#beau is in love with renly

[intriga-hounds]

baz: SOMEBODY NOTICE ME

[goodqueenaly]

Realistically speaking, how would Brienne or anyone else react to any speculation or reveal that she is Dunk's descendant?

To be clear, I don’t think Brienne (or anyone else in the main story, for that matter) will ever find out that she is a descendant of Ser Duncan the Tall. If the Dunk-Tarth connection plays out the way I think it will (and much of my speculation in this post is going to be using that theory as a baseline), then we’re talking about a romantic/sexual relationship that happened some 80 years prior to the start of ASOIAF; even if Brienne’s ancestor was conceived at a different time from what I imagine, this ancestor certainly has to have existed by 259 AC, when Dunk died at Summerhall. We’re talking, in other words, about at least the better part of half a century, if not close to a century, of difference in time from the birth of this ancestor to the main novels - far too long, probably, for anyone with living memory of this relationship to report on what happened. Too, if Dunk conceived a child with Daella who was in turn passed off as the child of Lord (?) Tarth, then who apart from Dunk and Daella themselves would have known that this affair happened? I suppose it’s remotely possible that someone could, say, get a supernatural vision of the past including this relationship, but I don’t see how this vision would fit into the narrative without feeling awkward and unnecessary. Ultimately, I don’t think Brienne needs to discover the answer to a question neither she nor anyone else around her is asking; this is a mystery we as readers, observing all (or, at least, all of what we’ve been told) of Westerosi history at the same moment, care far more about than anyone in the current novels does. 

Anyway, putting all of that aside, it’s difficult to know what Brienne might think if she learned that she was a biological descendant of Duncan the Tall. On the one hand, if Dunk conceived a child with Daella while he was a knight of the Kingsguard (not to mention while Daella was married to (again, presumably) Lord Tarth), then Brienne might struggle with the idea that her ancestor broke his Kingsguard vows for the sake of a sexual affair (and again, with a royal princess, no less). After all, cultural memory on Tarth does not simply idealize the heroic figure of Ser Galladon of Morne- literally referred to as “the Perfect Knight” - but specifically links that perfection, in part, to the obviously chaste romance between Ser Galladon and the Maiden - the beau ideal of unconsummated chivalric devotion. Nor indeed might Brienne look kindly on her would-be great-grandfather using (so it might seem, at least) the closeness of his role as Daella’s royal guardian to pursue a sexual relationship with her. After all, Brienne had experienced severe shock and disillusionment upon learning that the knights of Renly’s camp at Highgarden who had curried her favor, and even (as Hyle Hunt did) treated her as their equal, had only done so in order to claim her as a sexual conquest in return for a monetary prize. Would Brienne sneer at Duncan the Tall, with respect to his affair with Daella, much in the way she did (at least initially) at Jaime - that he, Dunk, had “scorned and soiled” that “rare and precious gift” Dunk had (in part ostensibly) received, to be a knight and a knight of the Kingsguard? Would she consider Dunk no better than the sleazy knights who had viewed her, Brienne, as no more than a source of casual sex - that her great-grandfather had had no more respect for her great-grandmother’s virtue and his own honor as a knight than men like Ben Bushy and Will the Stork had had for her virtue and their honor?

On the other hand, it would of course be wrong to characterize Brienne as a person who has no concept of romantic attraction and love, even - and, indeed, especially - in the context of knightly service. Brienne’s desperation to serve Renly, and especially to join his Rainbown Guard, stemmed in no small part from Brienne’s very strong, though obviously unrequited, romantic love for Renly. Likewise, though this paragraph is naturally too brief to cover the complex relationship between Jaime and Brienne, her experiences with him have inextricably intertwined romance, chivalric duty, and the meaning of knighthood. (Nor, to be fair, should we ignore the fact that, according to Yandel, “[m]any of the folk of Tarth, highborn and low alike, claim descent from” Galladon of Morne, necessarily implying that Galladon had any number of romantic relationships that resulted in children.) Would Brienne compare her own desire to serve Renly as an expression of her love for him to, as it may have been, Dunk’s romantic devotion to Daella, framed and abetted by his service as a knight of the Kingsguard (when, indeed, he may have been sent specifically as her protector and sworn shield to Tarth)? Would Brienne understand where, perhaps, Dunk’s own romantic feelings toward Daella may have developed and evolved as his knightly service to her continue, when she, Brienne, had herself seen a notable change in her feelings toward Jaime as her quasi-knightly role with him progressed?

