#prince ermine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inchidentally · 4 months

Text

@vastappenen LISTEN okay so this is the full spin-off of the Charlos part of my Prince Lando AU post

I cannot write real fic so this is just like me doing a retelling of what's gone on in my mind lol - and this is the post of Charles in White that's screencapped above

(side note my friend was listening to this haunting music while I wrote this so it might help set the scene - it's called "Fancy on a Bach Air" by Yo-Yo Ma)

this gets a bit NSFW toward the end so fair warning!

ok so to start, this is what was in my original post

Unfortunately the royal courts of Europe were shaken by a quick series of upsets: His Serene Highness Lorenzo of Monaco abdicated the throne in search of a quieter life - his heart had never been in it since his father, the former Sovereign Prince, had become ill and abdicated. This left Lorenzo’s unwed brother Charles to be hastily crowned Prince Regent at the tender age of 22 (too young to be crowned Sovereign Prince bc modern monarchy rules I’m inventing). As a result Charles suffered the loss of his long-time suitor, nobleman Sebastian Vettel, who couldn’t bear the thought of being Sovereign Prince let alone of a land that wasn’t even his own.

Enter the Sainz Vázquez de Castro elders seizing the opportunity and negotiating a deal with Monaco in private conclave with the Papal State (??) to wed their son Carlos to the Prince Regent. Carlos is ashamed at giving in to the temptation… to not just be Prince Consort but to be Sovereign Prince, to rule over the vast wealth of Monaco and by extension the Holy See, to have the coveted beauty Charles in his bed. So he agrees to be spirited away to Monaco and the ugly business of dissolving his betrothal to Lando is left to members of church and state.

But Carlos experiences a complete conversion when Charles is on his knees in the cathedral - looking up at him with docile green eyes as Carlos’ fingertips touch the warm red roses of Charles’ lips as he holds the chalice of holy wine for Charles to drink. Carlos was almost hard beneath the ermine and velvet robes in a house of God when the crown was on his head and Charles next to him - and slightly below - smiling up at him with filaments of gold hanging from pendants on his chaplet, framing his achingly beautiful face. If Carlos feels his immense happiness and prosperity darken whenever he sees Lando’s picture or encounters him at one of the courts then no one need know.

ok so I've removed this from the narrative to of course be charlos true happiness endgame and removed Seb entirely, or he can just be called a close confidante and possible candidate to marry Charles but not very serious.

I imagine young Carlos Jr. moving through the royal courts as a child and teen and seeing the royal children of Monaco sometimes. in my weird version of royalty I have it that Lorenzo is the natural successor to the throne and therefore has always been allowed to dress and be seen "normally". as a second child, Charles was always the rightful property of whichever alliance would maintain Monaco's independence. he was raised mostly in the Prince's Palace and when playing or venturing to where he could be seen he's attended by a retinue of guards each carrying a gonfalon to conceal the young prince from view. on the rare occasions that the prince will be around those not within his immediate family or private staff, he is carefully wrapped in embroidered, jeweled white silks or cottons (depending on the climate) with only his eyes visible. the only color allowed being a scarlet silk girdle around his hips. until he reaches maturity or is married he wears a ferronnière with a single white diamond at his forehead. (I imagine the wrapping as looking like fancy white fireproofs that cover the hands as well and a long, flowy tunic over the top with smart little white renaissance boots (that Charles hates).

Prince Charles is also not permitted to speak outside of his family circle/staff but he is taught multiple languages and fond rumors spread that the prince has a charming lilting accent that comes from a little of everywhere. he is also taught the piano and there is a place on the shore that only locals know of where fairy echoes of his playing can be heard. they call it his 'lone voice' because the mood inside the palace can be judged by the prince's choice of music. childish and jolly for a while, then more challenging pieces, until his eighteenth birthday and an unknown dirge for his godfather who had perished during a racing tourney that summer. the prince's music would change over the years but it would never be joyful again.

I imagine many instances over the years of Carlos Jr. being coaxed by a conniving Carlos Sr. into bowing low to the small, mummified-looking creature that everyone assures him is a prince. the eyes and vague suggestion of white-clad hands and feet are the only indications that this is true, but the big green eyes are very expressive and seem to smile whenever they meet Carlos' own big brown eyes. Prince Lorenzo has a kind smile and would be a good playmate but solemnly maintains his position by his parents' side. Prince Arthur comes along in a bundle of energy and mischief - being blessed with a birthright to total freedom so long as his elder siblings are alive. he enjoys being swung around and thrown in the air by Carlos Jr. which helps pass the tedium of royal engagements. Arthur is clearly the favorite of Charles who rather mothers him - especially when the Sovereign Prince falls ill and hushed preparations are made behind palace walls for Lorenzo to take the throne. Charles is so deep in mourning for his godfather and soon his own father that his presentation at court is delayed indefinitely as it would be cruel to open him up to marriage bids that would inevitably take him from his home.

in the meantime, Carlos Jr. has grown into his large features and promises to inherit all his father's looks and daring. at his father's encouragement - "by the time you wed a virgin, you will need to know everything there is to know about pleasing them" - Carlos enjoys countless conquests across every continent on the globe. he's a seasoned bachelor by the age of 20 and has been given his own estate outside of Madrid to party, race expensive cars and drink expensive wine. but even as he wakes between the thighs of this or that beautiful boy or girl, his mind recalls the hours spent at court in Monaco trying to discern the subtlest lines of Prince Charles' body beneath the absurd layers of drapery. he knows for sure that the prince is slim but not scrawny. that his posture is upright and proud and stands about the same height as Carlos. at times when he scoops Arthur up to hold on one hip, Carlos can discern the fine dip of a small waist - probably small enough for Carlos' big hands to meet around. what a gift-wrapped present for whoever got to marry him!

but by the time they next meet, news has traveled all over of the Sovereign Prince's health and plans for the reluctant Prince Lorenzo to be hastily crowned. during their first visit after this news, Carlos Jr. makes his usual low bow to Prince Charles but when he looks up he sees tears clouding the prince's green eyes. it twists Carlos' heart and he boldly takes the prince's hand and presses a hurried kiss to the silk and at the same time trying to speak with his eyes how sorry he is for the prince. the small noise Charles makes at Carlos' boldness is a precious secret Carlos holds like a tangible thing against the breast of his tailcoat as he hurries down the steps before any of the other royals can notice what he's done.

[this is when the above section from my AU comes in and Carlos is attempted to be married off to Prince Lando, Lorenzo abdicates, Charles can only be named Prince Regent bc of his status etc and a hasty arrangement is made for him to marry Carlos]

at their wedding I imagine Charles' veil/headdress to be much lighter and tied in a simple knot at the base of his head. the only time Charles is called to speak is to swear fealty to the crown, to his country, and to his husband (it's also the first time Charles' voice has been heard by almost everyone in the Cathedral including Carlos. it sounds like joyous music, dipping deep and rich one moment and high and sweet the next - with a little bubble of laughter at the end. Carlos wants to hear him talk forever.) when the priest finishes his blessing, Carlos put a hand beneath Charles' chin and guides him to stand. he moves closer to Charles than he has ever been permitted and circles his arms around his neck to untie the knot. the veil falls away and a collective gasp rises up from the cathedral through the clouds of incense. Carlos doesn't gasp so much as suck in a triumphant breath through his nostrils and lifts his chin in triumph. Charles is not just the chaste ideal of beauty that the court and citizens of Monaco had whispered about for years, he is the vision of temptation itself: a delicate brush-spatter of freckles beneath a flush on finely molded cheekbones, a straight French nose that was the final word on French noses, and perfectly smooth lips in the shape of a patriotic 'M' and the exact red of Monaco's flag. the prince's hair and brows have all the shades of a glossy hazelnut and a thick fan of lashes surrounded the green eyes - all that Carlos had known of him until now. but soon, he would know everything about Charles and in a way no one else ever had or would.

