#from jousting and fighting

[whimsicallywiddershins]

You can really tell when fantasy book art started to go downhill when people started bringing computers into it. I really miss the days of gorgeous, highly detailed hand-drawn cover art. When did stock images and barely detailed photos become mainstream for book art?

[kingkatsuki]

More fic ideas that I have absolutely no intention of writing.

Knight Bakugou who’s positioned to guard you. The King wants the best to protect his Princess, and Bakugou is the best. Besides, it’s not like the man had a choice, he doesn’t want to lose his job— or his life.

You hate to admit that Bakugou is good at his job, much better than the men that had tried to guard you before. Making it difficult for you to sneak out into the gardens in the evening to watch the stars, or to sneak into town for the weekend festivities.

You should hate him for ruining the routine you’d managed to work yourself into over the years, for stealing away the freedom that you’d rewarded yourself when no one else would offer you the same luxury. But somehow you can’t force yourself to dislike him, there’s something behind his cold and brash personality that has you inquisitive to find out more. Enjoying trying your best to rile him up or push his buttons— spilling your evening tea over his pristine boots, or dropping your towel in front of him when you prepare for your evening bath.

Knight Bakugou knows exactly what you’re trying to do, and he’s determined he won’t fall for your tricks— which is why he’s just as surprised as you are when he finds himself outside with you past curfew in the castle grounds watching the stars. But instead of staring up at the gorgeous night sky, he finds himself turning his head to the side to see how the moonlight glows against your skin. It’s just another thing that has now woven its way into your daily routine together, and as he walks you back to your quarters each night you like to fool yourself that it’s because he wants to, not because his life depends on it.

It isn’t long before the King begins to bring in suitors from neighbouring towns to vie for your hand in marriage. None of which are out of love, but a necessity to strengthen alliances between armies. Which is why it doesn’t matter if you even like any of them, because the choice won’t be yours. The men are scheduled to fight for your hand, and as you sit and wait for them to joust you notice Bakugou clad in full metal armour across the field.

The King positioned him as his strongest guard— because he is.

A man worthy enough to beat his strongest soldier is a man worthy enough to take his daughters hand in marriage. And yet as you watch every man come head to head with Bakugou he beats every single one.

And you think Bakugou has just beat these men because he wants to show how strong and powerful he is, but secretly it’s because he’s so in love with you.

You can’t tell whether your father is proud or annoyed at the fact, especially when Bakugou knocks the son, young Midoriya, off his horse. The man that you believed the King wanted to you marry, the most suitable alliance available.

It’s a few weeks later when Bakugou is sent away on a mission by the King. The head of an army sent out to pillage a neighbouring village who threaten to compromise the power of you’ve forged.

The morning he’s scheduled to leave is the first time he lets you kiss him, he lets you get that close. As though he’s wondering whether he’ll even return home himself. Standing in his quarters in the lower part of the castle, clad in your pyjamas and your feet freezing against the cold stone as he cradles you in his arms. Pouring every ounce of emotion into the kiss as he finally allows himself to have you, even if just for a few selfish moments. Bakugou reckons it’s worth the risk of dying, to feel your lips on his again. A fellow guard, Kirishima catches you both as he takes Bakugou away from you— watching them ride off on horseback as you still feel the warmth of him surrounding you.

You stay awake each night wondering whether he’s even still alive too— whether you’ll ever see him again. The new guards are just as useless as before and you find yourself longing for his safe return.

It’s two months before your father has another man lined up as a potential suitor. Wondering who might fight for your honour now that Bakugou is gone, but you’re shocked when the King says there’s no need for such friviolity. That the wedding is scheduled, and it’s the right reason to strengthen the Kingdom. It’s not for love, it could never be when your heart belongs to Bakugou.

And even if you told your father about your feelings for his guard, it would be issuing Bakugou his own death sentence if he even managed to make it home at all.

But fate really can be a cruel, fickle thing— and as fate would have it Bakugou returns home the day you’re standing at the altar wearing a pretty wedding dress like you’d dreamed about, while you’re waiting to be betrothed to another man.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #3: Of Apples and Academic Frenemies

Au where Jason and Danny are attending the same college course on mythology and classical literature and they are always getting into debates about the depictions of the characters and the historical context of stories and stuff bc the both have a different exposure to the myths. Like Jason knows literal demigods and Amazons but Danny knows Pandora and the Greek myth related ghosts plus time travel from Clockwork and the infi-map. The debates can get heated at times but the respect each others intellectual takes.

This creates a peculiar situation where everyone in the class thinks they are academic rivals who hate each other (except for the few with their shipping goggles on and sense the homoerotic tension underlying their debates) and are deeply invested in watching them interact like their own personal drama even thought at this point in time they are at best friendly acquaintances and at worst annoying classmates.

Jason rants to his family about his debate partner/rival bc he’s happy to have some who will talk to him ad-nauseam abt this stuff but also bc he wants to complain about how Danny's a “smart but annoying little twink who’s got some real audacity”. And while the batfam is happy that Jason is experiencing some normal life things like an academic frenemy they’d love to stop hearing about this guy's “smug fucking smirk” and the “annoying gleam in his eyes". They are worried that Jason will snap and beat this guy up for being too annoying. Well, except Tim who thinks Jason would rather make out with this guy than debate with him.

One day the course decides to do a big themed party/fundraiser to save up for a class trip to an excavation site of some temple ruins or something. Both of them volunteer for the organizing committee bc of the offered extra credit. This encourages the two of them to start seeing each other more and to hang out outside of their classes so the can work on event planning. Over time they actually become pretty good friends (Danny's presence filters Jason's toxic ecto and cures pit rage due to increased exposure. It was happening anyways as classmates but the close proximity sped up the process) and Jason and Danny develop mutual crushes on each other.

For the event they do, like an Olympic games style format and have people sign up in teams for events a couple of weeks beforehand. Anyone in any sort of classical/mythology related course can join and they opened the event for public spectating. They have a few traditional events like a foot race, long jump and chariot race. But the also have some silly ones like Medusa's Snakes, where they shove their faces into bowls of whipped cream and fish out gummy worms, Pandora's Amphora, where they stick there hands into a box/jar of mystery contents (grapes, slime, a live animal like rats or kittens, a bunch of glitter, soda, etc.) and whoever keeps their hand in the longest wins, and Gladiator Fights, where they try to knock each other into a foam pit with those foam and rubber jousting sticks and the such.

Neither Danny, nor Jason want to participate for fear of their physical/supernatural abilities being discovered so the both get talked into doing the emceeing and commentary for the events. They make a really good duo, snarking and bantering with each other, playing off each other's energy and providing fun commentary to the events. Everyone, including the batfam who came to spectate, is a bit baffled by how well they are getting along bc last they checked these two were rivals of a sort, mildly annoying at best and actively antagonistic at worst. However, they really seem to be enjoying themselves.

The last event of the day is a trivia contest, which they both decide to take part in and let someone else take over the emceeing. The final winning trivia question is "what trope was falsely understood as a marriage proposal or declaration of love by misinformed media, that was actually closer to a ploy of seduction and indication of sexual desire according to Greek texts" and the both ring in at the same time to say "tossing an apple to someone" and an tie for the win. They both go up on stage to receive the prize (idk a gift card or smth) and shake hands before walking away in opposite directions.

Then suddenly Danny calls out to Jason just before he leaves the stage and chucks an apple he seemingly produced out of nowhere at him. The apple has a note with the time and date of a dinner reservation on it and when Jason looks back up at Danny he see the slightly flushed boy tentatively smiling at him.

" What do ya say Jase? Will you go out with me?"

And instead of replying Jason just straight up kisses him in front of everyone. Everyone else is gobsmacked by this whole turn of events except Tim who's cackling his head off, screaming "I FUCKING KNEW IT". When the two of them break apart they grin at each other widely and Jason drags Danny of the stage presumably to go make out somewhere.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Politics: knight!price x princess!reader

You were unusually quiet today.

Price watched you carefully from where he stood just a couple paces from the river bank where you sat. He didn’t get too close to you as he studied you carefully.

You had run off again and unlike all the other times he hadn’t been able to catch you because he had been busy training the other knights.

“If you wanted to run away you should make it harder to find you.” Price had huffed at you as he approached you earlier.

You didn’t say anything for a moment snd that stopped him. You were always quick with your remarks, always quick with firing back something just a venomous but there was nothing.

Perhaps he had gone too far.

“I wanted to be alone.” You said without looking at him, your eyes glued to the water.

“A princess is never alone, your highness.”

“I suppose not.”

Since then neither of you said anything to each other. You sat on the river bank for a long time, your hands perfectly poised in your lap while you watch the current of the river run further down into the nearby forest and into the fields.

Price knew you like the river and the forest when you wanted time to be alone. He suspected you ran out here when you were overwhelmed or when you were upset, so as he watched you he wondered what brought this along.

Trouble with diplomacy? With your studies or with the court? Perhaps you were still mad at him for the joust a couple weeks ago or maybe something truly was going on between you and Lady Katherine.

He wondered and wondered, his eyes never leaving your elegant form. Even as they trailed over your hair and the way your dress hugged your body he wondered: could he fix whatever made you upset?

“The Queen has found me a suitor.” Your voice was somber and his face fell. “In a few months I’ll be wed and will leave for his kingdom.”

A king. You were going to marry a king.

Price gripped the hilt of his sword and his eyes narrowed. Why wasn’t he informed? The Queen’s judgment trumped all but she hadn’t asked him to visit the kingdom and its king first, to understand who the man was and if he was truly suited for you.

For all he knew, the king could be an incompetent leader who would be putting you in danger.

He should be happy. He would be rid of you, he wouldn’t have to constantly run after you while you made his job infinitely harder and he wouldn’t have to constantly be under your scrutiny.

But instead he felt a pit forming in his stomach. Some other knight would become your bodyguard because even as Queen consort you would find time to run off into places alone that you shouldn’t. He didn’t have any faith that they would be able to keep you safe if they needed to.

He’d have to say goodbye to you and though he supposedly hated you he didn’t want to.

Price was your knight and you were his princess. That was the way things were so supposed to be.

But what say did he have in it? He was a knight and though he owned land he was not a noble by birth. He may be the best in all the kingdom and be the most reliable but he was a soldier, not a diplomat.

He had no choice but to watch you be married off, just as you had no choice but to be married.

He couldn’t imagine what was going on in your head. He’s not sure he ever heard you being interested in any of the suitors the Queen had often mentioned, even if you called them handsome and even if they were nice.

He’s not sure why but he knew he would never found out.

Price cleared his throat and swayed on his feet.

“Would you like to stay out here all day then, your highness?” He asked softer, pushing away the mix of emotions inside him.

“I’ll return soon.” You said almost disconnected from the conversation. “I’d like to wait here for a moment longer.”

Price couldn’t stand the distant look in your eyes, the eyes that usually held some twinkle of life within them even when you often looked at him with distain, and hated that for weeks now you had been so upset.

He couldn’t fight your thoughts, he couldn’t strike them with his blade or shoot them with an arrow. He couldn’t intimidate them or command that they leave you alone. He couldn’t help you in any way that mattered, not that you would accept it from him of all people, even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll stay with you.”

A/n: still trying to figure out who fell first and who fell harder (want it to be reader fell first and price fell harder but we’ll see. They don’t know what they’re feeling are yet still)

Tags. @deadbranch @makayla-666

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if I had to continue this story about Knight!Ghost and Presumptuous maiden!reader

She can still feel his breath on her, but the huge body pinning her to the wall ceases to move.

"...What?"

It’s pure shock.

She’s dropped so quickly she has to take support from the stones behind her.

