#members of master court

[the-mystical-blog-of-evelyn-rose]

OMG I am like so happy to show you all this! It is a character pos of my beloved Marina but it also includes a speedpaint! Said speedpaint can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lOnAlAiO7Y

I hope you really enjoyed this because I really enjoyed this and have a lovely day! Chaacters Featured here:

https://the-mystical-blog-of-evelyn-rose.tumblr.com/post/180434685702/unfortunately-i-cant-say-very-much-in-the

[the-fool-brahe]

stay tuned probably legit the entire month of July for babbling about the Chevalier de Saint-Georges because I'm reading a biography on him and already it's kind of wild

[writingquestionsanswered]

do u have any sort of website that can tell me jobs in a small town? trying to write a story set in a small town but i cant come up with any ideas for jobs apart from the essential ones like police or hospital

Jobs in a Small Town

Government: mayor, city manager, city council member, city attorney, city clerk, code enforcement officer, customer service representative, finance director, fire chief/firefighter, paramedic, human resources manager, information technology department, librarian, municipal court clerk/administrator/judicial specialist/court security officer, parks and recreation director, planning and zoning director, police chief/officer or sheriff/deputy, public works director, utilities clerk, wastewater plant operator

Business: business owner/operator or employee (such as a clerk, receptionist, manager, or administrator) at a shop, restaurant, cafe, gas station, mechanic, tow truck, locksmith, landscaper/lawn care, handyman, florist, funeral home, pool cleaner, daycare center, grocery store, feed and pet store, car dealership, clothing boutique, ice cream parlor, liquor store, bar, nightclub, community theater, "big box store" (like Walmart), warehouse store (like Costco), movie theater, mini-golf course

Medical Services: hospital (administration, doctor, surgeon, nurse practitioner, nurse, nurse's aide, respiratory therapist, anesthesiologist, orderly, receptionist, lab worker, security, etc.) Doctor's office or urgent care (administration, doctor, nurse, nurse practitioner, receptionist, etc.) Dentist or orthodontist (administration, dentist/orthodontist, dental assistant, orthodontic assistant, receptionist, etc.) Nursing home/assisted living facility (administration, doctor, nurse, orderly, etc.)

Random: country club employee, dog walker, babysitter/nanny, home nurse, museum director/curator/specialist/employee, town archaeologist (if area is rich in history), industrial jobs (mining, factories/manufacturing, farming/crop production, fishing/fisheries), wedding coordinator, convention center director, attorney, judge, taxi driver, utility repair technician, railway worker, bus driver, school jobs (principal, teacher, teacher's aide, librarian, cafeteria worker, counselor, security officer, custodian), airport jobs (administrative, security, service provider/employee, airline worker, pilot, flight attendant, plane mechanic)

That's all I've got at the moment, but keep an eye on the comments in case others come up with ideas! :)

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[13yearslater]

Successful trans men

Part 2 Part 3

I wish I knew about men like these growing up, I wish I knew that trans men could be successful after a lifetime of never seeing anyone ‘like me’ excelling in life. So here are some trans men - some that you may have heard of, some that you may not - that are successful in a range of careers. Never let being trans hold you back, never think you can’t do something, never think there is not a place for you.

Ben Barres American neurobiologist for Stanford University and advocate for women in science. Barre’s research on the interactions between glial cells and neurons changed the way that we understand the brain and opened up a whole new field of research.

Stephen Whittle Professor of equalities law. Founder of FTM Network in 1989 and Press for Change in 1992. Whittle has been heavily involved in trans activism since joining the Self Help Association for Transsexuals in 1979. His research and activism has been instrumental in ensuring the rights of trans people in the UK.

Michael D Cohen Actor, teacher and coach. Making his break in award-winning Nickelodeon sitcoms Henry Danger and Danger Force he was the first series regular actor to publicly come out as transgender. Cohen has a BSc in cell biology and a masters degree in adult education, teaching at his own acting studio and providing workshops.

Chris Mosier American triathlete and award-winning coach. Six time member of Team USA in both duathlon and triathlon, Mosier also won two national championships in racewalking and was the first transgender athlete to qualify for the Olympic trials to compete against other members of his gender.

Yance Ford African-American film producer and director. Ford received an Emmy for Exceptional Merit in Documentary Filmmaking and was nominated for an Oscar for his part in producing and directing the documentary Strong Island which follows the death of his brother.

Kael McKenzie Canadian judge. Serving in the Canadian Armed Forces for several years, McKenzie later attended law school and and worked as a lawyer before being appointed as a judge to the Provincial Court of Manitoba in 2015. 

Shane Ortega Native American former flight engineer in the US army, former marine and professional bodybuilder. Throughout his career Ortega has served in Iraq and Afghanistan in over 400 combat missions. He has a long history of advocating for the repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell and the recent banning on transgender service members in the US army. 

Drago Renteria Chicano photojournalist and deaf and LGBT activist. Renteria founded the Deaf Queer Resource and is CEO of DeafVision - a webhosting and development company run by deaf people and the founder of the National Deaf LGBTQ Archives. Renteria has been instrumental in both creating and hosting many online deaf/queer spaces online along with being heavily involved in real-world activism for decades.

Phillipe Cunningham Elected city councillor for ward 4 Minneapolis and previous special education teacher, Cunningham holds a masters degrees in Organizational Leadership & Civic Engagement and in Police Administration and is passionate about tacking inequalities in his community. 

[missglaskin]

hiiiii! luv your blog and i was wondering your thoughts on yandere targaryens, velaryons and hightowers reactions when their darling has an assassination attempt happen to them? Like, darling is a valued member of the court or something along those lines. Platonic or romantic, it dont mind :), thank you so much and its totally cool if you dont want to write this <3

In a brief summary: chaos. 

With the Hightowers first; Alicent and Otto will react similarly. Otto isn't as horrified as the others are. It's unfortunate that those things occur when politics are involved. That's one reason why Otto wanted you to leave your position. The best maesters will take care of you, and you'll be protected by guards he fully trusts. He will no longer allow you to take part in court proceedings after that incident. 

On the other hand, Alicent develops a paranoia about the masters and guards because she believes that only a powerful person would attempt to take your life, implying that they may have other connections. She will always be by your side, tending to your wounds and even suggesting giving you a bath or feeding you.

Velaryons come next. Corly will be furious that someone tried to take your life, and he'll make sure the assassin is brutally put to death. He'll check on you frequently and make sure the maesters are performing their duties effectively. With no ifs or buts, he will surround you with guards from this point forward. 

Rhaenys and Laena are quick to run to your aid. Even when other people reassure them it's safe and that the person responsible has been put to death. They almost never leave your side and when you wake up; they're there. Be ready for every drink and meal to be examined in advance.

Laenor's reaction is the most extreme of his family; he will be devastated and his initial instinct is to fight and kill the person who has harmed you. After he has calmed down, he will hold you close and sob as the possibility of your death dawns on him. After you recover, Laenor will become so overly attached that it almost becomes suffocating. 

Last and final is the Targaryens.

Viserys, Rhaenyra, and Daemon are all enraged. Viserys' rage serves as a warning to the court that, despite how kind-hearted the king may appear to be, at his core, he is a dragon. Viserys will demand the head of the person and will keep half the castle guards with you at all times. It is likely he will do whatever he can to remain by your side, even leaving his duties unattended. 

Like her father, Rhaenyra would demand the perpetrator's head. She will grow distrustful of those around her. She might even suspect the hightowers at some point. Your importance to her was known to them. She will keep an eye on the maesters and your handmaidens and chastise them if they show signs of laziness. They are to keep an eye on you day and night, as she requests.

If one thinks Rhaenyra’s reaction is extreme; Daemon shows otherwise. Just the sight of a small scratch sends him into a frenzy; imagine an attempt on your life. Your assassinator won't be killed; he'll be kept alive long enough. Torture, flogging, and starvation to the point they beg for death. He will allow no one to be near you without his permission. All the guards and handmaidens he suspects of being spies may even be lined up and slaughtered one by one. If it weren't for his brother's intervention, he could have committed a bloodbath.

Then comes Viserys’ children. Although Daeron is furious, he's more concerned about you than anything else. He is a bit skeptical of those around you like his mother is. As you are recovering, he will insist on being left alone with you. He’ll be so gentle. Taking care of you if you’re unable to do; dressing and tucking you in. 

Helaena is a lot like Daeron in that she prioritizes you above all else. She leaves her family to attend to the matter. Others have given up trying to persuade her from leaving your side. Helaena will find it enjoyable to take care of you. She’s mostly elated to finally have the chance where you’re dependent on her. 

Given that Aegon and Aemond are very possessive of you and get easily agitated when someone stares at you for too long, imagine the havoc they'll cause if they learn someone made an attempt at your life.  

The assassin will be fed to Aegon's dragon. Most likely, Aegon will lock you in a room with constant security and ignore all of your protests. He will begin to have suspicions about the majority of the court members, particularly his half-sister. 

Like his brother, Aemond will feed the assassin to his dragon, but not before torturing him for days. He will use their death to send a message that anyone who dares to go near his darling will have to deal with his wrath as well as Vhagar's. He won't lock you up in your room; instead, he'll follow you wherever you go. Even attending private meetings, basically being your bodyguard. If he must depart, he will take you on Vhagar.

[secretsofblackthornhall]

Kieran to Julian

To: Julian Blackthorn, Master of Blackthorn Hall

From: The Court of Unseelie

My dear Brother,

Mark has shared with me, with your permission I gather, the contents of your last letter to him as they regard Round Tom and the manor house. I have investigated what you ask, and it unfortunately falls to me to agree with yon Thomas: Blackthorn Hall is suffering under a curse.

I am sure that from your perspective, the bad news is less the fact of the house’s curse, and more the additional charges that Round Tom has added for the repairs and updates that his team is performing. It must especially vex you that these new prices do not include the breaking of the curse, but are only meant to cover the increased risks for the workers and the extra protections they will need to take.

I have already taken steps to seek a solution, but pray let me explain the situation, perhaps somewhat more cogently than R. Tom was able.

First, please know that Tom’s unwillingness to break the curse in fact is a prime example of his virtue (or, Mark has suggested, his fear of the office I hold; I choose to think it the former). The company working on Blackthorn Hall is not at all qualified to address such a complex thing as a curse. In this situation, many of the fey (though I am loath to admit it) would claim they could solve the problem, and would charge you enormously for a task they could not, in truth, accomplish. That Tom has not done so is a credit to him.

I appreciated your suggestion that the curse and the specter haunting the house could be one and the same. Unfortunately, when I communicated with Round Tom through my sources—

(Mark has interfered to admonish me for not simply saying General Winter; my apologies. Speaking plainly in written correspondence can be remarkably difficult for one used to the politics of Faerie.)

Unfortunately, after communicating with Round Tom via General Winter, I have been assured beyond a doubt that the ghost and the curse are different articles. Round Tom’s words, I believe, were to the effect that,

“Old houses always have ghosts. We don’t mind ghosts, and they do not interfere with our work. A curse, however, does, and Blackthorn Hall is cursed.”