Carlos is supposed to buss a small, ceremonial barely-there kiss to Charles' lips to please the court but of course he can't help himself and, holding Charles' face in his big hands, presses a fiercely possessive (thankfully still close-mouthed) kiss that nearly makes Charles collapse. murmurs go around the cathedral of "well, those Spaniards, you know".

when they are crowned, my version of royalty has the priest setting the heavy gold crown on Carlos' head but Carlos in turn places the chaplet of gold leaves and gemstone pendants on Charles. Carlos is flying as high as mortal can when he can finally lead Charles out to the balcony and show him off to the waiting public. Carlos wonders if there's a man on earth who possesses more wealth than he does at that moment.

but there's one more thing he doesn't yet have! oh you bet the bedding ceremony is weird and fucked up and poor Charles is using the short time they have alone as they move through the halls (merely flanked by guards) to nervously and apologetically explain to Carlos what they will need to do. something about protocol for regents who found it difficult to "perform" under such circumstances etc. Carlos just puts a big warm hand to Charles' lips as they are rushed along, leaning into to whisper that he'd take Charles' virginity in front of his own grandmother if that's what was required and his desire still wouldn't be dampened.

the chamber is small and has one purpose. the clergy stand behind wrought iron mullioned screens but Charles can see their eyes clearly and has known many of them all his life. he'd probably faint dead away from nerves if Carlos didn't pull him close and kiss him so deep and dirty it should've turned Charles' white gown red with lust. Carlos tells him to look only into his eyes, that he'll take good care of him. there's a whole intense sexy element to Carlos unwrapping Charles the rest of the way, just like the birthday present he'd imagined when he was a teenager. he probably spends WAY too much time on foreplay considering the witnesses are only there to see one thing and then leave but Carlos knows that Charles deserves this. by the time they've reached the point where Carlos can reach a hand between them and literally 'come' up with the goods to hold up and be viewed, Charles' moans are reaching up to the rafters. there's a rustle and murmured blessings as the priests finally withdraw.

Carlos is like FINALLY and decides to give Charles every bit of the benefit of his vast experience and looks smug as hell when Charles' attendants have to physically carry Charles to his own bed bc Carlos fucked him senseless lmao

agfalsgfsla this was so weird and detailed and I do not know WHERE it came from but if an actual writer sees this and wants to write it properly PLEASE tag me or message me!!!

EDIT: these are great photo references for adult Charles and Carlos in this AU

source

#charlos #carlos sainz jr x charles leclerc #mine #I hope you enjoy @vastappen !!#f1 royalty au #prince of monaco

143 notes · View notes

bucknastysbabe · 1 year

Note

Can I have one where Aegon has married his new wife who he thinks is really uptight and a prude only when it gets to the bedding ceremony (no one watching) and it turns out she’s just as kinky if not kinkier than him which makes him like fall for her instantly. She’s the definition of angel in the streets but freak in the sheets. Can it maybe also end with aegon either now realising he loves her or telling her he loves her

So I reused me Celtigar uptight reader bc I love her. Also slipped some small dick truthing in there. Hope you enjoy!

Continued from

Crab in the sand, conquer a man - Celtigar 101

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Misogyny, asshole Aegon, horrid bedding ceremonies, Aegon has a lil wee wee, creampie, pnv!sex, premature ejac, Celtigar said: when in doubt, be a bitch! Confessions of love

After what seemed like a breakthrough with you and Aegon it promptly turned back into the mummer’s farce. Whoring, drinking, the usual. The wedding was upon you. Today. Surrounded by tittering handmaidens, dreamy Helaena, and the watchful eye of Queen Alicent above all.

You sipped on your wine, contemplating the last few moons. After the dolt had crawled to your knees and begged for forgiveness— even admitted deep seeded insecurities, he went back to carousing the Street of Silk. You about sailed back to Claw Isle when you’d overheard some squire boys.

“Prince Aegon says she’s like to have pinchers in her cunny!”

The other one snorted, “I wouldn’t doubt it, face all screwed up around the keep. Probably hurts the poor wench.”

You blinked back into reality when one of the handmaidens told you not to crack your chalice. Indeed, your bejeweled hand was strained with pressure. You apologized, “Sorry, nerves tis’ all.” The ladies got back in their usual tizzy. They didn’t have to marry a lecherous lackwit.

Your dress was gorgeous though. You felt pretty. Finally after years of knobby knees and bee stings for tits your Rosby side kicked in. Curves, huzzah! Which didn’t draw anything but a drunken grope and sleazy comment from Aegon.

You’d written to your grandfather multitudes of times to no avail. He told you to be a good Celtigar and wait to feed. Hmph.

The dress though, the dress was much better than this horrid day. It was a coarse silk from Essos, the sleeves were loose and dyed a brilliant scarlet. The neckline was of the same color and jewels. Your locks were braided up into a net with the same gems. The maiden cloak hung like a dragon in the corner; gorgeous but dangerous.

It represented the true loss of your body, that one untouched place given up to an idiot. Abruptly standing up you stalked to the cloak. You held back tears while petting the ermine, tracing the sigil of Celtigar, fingering the rubies. Taking a deep breath in you returned to the chair for further treatment.

Standing in the grand throne room had your knees weak. You could see your family proud up in the front, all smiles from Bartimos. You kept your head down, eyes plastered to Aegon’s neckline. He stood stiffly, surprisingly not drunk for the wedding. The septon murmured some things, you both repeated them, then Aegon moved.

You swallowed down the panic as Your father stepped in to remove your maiden’s cloak. The lack of weight made you feel naked for all to see. The fight to hold back tears began again. Aegon moved behind your shaking frame next. On came the heavier Targaryen cloak, scarlet wool and black fur, even dragon’s scales embedded into their sigil.

“With this kiss I pledge my love…,”

Aegon’s hands were wildly trembling as he cupped your face. The kiss was chaste, only a slight movement of dry lips. They separated to share a weighted look. The septon cheered, “One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever!”

The crowd lit into a frenzy, cheering and calling for the festivities. Aegon turned his violet eyes on you, a quirk of his lips and a squeeze of your hand to indicate he wasn’t truly miserable. You smiled back and let him lead you to the feast.

The pair of you were seated at the head of the table, even the King and Queen at the side. Rhaenyra looked dismissive and Daemon was laughing about something with Viserys. Aemond looked downright jolly— a scary sight. Aegon had shoved meager food down his throat, slamming back the Arbor Red.

Viserys made some announcements and good tidings before allowing you two to begin the dance. Aegon and you once again were face to face, posed for the first notes. You scoffed, “If you get drunk enough then maybe you won’t feel my pinchers, lord husband.” Step back, hold out arms, palm to palm.

He sputtered indignantly, “Where did you hear that?”

Spin closer, one, two.

“You’re not even going to deny it?”

Step back, palms out, side, side, step in.

He grinned, “I’m sure you’ll be fine and dandy for the bedding ceremony.”

Spin away to the next. You called over your shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll be able to get it up my Prince!” He coughed, pale face going blotchy.

Aemond’s smirking face looked down at you while he led you two in the line. He hummed, “Brother dear is going to soil himself he’s so beside about the bedding nonsense.”

You laughed, “They don’t watch that part Aemond.”

He enigmatically replied, “I believe that’s the issue, Celtigar.”

The next hours were spent dancing, drinking, and catching up with the Celtigars. Which was a highlight so far. You missed your family dearly. Even if you held a grudge for your grandfather. It passed when he warbled, “My beautiful girl, a princess.” He hugged you tightly before the bellow of some drunken lord echoed.

“TIME TO GET THE GIRL BEDDED!”

“PRINCE AEGON FINALLY FUCKS A LADY!”

A ribald song erupted from the crowd. You clung to Bartimos in fear but was torn away, watching his liver spotted hands disappear from sight. Between the yells of the men, you could hear the ladies coo at Aegon’s raucous laughter. Big hands tore at your nice dress, exposing your teats and belly.

Aegon snorted, “She’s going to be in for a surprise! Riding the dragon!”

The men hauling you had your dress ripped to shreds before depositing you onto the grand bed. Aegon was shoved in after. Even with the deafening noise outside the room felt empty. The prince was naked too, an embarrassed flush suffusing his pale skin. You had pulled up some covers.

“How romantic. Come on then,” you beckoned.

Remaining quiet Aegon crawled onto the bed, pink cock half-hard. He stopped, only a clammy palm around your wrist. Nervous eyes searched your own, the Prince biting his plump lips. You narrowed your eyes and hissed, “You fuck all of King’s Landing, probably going to infect me with a pox, and just stare like a cow now? Gods above Aegon!”

He pouted and crossed his arms. The brat muttered, “This is different!” Exasperated you threw your hands up, “How is this different?”

“Because I like you.”

“What? Speak idiot!,” you barked.

“Because I care for you Crab!,” he shouted back, face going more red.