She wouldn’t have to: Simon grabs her by the arm and prevents her from falling forward and back towards that plated chest. His eyes search for hers, and she looks up at the knight who almost raped her – in the corridor of all places like she’s nothing but a common whore. But for the first time ever there’s genuine shock, even fear in his stare. The remnants of lust flicker back alive every now and then, but mostly he looks like she just hurled a powerful curse at him when she told him she’s a virgin.

"I'm sorry,” she tries. “I’ll–I’ll never do it again. I promise."

"Bloody fucking…"

He looks her up and down, the leather straps of his armour wailing from his still heaving chest. She should bolt, now, when Simon has taken a step away from her and is clearly puzzled and confused. But she can’t: those eyes rise to hold her captive again. And now, there’s anger in them.

"You should be whipped."

"For what...?"

Her chest is heaving, too. She never knew how low her voice could get when there's want in the air and in her veins.

"You attacked me, sir. I should have you whipped," she continues like an absolute fool.

"Don't test me, girl," he slurs behind bared teeth. She finally remembers how to shut up.

"Tsk."

Simon nudges his head towards the stairway leading to her quarters. Get out while you can, the gesture says, and she gathers the hem of her heavy woollen dress and flees.

She never believed her miserable begging would stop or sway him. Simon is bound by oath and honour, or then he doesn’t want his master’s wrath upon him. Her worth is between her legs; they both know it. Defiling the king’s daughter could lose him his head.

She climbs the stairs, slips into her room and bolts the door. It should probably be strange that she’s left aching by what just happened. It should make her wake up from her silly dreams, that the only thing stopping this man from raping her is other men, not her feelings and sensibilities.

It should be considered a doom, not fate, that she only wants him more.

…

Simon never participates in the tournaments, but this time, rumour has it that he’s planning to join.

In a distressed hurry, she makes preparations for the great day. There can be no other reason for him to joust other than the wish to win her favour back. His actions speak louder than any words, and just for the sake of that, she has kept her promise. She walks the halls as if the knight called Simon never even existed. She won’t look his way even when he has his back turned on her. She only dreams about him when the moon is full and there are no more candles burning in her lonely room.

But it’s hard.

It’s difficult, and it’s a horrible fate she has to suffer, because now it’s he who can’t keep his eyes off her. Now it’s Simon who has suddenly caught her scent, who is suddenly interested in dangerous, stupid sports such as jousting that could injure or kill a man. But he’s willing to do the thing he apparently hates most – along with the fevered attention of insufferable, flirtatious maidens – because he needs a token of her favour. She’s sure of it: that’s why she embroiders a tiny ‘S’ on her finest, most precious handkerchief.

The tournament day is as beautiful as can be. Her heart is about to rend itself out of her chest when Simon approaches her, riding across the field in his heaviest grey armour. He’s surrendering himself at her mercy, and at the mercy of other people’s ridicule, rumour and gossip by making it known that he thinks himself worthy of her blessing. She wonders if she’s the one being played now: she can’t decipher why he would refuse her one day, then fight to gain her favour the next.

He accepts her silken handkerchief with a blank expression, but his eyes betray the inner turmoil when he sees the embroidery. A plain, simple token would have sufficed – the adorned ‘S’ is a bit too much, it's a clear sign. It’s ten times more clear than her earlier games, ten times more blaring than her vivacious little flirt. She could've embroidered the sentence “If you come up to my room at nightfall, I will let you in,” on it and the meaning would've been just as obvious.

He tucks it under his breastplate and gives her a sideways look that is filled with both distaste and longing. Only Simon can speak entire sentences through his eyes. They say, “You’ve gone too far,” and “If I come out of this alive, you’ll get whipped, or fucked, or both.”

And one thing she never knew about Simon was that he could joust better than anyone. There’s one dead, three wounded and five humiliated by the time Simon is declared the winner of the tournament. Everyone understands now why he never joins these things: he will only rob the fun of other knights by toying with them.

Her chosen one accepts the king’s words and the crowd’s applause with a stern but slightly painful expression. Simon would rather be anywhere but here, but endures being the centre of attention for the rest of the afternoon like a good, patient dog. Then he disappears somewhere, done with being the sudden pet of the people. The next time she sees him is in the morning as she descends the stairs.

“Fawn.”

She flinches from the now familiar dark voice. He’s been waiting for her, and almost prowls forth from the shadows when she’s floating down the steps. There’s a good few feet between them, but she can feel the heat emanating from him. Simon is always blazing like the sun, and he's always tired, downright exhausted, encumbered by pain or something worse.

“Do you always forget your promises so quickly?”

She corrects her posture under his tall shadow; she should’ve known there would be consequences for that handkerchief.

"What crime have I committed now?"

Simon never expects it when she fights back. Long, pale lashes cover the brief bafflement in his eyes, then he reaches for something under his tunic. Her heart skips a beat – he has kept it against his skin, right over his heart, instead of under the plate where he tucked it at the joust.

"This belongs to you," he holds it between them like it’s nothing but a piece of dirty cotton he wants to get rid of. Or then he doesn’t want to stain it with his hands – who knows? This man is so full of contradictions she’s having a hard time getting to the bottom of his soul. She has all the time in the world to study different characters here in the castle, but Simon remains a tightly locked mystery.

"No,” she lifts her chin proudly. “It belongs to you."

His nostrils flare for a moment – a sign of anger or exhilaration; you’d need a powerful witch to tell.

“A knight should return the lady’s favour if he survives the joust,” he mutters, clearly trying to make an effort to speak finely to a fine lady.

“You don’t have to. I made it for you.”

He grunts with frustration, then shoves her gift back inside his tunic. Then he tilts his head. A strange, dark little smile rises on his lips.

"Fawn. Did your father ever beat you?"

It’s only morning, but Simon makes it feel like they’re having this conversation in the cold, damp dungeons. Her heart shudders at the foul words, and yet, she fights to maintain eye contact. She fights both tooth and nail to look straight into the abyss.

"No."

"I can tell."

Insolent bastard, is her first thought at such audacity, but two can play this game, is the second. She takes a slow step forward and rejoices silently when Simon struggles to remain still.

"If I was your wife…" she starts softly, "Would you beat me?"

His nostrils flare again as he looks for a trap where there is none. She’s standing before him without any shields, with no weapons, and he still can’t tell, the poor man.

"I don't beat women," he finally spits. Then he succumbs to the impulse to get away from her, although it looks like he’s struggling to do so, too. He has to wrench himself free, and it gives her more power to rise rooted: to meet his crude manners, the arrogance of a dog.

"You'd never be my wife," is the last thing he says, so quietly that it’s nothing but a mutter; a sullen whisper. The birds have fallen silent, or then she can’t hear them anymore. The golden light that pours from the narrow windows makes it suddenly seem like this morning could last an eternity.

"Why not?" She whispers back.

The moment shatters – her knight escapes like he’s the fragile little fawn now. The clatter of his armour makes it known how much of a hurry he’s in to get away from the golden light... And from her.

[missglaskin]

Yandere Aemond Targaryen with Wife!Darling would include: 

Note: NSFW themes, implied forced marriage/relationship, some spoilers 

It has often been argued that Aemond is a mirror of Daemon. Like his uncle, he’s arrogant, untamed, and reckless. He doesn’t flinch at the sight of violence and does not waiver in his pursuits. Still, there are good qualities found in Aemond; his loyalty. It’s seen in his interactions with his family, in how he supported his brother's claim, and in his eagerness to defend their honor. 

His tendencies didn’t develop at the first meeting. You obviously caught his attention, and he gave you more glances than he should have. Nonetheless, his tendencies developed over time, and the more they did, the stronger his feelings became. In no time at all, you grew uneasy, as an intense eye watched your every move, and when you turned to the source, Aemond wouldn't even try to look away, simply staring back at you. 

Aemond doesn’t bother hiding his interest, quite the contrary. In the course of any event, he would find an opportunity to converse with you, as he was coincidentally seated next to you. He inches so close to you so he can hear you 'clearly'. And you have to calm yourself when feeling his knees and shoulders touching yours. 

The prince has intimated many of your potential suitors. Still, your family found a way. You'll never forget how Aemond knocked your fiance to the ground during the jousting. In your prayers, you hoped your fiance wouldn't be prideful and just surrender, but he continued to fight, holding his sword and, as expected, your fiance lost. As Aemond plunged a sword into his throat; his eye found yours. Adding insult to injury, Aemond then gifted you with a crown of winter roses, naming you as the queen of love and beauty. 

Alicent expresses to Aemond her disapproval of the entire situation. It doesn't help that she thinks you've been encouraging her son's advances, as marrying Aemond will give your house a huge advantage. Alicent's reasoning, however, only enters one ear and exits the other. It’s not until she threatens to send you away that she finally gets a reaction from Aemond. For the first time, Alicent realizes how terrifying her son can be. 

The dragon's blood is pulsing through Aemond. He is a man with a strong sense of possessiveness, so one can imagine how intense his jealousy can manifest. He makes it clear to everyone that you belong to him. To his mother, to your family, and to all the lords in the court. And most of all to you. But the irony of it all is how Aemond denies his jealousy. In admitting so, he’s admitting his insecurities. More so, jealousy means that he doesn’t have you. 

His wild and untamed nature is reflected in his sexual appetite. You elicit his most strenuous and darkest emotions that Aemond has suppressed deep inside. Like any man, he lusted for pretty ladies, but the lust you bring him is potent. Regardless of what others think, he has tamed himself more times than he can count. If he were to have it his way, you’d have already been fucked with a bastard child along the way.

Despite the objections of his family, the prince will undoubtedly get his way, and soon enough, you are married to Aemond Targaryen. The prince's smile throughout the entire ceremony caught the court off guard. The reputation bestowed upon him was not reflected in his actions that day. But Aemond still showed his possessiveness to the court by refusing to let anyone else dance with you. His mother had to give him many warning glances as he couldn't keep his hands off of you and was getting a little risque. 

As a married couple, it gives Aemond the opportunity to be as touchy without having to concern himself with the criticisms of others. His affection fuels the gossip around the court. He lets his desire be known in how your kisses are never brief and how his hand seems to be on your lower back all the time. 

Aemond has no shame in how he gives into his urges. Your servants are expected to knock on your door regardless of the time of day because, as Aemond demonstrated, his hunger knows no bounds. Aemond was repeatedly discovered on his knees with his face between her legs. The two of you are just as loud. Even the most hardened walls aren't strong enough to block out all the noise. Aegon quips that you'd have to give birth to an army if his brother continues to give in to his urges.

As violent and possessive as he’s; Aemond isn’t as bad as other yanderes uhm his brother. He longs for you to cherish him and share his intense feelings. He desires your trust and wants you to see the best in him. And most of all, he wants you to understand his actions. Aemond won't have the wherewithal to harm you, no matter how angry you make him or how harshly you betray him. 

Now and then, Aemond feels the urge to inquire of Alys about her visions for the future regarding the two of you. He has doubts when he considers the potential repercussions of asking her to look into the fire. Aemond understands everyone dies; it is a natural part of life, but he has trouble picturing yours. He is incapable of envisioning a set of circumstances in which you must live without him. Who will look out for you and keep you safe?

You'll have to say goodbye to your family with Aemond, sadly, because as your husband reminds you constantly, you are now a Targaryen. Alicent may not be too fond of you, but she’ll still address you as her ‘daughter’ and occasionally have you for a cup of tea. Helaena is more hospitable; in fact, she comes off as overjoyed and eager. You are also welcomed into the family by Aegon and Daeron, though they are a little more formal and aloof, more so, because they don’t want to trigger Aemond’s jealousy. 

[madame-fear]

“jealous? who, me? impossible” *is actually seething with rage & jealousy* with Aemond

The reader is highborn and is crowded the queen of love and beauty by some knight in a tourney

And aemond could give two fucks about tourney but after this he participates for the next day competition.

