#halfgigas

@halfgigas is so incredibly talented! they embody the character of ser duncan so well. i can hear the character's voice within their writing. i admire them and they inspire me to be a better writer. not to mention that they are such a kind person to everyone. a beautiful person to have on the dash.

if they had a kid  ( always accepting, no prior ship needed! )

Name: Gael ( Gale ).

Gender: male, he / him.

General Appearance: with aerion being 75% dornish, his signature targaryen genes stood no real chance. gael's hair is a similar colour to duncan's, only a shade or two lighter in the sun, cropped short as if he cut it himself. he has freckles dusting his nose and cheeks, down the lengths of his forearms and clustered across his shoulders. he has sectoral heterochromia in one of his eyes; the right eye is aerion's telltale lilac, whilst the left is a mixture between lilac & duncan's bright, summery blue, reminiscent of baelor's own heterochromatic features (which comes as a kick in the teeth for both dunk & aerion alike, though for differing reasons). at his full grown height, gael is bordering on 6'3", towering over his targaryen parent. he's on the lither side however, like aerion, boasting agility and speed over brute force. gael is rarely seen without a gentle, welcoming smile, & will sometimes wave in greeting when he's not supposed to.

Personality: gael is a gentle giant, not unlike his hedge knight father. he's not afraid to get his hands dirty in a gardening and diy sense, never hesitating to roll his sleeves up in order to help or get to work. he was the type of child to play in the mud, with scuffed palms and bruised knees, climbing things that weren't built for exploration. he isn't one for combat, preferring instead to offer a supporting role to those around him, be it tending to injuries, fixing their equipment or just generally standing proud in their corner. having one parent on either side of the spectrum, one thriving in violence whilst the other raises a sword only in protection of the weak and innocent, gael has never felt comfortable with a blade in hand, and baulks like a frozen deer when pushed into it. he sees the scars that cover both his parents, but whether he knows some of them came from each other is another matter. whispers of "targaryen madness" will always follow those of dragon blood, and gael is deeply afraid of one day losing his mind, of becoming someone he no longer recognises.

Special Talents: regardless of whether or not gael is legitimised (depending on if dunk & aerion's relationship is in a positive place at the time), aerion would have acquired the best tutors to teach gael swordsmanship. when gael expresses deep enough discomfort at this, aerion indirectly & quietly acquires a septa and a maester to instead teach the boy cultural & medicinal practices (not that he'd admit to it if anyone asked). as a result, gael would have a subtle noble education and the knowledge to aid injuries or illness in a more official capacity. he has a deep penchant for horsemanship, familiar with a saddle and bareback before he even knew his own feet.

Who they like better: duncan, absolutely. that isn't to say he hates or dislikes aerion, but his targaryen father is a difficult creature to understand and connect with at times, and that can be hard for a child who can't grasp what it all means. he's a sweet, tenderhearted boy, and he tries very hard to figure aerion out, viewing aerion instead through a hopeful, glass half full perspective, which is far more than most would offer him. if aerion feels attachment or tenderness in return, he's loath to voice it.

Who they take after more: he's duncan's carbon copy in all the ways that matter; his kindly personality, his open and honest expressions and demeanour. but there's no denying his full parentage. like both parents, gael is capable of brutal, animalistic rage when pushed hard enough, baring his teeth and snarling in a way distinct only to targaryen's with a higher draconic instinct. like aerion, gael is at times more unnervingly animal than boy, moving or behaving in ways that make those around him a little uneasy. gael also wasn't raised to view himself as lesser or smaller, and so he stands at his full height, back straight, allowing himself to take up space.

Personal Head canon: in a world where dragons survive & go on to live their lives, bonding with new riders through the generations, gael bonds with vermax. regardless of whether or not the boy is legitimised and granted the targaryen name, those who speak unkindly about or to gael find themselves missing a tongue.

Face Claim:

A split lip, a bruised cheek, dried blood across knuckles, and many more scrapes and wounds hidden under muddy garbs. The fight at the Crossroads Inn would likely claim the Hound's life and left her sides aching with most deeper breaths. But she knew she'd survive this, as she managed every hurt before. Arya decided to leave him off her list, let Death take what is owed to them. She'd gotten Needle back, stolen what she could from Sandor before deciding to go her own way.

what’s  a  trope  you  love  and  will  never  get  tired  of?