He also made clear that it had been his impression that you already knew—that when the house’s owner shares the same name as the house, they likely already know enough of the history to be aware of a curse. Of course, he doesn’t know anything about the history of the Blackthorn family, and he should not have made such an assumption.

I pressed him to lower the price anyway, as a personal favor, and explained that the circumstances of your taking ownership were quite unexpected. I am sorry to say that he could not be moved. He produced a veritable library’s worth of treaties, bylaws, and charters to support his contention that these protections for his men were guaranteed by the Courts of Faerie, and in fact, he is correct.

I am therefore in the regretful position of suggesting that you focus your efforts on discovering and lifting the curse. While it is true that Round Tom and his crew will be unable to assist you, I know you to be a well-connected member of the Nephilim, and among your friends and companions many warlocks, Silent Brothers, and so on are to be found. I have every confidence in you and Emma; surely no curse can go long unlifted once the two of you have committed yourselves to its end. I have enclosed a brochure that might be helpful, as it is intended for those who have just discovered their dwelling-place is cursed. (Mark tells me one should never utter the words “I have enclosed a brochure” in personal correspondence, but I am not sure how else to word what I am doing. Perhaps “Lo, a pamphlet” would have been more appropriate.)

Thank you also for the delicious cake that you sent. While it does not stir the wild blood of my heart as faerie food does, it was a delicious accompaniment to a pot of strong tea, and we enjoyed it here muchly. Mark has informed me that this cake was created by a mundane, Victoria Sponge. All credit to Lady Sponge, and to you for sharing her artistry with us!

Mark and Cristina send their love. To that I attach my own, and remain etc. etc. Hail Kraig.

Kieran

[vermithorn]

* JEALOUS

pairing: aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: aemond couldn't stand how you danced with other men.

contains: nsfw, handjob, dirty talk, possessive behavior, drinking, toxic relationship, sub/dom aemond/reader respectively.

author’s note: we h word and what about it,,, i love my babygirl hehe,,, enjoy and remember english isn't my first language <3 also no beta like always, we die like men :*

aemond scowled, his gaze glued to your body.

you were teasing him from afar dancing with another man, swaying in somebody else’s arms that weren’t his. his gaze hardened, the hands of the other man were dangerously approaching territory they weren’t allowed and aemond started fuming.

you didn’t belong to him, he had to understand that.

after a few cups of dornish wine, you went directly to the dance floor by yourself. the celebrations of aegon's coronation were extraordinarily loud and messy, and so were you.

aemond tried his best to keep his thoughts to himself and not cause a scene, but you were making it very difficult. the way you danced around those men who weren't keeping their hands to themselves made aemond seethe in his uncomfortable seat.

your father the last few weeks kept telling you this was the instance to find a good man to marry and join houses, but he didn't specify how so you took some liberties for his request.

aemond has known you since you two were kids, your father had just become the newest member of the court, the new master of coin, so you were around aemond very often growing up. you two became close just right after the incident where his nephew took his eye, you took care of him when he came back from driftmark wounded and scared. you were just a year older than him, so he took comfort in your arms when he felt he couldn't bear it any longer.

but that didn't matter at all, because you two grew apart with the years. being a teenager was hard for aemond, constantly suffering bad treatment from his older brother or his grandfather, the hand of the king.

you tried to make your friendship work with him as a teenager, but he gave you the cold shoulder, almost completely ignoring you in any way he could, so you accepted it and moved on with your life without him, living almost two chambers over him.

you grew to be the most astonishing woman aemond has laid his eyes on, but just the one he couldn't have for himself.

it was obvious he had feelings for you since you two were kids, he did his best to avoid and ignore them but you always popped up when he least expect it.

like right now, when you revealed to your friends (he wasn't stalking you, ok) that your father had put you on a mission to get a husband that exact night, he saw red but had to keep it to himself.

so there you were, dancing drunk with some unknown lord with aemond's gaze glued on you.

after a few songs and more men surrounding you, he had enough of your bullshit, standing up from his seat and walking towards you quickly.

he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you out of the circle you had formed for yourself, dragging you out of the room and into a hallway.

“hey! what are you doing?” you barked, getting angry. “let go of me right now, prince aemond.” his grip on your arm tightened as he cornered you against the wall, pressing his body against yours.

okay, he had been drinking too.

“are you really selling yourself to please your father?” he growled in your ear, a possessive tone slipping away from his control.

you smirked, “so this is what it took to make you jealous.”

“hm, was this your plan all along?” you nodded slightly, aemond buried his face in your neck, your right hand instinctively going up to his hair grabbing it roughly.

aemond felt stupid falling for you, always wrapped around your finger.

“did it work, my prince?” aemond groaned, grabbing your waist tightly, “i was actually going to stop trying since you made zero effort to notice me in the past,” you whispered in his ear, and he shivered.

how he could be so stupid? all your efforts to get him like this in the past got unnoticed by him... all the time he spent beating himself up for ignoring his feelings for you, you were all the time trying to get him worked up like this.

“of course, it fucking worked,” he spat, “you're mine.”

you laughed, grasping his hair and yanking it down. he let out a moan as he was facing you, your hand secured on his hair holding him in place. “no, you got it all wrong,” you got closer to his face, lips almost touching as you whispered possessively, “you're mine, my prince.”

as he was distracted by your hand pulling his hair, you got your other arm free from his grasp and went directly to his robes, caressing his lower stomach.

he panted, “what were you saying, my prince?” your grasp on his hair got tighter. “i will kill any girl that looks your way.” his eyes rolled back as you untied his pants skillfully, grabbing his now hard cock with your hand.

“maybe i'll let you show me off to the other lords, that's what you want, right?” he couldn't form proper sentences with your hand on his cock, “i know you aemond, i see you following me around, scaring off the lords that have the intention of proposing a marriage bond for me.”

your hand worked him up and down quickly, lubricating him with his own precum. “were you this hard when i was dancing with the other lords? were you imagining yourself touching me like they were? do you think i don't notice you?” he moaned, his hands running through your body as much as they could.

your words were hitting all the right spots in his mind as your hand worked on him, he was so close.

“are you going to cum for me, my prince?” he nodded, his eyes rolling back as he was about to combust. “do it then, cum all over your pants for me.”

his breathing quickened as he came gasping for air, his chest rising quickly, he felt his knees giving in but you were holding him until he could stand up properly.

your grip on his hair loosened, now caressing it, “now we are going to go back and excuse ourselves properly, then we are going to my chambers.” you kissed him deeply, “and don't worry, the only man i'm planning to marry is you, my prince.” he nodded, giving you a weak smile.

he had to make up for the time he lost somehow, right?

© all content belongs to @vermithorn. do not copy / plagiarize / repost or translate my work on any other platforms.

[sweetsmalldog]

Hob knew Wuvvy wouldn’t say why she challenged him to a duel. If she wouldn’t tell him alone in his tent with no one else to hear there was no way she’d say it in front of so many archfey. Hob knew Wuvvy wasn’t going to say so he used it to his and the Goblin Court’s advantage.

Of course the Court of Wonder would send a proxy instead of one of their own. They can’t bear the shame of a proposal being rebuffed by a member of the Goblin Court, much less people finding out about it. Or god forbid anyone question why they were dueling in the first place. So it’s much easier to send a member of the Court of Hoof and Claw that everyone knows is close with one of the most respected members of the Court of Wonder. And then when said proxy refused to say the reason for the duel Hob did as he said he would and told the truth. It’s a masterful maneuver that makes the Goblin Court shine in a far more positive light. On top his bout with Andhera ending positively and Hob making it clear that Andhera’s honor is clean. Hob comes off every bit the gentleman. While the Court of Wonder get another stain on their quickly deteriorating reputation.

[whumpalicious08]

I really like (bear with me now, I don't know what it's called) physical position whump. Like, showing power dynamics through position. Let me explain;

TW : non/con touching in a <borderline?> sexual way

A bloodied, bruised, exhausted Whumpee kneeling in front of their Master/Whumper, legs spread wide and hands pressed to the cold ground in between them. Whumpee's hair falls forward as they lower their head, it frames their battered face. Whumper smiles, proud, and cups Whumpee's dirty cheek, uncharacteristically tender. "Good boy."

Touchy Whumper who pulls Whumpee so that their back is flush with Whumper's front; who pins their wrists behind the small of their back with one hand, while the other covers Whumpee's mouth a little too roughly. Whumper licks at the shell of their ear, and Whumpee's tears wet their fingers.

A Whumpee who's feverish/heavily injured/drugged shaking profusely on all fours in front of Whumper, breathing in shallow, ragged breaths. They lower their head, fight through the humiliation, the bile in their throat. "Please." Whumper's lips twist into a shark-like grin. "But you're so perfect like this."

A personal assassin whumpee is sat in front of the King's throne, back leant against the armrests. He's got one knee up, surveying the people in the throne room with dead eyes and deceptive nonchalance. Above him, the King smirks, fingers playing idly with Whumpee's hair. The members of the court are intimidated by his attack dog.

Also guys I am super open to requests! I'm thinking of writing more, I'm happy to write your request w/ either my original character(s) (I have some with bios) or one/some of your choosing!

[azsazz]

Hush Little Baby

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: "Hi!! I was thinking of a request where similarly to how parents take their babies on car rides to help them sleep when they’re fussy, same thing but Az takes them on a flight and just ultimate fluff!! I love your writing I think you would write this so well!!!" and "can we please get some wrennie love 🥹🥹🥹"

Warnings: None, fluffy as hell.

Word Count: 795

_________________________________________

His shadows alert him of the restless babe before he starts wailing.

Azriel is up and out of bed before your son's whimpers turn into full on screaming, scooping the babe out of his cradle and cuddling him to his chest, cooing down at his son and soothing his fingers across his back.

He’s still so small, and every time Azriel picks him up he’s terrified. Scared that the brutal marks on his hands will taint his perfect child, so new to this world, wide eyes an exact copy of yours, pure and unknowing of the horrible things he’s done.

Azriel looks towards the bed, where you’re tucked beneath the thick blankets, sound asleep. He’s found himself up more times than he thought he’d be, his shadows more attentive and alert to the newest member of your family, whispers of Wren waking in the crib, hungry or soiled or just needing the love of his parents.

You needed your sleep, the Mother knew. Between your Illyrian mate and a newborn babe you were as busy as you’d ever been, still trying to get used to the unusual schedule your son was on. Feedings and naps and the rest of the Inner Circle wanting to spend time with the fresh new babe.

He’s taken care of Wren by himself before, but Azriel’s mind always seems to drift. He repeats the mantra the both of you have come up with when he’d been vulnerable, letting you in on his feelings about having a child. That he is not what he has done in the past, but what he is now, and you and Wren will love him no matter what.

