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marveldcmistress · 2 years

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Summary: Reader is married to Charles and pregnant with her/their first child. Having heard tales from the other ladies of court about their husbands taking mistresses during their pregnancies, Reader stays up at night taking care of Charles' needs and tends to the household during the day, leaving little room for rest. When hormones and sleep-deprivation take its toll on the Reader's health, Charles finally confronts her about her once strict self-care routine he had established with her.

A/N: This is based off the post I made on here a few months ago that I decided to just write myself. You can definitely tell I rushed the ending but there’s so much more than I planned to add to it. Enjoy y’all!

Charles was sitting at his desk, returning letters of business, when a knock on his door took his focus away. At the invitation of entrance, his secretary announced his lady wife's personal maid. She seemed anxious, not quite upset but not exactly scared either. Nervous.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” he says, her anxiety setting him on edge. She, besides himself, was the person closest to you. Her job was literally to take care of you. So if she was worried, she would be worried about you. He was already protective of you, but since finding out you were bearing his son (“A mother knows, Charles. I dreamt it.”) his concern for you only grew. You were always a little clumsy, but now your equilibrium is off the bigger your belly gets, and you refuse to sit in bed all day.

(“This is my house as well, Charles. And I will be damned if I do not take care of it myself. What kind of wife would I be if I did not keep the house my husband has so graciously given me?”

He'd always roll his eyes and say “I'd give you the moon and stars if you only ask.”)

He returns his attention to the maid, if something were wrong with you or his child he would do everything in his power to save you.

“Your Grace, I believe Her Grace, my Lady Suffolk, is ill.”

“What's wrong with her?” He stands from his desk, moving past Elizabeth and out of his study. She tries to follow after him, struggling to match his long strides.

“I tried to wake her this morning to break her fast, but she complained of a headache, so I left her to sleep while going to fix her meal to bring to her. She's been so weary these past few weeks. I do see to it that she is eating properly, for the babe. But as I am not with her at night I have no knowledge of her sleeping habits. Is she getting enough rest, Your Grace?”

Her question brings him to an abrupt halt. Flashes of memories pass by his eyes. Images of you naked, full in belly and breast from his seed, passion blazing like the roaring hearth by the bed. You had both been insatiable, you from the hormones (and let's be honest, your sinfully sexy Duke) and him from complete adoration of your changed body. He was absolutely entranced, your breasts were always soft but now they were heavy with milk, the rest of your body plush with motherhood. You were glowing, a shining star in his dark world of politics and betrayal. You spend hours making love, fucking, and everything in between.

To know that he may be the reason you no longer rest brings him immense guilt. He knew you had issues sleeping before you got pregnant, and you worked so hard during the day. He constantly tried to get you to slow down, relax.

(“Charles if I am not working I will lose my wits. I promise to take care of myself, as well as you, but I must stay busy.” )

And he held you to that promise. When not at court, he kept you both on a daily routine. First with breakfast, either at the table together with servants working around you, or naked in bed with tea, basking in the morning sun. He'd never believed more in heaven than those moments with his angel. Then you would reluctantly leave each other to go to work, you to the kitchens to help prepare dinner before moving outside. You adored your gardens, ones he spent a good fortune on as your wedding present. He would go to his study or around the villages, answering letters to the King or speaking with those under his rule. He tried to be as fair of a leader as possible, having been a lowly man once. You would both break for an hour to lunch, taking a quick roll in the hay before finishing any other duties. After dinner, usually spent in your room by the fire, you take a bath together. You talk about your day, the baby, make love, then finally wash when the water has gone cold. Usually you would then fall asleep in each other's arms, but with both of your passions being so high you would still be up for hours stoking the fire.

He felt so selfish. How could he have neglected you for his own sexual gain? He should have known better, your health was vital to his child's. For the sake of his sanity, you and his child must stay healthy and safe. He rushes even faster to your chambers, worry etched all over his features. He must correct his wrongs, for his wife and heir.

You startle awake when your chamber doors burst open. You were just having a dream of Charles and your son, strolling through the spring blooms of your garden. The babe was small, clearly just born, and Charles was glowing in the sunlight. Your heart couldn't be more full of love, your husband and your child in perfect bliss. You look to the doors, wondering what kind of commotion could have taken you from such happiness. Charles is rushing at you, the crease between his brows the only thing you can decipher before he is crowding your space, hands on your back to help you sit up.

“My love? What's the matter?” you ask, reaching to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead. Blue eyes bore into yours, full of anxiety. You always loved how expressive he was, never hiding how he felt from you. When he had first proposed the offer of marriage to your father, you were afraid to end up in a love-less marriage with a stoic, stone faced husband who wouldn't give you a second glance. After getting married, Charles had put together a private dinner in your chambers, where he discussed what he wanted from this marriage, and asking of you what you expected from him.

(“I wasn't the best husband to my first wife, for which I regret. I would like to change that with you.” ) That is when you fell in love with your husband. He was the exact opposite of everything you feared you would have to endure the rest of your life.

His hands coming to cup your face brings you back to the present. “I should be asking you that, dear wife. Elizabeth said you would not rise for breakfast. Are you unwell? Is it the baby?” he asks. The words would not stop tumbling from his lips, hands caressing your body in search of anything abnormal. When he saw no physical signs around your abdomen, he looked to your face. The dark purple circles under your eyes was proof of just how exhausted you are. But you are stubborn, and while he loves that about you, it can be frustrating at times. Like right now.

“I'm fine, my love. I just required a little more sleep today, I suppose.” you mumble, putting on a bright smile for him, though it didn't reach your eyes. He knew you well enough that you were lying to him. It didn't anger him so much as just heighten his anxiety. Why would you lie to him about how you feel?

“Elizabeth said you've been lethargic.” he tries to argue. You huff, turning your face away so he doesn't see the sudden change in your demeanor. You have been more tired lately. Between growing your child, keeping the house, and trying to match your husband's stamina, there was no energy left. Each day felt like a struggle, so much to do but no motivation to do it at all.

“I'm fine, Charles. Just a headache that needed some sleep to get rid of. Nothing to fret over.” you brush off his worry, standing to move to the wardrobe to dress for the day. What you don't see though, is the way he takes in your hunched form, your adorable waddle only so cute to an extent.

“If you insist, love. Why don't you take a rest day, stay in bed? The house is already clean and I'm sure Elizabeth can handle the kitchens.” The dominant side of him wanted to demand you stay in bed, but he knows that trying to command you to do anything is futile. He had tried to command you once, and you had laughed in his face.

