#when knighthood was in flower

[english-history-trip]

Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

#art history #nonsense #hot takes #I am doing a St. George painting and have been wading through reference material #manuscript #fuck me I didn't notice van der Weyden managed to sneak a butthole in his too #the definitive list #when knighthood was in flower

[marypickfords]

When Knighthood Was in Flower (Robert G. Vignola, 1922)

#marion davies #when knighthood was in flower #robert g. vignola #silent film #caps

[sesiondemadrugada]

When Knighthood Was in Flower (Robert G. Vignola, 1922).

#when knighthood was in flower #robert g. vignola #marion davies #william randolph hearst

[onefootin1941]

When Knighthood Was in Flower (1922)

#marion davies #1922 #when knighthood was in flower

[disneybooklist]

The Sword and The Rose (1953)

When Knighthood Was In Flower by Charles Major (1898)

#The sword and the rose #1953 #Disney #When knighthood was in flower #1898 #Charles Major #Audiobook #movie

[moviesteve]

100 Years of… When Knighthood Was in Flower https://bit.ly/3MvEMpF When Knighthood Was in Flower answers the question posed by Citizen Kane – just how much of a chump was media magnate William Randolph Hearst over actress Marion Davies? Here is how much – a massive movie conceived on the grandest scale, produced by a company Hearst set up expressly to make Davies a star, … Read more

#Ben Model #Forrest Stanley #Marion Davies #Robert G Vignola #When Knighthood Was in Flower #William Powell #William Randolph Hearst

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

#cw: dark content #meeting on the turret stairs but with more dubcon #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #knight!ghost #medieval au #sansan vibes

[colleendoran]

The Secret Language of a Page of Chivalry: The Pre-Raphaelite Connection

Adapting Neil Gaiman’s Chivalry is a decades-long dream fulfilled. The story as text can be enjoyed on multiple levels, and so can the art. You look at the pages and see the pretty pictures, but the pictures also have meta-textual meaning. Knowing this secret language adds to the experience.

Some people pick up the references quickly, but I’ll share with you some more of what’s going on under the surface.

In Ye Olden Days of Art Making, most painters made pictures that contained visual narrative cues. Flowers in a picture might be heraldic signs that signaled political affiliations, or could indicate purity, anger, or love. Purple was the color of kings. A dog in a picture might represent faithfulness, and butterflies could represent the soul.

There are Pre-Raphaelite paintings with so many symbols and ideas in them that you need a deep working knowledge of Victorian and Edwardian social mores to understand what’s going on.

For example, Ford Madox Brown’s Work, a painting which took some 13 years to complete, was first exhibited in 1865 with a catalogue explaining all its symbols and elements. There is nothing in that picture that doesn’t mean something.

I brought some of that visual meta-textual sensibility to Chivalry, (and I’ve written about the symbolism and meanings in the work in other essays.)

I also brought into the work direct Pre-Raphaelite art references.

From 1868-1870, Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones created four paintings illuminating the tale of Pygmalion and Galatea, entitled Pygmalion and the Image, and wrote a poem with each line titling one painting:

The heart desires

The hand refrains

The godhead fires

The soul attains.

A perfect little poem for Chivalry, and I think of it often when some people present me with what I think is a very strange question: why didn’t Galaad just take the Holy Grail from Mrs. Whitaker?

It kind of breaks my heart that people would even ask that.

Burne-Jones painted two versions of this series of which this is the second.

In the first panel of this page, Sir Galaad kneeling before the Grail is derived from the figure of Pygmalion kneeling before Galatea: The Soul Attains.

Sir Galaad’s restraint even in the face of his greatest desire makes him worthy of his prize.

There are two Pre-Raphalite references in this page, the most obvious being in panel 2: it’s Sir John Everett Millais’s 1857 work A Dream of the Past: Sir Isumbras at the Ford.

The painting was very poorly received on first exhibition, compelling Millais to redo significant portions of it. It was caricatured and ridiculed, and then ended up becoming influential and popular, and isn’t that the way it goes.

That’s an art career in a nutshell, really.

The Sir Isumbras image also influenced John Tenniel’s illustrations for the Lewis Carroll Alice in Wonderland novels.

Sir Isumbras derives from a 13th century Medieval romance poem about a good knight whose pride causes him to fail in his Christian duty. He is presented with a series of difficult challenges before he can find happiness again, reunite with his family, and be forgiven his sins. The painting by Millais is based less explicitly on the poem than it is on a later parody of the poem. (It’s complicated.)

My using Sir Isumbras as the base for the shot of Galaad with the children is obvious here. In the Millais painting, Sir Isumbras carries a woodcutter’s children across the ford. In Chivalry, Sir Galaad carries the children of Mrs. Whitaker’s neighborhood down the street.

While Sir Isumbras spent many years learning humility and Christian duty, Galaad has a long quest to fulfill before he can achieve his goal. And on the way to that goal, he’s humble and nice to children, too.

That the Millais painting was such a huge influence on many a depiction of knighthood over the years made it a perfect reference point here, and the story behind both the painting and the poem give it further layers of meaning.

The next panel has a far less obvious reference, but the source is Arthur Hughes’s painting The Rescue.

Arthur Hughes is one of the lesser-known Pre-Raphaelites, but his art is widely seen and influential. He’s certainly been a big influence on me, as many of his paintings appear again and again in Arthuriana references, as he was a prolific King Arthur picture tale teller.

The Rescue (1907-1908) was originally part of a diptych which was separated and sold back in the 1920’s. His style was becoming unpopular by the time Hughes painted the work, and little is known about this work except that one panel was in the collection of Andrew Lloyd Webber at some point. Maybe still is. Dunno.

Anyway, the diptych depicts a little child kneeling in prayer menaced by a dragon in one panel, and in the next, safely trotting away with a knight on horseback. I like that this is a diptych, a kind of proto-comic art form common in medieval religious art, so this was perfect to use here.

Another reference to Arthur Hughes is in this double page splash from later in the book as Galaad on his quest encounters the Hesperides.

I didn’t set out to reference this Arthur Hughes piece at first, but it’s one of my favorite paintings. When I realized my sketches for this scene kept echoing the Hughes composition, I went with it. The Hughes painting of Galahad is one of the most famous depictions of the character, so it makes me happy to have this referenced in Chivalry.

Kindly ask for CHIVALRY, published by Dark Horse Comics in the USA and by Headline Books in the UK at your local comic shops or bookstore. Written by Neil Gaiman. Adaptation and art by me.

For further reading on this project, go HERE.

HERE.

And HERE.

Thank you to my Patreon patrons for sponsoring my work and this post.

Colleen Doran Illustrates Neil Gaiman will be a solo exhibit at the Society of Illustrators in New York City this spring. Watch this space for updates.

Have a wonderful holiday season.

#neil gaiman #dark horse comics #king arthur #Sir Galahad #Comics #graphic novel #fantasy graphic novel #watercolor #pre raphaelite #pre raphaelism

[sh1-n0bu]

𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔲’𝔰 𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 2023!

day 25: praise kink with rosaria from genshin impact

warnings: praise, fingering, clit pinching, eating out, slight exhibitionism, fluff at the end

notes: rosaria is so pretty. i dun know if i want to be her or want to be with her

being dragged off to the side to have a quickie should be considered a sacrilege especially when it's inside the church of mondstadt. the very same place where thousands of thousands come to pay their respect and reverie to the anemo archon barbatos. more so, when the one who is being dragged off into a dark, empty room inside the church is one of the sisters. but rosaria was never one to worship the gods nor was she one to be considered holy with how much she loves alcohol and sneaks off to smoke behind the church.

and neither were you.

factually speaking you are one of grandmaster varka's most trusted knight. the perfect example of a strong, steady and unwavering knight who stays devoted to their knighthood to do good and to protect mondstadt. yet there were a few problems. you didn't worship the anemo archon despite swearing your loyalty and life to mondstadt. when asked why you never once worshipped the god of freedom you would simply shrug with a carefree grin.