You blinked at him. Then pondered the situation. Frankly his idiocy made you want to slap the brat around. Wait. Slapping Aegon around sounded splendid. So very splendid your loins began to ache. As any experienced woman would, you snatched your new husband by the hair and yanked forward.

Aegon landed between your legs with a high yelp, eyes going comically wide. He whined, “What the hell?” You shoved down the blanket separating you two and spread your legs. Aegon groaned at the sight of your tits and puffy cunt. Grabbing his plump cheeks you asked, “Do I please you? Does that look like fucking pincers to you?”

He nodded miserably, lips smushed from your iron grip. You sighed at the feeling of his cock twitching against your entrance. Taking your own gander you wrapped an inquisitive hand around his stiff flesh, giving a couple of pumps.

“It can’t be this small can it?,” you blurted.

Aegon shouted into your tits, palms groping roughly, “THASWHAIWASAFRAIDOF!”

You grinned slowly, still jerking his cute little cock. You purred, “Poor little prince’s cocklet. Don’t worry, I know you’ll please me won’t you?

Tears soaked your collarbone as he rasped, “Yesss- promise.” You snickered again at the entire situation, seizing up those pretty lips of his.

He whimpered into your wet mouth, eyes red and watery, “C-can I fuck you princess? M’sorry it’s small.” Poor baby seemed genuinely sad about his situation. You cooed, scratching sweaty white locks, “Be a nice boy like you promised and I’ll let you fuck me alll the time my prince.”

He beamed, head nodding jerkily, “M’please I’ll be so so so good, lemme fuck you sweets pleaaase!”

You cracked the flat of your palm on his flank and teased, “Get to it then. Doubt it’ll hurt.” With a broken noise, Aegon slid into your perfect slick cunt. He tightened his hold on you, gritting through the pleasure. You lied meanly, pussy wetter than ever, “Poor baby, I can’t even feel it.”Aegon furrowed his brow and tried about three angry pumps before splattering your cunt with seed. He wailed, face screwed up, “Ah- ahhh-Ah Love you! Oh my gods I love you- feel so good- oh gods fuck!”

Aegon was shivering head to toe, babbling about his love for you. That made you ache in more than one place. You pressed little kisses to his drooling lips and red cheeks, savoring the moment. He collapsed into a sweaty heap on top of you, panting.

“I think I love you too. Once you get your empty head down between my thighs and clean up your mess, puppy.”

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd smut #sub!aegon #celtigar!reader #humor n smut m

516 notes · View notes

homunculus-argument · 11 months

Text

Random story scene of the Unfinished Book:

The protagonist, who is a baron (his mother being a baroness) and half a northman, spent his teens running out of the house to hang out with stray kids in the city his mother lived in after his father's death and a childhood in the northlands - living a double life with a "stray name" with such conviction that most people are absolutely not convinced that he even is the baron he claims he is. His official legal identity of Aiden ar Gar had a bounty for high treason (which he was innocent of) and is legally dead (he didn't fake his death on purpose, he mainly got lucky).

Due to a turn of events he and his friends end up at a high-end socialite party where most of his friends are passed as servants of different sorts, and when they wonder what to do with him, he goes "it's alright, I'll pass myself up as some lesser foreign prince. I'll act offended when people have never heard of me and they won't pry for more details." They don't think this will work, but there's going to be a huge party with wine, fancy drugs and rich milfs in there so it's not like they could stop him from going.

His friends - who have mainly known him as the stray - are surprised to find that he actually can conduct himself quite properly in a palace, knowing how to walk in a nobleman's boots (literally) and eat with a fork like a baron could. Then he overhears some courtesan bragging about the ermine in her outfit. The wealthy have gotten into the trend of wearing white fur in their clothing, because what could be more frivolous than wearing fur in a land so warm that their language doesn't even have words for "ice" or "snow"?

And Aiden - at this point already drunk - turns to the other party the next table over and goes girl. That is not ermine. His friends are mortified but can only watch as he confidently turns to the table and starts explaining to the courtesan how the fur is far too thick for ermine and doesn't have the distinct traits of weasel pelt - this is clearly the winter coat of a hare, that someone botched skinning, cut into strips, and passed off as an ermine. Whoever sold her that was a cheat and a fraud and she should not conduct any more business with them. Drunk as he is, he clearly knows what he's talking about, and did this so casually and without a thought that he clearly could not have done this with any deliberate calculation.

His wavering claim of being some sort of obscure lesser nobility has been solidified, no-one else could not only so confidently break social tacts of not interrupting other peoples' conversation, and speak so confidently and expertly about something so frivolous as white pelts, and he clearly is no tailor. His friends still don't quite believe his claim that he used to live in The Northlands (not any more than they really believe he actually is the Baron ar Gar), but his northman father was a fur trapper. Not only has he seen both an ermine and a mountain hare in their winter fur in the wild, and would actually know how to trap them, his father taught him that stripping trick.

178 notes · View notes

forgottenvalentina · 2 months

Text

ok so, based on lizzy's idea of black w snakes, and paired w the fact that valentina's only v distantly related to royalty, this is a mockup i did for valentina's og crest! i went w sable/argent/vert/tawny as the primary color scheme (and am only just now putting together that i think i was really channeling house slytherin but whtever i stand by that we all know valentina'd be a slytherin lsdkfjklsdfkljsdf ANYWAY!! im thinking that the ram/serpent motif is the og royal one but the moline cross and crescent showcase that valentina is descended from the eighth son of a prince who was, himself, descended from the second son of a king soooo yeah, not exactly next in line till roderick decided to change all of that ;DDDD

Serpent: Wisdom, knowledge, defiance; fertility and renewal; medicine

Ram: Authority & leadership; strength, perseverence

Goat: Political ability, diplomat/diplomacy, practical wisdom; persistence and strength

Sable (black): Constancy or grief

Vert (green): Hope, joy, and loyalty in love

Argent (silver/white): Peace & sincerity

Tawny or Tenné (orange/brown): Worthy ambition

Crown: Heaven; victory, sovereignty, empire; success

Crescent: One who has been honored by the sovereign; hope/ hope of greater glory; service in holy war/House of the second son

Cross/Moline Cross: Service in holy war; faith/House of the eighth son (or, as used in conjunction with the crescent, house of an eighth son from the line of a second son)

Ermine or Fur: Dignity

ANYWAYYYY, when she got married that got adapted, and since she was of royal blood, her kids get to wear the crests of both their parents, perhaps smth...like...this...?

literally just used the first vaguely nautical sigil (since its the riverbend) w the default colors as an example to represent what their dad's sigil might've been, but yeah since their mom, being of royal blood, technically outranks their dad, they would have been permitted to slice their arms to use the sinister (no, really, that's just the word for 'left' in latin -- romans had weird supersticions abt the left and that's why sinister means what it means to us but, anyway, its what the mother's side is called when you get to use that and, obv, it therefore appears on the left -- as assigned from the pov of the person carrying the shield which pov i forgot when i initially made this which is why the words are backwards bc i flipped it since they later changed which side is sinister and which is dexter [right/paternal] lkasdjflkjsdflkj)

so yeah!! that's a mock up and i wondered what you thought? i def think the dad's side needs some work (im actually thinking, personally, that a portcullis could be cool esp bc its symbolic meaning is 'protection in an emergency' and that's precisely what valentina failed to give them aklsjdfkldsjfsdf annnd its what cassimir is sort of promising to eithne so yeah idk thought it had ~meaning but yeah anywayyy alksjdflkjsdf)

anyway!! smth along these lines would've been the family sigil that valentina and her kids would've been entitled to wear from the day of her marriage, so yeah! when valentina married lord m, the stepkids might've either quartered their arms (dad/val/mal/val probs), or they perhaps might've just left it as the above? once they were adopted (or 'adopted' ;D), the stepkids would've been entitlted to wear the malconaire arms. after her marriage, valentina probs took to using a val/malconaire split herself, but whatever her kids wanted to do would be their own call once they're formally entitled to use any arms they want etc. they could also potentially rest a crown over whatever their dad's sigil was to mark that they, themselves, are of royal blood, and valentina would defff encourage this and even more so after the rest of the royal line is wiped out laksjdfkljdsf

(also just realized i used a mullet instead of a moline in the second mockup, so just imagine that's a moline cross not a star on the cresent in the second one laksdjfklsdjafkljsdf this is why i really shouldn't try to do anything after a tag sale day hahaha)

anyway gonna respond to the overarching thing soon but when you set the challenge of 'like valles but not' i was like 'that sounds like fun!!' hahahaha (tho also lowkey hc'ing that they're related to the valles somehow -- we know the ~mega bad news came from house karr anyway soooo i think it works ;DDD)

#ooc #about #cassimir malconaire #sonya malconaire #fun fact lizzy our grandfather's crest was a black goat (w a red rose in his mouth) so that's ~our sinister crest and its meaning alksjflkj #do you think the goat or ram fits this fam better btw? i kept going back and forth so i featured both meanings...and that sigil could work #*for either so i told myself it was fine heehee #image

25 notes · View notes

princesselisabethofhesse · 9 months

Text

1901

THE SPHERE

February 2, 1901

On Saturday morning a number of journalists, including Mr. Sidney Paget of THE SPHERE, were admitted to see Queen Victoria's bier. Here is a description of the more notable wreaths:

Resting against the bier, almost in the folds of the ermine and of the Royal Standard, were wreaths of white flowers –the sorrowful tributes of children and grandchildren. They bore no style and title of imperial or princely birth. Each circlet of flowers was tied with dark blue ribbon, on which was a single letter.