(Basically if u could write a smuty encounter between aemond and the reader the night she's crowded the queen of love and beauty the 1st time)

Hope ur having a good day <3

*ೃ༄ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 .ೃ࿐

★ amira speaks! : i hope you enjoy this my dear, and it was what you expected !! Forgive me for my not-profesionally-written smut. — summary : request. — word count : 6.1k

— pairing : aemond targaryen x highborn!princess!reader — genre : smut.

— prompt : 2. “jealous? who, me? impossible” *is actually seething with rage & jealousy*

TW | fingering, jealous sex, slight profanity. Slight oral fixation and choking too, maybe?

A tourney had been hosted by your father for your nameday.

The crowd watching the tournament vigorously cheered, gasping occasionally when one of the jousting knights fighting their opponents were violently thrown against the ground; some nearly getting stomped by their own neighing horses.

Having grown as a close ally of House Targaryen, your House had been invited by House Targaryen to celebrate your nameday in King’s Landing, and even host a tourney in your honour.

Sitting in one of the front rows in the small, secluded square where members of the royal Houses could sit to watch the tournament away from the commoner’s crowd, a vast smile was spread across your lips, nearly showing your teeth. Your eyes twinkled with excitement as you joyfully cheered along the crowd, flinching as well when the knights nearly killed one another — or even brutally jousted and harmed themselves, leaving several crimson spatters of blood spread across the ground.

Your hands were clasped together, attentively gawking with your stare upon every single knight jousting. Prince Aemond, whom had grown close to you during your childhood, sat by your side seemingly unimpressed; his fist rested under his chin, and his other arm was sitting on the arm rail of the wooden chair, tapping it with his fingers. With his one eye, he discreetly adverted his gaze at you occasionally, faintly smiling to himself rather amused at how much you seemed to be enjoying yourself.

That, was the only thing managing to amuse him at all during the tournament. How you stood from your chair keenly cheering for the winning knights, with a spark of delight that vividly shone in your eyes. Though, he was never one to admit such thoughts.

As one of the knights jousting had managed to taken down his opponent, ferouciously throwing the other knight off his — now hysterical from the abruptly violeny movements — horse and into the ground. A brief second of flinching appeared in your facial expressions, out of pity at that poor harmed knight in the ground, being taken away off the jousting grounds. Either way, you had abruptly decided to stand up from your seat, and vigorously clap in excitement along the crowd, cheering for the winning knight.

The One Eyed Prince never bothered in demonstrating that he wasn’t impressed at all during the tournament, contuining to sit down with his usual stoic expression rather than clap along you and the other members of your family, gazing down at the winning knight that sauntered on top of his horse towards the royal square where your Houses sat to watch the tournament, beginning to take his helmet off. The knight had a rather smug grin on his lips. The knight carefully lifted his spear upwards towards the royal space where you all sat.

“May I ask a favour from Princess (y/n)?” he inquired. A little girlish smirk formed at the corner of your lips, as you stood to take hold of a flower crown as some sort of prize for winning. After his words, the knight continued; his grin growing slightly wider. “Or should I say, a favour from the Queen of Love and Beauty?”

Aemond’s fingers abruptly stopped tapping against the armrester of the chair he sat on. His focus felt slightly more down-to-earth the moment he heard the knight refer to you as the Queen of Love and Beauty, making him sit straighter on his chair. Without paying the slightest of mind to Aemond, swooning slightly over the knight, you slided the flower crown down across his spear. A faint rosy tint crept on your cheeks, beginning to smear throughout your entire face.

“May the Seven bless you with luck, Ser.” you muttered, cautiously studying his captivating eyes as the flower crown fell down on his spear. The knight kept his eyes fixed on your own, giving you a single bow down with his head, continuing to pridefully grin to himself. You were a true Westerosi delicacy, and it was no secret that you had most knights and Lords swooning silently over you behind your back; something which Aemond resented entirely.

The Prince bit his inner cheek, holding back a sneer from the same jealousy he felt from knowing how badly most men that met you chased after you, absolutely lovestruck. The words of the knight seemed to fuel said resentment inside of the Prince’s chest, feeling it dreadfully burn like a sizzling dragonfire. It was a very audacious comment, coming from the winning knight. Unconsciously, the bright blue eye of Aemond remained bitterly gawking upon the knight with vehement ire. He never seemed to notice, you had once again sat by his side as soon as the next round of the tournament began. Along the crowd, you kept clapping.

“The Queen of Love and Beauty, I had certainly never heard someone call me in such a way.” you whispered, leaning closer against Aemond’s body enough for only him to hear your statement, craning your head briefly to stare at him. In a way, you felt flattered to be referred to in such an endearing manner, and it seemed that you had never even realised the bitter burden of jealousy overwhelming him with every passing second. And what bothered him the most, was the dazzled look in your eyes the second the knight complimented you with the nickname.

“Hm.” was all he managed to mutter in between his teeth, clenching his jaw. But either way, it didn’t seem to bother you, as your stare had gone back to look at the tourney with zest.

During what was left of the tourney, the Prince used his time to plan on how to prove who you belonged to, and you weren’t going to object against it. Not that he would let you escape from his grip to escape with someone else so easily.

A few hours had passed after the tournament, and after celebrating your nameday with the rest of the members from House Targaryen, and your very own.

Strolling through the halls, your feet guiding you towards the guest chamber you slept in for the night before having to return to your own castle the next day, a quietly exhausted yawn escaped from your lips. It had been a long day, but one held keenly and with great enthusiasm for you to have a delightful nameday. And especially, the way a pretty knight referred to you as “the Queen of Love and Beauty” was something that never failed for a little smile to dance upwards in the corner of your lips whenever you remembered it.

As you approached your chambers, you heard a few hushed steps echoing behind of you in the stillness of the dimly lit halls. But you ignored them, believing it could have simply been a maid or a guard.

“The Queen of Love and Beauty.” were the only words heard behind your back. Your eyebrows furrowed curiously at the sound of a familiar voice, causing you to turn around for once and for all. It was none other than Aemond. The Prince stood firmly in the middle of the hall, with his arms behind his back as usual. “I believe it, to be quite audacious for a knight to so abruptly try to charm away a highborn Princess such as yourself, in that manner.” as he spoke in a rather hushed tone, only for you to hear, he began strolling towards you.

The mere thought of it was enough to gnaw on his soul with a burning jealousy that consummed him. Tilting your head to your side ever so slightly, your eyebrows remained furrowed, and helplessly, a scoff rolled away from your lips. “I don’t believe it to be audacious at all. I found it rather... dreamy, of him to crown me with such title.” oh, it seemed as if your words worked like charm to make his ire towards the knight to increase. The One Eyed Prince would just terminate the life of the knight with a single fire from Vhagar, if he could.

Perhaps it was the awkward silence looming between the two of you as soon as you finished talking, or the tension in the atmosphere, or the seething look on his face as he walked towards you — but you slowly fell into the realisation of why he followed you across the halls, simply to make that statement. A scoff escaped from you, with a grin growing wider.

How could you have been so oblivious? You should have realised his feelings during the tourney, when he will simply hum in response to your comments shortly after the knight complimented you. “Aemond,” you began speaking, as you smirked, walking closer to Aemond as well just like he did. “Don’t tell me... you are jealous?”

Jealous; that word echoed on his head. How he despised to even think about it, but he was, indeed, jealous to know a knight had somehow managed to make you swoon with a mere nickname. It should have been HIM, your childhood best friend and the one that knew you better than you could possibly knew yourself, the one that cherished you deeply, being the one making you swoon like a little girl with a crush. How could you not notice, the way his eyes always lurked around your presence?

“Jealous? Who, me?” he retorted, trying to hide a bit of a manic smirk that mixed between anger, and desperation. “That’s impossible.” he was just like an angry little boy throwing a tantrum on the inside, and failing to keep it hidden. It was adorable, in a way. The same way you had been oblivious to how he felt initially during the tourney, he was oblivious to the way you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. So enigmatically silent, reserved, and intelligent. And despite having adored him your whole life ever since you befriended one another, you could feel yourself enjoying to tease him.

“Oh, please, Aemond. Don’t try to pretend, do you think I’m stupid enough to not reali-”

A small yelp unexpectedly spurred from your lips as you were firmly pushed by the tall Targaryen Prince against the wall. He had you cornered, and his shadow towered your own small presence as he stood in front of you. One of his hands firmly held your waist, as the other one was vigorously wrapped around your neck. It was a tight grip, but not enough to harm you in any possible way. Hurting you was the least of things Aemond could possibly want; he simply had an odd way of expressing his craving for you, especially with the jealousy overwhelming any possible coherent thought.

“You have no idea how much I detest seeing you swoon over any other man, or Lord, or knight. I always have.” the Targaryen Prince began whispering, with his jaw clenching forcibly. “I should be the one making you feel that way. I can’t believe how oblivious you are.” you slightly gulped, his chest being tightly pressed against your own. Your lips were partly open, trying to catch some air, which made his grip soften slightly, but still made you remain against the wall.

“I want you, (y/n). I never wanted anyone else but you, and I don’t want any other man to possibly catch your attention.”

Aemond did feel jealous, and he wanted so badly to rub it in your face in a discreet manner without actually having to use the word “jealousy”. You boldly sneered, finding yourself amused to have him practically suffering at the thought of sharing your attention with another man. Your hands travelled across his chest, turning them into fists and tightly taking hold of his clothing, forcing him to lean closer to you as you tiptoed rather weakly. The One Eyed Prince felt slight confusion at your actions, but allowed you to move as you wished; curiously awaiting to know further what you would do or say next.

“I can’t believe how oblivious you are, either.” you whispered back with a little smirk growing upwards in the corner of your lips, grasping them against his own. “You really can’t see how much I enjoy having you all jealous, and whiny.”

The Prince seemed surprised at your sudden boldness and your confession, but wasn’t complaining at all. Gently, you took his lower lip with your own lips, fluttering your eyes shut. A small crimson tint appeared leisurely on the paleness of his face. Such a moment could only happen in the own fantasies he had every single night, before falling into the hands of a deep slumber. His grip on your waist tightened, feeling the need of dominating you, have you only for himself, craving to taste every inch of your essence.

Softly, he pushed you further against the wall. The hand wrapped around your neck loosened it’s grip, only to teasingly travel towards your chin; his thumb moving upwards to roughly caress your lower lip the brief moment you managed to break apart from each other’s lips. “Skorkydoso kostagon ao sagon nykeā dōna byka mirre? (how can you be such a sweet little thing?)” he crooned, leaning his head down to place his lips on certain sweet spots of your neck. Instinctively, you threw your head back, giving him more carnal access for his own delight.

Gently, yet needily, he began pampering your velvet skin with several teasing pecks. Aemond smiled in between kisses, “If only you had an idea of all the things I wish to do to you.” he muttered, kissing your jawline as the hand on your waist descended, beginning to play with the hem of your dress; it seemed he tried to lift it, being rather discreet with his movements as you were dumbfounded by his kisses and nearly growled words. “And now, you will only belong to me. No one else’s.” a whimper escaped from your lips, accompanied immediatly by a surprised yelp the second you felt the warmth of his hand slip under your dress, travelling more intimately through your trembling leg, guiding it to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers moved rather eagerly, almost screaming desperate, as they began fidgeting on the silky texture of your panties. His thumb ran across your lower lip, tilting his head slightly to one side as he admired every inch of your delicate, beauteous features. You were such a pretty, pretty little woman. The things he would do to, and with you, were too long to possibly list; it was more than he would ever do with anyone else. The Prince had the primitive impulse of establishing his dominance upon you, to see you submissively giving into his touch, and the way he carefully gawked his stare upon you.