"i like being free. pretty sure barbatos would support my decision. besides it was the people and the nation i swore my loyalty to, not the god" you would always carelessly say out loud, uncaring of anyone's judgements. why would you be when a certain, green bard would knowingly flash you a cheeky grin before turning away from you?

and why would it matter when you would find something way better than worshipping an absentee archon as you excitedly drag a certain sleep deprived sister to a dark room inside the church, making sure to lock the door behind yourself as you silence her annoyed grumbles with a kiss?

rosaria always acts like this. like she is uninterested when she very much clearly is. an eyeroll here and there, a scoff, a demeaning comment aimed at you, ready to tear down that carefree grin from your face whenever you come bearing flowers or just yourself. just yourself and your expert fingers and tongue flicking her open.

"you really don't know when to give up, do you little knight?" the cryo wielder huffs softly, propping herself on the table inside the dark room. what room it was, she couldn't give two shits about. little knight, that's what she always refers to you as. a way of demeaning you at the beginning that slowly over time turned into... a weird form of endearment.

"what can i say, rosa? you're just so undeniably beautiful. i would rather worship you rather than that god" you giggle out, hooking your fingers on the high waistband of her fishnets. with an approving nod from her, you ease the thin fabrics off of her legs, throwing it to the side before her panties followed.

"wearing this one? you could have just called me if you really were starting to miss me, rosa" you hum softly, the black soft fabrics in your hand familiar. she always loved to wear this one for some reason whenever you two would agree to meet up for a quickie or a night to blow off some stress. in response, rosaria only whacks the top of your head gently as a warning. one that you clearly overreacted to as the woman on the table silently thanks the room for being so dark inside so you won't see the slight flush of her cheeks.

"you sure talk a lot, little knight. put that mouth to a good use for once?" you only nod with an eagerness, rolling your eyes at her huffy attitude. not that you minded it. you actually loved this enigmatic sister of the church just the way she was.

gently pushing her legs apart, tucking the slit of her dress to the side, you mumble a "thank you for the food" before diving in. the familiar scent of her arousal, the slight wetness forming already and the familiar feeling of her metal clawed hand tugging on your hair bringing an odd sense of tenderness and grounding. nestling your nose until it was bumping against her clit, you test the waters.

a long stripe up her drenched folds got rosaria to tug on your hair with a muffled moan. she was oddly sensitive today. not that you minded as you continue to eat her out, switching between dipping your tongue inside her warm walls and suckling on her clit. each time you pull your tongue out of her clenching plushy insides, you would mutter a breathless praise. of how you adore her, how beautiful she was, how capable, how strong and just how goddamn happy you would be if you were to be crushed between her strong thighs.

each breathless words of praise and adoration caused rosaria to clench down on your tongue more and more. her voice becoming more and more breathless as concealing her moans and grunts of your name becomes harder. she was close.

as if knowing that she exactly needed a little bit more push to teeter over that blissful edge and to release that tightening knot in her stomach, you slip two fingers inside. to which rosaria immediately clenched around, a punched out gasp of what seems to be your name falling out of her lips. soon, she was saying your name over and over like a prayer, even though you were the one kneeling on the floor in front of her. just a few soft of your finger against that one soft spot inside her tight walls and a harsh suck to her clit and the cold woman was coming on your mouth with a soft whimper.

each drop you slurped up with an eagerness for another round, the noises sounding incredibly lewd that it caused rosaria to whine out your name. or maybe that was the slight oversensitivity kicking in. you were still sucking on her sensitive nub as you lazily pumped your finger inside her addictive plushy insides. with a soft peck to her clit, you finally pull your fingers out, noticing only now that her thighs had slight tremor to them.

"you alright? was it too much?" you ask in concern, helping her slide her panties and fishnets back on. all you got in return was a nod, the usually cold sister unable to find words to say that she was okay due to the slight sensitivity of her cunt. with a soft kiss to her fishnet covered knees and thighs, you help her up into her feet.

after checking the hallways for anyone being around, you two walk out after confirming no one was around like nothing happened inside that room. holding hands and laughing and joking about bunch of random things as if you didn't fuck rosaria to the point she couldn't even talk properly.

"so, will you be free on saturday? how does going out for a nice dinner sound, sister rosaria?" you joke, squeezing her hand in your own softly. but imagine how low your jaw dropped when the usually reclusive sister of the church agrees.

"what's up with that look on your face, little knight? i was actually going to ask you out but you beat me to it" the cryo user simply laughs at your shocked face, squeezing your hand back. never would you have expected her to actually agree. but damn, you definitely have a date to plan and to impress this approaching saturday.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #rosaria x reader #rosaria smut #sub character #sub!character #x dom reader #dom reader #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #gender neutral insert #gender neutral reader #nobu's kinktober 2023

[english-history-trip]

...No time hath she to sport and play: A charmèd web she weaves alway. A curse is on her, if she stay Her weaving, either night or day, ⁠To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be; Therefore she weaveth steadily, Therefore no other care hath she, ⁠The Lady of Shalott...

....But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights: For often thro' the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights ⁠And music, came from Camelot. Or, when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers, lately wed: "I am half-sick of shadows," said ⁠The Lady of Shalott.

A bowshot from her bower-eaves. He rode between the barley-sheaves: The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flamed upon the brazen greaves ⁠Of bold Sir Lancelot. A redcross knight for ever kneeled To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, ⁠Beside remote Shalott....

...She left the web: she left the loom: She made three paces thro' the room: She saw the waterflower bloom: She saw the helmet and the plume: ⁠She looked down to Camelot. Out flew the web, and floated wide, The mirror cracked from side to side, "The curse is come upon me," cried ⁠The Lady of Shalott.

On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold, and meet the sky. And thro' the field the road runs by ⁠To manytowered Camelot. The yellowleavèd waterlily, The green-sheathèd daffodilly, Tremble in the water chilly, ⁠Round about Shalott....

...With a steady, stony glance— Like some bold seer in a trance, Beholding all his own mischance, Mute, with a glassy countenance— ⁠She looked down to Camelot. It was the closing of the day, She loosed the chain, and down she lay, The broad stream bore her far away, ⁠The Lady of Shalott...

...Under tower and balcony, By gardenwall and gallery, A pale, pale corpse she floated by, Deadcold, between the houses high, ⁠Dead into towered Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame, To the plankèd wharfage came: Below the stern they read her name, ⁠"The Lady of Shalott."...

Text: Excerpts from "The Lady Of Shalott" by Alfred Tennyson, 1833

Images: Howard Pyle, 1881; John William Waterhouse, 1915; William Maw Egley, 1858; William Holman Hunt, c. 1905; John William Waterhouse, 1888; Edmund Blair Leighton, c. 1887

#I am having feelings again #I'd love to do a painting on this theme myself but I have not had much success painting people #arthurian legend #pre-raphaelites #it is about how it's safer to keep love at a distance than experience it yourself #but it can become unbearable #when knighthood was in flower

[marypickfords]

Marion Davies in When Knighthood Was in Flower (Robert G. Vignola, 1922)

#marion davies #when knighthood was in flower #robert g. vignola #silent film #caps

[sesiondemadrugada]

When Knighthood Was in Flower (Robert G. Vignola, 1922).