Moreover, all of the above speculation is without having a clear understanding of how the Tarths (much less anyone else in Westeros) remember Dunk (not to mention, for that matter, Daella). The presence of Dunk’s shield in the Evenfall Hall armory remains the only direct allusion to Dunk that we know of on Tarth today, a frustratingly vague reminder of his (presumed) time there. We have no idea what Brienne thinks of Dunk as a person (as opposed to simply the possessor, unidentified by her in the moment, of a shield she much admired as a child), much less as a person with a direct impact on the history of her House, and still less how the reputation of Dunk may have changed (or not) over the course of the better part of a century since he had, perhaps, lived there. Because we don’t know Brienne’s opinion of Dunk, we cannot at all say how such an opinion might be impacted by the revelation that Dunk fathered a child who would go on to (presumably) be one of Brienne’s grandparents. 

[goldenboywrites]

As Beau’s back hit the bed and Cesare didn’t follow, he felt the jig was up in his bones. Those three seconds felt like the longest seconds of his life. He waited with bated breath to see if his game was up, but then Cesare climbed on top of him and sighed in relief. He went to spread his legs apart, welcoming Cesare in between them, but the prince straddled him, locking him in place. Interesting. He had pegged Quin from the start as someone who topped from the bottom, but he could also do it this way. He could only imagine the secrets Cesare would spill to him after he was sated and satisfied from a rump in the sheets. 

He felt Cesare trailing closer to his face, and Beau arched his back, seeking contact. It wasn’t until they were face to face that the boy leaned up to kiss along his jaw, but Cesare’s words stopped him. He tested the hold of Cesare’s legs on instinct, straddling his own. He tested the hold of his hands against the wrists, and Beau found that he could hardly move. Fuck. He bested Beau at his own game. Richard would be livid if he heard about this. 

“What gave it away?”Beau asked, a smirk on his face. “Was I too nice? I had hoped that, for your sake, he was nicer to you than to others.” He tried to jerk his hands away, but Cesare’s grip did not give. Telling him Quintus was in the castle would distract him and probably leave Beau alive after this encounter, but then he would have to face Richard’s wrath. Telling him Quintus was dead like he had been instructed to do would leave them all dead in Cesare’s wake. “Come on, admit it,” Beau teased, bucking his hips slightly just to get a rise out of Cesare. “I had you fooled. I guess it’s not true love if a pet like me can sway you for a few minutes.” 

“He’s furious at you, you know,” Beau continued, squirming under the man’s weight. “He truly believes Adros is pulling all of their support from Vivec. He thinks you’ve given up and are really handing his brother over to Richard for Renly. I had never seen hope die so quickly as it did in his eyes when he read your father’s letter. Renly and I enjoyed watching the fight drain out of him. He was much more agreeable to, well, everything after that. He didn’t even fight the guards when they put him in shackles. He’s given up, Prince Cesare,” Beau said with a soft snicker. “You don’t even know the shell of a person he’s become, and that’s what you want back? Personally, I think you should be focusing on your country and your traitor cousin spilling all of your family secrets into Richard's ear than trailing after that whore of a prince you apparently love." He shrugged as best as he could under Cesare's weight. "But I get it. Quintus bats his eyelashes and whispers a few mean things, and everyone falls to his feet. You're not the first prince to fall victim to it."

The itch to throw him off of him was growing painful by the second. The whole thing was off. Cesare felt his guts churn as Quin moved the both of them from where they'd stood. This couldn't be. The prince's mind was racing with what ifs and hows that he nearly missed what the prince in his arms had said. Cesare dug his heels into the stone floor and let Quintus fall against the mattress. Granted the prince looked just as confused as he had when he'd fallen alone onto that bed. The pair stared at each other and Cesare found himself zipping through every possible scenario he could.

"You're not him." He breathed out as faintly as he could muster. Because if he'd heard him, this would be an entirely different conversation. But it had to be said. It had to be concrete or Cesare would not allow himself to consider anything else. Quin would never touch him like that. Would never invite him to bed as he just had. Considering they had just bedded one another and that had yet to be discussed either. Instead he choose to smile down at him and let one of his knees sink onto the bed between the other's knees. "I believe I missed you more." He spoke as smoothly as he could, attempting to regain some composure as if the drop had been but a fluke.