“I can't today. My rose bushes need trimmed, the house needs decorated for the upcoming harvest celebration, and the menus for His Majesty's visit needs prepared. I have too much to do.”

Charles stood from the bed, knowing that trying to keep in you in this room would only lead to an argument, of which you had only had two in your entirety of your marriage. The first had been a mis-communication, if you were to ask his wife. He was not in the wrong the first time. You had been at court, attending a party while the King and your husband were “working”. A wife of the visiting French Ambassador was giving your husband eyes all night, raising something from inside you that you never want to feel again: jealousy. She was a beautiful woman, flawless skin and shiny, perfectly curled hair. You would have been quiet throughout the night, reminding yourself of the talk you had that night he discussed your relationship with you. You had heard of his infidelity with his first wife, he had even admitted it to you. But he had promised to be faithful to you, to never break your trust, all he had asked of you was to have faith in him. You had agreed, seeing no reason to begin your marriage with something as detrimental to it as trust issues. You had remembered that promise all night. Until she opened her mouth.

“You know, I took him from his first wife. I wonder if I could take him from his second?” she smirked behind a goblet of wine. You didn't know, but Charles had just walked up behind you, catching the very last of her statement. Your shoulders tensed, a fire lighting within you. Charles would always say there are two personalities inside of you. The quiet, obedient court mouse, who only comes out in society. And the fierce little lion out in the countryside. At court you portrayed the dutiful Duchess so well, he thought you were a different person when he finally got you home.

“Madame. I believe the man you met long ago is no longer the man you see now. But if you so wish to test my assumptions, please feel free to do so. Though I warn you, I don't like my judgment being challenged in such a way. So seduce my husband. I dare you.” you growled the last words, catching the attention of the King. Henry had adored you, admired the fire in your spirit when he visited you at Suffolk Manor, witnessing you putting Charles in his place in such an elegant way. Two pairs of blue eyes watched the interaction, fully prepared to defend you if need be. They both knew you could handle yourself, but with this being a treaty meeting between the French and English, they had to keep it from escalating to the point of another war.

“Mademoiselle,-”

“You may address me as Her Grace, or My Lady Suffolk. The man you knew before was of no title. MY HUSBAND, of whom you speak now, is a Duke. YOU, madame, are below us in class, therefore may not speak to us any way you so choose. Remember your place in this court, and remember mine.” with that you excused yourself from the table, not waiting for Henry's permission, leaving the dining hall and going towards the gardens, Elizabeth quickly following after. Charles turned to the King, gaining a quick nod before chasing after you. He got to the entry way to the garden when he spotted Elizabeth sat at the bench at the entrance of the hedge maze.

“She's in there, muttering to herself.” she nods to the maize. He runs in, and after about a minute of walking finds you pacing back and forth, mumbles spilling from your lips and hands flailing at your sides. He had never seen you so irate. The red in your cheeks and chest was so cute. He just wanted to eat you up, until you turned those fiery eyes on him.

“I can't believe you would sleep with a woman like that.” And for an hour he got a tongue lashing he hasn't had since he was child being scolded by his mother. You ripped into him, so much so that he got defensive. Before you knew it you were in each other's faces, voices loud enough you're sure the whole party heard. It was only when you both stopped to take a breath did you finally pay attention to the tension between you, when he grabbed you by the face and kissed you fiercely. That was the night your son was conceived.

The second argument he would admit was his fault. Henry had come to visit, seeking some isolation around company he could trust. And he had perfect timing, you had just found out you were pregnant. It was a joyous day when you told your King he would be the Godfather. Charles and you had discussed it to the fullest extent when the physicians and handmaid told you. If anything were to happen to you, either of you, your son would become the ward of the King. It would ensure he would have a proper education and keep the title of Duke of Suffolk. Everything Charles would have wanted for his children would still come to fruition. Henry demanded to celebrate, calling for wine and ale and food. You had eaten your fill, and as the night grew later, you got more tired. Charles promised to come to bed not much longer after, to which you told him you would wait for him. The maids had helped you dress and prepare for bed, giving anxious glances to you between dresses.

“You both have something you want to say, so please. Do not feel like you must tread carefully around me.”

“We all love His Majesty, as well as His Grace.” Elizabeth starts.

“And we know how happy you are, in this marriage.” Mary, the other maid, starts.

“But?” you ask.

“Well, as you know I came from court, Your Grace.” Mary continues.

“Yes, I remember. What about it?” you ask, slowly starting to get frustrated that no one is telling you anything important.

“Well, it was rumored that when Anne Boleyn was with child, His Majesty took a mistress. Most men of court do, when their wives get pregnant.” you tense in your seat. Your emotions had been almost uncontrollable since conceiving, and the ladies at your side bringing up one of your biggest insecurities was not something you wanted to deal with right now.

You dismissed the ladies, deciding to sit by the fire to wait for Charles to come to bed. You had heard the rumors of court. They were correct, most men at court took to adultery when they found out their wives were having a child. Some used the excuse that their wives were too tired to fulfill their duties. Some had said they did not find her attractive anymore. One had even admitted he never wanted the woman in the first place, but laid with her to produce an heir. You knew Charles loved you, it showed in everything he did for you. Keeping you fed with the best diet, clothed with the finest silks, and satisfied in the bedroom. But if you could no longer provide for his sexual appetite, would he look for someone else?

You waited for hours in the chair by the fire before finally deciding to lay down in your bed, on the edge of your side so as not give the impression you wanted to talk. You had been up all night panicking over your insecurities, and Charles had taken hours to come back to bed. Eventually, you drifted to sleep, only to be wakened by your husband stumbling drunk into your chambers. Your father had been a violent drunk in your teen years and you had prayed you would not land the same fate with your husband.

“MY WIFE!! MY BEAUTIFUL WIFE, WHO WILL BE CARRYING MY SON!!!” Charles shouted, startling you. He was too drunk to notice, falling at your feet unceremoniously. You watched, waiting for him to start yelling again, but there was silence for a moment, before quiet snores emitted from your lap. You look down at your sleeping husband, already starting to drool on your night gown. Confused, you tried to gently move him off of you, only failing at doing so and watching as he drops his torso to the floor, hearing a loud thunk as his skull hit the wood. You tense, waiting for him to wake up and start yelling, only relaxing when he remains asleep. Huffing, you proceed to the door to bring in the guards to help heave Charles into the bed. Once they're dismissed, you pull off his boots but leave him dressed, deciding to be the caring wife and heading to the kitchens for water and food. Your man was going to have one hell of a hangover. But at least he was a happy drunk. You could live with that. Until you saw the mess that was your dining hall.