Princess Elizabeth of Hesse (the Queen's great-granddaughter, born 1895).– A small wreath of spring flowers on which was written in a childish round hand, "Dear Gan-gan, from Elisabeth of Hesse".

source: britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk

#princess Elisabeth of Hesse #1901 #1901 Ephemera

46 notes · View notes

princesssarisa · 2 months

Text

In Cinderella Tales From Around the World, I've now reached the tales from Sweden and Norway.

*In many of these variants, just like in many versions from Great Britain and Ireland and some from Denmark, the Cinderella character is a princess by birth, and her stepmother is a queen. At first it seemed strange to me that a princess should be forced to clean, cook, and pasture animals, when royalty should have servants for those things. But then I remembered Disney's Snow White and how the wicked Queen forces Snow White to work as a scullery maid. In fairy tales, that sort of thing can happen.

*Whether there are two stepsisters or one can vary, though most often there's just one. But in all these versions, the heroine's abusers are a stepmother and stepsisters – neither Sweden nor Norway seems to have variants where she's abused by her biological family.

*In a few Swedish versions, the heroine is known as "Crow-Cloak," because her stepfamily forces her to wear a cloak of crow feathers. But in most others, as in other countries, she has a nickname related to cinders or ashes.

*The heroine's helpers in the Swedish versions come in a wide variety: a pike in a well, an ermine, an old man, a bird, a black ox, a midwife, a mountain troll, or even a magical apple, pear, and plum.

*The theme of the heroine being ordered to sort or prepare peas or grain, and her helper doing it for her, reappears in several versions.

*Almost all Swedish and Norwegian versions have the heroine go to church in her finery, not a ball or festival. Just one Swedish version, Askungen, has a ball instead, and that version seems heavily influenced by Perrault, because so far it's the only other version I've seen with a pumpkin transformed into a coach (along with rats into horses and caterpillars into footmen), and one of the very few where she has to leave by midnight.

*As in the Danish versions, the heroine usually says "Light before! Darkness behind!" to prevent anyone from following her from home to church or vice-versa.

*The theme of the stepsister(s) cutting her/their feet to make the shoe fit, but a bird revealing the trick, is once again constant.

*Several different Norwegian variants are called Kari Woodencloak, or in some English translations, Katie Woodencloak. As her name implies, this Cinderella figure does her dirty work wearing a dress made from boards of wood.

**The most famous of these versions, the one collected by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe, is another variation on the "abused stepdaughter runs away with her magical bull" theme. Kari is a princess whose wicked queen stepmother tries to starve her, but the bull magically feeds her each day, until the stepmother finds out and plans to kill the bull, so they flee. The bull is forced to fight three trolls, which leaves him gravely wounded, and he implores Kari to kill him, then lay his skin under a stone. Sadly she obeys, and from then on whenever she knocks on that stone, her wishes are granted. The story then, of course, becomes a Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur variant as she becomes a scullery maid at the castle of the prince, who treats her scornfully, only to fall in love with her when she comes to church dressed in magical finery.

***There are Swedish variants almost identical to this one too. Although they don't include the wooden dress, and in one of them, the bull is replaced by a white bear.

**There are other, simpler Kari Woodencloak tales too, though. One is like Cinderella meets Puss in Boots: Kari is a peasant girl who inherits only a pet cat when her parents die, so she and the cat set out to seek their fortune, she becomes a castle scullery maid, and the cat becomes her helper, hunting animals and selling them to the king, then using the money to buy finery for Kari. Others are standard Cinderella tales where Kari doesn't leave home, but simply slaves for her stepmother; in one of these, she gets her finery from a mysterious hill where disembodied voices speak, and another is like a simplified version of Asbjørnsen and Moe's, where the stepmother kills Kari's bull and Kari then gets her finery from his grave.

*There are many other Norwegian variants too. The heroine's various helpers in these versions include her mother's spirit, a bird, several birds, a mysterious old woman from inside a hill, or a fairy who appears from inside a lime tree and calls herself "the lime tree queen." (In virtually all the Scandinavian versions that include a magical tree, it's a lime tree, just like it's usually a hazel tree in Germany.)

*In some Norwegian versions, the stepmother is a sorceress who magically imprisons the father and forces him to marry her against his will at the beginning.

*At least two Norwegian versions continue after the heroine's marriage; her stepsister throws her into the sea and takes her place, but she comes back in the form of a duck, and her husband eventually breaks the spell.

Next stops: Finland, Estonia, and Russia.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland

#cinderella #fairy tale #variations #cinderella tales from around the world #heidi ann heiner #sweden #norway #tw: violence

17 notes · View notes

english-history-trip · 7 months

Text

[The portrait] shows Elizabeth, daughter of King James VI and I and elder sister to Charles I, wearing an ermine robe and crown. [Jan] Peeters believed that the crown – added to an earlier painting by a second artist – was the same one that had been lost by Charles I during the Civil Wars, broken up and sold for scrap by parliament. This crown, the so-called Tudor Crown, was the crown of England.

...[W]hen Thomas Howard, 4th Duke of Norfolk, was put on trial in 1572 for plotting to usurp Elizabeth I with Mary, Queen of Scots, her gift to him of an embroidered cushion was exhibit one. The needlepoint image of a blade cutting a barren tree branch to allow new roots to spring was enough to lose him his head. Mary, of course, damned herself in writing, but in a society that accorded such importance to visual rhetoric, it is hard to believe that the portrait of Elizabeth Stuart that comprised no mere emblem, but a contender blatantly wearing the crown, could not be taken as evidence of treason.

Elizabeth in her own crown as Dowager Queen of Bohemia

In 1623, Charles and his court favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, made the perilous – and ultimately fruitless – journey to Madrid.... [T]he Venetian ambassador in England, Alvise Vallaresso, advised his superiors that if Charles were to die en route, Elizabeth would become heir. He added that, when compared to the prince, she was “physically nearer this people and certainly much nearer their hearts”. Elizabeth’s popularity resulted from her militant Protestantism and her fearlessness. She was skilled with bow and arquebus (a type of long gun), she hunted regularly, spearing boars from horseback even when pregnant. Such was her charisma that even Scottish Catholics were drawn to her cause.

...

Painted almost a century before George [I]'s coronation, the portrait of Elizabeth wearing the Tudor Crown was indeed potentially treasonous. Though it was most likely meant not to be widely viewed, it made concrete a long-standing feeling that Elizabeth was the warrior queen that England, Scotland and Europe’s Protestants truly craved during the century’s darkest times.

#Neat stuff #stuarts #portraiture

23 notes · View notes

thewales · 2 years

Text

There’s a new article in the DoS about Charles’s coronation.

A few significant points:

the Duke of Norfolk, who as Earl Marshal is masterminding the Coronation, has been tasked with preparing a simpler, shorter and more diverse ceremony that reflects modern Britain.

The dress code next year will be less prescriptive.

Charles’s Coronation is expected to last little more than an hour, with only 2,000 guests and dignitaries.

It will be more religiously and culturally diverse.

Some key rituals will be retained, including the anointing of the monarch, who will swear to be the ‘defender of the faith’, not ‘defender of faith’ as previously speculated.

Other lengthy traditions are likely to be axed.

