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dayneston · 2 years ago

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House of the Dragon: Rhaenyra Targaryen and The Politics of Having Illegitimate Heirs

I don’t think people understand why Alicent was so bothered by Rhaenyra having illegitimate children as much as she was. Yes, part of it was coming from a place of frustration at Rhaenyra for scoffing at tradition and not honouring her marriage vows, but Alicent’s primary focus was on the politics - and how it put her own children in mortal danger.

Painting: The Execution of Lady Jane Grey

You see, if Rhaenyra had legitimate children with Ser Laenor, then the Greens would have no reason whatsoever to try and replace Rhaenyra as heir to the throne with Aegon. They, in truth, would’ve been usurpers. But as we know, Rhaenyra having bastards not only weakened her own claim to the throne but by it, she has given her enemies a legitimate reason to support Aegon instead of her. Just think about it - nearly every lord in the realm has a bastard of his own. If Rhaenyra puts her own bastards on the throne, it sets a precedent - that bastards can have a claim to a title just as much as legitimate children can. This of course presents a HUGE crisis to the lords who probably have multiple bastards running around, now all potential heirs to his house. Some lords might even have older bastard brothers, brothers who would potentially be better rulers than them if they were trueborn. Brothers who would follow Rhaenyra’s suit and place themselves in positions of great power and usurp their trueborn sibling’s claims. No doubt, this would lead to violence, in-fighting, bloodshed and the potential extinction of houses and bloodlines that go back thousands of years.

So naturally, any lord who would be fearful of this playing out would naturally ally themselves with the trueborn children of House Targaryen - Alicent’s children. Whether the Greens want it or not, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron would become unwilling figureheads for rebellions against Rhaenyra. These rebels would rally themselves around Alicent’s children, demand them to be crowned instead of Rhaenyra, and of course, Rhaenyra would have absolutely no choice but to execute her half-siblings, to save herself and her children. Whether Alicent’s children want it or not, they are living, breathing, constant challenges to Rhaenyra’s throne.

It’s the exact predicament Mary I of England faced - a Catholic queen who had just deposed her Protestant cousin, the Lady Jane Grey, Mary had no choice but to order 16 year old Jane’s execution in 1554. Despite having Jane imprisoned, rebels kept on popping up around England, all marching on London to dethrone Mary in Jane’s name, even though Jane herself was oblivious to what was happening because she was behind bars and had already relinquished her crown and declared for Mary. Mary was hoping to restore Catholicism to England and was planning to marry a foreign prince so she could provide England with a Catholic heir - but she knew so long as Jane lived, Mary, her future children and England would never know peace. So she reluctantly signed Jane’s death warrant, causing the death of one of England’s most tragic figures.

This would be the fate of Alicent’s children if Rhaenyra ever ascended the throne. No matter how good willed Queen Rhaenyra would be to her siblings, it wouldn’t last. The minute the first lord lit the beacon of rebellion and openly called Rhaenyra’s sons illegitimate usurpers of Alicent’s trueborn children with no right to the throne, Alicent’s children would’ve been executed. There’s absolutely no way Rhaenyra would ever chose Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron’s lives over her own living children - what mother would?

#house of the dragon #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #mine #analysis

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steddieasitgoes · 11 months ago

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@steddiemas Day 15 Prompt: Spread Holiday Cheer

Tags: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Christmas Fluff, Sending Holiday Cards, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington

wc: 1554 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie’s perched on the kitchen counter, two fingers deep in a jar of peanut butter when the front door creaks open and shut. Barefoot patter across the reclaimed wood floor until Steve appears in the doorway. He has a stack of mail tucked under his arm. An open card clutched between his hands.

“Did Dustin tell us Suzie was pregnant again?” Steve asks. He swats Eddie off the counter as he walks to the corner they’ve designated for unopened mail. Dropping the mail on the stack of overflowing flyers and magazines they’ve yet to get through, he squints at the card in his hands.

“I talked to him yesterday and he didn’t mention anything,” Eddie mumbles, mouth full of peanut butter. “Why?”

“She definitely looks pregnant.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie chastises as he winds the lid of the peanut butter back on the jar. “You can’t assume she’s pregnant just because she looks a little…”

The words fizzle out as he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes take in the Christmas card in his hands. Henderson’s are always his favorite. The boy’s always had a thing for dramatics, something that hasn’t waned with age. Or the growing brood of kids he’s acquiring.