Charles woke that next morning with a pounding head, and a very pissed off wife staring him down like the devil himself.

“I do not mind you having a bit of fun, getting drunk and celebrating our child. But if my dining hall ever, EVER looks like that again, I swear you will never get this cunt again. Understood?” He simply nodded, already going through the many ways he could make it up to you. Even His Majesty had gotten an earful, of course much more respectfully. The King had paid for the whole house to be refurnished, along with an entirely remodeled nursery for his nephew.

Charles smiles at both memories. Even the rough times were bliss with you. He knows this instance will be mild as well, once he gets to the root of it. He watches you dress and style your hair, catching your eyes in the mirror when you look back at him.

“You don't have to hover all day, Charles, you can go back to work.” You say. His stare un-nerved you, like he was trying to read your mind. He didn't need to know that you had purposefully been feeding his appetite multiple times a night to keep him from finding a mistress. If you kept him satisfied, he should have no need to wonder. It was exhausting, but if that's what it took to keep him faithful to you...

When you're finished dressing for the day, he follows you out of the room, arm around your waist, keeping you close to his side. This, you will not fight. You love being close to him, being wrapped in his warmth and his smell. He escorts you to the kitchens, setting you at a stool and telling you to stay. You watch him gather bread, meat, cheese, and some wine before taking your hand again and leading you out of the house.

“Charles, I really do have chores to be doing.” you say.

“That's why we are having lunch in the garden today. You slept late, so we will eat where you are closest to your first chore.” he states simply. You cannot fault his logic, so you follow him to the tree you both like to sit under. He sets down your lunch before taking off his coat for you to sit on. He helps you down, knowing that you were much clumsier the bigger you get. Once he knows you're settled, he drops himself beside you, pulling you into his side. You melt into him, finding the peace he so happily brings you.

“I know you said you have much to do, but I beg of you, my love, please don't strain yourself too much today. The festival is weeks away and the King doesn't visit for another month. There is still time for planning both.” he mumbles into your ear. You know he is right, harvest was still three weeks away and the King doesn't care about the menu, just as long as he eats.

“I suppose I can focus on resting, but it will not be confined to that bed, Charles. I want to roam, perhaps stay outside and soak up the sun.”

“That is all I ask.” he kisses your forehead before reaching for your lunch and starts feeding you by his own hand. You relish these sweet moments with him. When you both must go to court, he is usually so busy during the day that you get no time to see each other. When he must go away without you, you roam the halls at night praying for a wink of sleep.

You ate and drank for another hour before parting ways. As promised, you stayed in the garden, tending to your flowers and fountains. Charles kept an eye on you through the window of his study. He had the gardens constructed there for that specific purpose. He finished just as the sun was starting to set, having seen you come back only an hour earlier. He knew you were making sure dinner was being prepped to your cravings. You had been demanding meat lately, his hunters and farmers doing their best to keep up. You had apologized profusely when last speaking to the butcher.

“My wife was the same with our boys, give my congratulations to His Grace on his son.”

At nights you had been craving fruit, nudging him awake to fetch strawberries and grapes. He always went happily, even going so far as to start bringing them to the room before you went to bed every night. He'd also make sure to keep water and chamomile tea around.

After a dinner of roasted chicken (in which you ate a whole hen to yourself, he was so proud, you'd been embarrassed,) you bathe. He made sure to tell the maids to add special oils and soaps for relaxation and rest to the water. He started with a massage, going from your neck down your shoulders, before moving you and starting at your feet and ankles. They had swollen so much with each pound gained. You had started to fall asleep from his ministrations, so he quickly finished washing both of you before ushering you to the bed. He tucked you under the covers before joining you on the other side. You snuggle into his side before leaning up to give him a kiss. He kisses back, never one to deny you his affection. You try to deepen the kiss, hands running down his torso to his groin. You just passed his belly-button when he grabbed your hand and moved it back to your chest.

“Not tonight, my love.” he whispers. You recoil your hand as if burned. You don't give him a chance to speak again, rolling to face away from him and tuck the blankets around you. Charles is confused by this reaction, going to reach for you before seeing your shoulders shake.

“My love, are you crying?” he asks. You don't answer, simply moving even further away. You know it's childish, but right now you're too hurt to care. Everything you had been fearing has come to fruition. He no longer wants you, and it's only a matter of time before he finds another woman to warm his bed and wet his cock. You shrug off the hand he puts on your shoulder, and gasp when he grabs around your hips and pulls you back into him.

“Do not brush me off, my love. Tell me what is wrong.” he whispers. It was softly spoken, but a demand none the less. It was one of your own rules, to always speak when you were having an issue together.

“You don't want me.” you whine. He has to stop for a second and process what you just said.

“I'm sorry?”

“I said you don't want me anymore! You've pushed me away, and now you will go find a mistress and leave me with this child alone!” you yell. He flinches back at the volume of your voice, unsure what to do about the tears running down your face. He was never any good at comforting a crying woman, and he feared the further you get into your pregnancy the worse these outbursts will become.

“My love, where is this coming from?” his voice breaks, along with his heart. Had he done something to make you question his devotion to you? Your breaths start coming in quick rasps as you sob, and Charles quickly sits up to take action. He pulls you to his chest, commanding you to match your breathing with his.

“Breathe in, breathe out. You need to calm yourself, wife. Getting excited isn't good for the babe.”

His words resonate in your ears, and the thought of your baby calming you significantly. After a minute of calm breathing, Charles pulls away and put his hands on your cheeks, slowly lifting your face to look into your eyes.

“Tell me what is troubling my dear lady.” he says softly.

“The maids had said something to me. About what happens when a woman is with child. How husbands stop loving their wives, stop sleeping together and having sex. The man finds a mistress and leaves his wife to care for their child alone. Their marriage is over and I can't bear the thought of you never loving me.”

His cerulean eyes well with tears, they hang heavy on his thick lashes as his heart shatters in front of you. He knew these rumors were true, had witnessed the King himself doing so when Anne was pregnant. He could not condemn those men who did, for he himself had been unfaithful to his first wife. But to have his own wife believing such a thing of him ate at his pride. But before he could say something in retort, you continued speaking.

“And I know your appetite, for which I truly adore. So I force myself to try to keep you satiated, so you won't feel tempted to seek another woman. That is why I have been so tired lately.” you admit, so quietly he almost didn't hear you. At first he was angry. You were putting your health and the health of his child at risk for his sexual needs. He loves your devotion to him, but to do it at the cost of his child? But looking at the fear and anxiety in your eyes, he can't stay upset for long. He was validated in his guilt, it had been his fault that you weren't getting any rest. He made you feel like you could not say no to his advances.