#When Knighthood Was in Flower #robert g. vignola #marion davies

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Part Seventeen

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Reader

Summary: With the remains of the Fold vanquished, the people celebrate. Together, you and Aleksander work to establish peace in Ravka and a safe haven for your Grisha.

Warnings: canon level violence, allusions to sex, (the sex isn’t explicitly described but it’s happening), mentions of canon level treatment of Grisha (experimentation, forced servitude, drugging).

A/N: I’m tearing up writing this, but it’s been almost a full year since I first started writing for Aleksander and I’m so pleased that I’ve managed to actually finish this series. The majority of my motivation has come from all you lovely people who’ve been leaving your wonderful comments and reblogs, so I just want to say a huge thank you to you all and I really hope you like this ending.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

Your return to Os Alta is a spectacle.

People line the streets, waving and cheering, throwing paper confetti and flowers over your heads. You smile widely at Aleksander, and you can see in his eyes how much this moment means to him.

Despite the ache in your legs from riding all morning, the crowd’s enthusiasm fuels you, and you all but skip up the front steps of the Grand Palace for a meeting with the king.

Remembering the first time you had walked through these halls, anxiously waiting to meet the king that you were plotting to remove from power, you can’t help but compare it to today.

There’s no anxiety as you step through the door into the main hall, walking side by side with Aleksander, your friends flanking your procession as you stop at the foot of the dais to greet Nikolai with a bow.

There’s no crowd of people surrounding the dais, or lining the carpet that you stand on. It’s just Nikolai, with his guards posted at the doors and a few servants.

He seems happy to see you both, and immediately stands, moving down to stand in front of you both.

“Ravka owes you an unpayable debt.” Nikolai says, before he adds quietly, “As do I.”

You give him a knowing nod and smile.

“I wouldn’t say no to a knighthood.” You remark. The corner of his mouth twitches with a smirk.

“What about a sainthood?” Your eyes widen, and your expression drops in surprise. Nikolai nods between you and Aleksander. “For both of you.”

You can’t speak. A saint? You can’t imagine being worshiped as a saint. Having altars and portraits made for you, and people praying to you. Luckily, Aleksander responds for the two of you. He bows lightly.

“There would be no greater honour, Your Highness.”

In almost a year, you’ve gone from not even existing in this world, to becoming one of their saints.

“We have some other news as well.” Aleksander adds.

“Don’t tell me you finally proposed.” Nikolai remarks with a raised brow, his gaze dropping to your bare hand.

Behind you, Zoya stifles a laugh, and Aleksander’s face has gone strangely blank, as if he’s having trouble processing what Nikolai had just said.

“I’m so tempted to hit you right now.” You tell him with a small laugh.

“Not the face, please.” He teases, and you roll your eyes. Then his expression becomes more genuine. “What is your news?”

Glancing over at Aleksander, you find him already looking at you. When you raise a brow in questioning, he nods over to the window where a rather sad looking flower is struggling to bloom.

“Go on.” He encourages you softly.

Inhaling deeply, you nod, and walk over to towards the plant. Nikolai’s eyes follow you with curiosity.

On the journey through the countryside back to Os Alta, you had begun to test the scope of your new power with help from Aleksander. So far, you’ve been able to revive diseased or injured plants to a more healthy state.

Grisha do not conjure from nothing. A plant has to exist before you can manipulate it. But Aleksander believes that with some practice, you might be able to grow something from the smallest scrap of plant - a leaf or a petal.

Due to his belief and guidance, you feel able to tackle the plant sitting by the window in Nikolai’s throne room.

Living in the dry stuffy air of the Grand Palace has clearly taken a toll on the poor flower.

“Are you fond of this?” You ask Nikolai with a nervous smile as you gesture towards it. He raises a brow in amusement.

“Does it look like I’m fond of it?” He smirks, but then his expression softens slightly. “It’s my mother’s.”

“No pressure then.” You mumble.

Squeezing your dominant hand into a fist, you draw your power into your hands, curling your other hand around your fist. A tingle of excitement runs through you, which you channel into reviving the plant.

The dryness fades from the leaves, replacing it with a healthy green, and the withering buds open, allowing the blooms to flourish.

Nikolai’s eyes widen and you smile proudly, glancing over at Aleksander who regards you with a pleased expression. Your smile widens.

Immediately, Nikolai begins his questions, his mind filled with countless different possibilities of what your power can do. If you weren’t so tired from the journey, and longing to be home at the Little Palace, you would be eager to join in with him as usual. Instead, you shake your head at him.

“Can we do this some other time?”

He halts his words quickly, looking over you for a moment before he realises.

“You must be tired.” He says straightening, and you smile fondly. “And I have celebrations to oversee. I’ll send for you in a few days time.”

He takes your hand in his own.

“My offer still stands.”

You shake your head. Now that you can have Aleksander for eternity, you won’t let Nikolai marry for any reason other than love.

“My answer remains the same.” You tell him, leaning forward to press a kiss against his cheek. “You’re going to make someone very happy one day Nikolai.”

He nods with a small smile.

When you turn around, Zoya regards you with a raised brow, her eyes narrowed with playful suspicion. All the same, your cheeks flush with warmth.

“We’re friends.” You tell her, nodding towards Nikolai.

She smirks.

“I thought you said you’d never replace me.” She teases.

“And you are?” Nikolai remarks smoothly. She straightens, holding her chin high.

“Zoya Nazyalensky, moi tsar.” She bows lightly before she adds possessively. “The best friend.”

Nikolai grins before he teases,

“Self appointed?”

Zoya’s eyes burn, your own eyes widen, and for a moment you fear for Nikolai’s life.

“You’re both my friends.” You say quickly, hoping to avoid an incident. “And I’m sure the two of you can come to some sort of agreement.”

Zoya hums, unimpressed, and turns on her heel as the Grisha are excused from the king’s presence. Nikolai’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he watches her figure retreat.

A smile touches at your lips as you realise that perhaps Nikolai and Zoya will find a way into one another’s hearts on their own.

Your return to the Little Palace is no less eventful.

The servants prepare all manner of dishes and desserts for dinner, and you try a portion of almost everything. With the combination of travelling and using your power, you’re starving.

Aleksander helps to assemble your plate with spoonfuls of delicious food, and you do the same for him. When he invites you to try something from his plate, you do the same.

Lots of your Grisha are eager to see your new power, and you find that you can change the colours of a flower which impresses a small gaggle of children who all request their favourite colours and clap in delight when you oblige them.

Aleksander remains at your side for the rest of the afternoon, with a smile lingering on his lips as you use your gift.

A few Grisha retrieve their own instruments from their rooms, and begin to play all manner of different tunes from their hometowns. Regardless of whether the songs are familiar, most people join in on the fun, dancing and clapping along.

You and Aleksander watch as the Grisha celebrate, and you already know how much this means to him, to see his people finally able to celebrate something. Hopefully, it won’t be long before they are celebrating again, when the wars are over.