A shiver ran through your body as his fingertips moved dreadfully slow around your skin, moving the waistband of your underwear in a notoriously aggressive, needy manner. The adrenaline overwhelmed him, being like a burden on his chest and fogging his coherent thoughts. Aemond had always been rather delicate and gentle around you, treating you like the true Princess you were; but you also awakened an animalistic instinct inside of him, a burning passion that ignited inside of him like dragonfire. Your core throbbed, aching in need of feeling more from him, feeling it leisurely become moist.

In the blink of an eye, using only one of his hands, he forced the panties to drop out of their place, sliding nearly to your knees. A soft whimper timidly escaped from your lips, feeling the cool breeze from the atmosphere beginning to creep under your dress, tenderly hitting against your wetly exposed genitalia. The look on your face was satisfying enough for him, just like he had always fancied to imagine how you would react at his intimate touching. “The Queen of Love and Beauty is such a pretty little whore for my touch, isn’t she?” a small chuckle spurred from his lips, guiding his hand to your inner thigh. Oh, how much he delighted himself attentively staring at your rather reactive face whenever he caressed you near those spots.

His firm touch intensified, teasingly beginning to place his digits on your moist folds. It was a mere, slight contact, not even fully touching you; simply placing his fingertips there. Your breath hitched at his hot contact, fluttering your eyes shut. “A-Aemond, please...” you pleaded, begging to feel, at least, his fingers inside of you. Aemond’s smirk grew wider, enjoying the effect he had a you. The One Eyed Prince knew only he could provoke such reactions from you, and no one else’s. No Lord, no silly little knight trying to impress you - no other. Your pleas impressed him enough to begin stroking your folds, making slow movements downwards, and then going up briefly.

“Please what?” even if took great enjoyment out of teasing you, and having you quivering under his fingertips, he couldn’t deny even himself wished to accelerate the process, dying to be inside of you at this very precise instant. An uncomfortable, growing hardness was felt under his own underwears, being a few seconds away from the bulge to poke out of his pants. Your sweet little begging was enough to turn him on, especially noticing how you could barely even speak properly. “P-Please, don’t tease...” you cried out, mewling hushedly.

A scoff escaped from him. But since he craved it as much as you did, he would do as it pleased (both) of you. Aemond abruptly pushed two of his fingers inside of you, making your lips part briefly, only to allow a scream of pleasure escape from you. Immediatly, using his other hand, he moved his thumb to your lips, trying to avoid getting caught in the middle of the hall by either a guard, or a servant.

The feeling of your moistness wetting his fingers inside your tight cavity felt strangely pleasant. As his thumb forcibly made his way to enter your mouth, in between your teeth merely to enjoy your little whimpers of frustrations — not allowing you to loudly moan, or cry —, his fingers began moving deeper inside your tight little cunt.

“You like this, don’t you?” aemond whispered, smirking to himself provokingly as the two fingers he had stuck inside of you began moving roughly — but not enough to possibly harm you —, causing a slight fleshy sound due to all the dripping slick coming out of you. “You have such a delightful, tight little cunt. It’s both sweet and surprising to know, that a pretty princess such as yourself hasn’t been deflowered just yet.”

Pushing you against the wall as his thumb entered your mouth to caress your tongue, a hushed moan escaped weakly from you. Your legs quivered weakly, especially when he began wiggling his fingers inside of you, feeling as if you were going to melt under his touch anytime. It didn’t take long for the Prince to notice the way your body wobbled from pleasure, as your eyes fluttered shut and your face frowned very, very slightly. “I doubt a knight, or Lord, could make you feel the way I make you feel.”

With each word he whispered, his movements seemed to become rougher. It took him all the patience and effort in the world, to not wildly fuck your moist pussy right there and allow you to scream out loud his name for everyone to know who you truly belonged to. The hardness between his legs was painful, but he preferred to wait until he could properly get himself inside of you, in a better and more private environment.

Thr building up of excitement was not only felt by him, but was particularly felt by you. With every passing second that he shamelessly finger-fucked you, his movements seeming to become more savage the more time passed, a wave of heat overwhelmed your chest on the inside, feeling it tightening you dreadfully. You felt hot, and weak. You needed to feel more of him. Quietly, you moaned his name in a muffled manner as his thumb caressed your tongue grossly, with the Prince enjoying the sight. All he ever wanted, was to have you begging more of him, and the moment finally came.

Some huffs escaped you as you felt a firey sensation building a knot in your stomach, feeling how wetter you became with each finger penetration. “No one will ever make you be this wet, or fuck you the way I will fuck you.” he continued, growling slightly under his breath. Seven Hells, he enjoyed the teasing, but it was even painful for himself to only be able of fingering you at the present moment.

As his fingers became rougher in movement, he suddenly let his thumb out of your mouth, making you yelp. Aemond leaned his head closer to you, reaching your neck, and placing some soft kisses that made you squirm under his lips. What used to be kisses, soon enough turned into gentle nibbling, and then, he dared to bite you. You felt submissive enough to admit that, as painful as the way he bit you on the sensitive spots of your neck was, it simultaneously made you feel even better.

“A-Aemond,” you whimpered quietly. Your moans became greater in sound, echoing through the dimly lit halls. You felt as if you were reaching your orgasm. “Fuck,” as you cursed under your breath, you allowed your head to rest against the wall, giving him more access to bite on your skin. In between bites, he allowed himself to take a peek at how some bruises formed on your precious due to his lovebites.

Parting your lips open, a loud wail of pleasure escaped from you, feeling an electrical sensation running all over your body, giving you goosebumps. Fluttering your eyes shut, you felt a wave of your slick violently coming out from you, running down to his fingers. Having you orgasm under his fingers was going to be one of the Prince’s greatest prides. A quiet groan escaped from his lips, feeling your wetness on his fingers, with your legs furiously quivering from the orgasm.

Soon after you had your very first orgasm, your body rested against the wall, and the Prince rested his body against your very own; both of you panted from the way your breath had sharpened due to the excitement of the moment. It had felt heavenly, and this was just using his very own fingers. You had to admit, you were eager the next time for the next time you would have the chance to privately visit him. All the while, his fingers rested inside of you, as he raised his lips to your earlobe, nibbling on it very gently.

“If you try and fuck somebody else, think of me, Queen of Love and Beauty.” he whispered, only to then place a soft kiss on your cheekbone, and abruptly let his fingers out of your abused pussy. You whimpered, feeling a sudden empty sensation inside of you. The way your pussy throbbed for him painfully ached, looking at him with a desperately needy look in your face.

“Rest well, my love.” aemond spoke again, before you could respond anything, briefly caressing your cheek with the back of his index finger. His eye observed your features carefully before he left, wanting to leave your needy expressions scarred on his mind. “I hear there will be another tourney, so I am certain we will meet in the morrow as my House will want your House to stay a while loger.”

Opening your lips to answer, still panting, the Prince soon turned around and began walking away with his hands behind his back, leaving you alone and without allowing to give him a response. As a man of his word, you would see him again; but this time, you will see him taking part in the tournament. And he very keenly had an idea of who he would be delighted to have as his opponent.

♡ taglist : ♡

@tickle-euphoria @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee @visenya-reigned @maria699669 @hopelesswritergall @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @dragon430 @sweethoneyblossom1 @jamiemydeer @snowprincesa1 @gothy-froggy

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Underrated reason why Lyanna as the KotLT just works is because it follows a pattern of deconstruction re the concept of knightly chivalry and honor, from Lyanna herself to her son 15yrs+ later. Lyanna as the KotLT is a gender-swapped version of the ‘knight rescues a helpless maiden from raucous bullies’ trope, but grrm of course puts his spin on it because one Lyanna is not even a knight to begin with and two, she’s a girl. Then knight!Lyanna fights the bullies which is again an adaptation of another trope: the ‘mysterious knight-errant enters the joust and wins then dips’, which is interesting because these types of knights sometimes fall into the black knight trope. And the black knight is, more often than not, not the hero. But the main reason why this is so interesting is Jon. Lyanna “cosplays” a black knight, but her son Jon later becomes an actual black knight. Jon then repeats his mother’s actions by defending Sam in AGoT, which is another subversion of the aforementioned ‘knight rescues a helpless maiden trope’ because the helpless maiden in this case is a helpless…lad…Though Jon and Lyanna acting as agents outside the bounds of knighthood (Lyanna being a northern woman and Jon being a member of the NW) puts them more in line with the traditional black knight (who is usually an anti-hero/villain), the actual essence of their actions puts them closer to the more valiant and honorable white knight according to tradition.

[ladykailitha]

The Harrington Pattern Part 12

Hey all, this story will wrap up today, so next week it will go back to just one chapter a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays and when Glitters wraps up, Sundays will go back to one a day as well.

A short chapter for the first of two, because this chapter got too long and needed to be cut down a tad and the next part fits better as a whole.

Eddie and Steve finally kiss and just giving Steve the loving crafting circle he needs.

TAG LIST IS CLOSED

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

****

Steve got to see where the cast ate their meals, where some of the cast stayed in large tents (for those that had traveled from out of state but couldn’t afford a hotel), he got to meet the people who sold the food to the tourists, and the people who cleaned up every night.

It was marvelous.

“So was the two events they were trying to schedule at the same time, the joust and your trick riding?” Steve asked after they left the cleaners.

Eddie grinned. “Close, the sword fighting and my trick riding. I told them that I would happily run over those bastards, but I didn’t think the horses would appreciate it.”

“I bet that got them to change their tune,” Steve said with a laugh.

“It sure did, sweetheart,” Eddie murmured.

Suddenly they found themselves utterly alone.

“Steve–” Eddie began, but Steve placed his fingers on his lips.

“Just wait,” he said softly. “There’s something I want to give you first.”

Eddie blinked at him. “You bought me a present?” he asked. Well technically he said, “Ym brut me apresemnt?” since Steve still had his fingers over his mouth.

Steve laughed and dug it out of his pocket. “It’s been on a little journey, one that nearly gave me a heart attack,” he murmured, “but Jeff was able to get it back to me in time.”

He handed the small pouch over to Eddie.

Eddie took it gingerly and rubbed it between his fingers as he looked at the small thing that Steve had made for him. But as small as the item itself was the giving of it, was massive.

“I remembered you telling me that your dice bag broke,” Steve mumbled, “and I really wanted to thank you for all your help this weekend. I don’t think I could of done it without you.”

Eddie looked up at Steve with glossy eyes. “It’s perfect, Stevie.”

“I plan on giving a bunch to Katie for her to sell while I make the bigger pieces,” Steve continued, “and Robin said that I should give the first one to you, because it’s special. And you deserve something really special, Eds. Because you’re special to me and I–”

Whatever else Steve was going to say got swallowed up by Eddie kissing him firmly on the lips.

He had just grabbed Steve by the face and locked their lips together.

Steve was stocked into stillness, but that didn’t last long as he pulled Eddie close to him and deepened the kiss.

Eddie let out a happy sigh as they parted for breath. “Wow, baby. You kiss like it might be your last.”

“Eh...” Steve said with a half shrug and a lopsided smile, “when you’ve faced more then one ends of the world, it very well could be.”

Eddie chuckled, pressing their heads together. “You’ve got me there, big boy.”

“Mhmm,” Steve said softly. “And I’ve got you here, too.” His arms tightened around Eddie’s waist, drawing them flush against each other.

Eddie swatted at him. “Sap.”

Steve kissed him again. “If I’m a sap, then you’re my tree.”

“That was corny even for you, honey,” he murmured, swatting at him at playfully.

Steve just laughed.

****

The end of the Renaissance Fair had come at last. There had been more then a few bumpy moments, but looking out at all the happy faces being lit up by fireworks, Steve was pleased with the results.

And next year was going to be even better, he had plans for helping the kids have quality costumes like Corroded Coffin boys had.

He might still have to do some altering instead of full on sewing all of the costumes, but he was really looking forward to it.