The MoS understands that the Court of Claims is set to be scrapped in the run-up to the ceremony, likely to be in the summer.

The traditional presentation of gold to the monarch is also likely to disappear.

Velvet chairs made especially for the 1953 Coronation are likely to be replaced by standard seating.

Discussions had taken place on relaxing the requirement for peers to wear so-called coronation robes. Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Mather, who started the plan for King Charles’s Coronation – which has since been updated – told The Mail on Sunday: ‘No Coronation robes. Give them to a museum where they belong. It’s not going to be a tweed jacket and pair of jeans – but morning suit or lounge suit. Other experts speculated that peers could don their ermine-trimmed parliamentary robes instead.

A great moderniser, Prince Philip agreed that the service should be televised. This time, as heir to the throne, Prince William is expected to play an important role on the committee.

#BRF #Charles’s coronation

188 notes · View notes

heliads · 2 years

Note

Oh nice could I request a royal prince Fred or George Weasley with a servant/commoner reader? Thank you! Love you♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

ok i would sell my soul for a good royalty au, hope this does the job nicely

masterlist

You haven’t seen the palace in such an uproar in quite some time. The servants and waitstaff have been thrown into chaos, all rushing to polish silver and bring out the finest china. Decorations have been sent from the farthest corners of the country, and you’d think a war had been declared from the way the soldiers are all decked out in their finest gear.

There’s no war, though, not today. Not even the mildest of skirmishes. The event that brings all of this hubbub is a good one: the twin princes are returning home. They’ve been off at the university for quite some time now, and at the end of their seventh year, they shall ride back in splendor and be received by their proud kingdom.

It’s all very extravagant, to be sure. The Weasley family is quite honorable so far as royal families go, and they’ve sent all of their children, six princes and one princess, to the best source of higher education around: Hogwarts School, of course. Nothing more would be expected for such a fine pedigree.

Needless to say, everyone from the lowliest serf to the king himself is quite pleased about their reception. However, if the servants’ talk is to be believed, the twin princes might not be the paragons of honor that they otherwise seem to be. The latest gossip circulating through the working men and women of the castle is that the princes have actually arrived from their studies far too early.

This would imply that they might have left on less than favorable terms, a rumor that the king and queen would most certainly like to silence. The twin princes are quite bright, of course, even the most uncharitable fearmongers of the palace can admit that, but sometimes their wit can stray a little too far towards cunning.

You would never admit to believing this sort of talk, as you vastly prefer the security of your job over anything else, but it is rather an interesting matter to contemplate. The twin princes do seem to be home at least a month or two earlier than normal, and although few other than royalty or the most esteemed gentry can claim to be familiar with Hogwarts’ customs, it does provide more fodder for the rumor mills to go on turning.

Judging by the king and queen’s behavior towards seeing their sons arrive home, though, you would never suspect anything to be amiss. They greet the twin princes with full fanfare and regalia, allowing the two young men to process down streets full of cheering citizens before dismounting from their horses to enter the palace doors.

As a servant of the finest caliber, you’re there to witness the reception of the royal sons. You’re pulled from your usual tasks of spinning and washing and cleaning to put on your least dingy uniform and freshen yourself up. After that, you’re permitted to line up with the rest of the waitstaff to swell up the numbers of happy faces greeting the princes when they finally walk into the throne room.

If the king and queen suspect anything about the twins’ early arrival, they don’t say a word. King Arthur greets them proudly from his throne, and Queen Molly, a little less given to decorum than her studious husband, goes so far as to rush across the throne room to greet them. Both princes are dressed respectably in finest silks and ermine robes, and the entire picture is one of familiar wealth, royal boys returning to royal homes.

Their elder brothers have also deigned to visit the palace so as to receive their siblings; Princes Bill and Charlie have temporarily returned from their travels around the world to greet the twins. The rest of the royal Weasley children are absent, although the crowds surrounding the twin princes seem no less diminished for that fact. Prince Ron and Princess Ginny are still at school, and Prince Percy is known for his labors under the monarch of a neighboring country, King Cornelius.

For now, however, Princes Fred and George are well admired by all, and after receiving the proper greetings from their parents, the lords and ladies of the court swoop down upon them to bestow all the well wishes and felicitations that they could hope to hear.

The reception doesn’t end for another hour, at which point the king and queen call for everyone to proceed to the banquet hall for a feast in the boys’ honor. You must rush with the other waitstaff to help the cooks and make sure all is in order. You already freshened up the private chambers of the twin princes along with the other servants, but you’ll be able to bring their things up now.

Thus the day of the boys’ arrival ends with festivities lasting well into the night. In a surprising but welcome show of benediction, the king and queen allow the servants of the palace to take part in the celebrations as well, and you join your closest friends in watching fireworks spark over the lake. Drinks are passed around, and all make merry well into the night.

You’re careful not to overindulge in all the good cheer, for as fun as it is that night, the next morning brings with it even more work than before now that the palace has gained two more royal inhabitants. Many of your fellow servants don’t display your good sense, and have to either claim to have befallen a sudden illness or else stagger to their posts with splitting headaches and reeling tempers.

Most of the servants aren’t at their fullest aptitude when morning comes, and so you and the remaining functional waitstaff are given different duties than normal. Anyone can scrub a floor or polish a vase despite crushing ailments, so you’re given the more intensive tasks, such as delivering private correspondence or checking in with those in the upper echelons of the serving forces to ensure all is in order.

After confirming that a gathering of serving maids have prepared fresh mats of rushes for the floor of the banquet hall, and that the craftsmen are providing ample time to carve up a new set of fine wooden panels for the new tower, you’re allowed half an hour of your own time in reward for your efficiency.

It’s still rather early in the morning, so most of the castle is still in bed, sleeping off the excesses of the night. Imagine your surprise, then, when upon rounding a corner, someone walks smack into you, and that your interloper would be one of the newly arrived princes.

You’re ready to fire off a complaint against the man who’d crashed into you, and the insult is already risen to your lips before you recognize the fine clothes of the young man before you and choke the words back down.

Despite your best attempts to silence yourself, as well as your immediate bow, Prince George still regards you with more than a small spark of amusement. Your hurried apologies only increase his merriment, and he quickly holds up a hand to stave off your wave of regrets.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he says frankly, “I’m fairly sure that I’m the one who ran into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going in the slightest.”

You shake your head. The first lesson every servant learns in the palace is that the royal family is never, ever to blame. Even if they shove you as they walk past, or contradict themselves, or otherwise cause you grief, you are the reason for the dropped pitcher, the incorrect object fetched, the improper response. Always.

“I must disagree, your highness, it was my fault that–”

Prince George cuts you off with a small smile. “If you’re trying to cater to my modesty, I’ll have to stop you there. It needs no bolstering, I promise you. Besides,” he adds at your desperate look, “you have technically just disagreed with me, and I thought that was supposed to be a far worse offense than letting me take the blame for something.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what you’ve said. “I didn’t mean that.” You whisper.

Prince George arches a brow. “Then what did you mean?”

You don’t respond immediately, trying to find a good way to just accept the blame and move on, when he shakes his head slightly. “I apologize, I’m being difficult. What if we accept that I’m terrible at looking where I’m going and call it a day?”

Now you’re the one fighting a smile. “I’m sure my master, the steward, would object to that.”

Prince George grins fully now. You haven’t had an opportunity to come so close to him before, and you can appreciate that happiness looks well on him, adding an extra glow to his eyes and making what has always been seen as a mischievous face look more honest.

“Ah, but if I don’t object to it, we shan’t have problems, shall we? Besides, I’m counting on you to be my confidant. Your master wouldn’t object if he never hears about it.”

You arch a brow. “You would ask me to keep secrets?”

He nods solemnly. “It may be a difficult task, but I’m sure you can handle it. Besides, you could if you wanted to. It’s not as if this palace is a stranger to rumors about me.”

His wicked smile startles you. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” you say calmly, but Prince George is not to be dissuaded from a good bit of fun if he so desires it.

“Of course you do,” he chastises, “everyone does. It is rather strange that my brother and I are back from school so early in the year, don’t you think? It’s almost as if we left sooner than we should have. Almost like we chose to leave before our time was up.”

You stare at him in earnest, your servant’s decorum gone in a second. “That can’t be so.”

“Ah,” he says triumphantly, “but it is. The headmaster left, uprooted and replaced by a truly toadish new one. Her name was Umbridge, and we hated her. After causing as much hell as we could, Fred and I decided that we were done being under her rule, and we ran. It was fantastic.”