Cesare hiked his other leg onto the bed and soon found himself straddling the imposters waist. His knees dug into the bed and the prince busied himself playing with the laces of his shirt. "I never did care for your formal wear. Your uncle's taste is just ..." He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders and he managed to untangle the blasted garment and sprung free the creamy whiteness of the flesh below. Cesare clicked his teeth and shook his head. "And it seems all of my little markings didn't stay as I'd wished." He tutted against and bent down to kiss the center of the man's chest, running his tongue along the flesh for good measure.

He could feel the other starting to stir below him and everything in him threatened to lurch free at that very moment. He swallowed hard and took the other man's hands in his own and pressed them down to the bed. "I supposed I can put them back." He spoke against the other's skin as he came back up, dragging the tip of his nose across his body, gooseflesh erupting shortly after each advance. "But only ..." He paused as he came to look this man in the eyes and his grip tightened on the other's wrists, "if you can tell me where my prince is before I slit your throat." He smiled warmly at him and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of chin and tutted at him. "I wouldn't scream. It'll do you no good." He didn't need to know that his men weren't close to him at that moment. For now he was hoping the element of surprise would be enough to keep him honest. If nothing else, it gave him a place to start. If he had to knock him unconscious to get some answers, well, that would have been the way of it. "Sound like something you'd be up for?" He asked again, squeezing his wrists tighter for emphasis. "Because if not, my dirk would very much like to be acquainted with your throat."

[ddagent]

Jaime is Brienne’s squire for some reason!

Thank you for encouraging, rather than being offended, at the blunt way my muse works. 

The ship pulled into the Tarth harbour. This was the closest Jaime allowed himself to Westeros, even after all these years. Most would know the name Lannister; few would recall Tywin’s son and heir who had disappeared for the Free Cities one day. No one in the Stormlands would recognise his face. Yet he still felt his shoulders stiffen; a cold trail of fear run up his spine. He adjusted the material around the lower half of his face and kept his head down.

“Oi, Hill, keep it moving!” 

Jaime did as he was bid and continued moving the supplies from Myr onto the dock. It was wet and cold on Tarth, and Jaime felt his shirt stick to his back as he moved crate after crate. This was hardly work befitting his station, but the gold he and his dear sister had taken had run low quickly, and she had stolen the rest when she had returned to Westeros. Jaime earned his passage however he could. He kept hold of his gold, too: he didn’t spend it on wine or women like his shipmates. 

Which was how, looking over a worn map over where to go next, that Jaime caught the stowaway. 

“Captain doesn’t take too kindly to those who don’t pay their way.”

The figure cut a broad shadow. “I have gold.”

“Do you, now?” Jaime reached for the candle and shone it into the bowels of the ship. The stowaway was a woman. Tall, with broad shoulders and a sharp jaw. Eyes bluer than the waters he’d sailed upon; a face plainer than any woman he had ever seen. She’d find work in some of the bawdier mummer’s productions, no doubt. “Where do you wish to go?” 

“The mainland.” 

Jaime sighed and tucked himself back into his hammock. “This ship is going to Myr. I suggest you take your gold and fuck off to another vessel.” 

“Fine.” She drew herself up as tall as she could. “Thank you.”

Jaime watched her grab her cloak and bag. He shouldn’t interfere. Clearly, the maiden had reasons to venture from Tarth to the mainland. A beau in a lord’s household, perhaps; more likely, a desire to join the Faith of the Seven. It was the bundle of rags that he knew – he just knew – held a sword that made him enquire about the stowaway with the sapphire eyes. 

“What do you intend to do on the mainland?” 

“I—” She faltered; blinking as if she couldn’t quite believe he had asked after her intentions. “There is a tournament at Storm’s End to celebrate the betrothal of Lord Renly and Lady Margaery of House Tyrell. I mean to compete as a mystery knight.” She swallowed. “Go on. Laugh.” 

Perhaps, long ago, he would laugh. Instead, he just sat there, envious. She wanted to be a knight and was risking stowing away with a group of unruly sailors in order to do so. Jaime had wanted to be a knight, once. Fascinated by the old stories, he’d fancied himself Arthur Dayne. Had even thought he could be; his skill with a blade was undeniable. But that was before. He’d barely swung a sword in years. 

“I wish you luck, my Lady. You’ll need it.”

She smirked. “I don’t need luck. I have skill.” 

Oh, oh, Jaime was starting to like this girl. As cocky as he had been, although not as good, no doubt. “Skill will only take you so far. You need gold, armour, a squire—”

“—I have all those things. Well, I will. I have gold, and I can commission armour when I arrive on the mainland. And I’ve been fighting for many a year, I do not need a squire.” She wrinkled her nose. “You seem to know a lot about this. Are you a knight?” 