Wren’s button nose scrunches up and Azriel tries to calm him, his shadows sweeping in closer to the babe, like they’re curious of the little being in their master's arms. But it doesn’t seem like his son wants to cooperate with his father tonight, face contorting into one Azriel knows all too well. 

“Let’s go for a fly, little one,” he whispers, keeping the babe cradled close to him. He snags Wren’s blanket and wraps him just as Madja taught, to keep the Night Court’s midnight chill from his creamy skin.

The first time he’d taken Wren flying to calm him you had been furious, waking up alone with both of them missing, only to find out that your mate had been giving your son a joyride in the middle of the night. It was beyond dangerous and you’d burst into tears when they’d arrived home, despite the happy babe in Azriel’s arms.

He’d explained that this was normal for Illyrians, and had apologized profusely nonetheless, that terrified feeling freezing the blood in his veins from down the bond.

You were still weary, but used to it now as it seemed to be a recurring thing, this father-son bonding time when the rest of Velaris was asleep, just the two of them cascading over the glistening city as his father tells him stories of his happiest days here.

And being able to get a full night’s sleep helped persuade you too.

The shadowsinger pads quietly across the room, balcony doors opening with a soft snick. There’s a slight chill in the summer night, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, instead fretting over Wren’s blanket, making sure the babe is secure before he spreads his wings wide, letting the breeze help lift him into the air.

Wren’s wide awake now but hasn’t let out the wail he was planning on a few minutes before. Azriel can only wonder if his shadows have a calming effect on his son, if the little babe can sense them nearby, or if being under the bright moon makes him feel as at ease as it does his father.

He banks softly, dipping low over the Sidra, the rippling water and steady beat of his father’s wings lulling Wren in his arms. Azriel’s heartbeat is strong and calming, his son's breathing evens out, the tiny thing so soft with sleep.

Azriel takes a moment to admire his son as he sweeps upwards with a gentle gust, the boy’s dark hair, void of color much like his own. Wren’s skin is a combination of both yours and his, so incredibly soft and not a single imperfection. His eyes are shut now, but the babe’s big eyes are exactly the same as yours, and Azriel has fallen so utterly in love with his son the first moment he laid those eyes on him, drinking in the sight of his father.

It’s the moments like these though, as he lands silently back on the balcony, with his son in his arms and you greeting them with a grin at their return, that are Azriel’s absolute favorite.

[the-mystical-blog-of-evelyn-rose]

*claps* I hope you all saw my newest post, if you didn't here it is:

https://the-mystical-blog-of-evelyn-rose.tumblr.com/post/183323276977/time-to-reveal-this-bad-boi-secret-project

And if you did read it, thank you uwu Blossom is a real beaut here. It really is fitting that she is posted today, today being international women's day because Blossom is not just a beaut but has great brains and brawn as well. I love her. She's another blue boi, but like sometimes you gotta have blue lol. I also spent forever doing her ponytail, so I hope I did that right, put your thoughts and critiques in the comments. If you are interested in critiquing then, does the anatomy look okay? I don't think the anatomy looks okay, Mainly her hands, her hands are too big in my opinion. Her face is a little squished to me, but I'm not here to tell you how to feel, critique what you want to. For those who actually looked and read my journal you know that the details I am about to add comes from this document: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1YPSZ-mS8HAQZnkzvaNBbg_mTEK9F6FJniJ79DbGFp0U/edit?usp=sharing

Please feel free to read other bios that are included on that doc, and feel especially free to request certain characters that you are interested in! Anyway the bio   

Blossom Cherub

Birthday: September 30th (Libra ♎)

Age: 24 years old

Species: 100% Human

Appearance: Blossom is a tall skinny female. She has a deep tan skin that has a warm tone to it. She wears a striped teal-blue and cream sweater with navy blue, high-waisted pants that are cuffed just below her knee. She has socks that end just before her pant legs start and then moccasins boot type things (sorry!). She wears a bead necklace, each bead representing someone who is important in her life, then a compass pendant with on the butterfly outer cover, and then she has feather earrings. Her hair is a deep brown that ends just above her waist that's tied into a high ponytail. Blossom's face is square and full, she has full lips and protruding eyes and a flattish nose all of this framed by her pair of glasses with round lenses and wireframes.

Personality Type: ENFJ-A

Personality: Blossom is a very energetic motivator. She is always there to pump up her friends, teammates, family, or anyone else who really need it. Often She'll be ready to go on any quest or mission from her commanding officer and she'll do it with a smile. She has great devotion for all of her jobs and hobbies and isn't the type to back down from anything for being too challenging or scary. She isn't overly humorous or jokey as oppose to her lightheartedness, Blossom is more likely to be the one laughing at the jokes. She also is quite the dreamer, to be clear she is always practical and realistic, maybe overly so at times, but she typically has a child-like wonder to her that carries over to her disposition. Blossom's dedication can often be seen as obsessive or just downright obsessive that turns into an annoying or intimidating streak. Blossom is usually the one who is first to make a big statement or if something needs to be said, you can count on Blossom to say it. She is a total firecracker of a person, but instead of it just being scary and loud, she is also caring and attentive to an extent, but still mostly loud and proud ha.

Status: Former member of the Windseeker Tribe/ Now Leader to a Platoon under the Master Court

Height: 5’10

Weight: 145 lbs

Gender: ♀️

Debut: Book #2

Powers: Can Channel Brisk Winds

Eye Color: Munsell Blue

Hair Color: Kobicha Brown

Blood Type: O+ Human Blood

Weapon: If not relying on her army-issued weapon or physical strength, she will use small daggers she keeps in a waist pouch.

[luxuryandbrown]

Amal Clooney

the perfect embodiment of feminine & masculine energy.

Feminine in her mannerisms and how she presents herself but rightfully masculine in her career, Amal Clooney is a beautiful representation of what it means to balance your feminine and masculine energy.

who is she?

Amal Clooney, now 44 years old, is an international lawyer, human rights activist, mother, and wife to the famous George Clooney. When she’s not representing powerful clients before international courts, she is advising political governments and individuals on legal issues. She is a brilliant woman known for her high profile cases, accomplishments, husband, and fashion. She is described as “a brilliant legal mind” and “knows her brief inside out”. Her accolades make her the ideal role model and inspiration for young women.

her background

Amal is a Lebanese-British lawyer and activist specializing in international law and human rights. She was raised in England by her educated father and entrepreneurial mother. Following high school, she studied at Oxford University and graduated with her bachelor’s before attending New York University of Law where she got her Master of Law degree. 

influenced by strong women

Amal is a product of her environment. As mentioned, she was raised by an entrepreneurial mother. Her mother, Baria Alamuddin, is an award winning journalist. Baria has interviewed some of the most notable and prominent figures in the world. Amal’s mother and grandmother both are strong supporters of women empowerment and education which you can see in Amal’s philanthropic work. Another example of being influenced by strong women is when she worked in the office of Sonia Sotomayor, the first woman of color and Latina to serve on the supreme court. She even had the pleasure of working with the judge for the United States Court of Appeals and a NYU Law faculty member. It’s obvious that Amal was fortunate enough to have examples of strong and powerful women not only in her home but in the workplace.

personality

I admire Amal for her intelligence, wit, and ability to keep most of her personal life private. Not much is said about her private life, but colleagues have mentioned that Amal has a ‘commanding presence”. This is obvious when watching her interviews — her energy fills the room. She never overshares or says more than necessary, but when she does speak it’s worth listening to. As you probably guessed, she is an intelligent woman. Fluent in English, French and Arabic. Her cleverness and well articulated speeches immediately captivates those around her.

love life

One person who was captivated by her mind is her husband George Clooney. In the world of law, she was already a celebrity but became one in the literal sense when she became involved with the well known bachelor, George Clooney. George had a long history of dating gorgeous, famous women but never settled down. He even publicly said he would never get married... this was until he met Amal in July of 2013, in Lake Como Italy.

Similar to Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, the two met through a mutual friend. This is why your connections, network, and personal brand matters — those can open more doors for you than a dating app can. While most women would fall at the feet of George, Amal didn’t. In fact, he chased her for months before they became serious. He claims he fell for her because of intelligence and personality, but I assume the chase also had a huge impact. Amal is highly intelligent and understands seduction. She knows if she were like every other woman, she would get treated like every other woman. Instead, she stayed committed to her career and mission while making time for him when she could.

In 2014, the two love birds became engaged only after a year of dating. The Clooney’s were married in Sept of 2014 by no other than the former mayor of Rome. Their beautiful multi-million dollar wedding was in Venice, Italy and was one to remember. After they said “I do”, the couple moved to a multimillion-dollar estate built on a small island in London before having their twins in 2017. Together the couple committed to philanthropic work for women’s and human’s rights. It’s rumored that they’ve donated over $22M to a variety of charities. In 2016, her and George Clooney founded Clooney Foundation for Justice. She has partnered with several other charities, such as Aurora Humanitarian Initiative, and has her own scholarship program to send young girls to college.

awards & achievements

I would love to end this off not talking about Amal’s love life but the amazing things she’s accomplished. Her list of her achievements and awards are way too long to cover so I’ll mention the few I thought were most notable. Amal was awarded the most fascinating person in 2014, the World Economic Forum’s 2016 Young Global Leader, and Time magazine’s Woman of the Year in 2022. Her fight for human rights has made her a noble activist, leader, and role model. She uses her celebrity status to shed light on political issues that may have otherwise been thrown under the rug.

Amal has shown us that you can be a feminine family woman while being successful at your career. Her brilliant mind has captivated the red carpet, magazines, and one of Hollywood’s best actors. Amal is an inspiring mother, wife, and activists. Her poise, style, and grace are just a few elements to her feminine charm. Her healthy balance of masculine energy is portrayed in her ability to relentlessly peruse her career, fight for meaningful causes, and excel in a highly competitive field.

X, @luxuryandbrown | You might like: Meghan Markle: Femininity Breakdown

[gurugirl]

The Queen's Secret Chapter 1

Summary: The introduction to the series where young Queen Y/N is married to King Edgar and a secret deal is made with Prince Harry and his wife Princess Gertrude for the kingdom's sake

A/N: Welcome to my new series! This is set in modern times so you'll note there are cellphones, computers, vibrators... but the characters here are still royals so they'll be a little stuffy and old-school (traditional) at times :) 3.6k words

Warning: The tiniest bit of smut (masturbation) and mentions of sex (not enough to count this chapter as a smutty one IMO)

TQS Masterlist

Y/n’s wedding day was beautiful. It was everything she ever imagine it to be as a young girl, knowing she might one day be married to a king. There were over a thousand guests in attendance. It was after all, a historic event. Y/n would be married to Edgar, the king of Manon.

Edgar Murray was a new king. His father kept the throne for much longer than anyone anticipated and with his passing, the crown was given to Edgar. Edgar wasn’t and old man, but he was aged, nearly 50, but in rather wonderful health. He was also quite handsome and made an idyllic bachelor for many years. But the time had come for him to settle and take a queen to be his helper and wife.