The vicarious glee in his eyes is so strong that it makes you laugh in spite of yourself. He seems pleased to have elicited such a response from you, and it only makes his self satisfied grin broaden.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask when you’re able to calm yourself again. “Wouldn’t you rather keep that a secret? It could ruin your reputation in the court.”

Prince George flashes you a knowing wink. “I trust you won’t have cause to tell a single soul in court, that’s why.”

Your good humor deserts you in a flash, replaced by bitter hurt. “You refer to the fact that you and your court are on a different station than me, a servant? I appreciate the reminder, your highness. I believe I’ve been sufficiently distracted from my tasks, and I must return to them at once.”

You move to hurry past the prince, but he steps in front of you so as to block your progress. “I apologize,” he says, and despite your anger you believe he does truly mean it, “I didn’t intend to offend you. I merely meant that you weren’t the type to gossip.”

You give him a suspicious look. “And how do you know that? We’ve only just met.”

Prince George smiles again, spreading his hands as he speaks. “Perhaps, but I feel I’ve already gained a thorough understanding of your character.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” You inquire.

He looks delighted to be given the chance to elaborate. “You’re headstrong, but only in the best ways, of course. I would never detect a shred of meekness about you. At the same time, you have integrity in spades. That’s why you wouldn’t fit in well at court, you know, they’re a bunch of liars and you’re better than them by leagues. You’re also far superior to arrogant princes such as myself, although I do appreciate you deigning to entertain me these past few minutes.”

You have to laugh, and the prince frowns. “What is it?” He asks, “not what you expected?”

“No,” you manage, “not quite. I appreciate the compliment to my courage and integrity, but it’s rather far-fetched, don’t you think?”

“No,” he whispers, “no, I don’t.”

For some reason, that removes the last of the brashness from you, and you look at him quietly. The prince seems chastened by the force of his truth, and he leans closer to you.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, “and I would like to get to know you further.”

You shake your head once, if to stop yourself as much as him. “We are not meant to be friends, your highness. I need not remind you of the stations of this world, nor that we reside in far different ones.”

“George,” he says simply. At your confused look, he explains himself. “George. That’s my name. I’d rather hear it than ‘your highness,’ if it suits you to call me that.”

Servants are most certainly not allowed to use the direct names of the royals, not in a million years. The proper thing to do is to thank the prince for his kindness, and to take your leave of him as quickly as you can before you make any new mistakes.

Instead, you nod slowly. “Alright then, George, when shall we meet again?” You tilt your head up challengingly, ready for him to take back his no doubt temporary breach of etiquette, but instead, he just smiles.

“Tonight,” he offers, “tonight, in the southern tower. I’ll wait for you.”

The sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor, and the prince turns around by habit, ready to greet whoever approaches him. When he looks back, you’re gone, seemingly disappearing into thin air. In reality, you’ve quickly ducked into a neighboring passage, and you watch from behind the protective cover of a nearby column as George glances around to see if anyone else is there.

At last, he’s certain that he’s no longer being watched, and it is only then that he truly transforms. A radiant smile grows on his face, and he laughs the sort of laugh you only let out in private, when you’re so pleased by something that you’d never dare to show such a weakness to anyone else.

You’re there to see it, though, and it is all the reasoning you need to convince yourself to slip to the southern tower come nightfall. True to his word, George is waiting there for you, no guards in sight. There, you’re able to converse in earnest now that his true intentions are clear.

You walk away from the second meeting with quite the sunny disposition. You find yourself quite unable to sleep after that, despite the fact that you stayed talking with George far longer than you should have and can only creep into your bunk a few hours from dawn.

You’re thinking about the encounter the rest of the day, blissfully recalling the twist of his smile, how proud he was whenever he was able to make you laugh. Your good mood is only improved when you happen to pass by George in the halls later in the afternoon, and he asks to meet you once again. It’s an offer that you accept without question.

Thus you settle into a particularly satisfying rhythm: the work during the day no longer seems quite so oppressive, and your nights are brightened by the company of the one young man you never thought remotely capable of being so close to you. George proves to be a welcome conversant, and before long you’d consider him your dearest friend.

Soon enough, you’d also consider him to be far more treasured in your heart than just a friend. You don’t dare to address your feelings in earnest, though. It is one thing to talk to a prince, to share in his worries and poke gentle fun at his will, but it is entirely another to fall in love with him. There is no possible future for the two of you; at some point, he will meet a princess or otherwise esteemed lady with an enormous dowry and marry her.

This is how the world works, it is always how the world works. Despite your eagerness to pretend otherwise, your realm of influence is entirely separate from George’s. There is no way that he could ever love you back, nor be able to present you as a proper consort to the king and queen.

It would be best if you could cut your love off at the stem, regardless of how beautiful a flower might grow from it. Despite your best efforts, this is not to be. You cannot help but love him. It would be impossible to do anything less than love him. George is the sort of man made to be loved, to feel in any other way would be a sort of betrayal to his character.

The only thing you can do is attempt to slow your feelings, if not outright stop them. You avoid places where you think George might be, and your visits to the southern tower come to an abrupt halt. Several days without meeting him turn into several weeks, and then suddenly your self-inflicted separation ends.

You are merely trying to organize some of the other servants in the grave task of preparing the halls for a new visitor, so it comes as quite the surprise when you’re interrupted by none other than the prince. You pray that George will pay you no mind the second you spot him out of the corner of your eye, but you’re not so lucky as that; he spies you and quickly heads your way.

You glance around furtively the second he comes to a stop beside you. “You really must go,” you admonish him under your breath, “you cannot be seen with me.”

“Why not?” George asks simply. “If I go now, you’ll be certain to never see me again. That is your plan, is it not, to disappear without warning? I do have to tell you that I don’t particularly like having my friends disappear on me.”

You gaze at him beseechingly. “I had my reasons, but please, you have to leave before someone notices you.”

“What happened to you?” George asks without warning, “What happened to us? I thought you liked talking to me. Have I done something to upset you?”

The hurt on his face is plain to see, and it twists your own heart without meaning to do so. “It’s not you,” you sigh, “it was never you.”

George looks beseechingly at you. “Then what is the matter? Why have you thrown off my company so abruptly?”

You almost laugh, and gesture at the hall surrounding you. “All of this, George. All of this. You could never hope to truly be around me forever. We aren’t even supposed to communicate. You are a prince and I am so far from that, it’s almost funny.”

“That never bothered you before,” George pleads, “what changed?”

“What changed is that I realized I could never be with you in the way that I wished,” you reveal, “and that unhappy ending is the worst thing I could possibly imagine.”

George stiffens. “What way did you wish us to be together?” He asks cautiously.

You look away. “Don’t make me say it,” you whisper.

“You must,” his firm tone responds, “you must, for both of us.”

Fine, then. It will be his fault that he must hear it. “Because I love you, and the thought of you marrying someone else makes me feel a hurt more profound than anything in my life.”

When you dare to hazard a glance towards George, you realize that he appears struck dumb, totally and completely taken aback by your confession. This, at last, is too much for you, and you flee the scene. He doesn’t react until you’re halfway down the hall, and by then, it’s too late for him to stop you this time.

You do not see George for quite some time after that. Despite his assurances that your difference in stations would not matter to him, even he does not dare venture down to the servants’ quarters, and thus you pass your days without him, wondering how much he hates you, despising the fact that he ever could.

Two weeks pass after your reveal, and you’re working fiercely in an effort to burn the whole incident out of your brain when you receive a summons to the throne room. You seem just as stunned by the order as the messenger, but dutifully hurry towards the hall anyway.

The entire way over, you are terrified that George must have said something, that you will be punished in some way for your lapse in decorum. Everything must surely be ruined, all because you couldn’t keep your heart under sufficient lock.

The throne room is empty when you enter, save for the king and queen in their thrones. Not a courtier or lord is to be seen. The elder princes have already departed back to their respective destinations, and the younger royals are concluding their last weeks at school, if they haven’t already begun the journey back to the palace.

You bow dutifully to the king and queen, yet remain afraid to speak even after they bid you rise. Shall they admonish you for your actions, or dismiss the pleasantries and just dismiss you outright? It is difficult work, what you do, long hours and hard jobs, but it is all you have ever known, and you would dearly miss the friends you’ve made.

The king speaks first. “Do you know why we have called you here today?”