He huffed out a laugh, even though the assumption left a weight upon his chest. “No, I’m not a knight. I could have been, once, but I chose love.” 

At least, he had been in love. His sister had loved his devotion to her. She had loved the prospect of the crown even more. His love had taken everything from him: his home, his family, his dream since he was a child.  Something must have shown in his face because the shieldmaiden in front of him suddenly wore a look of pity. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t imagine ever giving up the chance to be a knight.” She frowned. “Do you really think I need a squire?” 

“Yes. All the best knights have squires. If you want to be taken seriously, you’ll need one.”

She dug into her cloak and retrieved a small drawstring purse. Retrieving a gold dragon, she held it out to him. “There’s more if I win the purse at Storm’s End. And there’s tournaments at Summerhall, Ashford, Bitterbridge...even Riverrun! I could make you a very rich man.”

“I have no desire to be a rich man.” If he did, he’d return to Lannisport and face his father’s wrath. 

“I can’t make you a knight. Not yet, anyway.” She looked at the creased map in his lap; the place names smudged and illegible. He’d been everywhere and nowhere; searching for something to replace his devotion to his sister. “I could give you purpose.”  

“You don’t know me.”

“You wanted to be a knight. You must be an honourable man.” 

Thinking every knighted man was honourable and just would quickly get her killed. Sighing, Jaime took the offered dragon. He wouldn’t have her death on his conscience if he let her go out into the world as naive as this. Perhaps he had missed the sound of a tourney arena, too; the smell of leather and the feel of steel in his hand. 

Whatever his reasons, after twenty years, Jaime Lannister was finally returning home. 

[oddcoupler222]

These back to back posts of Sophie and Natalie are serving me: model and rich girl sitting in the front row of the fashion show suddenly very intrigued AU

god anon… your MIND

“Loras. No offense to your flavor of the month, but if I miss any part of this year’s Martell line for this, you’ll find out how sharp my stilettos are in the most painful way possible,” Margaery murmured sharply, as she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair.

Her brother, annoyingly, just laughed and made himself comfortable next to her, “Trust me. Renly’s line is crazy amazing; you’re going to be glad to be here on the ground floor.”

Margaery simply lifted an eyebrow to say we’ll see about that. She also wasn’t entirely certain where her brother got away with saying that having a prime time catwalk during fashion week was “the ground floor” but considering her brother’s new beau hadn’t ever been featured at any fashion week in Westeros or Essos before, she’d allow it.

She would know; she’d been to all of them. Clothing, style, designing - all of it, had been her most passionate interest for as long as she could remember. Passionate enough that despite the fact that she did have a trustfund large enough that insured she’d never have to work a day in her life, she’d actively pursued since high school a career as a stylist.

Currently for the nation’s biggest fashion magazine, thank you very much.

As the show started she, begrudgingly, would admit to herself that it wasn’t bad. Actually, it more than wasn’t bad, and she could see how so much buzz had gathered so quickly for Baratheon’s designs. 

Her attention was caught, but it wasn’t until the very last round of models came out that made her sit up straight, her heart thudding loudly, while a zing of interest slid through her; the response was almost immediate.

Because - gods - those legs and those collarbones and that hair. That red, red hair, with eyes so blue they seemed to pierce her as they ran over her.

Margaery couldn’t remember the first fashion show she’d been to; she couldn’t remember all of the models she’d styled over the years. She considered herself unaffected by models. 

“She’s smiling,” she whispered to herself even though she heard Loras grunt back, and she tilted her head, watching closely.

She knew better than most that smiling while showing off someone’s designs was such a No that it should have turned her completely off from the woman. But it wasn’t really - it was her eyes that had that emotion, really. Her lips curled just slightly, barely, but the eyes were bright and alive and happy, her cheeks blushing, and it wasn’t the makeup, either.

She was magnetic, really, and Margaery had no idea the last time she’d felt so hooked, but she was.

“Who is she?” she demanded, eyes lingering on the woman as long as they could before she was off the catwalk, turning to Loras.

“Umm, Sara? No,” Loras rubbed at his chin for a moment in thought, “Sansa! She was a last minute replacement for one of Renly’s other models.” He chuckled under his breath, “She apparently tripped during the preshow walk; Renly was terrified she’d ruin the show.”

Ruin the show? Ruin?