“Oh god. Dear, my love, my sweet wife...” he whispers, kissing your face rapidly. You tense, confused as to what was happening. You expected him to be upset, accuse you of being insecure and crazy. You sounded crazy to your own ears now that you say it out loud. But here he is, covering your face and neck in kisses. Your eyes are wide, waiting for him to finish. He pulls back when you don't respond.

“My love. I adore you, and how you adore me. I love that you love to please me, I live to please you. You are bearing my son, the light of my life. I pushed you away tonight for your sake, so you may rest. It is time to start putting yourself first, my love. We can perform our marital duties,” he says those last two words with a smirk, “ during the day. I love you, and wish to have no other. I am more than capable of putting my needs aside so that my woman and my child remain the healthiest possible. I will seek no other woman, because I want no other woman. Do I make myself clear?” he says in a firm tone. It leaves no room for argument, yet still gentle and loving. It reassured you, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was yours. It was everything you needed, validation of your feelings and reassurance that your marriage is strong. You nod your head, putting your hands over his on your face and turning to kiss his palm.

“I love you, husband.”

“And I love you, wife. And I love my son, and any child we have after him. Now, it has been a long day, and you need your rest.”

He lays you both down, arm around your waist and hand on your burgeoning belly. He sticks his nose in your hair, both of you falling asleep contently, glowing with your love.

#charles brandon x reader #Charles Brandon #x reader #reader insert #fan fiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader

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toreii · 1 year

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Monthly Princess March extra-large issue 2/6

“Margaret receives love advice from Suffolk. In the shadows, both Gloucester and York are scheming suspiciously……!?”

No time to be distracted by the sexy Suffolk front page!? Margaret struggles to fulfill her duty as Queen. And, what country is Henry VI aiming for?

Each person’s expectations clash, and the rosebud suddenly bursts.

#requiem of the rose king #requiem of the rose king gaiden #baraou no souretsu #薔薇王の葬列 #王妃と薔薇の騎士 #the queen and the rose knight #william de la pole #duke of suffolk #translations not 100% accurate #oh god forgive me henry #im weak for suffolk rn #aya-sensei coming after my wallet

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tengomilpalabrasparati · 10 months

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Cumpleaños 🎂

Sam Claflin cumple 37 años

Samuel George Claflin(Ipswich, Suffolk; 27 de junio de 1986) es un actor inglés. Ha trabajado en películas como "Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides" (2011), "Snow White & the Huntsman" (2012), "Love, Rosie" (2014), en la saga cinematográfica de "The Hunger Games", donde interpretó a Finnick Odair, "Me Before You", y en la película "A la deriva".

Samuel George Claflin es el tercero de cuatro hijos de Mark, un gerente de contabilidad/finanzas para una estación de radio de la caridad, y Sue Claflin, quien es asistente de aula. Tiene dos hermanos mayores, llamados Benjamin y Daniel, y un hermano más joven, llamado Joseph, que también es actor.

Asistió a Costessey High en Norwich, Reino Unido, y fue miembro de la Escuela de Excelencia para el Norwich City FC. Estudió en la Escuela de Música y Arte Dramático de Londres, junto a Jeremy Irvine.

En 2011, Claflin comenzó a salir con la actriz británica, Laura Haddock. En una entrevista, Sam dijo sobre Haddock, «Ella es mi contraparte femenina, es la mejor manera de describirla». Claflin afirma que, después de que él la conoció, llamó a su agente para proclamar que acababa de conocer a la mujer con la que quería casarse. Después de un noviazgo de año y medio, los dos se casaron en julio de 2013 en una ceremonia privada. En el estreno de la película, "The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2", anunciaron que esperaban un hijo. Tienen dos hijos: un niño, Pip, nacido en 2015, y una niña, Margot, nacida en 2018. El 19 de agosto de 2019, Haddock y Claflin anunciaron su separación.

Tobey Maguire cumple 48 años

Tobey Maguire cumple 48 años, y sin duda se ha posicionado como un ídolo de grandes y chicos al dejar huella en los corazones de fanáticos de los cómics tras su interpretación de Spider-Man.

Tobias Vincent Maguire (Santa Mónica, California; 27 de junio de 1975) es un actor y productor de cine estadounidense, conocido principalmente por interpretar a Peter Parker en la trilogía de Spider-Man de Sam Raimi (2002-2007), papel que retomó en 2021 en "Spider-Man: No Way Home".

En la década de 2000, trabajó en "Wonder Boys" (2000), las tres películas basadas en el cómic "Spider-Man" y en la candidata al Premio Óscar a la mejor película, "Seabiscuit" (2003). Concluida la trilogía de Spider-Man, fue aclamado por la crítica por su interpretación en" Brothers" (2009), donde actuó junto a Jake Gyllenhaal y Natalie Portman. Por su trabajo, recibió una nominación al Premio Globo de Oro como mejor actor dramático.

En 2013, protagonizó "El gran Gatsby" junto a Leonardo DiCaprio. En 2014, interpretó al ajedrecista Bobby Fisher en la biopic "Pawn Sacrifice", que también produjo. Es vegano, y en 2002 la organización Personas por el Trato Ético de los Animales lo nombró «vegano más sexy del mundo».

En 2003, comenzó una relación con la diseñadora de joyas Jennifer Meyer, a quien conoció mientras rodaba "Seabiscuit". La pareja se comprometió en abril de 2006 y, el 10 de noviembre de ese año, tuvieron su primera hija, Ruby Sweetheart.

Se casaron el 3 de septiembre de 2007 en la ciudad hawaiana de Kailua (condado de Hawái). Su segundo hijo, Otis Tobias, nació en mayo de 2009.

El 18 de octubre de 2016 anunciaron su separación, tras nueve años de matrimonio.

#Cumpleaños 🎂#Sam Claflin #Tobey Maguire

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thistle-and-thorn · 2 years

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What's your least favorite Shakespeare play?

