fic would be if baelors war horse was a mare instead of a stallion. haters would sort of titter about it, like it implies something about his masculinity/sexuality, like oh baelor only prefers mares on the tourney field or whatever. (I have more on this but I'll talk about that later)
anyways, baelors not a horse girl like dunk, just because I feel like really loving your animals would be seen as sort of common (again I can say more about this if anyone is interested), but he definitely has a favorite and it's this mare.
the mare is like low key rank tho, like a fearsome war horse and all, but is just evil to deal with. like the squires and grooms live in fear of this animal, and nobody can ride it except baelor. but baelor won't hear anything bad about his girl, he's like this thing has carried me in a hundred battles she can bite the grooms if she wants, stay mad about it.
and where I think this could be fun in a fic is like imagine the whole gang getting ready for a battle (or a tourney), and dunks like saddling up thunder and he hears people being like "oh someone has to go get the wench for baelor" and they are talking like mad shit on his horse like she's willful and a pig, and nothing with a cunt should have that many opinions.
but Dunk doesn't know about the horse, so he thinks they're talking about a woman. and he's like first of all since when does baelor have a lover (he's definitely not jealous), and second I can't believe they talk about the princes girl like that, like that surely is not chill. but then baelor rocks up and he's like alright where's the bitch and Dunk is like I've never heard the prince talk about a woman that way and is like a little disappointed in baelor bc that's not chivalrous.
anyway, dunk would figure it out eventually and he would absolutely fall in love with the horse (and also baelor), and I just imagine later down the line there's another battle and baelor gets tossed, and is maybe like gravely injured and dunk is like trying to get to him to rescue him, but he's already fallen of thunder and he took off so he's gotta just hop on some rando horse, and what do you know it's baelors mare, and usually nobody else can ride her but she's like I'll allow it just this once for a good cause.
and I think it all ends with the horse basically playing matchmaker between dunk and baelor because they're the only two people in the world the horse tolerates
i actually have so many more horse girl thoughts on this, and about the horses all the characters would have, just...horses man
SCHTREAMSY SCHTREAM *in a thicc german accent*
-> WHEN: Today! D'uh, Cap, when is it in MY time? Don't worry, pal. Here's the link to a countdown till the streams starts
-> WHAT: most likely the pornstar AU comic. This will be nsfw.
-> WHERE: Picarto.tv
I really, really like streams. They keep me productive and I get to chat with people. No voice, no ugly mug of mine - just some music (which you can mute if you want to).
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It’s been stated Bertie wore a prosthetic to give Baelor his twice-broken nose! I only noticed bc I was watching Dalgliesh and he looked different in a way I couldn’t place until it clicked.
Ohhh!!! I suspected as much!! And also wonder about his brows a bit bc they seem deeper as Baelor than they are as Bertie. Glad they nailed that detail because it is one of my favorite Baelor things. It gives him a dash of recklessness and adventure.
It would be a lie to say that Baelor did not have a certain affection for Duncan’s armour. He had, after all, commissioned it himself, a fine suit of plate modelled after the kingsguard armour but fashioned in fine, dark steel.
When Maekar had first seen it, he had laughed, and asked if Baelor truly thought that someone might forget his sworn sword’s allegiance if the man wasn’t decked out in their house colours.
Baelor had expected to feel pride at seeing his sworn sword wearing his armour, perhaps gratitude for Duncan’s service, or respect for his value as a knight and a man. He had not expected to end up naked as his nameday, straddling Duncan’s armoured thigh, facing away from him, rubbing himself off against the cool metal with Duncan gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.
During the rebellion, he saw many knights taking their pleasure from camp followers without bothering to strip out of their armour. Most tried to keep their debauchery far from royal eyes, but Baelor had frequently taken advantage of his own common features to explore some of the more unsavoury elements of his command. Little need for a disguise when most still thought of silver hair and purple eyes when they thought the name Targaryen. Even after all these years as Hand and heir, Baelor still does not flatter himself that much has changed in that regard. Still, it had meant that Baelor was able to shed his finery and go out amongst his men without being recognised. One couple had stuck in his mind, a Dornish girl stripped to her waist, slim and strong and flat as a boy, astride a man all armoured in plain steel. Others, Baelor had seen fucking in the dirt, mounting whores like dogs in the royal kennels, but something about those two had stayed with him. That night he had taken himself in hand and spilled his seed over his belly, thinking of the girl’s strong, dark hand on her knight’s steel-clad thigh, and the look on the knight’s face as she had drawn his manhood out from beneath the steel. He sees the same look on Duncan’s face now when he glances over his shoulder, though Baelor is no lovely girl draped in a whore’s silks.
Two thick gloved fingers interrupt Baelor’s musings. They slide into him with startling ease, making him gasp at the sudden, unexpected delight of it, of him, this glorious knight willing to indulge Baelor’s desires to such an extent. Then Duncan spreads his fingers and Baelor whines through his teeth, instinctively struggling against the hand pinning him. “Is this it?” Duncan murmurs. “Is this what you need, my prince?”
Baelor nods, a touch frantically. He’s taken Duncan’s fingers before, more times than he can count, but with his armoured gloves everything feels different. The warm leather is rough enough that it drags against the sensitive skin of his hole with each thrust, and each of the metal knuckle plates rub along his insides. Baelor gasps and squirms, not attempting to escape but to take more, faster. Duncan’s fingers twist and turn inside him, prying him open and finding all the familiar places inside his hole that make him wail.
“Please,” Baelor begs, over and over. He wants more, needs it, he’s slippery with sweat, rocking down onto Duncan’s fingers and willing himself to stretch wider, take more. His cock is eager, flushed and leaking seed all over the shining metal covering Duncan’s leg. Duncan ignores it completely.
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