The choice for Edgar of whom he’d have to be his wife was an easy one. A duke’s daughter, Y/n, was in line to be married into the family and she was young and well read. She’d make a beautiful mother and a helpful advisor for the court.

She felt welcomed and respected by all who took her into the royal Murray family. It was important to her to be respected, especially given her age in comparison with her husband the king. Y/n was 25 and she’d been training for this day all her life. She also went and got a master’s degree in Art History, as well as traveled to Spain for part of her studies and learned to speak Spanish and Italian. She’d been proud of her accomplishments and had studied hard and paid close attention to the politics of the country and the kingdom so she’d have a handle on what was to come.

In the final hours of the wedding celebration, and her last change of dress for the evening, the only ones still present were family members of the royal family and court. It was still a large group but this felt more familiar and comfortable to the new queen. She was introduced to Edgar’s extended family and Edgar to Y/n’s. It was a merry time overall. Everyone had their fill of food and drink, and there were a few scattered on the ballroom floor still, dancing to the live music still being played.

Edgar had run off to the restroom and Y/n’s mother, father, and siblings were bidding her goodbye for the evening. When she was finally alone, wandering the large room deep in thought of what was to come that night with Edgar she was tapped on her shoulder and turned to see who sought her attention.

To her delight it was Prince Harry, Edgar’s brother in law. Harry was married to Princess Gertrude who was Edgar’s sister.

“My Queen,” Harry bowed his head in respect as greeting, “it’s been a wonderful night. We are so happy to have you as our new Queen and as part of the family.”

Y/n smiled broadly at the handsome Prince. He was quite the sight, the tall young man with dark hair and light eyes. This wasn’t their first meeting but she felt a sense of newness at seeing him dressed so sharply for the occasion.

“Prince Harry,” she bowed her own head in a return of reverence, “it has been a wonderful night. I’m lucky to be part of the family. Thank you.”

The pair walked along the perimeter of the room and chatted about nothing substantive but it kept Y/n’s mind occupied as she had some jitters in anticipation for the consummation of her marriage to Edgar.

Harry was struck by Y/n’s beauty from the first moment they met, but of course, she was now the queen and he is married (with children) to the king’s sister after all. It was just an attraction.

When the king found his queen with Harry he greeted his brother in law and then swept Y/n off to their quarters for the night. The king was ready for the consummation. He hadn't gotten to feel his new wife yet and the lead up to the wedding and arrangements for their union was time consuming and a lot of work.

Y/n was mostly satisfied by the king. He was in good shape and he was handsome and he felt good, doing things by the book more or less. She didn't have an orgasm that first night, but she was still happy by what he'd done regardless. It felt good and he had been gentle with her.

Y/n was not a virgin, though. That was not a requirement in these modern days. Everyone knew of the king’s romps all over the world so why should he expect his bride to be a virgin?

She had had a few suitors, some really good sex, and some awful sex. The king was right in the middle of what she'd experienced. He was good and he felt good and that was really all she could ask for on their first night. She was quite disappointed, though, that he hadn't eaten her out, yet asked for her to suck him off.

She'd bring this up to him later but he was allowed a pass on their first night.

It was also an important night because she was ovulating (the date of their wedding was set based on her ovulation schedule). The kingdom would be expecting an heir and the sooner Y/n could get pregnant the better. She was prepared. She knew she'd be getting pregnant, likely quickly after their marriage.

But night after night of Edgar spilling his sperm into Y/n and still not having anything to show for it, the court became concerned.

After a year of trying, doctors were sent to test the queen and her fertility. Everything was normal with Y/n, as she suspected. Of course, they hadn't considered testing the king for the possible fertility issues at first. But after another six months the king relented and allowed for his own testing.

No one who knew of their issues was surprised to find that it was the king who was infertile. Not many did know though. The king would not allow this information to be made public, but he now had a choice to make. If they were to adopt that would point to some kind of issue and the heir would be invalid. If they did in vitro with another sperm sample, outside doctors and anyone else involved in that would know and the word could eventually get out, also making the heir invalid. The king and queen couldn't risk that because too many people would be in the know and those kinds of secrets are worth money to the public.

The king had to find a way to get his queen pregnant with as few people knowing as possible. His closest advisor told him that finding a close friend or trustworthy associate to get the queen pregnant would be the best way for the most privacy.

The queen was beside herself about this idea. She wasn't given much choice in the matter and their time to put off the kingdom for much longer was coming to a limit. People were talking, wondering what the hold-up could be.

So, she and king met with their advisors and after a series of brainstorming and selecting a male who was fertile and would keep their secret had begun. These men didn't know their loins were on the table (so to speak) as the advisors began deliberating about each one.

The first in consideration was the king's 18-year-old nephew, but he was very young and Y/n didn't feel comfortable with that one. She shot it down right away.

The second was the king's longtime friend, but his fertility would need to be tested first. He'd had four children so he was fertile at one time, but it'd been nearly decade since his wife had their last child. Y/n didn't like this either. She hated the idea of having sex with a man as old as Edgar who might not even be fertile. Also, the advisors didn't like that idea much either. It was too risky. And it could also be a waste of everyone’s time.

The third option was the king's brother-in-law. Harry was married to Edgar's sister, Gertrude. Harry was 33 and his wife had borne him three children, their most recent child just over a year old. It was clear Harry was still fertile, he was young and healthy, and being the husband of the princess, he'd keep their deeds a secret. Y/n did quite find this option the best. Not only was Harry quite attractive, but he would also be quiet about everything without anyone worrying. Now, they just had to convince Gertrude and Harry to get on board.

The banquet room for the meeting was small. Edgar and Y/n sat next to one another near the head of the table, and on the opposite corner sat Gertrude and Harry. There were two advisors present. That was all the king would allow.

Edgar stood from his spot and everyone stood up with him, "Thank you Prince and Princess for coming. This meeting is very important, and we would ask both of you to keep everything you hear today quiet. No one can know of this."

Everyone nodded and then the king sat, everyone following suit.

One of the advisors handed a document to Harry and Gertrude and then stepped back to his position at the wall.

Edgar began to speak again as soon as Harry and Gertrude looked down, slightly confused, at the paper before them.

"Before you read the contents of the document I'd like to tell you what you're here for. It's quite a heavy matter and Y/n and I have gone over many options and we've landed on you being the best, Harry."

Harry looks up to Edgar then to Y/n when he hears his name.

"I'm infertile. I cannot provide an heir to the throne and so therefore need someone to step in privately and discreetly in this matter. You and Gertrude will be paid handsomely, obviously."

Gertrude lets out small laugh, like disbelief and her expression is that of someone who thinks she's being teased, "What's this? You want us to give you a child?" She shakes her head and looks at Harry.

Edgar clears his throat, "No. I want Harry to give a child to Y/n. We would use his sperm to make her pregnant."

"Okay. So you need us to go to a clinic and set up something for in vitro?" Gertrude was becoming uncomfortable and Harry was just sat, confusion still on his face.

"Gertrude, may I finish speaking dear sister?" Edgar raised his brows at her and she nodded, closing her mouth and shifting in her seat.

"We cannot risk involving doctors, consultants, clinics, things like that. It's too risky. The more people involved the more likely information is to get out and the heir would be invalid then and the Murray name tarnished. It needs to be done traditionally. We can have guards on hand outside of the room for Harry and Y/n during the process and we'll need Harry for approximately six to seven days each month until she conceives."

Gertrude begins shaking her head and looking at Harry. Harry looks down at his wife and he's feeling numb. It's not a position he thought he'd ever be in. They both look back to the king.

"Harry would need to release inside of Y/n. I know how it sounds and how it must feel, because it's the same thing we've been dealing with ourselves, Gertrude. It's the best for the kingdom. We haven't much choice. I can't force you and Harry to agree to this but I will ask you to please consider it all. It will be as clinical as we can possibly make it. We have parameters in place for this sort of thing. Each session will be meant to be very quickly done. We will make it worth your while. Both of you.”

Harry sighs and rubs his hands over his face and then looks up at the young queen. Secretly he thinks to himself that he’d have no issue getting it up and pumping his come into her. He knows he would be able to perform for her. He’s just worried about the ramifications with Gertrude. It doesn’t feel as if this is truly happening to him.

Gertrude looks at Harry and speaks, “Harry wouldn’t want to do such a thing with anyone else. I know him. I’m sorry to waste your time, but this can’t happen.”

Harry puts a hand over Gertrude’s and looks down at her, “Let’s talk about this first, Gertie. Okay? I think we could at least read the document and find out what they’re offering before just shutting it down. The kingdom is at risk if we don’t help.”

Gertrude removes her hand from Harry and looks at him in shock, “You would consider this?” Harry swallows and closes his eyes, looking up at the king and then to Y/n, “Yes. I would.” Y/n keeps her eyes on Harry’s and it doesn’t last long but she senses his willingness and appreciates his thoughtful glance at her when he said yes.

A week later Harry and Gertrude made the decision to help the kingdom. It wasn’t an easy decision for anyone. Gertrude still had her reservations about it and the idea of Harry entering and orgasming into another woman was a terrible thing to consider. But it was best for the kingdom and after another meeting with the advisors and the king and queen, reassurances were made about the way the events would go about, all making Gertrude feel slightly better.

Documents were signed by all parties. The king, the queen, Harry and Gertrude needing to sign NDAs and other confidentiality files were signed and added to the stack.

Harry and Y/n signed them as well, but their documents also included clauses on what their behavior would like behind doors with one another. No romance was to be involved whatsoever, and it was mostly a series of I promises… with Harry initialing and Y/n initialing next to Harry’s.

Things they weren’t allowed to do included kissing, fingers touching genitals or any other part of the body (breasts, neck, torso, bottom, etc.), no mouths to genitals, and no switching of positions was allowed.

Harry was to be on top, lubrication would be used so he could enter Y/n and then he was to orgasm inside of her. Y/n would not be allowed to orgasm (because that would mean she was aroused and there was no reason for Y/n to be aroused for the procedure as they called it). It was rather cut and dry.

At first Gertrude suggested having someone sit in to make sure all rules were followed. She even suggested doing it herself. Gertrude was quite worried about everything. Harry had always been faithful but Y/n was beautiful and he would be getting very close to her and orgasming inside of her. And even though intimacy wasn’t allowed, no one could possibly know what was happening behind doors.

“Princess Gertrude, with all due respect, I need you to understand how this affects me too. You aren’t the only one needing to deal with this humiliating experience. I’m the one that will be in that room and need to be put through the procedure, not you. I’m a human being and I require some privacy. I won’t allow anyone else to be in the room with Harry and myself. I do not want others seeing me in that state. You must understand, I have no intentions of doing anything outside of the parameters set.”

Y/n wanted it to be clear she wouldn’t be having someone sit in. What a preposterous idea!

Harry agreed, “It doesn’t seem to be very fitting to have my wife watch me doing such a thing, darling. This is hard for us all.”