Oh hi hello! It’s Cymbeline, hands down. It comforts me that even the Bard had a dud. It’s a weird play because it feels like an amalgamation of all his other plays? It’s the kitchen sink of Shakespeare plays—you have fake Queen Gertrude, you have knock off Rosalind/Perdita mix, quasi Othello/Claudio, a ghost scene like in Richard III…it’s interesting but a lot of it feels watered down? Like you cannot help but put them next to their other forms and they feel 2D and confused in comparison. I will say that the Tricked Jealous Husband™️ plot is perfected here—The heroine Imogen is spied upon by the villainous Iachimo who lifts her nightgown while she is sleeping to find a mole on her breast. It demonstrates clearly how violative that kind of villain is and also makes Posthumus (Imogene’s husband) jealousy and rejection of Imogen…actually believable. But the tonal shifts are weird and exceedingly hard to execute without feel jerky. Just. It’s not a great play—unless someone can tell me if I have been missing something major about it. Please please please do.

I also don’t love Henry VI?!? It’s my least favorite history play. But it DOES have Joan of Arc and the Greatest Toxic Ship of all time: Suffolk/Margaret. And lemme say: Margaret of Anjou carrying the Duke of Suffolks head around…that is Very Sexy. Good for her.

What about you???

#asks

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athenepromachos · 9 months

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His Grace of Suffolk ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

#henry cavill #charles brandon #duke of suffolk #dashing duke #sexy suffolk #nom nom #yum yum #all man #soulful eyes #♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️#♥️♥️♥️🍌🍆🍌🍆🍌🍆🍌🍆🍌🍆

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, chapter 144

Chapter Summary - Tom is preparing for his stint on the Infinity War junket and wishes to ask Danielle a question, but soon forgets for more pleasurable pursuits.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Danielle watched as Tom planned his suits and outfits for the time away on the press junket and oversea premieres. Part of her wanted him to stay home, to not go, but it was his job, she had chosen to be with him and thus, knew what his life entailed. This would be one of the biggest junkets of his career, bigger than Ragnarok, it was highly unlikely such an event would ever be repeated. She only had to deal with him being gone for a short time. She could do that. She even had her own work to do, but that still did not mean she did not want it to be them, their dogs and their home in London, or Suffolk if they felt so inclined. After Infinity War, she hoped they could spend a few days in Suffolk. She needed the sea air again.

When she looked to Tom again, she realised that he had been talking to her. 'Elle, is everything ok?'

'Yeah, just thinking.'

'What about?'

'Just when this is over, how we should take a few days in Suffolk.'

'That sounds like heaven.' He confessed. He looked at her cautiously. 'Elle, I need to ask you something, I don't want an answer straight away, I want you to think about it.'

'Tom?'

He began to walk towards her, but after a moment, he stopped. He had been studying her features since the day they had first kissed and in that moment, he realised only for the first time that she had sporadic freckles on her nose and only on there. He smiled, living her unique little nuisances. 'God, you're beautiful.'

'Tom?'

He leant forward and kissed her, forgetting the question he had been so cautiously trying to ask. After she reciprocating, he became more passionate in his manner and before long, the pair were against the wall of the room, Tom holding her against said wall as he kissed her time and again. When he required pulling away from her to breathe, he could see her pupils were wide with arousal. Smirking slightly, he moved to kiss her again. 'My beautiful Elle.' he turned and carried her to the bed, placing her down on it, not caring about his neatly folded underwear and socks that were being tostled in their actions. Kissing her with more intensity, he grinned as he felt her thighs and calves clenched around him and her hips lifted slightly as she attempted to create friction. 'Patience, my Darling.'

'Tom.' She pleaded, yearning for more, feeling herself become more riled up.

'Finally.' Tom grinned. 'I have been waiting too long for a time that you were so incredibly wanton to do this.'

'If you dare start some "delayed gratification" bullshit I will end you.' she growled.

'Oh, this will be far worse.' He promised kissing her before tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, knowing she would love it. He then began to kiss down her body removing her clothes as he did so, leaving her in just her bra as he made his way to her pants, nipping and kissing her hip bone as he did so. 'God, you are so fucking sexy.'

He toyed with her buttons and zip of her pants before urging her to raise her hips which she did with minor reluctance as she feared what he would do to her next, but her arousal caused her to become curious, knowing that no matter how cruel the teasing could be, she would, by the end of the act, be left satisfied, even if she wished he'd have been less torturous during it.

Tom could see the arousal dampening her underwear as he pulled down her pants. He could tell that she was already wanting his attentions. Chuckling to himself, he gently pressed his lips to her thigh, just outside of her underwear line, loving that it was the delicious dark set he had insisted more than once that she should wear continually. He watched as her arousal grew and as gasps of want filled the room as each press if his lips against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs caused her to become more and more in need of his touch. He spent minutes toying with the perimeter of her underwear before gently pressing his lipd to where he knew her now attention seeking clit would be and was met with a moan. 'So beautiful." He commented as he continued his actions.

Danielle swore several times as he gently nipped and kissed through her underwear. 'Please.' Her hand went to his hair, trying to press down slightly only for Tom to lean up and look her straight in the eye.

'No. No hands.' He smirked, knowing it would cause her to become more frustrated. 'And if you try to move them, I will stop.'

'You cruel bastard.'

'I am merely returning the favour, you've done this more than once.'

'I never stopped, I just pinned you down.' She reminded him, gasping as he gently pursued his lips against her. 'Tom...'

'I love when you say my name like that.' He crawled over her before stopping again by her breasts, gently pulling down one cup of material to find a pert nipple, grinning he licked and pursed his lips around it before glancing to her face, noting the pained expression on her face as she attempted to behave and not just grab some part of him in sexual frustration, but she managed, if only barely.

With some slight hand movements as gesture to do so, he had her lift her hips so he could remove her underwear. 'You're still dressed.'

'I am.'

'Not fair.'

'Darling, I could be clothed or stark naked and you won't be able to notice in a moment.'

'A brave assumption.'

Tom grinned as he brought her hands together and pinned them above his head with one of his before having the other hand open his pants and moaned slightly as he pulled down his pants and boxers, his hand glancing over his straining length for a moment, reminding him of how much he wanted this too. He bit back a moan before stroking himself a few times not that it was required, but enjoying how his reluctance to speed up was irking Danielle, before allowing his body rub against hers in a manner that allowed him to use it to gently rub close to her entrance and over the sensitive bundle of nerves next to it, causing more moans of wanton pleas.

It took a considerable amount of restraint on his own behalf for Tom not to simply enter her and immediately chase pleasure, instead, he did so slowly, allowing her to become used to the intruding size as he did and living the sound of her pleasure at finally having him move things along. When he was fully inside her, be paused for a moment, partly to allow her to adjust and partly to tease her further.

Danielle, frustrated by his actions, or lack thereof, lightly clenched her muscles around him, causing Tom to hiss in pleasure before slowly beginning to move.