You keep your gaze firmly trained on the ground, too fearful to even look at them. “I have a faint notion, my king.”

He makes a sound that could be a chuckle; you can’t check for sure, too deeply entranced by a row of stitches on the tapestry at your feet. “You are aware, then, that this matter concerns my son. Prince George.”

This is it, then. You start to speak quickly, filled with a desperation to get this over with as soon as possible. “I would like to apologize, your highnesses, for my severe foolishness in–”

The queen cuts you off. “Do you regret it, then? Loving my son?”

You risk a glance up, but feel glad you did; Queen Molly regards you not with anger, but a faint smile. It is this that gives you the courage to shake your head.

“No,” you dare, “I do not. I love your son still, even though it is wrong.”

Her smile broadens, and you think she might even be pleased with your answer, as little sense as it makes. “I am most delighted to hear that.”

Confusion wracks you, but before you can figure out the best way to ask what on earth she’s talking about, the queen continues. “You are not here to be punished, Y/N. Far from it. Indeed, we are here because my son came to me not a few days earlier and told me that he wished to be married. Usually, the king and I would have had more influence in the matter, but this was different, because he told me–”

The queen’s sentence is finished by a voice from behind you. “I told her that I was in love, and that has made all the difference.”

The speaker comes to a stop beside you, and you turn to see George standing there, hands folded behind his back, looking just as carefree and amiable as you’ve ever seen him.

The king nods in agreement. “You understand, then?”

“Not in the slightest,” you whisper, and George grins.

“I’ve asked us to be married,” he says simply, and you think that you must have started hallucinating, because there is no way that this could be possibly happening, not in the slightest.

Yet when you look in front of you, the king and queen still sit there, still smiling at you, still utterly pleased that their son could want to marry a servant, and worse, one that was you, and yet be happy with the whole affair.

George registers your confusion, and begins to explain. “I know I left our last meeting on rather poor terms, but I promise I was not unhappy with your confession. Far from it, in fact. I do love you, Y/N, more than anything. In fact, I knew that it was the sort of love that I could not bear to live without, and so I persuaded my parents to let us wed.”

The king chuckles. “We did not take much persuasion, I must admit. Rarely have I seen my son so keen on his wishes as in this instance. What other course of action could we possibly take except to permit the marriage?”

The queen breaks from her decorum to beam at you. “We really are excited about you joining the family, dear. I have plenty of other children to marry off, and I couldn’t be happier about this particular union. George has told us all about you.”

Unable to stop yourself, you raise a brow at George. “All about me?”

His cheeks turn a shade of red to rival even his copper hair. “Perhaps I was a little eager to convince them to take our side. Think nothing of it.”

“I certainly shall not,” you whisper to him, and he laughs like a man who has just been promised the world.

“I might have expected that,” he whispers back. It is only deserved.

Thus, the palace is thrown into another frenzy, this time not to welcome back existing royals but to greet a new one, you. Wedding preparations must begin at once, of course, and there is quite the amount of work to do. This time, though, you won’t be one of the servants troubled by it. Instead, you are a newly named royal, and about to marry their most beloved prince. Nothing could make you more happy, nor George. It is precisely the stuff of dreams.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @amortensie, @23victoria, @frenchgirlinlondon

#george weasley #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter oneshot #weasley twins #weasley twins imagines #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins oneshot #harry potter george #harry potter george imagines #harry potter george x reader #harry potter george oneshot

202 notes · View notes

cypriathus · 1 month

Text

Here is my version of Asmodeus!

WARNING: There are mentions of coitus, genitalia, and gambling.

Utsimoderva is a good-mannered archdemon of lust who can show genuine concern and understanding towards those that are experiencing misfortune. However, he isn’t afraid to be cruel and merciless in order to do anything that will help him to achieve his lustful conquests. Despite how ruthless he can be, he’s quite the canny satirist and critic of mortal and immortal societies. He’s a creative strategist with a lot of passion and wisdom for military, scientific, mathematical, and artistic exploits. He possesses a strong aesthetic sense and enjoyment in the finer things in life, thriving in social situations. As a result of his seductive and tempting nature, he can lure individuals into self-indulgent behaviours. He can convincingly gain favour by playing to the emotions of crowds, masses, and even single individuals without dishonesty. He calmly holds firm to his chosen moral position, strictly following through with determination. Due to being a hedonist, he lovingly enjoys luxury, sensuality, and pleasurable, yet bloody confrontations. Utsimoderva’s impulsive, attention-seeking nature and sensitivity to criticism can cause frustrations in his life.

He’s 9’ 3” (281.94 cm) with an oval-shaped mesomorphic body type that has muscular limbs, four arms, a well-endowed penis, and an engorged vulva. His skin appears to be a whitish-red from the ashes and blood of corpses that are smeared all over his body, and his neck is a purplish-blue due to holding poison in his throat. He has muscular rooster legs, sharp claws, six turkey buzzard wings, four intertwining serpent tails, and a prominent feminine chest. He also has three heads; that of a man with Indian hog deer antlers and elvish ears (front), a palomino Mustang horse (right), and a Bluefaced Leicester ewe (left). His human head possesses two rows of shark teeth sticking out of his mouth and pupiless heterochromia eyes, the right is greyish-blue and the left is yellow-brown. Utsimoderva wears long, flowing, slightly tattered robes of brilliant turquoise that have golden hemming and purple stars. He possesses a four-arched imperial crown with a golden pig that has open feathered wings on the top, a red velvet cap, and a brown ermine band. His crown has an openwork gold frame, a Black Prince’s Ruby, a Cullinan diamond, a St. Edward’s Sapphire, 17 amethysts, 11 emeralds, and 269 pearls. He occasionally wields a light lance of blue and pink flames, and a rose gold banner depicting a decapitated sapphire-eyed ram’s head with an encircling peridot ouroboros.

He’s capable of breathing hellish fire and spitting out poison that induces vengeful nightmares, and the aura surrounding him can cause fear and repudiation to sinful people. He possesses the strength of his biological father and aunt, and the stamina, dexterity, and durability of his mother. As a result of his supernatural agility, he can dodge projectiles that move several times faster than light due to his heightened balance, motor coordination, reflexes, and speed. Utsimoderva can clearly mimic the voices of humans and Æylphitus, but he can’t imitate the Äylcephomus and Hirczalotepus Tejasozuri. He’s able to feel textures and tactile sensations outside the range of normal perception, helping him to locate potential danger or lustful sinners. Depending on the situation, he can hijack the body of humans, Ufrajozlens, and Azhelowins by accessing their souls and overtaking their mind for three weeks.

He knows the private lives of people and hidden secrets and treasures of the earth, and he can easily bestow invisibility to mortals. He possesses absolute knowledge of and mastery over sexuality, geometry, arithmetic, astronomy, and the mechanical arts. He can manipulate astronomical bodies, lust, desires, vengeance, biological essence, and sexual force, and induce fanaticism and emotional attachments. By using hypnosis, Utsimoderva can easily seduce people of weak will through his eyes and sensual touches. He’s capable of utilising telepathy, mind-reading, and zoolingualism, and seeing nearly all the variables of any situation in order to predict desirable outcomes. He can change his form into sexually attractive humans, bulls, goats, a basilisk, an aphrodisiac mist, and white smoke.

FAMILY:

Unnamed destroying angel grandmother

Unnamed seraph grandfather

Aysuvozel (aunt)

Samuvozeli (father)

Lerszukotha (mother)

Ezasvoghin (aunt)

Kairszoben (half-brother)

16 half-sisters

24 half-brothers

Usraphoniel (lover)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Asmodeus

Breeding Freak

Gambler's Choice

His Writhing Lust

Lord of Perversion

Provider of Endless Pleasure

Chaser of the Beckoning Flesh

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

He’s omnisexual

He likes to pretend that his birthday is on February 14th (Aquarius), which is known as Valentine’s Day.

As an Æylphitus, his name means “wrath demon”.

He has a somewhat noticeable limp

He’s the prince of Concupiscence

He’s a banker at the baccarat table in the Nifjazroghetus palace

He commands seventy-two legions of demons

He finds enjoyment in punishing sinners for their carnal desires

He owns many gambling houses in the Concupiscence and Avarice levels of Nifjazroghetus

His bedroom has a large heart-shaped waterbed with koi of all colouration varieties, a fur-trimmed blanket of burgundy and dark purple, and feathered pillows of saffron-yellow. He possesses rose gold walls and purplish-black statues depicting musquelibets, dragons, pigs, nymphes, satyrs, and centaurs. He often has libertine demons in his room that wear the heads of roosters, serpents, sheeps, and bulls as masks. In his bedroom is a frigidarium that can fit seven people and it’s full of hot emerald water with pink and red rose petals sprinkled on top.