It was agreed then. Harry and Y/n were set to have their first session in the next fourteen days during Y/n’s peak ovulation. She and Harry would repeat the procedure for 6 days and no one could be in the room with them. There would be one guard outside of the door to stop anyone from entering (either on purpose or accident).

Before everyone parted Y/n requested to speak with Harry in private for a few minutes. She felt the least they could do before they were subjected to the humiliating task would be to have a conversation with one another about the ordeal.

When the room emptied, Y/n stood up and walked around the table to sit next to Harry. She smiled up at him and he watched her as she gently grabbed his hand.

“Thank you, Prince Harry, for agreeing to this. I am most comfortable with having you be the one. I promise I’ll be very professional about everything.” She laughed as she spoke the last part, “But I also want you to be comfortable with me as well. Are you concerned or do you have doubts?”

Harry shook his head, “No, my Queen. No doubts. I’m nervous but I think we’ve got everything set and the rules are clear and I’m happy to abide by them for everyone’s benefit.” His smile was sweet and his eyes were light. Y/n found his handsome features to be just what she’d want her children to have. He was tall and strong, a thick head full of dark curls, as smart as anyone she’d ever met, and even funny when the moment permitted.

“Good. I’m glad hear you’re comfortable with everything. Is there anything more you require that hasn’t been said openly?”

Harry squinted his eyes and knitted his brows together, “I don’t know what else I’d need. I suppose the only thing that I haven’t felt comfortable speaking in front of everyone else is that I do prefer your comfort during the event as much as possible. I hate to think that it needs to be so dry and that I’ll be the only one to, well, you know what I mean… right?”

Y/n chuckled and released Harry’s hand, sitting back into the chair, “I think I understand. But don’t worry, Harry. It won’t reflect on your skills in bed – I know this is just for a task that needs completing. I won’t tell all the girls how you couldn’t make me orgasm.”

Harry sputtered a laugh and looked at Y/n like she was crazy. He wasn’t worried that she’d tell anyone, he was worried that she would get no pleasure from the experience like he would be. He had a need to be good at the things he did and even if this was meant to be a clinical experience, he didn’t want to disappoint.

“I simply want you to feel pleasure as well. Even if it’s not allowed. It seems ridiculous to me that we’d technically be having sex and only I get to have a release. Seems wrong. I’m not saying I want you to want me in that way, but I also feel like I’d be a little more comfortable if somehow I could please you a bit so you could enjoy the experience more. It wouldn’t feel so awful maybe.”

Y/n took the information in. She hadn’t been concerned about her pleasure much at all, only with becoming pregnant. But Harry was. She felt softer toward him than before knowing this. But she was hesitant to take him up on the offer because the parameters were part of the deal for a reason. Pleasure was risky. Especially because she had been left wanting with Edgar since they married. Edgar wasn’t that great of a lover. He was okay. She’d had better and she could do it herself better, which was disappointing, but she’d grown used to Edgar’s lack of enthusiasm in bed. She found that he’d been spoiled by women who had thrown themselves at him for most of his life. He never needed to put in much effort and Y/n suffered because of it.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see how it goes during our first session. I appreciate your concern for me, though. It does make me more comfortable knowing you care.”

Harry did care too. His concern was from a pure place, one of thoughtfulness and kindness. Sure, he was attracted to the young queen but his motivation was for Y/n’s interest, not his.

That evening, the king and queen had subpar sex again. The king fell asleep quickly and the queen found herself in their en-suite bathroom with a vibrator held to her clit and working her dildo into her soft pussy as silently as she could. She sat at the edge of the tub, one hand holding the vibrator and the other thrusting the silicone toy as deeply inside of her as it could go.

For the first time ever, Y/n thought of Harry when she came that night, wondering what he’d be like, what his cock would feel like, how his body would look with his shirt off and what his thighs would look like as he rocked into her. She felt no guilt for it, either, as she wiped herself up and cleaned her toys, wrapping them back up and putting them away.

Why shouldn’t she be allowed to feel pleasure when Harry would surely be feeling it? He had a point. Perhaps there could be some secret concessions made after all.

Chapter 2*

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Tags: @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter @the-gardener-31 @harrysbitchbabe @tenaciousperfectionunknown

[talesfromthebandgeekmafia]

i originally wrote this as a reblog but i decided to make it it’s own post

Let’s talk about the Regency Connotations of Rue calling Hob a gentleman

It is no secret that Captain K.P. Hob is low-born. Any social status that he holds comes from his position as a renowned military hero within his court, and while that status may have elevated him past just another nameless face that people like Squak can get away with turning into a fish for a laugh, it is made very clear to Hob particularly by members of his own court that he is an inferior who’s entire purpose both at The Bloom and in life is to serve as a subordinate tool to the desires of his “betters”, and we can see that Hob has deeply internalized this message! He talks about himself as a “blunt instrument”, a military tool. He is constantly acting on behalf of those other than himself, investigating the Court of Wonder, assisting Gribalba to try and obtain the Crystal Heart rather than seeking it for himself because it is a boon meant for the nobility and it would be deeply improper for someone of his class to take it. It’s not a coincidence that one of the first connections Hob makes is with Binx playing the part of Gwendolyn. Maybe the most anti-class-system character at the table.

And in Hob’s relationship with Rue, after that first moment in the forest Hob was immediately infinitely more willing to believe that Rue had been so affronted by the idea of affection coming from someone like him to the point that it made them cry and send their assistant to challenge him to a duel in satisfaction of the offense rather than that they had been going through something unrelated to him, or even GOD FORBID had actually appreciated his attentions and was just flustered! It’s only been in the last two episodes that Hob had even dared consider Rue as a potential ally, much less the possibility of them being equally as in love with him as he is with them! Which is why Rue’s wording in this scene is absolutely pivotal!!!

Rue holds so much status in their position within the Court of Wonder as the Master of Ceremonies. It’s always been a major factor in them and Hob failing to click, and it’s only after Rue begins to let some of their fears around losing that status go and embraces their true self, monstrous and Other, that the two of them are finally able to connect. So this moment when Rue calls Hob a gentleman means everything!! Not only does Rue view Hob as an equal but as someone who unquestionably belongs, and is in fact, exemplary in their social circle, praise which means even more considering that Hob’s “gentlemanly” behaviors are innate to him!! The goblin court did not train him to display the kind of manners and chivalry he does, in fact they actively discourage it! Hob being protective and gentle and polite has made him feel like an outsider his entire life and now he knows that fucking Delosso De La Rue not only considers him a peer but LIKES him because of those qualities, the best things about himself that no one else has recognized, not even him. Rue just tore down the last wall between them built by their stations and it is HUGE for the future of Battlemaster of Ceremonies.

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part seven)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you're ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 7.1k notes: sorry for the late update!! but this is a big one (: it's time for the tourney folks!

The tourney grounds are alive with the sound of horses braying and people laughing and cheering. Squires run around, carrying swords, shields, and armor as they rush to find their masters somewhere in the crowd. Other members of the royal court mill around, speaking cheerfully to the knights representing their families or eying up the ones that aren’t. It’s loud and joyous, making the Red Keep look more alive than you had ever seen in all the years you had lived there.

It’s headache-inducing.

Your cousins had woken you up far earlier than you were used to in their excitement to get ready and even your grumpy countenance could not quell their anticipation. A part of you had wanted to point out that they had been to tourneys before, fairly recently, as your father had thrown one at Casterly Rock after Loren’s birth to celebrate the arrival of his heir, but, even in your annoyance, you knew that would have been an unfair thing to say.

After all, there’s nothing quite like a royal tourney.

Upon arrival at the tournament grounds, your family had scattered, leaving you with Uncle Tyland and a handful of red cloaks to serve as guards. It was a bit unnerving to have soldiers following your every move - you were so used to walking through the Red Keep completely unencumbered - but you weren’t in the Red Keep. In a clear move to garner support among the smallfolk, Queen Alicent (or Otto Hightower - you weren’t entirely sure of who had had the final say) had opened up the tourney for all of King’s Landing to watch. While there were clear dividers between the nobles and the smallfolk, your father hadn’t had wanted there to even be a hint of foul play and had assigned some of his red cloaks to serve as guards - at least, until you joined up with Helaena in the royal box.

It had been a thoughtful enough gesture but it had made you wonder if there was something in particular that Jason was concerned with. Perhaps you had become complacent in King’s Landing, too used to the relative physical safety of the Red Keep to consider it could ever turn on you. Your years here had been peaceful but Driftmark had proven to you that situations could just as easily turn before you could blink or react. The relative calm of the Red Keep would not hold - you knew this just as surely as you knew that the sun would rise tomorrow. Sooner or later, the shaky peace of House Targaryen would break and erupt into fire and blood and you didn’t want to be caught unaware as you had been as a child. You quietly resolve to push your father to leave you and Tyland some of his soldiers when he returns to Casterly Rock. Even if the gold cloaks and the Kingsguard were sworn to protect the people, it wouldn’t harm to have soldiers sworn to you above all others. You’d rather be overly paranoid now than live to regret it in the future. Your father had just been quicker on the uptake than you.

You shake your head, trying to knock yourself out of your musings. Such dark thoughts had no place on the tourney grounds and you look up to try and start a conversation to distract yourself with your uncle only to see him frowning down at you.

“A gold coin for your thoughts, little one?” Tyland asks, emerald eyes scanning you carefully.

“I’d like to think they’re worth a good bit more than that,” you respond quickly, grinning when he laughs. “It’s nothing, uncle. I’m just thinking about… about the future.”

He hums in response, leading you past rows and rows of tents set up for different knights and other would-be tourney participants.

“Weddings tend to trigger that - though I don’t imagine your thoughts are on whether or not your own wedding celebrations will be as grand as this. Playing a game of cyvasse in your head, little one? Trying to see all the pieces out in front of you and which way they can move?”

“I know the pieces I have available,” you reply. “There are some things I can control easily enough. It’s the pieces that I don’t control that have me lost in thought. There are endless possibilities, endless decisions that other people can make. Right now the game is easy enough, the stakes high but not too dangerously so. I move my piece here or move someone else there and no one tries to check me. No one even knows I’m playing. My concern is wondering when it’ll stop being a game and when someone will just tip the board right over.”

“The game doesn’t cease when that happens,” Tyland says, his voice casual and breezy as if he’s talking about the weather and not your own paranoid fears for the future. “The rules change, the stakes rise, and you’re no longer hidden but the game continues. It never stops. You should have never moved to King’s Landing if you did not wish to play.” Despite his words, his tone is soft, gentle, and when you look up, he’s calmly watching you.

If you told him you were scared of the future, of the consequences of being so entangled with the Targaryens, he would ship you back to Casterly Rock without a second thought, any potential matches be damned.

The thought causes a smile to flicker onto your face. “And leave you alone in a pit of dragons?” You tease. “Banish the thought. We’re at a royal wedding, the likes of which haven’t been seen in decades! Let us focus on getting through that first.”

