Pinkknife543433



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    "The crown suits you, you know," said Ser Duncan over the cacophony, and brought Baelor back to himself. "Makes you look... you know. Kingly. Which I suppose makes sense, given that you're the king now." A look of anguish crossed his face. "Oh, hells, I shouldn't be calling you 'you,' should I? It's 'Your Grace.' Please don't take—"

    Baelor resisted the urge to rest his hand against the lad's back, as one might soothe a skittish horse. "No offense was taken, ser."

    "Thank you," Ser Duncan said, then immediately amended, "Thank Your Grace...ness. Seven fucks, I'm getting another drink." And he whirled away into the throng before Baelor could say a word.


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    08 Feb 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 47

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    Submission is a matter of handling someone. Rust hates to drive but he’s going to need something to do with his hands, with his eyes, some lost hall of memory to fall back into as Marty says, “Gay rodeo,” twitchy in the passenger seat, and, “What d’ya make of that, huh?”

    — October 2000, Rust and Marty catch a case that has two worlds colliding.

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    31 May 2024