Aleksander has been more forthright with his touch throughout the afternoon. A hand on your back as he guides you through the crowd. His fingers entwined with yours as you sit after dinner. Occasionally he will knock his knee against yours to attract your attention to something.

As the sun begins to set, Aleksander leans closer to you as the two of you stand at one side of the room watching the dancers begin to prance along to a lively tune.

“Shall we retire for the evening?” He murmurs against your temple. Turning your head, you smile up at him, and nod.

Aleksander takes your hand as you weave through the crowd. The people surrounding you must see something in Aleksander’s expression that prevents them from approaching you, and soon you’re stepping out of the Domed Hall into the quiet corridor.

The sounds of people laughing and celebrating are muffled as the two of you begin to retreat.

You can’t hold back a surprised giggle as Aleksander sweeps you up into his arms, hooking one arm under your legs to carry you bridal style through the corridors of the Little Palace.

He walks down a very familiar hallway, and through a well known set of doors, into his bedroom.

Aleksander sets you down at the end of the bed, the same bed that, from the very first night, has always been yours as much as it is his. He takes your face between his hands and kisses you firmly, lips working against yours to steal the air from your lungs. But who needs air when you have Aleksander to sustain you?

“Sasha.” You breathe out in a gasp against his lips.

He pulls away, his eyes blown wide, filled with adoration and love as he stares at you, his beautiful lips parted as he smiles and his dark hair already ruffled by your hands.

He kisses you again, softer this time.

Aleksander’s hands settle at your waist, as you slide your own hands down from his hair, along his shoulders and over his chest. Hooking your fingers under the lapels of his kefta, you attempt to shift the garment from his body.

One of his hands curls around your wrist.

“Are you sure?”

Leaning closer to brush your lips delicately against his own, you smile softly and nod.

“I’m sure.”

Aleksander learns the language of your body in a startlingly short amount of time. He seems to know exactly where to kiss, to touch and tease, to draw out the most exquisite bursts of pleasure that shudder down your spine and linger like phantom touches over your skin.

He’s reverent with you, eyes filled with awe as he studies your every reaction, which brings a full bodied rush of blood to tingle underneath your skin.

There’s a look of pride on his face, every time a gasp or broken moan leaves your lips, and whenever you say his name he all but doubles his efforts to give you every ounce of pleasure that he knows you deserve.

Yet his touch is nothing compared to the sweet words that are murmured against your lips, or accompany the kisses he leaves along your neck.

“That’s it, my dearest love. Let me hear you.”

“Aleksander.” You whine, grasping tightly onto him.

He shushes you tenderly, linking your fingers together with both hands, pressing them against the mattress as he continues to kiss you, his body firm against yours.

“Relax, my love. I have you.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, and continues to murmur softly against your hairline.

“Let me take care of you, hm?” He reasons, trailing kisses along your jawline. “You’ve taken such good care of me, given me everything I’ve ever wanted. Let me look after you now.”

The guards posted outside his room learn Aleksander’s true name that night, a fact that you realise the next morning with a flush of embarrassment.

You bring the matter up not long after you wake in Aleksander’s arms. In response, he chuckles and you hide your warming face against his bare chest.

“I’m sorry, Sasha.” You mumble.

He hooks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his eyes.

“I can think of no better way of them hearing my name, than from your lips.”

He kisses you softly, and any worry you had quickly disappears.

»»---------------------►

A few days later, you receive a summons from Nikolai. That morning, you watch from the head of the bed as Aleksander finishes getting dressed. Much to your confusion, he had told you not to get ready yet.

It’s only when Genya appears at the door, with a clothing bag slung over her arm that you begin to suspect why Aleksander had asked you to wait.

She’s wearing a red kefta, cleaned and pressed to perfection, and you can see her pride as she wears it. With a knowing smirk, she asks if you’d like her to remove some of the marks along your throat, and your cheeks warm as you feel Aleksander’s eyes on you when you refuse her offer.

Then she places the clothing bag across your lap, and you frown at her.

She unzips it.

A black kefta, with green embroidery lining the hems. There’s a few small splashes of colour, soft dots of red, purple and blue - the three Grisha orders - that look like tiny flowers amongst the weaving green.

When you see the kefta, emotion wells in your throat, and can’t stop the flood of tears spilling down your cheeks. Aleksander sits down beside you, curling his arm around your waist, and you press the side of your face against his chest.

You reach for Genya’s hand.

“It’s perfect Genya. You should be very proud.”

She smiles, remarking smugly,

“I know.” But she curls her fingers around yours, squeezing softly with understanding, and you realise the double meaning to her words. I know how you feel.

Now you belong.

»»---------------------►

Nikolai appoints you as his royal advisor, and you journey with him and Aleksander to meet with the delegates from Shu Han when you demand a ceasefire between your countries.

In exchange for some of the lands often sought after during the Border Wars, Shu Han agrees to disband any experimentation facilities and instead turn their Grisha over to Ravka.

With an alliance finally formed between two countries known for their almost endless grievances, Fjerda is intimidated.

You and Aleksander work hard to establish a singular Ravkan army, where each regiment contains both the necessary Grisha and otkazat’sya to function more efficiently than ever before.

With healers allowed to work on former First Army soldiers, casualties are reduced by almost half. Fabrikators work on the army’s weaponry to combat the Fjerdan’s machine guns.

Nikolai’s father, Magnus Opjer, wanting to support his son and return to his former lover, gathers supporters for Ravka from within his own country. Nikolai and Aleksander strategise for long hours, well into the night, to orchestrate a Fjerdan coup.

With your new army pushing the frontlines further into Fjerda, and their own people turning on them, they can only hold out for so long.

The day the Fold was destroyed was named the day of Sankta Alina. The day the land of the Tula Valley was revived was the day of the Starless Saint.

The day Fjerda surrendered, and peace was established in Ravka, will be forever known as your saint’s day. The saint of hope, and plans well made.

In reparations, you demand the outlaw of jurda param, the drug that Fjerdan had used to enslave Grisha into creating their weapons. They free all Grisha held in captivity, and Ravka offers rehabilitation for them all. David creates an antidote that cures the addiction ailing the drugged Grisha.

Aleksander is both heartbroken and furious at the sheer number of Grisha that come seeking aid, especially when he sees the toll the drug has taken on so many women and children.

You’re almost as equally upset, pacing and fuming over the length of Nikolai’s study. He doesn’t say anything, allowing you to stew in your anger, and when Aleksander returns you both sit at Nikolai’s table and discuss the reparations.

Aleksander heeds your warnings. Fear will not last as a deterrent. As much as you want to, you can’t punish Fjerda too harshly. It will only cause a greater divide between your people, and will one day become a problem. A problem that you and Aleksander will have to deal with when it accumulates in a few hundred years.

You want this peace to last.

You want to enjoy your time with Aleksander, and for him to live without looking over his shoulder for once.

»»---------------------►

“You know you’re actually quite good at this.” Nikolai remarks as he spins you.

The ballroom at the Grand Palace is decorated with the blue and yellow Ravkan eagle, as well as the white flags of peace.

“I’m choosing to ignore the surprise in your voice, but I will say I’m quite offended.”

“Vasily said you were a poor dancer.” Your brows lift in surprise.

“That’s why he cancelled the engagement?” Nikolai laughs softly, shaking his head. Your expression shifts from feigning offence to something softer. “How is he doing?”

“Good, from what I hear in my mother’s letters. She’s been staying with him for the last few weeks, along with Magnus.”