His favourite dish is a fish’s heart with rabbit liver, scalloped potatoes, cubes of blue cheese, and garlic naan bread.

Belaszothi and Ipalosuzeh are his two closest friends

He rides an African lion with a draconic neck, the tail of a blue whale, and black swan wings.

#writerscorner #writing #creative writing #original character #personality #physical appearance #outfit #abilities #power #asmodeus #lilith #samael #prince #archdemon #devil #lust #fun facts #extra information

7 notes · View notes

theblogtini · 1 year

Note

PRINCE Harry pulled out a thong made of ermine for Kate during his speech at her wedding to Prince William.

Harry – who claimed he was not his older brother’s best man – said an American man wrote to him about wanting to make something special for Catherine.

The man had “set out to catch 1,000 ermines” – but only caught two, which he turned into the thong with silk strings.

Harry writes in Spare: “Rough year for ermine, I said.

"Still, I added, the Yank improvised, made the best of things, as Yanks do, and cobbled together what he had, which I now held aloft.

“The room let out a collective gasp. It was a thong.

“Soft, furry, a few silken strings attached to a V-shaped ermine pouch no larger than the ring pouch inside my tunic.

“After the collective gasp came a warm, gratifying wave of laughter.”

He added: “When it died away I closed on a serious note.

“Mummy: How she’d have loved to have been here. How she’d have loved Kate, and how she’d have loved seeing this love you’ve found together.”

Harry says he “winged it” in the two-minute speech, used to introduce William’s two real best men at the 2011 wedding.

----

Um. There's so much to unpack here. Harry said he wasn't a best man but he gave a speech anyway introducing the other two and he pulled out a thong at the reception. Gross.

He wasn’t best man but he did all the best man duties in church, signed the register, AND gave a speech. He’s just pissed that 2 other people also gave speeches.

Did Pippa make a speech? Is he pissed he was t maid of honor too?

86 notes · View notes

thepastisalreadywritten · 11 months

Text

In London during the late spring of 1953, preparations for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation were reaching their denouement.

Couturier Norman Hartnell was completing a dress to outshine any other.

Tucked away at the back of Hartnell’s lavish Mayfair townhouse, a team of embroiderers were finishing stitching a floral garland on the ivory silk bodice and crinoline.

Pastel thread, jewels, sequins, beads and 10,000 seed pearls were sewn as Commonwealth emblems and British flora around an English Tudor rose scattered with diamond dewdrops.

Six young, aristocratic maids of honour, including 19-year-old Lady Anne Coke – best-selling author Anne Glenconner – were being drilled like guardsmen by The Duke of Norfolk, responsible for organising the coronation, as they rehearsed the walk to the Abbey altar, with his wife, the Duchess, standing in for The Queen.

“If the Bishops don’t learn to walk in step,” he remonstrated, “we’ll be here all night.”

The photographer Cecil Beaton, well-versed in photographing crowned heads and aristocrats in the Vogue studios, was prepping a vantage point in Westminster Abbey, high up by the organ pipes, as the best location from which to capture the ceremony.

It would be a long day; he’d fill his top hat with sandwiches to sustain him.

Nearby, at Garrard, the Crown Jeweller and his team of master craftsmen were hunched over workbenches altering the Imperial State Crown to fit the young Queen’s head.

Garrard had made the Crown in 1937 for King George VI – a replica of the crown designed and crafted for Queen Victoria, which contained virtually all the same stones symbolic of centuries of Royal history, fitted around a purple velvet cap and ermine band.

Clusters of diamond-set crosses and fleurs-de-lis linked by swags of diamonds, supported by sapphires, emeralds and pearls in the form of oak leaves and acorns, dazzled around the massive 317.40 carat Cullinan II diamond, the Second Star of Africa, cut from the largest diamond ever discovered.

Above it sat the Black Prince’s Ruby – in fact, a spinel, worn by Henry V at Agincourt – while the 104 carat oval Stuart sapphire gleamed at the rear of the band, with the cross atop the orb set with the sapphire from Edward the Confessor’s ring.

King George VI requested Garrard create an inner “hammock” style fitting, like a guard’s officer’s bearskin, to distribute the nearly three pounds of weight evenly on his head.

Reshaping the circlet for Queen Elizabeth II involved remounting the stones and motifs of which it is composed, as well as repositioning and lowering the arches, all of which required craftsmanship of the highest skill.

The aim was to improve the strength of the crown with lightness of weight, which isn’t easy with large stones, and those which were cut nearly 300 years ago.

They were working against the clock. The new Queen required time before the ceremony to become accustomed to the crown’s feel and weight.

“There are some disadvantages to crowns, but otherwise they are very important things,” said Her Majesty, recalling its heaviness on the 65th anniversary of the coronation.

“Fortunately, my father and I have roughly the same shaped head, so once you put it on, it stays.”

The media demanded constant updates on Garrard’s work, with the coronation making broadcasting history as the first service to be televised, adding to the sense of pressure.

In addition, two gold Armill bracelets of sincerity and wisdom, symbolic of the monarch’s bond with the people needed to be finished, which were replacing the 17th-century enamel bracelets dating from the coronation of King Charles II.

In previous ceremonies, the Armills had been carried, but these were made for the Queen to wear, decorated with two rows of engraving and Tudor rose clasps with red velvet linings.

Garrard was also inundated with cleaning requests.

“No one had worn their jewellery or tiaras during the war,” explains Lady Anne.

“People were queuing to have their tiaras, which were like great fenders of diamonds, stomachers and necklaces cleaned.”

On the day, 2 June 1953, it poured with rain.

Lady Anne remembers arriving at the Abbey:

“It was pretty dark and cold. Our dresses weren’t lined, there were clothing coupons after the war you see.

A tiny thread of blue cotton had been placed on the floor in the Abbey, so the Queen knew where to stand.

When the procession began, we walked past row upon row of tiaras, as well as people in their National dress.

The Queen walked a bit faster than the Duchess had in rehearsals, so we had to adjust our steps.”

The ceremony ended at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

Hartnell left after watching his historic dress sweep down the aisle followed by the procession of royal pages, maids of honour, peers and peeresses sparkling with diamonds, looking, he remarked:

“Like a lovely hunk of fruitcake, the damson jam of velvet bordered with clotted cream of ermine and sprinkled with the sugar of diamonds.”

Beaton rushed to Buckingham Palace to photograph the Queen theatrically against a painted backdrop, holding the orb and sceptre and wearing the Imperial State Crown.

The Crown Jeweller Garrard remained until The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh had taken lunch in the Abbey annex, in case any last-minute adjustments to the diamond-encrusted Crown were needed.

“Cecil was waiting when we all returned from the Abbey,” Lady Anne continues.

“He had everything set up for the photographs, and that’s when I really noticed the Crown and jewels glittering under the bright lights and took note of it all.

The Queen looked so young, beautiful and vulnerable, so the contrast of seeing her crowned with all the regalia was extraordinary.

She was weighted down a bit, but I remember thinking it was terribly poignant.”

A tense moment followed.

“The Duke of Edinburgh was fussing around, and Cecil got irritated, put his camera down and said, ‘Oh Sir, would you prefer to take the photographs?’” Lady Anne laughs.

“The Queen looked a bit horrified, and The Duke wandered off. You see, The Duke would have liked the photographer Baron, but it was The Queen Mother who adored Cecil.”

Later, it was still rainy and dark outside.

When the gleaming, crowned figure of The Queen appeared on the Buckingham Palace balcony, she shone with a sense of tradition and permanence.

With the Imperial State Crown, she wore the Coronation necklace and earrings, made in 1858 by Garrard and worn by Queen Alexandra and Queen Mary, including 25 brilliants suspending the Lahore diamond drop.

Time will tell if the Armills will return to being carried at the Coronation of HRH The Prince of Wales, and if he has inherited the Windsor head shape, but should substantial adjustments be required, the crown will appear once more unchanged.

The historical continuity of the regalia, and the fact the crown is still in constant use, makes these jewels created in the Garrard workshop the most potent in the world.

51 notes · View notes