“She’s fantastic,” she asserted, an excitement thrumming through her, already ready for her to be back out.

Her entire body felt alive through the rest of the show, feeling hungry for that woman. The woman who seemed to be a size or so bigger than the majority of runway models, who had that undercurrent of personality and attitude and something just under the surface that was incredible irresistible to her.

It was rule number one, really, to be a runway model but not have more personality than the clothes you were wearing. Sansa was breaking it in spades, seemingly without realizing, and Margaery couldn’t be more interested.

//

Sansa hadn’t expected to be actually on the runway this fashion week; after all, she’d been in some small shows and broken into some decent shoots up North, but nothing in the North was nearly close to the magnitude of fashion in the south. Let alone King’s Landing fashion week.

She’d never have been able to guess that she’d get a last minute call to fill in on a main stage on one of the biggest nights of the week, either. But she supposed that was what happened when one of the regular models partied so hard that she was apparently still drunk and her measurements fit Sansa’s nearly to the T.

“And you didn’t even trip,” she allowed herself a smile, this sheer thrumming through her unstoppable. She’d had a lot of doubts about moving here, about leaving her family and her friends and her life, to pursue this dream. 

“Don’t get used to it,” she very nearly jumped when one of the other women, Myranda - who had been giving Sansa dirty looks the whole night - sneered, before dropping a folded piece of paper onto the vanity in front of Sansa, “This is supposed to make it’s way back to you. Apparently someone important out there during the show had some… choice commentary about you.”

She felt her cheeks burn even as she cut her eyes up at Myranda - she might be new in King’s Landing, but other women in this industry trying to tear each other down happened everywhere - and merely took the paper without giving a verbal response.

Her hands shook a bit, though, when she opened it, glad that Myranda had already walked away. She knew she’d made some minor mistakes… she just hadn’t realized they were noticeable enough for one of the crowd members to feel the need to point them out to her.

Sansa -

Oh, good. They’d disliked her enough to find out her name before telling her off.

Your measurements were a bit off, you smiled, I heard you tripped during the pre-show, and you outshone the clothes you were wearing; truly, all of the makings of a designers nightmare.

Her stomach sank.

I loved every second of it.

… what?

You have something about you that pulled me in, and I would be willing to bet that it would captivate others, too. So, I’m taking that bet.

I’m off to the Martell show so I couldn’t stay for a chat in person - my number’s on the back. How do you feel about editorial modeling?

Margaery Tyrell, Luxe Magazine

—

and thus begins a whirlwind romance of Sansa becoming a model at Luxe (still a bit in shock because Margaery Tyrell, aka one of the most innovative and hot - in more ways than one - stylists at one of if not the biggest fashion mag personally wants her as a regular fixture there), Margaery thirsting after Sansa even more after seeing the dichotomy of Sansa being able to be cold as ice to some others who are cutthroat as fuck but at her core being the enchanting woman with the always alert eyes.

[fyrapartnersearch]

“You Win or You Die” - M/M Game of Thrones/ASoIaF RP (email, 18+)