You nod. Nikolai’s biological father had been instrumental for your victory against Fjerda, and he seemed to be quite happy living in Ravka, reunited with Nikolai’s mother.

The dance comes to an end, and you feel rather proud that you had seen it through with only a minor incident of fumbling with Nikolai’s hands after a spin. He takes your hand, steering the two of you towards the side of the room where you select a drink from a silver tray.

“You should ask Zoya for a dance.” You tell him, taking a sip from your glass. He raises a brow at you, before he glances over at Zoya.

“Is this some sort of subtle assassination plot?” He remarks, but he hasn’t taken his eyes from her.

She’s wearing a gown of deep summoners’ blue, with sparkling silver threads, and a selection of jewels adorning her hair. She already looks like a queen.

“I’m sure you would enjoy yourself. Trust me.”

Nikolai hums.

“Speaking things into existence again?”

“When aren’t I?”

He takes your hand once again, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before he nods. You bow with a smile as he steps away, and you watch him as he approaches Zoya.

She narrows her eyes at him, but she doesn’t seem annoyed. For a moment, you think her smirk seems almost fond. Then you’re distracted.

You sense Aleksander appearing beside you long before he makes his presence known.

“You’re scheming.” He accuses in a low voice filled with amusement as he presses a kiss against your temple. You look back at him, your eyes widened innocently.

“Scheming? Me?” A smirk tugs at your lips. “I would never.”

Aleksander hums knowingly and he smiles as his hands settle on your waist.

“Of course not, my love, do forgive me.”

You smile back at him, content to be in his arms for a quiet moment. He sways you both lightly to the sound of the music as another song begins, and you spot Zoya and Nikolai at the centre of the dance floor.

“Have you spoken to Alina?” You ask Aleksander. He raises a brow at you, before his eyes shift to filter over the faces in the crowd.

“I wasn’t aware she was here.” You nod.

“She and Mal have come over from Keramzin. The Duke died a few weeks ago, and left the orphanage to the townspeople. Alina and Mal have decided to run it.”

“That’s good of them.”

“Hopefully now there won’t be as many orphans though.” You reason and Aleksander hums thoughtfully.

“Regardless, there will always be children in need of a home.”

His fingers curl around yours, tilting your hand to show off the gold and black ring that sits shining on your finger.

This weekend, as people begin to recover from the festivities, you and Aleksander plan to pack up your horses and leave. Head towards the Tula Valley until you find the perfect spot. A remote field or a small clearing in the woods, somewhere peaceful where you can create a small garland of flowers to surround you both.

There, you’ll exchange your vows and rings. No priest, no guests. Just the two of you, together.

A blissful, sun soaked day, where he is finally yours, and you are his.

Afterwards, once you return to the capital, you’ll sign all the official papers and your friends will likely want to throw an elaborate party.

An excited smile breaks over your face, and Aleksander brings your hand to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles, his own smile widening as he whispers,

“I can’t wait to marry you in every century.”

His words make you giddy.

“I’m sorry you had to see me be engaged to two other people before you.” You remark and Aleksander’s eyes sparkle with amusement. Then your expression softens, “But my heart has always been yours.”

His smile is bright as he looks at you.

There’s a lull in the atmosphere, as the music stops and people refresh themselves before the next dance. Aleksander’s hands leave your waist as he moves in stand in front of you. He turns, holding out a hand for you to take.

“Shall we?” He asks, tilting his head towards the dance floor. You nod.

As you’re walking through the crowd with Aleksander, you spot two familiar heartrenders. Fedoyr smiles widely at you both, and Ivan gives you a small nod as they walk by you, arm in arm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Alina tugging playfully on Mal’s hand, urging him towards the dance floor. He’s shaking his head at her, but follows all the same with a smile on his face.

She catches your gaze as the two of them get into position several paces away from you and Aleksander. Your smile softens, and you give her a knowing nod. She smiles back. You’re glad she’s happy.

Nikolai winks when he catches your eye, and you raise your brows questioningly at Zoya when you realise they are having another dance together, to which she shrugs lightly with a smirk.

Finally your eyes meet Aleksander’s, as he settles a hand on your waist to pull you close.

Just like your very first dance together, every moment is perfect. Aleksander leads, and you follow his every step. When it comes to the dips and spins, you trust him to keep you secure in his arms.

When you turn, your back pressing against his chest for several steps, Aleksander’s hands are there, ready and waiting for when you return to face him.

The world around you fades away, even the music carrying you seems less important than being able to stare at the man before you, for as long as you like. Admiring the neat trim of his beard, his thick dark hair, soft lips and adoring eyes.

Aleksander’s eyes are all that matters, as they scour over your face, his smile widening when he observes your expression of happiness and contentment.

The first time he had laid those dark eyes on you, nerves and fear were the only emotions you could process. But despite it all, you had trusted him. You had trusted that he would see your knowledge of the future, and your hope for Ravka, as something valuable.

He had.

Through every terrifying and confusing moment of your journey, he had placed his trust in you to know what was coming. In return, he had been your refuge. Someone to teach you horse riding, to comfort you after nightmares. Someone to scheme and plot and share your thoughts with.

Even now, when you have no idea what the future will hold, Aleksander is still holding you as if you are the most precious thing in the world to him.

»»---------------------►

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[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