i  think  it  has  to  be  angst.  looking  at  my  muses  ,  i  feel  like  a  lot  of  development  happens  right  in  the  thick  of  it.  i  can  dig  my  teeth  into  the  tension  of  the  moment  and  know  i  won't  go  hungry.  it's  like  breaking  points  in  the  biography  of  a  character  where  you  can  take  them  anywhere  and  it  makes  you  reflect  on  all  the  headcanons  you've  thought  of  thus  far  ,  the  threads  you've  written  ,  the  avenues  you  want  to  explore.  like.  get  better?  no  ,  actually  get  worse  thank  you.  i  also  do  like  a  tragic  ending  to  an  unsatisfying  story  ...  which  isn't  to  say  that  i  don't  enjoy  the  light  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel  but.  you  know.  i  will  say  there  is  beauty  to  a  life  settling  down  and  being  filled  with  satisfaction  and  regrets  that  have  been  worked  through.  it  can  be  satisfying.  also!  the  hero  dies.  very  good,  very  juicy.

what’s  your  favourite  thing  about  your  muse(s)?

i  enjoy  that  ,  for  me  ,  they  explore  a  lot  of  themes  that  are  unpalatable  to  most  people.  or  themes  that  i  feel  are  ,  overall  ,  not  handled  very  well.  like  addiction  ,  abuse  ,  trauma  ,  poverty  ,  disabilities  and  mental  illnesses.  like.  living  life  i  have  often  felt  very  alienated  from  people  who  have  not  gone  through  (some  of)  these  experiences.  and  with  that  comes  a  sense  of  worthlessness  ,  or  lacking  purpose.  until  i  came  to  understand  that  this  feeling  won't  go  away  ,  because  these  people  can  never  fully  understand  me.  (  of  course  ,  there  are  exceptions  to  the  rule  ,  this  is  more  of  a  generalized  talk  ).  that  true  community  is  most  easily  found  in  shared  experiences.  which  is  why  it  holds  such  value  to  me  to  explore  these  themes,  as  they've  impacted  my  life  thoroughly.  also.  i  dearly  love  that  all  my  muses  are  queer!  and  i  love  that  through  my  muses  ,  i've  gotten  to  connect  with  a  lot  of  wonderful  people.  i  know  i'm  a  little  ephemeral  at  times  -  but  i  hold  you  all  so  dearly  in  my  heart.

what’s  a  random  fun  fact  about  you?

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔰𝔴𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥, 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔩𝔢𝔡, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔷𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔡𝔞𝔶. this, and the damp melt upon the stones, the wooden planks abridging, and mud soilt slush. footing could be tricky - even for those who called the land home. deceptive at it's most devious! she and her stallion learn this alike, both master and beast jolting once traction gave way beneath them in the slick freeze, both fortunate to have regained it the moment next. Tessar blows, and turstin lets eke the breath she had sucked through her teeth. ' will i die or survive from this hell made of ice! '

@halfgigas / stiff and cold by gorguts

the hedge knight would see two shadowy figures hurrying through the rain across the moonlit meadow, then siegfried emerging from between tents, where a few torches light a trampled dirt path. but halfway across the meadow the pursuer stops abruptly in his tracks, held back by the sight of a man below a nearby tree. the thieves would disappear into the forest, but siegfried's attention settles on the figure. ❛ gods, man . . . ❜ his voice comes exasperated but also with a softer concern now as he approaches the elm tree, half dreading that because the man is sitting up against the stem it means he's been hurt by the scoundrels. but it is hard to see in the darkness. ❛ did those halfwits rob you ?? ❜

It had been a worrisome thing, watching pavilion after pavilion be torn down, packed away and settled onto cart and horse as the sers and lords made for their departure from Ashford Meadows. And yet, Behni had not spotted the knight he’d sworn his blade to. How hard could it have been? The man near towered over most of the tents being broken, and he had already bothered to visit the Maester’s cots. To no avail…Seven take him if he had lost his life after all, if not to injuries then to some unruly bastard who hadn’t favored such a turn of events. Just because the princes had kept to their word and spared his life hadn’t meant he was out of the worst of it. And if Prince Baelor could die with victory in their hands then…

He really musn’t think of such terrible things. Not when so many yet lived. The Fossaway boy had his hopes, at the very least, even if his smile belied that very same worry he carried in himself. Right, how good of a knight could one be if the first cause you swear yourself to fails so miserably? 

He is fidgeting as he stands amongst the bustling yard, miserable and directionless. A hand brushes against his sleeve, and he sighs to himself, recalling the gift he’d tucked away. He’d hoped to present it to the hedge knight, as a sort of…light poking through the bower. Now it seemed so ridiculous. Even if he had received it…

The thought leaves him as soon as his stormy eyes land on the other’s staggering form, and perhaps he acts first before he thinks (which he likes to think is a rare thing, despite his ever bleeding heart) when he rushes over to Ser Duncan, barely allowing the call of his name to reach his ears before Behni’s arms are around him in haste. It is a lucky thing the half-giant boasts such size, for any smaller man might have crumbled at the impact. But it is a raw and breathless thing the sharp-eared, fledgling knight greets him with; something surely to kick himself about later but for now…he is relieved.