This year's card is Star Wars-themed. Dustin dressed as Han and Suzie in Leia’s white costume. Their oldest son is Luke, lightsaber held high. The twins in homemade R2D2 and C-3Po costumes.

The youngest has been painted green, channeling Yoda if Eddie had to guess. And of course, their dog rounds out the eccentric bunch in a homemade Chewbacca costume.

One glance at Suzie’s growing belly, stretching the fabric of Leia’s dress is all it takes for Eddie to confirm Steve’s suspicions. The message at the bottom of the card also helps.

“You really should read these with your glasses on,” Eddie teases, fingers reaching over Steve to tap at the message printed at the bottom. “Says here their “galaxy” is growing in spring.”

“Christ,” Steve says, shaking his head. “He’s building a damn sports team over there.”

Eddie snorts. “More like a D&D group. They’re going to be the Von Trapps of the Dungeons and Dragons world one day.”

With a snort of his own, Steve shakes Eddie off of him and crosses the room to their fridge. It’s not uncommon for the yellowing white door to be flooded with messages and cards, but it’s ten times worse during December. Eddie can barely get into the freezer without a card or two falling, taking their magnets with them.

Still, Steve doesn’t let the cluttered fridge stop him from hanging Dustin’s card up there amongst the rest. Eddie watches as he takes a step back, hands coming to rest on his hips as he admires the holiday spread in front of him.

Dustin’s card sits towards the top, sandwiched between one from the Sinclairs — a back shot of Lucas, Max, and their daughter Ellie hand in hand on a beach in California — and one from the Byers-Hoppers — Hop and Joyce sat in their matching rocking chairs on their porch with dopey smiles on their faces as they look out on their hoard of grandkids.

There’s a card from the Wheeler-Byers, too — a caricature of their family, the boys, and their army of dogs no doubt drawn by Will himself. It sits beside the one from El and Erica, a joint holiday postcard from Italy where they’re studying abroad.

Nancy and Jonathan are the most professional of the bunch — no surprise given Jonathan’s photography skills and Nancy’s perfectionism. The one of Jeff’s kids is one of Eddie’s favorites, the trio screaming on Santa’s lap while Jeff and his wife smile at the camera. A close second is Gareth and Freaks who decided to hit up the local JcPennys for awkward family portraits with their girlfriends.

Robin and Chrissy’s is front and center, the two of them kissing under the mistletoe while their daughter rolls her eyes in the background. Beside it is one from Wayne and Scott, a grainy shot that Steve took himself the last time they visited Hawkins. There’s one from Eden and Argyle from Missouri, which was news to everyone when it arrived.

A handful from Steve’s past students tacked up over each other along with ones from their coworkers. Fleeting faces in their lives, along with permanent fixtures.

In the center of it all is their card from this year. They took it back in July when prices were cheaper and Steve could order them in bulk without breaking the bank. They’re smiling at the camera on the couch in their living room, a silly Santa plush sits between them. Both in godawful ugly sweaters with Santa hats perched on their heads despite the sweltering summer sun peaking in from the bay window.

Maybe he’s biased, but he thinks theirs is his favorite.

Eddie’s pretty sure it’s the best one they’ve ever taken which is why he feels the wind knocked out of him when he spots Steve frowning at it.

“Everything okay, Stevie?”

Steve hums, prying his eyes away from the fridge to look at Eddie. He offers him a soft smile and a curt nod before excusing himself. Eddie’s pretty sure he hears him mumble something about needing to start this week's lesson plan.

Eddie knows it’s a lie — it’s the final week before winter break and Steve never teaches during it — but he doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, he lets his boyfriend slink out of the room. When he’s gone Eddie shifts his attention back to the fridge, eyes squinted as he tries to puzzle out what has Steve so bum hum bug all of a sudden.

He doesn’t get it at first. There’s nothing different about this year's cards than the hoards they’ve received in the past. Everyone who should be up there is up there, smiling wide at what this year has given them. Happy parents and smiling kids, wild pets, and even wilder adventures.

His eyes are making a third pass over the cards when it clicks. Eddie knows Steve’s not disappointed with the way their life has turned out, but it's clear from the cards littering their fridge that something is missing.

Every card screams family, except theirs.

Well, Eddie thinks, that simply won’t do.

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

It takes three days for Eddie to pull everything together. The minute Steve leaves for work on the fourth day, he gets to work setting everything up. In a matter of hours, their living room gets transformed from a moderate Christmas room to one that belongs in those cheesy movies Steve always has on.