A little short but hopefully good. Not very fond of this.

~~~

"I hardly understand why you refuse to cooperate with Father, (Y/N)," Alicent muttered quietly, pouring herself a cup of tea. Lifting her head, she eyed her brother with a frown, fingers slipping under the saucer to scoop it up from its spot on the table. Softly blowing, she watched the steam rise. "Everything he does is-"

"For himself." (Y/N) interrupted, running his fingers over flower designs on his mother's old jewelry box. Carefully prying it open, his eyes looked over the gemstone necklaces he'd seen his mother wear so many times. He picked one of her finer necklaces, cradling it in his palm before approaching his sister. Alicent set her cup down with a clink and raised her hands toward her hair, lifting her braids as (Y/N) moved to stand behind her. 

"Mother would hate to see how much you resent Father," Alicent murmured, releasing her hair once the necklace was secured around her neck, one hand falling to touch the gemstones. 

"Father and I have never seen eye to eye, Alicent." 

"But it's worsened, has it not? When's the last time you've had a civil conversation with him?" Alicent spun around to face him, hair swinging over her shoulder and brows knitting together. The sight of her worried doe eyes tugged at his heartstrings and (Y/N) sighed. Looking down as Alicent took his hands into her own and ran her thumb over his knuckles. "All this fighting and resentment... It'll do you no good, (Y/N). He's our father and he loves us."

"He loves you. And even then, he doesn't truly care about what you think, just what you can do for him. One day, you're gonna reflect on these days and you'll wish you had listened to me." (Y/N) met her eyes again. Big and brown like their mothers'. Even with stoic faces, their eyes betrayed them, showing an ocean of emotions. 

"You're hurting and lashing out, (Y/N)." Alicent straightened her shoulders, pink-colored lips pulling into a line. "Perhaps a prayer-"

"I will not argue with you about this again, Alicent." He muttered and slipped his hands out of her tender hold, stepping away from her and walking toward the doors.

"Where are you going?" She called out after him.

"On a walk." (Y/N) replied, pushing one of the doors open and stepping out into the hallway. Maids and guards bowed their heads as he walked past them, mumbled greetings falling from their lips. If only the other lords and ladies gave him the same ounce of respect. Sure, they greeted him similarly, only to whisper about his family as soon as his back turned to them. Not even kings and queens were safe from the rumors spread about in court. Sweet smiles turned venomous when one wasn't looking. 

Stepping onto a balcony overlooking one of the many courtyards, (Y/N) peered down at the knights below, waiting and praying to be picked for the Kingsguard. (Y/N) ran his hand along the railing, feeling the bumpy stone against his soft skin. Unlike many of his brothers, knighthood hadn't called out to him. Sure, he knew how it felt to hold a sword and swing it, but the desire to strike someone had never sprung out at him. And besides, the Hightowers had people for that. So, the skin of his hands remained without a scratch.

"Enjoying the weather, Lord (Y/N)? It's a lovely day." 

Dropping his arm to his side, he bowed his head. "Princess Rhaenys." He greeted, lifting his eyes to look at the older woman. She studied him, seemingly debating whether he'd be worth talking to or not.

"Tell me, Lord (Y/N)... How is it being the son of Otto Hightower?" Rhaenys asked as she rose from her seat, her long dark blue dress sliding across the floor as she moved.

"Lovely." (Y/N) answered dully, clasping his hands behind his back. Rhaenys hummed and smirked, stepping toward the railing and resting her arms on it, eyes traveling over the crowd of knights before they landed on Rhaenyra. The new heir stood beside Ser Harrold and looked rather bored with the task at hand. Rhaenys watched the princess closely, fingers drumming against her arm. She'd been denied the crown all those years ago because of her gender, only to watch her cousin name his daughter heir. (Y/N) knew the feeling of being so easily dismissed all too well.

"I hear you've made a name for yourself," Rhaenys spoke up once more, glancing in his direction. "The Boy Who Never Smiles... Quite the title at the mere age of five and ten." He remained silent, watching the knights as they were called up by Ser Harrold and waved off by Princess Rhaenyra.

Noticing his lack of response, Rhaenys switched topics. "I assume you are engaged?"

"I am not, Princess." 

"A boy of your status without a betrothed? Your father must have something planned. Perhaps an engagement that will finally get his blood on the throne." (Y/N) grimaced at her words despite the amusement behind them. He could imagine his dear sister talking to King Viserys late at night, saying the right words and doing the right things to get him interested. And there was nothing he could do, not when their own father encouraged it.

"I hear your sister and Princess Rhaenyra are close. Could the same be said for you?" Rhaenys asked as she pushed herself up, gaze lingering on the knights before she looked at him, head tilted and brow raised. (Y/N) looked toward Rhaenyra, watching her speak with one of the knights before shaking his head.

"We're not close." He answered, turning back to Rhaenys. "The most we've spoken about is the weather." 

While appearing unsatisfied with his answer, Rhaenys nodded and returned to her previous spot on the bench, lifting her cup toward a maid. She watched her cup fill before stopping the maid, motioning to the wine with a nod from her head but (Y/N) rejected her silent offer. 

Clearing his throat, (Y/N) moved his arms out from behind his back and toyed with the ring on his finger. "If I may be so bold, Princess..." Trailing off, he waited for her to nod before continuing. "If you had been chosen as heir back during King Jaehaerys reign, it would've saved both the Targaryens' and Hightowers' much trouble."

"You blame the throne for the death of your mother." Rhaenys mused softly.

"I blame my father. I understand being the Hand has been his job for many years but I believe you would've chosen someone else and thus we might've returned to Oldtown. Back home, she would've been a priority, not a second thought." (Y/N) explained. Rhaenys set her cup down on the table beside her. Pressing her lips together, she looked up at him and extended her hand toward him. (Y/N) hesitantly reached out, pressing his palm against hers. She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, something she most likely did to comfort her own children. 

"I offer my condolences, Lord (Y/N). Losing a mother is never easy." She spoke quietly, almost warmly. "And your support is appreciated, child."

"Thank you, Princess. I'll be taking my leave." (Y/N) retracted his hand and bowed his head, resuming his walk and continuing down the hall. He turned the corner, fingers ghosting over the spot Rhaenys had provided comfort. He felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. (Y/N) hadn't realized how much he missed the comfort of a mother. Inhaling, (Y/N) blinked away the tears. Weeping didn't bring back the dead. 

Heading down the stairs, he halted upon noticing the princess waiting at the bottom of the staircase. She offered him a smile and (Y/N) sighed, resuming his trek down the steps and walking past her, hoping she'd been waiting for someone else. But instead, she fell into step with him.

"Have a nice chat with Princess Rhaenys?" Rhaenyra questioned with a grin. Had Targaryen's always been so nosy? (Y/N) exhaled through his nose and glanced at the girl beside him. When he didn't respond, Rhaenyra quickened her pace and stood in his path, a cheeky smile appearing on her face despite his annoyance.

"Why don't you ask her?" (Y/N) breathed.

"Because I asked you, Lord (Y/N)." Rhaenyra shrugged her shoulders, a soft giggle slipping out. The happiest he'd seen her since the passing of Queen Aemma. A façade for her grief, maybe. But (Y/N) wasn't in the position to question a princess, much less one that had been made heir to the throne.

"It was a lovely chat, Princess." (Y/N) answered. "How was picking a new knight for the Kingsguard?"

"You were watching?" Rhaenyra tilted her head, long hair swaying to one side. "I chose Ser Criston Cole; the knight from the tourney who bested my uncle. Can you believe he was the only knight with battle experience?" 

"A good choice then, Princess." (Y/N) praised and the corners of her lips twitched upward. "You and your father deserve to be protected by the best and that certainly shouldn't be some fool who weeps over losing a game."

"My thoughts exactly." 

"If that is all-"

"No, it's not." Rhaenyra shook her head and took a step closer to him, hands folding infront of her. (Y/N) resisted the urge to sigh and instead motioned for her to continue with a nod. Rhaenyra looked down at her hands, running a finger over the rings adorning them. Licking her lips, she looked back at him.

"Have I done something to offend, Lord (Y/N)? I've noticed that you and I rarely speak, even when Alicent is with us. We've known each other for years, and yet... You are a stranger to me." Rhaenyra pursed her lips. 

"When you have as many siblings as us, rare is the time we get something fully to ourselves. I wouldn't wish to change the dynamic between you and Alicent by inserting myself. She cares for you, Princess. I hope the love you have for each other will help with any obstacles you face in the future." (Y/N) explained and stepped around her, arm brushing against hers as he walked past her.