Their actions were slow and languid, Tom ensuring that he touched every part of her body that he knew that she liked internally as well as moving his pelvis to rub against hers to include her clit. He looked at her for the entirety of the time, his eyes portraying how much he adored her as he did. For her part, Danielle whined in frustration and pleasure as she attempted to maintain said eye contact, biting her lips together, her teeth dragging over her lower lip as she stifled yet another moan.

When it looked as though she was not going to be able to uphold his command to keep her hands as they were, he learnt on his left elbow as his right hand snaked up to keep them pinned above her head as he kissed her passionately. 'Don't.' he warned.

'Tom.'

Tom didn't need her warning, he could feel Danielle's body tightening slightly around his own, telling him of how much she adored his actions. Instead of wasting energy speaking back to her, he kissed her again and refocused his attentions on the pleasure he was making her feel, ensuring that he rubbed his pelvis against hers as much as was possible, knowing how greatly she adored that.

Though he planned on lasting longer, seeing how Danielle was reacting to him and the feel of her body around his made everything far more intense than Tom could have expected. Adding that to the adoring and loving look in her eyes, he knew he could not stve off his orgasm too much longer. So, focusing his efforts, he continued to look Danielle in the eye as he aimed himself to give her maximum pleasure as quickly as possible, watching her squirm as they did so, her gasps becoming more frequent and intense before finally, his name graced her lips once more and her body gripped his and she fell over the edge and her orgasm took her. The intensity of her pleasure added to his own as mere moments later, Tom too felt his body reach the precipice, forcing himself to look at her as the pinnacle of pleasure took him.

With a chorus of moans and gasps, they ceased to move and tried to catch their breath once more, looking at one another as they did so, a loving smile shared between them.

'I'm going to miss you.' Danielle confessed, toying with his hair.

'You will be too busy.'

'If you honestly think some meetings and wires and holes in the ground will matter more to me than thinking about you, then I fear I have some terrible news for you, Tom Hiddleston.'

'I wish you could come with me.'

'Perhaps in the future. I'll do a lovely meal for your night back on the London stint.'

'Elle?'

'Is this the question from earlier?' she smiled knowingly.

'Could you consider coming to the London premiere with me?' Danielle frowned. 'As my partner.'

'You mean on the carpet?'

'Yes.' She could see the pleading in his features.

She looked at him with uncertainty. 'I will consider it.' His brow furrowed. 'I was terrified at Early Man and that was a relaxed affair, this is Infinity War, everything is so much more intense. I.....I don't want to say anything right now because I am in no fit state to think it through fully and give a competent answer.'

'I understand.' He smiled. 'Elle?' She focused on his eyes again. 'I love you.'

'What a coincidence, because I happen to love you too.' She leant up and kissed him again, cupping his face with her now freed hands.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 144 #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston #wolfpawn

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toreii · 1 year

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I bought the new issue!٩( 'ω' )و Totally has nothing to do with Suffolk’s sexy cover page. But, holy crap we were well fed this chapter!! I’ll get to Suffolk and Margaret in another post, but this part really stood out to me.

First off, please do not repost my translation! Thanks❤️

My thoughts under the cut!

Omg!!! I am literally screaming! I think it’s evidently clear Margaret has the hots for Suffolk (who can blame her). But, it seems like the maids are checking to see if she’s already consummated her marriage with Henry. Easier said than done. Because we all know Henry (in real life and in this story) is a precious saint.

Seriously speaking, I really shouldn’t be surprised, but I’m still shocked by the things Henry’s uncle told him growing up. Looks like Gloucester is the reason why Henry is absolutely sex repulsed. Kids are so impressionable, it’s no wonder how easily Gloucester was able to mold and manipulate Henry to his liking. As Margaret realized, it’s all in the name of ruling the country via Henry.

That said, it makes me wonder how we got to this point in time:

I can see Margaret wanting to correspond to Henry (while thirsting for Suffolk). Seeing this kind, compassionate side of her is a little jarring because we all know what she’s really like in the main story. I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but I am very curious what is going to make Margaret snap and just have her way with poor Henry.

I honestly feel like snatching Henry away. He absolutely must be protected!!! In my mind, he lives in paradise tending to his sheep.😂 It’s just…it’s scary. Absolutely terrifying how manipulated he is.

#requiem of the rose king #requiem of the rose king gaiden #baraou no souretsu #the queen and the rose knight #薔薇王の葬列 #王妃と薔薇の騎士 #henry vi #margaret of anjou #aya kanno #translations not 100% accurate

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rosheendubh · 3 years

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Three swords there were, forged from elemental divinity--

Mimung, the weapon of the Waelsungs, split Brynhilde's heart and sped her to the embrace of her One Eyed God, wielded after, by Vortimer, Vortigern's son, of Sinfjotli's line, now Uter's (Ohthere's) blade, grim Ohthere, of two fathers sired upon unwilling Ygerna, Vortimer (Embreis Wledig), or perhaps of Egil-Ongentheow's seed, he vies with Onela (Aelle Bretwalda) for the soul of a nation, and a woman's heart...

Tyrfing, the doom of Arngrim's brood, that brave Hervor dared the barrows of her dead father's host, scorning sulfur and brimstone to retrieve metal cast to the Host of the Dead, shaming the fallen, seeking vengeance for slain brothers, sword recovered to living light, forever cursed to take life at price of unsheathing, whose hilt Onela's (Aelle Bretwalda's) strong hands now grip upon the Plains of Eboracum (York)...

The Sword of Ares, Sarmatian iron, born of stars, a virgin priestess's flesh mated in sacrament to the Stallion, King of Heaven, both sacrificed upon the alter of flame and blood, hammer and anvil, brought to the shores of Albion in the days of Empire's might, but as centuries passed, the Eagle decayed, raising Wolf and Raven and Mare, Venaura (Gwenhwyfar), gazes upon mighty Tyr's gift of blood-gold justice, bride of death, Raven Queen and Horse Goddess, daughter of blessed Saranyu who settled her nation upon the Isle of Mists centuries gone, and centuries gone, where this child of Peteova, Lady of the Cawnur, and her Beltane lover, Palomydez (Pabo Pillar of Prydain), Alani war-lord, once commanded fire from heaven, ripping through her mother's flesh, melting sinew with lightening-struck oak, petrified water-fused stone, blade clutched in her mother's hand, symbol of defiance against Egil-Ongentheow's invading host, salvaging a tormented island, where now his sons war, Onela (Aelle Bretwalda) and Uter (Ohthere), for supremacy over Albion's clashing tribes, and in one desperate hour, does Uter send harrowing word for aid of the North, and Venaura at long-last, asks grieving Palomydez, her true-father unknown, enjoin the war and sway the battle-tide, but bitter Palomydez, stubborn yet, refuses in contempt of the southern lords he blames for Petoeva's death, sword cleaved to oak-fired stone, petrified flesh, cold memory of his bright queen's sacrifice, until this moment when her daughter, whose spirit blazes like a thousand suns from gray eyes, stands proud before his hall, voice strong above the storm lashing through the vaulted chamber, she summons Aesir and Don, bearing in her clenched fingers the ghost-banner of Old Brigantia, insignia of Iazyge, Roman, and Briton, calling the God's fire once more from heaven in a blast that blinds his court, and bades men take shelter beneath table or bench, freeing star-iron from stone, so that Venaura, Peteova's proud daughter, frees the Sword of Ares born aloft once more, into the world of men--