Tyland gives you a moment, as if giving you one final chance to try to leave court politics behind, but your smile never drops. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t leave. As much as the future worries you, leaving Aemond and Helaena behind is such an unthinkable sin that you can’t even fathom doing it.

Eventually, however, your uncle breaks and he starts telling you about the last royal wedding, tactfully ignoring the disaster that was Rhaenyra and Laenor’s. It hasn’t been nearly as grand as this one - the death of Aemma Arryn years prior loomed over the festivities - but it had been a decent enough time if Tyland was to be believed. Of course, he had spent most of the time awkwardly trailing behind Jason and Johanna, then pregnant with Cerelle, but he had still managed to create connections that he would later leverage into being named Master of Ships. All in all, he brags to you, it had been a very successful social event for House Lannister.

You would be expected to accomplish something similar but, in lieu of a position of repute, you would have to claim a powerful husband.

You think of Helaena’s teasing words from the opening feast - Lions will ride dragons someday - and as much as they bring an embarrassing flush to your cheeks, you knew better than to place any heavy weight on them. Helaena’s prophecies, if they could be called that, were nearly nonsensical, more poem than any true look into the future. For all you knew, her words were simply saying that eventually, somewhere in the future, a Lannister would bed a Targaryen with no guarantee of a marriage. You could be a Lannister who beds but does not wed a Targaryen.

It would be foolish to place everything you had into the hope that Helaena was right about you and Aemond. You had to make it happen and one way to do that was to ensure that Victor Florent did not place you into a socially precarious situation by asking you for your favor.

That was where Tygett Lannister would have to assist you.

You hear his laugh before you ever see him though, to be sure, your cousin is difficult to miss. Even among other House Lannister members, most of them more visibly Lannister than you, he stands out. Long before he had reached his age of majority, Tygett had grown to be taller than most adult men, towering over his own father. While he wasn’t as broad in the shoulder as Lord Jason and Tyland, he certainly did not lack in muscle and cut an imposing figure even if you knew that he was not as nearly an intimidating warrior as he looked. He was handsome, as all Lannisters tend to be, and, as you approach his tent with your uncle at your side, you can see he’s gathered a small crowd of admirers around him as he tells jokes and charms them all.

He’s a Lannister, through and through, and when you were a child, you had resented him for that reason precisely. Prior to Loren, Tygett had been the preferred potential husband for Cerelle if no male babe had been born to your parents. Of course, that would only be if your father could wrangle his bannerman into obeying him without needing to make concessions such as a marriage to his female heir, something that was far from being a guarantee. Adulthood had taught you your family would have been right in believing that that would have been the easiest, cleanest solution. Despite not being from Casterly Rock or the main line, a Lannister was a Lannister and Tygett would have been preferable compared to a son of an upstart lord with dreams of supplanting the lions of the Rock. Child you had not seen it like that, however. All you had seen through your immature eyes had been your father’s dream - a son of House Lannister, tall and handsome and strong - just out of his reach and you had hated Tygett for representing the one thing you and your sisters could never be for Jason, no matter how hard you could try: a son.

Time and distance had worn down your ire and now, when Tygett spots you and grins widely at you, you easily smile back.

“Cousin!” He greets you exuberantly, reaching you in a few steps and wrapping a warm arm around you in a quick, affectionate hug. He turns to Tyland and gives a quick bow, never losing his cheerful expression. “Lord Tyland. I thank you for coming to see me before the event begins1”

“I see you already have fans,” Tyland responds, a smile working its way onto his face.

Tygett shakes his head, bashful. “Just friends. They’ve all visited once or twice in Lannisport and wanted to wish me luck before the joust.”

“Speaking of which,” you cut in, clearing your throat. “Have you heard which listing you’re in?” You try to sound calm as if his answer wouldn’t dictate your mood for the rest of the day, but judging from your uncle’s suppressed snort, you’ve failed at that.

Your cousin grins, not minding how you leap into business first. “First. I’ll be facing a Stokeworth household knight. I’ll be counting on your favor to tip the odds for me.”

You sigh in relief, readily nodding your assent at Tygett. As an unmarried man with no acceptable noblewoman to charm, tradition dictated that he ask you, the highest-ranking lady of his house at the event, to gift him your favor. If he asked any other lady from any other house, it would be a loud and clear message to the court that he was interested in courting her, and a betrothal meeting would be sure to follow afterward, if only because it was simply what was done. By asking you, however, he could hold off the marriage discussions and declare himself as an uninterested party even if you technically were an available choice to him.

It solved both of your problems neatly enough and it prevented you from having to awkwardly hand your favor to a man who would mean all the implications it would bring.

“Are you feeling confident?” You ask him and your cousin laughs, loud and booming.

“I’ll make it a few rounds,” he says without a hint of embarrassment or disappointment. It doesn’t bother him at all to admit his fault. If not for Loren, he would have been loved as Lord Lannister. “I won’t shame you, cousin, though I’m afraid that I won’t be able to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty unless several notable knights happen to trip getting on their horse.”

You smile wryly. “You’re terribly lucky. Perhaps they will.”

“I’ll put money on you regardless,” Tyland says as he claps Tygett on the shoulder, giving his nephew a firm shake.

Your cousin immediately shakes his head. “I thank you for that vote of confidence but save your coin for the archery event. I’ll win a prize for myself there and, hopefully, bring you a greater return.”

Your uncle smirks. “We’re Lannisters, Tygett. I can afford to lose some coin on you. But if you insist, any tips on who is best to bet on during the joust then?”

“Lord Tarly’s brother is a surefire bet. Same with Ser Edwyn Sand from House Dayne in Dorne. I heard he’s been promising in past tourneys.”

You blink at that. “Dorne sent knights? Has the Lord Hand made progress toward negotiating unification?”

Tyland laughs out loud. “Unlikely. House Dayne has always been closer to Westeros than the rest of the region, however. They trade often with Oldtown and Lannisport even if they refuse to break away from the Martells to formally join with the Iron Throne.”

You hum in response, mind whirring even as Tygett begins to list off other potential champions (alarmingly, Victor’s name comes up and you manage not to react). Ever since Dorne had managed to shoot Queen Rhaenys out of the sky and survive the rage that Aegon and Visenya had rained upon them after, relations with the region had been tense, to say the least. House Targaryen’s official stance was that the dragons had conquered the desert lands to the South and that Dorne was one of the Seven Kingdoms, a position that Dorne firmly rebuked.

Years before you were born, there had been a chance to unify the continent finally. Just before his dismissal in favor of Lyonel Strong, Otto Hightower had very nearly brokered a betrothal pact between Rhaenyra and the Prince of Dorne but dreams of that had been squashed when Rhaenyra had been ushered into a marriage with Laenor Velaryon to soothe Lord Corlys’ wounded ego and quiet the rumors surrounding her maidenhead. It had been enough of a scandal that you can remember hearing whispers about it even as a child; about how Rhaenyra had rebuked several suitors - including Tyland - and how it had seemed that she had planned to go unwed until her father and House Velaryon had forced her hand. House Lannister had been soothed by Tyland gaining the position of Master of Ships but there had been no consolation prize for Dorne. The kingdom had not taken the insult well and negotiations had reverted back to their icy standoff, slightly worse off than it had been before.

House Dayne sending a knight, even if he was a bastard, was promising, however. It opened doors where there otherwise would be none and you silently note to yourself to try and speak to Ser Edwyn and his retinue when you had the chance or encourage Tyland or Tygett to do so in your place.

A herald shouts that the opening presentation is due to commence shortly and you reach out to grasp Tygett’s arm.

“May the Warrior grant you strength, cousin,” you solemnly tell him, your lips quirking up in a smile when he bows deeply in response.

“And may the Maid grant you luck,” he replies, bright eyes knowing, and your smile grows.

——————————–

The actual tourney grounds are a marvel and you feel like the childish little girl you once were as you climb the steps to reach the royal box, high above the rest of the stands. At Alicent’s direction, the grounds are decorated with black and red Targaryen banners, the blazing green beacon of Hightower cutting into the otherwise dark color scheme. Most of the nobles are already sitting and in the distance, you can see a massive crowd of smallfolk, gathering where they can so they can catch a glimpse of the heraldry.

The royal box itself is already buzzing with activity, House Velaryon and House Hightower making up the bulk of the occupants. Your uncle leaves your side to join up with the other members of the small council and, after a moment, you step forward, moving towards the seats Helaena had told you yesterday were to be yours and hers. In the very front of the box, in front of the Lord Hand and Queen Alicent, there’s a row of empty seats, solely occupied by Aemond.

Even without seeing his face, you can already imagine his bored expression and when you drop into the seat next to him and he turns to face you, you exaggerate a scowl. “Is the tourney not to your liking, my prince? I can force everyone to do something more worthwhile such as reading philosophy if it pleases you.”

He rolls his eyes and your expression quickly clears into a grin. “I can’t imagine even you being able to pull that off but it would, in fact, please me greatly if you’d somehow work out a way for me to leave this complete farce. There’s a pile of proposals for the city’s budget that I need to summarize before the week’s up that I need to get to.”

“Lord Otto will understand if you’re a tad behind,” you say, jerking your head in his grandfather’s general direction. “Besides, it’s important that the smallfolk see you and the rest of your siblings here. They’d like to think that they know their royals and, by being here, you show that you care about them.”

Aemond shoots you a disgruntled look without any heat behind it. “The proposals are for their benefit. They include building more orphanages and bettering the sewage system.”

You smile. “That’s all well and helpful but, just as important as that, is public appearance. There’s a reason the smallfolk sing songs about Good Queen Alysanne’s women’s courts and not about King Jaehaerys constructing the Kingsroad.”

He hums in acknowledgment and you know he understands you even if he’s unlikely to admit it. He’s never liked tourneys and it’ll be even more years yet before I get him to admit they can be useful.

“Will Helaena and Prince Aegon be joining soon?” You ask after you give the box a quick scan to make sure they’re not hiding amongst their family. You even give the Velaryons a cursory glance to be certain but, aside from Princess Rhaenys and Baela, you don’t recognize any of them.

Aemond smirks. “You’ll know when they arrive. You’re not the only one who is preaching the importance of appearances.”

You open your mouth, ready to ask him what he meant, when the roar of a dragon cuts you off and you jump in your seat, hand flying out to grip Aemond’s arm in shock. A hush falls over the tourney and there’s another earth-shaking roar that rattles you down to your bones. Your grip tightens on Aemond and, after a beat, you feel one of his hands come up to grip your own, pulling it off of his arm and instead holding it tightly, intertwining his fingers with your own.

You don’t even turn to look at him, however, too stunned by the sight of two dragons descending onto the tourney grounds, covering the stands in shadow even as the creatures themselves glimmer in the sun. Dreamfyre’s blue scales shine brightly, glittering like the Sunset Sea, but it’s Sunfyre who you can’t drag your eyes away from. You’ve seen Aegon’s dragon before, off in the distance, but this alarmingly close, you suddenly realize why Aegon was so prone to bragging about the beauty of his mount.