"Good day, Princess."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

When their father had told them he wished for their presence in the room where only the council were allowed, a pit had formed in (Y/N)s' stomach. He'd spent the night soothing Alicent as she paced in his room, voicing her anxieties and worries regarding Otto visiting Dragonstone to confront Prince Daemon. He'd returned in one piece, sadly enough, but the relief on Alicents face had been enough to keep (Y/N)s' thoughts to himself. He'd wished for nothing more than to hear about their fathers' demise before his plans could escalate further, but as he stood beside his twin, he knew his prayers had been ignored. They wouldn't have been called in if King Viserys didn't plan on marrying his sister.

His eyes remained trained forward, even as the other lords entered the room and took their seats. Rhaenyra stood by the refreshments table, glancing at the twins every so often in mild confusion but neither of them met her gaze, either out of guilt or anger. King Viserys turned away from the window and approached the table, looking at each lord. 

"I have decided to take a new wife." He announced, meeting Lord Corlys expectant gaze briefly before looking toward his daughter. (Y/N)s' fingers dug into his skin as a wave of hot washed over him. Rhaenyra noticed his tense figure from across the room and frowned, brows furrowing slightly. Her eyes slid over to Alicent, and then her father. The wrinkles between her brows smoothened and her eyes slightly widened in realization, head turning toward her childhood friend.

"I intend to marry..." Trailing off, King Viserys looked toward Alicent. "The Lady Alicent Hightower before spring's end." Silence fell over the room as each lord absorbed the information. (Y/N) looked at his father and clenched his jaw. His father didn't bother hiding his smugness and triumph. (Y/N)s' feet began moving on their own, leading him toward the doors. The lords turned in their chairs to watch him, the wood creaking beneath their weight. Shoving the door open, he spared a glance toward the guard he'd nearly hit, the metal clattering against the wall as the guard stumbled backwards. (Y/N) blindly walked in one direction, thoughts running wild. He didn't even notice when he reached his room, only taking note of it when the guard stationed outside his room opened the doors for him.

"I don't wish to speak with anyone, tell them as much if they come." (Y/N) ordered, getting a weak nod in return before the door closed. Taking in a shakey breath, (Y/N) leaned his forehead against the door, knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the doorknob. He pressed his lips together as anger gave way to exhaustion, his shoulders slumping and a sigh escaping his lips.

Each of his brothers had given up their lives to please their father; many becoming knights to earn his praise. But of course, nothing could ever be enough for Otto. He asked for more, desired more, demanded more. And like fools, his siblings obeyed. They hoped to make their father proud, to earn his praise and love. His mother gave him son after son until her frail body could no longer bear children and Otto repaid her by being away the night of her death, leaving her surrounded by a few of her children while she cried for him. He could sometimes hear her soft, exhausted voice at night echoing in his head. Desperate and neglected. Her image flashed in his head whenever he closed his eyes; pale skin, dry lips, darkened eyes, the outline of her bones faintly showing. No longer a beautiful woman. Just a memory.

Pushing himself away from the door, he staggered further into his room and fell back on the bed, burying his face in his hands. It'd only be a matter of time before he'd be pushed into some ridiculous plan such as a miserable marriage for an alliance or more power. He groaned at the prospect, running his hands over his face. As a man, he had more freedom, more time to do as he pleased. While the chain around his neck was longer than his sisters', it was still a chain nonetheless. And only few things would coax his father into setting him free.

 Tilting his head, he looked at the painting mountain above his desk. A painting of his mother whilst she'd been pregnant with him and Alicent. Her soft skin had grown wrinkled from age, but she still looked younger than her age. Even in the painting, one could tell how tired she'd been. Her smile felt forced and her eyes looked distant. The painter had perfectly captured the subject. A sad, shell of a woman. 

"Lord (Y/N)," The guard entered his room and (Y/N) grunted, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Before he could remind him of the order he'd given, Rhaenyra stepped inside, dismissing the guard with a wave of her hand. Her gaze lingered on the closed door, nails gently scraping against her wrist.

"Did you know?" She asked softly, turning her head in his direction, eyes slowly turning glossy.

"Princess-"

"Did you know?" Rhaenyra repeated harshly, lip curling as her eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare. (Y/N) watched at her silently, fingers pressing into the dark covers of his bed, his mothers' painting staring holes into the side of his head. Only cowards lie to the innocent, he remembered her words clear as day. One of her many lessons. She wanted good men for sons. His shoulders rose slightly as he inhaled and lowered when he exhaled. He rose from the bed and nodded, walking toward the table where wine awaited him.

"I knew Alicent had been... visiting your father."

"Visiting? Since when?" Rhaenyras' expression shifted into one of bewilderment. "How long did it take for your family to latch onto my grieving father?"

(Y/N) glared at her. "My father, you mean. This is the last thing I wished for." He poured himself a cup, setting the bottle down harder than he intended and making the contents on the table shake. "I'm sure it hadn't even been an hour before he began plotting and Alicent foolishly did what he asked of her. My sister isn't entirely innocent in this, I know that, but the choice was ultimately your father's."

"I know that." Rhaenyra spat, the tears finally flowing from her eyes. "Is that what you insinuated the other day? That my best friend marrying my father would be an obstacle you hoped we'd overcome? It hasn't even been a year since my mother died and vultures have already claimed her spot!" Rhaenyra cried out, wiping her tears away. (Y/N) drank from his cup and looked back at the distraught princess, her soft sobbing filling the quiet space. Tightening his grip around the cup, he debated comforting her. Sighing softly, he set his cup down and approached her, reaching out. The tips of his fingers touched her forearm and Rhaenyra stiffened, looking down at his hand. For a moment, (Y/N) thought she'd move out of reach, but instead, she stepped forward, hesitating before she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressing against his chest. 

"It was supposed to be Lady Laena, not Alicent... Not my only friend here..." Rhaenyra whispered, shoulders trembling with each shaky breath and sob. (Y/N) wrapped an arm around her shoulders and used his free hand to gently stroke her hair as he'd done many times with Alicent, running his fingers through her soft hair until her sobs subsided. Rhaenyra tightened her grip around him, another tear sliding down her cheek. "I have no one." She sniffled.

"You're a princess. Many would kill for your friendship."

"Only because they want something from me." Rhaenyra frowned, leaning back to look up at him, lips parting as (Y/N) gently brushed his thumb against her wet cheek, drying it.

"I'm sure you'll choose well."

"I choose you." Rhaenyra released him and swallowed, stepping back and regaining her posture. 

"Princess, it will only do you more harm-"

"Be it by order or by choice, you and I are gonna be friends, Lord (Y/N). You can understand me better than anyone. Our fathers have both let us down today... Alicent has as well. You know exactly how it feels to lose a mother. I do not wish to be alone here, and I know you feel the same. When everyone else fails us, we will have each other. When I ascend the throne as Queen Rhaenyra, I'll want you by my side as an ally and friend. I've only ever heard the truth from you. I know you are capable of showing kindness and empathy. So, please accept my offer of friendship... Because we both need someone to lean on during times like these."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #house of the dragon x y/n #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x male reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x male!reader #hotd x reader #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #Rhaenyra Targaryen x male reader #princess rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #otto hightower #x hightower!reader

[followfire]

I have a lot of feelings about Jean’s birthday letter

Frederica is often portrayed as strict and sometimes even cold, but she actually seems very caring here. She sent a letter and a gift!!

The fact that Jean received it the day before and not the day itself can attest to the fact that Frederica is meticulous and attentive. She’s careful with schedules and makes sure things arrive on time, with some wiggle room even. But it also shows that she treats Jean’s birthday as something important. She did something for her and made sure she would receive it on the right day. She’s showing love and affection.