Katie had told him that he had several people offer her crazy money for the pouch he had accidentally dropped, so he promised her a dozen by the end of next week for her next Fair. In different sizes too.

Eddie had been the one to suggest that. Little coin purses, dice bags, and even handbag sized ones. Eddie was even going to help him find the right materials for it, ones that weren’t as expensive as the little dice bag Steve gave him.

Steve was really looking forward to it.

They hadn’t told the kids yet about their change in relationship. Not yet. They wanted to hold onto it for themselves a little longer.

Though, judging from the look that Will and Mike had sent him, Steve was pretty sure most of them had figured it out anyway.

So what started out with longing gazing into each others’ eyes, ended with holding hands under the cover of darkness as fireworks exploded overhead.

Steve had never been happier and he just knew more happiness was coming his way.

****

Steve was proven right when Claudia called him up the next morning.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson,” Steve murmured sleepily.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “did I wake you?”

Steve looked blearily at the clock on the microwave. It was after ten in the morning.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, “I don’t usually sleep this late.”

“While that is certainly true,” Claudia agreed, “you also don’t normally spend three full days at a fair. Too much sun, too much fun, and too little sleep makes for a tired Steve. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Steve blushed. “Thanks, Mrs. Henderson. Was there something you needed?”

“Oh, yes!” she said brightly. “Are you free this afternoon, from around two to four?”

Steve looked over at his calendar and squinted. “Looks like it, unless the nuggets call for rides to wherever.”

Claudia chuckled. “I think they’re going to be just as tired as you and not want to go anywhere today.”

He laughed. “Yeah, probably.”

“So, me and couple of the other moms have a sewing circle every Sunday,” she explained. “And we were all wondering if you wanted to come and join us. We have punch and little treats and spend two hours working on whatever project we have going on while we fill each other in on what’s happening in our lives.”

“You gossip,” Steve accused, teasingly.

She giggled. “Gossip is such tawdry word.”

“Like your every day language wouldn’t make a sailor blush,” Steve said dryly.

“And how would you know that?” she asked, curiosity coloring her tone.

“Ma’am, your son has the worst language I’ve ever seen on a teenager,” Steve said, “and I’m damn sure he didn’t get it from his dad. Even when he was alive.”

Claudia’s giggle turned into a full on laugh. “All right, you’ve got me there, Steve. So you’ll come?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” she cried. “We meet at Joyce’s this week.”

“This week?” Steve asked, already plotting what to bring as a treat and which project he wanted to start.

“Yes,” Claudia explained. “We rotate every week so that one person isn’t stuck hosting every time. And if you come often enough, we’ll have it your place once in a while, as well.”

Steve frowned appreciatively. “Sounds good. I’ll see you later then.”

Claudia squealed in excitement. “I can’t wait. We’re going to teach you how to use a sewing machine!”

That really piqued Steve’s interest. “Oh yeah?”

“It was Karen Wheeler’s idea,” she explained. “Karen doesn’t sew like the rest of us, but she does cross-stitch while we all chat. Apparently Mike was telling her about all the sewing you did for him and his friends and that it was all by hand.”

Steve nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, my parents thought sewing was for girls, so I learned by hand.”

“Make sure to bring some examples of your work,” she said. “I want to blow Olive Peterson’s mind. She’s of the same mind as your parents, even though what she does, the knitting, was originally only for men.”

“I have these pouches I’ve decided to make and sell,” Steve said with a grin, “so I can bring those to work on and bring some of the work I did for the kids to show off.”

“That’s brilliant!” Claudia said. “I see you later!”

Steve said goodbye and hung up.

This just might be the thing he needed.

****

Part 13

Don't quote me on the knitting originally being for men thing, it was something I learned when I read a 12 Dancing Princesses retelling years and years ago. The soldier in the story knitted to keep awake at night.

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @carlyv @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach

@danili666 @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @wonderland-girl143-blog

@justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

@anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

@cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

@useless-nb-bisexual @thespaceantwhowrites @paintgonewrong @mogami13 @beelze-the-bubkiss

@croatoan-like-its-hot @retro-vagabond @sani-86 @pansexuality-activated @y4r3luv

@dauntlessdiva @vampire-eddie-brain-rot @lololol-1234 @nightmareglitter @cryptid-system CLOSED

[jadevine]

Medieval Warhorses, Repost + additions!

Since people loved my "Preindustrial travel times" post so much, I decided to repost my "Realistic warhorses" info separately from the original link, where it was a response to "how to get the feel of realistic combat."

--

The original link is here.

The "Warhorse" post on my blog, plus a recent addition, is here.

And here's the text for people who want to go down my "grown up horse-girl" rabbit hole right away!

Medieval Warhorses:

First of all: DESTRIERS WERE NOT DRAFT HORSES. Horse/military historians are begging people to stop putting their fantasy knights on Shires, Belgians, and other massive, chunky farm-horses! The best known instance of “a knight needs to get lifted onto their 18-hand draft horse” is a SATIRE (A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, if I remember right), but somehow laymen decided to take it seriously.

Hell, I think the film’s historians knew that this was extremely inaccurate and begged the director not to do it.

--

For the purposes of this post, I will not get into the different TYPES OF WARHORSES. That is a hyper-fixation for another day, lol.

—

First problem with “Draft horses as warhorses:”

The bulk of modern-day “breeds” are far too recent for a medieval or medieval-fantasy story. Modern horse “breeds” began around the 1700s-1800s, so that’s in the EXTREMELY late-medieval/early-modern period. Before that, most medieval horses were referred to by “TYPE/PURPOSE” and maybe a “Country/Region.” “Spanish/Iberian horses” (the ancestors of modern-day Andalusians, Carthusians, and Lusitanos) were overwhelmingly popular for combat, and other baroque horses were also esteemed.

Destriers are physically average-height at 15 hands high (about 5 feet tall at the shoulder/withers), but the important part is that they are STACKED at 1200-1300lbs when most 15-hand horses are only 900-1000lbs, so that’s a quarter to a third more weight in muscle.

And remember, muscle will not make a given horse look “chubby!” Good ways to get across a warhorse’s muscles in writing is 1) how ROCK SOLID they are when you touch them, 2) their chiseled shoulders, necks, and butts, and 2) when they get into motion, especially for a fight, their muscles will flex and get REALLY defined. The three regions I mentioned are usually the most visible if they’ve got horse tack or a rider on them.

Think of the difference between “regular horse” and “destrier” as “regular Tom Hardy, who looks fit but normal,” versus “Tom Hardy playing Bane, where he put on thirty pounds and his torso and arms look like a fucking tree-trunk.”

Warhorses had nerves of steel, and the best-trained warhorses used could sprint and turn on a dime–they’ve been called “the sports cars of the medieval world.” This is a far cry from huge, sweet, and lumbering draft horses.

Besides Spanish horses, modern-day candidates for destriers would be European cobs (heavier all-purpose horses, large Welsh cobs are the best-known modern breed), and Foundation Quarter Horses (working/stock horses that can herd cattle and race and actually USE their muscles, not the bloated halter-horses who are mostly bred to look “good” to judges).

—

But if the destrier was supposed to be the horse equivalent of “Tom Hardy as Bane” and not “The Mountain from Game of Thrones,” then how could they carry a knight’s armor as well as their own?

First of all, human combat armor is different from JOUSTING armor and it is easily half the weight for better mobility. Warhorses from proper medieval times aren’t shown wearing much horse-armor, even in jousting. The stuff you see in museums is also frequently the custom-made armor for wealthy nobles, who either 1) wore it once or twice a year for public celebrations, which is also why the armor’s in pristine condition instead of dented and bloody like combat armor would be, or 2) wore it because they were rich enough to not want themselves OR their expensive horses to die too soon in combat.

Assuming that all destriers needed to carry 150lbs for an adult armored man, PLUS another 150lbs of the horse’s riding tack and armor, is like people from the years 2500-3000 assuming that everyone with a “car” must have a Lamborghini or a Ferrari that takes up a lot of maintenance (if you want to keep it looking nice, at least) and can go 200 miles per hour.

So the vast majority of realistic warhorses/destriers didn’t get much if any armor, because 1) horse-armor is for princes and dukes, not Count Whoever’s third son or his nephew that he tossed out on adulthood with barely any money, and 2) horse-armor is going to weigh down your FAST and NIMBLE warhorse. (Remember: Knights wanted sports cars, not tanks!) Take a look at the horses and knights of the website called “Destrier!” Most horses there aren’t notably tall, and they mostly wear head-armor and fancy but not heavy horse-tack like capes, instead of full barding.

Another reason average/short warhorses were preferred is for medieval safety issues: You wanted to mount your horse from the ground without help. The famous knight Jean Le Maingre was so dedicated to fighting that he could VAULT onto his horse in armor, without touching the stirrups. His instructions are, essentially, “put on your armor, find your horse, put your hands on the horse’s back/saddle, and FUCKING JUMP.”

Unless you’re seven feet tall or a gymnast, you’re not jumping onto an 18-hand draft horse.

So all those Red Dead Redemption animations where you get to alley-oop your way onto your loyal steed? POSSIBLE, IF YOU ARE CRAZY/ANGRY ENOUGH.

Quick note: In ancient Ireland, they refer to a “steed-leap” that nobles, warriors, and other “people rich enough to own RIDING horses” were trained to use–with the important distinction that Gaelic nobles often took pride in either using saddles without stirrups, or NOT USING SADDLES TO PUT ANY STIRRUPS ON. So the bulk of Gaelic Irish nobles could theoretically go Red Dead Redemption on your ass.

—

And the third reason most combat-ready warhorses didn’t get armor is because infantry (the vast majority of most medieval armies) just had a low chance of hitting them in the first place.

First of all, most horses are already faster than people. Destriers were EXCEPTIONALLY fast as the cream of the crop. For the horse to need armor, someone needs a good chance of hitting the horse.

Second, most horses are hard to kill physically because horses don’t tend to like getting stabbed or shot at, so they will likely try to kill YOU, which means that a knight and his horse are TWO fighters who are both very angry and very protective of each other. Most people love their horses, and many combatants share intense bonds! IMAGINE IF YOUR HORSE IS ALSO YOUR SQUAD-MATE!

And last of all, most horses are hard to kill mentally because when you want to use cavalry, you ALSO want the other side’s infantry to get consumed by panic and bolt for their lives, away from their companions and AWAY FROM THE CHARGING HORSES. (Which routinely leads to a slaughter, often called a “rout” in period literature, or a “curb-stomp battle” on TV Tropes.) While most knights could dish out one-on-one duels against EACH OTHER, a knight against a foot-soldier is going to have a huge and explicitly unfair advantage if the soldier is not specifically trained and equipped to take them on.

See, when you get a herd of knights on their steeds, the noise and the wave of horseflesh charging at you is going to make your reptile-brain instincts scream “NOPE NOPE NOPE, WE GOTTA GO!!!”

That instinct is so strong that infantry ACTORS in movies–who know that this is not a real war, and the riders don’t actually want to kill them–still routinely break formation and run.

It was possible to stop cavalry with infantry and end up slaughtering them instead of getting routed–it was just extremely notable.

Also, unless you’re specifically going for blood: You don’t WANT to slaughter a whole formation of knights! That means you’ve just pissed away a WHOLE lot of money that the knights represent!

You killed the horses that you could have used for your own side, and possibly bred for more high-end horses! You ruined the armor that you could have used for your own side, or at least melted down for high-quality, already-mined metal! You killed the knights that you could have sweetened up and used for your own side–or more likely, told their families to pay you if they wanted them home intact.

Barely anyone remembers that knights were as good for HOSTAGES as they were for actually fighting. (Except for Game of Thrones, and it’s still only plot-relevant for Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, and they explicitly did NOT get the protection a noble hostage should have.) It’s noted that Agincourt was a GREAT ending for England because capturing all those French nobles earned them TWENTY YEARS’ WORTH of regular income in ransoms. If they hadn’t won and gotten all that sweet, sweet French money, they would have been bankrupted and depopulated instead.