Sunfyre glitters like gold, almost blinding in the light, and, from the gasps and exclamations coming from the crowd, you know you’re not the only one who’s noticed. From the curve of his neck to the pink membrane beneath his wings, Aegon’s dragon is more a work of art than a creature that could easily burn entire cities to the ground.

The two massive beasts land, somehow neatly avoiding crushing the fences set up for the jousting, their wings flapping to steady themselves while sending out a massive gust of wind to the rest of the onlookers.

As you stare, marveling, you’re suddenly struck with the memory of seeing Aemond fly with his siblings, of Vhagar dwarfing Sunfyre and Dreamfyre, and your mouth drops as you imagine his dragon being the one to have to land on the tourney.

She’d crush us all under her size you realize with wonder and you finally rip your eyes away from the sight in front of you to tell Aemond that exact thought when you meet his eye already watching you.

His gaze is fond, warm even, and it softens his face in a way you haven’t seen in years, so markedly different from the careful mask he wore around the court. His mouth is curved up in a tiny smile and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of his hand holding yours. The palm of his hand is rough, worn down by calluses formed from years of swordplay, but it’s warm around your own soft skin.

Your mouth dry all of a sudden, you lick your lips and his gaze drops and something in you clenches at the sight of him staring at your mouth so unabashedly.

For a moment, you’re not sitting in the royal box at a tourney, visible to hundreds if not thousands, the most important members of the court all sitting behind your back. You’re sitting in the library and it’s just you and Aemond - the way it has been meant to be.

His eye finally flits back up to meet your’s and the look in his eye makes your breath hitch.

More than an alliance, more than what it will bring to your family, you want him. You’ve always wanted him just for him.

The mad desire to tell him just that almost takes over but before you can do something as foolish as professing your love in front of the royal court, the crowd roars in approval and you’re knocked out of your revelry, looking over in time to see Sunfyre and Dreamfyre take to the skies again, leaving Aegon and Helaena standing hand in hand in the middle of the jousting field.

From this distance, you can’t see the fear in them, the desire to pull away from each and run to the hills, far far away from this marriage that could choke the two of them to death. Instead, you can only see two beautiful Targaryens, dressed in finery that absolutely gleams in the sunlight, tied together by blood, power, and soon-to-be by marriage.

“They’ll write songs about them,” you realize with a murmur and Aemond squeezes your hand, in acknowledgment and in comfort.

“Songs will help,” he gently reminds you and you jerkily nod, looking back at him as Aegon and Helaena approach the royal box to finally be seated.

After a moment, you find your voice. “I hope the singers will write beautiful ones. Helaena deserves that nicety.”

“And Aegon does not?” Aemond asks, his tone low and teasing, and you laugh.

“I think the songs he wants about himself are rather bawdier in nature,” you reply, cheeks warming when he shoots you a look in response.

After a few more minutes, Aegon and Helaena finally reach the seating area and, as Helaena bolts ahead while Aegon flags down a servant carrying a flagon of wine, you turn to face the chair that the princess will occupy, your hand slipping out of Aemond’s as you do so, his fingertips brushing yours.

You find you miss the warmth, even as Helaena snatches up your other hand immediately, squeezing it tightly as if it was the little bug toy Aegon had gifted her that she carried around in her pockets to fidget with.

“Careful, princess,” you playfully scold, voice low and quiet as Otto Hightower stands to officially announce the beginning of the jousting event. “I’m afraid I plan to still have some use for my hand in the future.”

“Sorry,” Helaena says quickly in response, her tight grip loosening only a fraction. “I was nervous and scared of making a mistake.”

You smile encouragingly. “You did marvelous, Helaena. No mistakes.”

Her eyes dull. “No choice. There will be no choice.”

Your heart seizes in your chest and you curl your hand around her’s protectively.

No choice. No choice.

Her most repeated phrase haunts and mocks you, filling your brain with endless doubts and worries. Biting back the pleads that you know will never bring you answers, you nod your head, turning your attention back to the jousting field. The various knights that will be participating in today’s lists ride in front of the box and you can easily pick out Tygett in front of the procession, a golden lion roaring on his impossibly shiny armor.

“I wonder how long my cousin’s squire slaved away polishing to achieve that gleam,” you wonder out loud.

Helaena giggles nervously. “If he’s anything like Daeron, I doubt he got any sleep. I’m sure even now, Daeron is fretting over some aspect of Lord Ormund’s armor that he thinks he didn’t get to prepare to his highest standard.”

You laugh at that. “I’m sure Prince Daeron is out there pacing a hole in the field from his nerves.”

“Lord Ormund is probably calmer than him right now,” Aemond joins in on your gentle ribbing, nodding at the calm Lord of Hightower as he rides past the royal box to the cheers of his family.

Aegon, having gotten his drink, drops heavily into the seat next to Helaena, somehow avoiding splashing Arbor gold all over him and his sister. “Little prick hardly let anyone in the apartments sleep with the way he was worrying all night as if he’s going to do something more taxing than handing our cousin his lance or fetching him some water.”

Aemond rolls his eyes. “And you were beside yourself at the idea of having to open the tourney with Sunfyre as if you haven’t flown countless times in the past.”

Aegon doesn’t seem at all annoyed with his brother’s barb, instead smiling wide. “Careful, brother,” he nearly sings as he takes a sip from his chalice. “Little Daeron and I weren’t the only ones getting worked up about the joust.”

Helaena shakes her head, shooting her future husband a look. “We were all nervous,” she scolds without any bite.

Her older brother merely shrugs, still looking impossibly pleased. “The worst part of it is over for us. Can’t say the same for everyone else.”

You watch the siblings squabble with interest, always intrigued when the Targaryen children duke it out amongst themselves as if they were normal siblings rather than royal children in line for the throne. Your attention, however, is taken away when the first listing is announced and you sit up straight in your seat at attention.

On the field, Tygett steers his horse, a massive white stallion, to stand in front of the royal box. “Lady Lannister,” your cousin calls, his voice booming even over the roar of the crowd. “I humbly ask for your favor in order to bring our house pride.”

“Is it because of the whole lions bit?” You hear Aegon ask sardonically even as you rise to your feet. You hear Aemond let out a warning hiss and you bite back a grin as you stop by the table that held piles of rings of flowers, easily picking out the one you had half-heartedly made on your journey back to King’s Landing, before heading to the railing.

“May the warrior grant you strength,” you call down to your cousin, echoing your earlier words to him. As a child, you had often imagined this moment: tossing a handsome knight your favor as the court watched, letting them all know that your love was real and true like in the songs. You had thought the first time you got to do it that it would be a romantic moment, one that you would remember for years and years into the future, a beautiful story to tell your grandchildren one day.

You feel nothing as you toss the ring of flowers down to Tygett, only a vague sense of pride when you manage to get looped onto his lance. Your cousin bows his head solemnly before galloping off to get ready for the joust and you turn back to your seat, none the worse for wear.

“Thank the Gods that’s out of the way,” you grumble as you sit down, keeping a careful eye on Tygett’s preparations even though you know he’ll easily unseat the household knight the Stokeworths have sent.

“What?” Aemond asks, similarly watching Tygett with keen eyes. “Does your cousin not set your heart aflame? Make you sing beautiful songs of courtly love?”

You roll your eyes. “If he did, I would have spent more than five minutes on the flower ring. As it were, I tried to offload it on one of my other cousins but everyone was too caught up in making and perfecting their own to make mine as well.”

“Shame poor Ser Victor won’t get to ask,” Aegon calls over to you, grinning as you shoot him a glare. “How will the poor man’s heart ever recover?”

“Hopefully it won’t,” you shoot back. “And I’ll get to enjoy the rest of this week in peace.”

Aegon snickers. “I doubt it. Victor Florent will pledge his undying love to you and then promptly meet a terribly tragic end that the court gossips about for a maximum of two weeks before moving on to the next scandal.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” you say even as you clap for Tygett as he easily unseats the poor Stokeworth knight. “That’d distract from the wedding and I’d never do that to Helaena.”

“I never said you would,” Aegon says, snapping his fingers for a refill, and Helaena coughs into her hand in order to poorly disguise a laugh.

“Enough of that,” Aemond cuts in, voice cold. “Ser Tygett Lannister has already claimed her favor. She doesn’t have another to give.”

His brother laughs gleefully. “But he might win a crown to bestow. Love has a way of making men stronger than they normally are.”

“He is not in love with me, my prince,” you say, keeping your eyes on the field so you don’t turn to snap at Aegon.

“Of course, of course,” the prince responds, his voice light and laughing, and you fight the urge to snatch his wine away.

“At least he’s enjoying himself,” you grumble under your breath to Aemond and he lets out a huff of air.

“He’ll always find his amusements,” he replies, his voice tight and annoyed.

You look over at him so he can see the exasperation clear on your face. “I suppose I should be glad it’s at my expense rather than something unbecoming.”

“Victor Florent’s behavior is unbecoming,” Aemond says in a steely tone. “You’ve expressed your disinterest and yet he continues unperturbed.”

“Some songs would say that’s romantic,” you point out. “I can name you at least five right off the top of my head right now.”

“Life isn’t a song,” he shoots back, ignoring how the crowd cheers as another knight is unhorsed. “Ladies deserve a choice in their husbands. You deserve a choice and you clearly haven’t chosen him.”

You watch as his jaw clenches in anger and, slowly, your hand reaches out to brush the top of his hands, him having curled them into fists on his lap. His hand immediately relaxes and he tilts his head down to look at you, his platinum hair falling over his shoulder in cascades.

“I don’t choose him,” you say, voice low. “And I wouldn’t choose him. I’m polite because he’s popular in the court and if I dismiss him out of hand without another prospect, people will wonder why .”

I keep him around to rile you into doing something you silently add in your head, pleased as his body loosens and his hand turns to capture yours yet again.

You think you could hold his hand forever if you could get away with it.

“And if there is another prospect?” Aemond asks, his voice heavy with intention, and you stare at him, heart pounding in your chest. His thumb slowly rubs the back of your hand. “Will you reject him then?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “I would. He’s the last man whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

“And who is the first?”

You already know the answer.

“My shining lady of Lannister!” Aegon sings and Aemond’s face grows so cold so fast you actually marvel at the speed. “Your knight of the Brightwater rides!”

Reluctantly, you tear your gaze away from Aemond to scowl fiercely at Aegon, uncaring that he outranks you by far as a royal prince and the most probable inheritor of the Iron Throne. You idly wonder if you could get away with smacking him - anyone who has ever met him would probably agree that you had the right of it.

“Does he…” Helaena trails off and you glance at her stunned expression before glancing at the field and your blood runs cold.

Victor Florent is sitting proud as his squire runs around him doing last-minute preparation. His eyes are glued to you and, the moment he realizes your eyes are on him, his face lights up and he raises his arm in greeting and that’s when you spot it.