The gift itself being a sword shows how much Frederica sees her daughter as a knight first and foremost. It is a nice gift and a nice gesture, but it’s work related rather than hobby related. It’s practical rather than simply something that would bring her joy. It reminds me of Jean’s first birthday letter, where she said that her mother used to take her to Windrise, and Windrise is a beautiful place to just enjoy a stroll, but it’s also a very meaningful place for the Knights and Mondstadt’s history, and I’m rather inclined to think that it’s not just for the scenery that they would go there. Jean’s birthday is not meant to extravagantly celebrate her as a person. Jean’s birthday is not just for herself, it’s for her to honour who she is as a Gunnhildr. It’s to help her in her knight duties.

It may seem a bit cold to treat Jean as a knight on her birthday but I don’t think Frederica is doing it on purpose. I don’t think she is being cold at all, actually. I think she’s being very loving, and that she doesn’t know how to express love in a different way. Frederica’s relationship with Jean probably revolves around knighthood, so it is lacking, in a way, in terms of showing affection, but at the same time when you’re both entirely dedicated to being a knight, a sword is a beautiful gift. It’s the best proof of love that she could give. Frederica is not not showing affection, it’s just that she’s showing it through beautiful swords.

Also, Frederica probably sees herself the same way: a knight first and foremost and it’s probably the same kind of love that she received herself. (I don't think Jean herself has ever mentioned her mother for something that isn't related to heritage, duty and knighthood... So I'm not sure Jean herself would express affection for her mother in a way that isn't related to being a Gunnhildr...)

It’s actually a thoughtful gift. It’s Frederica saying "I found a nice thing. Here, I think you should have it". She’s on an expedition herself so the sword could be useful to her or someone else within the expedition. But she’s thinking of her daughter first. She wants to help her from where she is. It’s practical but in a very caring way.

Although… Frederica did offer a dress to Barbara, so she doesn’t always give practical gifts; she can give something that is just pleasing. But maybe it’s because she doesn’t have the same relationship with Barbara. Their relationship isn’t defined by the weight of duty as it is with Jean. I think Frederica offering a dress is a way to keep contact or reconnect with the daughter who doesn’t live with her. But she doesn’t need to get closer to Jean, she just needs to support her. They already share something: knighthood and duty. So sword it is. And Barbara gets a flower dress and Jean gets her mom’s old outfit. (Unless… Barbara did wonder when she would get to wear the dress on stage, so maybe it was destined for shows rather than a nice everyday life thing, and it would also make it a practical work related gift?)

TL;DR Knighthood is Frederica’s love language for Jean. She said I love you.

#Genshin Impact #Jean Gunnhildr #Frederica Gunnhildr #Barbara Pegg #enim

[bullardtmyfarley]

Jakenovel The Mech Touch online - Chapter 3257 - Living Death appear bear recommendation-p2

Prestantiousnovel Exlor - Chapter 3257 - Living Death verdant rescue -p2

Novel-The Mech Touch-The Mech Touch

Chapter 3257 - Living Death bloody blind

Even though Venerable Orthox obtained definitely made a variation just as before, he failed to feel good by any means. The sensors of his mech were able to diagnose thousands of silent dwarven mechs about his place.

Elsewhere, Jessica Quentin possessed turn into surprised to the stage in which she almost forgot to aviator her mech. He would be resting if he explained he wasn't envious. Out of all the mech legions, the Penitent Sisters showed up to possess the strongest support. Their 'guardian spirit' had been a bunch stronger and a lot more militant in comparison to the Golden Pet cat.

That meant three-thousand nearly-intact Molten Hammer mechs had turned into extremely high-priced tombs regarding their aircraft pilots. Kebrinore scowled. "Just inform me what percentage of our mechs are looking at zero psychological activity on their c.o.c.kpits!" Whichever electricity the fight networks evoked evidently experienced some interaction to resonance. This is a valuable breakthrough simply because it coached the Larkinsons how to employ their struggle formations more efficiently. The Larkinsons possessed manufactured using the strength of their own fight formations more than once. That they had expanded informed about the majority of their homes and had developed several ideas to control their capacity to a better education. Even though it sounded for instance a outrageous strategy to manage a power episode, for reasons unknown he was truly able to 'convince' the fatality stage infiltration to bend around! Chapter 3257 - Life Fatality "d.a.m.nit, it's switching into us! Break free!"

His power to connect some of his power of will on the release of a thriving fight growth attack was an exceptionally mystical skill. The identical phenomena taken place on lots of s.h.i.+ps crewed through the Penitent Sisters. The piety on the committed wors.h.i.+ppers on the Top-quality New mother obtained once more intensified now that they had experienced and taken advantage of another definite manifestation of her electrical power!

"We… we picked an unacceptable humans to fight!"

"It is way above the effectiveness of an authority mech!" Jessica alarmly cried! When compared with just before, he acquired obviously expanded much stronger plus more experienced in handling his proficiency. Exactly the same phenomena taken place on many s.h.i.+ps crewed through the Penitent Sisters. The piety from the devoted wors.h.i.+ppers on the Excellent Mom possessed once again intensified now they had witnessed and took advantage of one other cement manifestation of her ability!

Even so, these were not basic problems to him. He failed to regulate the vitality wave infiltration right. Rather, he managed to make 'suggestions' for it almost like it got come alive and attained sentience. The expeditionary factors started to be panicked once they discovered the distant power strike approaching their way.

"This.. can be a electrical power that is a lot like that of a formidable ace mech! How should lots of ordinary mechs brought by a custom made mech unleash a whole lot electrical power? Venerable Joshua isn't even piloting a legitimate experienced mech!"

All they recognized was that when Joshua affixed his will in an vitality episode similar to this, he gathered the power to regulate it within a very little fas.h.i.+on.

"We… we chosen an incorrect men and women to battle!" People were grateful how the Superior possessed solved their dialling and lent her capacity to the Larkinson Clan!

"This can be way beyond the effectiveness of an authority mech!" Jessica alarmly cried!

The Experts distributed no further more thoughts together. They continued to observe the exist video clips and records readouts with fantastic expectations. "We… we selected a bad individuals to battle!"

The inquiries in their brain swelled so much that they obtained end up utterly incapable of snapping out from his fugue!

What happened merely a minute ago subverted all of her cognition. They believed which the galaxy was substantial and several clever mech makers got created reality-defying approaches to enable mechs to defeat the adversary in inventive ways. "Mother…"

Exactly the same phenomena took place on many s.h.i.+ps crewed from the Penitent Sisters. The piety with the devoted wors.h.i.+ppers of the Outstanding Mother acquired yet again intensified now they had experienced and benefited from another cement manifestation of her electrical power! Making use of their get, they had already seen plus a.n.a.lyzed a lot of info regarding this strong strength manifestation beforehand. They required the Larkinsons to use a similar potent alternative they had found throughout the Combat of Reckoning.

"How.. how could this have occured!?" Kebrinore's coronary heart skipped a conquer.

Luckily for us, Joshua were spending special attention. By means of his campaigns, he required the lifestyle energy infiltration to carry on looping all over until it swept over the struggle collections on the Molten Hammer along its size!

In a instant, the Molten Hammers have been riding significant. Within the next occasion, the pilots had all been tossed in to the abyss. The ma.s.sive resonance barrier that exuded from the Gatecrasher's s.h.i.+eld begun to expand across a more expansive location. This triggered it to block a greater percentage from the deathly vitality infiltration and preserve several Molten Hammer mech aircraft pilots from giving up their emotional exercise. An abundance of scientists had aimed to talk about what was happening. They quickly presented up like many other people who aimed to investigation skilled aviator manifestations. Though it was possible to make some product descriptions determined by findings, it absolutely was out of the question to make a solid theory which may be placed inside of a wider framework. He slumped and launched a sigh. "Overlook it. Allow ex-Hexers get their fun. We'll just follow our personal repertoire." The natural green corona around the greyish vigor infiltration pulsed richer every time Joshua made an effort to station his will from afar.

#ull #when knighthood was in flower john thompson