—

Two more strikes I’d feel are appropriate for “not wanting draft-type horses in combat:”

-Logistics 1: Too much food, too much hassle. Horses are already notorious for eating a lot, and a DRAFT horse that’s 2000lbs instead of 1200lbs will eat twice as much. No army wants to use their fodder for only half the number of horses they’d expect.

-Logistics 2: Too much hair, too much hassle. Shires and other British horses often have feathering on their legs, and anyone with long hair knows that loose hair/fur is a fucking PAIN. You can braid a horse’s mane and tail, but if you’re one of the many average/poor knights who DON’T have servants to take care of your horse for you, do you want to spend extra time cleaning and combing out your horse’s LEGS instead of necessary things? Like feeding them, grooming them, and checking for wounds? Nope, you’ll probably shave the feathering off or just pick a horse that doesn’t have it.

-Extra note on Friesian horses, who are RIDICULOUSLY common in “medieval” movies: Friesian horses are technically baroque horses in body form (Strong-boned! Big necks and butts!), but they’re also over-used in general, so most horse folks are sick of seeing them in movies. And if you don’t have the right kind of MODERN Friesian, you’ll probably be a laughingstock in addition to an eye-roll.

Some strains of modern Friesians are from carriage-horse lines, often referred to as “big movers.” This means “fun to LOOK AT, but terrible to RIDE.” Because, you know, those strains of Friesians weren’t meant for riding, but for PULLING CARRIAGES. Their movements are big, dramatic, and flashy… and their trot is notorious for bouncing people out of the saddle with every step. Not something you want for a knight who fills his opponents with terror.

A good riding horse’s movements are usually smooth and low to the ground, often described as “floating” and “effortless.”

—

A horse-note that I can’t figure out where to put: Many Western cultures love the idea of fiery stallions (intact male horses) for their noble knights and kings to ride into battle on, but realistically, stallions are only half of a given horse population. Many Western stallions are also gelded if they’re not the cream of the crop (which is probably at least the bottom half of the male horse population). So mares can be used by at least half of a realistic formation who just wants a warhorse, and doesn’t care about aesthetics or masculinity.

Also, mares can be ruthless and stallions can be nervous wrecks! Horses are living creatures, with personalities and feelings!

Horses also aren’t very sexually dimorphic, so a 1200lb war mare is DEFINITELY a match for a 1300lb war stallion. And remember how Loras Tyrell used a mare in heat to distract The Mountain’s stallion? That happens with a lot of stallions… almost like they’re living creatures, with instincts that they can’t always control! So if you know when your girl is ready to go every month, you can play dirty in a joust, too!

Just remember that you’re taking an equal risk, since your mare will possibly try to let a stallion mount her instead of fighting. You will either need to bail when she starts making googly-eyes, or you need to know you have ABSOLUTE loyalty from her, and she will listen to YOU instead of “the hot dude I just met five minutes ago!” HORSES ARE LIVING CREATURES, WITH INSTINCTS THAT THEY CAN’T ALWAYS CONTROL.

Then geldings will be used by at least another quarter of “the knights who cannot afford a horse good enough to keep his testicles,” so that leaves “a quarter or less” of knights who can realistically be mounted on stallions.

WORSE NEWS: If you geld a stallion too late (usually once they’re MOSTLY physically mature at 4-5 years old), that risk may never go away–so you’ve got a gelding who’s not breeding quality, but he’s still chasing mares in heat and fighting other stallions in turf battles, without understanding that he can no longer make babies!

On the other hand, some cultures don’t geld stallions because they view it as unnecessary or outright unnatural… but they also don’t want half the horse population distracted by pretty mares, or fighting with other stallions who walk by the pasture, so those cultures breed them to be sweet and easily managed (outside of battle, at least).

In short: ALL HORSES HAVE POTENTIAL TO BE WARHORSES, WHETHER THEY HAVE BALLS OR NOT.

—

Update, Feb 2 – Another day to expand on that “Different types of warhorses” mention!

Much like the common misconception of “all knights must be at least 6 feet tall and have 200 pounds of muscle” varied in real life due to genetics, cultural values, and logistics problems, the assumption that “all knights MUST have top-quality destriers that cost seven times the price of a normal horse” was not the case for the vast majority of “knights.”

Knights would have either “the best horse they could AFFORD” or “the best horse FOR THEIR SPECIALTY.”

A poor knight, or one of the early Middle Ages, would have “one horse that they’re with all the time;” that horse may not be pretty or come from fancy breeding lines, but they would get the job done and most definitely be taken care of. A wealthy knight of the later Middle Ages, when everything got more expensive and status more codified and finicky, would have two or three horses–one horse for warfare and one for regular riding, with the really wealthy knights having a third packhorse to carry all their stuff. (Moreover, they would have at least one servant to help take care of three horses.)

A muscled sprinter like a destrier is better in tight quarters and for short bursts of speed; to bring in the modern example of a classic/Foundation Quarter Horse, who are ideally “short-legged and low to the ground,” these dudes can literally hit the ground running and reach top speed in a few steps/seconds, so compare that to a sports-car going from zero to sixty miles. The tradeoffs?

1) You need to be able to hang the fuck on… and to avoid getting pitched into a wall/enemy WHEN THEY STOP.

2) That full-throttle gallop will really wear out your horse. A good commander will not bring out their heavy cavalry right away, because you also have to figure out how to get them back from the enemy’s side of the field.

In very simplistic terms, this is one of several problems that the battle of Agincourt had for the French; you had a bunch of hoity-toity noblemen with no proper battle experience who all wanted to do things their own way… and how do medieval noblemen usually want to fight a war? JUST FLOOR IT AND HIT THINGS AS HARD AS YOU CAN.

That went so badly that the recorded death-toll for the French side of Agincourt has been commented as “a roll call for French nobles.”

A destrier would not be suitable for a scout or light-cavalry; they’d need lighter and ground-covering horses to cover rough terrain, and to chase down the enemy for long stretches–akin to a modern-day Thoroughbred. For period pieces they might resemble an Akhal-Teke or “Turkmene” horse. A modern-day Thoroughbred horse can “only” reach forty miles per hour at a gallop, but they can keep that up for a whole mile or longer. So now your knight’s problem is “Hanging on for two or three whole minutes,” and anyone in performing or athletics will explain how long and agonizing a few minutes would feel on a rampaging horse. Have you seen how stacked a racing jockey is? The general consensus I’ve seen from equestrians is that barely anyone in any other horse-discipline is that built.

Meanwhile, an ideal light-cavalry horse would need longer legs for a ground-covering stride, and they may or may not be taller as well; as seen in the Akhal-Teke article, many endurance horses tend to show a lot more ribs and bones than other breeds, due to how lean they are. But think of them less as a dainty riding horse and more like a hunting greyhound/sighthound–all muscle, no fat!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

EDIT Feb 4, 2024: My post got cut off, so here's the rest of it!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

A period-accurate scout's horse was known as the Irish hobby, ridden by their eponymous hobelar troops. These little dudes were VERY little and about 12-14 hands high (48-54 inches, or 4 feet tall to bit under five feet tall). They were known to cover 60-70 miles a day in their raids, which my "preindustrial traveling" post notes is the EXTREME upper end of mounted distance travel. Their modern descendant is likely to be the Irish Connemara Pony.

Very wealthy and/or lucky European horsemen could probably manage to buy/steal an Arabian horse, as they remain exceptional endurance horses to this day. However, excessively cold/wet climates will need a lot of upkeep for a desert-bred horse to stay healthy.

While Arabians are known for their adorable "dished faces," this is not actually required! Many well-bred native lines have a regular face (ie, a "straight nose/profile") but they are from well-bred parents and have the capabilities of other Arabians. To the other extreme, you have some modern show/halter lines with REALLY exaggerated heads that hit a lot of people's "Uncanny valley" buttons, and they find it creepy/weird instead of refined. This kind of "seahorse face" would NOT be seen in a period piece.

Notice how the smaller a horse gets, the more ground it can cover? This is partly because size only matters TO AN EXTENT for "how long a horse goes," and partly because of physics! Less weight for a horse to drag around on its own body means more energy for putting miles behind them!

[calisources]

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.

All of these sentences are mostly taking by my own mind and i'm not joking. It was hard finding material quotes regarding tournaments in historical or fantasy setting. Some are from shows or media but eighty percent is all from my own mind, please give credit if use these. Change pronouns, names, locations as you see fit. All of these involve the medieval event of a tournament and what happens around them.

I fear I am already bending far too many rules just by taking you, my young princess.

Show me your hands, you will have blisters soon.

Lady Eglantine doesn’t believe in love, only lust.

In the world of competition, only the strongest shall prevail.

A true champion is not defined by their victories, but by the obstacles they've overcome.

Victory is sweetest when it's earned through sweat, hard work, and determination.

Will you not participate in the tourney, my lord? 

May I have the honor of wearing your favor today, my lady?

Good luck to you, my Prince.

The tournament is not just a test of skill, but a test of character as well.

Is it always this bloody? Will those poor men die? Someone must see them.

I want him to wear my favor.  Only him. 

If he wins, the knight has the right to name his Queen of Love and Beauty. And at the feast, they shall dance.

Be careful. A tourney is a grand place for courtly love, but also, for blood to rise and affairs to appear.

Call me what you like, say I'm without honor, I don't care. I'm not getting on any more horses to whack you people with a stick.

Kings may be chosen by God, but they still make the mistakes of men.

When even those who rule can sink this low, it is not possible to change anything.

It's my lucky charm, be sure to bring it back to me.

My favorite blue ribbon. Take it.

It will bring you good fortune and you will return from joust unharmed.

I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favor.

How about a kiss, for luck?

Courtly love was the culture around the performance of love at court.

And now, rather than admit these feelings, you're dancing around one another with this mind-numbing and frankly boorish mating ritual.

The knights take on the duties of shadows with pride.

Whoever wins the tournament, shall become the prince/princess’ new betrothed.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

Petyr survived only because I begged Brandon not to kill him.

When Petyr heard of my engagement, he challenged Brandon to a duel. 

You do qualify to marry my daughter.

What matters most is who she will give her favor to. 

Her face is one that can create dynasties or crumble empires.

I was hoping for a word before you rode on the tourney, my Prince. 

My brother is the one competing against you, please be gentle with him.

The games are done for the day, please, feast and drink as you wish. 

You have been staring all day, my lord. I was beginning to wonder if I had something in my face.

Any damsel that's in distress - she'll be out of that dress when she meets Jim West.

Great men do not seek power... they have power thrust upon them.

My daughter seems. . .infatuated with you. I have yet to see why.

The princess is naive and thinks any man who is kind means well. A tournament will only show her the reality of life.

You honor the arena with your combat. May your swords and shield preserve the peace.

In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.

I will be brave for Princess Pea.

As a squire, your first duty is to your knight’s armor. Your knight’s armor is more important than your own life. 

You will be knighted and you will have earned your knighthood.

You are hurt. At least let me tend to your wound.

The men laugh and fight and the ladies search for husbands.

Nothing like a good tournament to find a husband, or a companion for the night. 

Rumors are always spread with ease in these.

Can I have your daughter for the rest of my life?

You say I'll never get your blessing till the day I die.

We're married now, but we still haven't told your dad. This is the right time.

Are you promised to someone?

My sister's getting married. It's a love match. A rare thing. I’m not so lucky. My husband is to be chosen by who can hold a sword the longer.

Why can’t women participate in the games?

There are games for the ladies, Your Grace. But they are less. . .gruesome. And of course, the dancing.

Princes and Princess all over the realm and across the sea are coming for this event. You must shine brighter.