"In the name of the Women of Albion, and Valentia between the Walls, I summon your One-Eyed god out of Shadow, and your queen, Palomydez, summons your horse-lords to war..."

Graphic, a result of me goofing around with PhotoLayers App, and ToonyTools online editing.

Verbosity, me droning in stream of conscience with highlights of how I see Uther's tale (and later, Arthur's) evolving with Gwenhwyfar's. Here, she’s based off a combo of Gwen, the daughter of Cunedda Wledig, and Gwenabwy (in my poor reverse linguistics, that’s actually Uindavia/Uendabhia), who’s the daughter of *Cawnur*, the sister of Gildas, Cywyllog, and Huail (from the delusional pedigrees of the Lives of the British Saints). Indeed, here Uther is actually adapted from the character of Ohthere (and in some bit, Amlwedd/Amlothi/Hamlet), who exists in some convoluted way, referenced as Vendel nobility, Ylfingas and Ynglingas (basically, Odin-Tyr progeny and Freyr progeny; Hamlet, and it’s predecessor Danish tale of Amothi/Ambhla-Odr, is basically another version, where Orwandil and Feng are representations of Odin/Tyr and Ingvi-Freyr. Somehow, Orwandil is also Egil-Ongentheow, which is also Angantyr. He shows up in various Anglo-Saxon genealogies as Angentheow/Angengeot). Amlothi marries both a northern British princess, and then a Scottish queen who was infamous for killing all her male suitors until she falls in love with Amlothi. Later, in Amlothi’s lay, the Scottish queen marries Wigleck, the adversary and new Danish king, and founds the line of East Anglians via Offa Anglian. Anyone whose ever read Widsith, and Beowulf, and any of the Swedish/Danish/Norwegian/Geat dynastic sagas knows how very convoluted are the pseudo-histories and personages. At the end of the day, I love the take of Aelle Bretwalda, something of a misplaced Teutonic invader, without any lineage, and 3 sons whose names supply locations in Sussex (Cymen, Cissa, Wlencing—my Lancelot/Gwallawg ap Lleenog, of the next generation with Arthur...who’s Vortiporius in my take), as Ale (Norse version of Onela’s name), as the 1/2 brother of Uther. My whole justification here is that Uther’s name shares a parallel meaning as Ohthere—terrible/fearsome warrior. Archaeology over the last few decades suggests something of a Swedish/possibly Geatish influx into East Anglia, from an earlier era (tentatively) based on the dating of certain artifacts, than traditionally believed. And possibly, the migration west of Mercian lines as East Anglian/Geatish pressure increased, reflecting a parallel migration of dynastic rivalries which followed them across the NorthSea board. The Sutton Hoo burial, and grave sites of mid-late 6th century/7th century East Anglia/The Norfolk-Suffolk areas allegedly have more features in common with the Swedish Vendel graves in southern Sweden than Anglian/continental Germanic burial sites of the same era. SOMETHING happened in Sweden/Denmark as well as Jutland that I believe involved late-Roman/Post-Roman Britain as well. Which leads me to wonder if the situation of the entire northern Seaboard all the way to the Baltic coast, isn’t a whole lot more complex than what our established theories reflect. Also, per poetic license, this circumstantial evidence allows me a bridge into fictional invite, proposing it’s Uther/Ohthere who becomes something of a prototype King Cnut/Canute, in my vision of his ambition, not of a Post-Roman Britain joined back with a dying Western Roman Empire which Constantinople refuses to concede, but a Britain united with the Nordic houses of Sweden/Daneland/Jutland, and reaching out to Theoderic the Great/Sexy Amalung to form some sort of Successor State confederacy, acting as a bulwark against Constantinople’s grasping influence, as well as the rising Frankish power of Clovis and the Merovingians. There’s reports Theoderic’s court of Ravenna hosted a Swedish king who’d sworn off his countrymen (Radulph—some scholars think he may actually be the personage upon whom Hrolfr Kraki was based), as well as Theoderic harboring, like his 18th century presidential doppelgänger, Thomas Jefferson (who was forever fascinated by the Western mystique of the American frontier and her indigenous peoples), something of an enlightened interest in collecting whatever history or knowledge related to northern tribal peoples, like the (mistaken, but heavily advertised) notion of Geats and Goths sharing a common root heritage.

This, This warped version finds inspiration from not just from the classic Brithish manuscripts or epics of Arthur, but combines Nordic legend/saga sources with late Roman figures synthesized with British/Germanic/Nordic figures. Story of Ongentheow and his sons, for starters. I have 2 notebook pages full up in finest logic tree form, like a jungle of neurons, detailing my convoluted interpretations and parallels of historic personages, and legendary/literary.