He’s relocated the tree to the middle of the room, decked everything out with garland and twinkling light, and hand-painted the Santa’s workshop sign he stayed up late making last night. After an hour-long call with Jonathan, he manages to get the camera and tripod set up.

Getting their pets dressed takes the longest, but after chasing everyone around and bribing them with a shit ton of treats he gets all 3 dogs, 4 cats, Parrot, snake, and bunny in their respective holiday attire. He’s putting the finishing touches on his own look when he hears the familiar creak of the front door.

“Eds?” Steve calls, voice tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking our Christmas card picture,” Eddie says, appearing around the corner in a red Santa suit.

Steve blinks before slowly looking around the room. The dogs and cats all match in elf costumes. Pierce the Bunny and Ozzy the Parrot are somehow keeping elf hats on their head and Sizzle the Snake has a ribbon wrapped loosely around her body like the world's most delicate Christmas present.

Eddie watches as Steve takes everything in, lips parted in that cute confused look he always gets. Fish out of water, he likes to tease.

“Don’t worry, I have your costume here too,” Eddie says, holding up a matching red Santa suit.

“I’m confused, we already sent our cards out for the year.”

Eddie hums. “We did, but we forgot to include some very important members of our family in the card. Don’t you think our friends deserve to have all our beautiful faces on their fridges?”

“I mean, I guess? It’s going to cost a fortune though this late in the game.”

“Our family is worth it.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌

It costs them an arm and a leg to get the cards printed and sent out in time, but it's worth it to see the smile permanently etched on Steve’s face as he tacks it up on the fridge, replacing their original card.

This time when he steps away there’s nothing but pure happiness on his face.

“I know it’s not the big family you dreamed of,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around him as he admires the display. “But it’s still pretty great, right?”

“It’s perfect, Eds.”

💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌💌 💌 💌

The following year, Dustin’s isn’t the only card with a new face on it. Steve, Eddie, and their army of pets are joined by a pair of timid smiles. A brother-sister duo whom they’ve been fostering since February. If all goes as planned, they’ll be permanent fixtures on the Munson-Harrington card for decades to come.

#steddiemas #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington ficlet #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #dani writes

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blacknedsoul-blog · 9 months ago

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Lenore Vandernatch: the rogue, the gothic heroine and the courtly knight. A review of archetypes

Okay, after going over my notes, here we are again. In case you don't know what this is all about, here is the first of these posts where I'm doing a review of some of the archetypes that Annabel and Lenore seem to be taking notes on.

Just so this doesn't end up being another 3000 word post, let's get started.

The Rogue

In 1554, the first written version of "El Lazarillo de Tormes" was published, the foundational work of what would become known in Spain as the "picaresque novel": stories centered on the rogue, a poor rascal who uses trickery to ensure his survival.

At this stage of the game, we have rogues in a variety of flavors and colors. It would be difficult to make a comprehensive list, so let's talk about these characters in general.

The first thing to note is that rogues are, by definition, outsiders. In the traditional picaresque, the rogue is simply someone from the lower classes, but as this archetype has grown, it has become less about class and more about criminality.

Yes. Rogues are criminals: thieves like Robin Hood, swindlers like the Lazarillo...

Fraud, arson. You name it.

Getting back to the issue of the rogue as an outsider, they may have been one from the start, or they may have become one after attaining their criminal status. Regardless of the reason, these people operate outside of the law, the authorities generally give a shit, and, depending on your rogue flavor, may even actively fight against it.

One thing to note here: this goes a bit beyond Lenore's rebellious attitude. Like a good rogue, she derives enormous personal satisfaction from the thought of getting her way. The world has turned its back on the rogue, so the rogue will not hesitate to turn her back on the world.

In Lenore's case, this attitude of throwing all authority to the wind and actively ignoring any rules imposed on her is a mixture of personality and trauma. In the flashbacks, we see that Lenore has always had a certain disdain for protocol and formalities, but of course, after being locked up for at least a year because the rules of the society she lives in have decided to make her an outcast for her brother 's death, she no longer finds any reason to listen to what they have to say to her. The rules will never go beyond the feeling that she has agency over her life.

From this follows the methods of the rogues: opportunism is one of their hallmarks. Ingenuity, cunning, and creativity are common traits among these characters, something that is usually tied to their status as outsiders and criminals; they don't care about rules, so they think outside the box, either because they are highly intelligent or because they lack common sense.