Tied carefully around his bicep, there is a red and gold handkerchief, the colors the exact same as the dress you are wearing. You, and the rest of the court, can tell without seeing that there is a golden lion stitched onto it.

A favor.

A favor you didn’t give but was made to seem as if you did.

Already, you can feel curious eyes on your back, can hear the gossipy whispers, and you suddenly wish you were actually the lioness that your mother liked to call you. If you were, you could leap from the royal box onto the ground and tear out Victor Florent’s throat if only to watch him realize that you weren’t the demure lady of his dreams.

“He has bravery,” Helaena whispers. “And that is all he will have.”

You’re too livid to register her tone, too furious to say anything other than an incoherent hiss of anger. You can only grip Aemond’s hand tighter and pray that the Tyrell knight he is facing will unseat him.

Except the knight doesn’t. None of the knights do and you watch with mounting fear as Victor rises in the ranks, unseating knight after knight until only three stand between him and the crown.

You want to be sick.

“He knew I would never give him my favor,” you finally say after your cousin is unseated to Lord Roland Tarly, the brother of the lord so desperately in love with your sister Tyshara. “So he fakes a personal favor from me so the court will whisper about a courting that doesn’t exist. He wishes to force my father’s hand.”

“He doesn’t have respect,” Aemond’s voice is dangerously still and you tear your eyes away from the next competitors’ preparation to look at him. His face is a mask, a far cry from the gentleness he had shown earlier, and wiped completely clear of any emotion. “He’s a fool.”

You don’t bother to watch the joust anymore, keeping your gaze on him. “He’s a bold fool,” you finally reply. “That’s more dangerous than a fool.”

“He’s a fool nonetheless,” his eye gleams and you don’t have anything to say in response, only squeezing his hand.

Since Victor Florent had ridden out onto the field, Aemond has not let go of your hand and you wonder if anyone has noticed. Your seats are close enough that it’s not automatically visible that your hands are intertwined, that he refuses to let go and you refuse to do the same. You wonder what the court will think.

You glance over your shoulder, to see if anyone is watching, and meet Queen Alicent’s eyes.

She at least sees.

You only meet her gaze for a few scant seconds before she looks back at the field but you had recognized the look in her eyes.

Fear.

But of what?

Ser Edwyn Sand unseats Lord Ormund Hightower and you don’t even have it in you to feel pity for poor Daeron because your heart immediately begins to pound loudly in your chest.

The next match is the final.

Ser Edwyn Sand vs Ser Victor Florent.

“If he wins,” you murmur under your breath. “I’m petitioning the crown to allow Dorne to live undisturbed in perpetuity.”

“If he wins,” Aegon calls over, his tone oddly contrite for once. “I’ll let you.”

With bated breath, you watch as the two knights ready themselves. Victor’s face is solemn but, just before he puts on his helmet, he shoots a glance at the royal box, staring for just a moment.

Before he raises his arm and kisses the handkerchief, grinning all the while.

Your blood boils and Aemond’s grip on your hand grows tighter.

For a moment, all stands still as Edwyn and Victor stare each other down.

Then the horn blows and they shoot off toward each other, their horses almost impossibly fast. The crowd screams in excitement.

The first pass is a miss and, as they turn quickly to face the other, you pray to the Seven that Victor’s horse will crumble beneath him, that his lance will shoot off to the side while Edwyn’s will strike true.

But the second pass is a miss too.

The crowd jeers and begs for a hit while you pray for a draw at the bare minimum.

Do not give Victor Florent that crown. Please. Please. Please.

This was the piece you couldn’t control. The move you couldn’t predict.

The horn blows once more and the two knights race towards each other again and, for a moment, you think Edwyn has done it.

But then there’s a loud crack! and Edwyn falls to the ground, showered by the wooden splinters of Victor’s lance as it shatters against his armor, knocking him down.

The crowd explodes into incomprehensible screams, so loud that you can feel your ears pop, while the royal box cheers, but you, and the rest of the front row, sit in stunned silence.

Aemond’s grip on your hand has grown so tight that it hurts but you can’t find it in you to shake him off, to tell him to let go, not when you want to keep yourself tethered to him.

You can’t reject the crown. You can’t.

In centuries of tradition, the Queen of Love and Beauty has never been able to reject the title. Even when the Queen in question is married to another, she has always been made to accept it and weather the storm that follows.

There is no choice. None you can make.

Victor Florent has laid out the perfect trap and you will be forced to step right into it.

You watch, your blood pumping in your ears, as Otto Hightower rises to his feet. On the tourney grounds, a squire runs out to Victor, carrying a pillow with a crown of blood-red roses placed on it.

You don’t even have it in you to laugh at the irony.

“Congratulations to Ser Victor Florent for unhorsing all of his opponents and winning the tourney,” Otto pauses to allow the crowd to roar their approval. “Alongside the pot of gold, you have won the crown for the jousting event. Who shall you crown your Queen of Love and Beauty?”

The crowd screams and screams and Victor beams happily up at the royal box.

For a moment, you manage to delude yourself that he’ll call his good-sister’s name or even Helaena’s. It’s her wedding. It’s only right to honor her like this.

It won’t be you. It won’t be you.

“I humbly ask my lady love, the beautiful Lady of Lannister, to accept my crown,” he declares, voice loud and firm, and you want to snarl at him, you want to rage, you want to scream.

I’m not yours. I’m not yours. I’m not yours.

But you can’t do any of that.

You can only rise in muted anger, the rest of the court rising with you so they can get a better look at your crowning. Aemond holds your hand, firm and unyielding, and he only lets go at the very last moment, arm outstretched to do so.

You know the court saw that but you can’t even find it within you to care about the gossip and the scandal that will follow.

All you can think is that you want to cave in Victor’s chest for putting you into this position, maneuvering his way into appearing to all the world as your only choice in marriage.

Just like the songs, you walk down the steps of the royal box and out to the field where Victor is waiting, the crowd screaming all around you. Just like the songs, you bow your head as Victor places the crown of roses on your head and allow him to grab your hand to press a sweaty kiss on the back of it.

Your hand still in his, you turn to face the royal box, keeping your face perfectly still as you look up at them, not smiling or blushing like you know they expect you to.

You look up and you see Aemond.

He’s not watching you. His eye is on Victor. While the court claps and cheers around him, he stands stock still. Even from here, you can see the hungry and vicious gleam in his eye as he stares down at Victor.

You’ve only ever seen it once before; when King Viserys had thrown him away on Driftmark, when Aemond had been aching for blood and retribution.

In this moment, you realize that he is all the worst things people say about him. He’s cruel and he’s vicious and he will tear out Victor’s throat for this. The look on his face is cold and frightening and next to you, you can feel the exact moment Victor notices, when his overeager waving slows as he realizes that he’s drawn the ire of a dragon.

In the distance, you hear Vhagar roar, loud and distinctive even over the crowd’s cheers, and finally, you allow yourself to smile, a thrill running down your spine.

[secretsofblackthornhall]

Kieran to General Winter

General Winter,

Three sunsets. I told you, I have three sunsets. I will be back in just that amount of time. It is not a very long amount of time. And yet you have written to me, spent your valuable time and mine because you could not wait three sunsets to know whether I prefer velvet in midnight blue or one in more of an eggplant, I believe was your phrase.

Forgive me my temper. I am not really angry with you. I am only somewhat out of sorts this morning, after a night of merriment and whimsy on the streets of London-Town, along with my Nephilim friends. Now, obviously any faerie revel contains such dark delights as mortals can only dream, and so on. But after the previous night I must concede a grudging respect for the reveling capacities of an unexpected group: London businessmen of late middle-age. In our journeys we encountered what is known here as a “Retirement Party,” a kind of movable feast in which these businessmen traverse the city in celebration of a chosen one. In this case I knew him only as “Kraig.”

We met his Party thrice last night! The first time, at the Tongue & Grapes, we shared only a mutual acknowledgement of fellow celebrants passing in the night. The second time, at the Inn of the Shaved Werewolf, there were mutual roars of recognition from both parties, and a ceremonial exchange of beverages, as is custom. And the third time, at the Pigeon & Spoon, we were welcomed and—a great honor—inducted as honorary members of the Party, whereupon we were bestowed with festive hats and jersey-cotton smocks proclaiming the majesty of the great Kraig.

So you will understand if I am shorter of patience than I would like, this day, for I have a vile headache engendered by too much of what mortals call “shandy”, a repellent beverage with a kick like an angry kelpie. It quite left my darling Cristina asleep on a rather sticky table at the Pigeon and Spoon; Mark and I had to carry her back to the Institute. She is awake now, of course, and demanding coffee with rather more force than usual. Given that my time is short, I shall endeavor to answer your queries as well as I can.

I like the midnight blue, for the throne room. I think it sets off the creeping vines well, and also I think that you were hinting you prefer it as well. Next, I am in general agreement that the overall aesthetic of the throne rooms should move in the direction of an opulent Gothic feel, rather than its previous occupant’s preferred mood of “blasted hellscape.” Let us remind our Court that we are the Moon, as the Seelie Court is the Sun; rather than that they are Beauty, and we Tackiness.

However, I disagree about the skulls. I think they should remain. Skulls are perfectly appropriate in an opulent Gothic setting. In fact, I am hard-pressed to think of a style in which skulls would not be an improving presence. If such a style exists, it would definitely not be a good choice for the throne rooms of the Unseelie Lord, let us at least agree upon that.

Lastly, I am disturbed to hear that the Seelie Court continues to rebuff my requests for a summit of peace. You were right when you noted your suspicions earlier; they have become more secretive in this past year, even for them. We will see if our scouts manage to learn anything, although in my experience our scouts mostly seem to fall into forbidden romances with Seelie scouts and then they run off together; we lose something like four out of five that way. I suppose what I am saying is that I am not exactly holding my breath. (A charming human expression, is that not?)

You do not need to suggest to me that I contact Adaon; he is my own brother and I speak with him often. Whenever I bring up the possibility of a united court, or a meeting between myself and the Seelie Queen, he says the same thing: now is not the time for a summit that might lead to discord — now is the time to preserve the fragile peace between the two courts by leaving well enough alone. He has the Queen’s ear, so I must trust he knows what I do not. Still, you know it is not in my nature to do nothing and call it progress.

Speaking of that fragile peace, I must inquire—have your redcaps learned any more about the strange presence that has been noted in Faerie, and whether it is beneficial or antagonistic to our interests? I feel it through my connection to the Land — I am woken sometimes, feeling that presence I cannot define, knowing it is both of Faerie and not of it, and that the Land itself is afraid.

Enough of that. I trust that you can manage to keep the Court in working order for the thirty-six remaining hours I will be gone. If more color selection is necessary before my return, I trust you to go with your instincts, which have always served you well.

Until then I have the honor to remain Your Eternal Sovereign, Master of the Hob and the Domovoi, Breaker of the Broken Lands, Crown Under the Hill, Dark Star of the Evening, Friend of Kraig, and King of the Unseelie Court —

Kieran