Let me help you with your armor. It appears loose.

As I promised, I return your favor to you, my lady. 

The Prince never loses a joust. He will crown his queen and then all will be well.

I do not understand the appeal of this. 

I spend days making these favors, let me stay a little longer.

My lady, I do not need your favor to win, but perhaps, a kiss of good faith. 

I do not care who wins these games, your hand is already arranged for another.

Men are scoundrel, specially when blood runs hot after a good battle, stray away from them.

These games are done in honor of the king’s heir.

The lord’s daughter is said to have bloomed, and the man chooses to announce it like this. 

A tournament is for men to boost their strength, fathers sell their daughters like mares and for affairs to happen.

I saw you on the stands today, my lord. But you did not participate on the games.

My brother wishes to dance with you, my lady. He is all too shy to ask himself.

You were injured. Have you allowed someone to heal them or are you too stubborn to let them?

Princess, you must not stray too far away. 

Mother is too drunk and annoyed to care, she won’t mind. 

[redhood414]

Intro: The Games

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌: ̗̀➛

Four princes. One princess. Your father, King Clark Kent of Metropolis made a contract with the King of Gotham, Bruce Wayne. The contract said there will be games for his four sons to win and the one who wins will get your hand in marriage.

Prince Dick Grayson is the eldest; it is said he's kindest, most generous and charming of all off them. Loved by the people and humerous. He'll often talk to random people and if he's out of the castle he gives coins to the poor.

Prince Jason Todd is the second eldest, he's the general of the soldiers and is always a winning leading warrior in battle. He has a trauma since an enemy kingdom, Joker's, had taken him and beaten him to death. Luckily the Lazarus Pit ressecuted him, but ever since he's not who he was before. He's rude, grumpy, angry, rough. But inside he's just a boy who needs to be loved and feel safe.

Prince Tim Drake. The second youngest. He's almost as smart as Merlin, really. He isn't a magician, but Merlin, the advisor of king Bruce, helps him with teaching him a lot of things about herbs and to heal, etc. he's always eager to learn, maybe sometime a bit too much since he always looses track of time. He's kind, but a bit moody. And doesn't really socialise well. He's quite distant and his walls (not literally but figeruly.) make sure it stays that way.

The fourth, last but not least, youngest, prince Damian Al Ghul Wayne. The only biological son of Bruce Wayne. He got first teached by his mother, to be a great warrior. Now he's with his father, learning everything he needs to know by a personal tutor because he refuses to be learning aside Prince Tim. (They have always had beef, it'll get only worse now that you'll arrive :d) He's a gentleman, but cold. He'll try to win you over by his charm but is distant and quite easily jealous too.

The games

1. The sword fights. (They'll have to fight till two winners stay over and the winner from that duel wins that game)

2. The joust. (Where each is on a horse, galloping towards each other with a lance and try to get each other off the horse)

3. Arrow and bow. (It's just bow shooting.)

May the best win your hand in marriage, my dear.

[dual1pa]

the battle

daemon targaryen x reader (using she/her pronouns)

18+ READERS ONLY - MATURE CONTENT

She sat nervously in her seat. The one next to her—typically taken by her husband, Daemon—was empty. Now, she had nothing to fear when it came to Daemon partaking in jousting. He was unbeatable as he had the best training and the strongest armor. Still, it pained her to see him hurting or getting hit hard. 

The crowd roared as his opponent made his way around the playing field. He made eye contact with you, giving her a light nod and moving to his side. The crowd grew louder as her husband rode his horse up to the tower. She walked up to greet him as she towered above him. He looked at her with a smirk. 

“Do I get a good luck kiss from my wife?” 

She bit her lip and walked quickly over to the steps that lead onto the field. He got off his house and brought her into his arms. The way his lips felt on hers never got old. She licked into his mouth quickly before allowing the kiss to go any further. 

“Win. For me, cause you know what happens when you win,” she kissed him once more before returning to her seat. 

“Always do my love.” 

She watched as Daemon continued to win each game, even when he had to get off his horse to fight. Until a stranger from Dorne made his way onto the playing field. He gave Daemon a run for his money. His wooden lanse caused Daemon to fall off his horse and hit the ground hard. 

Daemon always told her not to show any fear or emotion when at jousting matches as it showed “weakness,” however, she disagreed with his statement, but she obeyed. She gripped her nails into the wooden arm rest. Someone gave him a new lance as he got back up on his horse and they went another round, only for Daemon to hit the ground again, harder. The two ended up in a fight on the ground where the man continued to beat Daemon till he couldn’t last any longer. There was a new champion. 

She watched as Daemon slowly walked off the field tired and beaten. 

—

She walked up the stone staircase that lead to their bedroom once she was finished conversing with the king. He was always so kind to her. She quietly opened the door to see him standing at the window, watching the activity happening below. He was naked. She quietly walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back. He let out a sigh as he felt her touch, he was tired. 

“You did good today, my love.” 

“I lost,” he chuckled. 

“You’re still the winner in my eyes.” 

“I disappointed him.” 

“Who?” 

“My father.” 

Daemon’s father was always hard on him. He pushed Daemon past his boundaries and forced him to train until ungodly hours of the night. 

“You’re only human, Daemon. You may be very powerful, but you’re just a human being. You have emotions and feelings, I know you do. Okay, you lost a battle. So fucking what? You’ll do better next time.” 

He knew she was right. 

He turned around in her grip and leaned down for a kiss. Her hands roamed around his back and over his broad chest. His forehead rested on hers. She caressed his cheek, noticing he was still dirty from the fight. They continued to kiss for a while until she felt him  She began placing tiny kisses on his chest. They made eye contact as she sunk down to her knees. When they hit the stone floor, she took his semi-hard cock into her hands to help him get 100 percent turned on—it didn’t take too long. She took some saliva from her mouth and rubbed it all over his length. A long groan left the prince’s mouth. 

She instantly knew she was doing a good job, but knew that she could do better. Once he was looking down at her with those gorgeous green eyes, she licked up his shaft to slightly tease him. Once she reached the tip, she slowly put him in her mouth. She slightly gagged once he reached the back of her throat. She looked back up at him to see his head leaned back as his hands brushed through her hair. She bobbed on his cock until a line of spit separated her and his dick. She continued his assault on his dick with her hand. She was eager for him to come—to make him feel good. 

He put his hand under her shoulders and lifted her to her feet and instantly attached his plump lips to hers. Her hands rested lightly on his cheeks as he lifted her up and carried her to their shared king bed. He dropped her on his side of the bed. She pushed herself up on the bed so Daemon had enough room to lay on top of her. Her dress was already to her hips as he legs were spread wide for him. Through her panties, he could already tell how wet and ready she was for him. He slid off her underwear and pushed her dress up to showcase her breasts. She brought her hands to massage her breasts, relieved they are free from the tightness of the dress. She leaned forward to take the clothing off of her, leaving her completely naked. He stayed on his knees to pump his spit-covered cock until he was ready to devour her. 

“You’re always so good with your mouth,” he breathed. 

“Only for you, my sweet prince,” she quickly reached up to place her hands against his shoulders to pull him down on top of her. Before their lips attached, they enjoyed feeling each other’s hot breath on one another. Their tongues battled for dominance with Daemon winning—per usual. He lined himself up to her entrance and slowly pushed inside, admiring her face as she got used to the stretch. She gripped onto his shoulders, bound to leave bruises in the morning. He placed almost all his weight on her and let out a loud, long moan into her ear once he pushed himself all the way inside her. She wrapped her hands around his neck and spread her legs even further to fully enjoy his assault. 

While Daemon was thrusting in and out of her, he whispered sweet nothings into her ear, causing her to blush. His hand snaked up her body starting with her thighs to her ass to her hips to her breasts, using the tips of his fingers to bring goosebumps to her skin. This move helps her nipples harden and is easier for him to play with. After each thrust, her moans grew louder—which was music to Daemon’s ears. She repeatedly told her to scream as loud as she likes as she wanted Westeros to know how good he fucks his wife. Sometimes, she’s concerned he will break the bed frame for how hard he grips the wood and how it hits the wall, but he never does. 

Once she exclaimed that she was about to come, he lifted his head to watch as his girl came undone underneath him. He brought his hand down to her clit to rub harsh circles against the sensitive nerve. That only brought her over the edge even more as she made ungodly noises beneath him. He kept working her through her orgasm, which eventually lead him to his. The couple bathed together to watch the scent of sex off of them, but it only lead them to multiple sex sessions. Still bathing, she laid on his chest while he lightly drew shapes on her back with his lips pressed to her temple. 

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked, lifting her head to make eye contact with her. 

“What do you mean, my love?” 

“With battles? And not being the heir to the throne?” 

He playfully rolled his eyes, “You’re definitely my wife,” he laughed, “I will be fine, my darling. Don’t you worry about me. Am I jealous of my cousin? Yes. Do I wish it was me? Yes. Did I fuck up by calling my newest little cousin ‘Heir for the day,’ but you know my brother. He’ll forgive me one day then we will be good as new.” 

“I love you,” she responded. 

“I love you, too, my princess.”

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sandor Clegane x reader

(Not proof read)

CHAPTER 1.

Read chapter 2 here

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for story- Eventual smut, 18+ only, Death, mention of death, mention of menstrual cycle, abuse, Joffrey (yes hes a warning), cussing, adult languages and themes forced marragie.

Cw for this chaper- Cursing, 18+ themes and langues, mentions of pregnancy, joffrey (yes hes a warning we all know why), abuse, Mention of child abuse (aka sandors past), death, forced marriage.

Sitting next to Sansa you watch as the joust of the season plays out ranging from knights who know what they are doing to those who have no clue and think they were worthy but instead the only thing they were worthy of was death by jousting stick to the throat. 

Joffery sits beside her, the king next to his queen. Sansa twirls the rose between her fingers not feeling the pain of the thorns ever so often pricking her finger tips. 

"What do you think about my love? Who will win this joust? "Joffrey laughs. 

“I don't know which ever you see fit to do so.” she says blankly.

“I want..him to win.” he says and points to the smaller man with the chestnut stallion. 

“Such a beautiful horse my king, and what a prize rider you should be out there to show your win and power.” she says once again as if it has been scripted. 

“I should! HA but I'm here with you! Watching is far more entertaining!” he yells the last part and the crowd cheers. 

“Sansa.” you say taking her hand seeing her bleeding fingers. You gesture to a maid and she hurries bringing a cloth and wipes off the blood. 

“Take it from her, I will not have my bride with impurities.” Joffrey says. You take the rose for her, holding it in your hands. Sansa stands and walks off with the tournament. Leaving Joffrey to sip on his wine. Continuing on with the joust a shadow slightly casts over you as you turn your head seeing Ser Sandor Clegane. You give him a light smile but his glare holds steady causing you smile to drop and your eyes to look away and back at the joust. Once again the man is taken out by the other. 

You huff and walk over to your seat sitting back down. Cersi sits next to you placing her hand on your leg before leaning into you to speak. 

“You don't have to be nice to him, you know nothing good will come out of being kind to a killer.” she says as she notices your smile at the hound. You tense up under her touch as she continues. 

“The only thing nice will get you is the same fate he found himself. His face melting in the hot coals of the fire he was pushed into.” She says. 

“Ser Gregor clegane!! And Lord Dortain!” the announcer projects and they both come to the front. Lord Dortain, your brother who has been keeping an eye on you in king's landing to make sure you're alright. 

They take their positions as they are ready and begin. The first is a miss as neither released the joust. Next they go once more and your brother knocks Gregor clean off his horse you smile clapping your hands together along with everyone else. You brother rides to the front and smiles bowing before Joffrey who seems pissed. 