Hey, all! My name is Liz, I’m 30, and quarantine’s got me itching for fantasy. XD I know it’s not the big thing that it was several years ago (or even a favorite after last year >_>...), but I hope there’s still some people out there who’d like to toss around some Game of Thrones AU ideas with me! Let’s tweak the failures of the ending seasons or throw them out altogether and do something different! I am very fond of “everybody lives” AUs and flipping things around, haha. I’m also a fan of Jon/Dany ruling the throne together (after earning a happy ending, of course! Let’s have some fun! **I would also like to try a Jaime/Rhaegar pairing - maybe Rhaegar somehow survives the battle against Robert and goes into hiding, only to resurface years later? I’d love to play around with a broken, lost Rhaegar and a doubting Jaime in the aftermath of Robert (and Ned’s?) death! (Bold italic = a character that I’d prefer to play in a pairing Italic = I can play either character in a pairing) Pairings: Jon/Daenerys**** Robb/Theon Renly/Loras**** Jaime/Rhaegar**** ALSO Jon/genderbent!Daenerys***** Loras/genderbent!Sansa Jon/Satin Jon/Samwell**** Marvel/MCU Along with GoT, I’m also interested in Marvel! Specifically tales about our dear God of Thunder, Thor. I’d love to do something around the time of “The Dark World” or something like a warlord/jotun AU.. I have several more ideas (of varying depth and complexity, lol. Also perhaps involving Loki’s shape-shifting powers and/or some compromising positions….XD), and would love to discuss! Pairings Thor/Loki (also warlord!Thor/Jotun!Loki)*** BONUS Twilight I’m looking to scratch another itch that never quite got scratched. Namely, Twilight - but genderbent. Bella becomes Beau (or something else), and everyone gets aged up a fair bit, overall story changes, etc. I’m quite inspired by a line I was working once with a lovely partner that never quite got off the ground (and whose idea I was greatly inspired by), and I’d still quite like to explore it now. I’d love to do a riff on the books/movies, but going our own way (and, of course, tweaking things in the original that Just Didn’t Make Sense. **coughsparklingcough**) We definitely don’t have to hold to the ‘high school romance’ trope - in fact, I’d rather we didn’t! I’d love to do something with a college-aged male!Bella and an Edward who is, as well, aged up a bit - perhaps in their early-to-mid 20’s? What if the two meet, not as a result of schooling, but due to being co-workers? Or just out on the street one day? And there’s more of a focus on the murders going on in Forks? As well, what if the whole ‘vampire/werewolf rivalry’ doesn’t exist? Simply because I’d like to focus on the one main pairing (but wouldn’t mind having Jacob in as, like...a best friend? Actually giving him a personality outside of ‘romanceable person B’? Anyway, I’d just like to toy around with things and see what might come of it! Pairing Edward/male!Bella ~~~~~ Rules: Being 30, I can and do write smut. As such, I will only write with you if you're 20+. I'm sorry, it has nothing to do with talent or ability; it's simply a matter of comfort on my end. I'm also not into PWP/Smut for smut's sake. I like my sexy times to come up naturally in the narrative and help to move a story along. However! I am just as happy getting an R+ scene going and letting it fade naturally, if it's something we're both rather more comfortable with. I find that smut is not always necessary to make a good story. Similarly, I am looking for a partner that's mostly-literate (few spelling errors outside of typos, decent comprehension of the English language, some fair amount of detail in replies; something to work with). I myself have been writing and role-playing for 15+ years. My personal style is third-person paragraph-format (with a preference for past-tense, though I can do present-tense, if we decide together that it works better), and fairly detailed at that - especially when my inspiration is up. I like to explore my characters and their motivations just as much as the scene around them and the actions that they are responding to. I can write multiple paragraphs per post, but will happily match you, as well, depending on how the flow goes. However, I would ask that, at a minimum, you write one paragraph. Ideally 2-4 per post, but more is always welcome, and less is understandable. I know that dialogue-heavy scenes can be sporadic and choppy, and that muses don't always cooperate. That's perfectly fine! I just need something to reply to, and in return will give you the same! I try to reply at least once a day, but this can shift to several times a week, depending, as I do have a job, and my availability can fluctuate depending on how busy I am and how fickle my muse is. I freely admit this, and let you know that there is absolutely no pressure. I am a very chill person. If we can only get several posts per week on both ends, that's completely cool! We all have lives. More often than not, it will be at least once a day, even if it's just checking in and chatting through OOC just to work on plot or to chat about our day! I am looking for someone who enjoys plotting and chatting and who's not afraid to toss ideas back and forth - but, as well, who understands if one of us won't be around for a day or so. I'm looking for someone who, likewise, doesn't mind tossing ideas out at odd hours of the day/night and chattering just to chat because the rush of ideas is too much. Flexibility is great! Most of all, I just want to have fun! I'm very open and friendly, and will listen to everything you say. If there is something that bothers you, or you have a limit that we haven't gone over, please let me know! I'd like things to work out for both of us! As well, if you've reached out to me in the past and would like to try again (or even pick up an old thread), I happily welcome you to send me a message! I'm completely chill! Limits: Vore, toiletplay/bathroom, underage, bestiality. **Also please note that I WILL NOT reply to an email that's simply "hey wanna rp?". I don't mean to sound uptight but, sorry, no. I would appreciate a bit more effort than that, as it will prove to me that you have read my ad in its entirety. As proof that you have read this, please tell me the title of your favorite book. ^^ If you've made it through that huge thing, then thank you so very much for reading! Before you go, I have one more request to ask of you. When you contact me, please, please, PLEASE include: any ideas/plots you might want to work out, which character(s) you would like to play, your age and timezone, and any limits you may have. And, most importantly, tell me a little bit about yourself! I'd like to get to know you! (I have a Discord, as well, and would be more than happy to give it out if you decide you'd like to use it as a chat platform!) My contact information is: bibliophilicangel@gmail.com If any of this interests you, I'd love to hear from you!