Lastly, Something about Vortigern's geneology always bothered me, especially in his kinship with The Jutes, Hengist and Horsa. A piece submerged or missing, that made me wonder if he wasn't only British, but as with so many high-ranking military officers in the early 5/mid-th century, perhaps also shared some Germanic/Teutonic lineage, which would explain his partiality to the Jutes, and their willingness to serve him in Britain at his invite. It’s recorded (in not very reliable sources), Vortigern’s father is a Vitalinus or Vitalis. A solidly Latin name, which shares a wonderful synchrony with Fitelis, the modified version of Sinfjotli, the son of Sigmund and Signy Waelsung, which relates back to the whole Brynhilde/Sigfrid/death of the Burgundians/ doom of Attila thread. I’m actually just partial to Wotan and his symbolism with changing eras of history—war/rebellion/evolution/revolution/enlightenment. I also seem inclined to a symbolism of male characters as something like representations of that iconography, while my female characters act as mediums of inspiration for social/political reform, and logic/temperance/challenging the notion change only comes through violent upheaval. In lieu here, is a young Gwen, educated in Rome, as physician (of course...she does tie to Caroline Eleanor Graham later in preRev Paris), as ruler-philosopher, and yes, as a warrior in the style of nomadic horsewomen (how I bring in the character, Alardin as her tutor in these studies through her formative years exiled from Alba/Caledonia after her mother’s death). I hate the warrior queen motif. Not that my perspective alleviates gross anachronism, but I’d rather suggest she’s a queen, or at least, per the tradition of Caledonian tribes around the Walls, it’s through marriage she conveys the right of rulership to the man she eventually selects as her husband. Until then, she rules/advises her father and older brother when her father invites her back from Rome finally. And later, when Uther’s wars require the companies of the Votadini (her tribe), she’s left ruling in her father/brother’s stead, until Uther asks for her intervention, to summon the Pictish tribes of the far north, and Pabo Post Prydein’s Alani heavy cavalry, who occupy the area of Rheged, I place in NW Cumbria and SW Scotland/Galloway-Dumfries. Rerigonium looks an awful lot like an inspiration for Rheged, IMHO. Also, oddly, according to the Lives of the British saints, Pabo shares some sort of weird root with Palomides (?.). So, I’d rather suggest, Gwen is a woman who becomes a queen, from a family of Romanized-buffer state Caledonians, and as any woman in a position of influence, raised in a volatile era, and volatile province, essentially defined as *frontier zone*, I’d rather think she was raised to be competent, and strong-willed, and perhaps, more talented/unconventional/resourceful than what might be expected in a more pacific time. As I would expect of other women, and their men as well—British/Roman/or Germanic-Nordic...

Anyway, as the whole tragedy of Waelsungs, the Burgundians, and later Britain ties back, according to the Eddic poems, and Wagner, to that tale of Andarvi’s gold, Otter, and a neck-ring from that cursed were-gild which comes into Gudrun’s hands, I have Gudrun as a grieving Abbess residing in Rome, the patron to whom Gwen is sent to be educated as a girl. They don’t have a good relationship at first—Gwen, a rebellious girl who hardly knew her mother, and resents her father for sending to a college of widowed and bitter women, and Gudrun, who mourns her daughter, Swanhilde, slaughtered in an act of betrayal, and now, lives lay to see her son, ERP/Hyrp, take the throne of Caesar. Don’t ask how, but legends say, Gudrun does have a son named ERP/Hyrp. Somehow, Erp/Hyrp relates to Eadowacer, and that name is a version of the eponymous Odovaver/Adavacrius who deposed the last emperor in 476. He ties in with the story of Gwen, and Theoderic the Great as well. Anyhow, that cursed treasure with it’s cursed neck-ring sits in a convent in a quite, genteely decaying corner of the old Capital. No one wants to touch it b/c it’s cursed, and by this point of Gwen’s maturing to a young, precocious woman, she knows the legacy and taint it has upon the Abbess Gudrun she’s come to love as her mother. So, she decides to enlist the best street gangs of the convent’s local neighborhood, various carpenters/construction crews/artisans/as well as river merchants who want a cut of profit, and retain their own armed guards, to basically revive the convent’s local marketplace, founding their local agricultural coop/and vendor sites, as well as establishing a neighborhood hospital (based of St Galla’s, I think), and to add one more twist to Wotan’s cursed treasure, she takes the neck ring, and has it melted/redrafted into surgical implements which, to her delight, NEVER rust. And have amazing antibacterial properties...as some metal alloys are known to possess. Anyway, that’s the same woman who, rather than Uther or Arthur (her son, by Uther and Theoderic), who pulls the Sword from the Stone, the Sword which took her mother’s life, if that made any sense, up above, to mend a dynastic feud of Northern British houses, which has embroiled her biological father (Pabo) and her acknowledged father, Cunedda, since Gwen’s mother sacrificed her life to fend off an invasion of Swedes when Gwen was a child. It’s the moment Gwen realizes she has the aptitude and the attitude to sovereignty in interests of her people, and claims rule of Valentia, that troublesome province of Count Theodosius dating back to 370AD, which has confounded modern scholars as to where Valentia was located. I place it between the Wall of Antoninus and Hadrian, to include the regions north and south of each those boundaries as well. Thus, she is, rather like Amlothi’s Scottish queen (no Scotland in late 5th/early 6th c...), The Queen of the North (ah, GRRMartin and HBO, I’ll never forgive you for Season8), and rallies the discordant tribes of the Pretani/Picts, and the Caledonians (those Lowland and Scottish Border regions) to Uther’s aid, outside of Eboracum. Which is my draw from GeoffreyofMonmouth, and the HistoriaBrittonum, of Battle 8/The Battle Guinnion/TheWhiteFortress (don’t ask, but root words of Eboracum aside, either as *yew tree*, in the British, the Latin root of *eburos* is ivory. And if you’ve been to York, they have those lovely white-trunked trees everywhere, and its Walls, albeit dating from the MiddleAges, must have been at least as magnificent, indestructible, and...white, even by the later quarter of the 400s AD. One of my favorite cities, and hope to back when the world’s not so crazy...). How the dynasty of Eleutherius and York/Eboracum becomes occupied by Teutonic forces, you ask? Ties with Germanic/Teutonic royalty, of course, but resolving that takes up way too much precious Tumblr space already. Rambles done, other than to add, the description of Cath Goddeu/The Battle of the Trees, from Welsh poetic sources, makes for wonderful mythic depiction of the Men of the North, and their Queen, advancing with a rising storm we all know is the Wild Hunt. And in the case of Gwen bearing the Sword of the Sarmatians/Iayzyges that had once belonged to the company of the long dead Artorius Castus, and his Brigantian Queen, who herself, once united a warring island in its desperate hour, Venaura’s actions have roused the old Guardians of Albion, the ghosts of Sarmati and their horse-lords, riding with their Alani scions of Rheged, in the name of the Women of Albion. My nod to William Blake, as Nemiane (my late 2nd c Romano-Brigantian military surgeon/Artorius’s lover), Gwen, and Caroline—the Scottish lady physician who becomes Jefferson’s lover in 18th c Paris, all find some reflection in the themes of Blake’s monumental mythicism. Thus, I believe we start this work with Blake, writing Vision of the Women of Albion...

#Arthuriana #Guinevere #Uther Pendragon #King Arthur #Sub-Roman Britain

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