“YOU!!!” Gregor yells and swings his sword knocking your brother off his horse you gasp and stand but Cersei grabs your arm. Keeping you in place from running out. As Gregor attacks, your brother hound runs down and clashes swords protecting him. The fight between brothers begins but before it can be finished Joffrey yells out. 

“STOP IT YOU FUCKING IMBICELS!!” he huffs as sandor bows leaving gregor to huff and walk off madly. Leaving Joffrey to follow after him. 

———

You walk through the halls looking for sansa but a guard blocks your way. 

“Excuse me.” You say to try and move but they don't. 

“The king wants to see you…” one says your breath hitches as you suck in air before they turn and walk, only leading you to follow whatever demise you're to meet. 

Arrived at the great hall where the throne is placed. Walking in the entire court as well as other people stand at attention to joffrey sansa standing at his side. You walk down the aisle of people and to the end of the steps to see him sitting fuming. 

“You king. You wanted to see me?” you ask curstsing before you speak again. 

“You're brother made a fool of me…OF MY HOUSE.” he yells at you. 

“Your grace its a jousting tournament. I'm sure he had no intention of mockery.” you say he frowns and waves his hand as ser meryn hits you across the face causing you to fall to your knees you see Sansa about to run to you but she holds herself together. 

“Killing you would send your brother a message. A message so inflatable that you should learn to tell him no such reward will be given!!” he says holding out a sword towards you before standing up and taking one step down. 

“Ser merryn strip her, a fool loves to entertain and i'm sure her body’s view would be entertaining to all.” he huffs out ser merryn rips open the back of your dress. 

“NO!” You scream out holding the fabric to your body as he tries to tear it away from you eventually hitting you again and kicking you before continuing to tear the fabric. 

“WAIT- '' Joffrey says before you're fully exposed. Ser merryn steps back a bit. 

“I've thought of a better lesson to teach. A fool deserves the golden treatment for they make those among us laugh…so I shall have the biggest laugh of them all and make a joke…I'll have to send the message to your family of course...but dog is in need of a bitch and i think you fit the description perfectly.'' Joffrey chuckles.

“Hound. Are you going to let your future wife sit bare in front of King's landing?” he says chuckling once more before the hound sighs and walks down the stairs to you he raises his hand and you flinch but when you feel the warmth of his large cape surrounding you, you look up before moving your gaze back down. 

“Congratulations on the engagement.” jofferry laughs. 

“Here's a present.” he says as the door opens having two people carrying a silver platter with a dome on time as it gets closer you open your mouth to scream but nothing comes out besides the tears waterfalling from your eyes as you see Dortains head on it. 

“An early wedding gift!! A tribute if you will..a lesson, to you, to your family. Now of course nothing went to waste. Ha ha i sent his body to your family and fed his cock and ball to the dogs.” joffrey signs and sits back down. 

“You've got a wedding to plan for. Don't you.” he says looking at you. You look down feeling hurt and scared. Your brother is no longer without your family having to see what happened to him. Someone picks you up as you realize it's sandor. He holds you in his arms. 

“Get her out of my sight.” Joffrey scoffs. Sandor nods and turns walking out of the room, your ladies in waiting running after you both. 

[achaoticeternal]

Yes please write a part 2. If you don’t mind could something happen there that endangers strongreaders life and Aemond prevents.

check out part one here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Favor of All

AEMOND TARGARYEN X STRONG(VELARYON)!READER

summary: once returning to king's landing, you and your mother watch aemond win a tourney and a favor word count: 942 warnings: tarcest? dangerous situation?

“His first tourney!” You look between Aegon and Helaena in shock at what they’ve told you. 

“We can hardly believe it either,” Aegon rolled his eyes when he noticed how overly excited you and the princess were, “Is my eldest sister joining us?”

Shaking your head at Aegon’s lack of enthusiasm, you scoffed at him before taking a glimpse out the window of the carriage, “My mother is in the same carriage as the King and his wife.”

Aegon didn’t acknowledge your reply, but it didn’t matter. The carriage had come to the halt for the royal arrival at one of the great amphitheaters of the city. Aegon stepped out before either you or Helaena, and did not even offer a hand to assist. Instead, two eager boys (most likely the third or fourth son of some lord ) came to help the young ladies out of their carriage. 

Immediately, you were all ushered toward your setting today. Instead of sitting in the typical noble box, the Hand had made a request for the King to be seated toward the center so that he may watch Aemond from a better vantage point. 

You currently sat to the left of your mother, Rhaenyra, as she was on the left hand of her King father. Helaena’s lady-in-waiting sat on your other side, and you began to make polite conversation with her.

Together, you laughed and giggled until a caller came approaching.

“My Princess!”

You turned to see who beckoned you and met the gaze of a violet eye and long hair neatly braided away from his face.

“Uncle!”

Aemond stopped before the gate where you were eye-to-eye with his horse. You pet the soft hair of the creature and you glanced up at him.

“So now you'll compete in tourneys?”

“You know I don’t really give a shit about this,” Aemond chuckled with a playful smirk, “But it is my duty to perform such tasks.”

“Mmhmm… I’m sure you can’t stand the attention of all the ladies wishing for your affection,” You teased the prince while biting your lip.

“There is only one who has my affections,” Aemond wistfully produced a red and white rose, presenting it for you to take, “my princess…”

You sniffed the flower gently, looking bashfully up to the man, “You have my favor… May the Warrior guild your blade, and may the Mother watch over you.”

Aemond nodded and turned back toward the starting end of the joust. In place of the King, Alicent and Rhaenyra stood together and gave the welcome of the tourney. Soon enough, it all began with men and horses colliding, fighting each other with a determined grit. 

Soon, the Prince started his first joust. While you cheered loudly for him, he simply won with ease. Many champions and fools were bested by Aemond, and all you could do was cheer wildly for him. In the final event for the day, Aemond came to your on his horse once more. 

“My dear niece, you and your prayer have been quite the good luck charm for me to day,” His eye flickered from Rhaenyra, back to you. He scanned over your face, and offered a smirk, “Might I have your favor, princess?”

With a great grin, you turned to the side table and grabbed your braided favor. You pressed a soft kiss to one of the flowers before placing it onto his baton. With ease, you guided the favor down the shaft, eyes never leaving his. 

“My favor is yours,” Your heart beat had picked up rapidly as you felt the eyes of the public upon you. Yet you didn’t care, too entranced by Aemond. 

Your hand eagerly gripped your mothers as you watched the joust begin between the finalists. Aemond looked as if he was charging into battle, while the other lad seemed to have an ego for getting thus far in the competition. The trumpet sounded and both men charged at the other. It was a swift motion, but Aemond easily knocked his competitor off his horse. He continued to turn his horse backed around, as the other man equipped himself with a bow and arrow. The man fired three shots at Aemond, yet none of them came close to striking the prince. He fired another arrow, however it refocused on course of the booth. 

Your eyes went wide, and you felt the hands of your mother go to grab and tug you out of the path. Before you could move, the arrow struck with a great thud. Aemond had stopped the speeding arrow with a piece of his shattered shield. He looked from the man, who yielded, and then back to you with great concern in his eye. 

“Are you well, my lady? Unharmed?”

“Thank you, my prince. Your speed and agility have done the great service of protection,” Your hand clutched over your heart as you spoke with a nervous laugh. 

“I am simply glad that you are well,”Aemond gently grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

A warm blush came to your cheeks at his actions. You felt the eyes of your mother look over the scene before her with a great itensity. Something had suddenly shifted in how she saw Aemond and his behavior toward’s her daughter. Rhaenyra finally saw just how Aenond was with her daughter as Daemon was with her. It warmed her heart, knowing that someone cared for her daughter as much as she did. 

Later, she would speak to Alicent about a betrothal, but now she simply allowed you to seek the affections of your prince.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

hope you enjoyed!

[n1ghtwr1ter]

A Knight’s Tale Griddlehark AU where Gideon is a commoner squire whose knight, Aiglamene, has been rendered unable to compete (leg incident) and decides in a moment of desperation to take her place in the lists. After meeting with unexpected success, she and her compatriots (Isaac and Jeannemarie as her fellow squires; Palamedes as their herald) begin to make their way through the tournament circuit, hoping to escape desperate poverty, find glory and riches, and change their fates.

Along the way they meet Harrowhark, Lady of the Ninth, unwillingly attending the jousts at the behest of her parents in hopes of finding someone who will rescue her dying House (by marriage if her parents have their way; by funding Harrow’s experiments if she has hers). She gets into an argument with an idiot of a red-haired knight who follows her into a church, of all places, just so they can keep fighting. Despite sending her packing with her sharp-edged tongue, Harrow can’t seem to forget Sir Griddle (which is all she managed to choke out for a name before she got unceremoniously thrown out of the building).

While being courted at the lists by Princess Ianthe of the Third (whom she finds personally repellant, but her fortune is exactly what is needed to restore the Ninth), Harrow is brought face to face with Sir Griddle yet again. This time, it’s a three-way verbal sparring match, and Harrow is left unable to decide which one she hates most. But as the tournament progresses, she is forced grudgingly to admit that Sir Griddle is “something else with that lance.” (Let alone the sword, which our Gideon wins handily, but chooses (like a true idiot) to focus on the joust, which decides the winner of the tournament.)

She is narrowly defeated by Count Ianthe, whose technique is far better than her own (having had years of training to Gideon’s, what, three months?). Griddle is about to slink off in fury but then Harrow’s ancient seneschal shows up, demanding to know the color of Griddle’s tunic for the dance that evening (Harrow having decided that the one person she despises more than Griddle is Ianthe, and the best way to annoy her will be to show up dressed in matching courtly wear).

Gideon, annoyed that Harrow is putting her on the spot, decides to attend despite not knowing how to dance. As luck would have it, Palamedes has met up with his cousin, who’s been working as a blacksmith; Cam shows them the basics, then goes off with Pal in a huddle to design next-gen armor that will fit Gideon much better than Aiglamene’s cast-offs. Harrow and Gideon share a surprisingly sexy dance, pissing Ianthe off to no end and leaving each other in a furious state of “oh no, she’s hot.”

Due to Gideon’s determination, Cam’s genius at smithing (and as Gideon’s new training partner, who regularly kicks her ass), and Palamedes’s over-the-top heraldic intros, Gideon begins to make a name for herself, winning tournaments all over the country. She even decides to joust against a mystery knight, even after discovering that she’s the Crown Princess of the Third in disguise, winning herself Coronabeth’s respect.

Just as she’s about to face Ianthe in the finals, the Princess of Ida is called back to her homeland to fight in their war. Discontented with her default victory, Gideon has a nasty fight with Harrow, who tells her to fuck off. Gideon decides to return to her own home country in search of a championship there, and also to find the annoyingly hot noblewoman who won’t stop needling her (and haunting her increasingly sweaty dreams).

Etc. etc.

Additional details include:

Gideon can’t stop laughing at her own lance-related dick jokes.

When Ianthe thinks she’s got Gideon disqualified from the championships by exposing her for being a commoner, Harrow’s been cooking up some genealogical research and it turns out that Gideon is…actually the child of King John of Gaius, and heir to the throne! So suck my royal dick, Tridentarius.

Harrow’s research concerns, among many other things, the use of bone meal as crop fertilizer/pest repellent to lift the famine that has decimated the Ninth House. Because the Ninth House has more corpses than any other sort of natural resource, she’s got a lot of material to work with.

Ianthe’s herald is Babs.

Aiglamene is back home nursing her lack of leg, but she is fully aware of the nonsense her squires are getting up to (despite their utterly ham-fisted attempts to keep it from her). She figures that holding her tongue won’t hurt, but Harrow will send a very resentful Crux to fetch her to the capitol so she can watch Gideon win the championship.

In the original Knight’s Tale, Jocelyn (female love interest) has a very lovely and smart handmaiden to advise her and act as a go-between.

Harrow’s handmaiden is Crux.