[intriga-hounds]

i have a lot of new followers, so here’s a list of all the dogs around here that have tags on this blog as of august 2024:

sivien shakespeare (“sivi”), owned by me, father of 9 (#sivibabies2k19), light of my life, absolute dick but still my soul dog and familiar, 8yo

bazalai sivison (“bazzle”/“baz”/“bazzy”), son of sivi, has one brain cell and it’s on fire, lovable and silly, constantly injured, has serious behavioral issues but he’s perfect anyway, 5yo

ponzu, aka The Sauce, owned by me, half-sister to beau, the only good dog in the house, loves all people, show dog, mother of The Premiere litter (#saucepackets2024), 3yo

renly, owned by my sister, niece to bazzy and granddaughter to sivi, attached to my sister like a lil barnacle 24/7, charming and weird, LOUD, 3yo

the rest of the dogs don’t live here but are co-owned by me and/or are owned by my parents:

beau, owned by my parents and coowned by me, ponzu’s half-brother, my dad’s bff, always in bed, 3.5yo.

milo, owned by a friend and coowned by me, sivi’s son and bazzy’s litter brother, breeding prospect who’s won BISS, comes here some weekends to go to shows, perfect boy, father of whiskey, 5yo

zoe, maltipoo owned by my parents, literally The Worst, desperate for attention, regularly steals my dinner, sivi’s best friend in the whole world, 9yo

paloma, not owned by any of us but had a litter of puppies here that i raised (#lomababies2022), sister to baz, daughter to sivi, mom to renly, crimelord supreme, 5yo

we used to have a golden retriever named houston, but he passed away in 2020 shortly before his 13th birthday.

we lost oliver at 14.5 years old in december 2023. he was my first heart dog and i miss him very much.

i also used to have rats. they each have their own tag: knives, mighty, disco, dipper (evil), dizzy, camazotz, wee beastie, zamboni, and clyde. disco and clyde were the best rats i ever had and i miss them a lot.

aaaaand finally me, max! english teacher, writer, pinoy, queer (on the aro/ace spectrum), SSRI taker for 16 years, lots of health issues but making things happen anyway, does lots of dog things all the time, naps a lot, likely to ignore parallel structure when writing lists, 32yo

[intriga-hounds]

how did you get into silkens?? i'm like. probably 6mos to a year out from even reaching out to breeders once my life Chills Out a bit, but how hard was it to get breeders to take you seriously as a first time owner?? I'm not sure i'm interested in being a show or sport home either, i'm mostly just after noodly companionship that will fit into small city apartments and at least from what ive seen silkens have a lovely temperament. i've done a bit of looking but i dont even think we have a silken group for my province lol so i'm kinda sol there

you’d be surprised. i’d suggest asking in one of the silken facebook groups if there are any in your area that you can meet. that’s how i met my first silken, and then 5 more silkens at a local event. i also met a breeder that way that i’m still friends with (we got renly and beau from her). when i went looking for my first puppy, i was lucky that there was a one-time breeder nearby with a litter and she didn’t care too much about me being a sport/show home, but most breeders -do- care at least a little. there are definitely breeders out there who’ll place dogs in strictly pet homes, but if i’m being honest, you might end up having to wait. a proven sport/show home is generally going to have an easier time of it. there might be some breeders that will also hesitate to place a young puppy in an apartment, since silkens need lots of free running every day to develop proper musculature. you might have more luck looking for an older puppy or an adult dog.

[intriga-hounds]

Hi I love your silkens! Have the girl pups developed a lot of personality yet? How are their personalities the same or different?

so far, renly has more drive in general. lure drive, food drive, etc. she’s more “bitchy” about certain things and has less impulse control (darts at doors, barks at dogs that don’t pass the vibe check, gets in your face). she’s more snuggly, more velcro, more loyal. she’s also wicked fast.

ponzu is more laid back, less intense about food/training, but is also more controlled. she’s independent and aloof, but knows who her mom is. she wants to be friends with all other dogs and chew every stick. she can be obnoxious during play, like beau.

both are very smart, sweet, and easy to work with.

[intriga-hounds]

Sorry to bother you, but if you feel like it, could you give a quick list of the dogs in your house and who they belong to? (Maybe dogs that visit too? Idk) im having trouble keeping track. Either way i love all of them and appreciate you posting them for us to see 💙

my dogs are:

sivi

ponzu

milo (co-own, doesn’t live here)

my sister’s dogs are:

baz (was originally my dog)

renly

my parents’ dogs are:

zoe

beau

oliver (will stay with me when they move away)

sivi is dad to baz and grandpa to renly. ponzu and beau are half-siblings.

[goldenboywrites]

Nothing compared to someone calling him Quin, especially coming from Cesare, who knew the prince intimately. Beau had spent so much of his life being told he looked like the prince and could be the prince. His entire livelihood was based on the fact that he could have been Quintus’ twin. People paid for a night with him because he looked like the prince. So many of his formative years had been spent daydreaming about being the long-lost third prince, Quintus’ twin, who separated at birth, and that the life he and Maximus shared was rightly his as well. 

It was hard to focus on what Cesare was saying when his hands traced along the curves of Beau’s body. Never had he felt a touch so loving before. It was hard not to get lost in it. He turned his face into Cesare’s grip and kissed his palm lightly. “He’s not here, is he?” He asked against his hand, looking up at Cesare from under his thick lashes, keeping his face as neutral as possible. He was confident that the light was low enough because Cesare had looked directly at him and did not detect anything. Richard would need to know. Beau could only imagine how he would be rewarded if he brought the King of Vivec to him. “Where is he?” 

So, Cesare’s whole plan was to save both brothers. Beau nearly laughed at the Prince’s silly dream. Quin was about to be found guilty of treason and hung in Vivec, and Maximus was injured to the point of using a cane. Neither brother would ever be able to sit on the throne and lead. Their reputations were already destroyed. “I don’t know his plan aside from getting Maximus back,” He replied with a soft sigh. Beau traced his fingers along Cesare’s waist and up his side before resting his hand on his shoulder, his fingers twisted in the fabric of his clothes. “I wasn’t allowed to roam the castle freely when Renly and I returned to Vivic. I was locked in my quarters until I was brought here, and I’m only here because he doesn’t trust anyone but himself to keep an eye on me.” 

Beau stepped back towards the bed, pulling Cesare forward with him. The more he talked, the higher the risk of him fucking up, and he knew the right way to tug and pull secrets out of men, and it wasn’t with talking. “We don’t have much time, and I don’t want to spend it plotting.” The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and Beau sat down, his hand falling from Cesare’s shoulder to his waist. He pulled the prince forward, spreading his legs to make room for him. “I missed you.”

Cesare felt the prince press against him and the last thing he felt was relief. Though he made a show to hold on to Quin, something was off. He could have been drugged and in fact, Cesare had been almost counting on that. From the way he'd been treated before and the fact that they were coming back to Adros. To where that was supplied from. Well, he thought it would have been a show from the uncle on just how unsafe this land would be for the prince and King of Vivec. But then maybe he had been. The prince rubbed along the other's back and he tried his very best to bring himself to terms with the fact that perhaps this wouldn't be all that he and Xander had envisioned.

The prince wrapped his fingers around the other's arms and pulled him back to take in his face. He felt his jaw tightening as he looked upon him and found nearly nothing amiss but he couldn't be so sure in such lightening. And maybe that's what was wrong, that he couldn't see. Still, the last thing he'd expected was to be the one to be leading this here on out. "I'm not entirely sure how all of this is going to play out." He answered in earnest. Mostly because he couldn't stand the knot in his gut. "My father isn't sure exactly how your uncle is going to play this out and it worries him." He had to be so careful. There could have been someone else in the room with them. His head turned and he looked out, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Max is recovered. He's just fine." He told him, because if nothing else that was the most important thing for him to know. That for the hell they'd been through the past few days, at least their goal had been successful. "He's got himself a cane." He couldn't help but feel the laugh roll off his tongue at the thought. For as ridiculous as all of this was, Max would always, and forever, be Max. "I think he might make it a permeant part of his wardrobe from here on out. So I'm quite certain all your portrait painters will have quite the field day with it."

It still felt too heavy. All of it felt off and Cesare was just exhausted. He brought his hand up to cup the prince's face, peering into the shadows softly. Perhaps this was just what it was going to feel like for a little while. "You've got to help me help you, Quin." He told him and brushed back the small tuft of hair from his brow. "What's your uncle planning? You've got to know something. We can't save you both if you can't give me anything." His finger tips touched lightly to his cheek and then he cupped onto his face. His thumb stroked over the flesh and a shiver ran down the prince's spine. He was in danger and his body could feel how very near it was.