Maybe both.

So, yes, when Annabel tells her dashing rogue, she's not wrong in the least. But there are more interesting things to look at here

The Gothic Heroine

When some theorists say that Gothic heroines are bland and uninteresting characters, it's...true. But there's a reason for that, so let me get that out of the way for a moment: the image of the maiden in this period is used as a symbol of purity, chastity, goodness, and her corruption, death, or disease works on both a literal and metaphorical level. It is like when you see grotesque religious images in horror movies, there is a powerful and disturbing charge in the idea of seeing something "pure" destroyed.

So the thing about gothic heroines is that, at worst, they are not characters who contribute to the story they are in, but tokens, quasi-sacred representations who are there to die, get sick, or fall victim to a villain who might sexually harass them. Yes, unpleasant.

But good gothic heroines (besides possibly having tuberculosis) are characters with arcs related to corruption, especially mental corruption. And this is where it gets interesting.

But we go from less to more. In her flashbacks, Lenore's physical appearance is almost exactly that of a gothic novel protagonist: pale, almost cadaverous, slender, languid in her movements (because, in this case, she's drugged a significant percentage of the time), and long hair.

Her background in this part of the story, like that of the best gothic heroines, is one of mental corruption: she is here, imprisoned, withering and losing her mind, giving in to despair. There are those who point out a rather strong resemblance between the scene where Lenore tears the flowered wallpaper from her room and the short story The Yellow Wallpaper by the writer Charlotte Perkins. And although this story is not gothic, it definitely retains the most important trope of the genre.

Another element in which we can find Lenore is in the Gothic ballad of the same name, written by Gottfried Bürger in 1773. This poem tells the story of Lenore, a girl condemned by narrative for blaspheming against heaven after the death of her beloved, who is later visited by the Grim Reaper himself to take her to him.

A heartbroken woman committing blasphemy in the name of a lost love? I wonder if that sounds familiar.

And if I had to point out one particular gothic heroine with whom Lenore shares important similarities, it would be Laura from Carmilla.

With the first, she shares two very important things: isolation and a penchant for women who can murder her, a complicated relationship with a gothic vampire.

Laura lives in complete isolation from the world, with the only company of maids and her father; within the first few chapters, we know that she can barely remember the last time she had the company of a woman her own age. Like Lenore in the flashbacks, Laura is something of a secret, hidden from the world (though for less horrific reasons).

And that isolation is broken by the arrival of an elegant, almost supernaturally beautiful upper-class lady who almost kicks in her door with a "Hi, I want to be friends. You'll like me."

Both Laura and Lenore are not afraid of the vampire, though they are not unaware of her strange behavior and will raise a puzzled eyebrow at her promises of affection, as well as her obvious tendency to insist on a fucked-up secret that they are in the middle of and can't share. Another important detail is that both characters have a certain difficulty in describing their feelings as romantic: both are very obviously obsessed with this mysterious lady who has come to interrupt their loneliness, but Laura never fails to refer to Carmilla as her "friend" (a behavior that the modern reader may interpret, with more than fair reason, as comphet), and Lenore is little more than that, at least until the mansion arch where the shingle falls on her.

Last but not least, just as Lenore is treated as "crazy," there are several events in Laura's life (such as her first encounter with Carmilla when she was a child) or that occur throughout the novel that are dismissed by those around her as her being a little touched in the head.

The courtly knight

Here it is necessary to make a distinction: knights are a far-reaching figure, but before and during the Middle Ages they mainly starred in two types of stories: the canta de gesta (which was intended to tell great deeds of inspiration for certain peoples, such as the Song of Mio Cid in Spain or the Song of the Nibelungs in Germany. This last one is the best Canto de gesta in history, I do not accept arguments) and the Novel of chivalry or courtly (focused on the individual story of the knight and introduces elements of the court).

What is the main difference between the knight of the canto de gesta and the knight of the court? Well... the latter is much more horny. And we are talking about Lenore, so you have until the end of this paragraph to imagine which of these knights we are talking about.

The first thing to keep in mind is that the Courtly Knight has a pretty strong moral compass: nobility, mercy, loyalty, and honor are values they firmly believe in; these characters are heroes, and that means that while they are not perfect, they represent ideals that are considered important in this time. And we're talking about vassalage, so you get it.

This is the first thing Lenore has in common with the knights of the court: her strong sense of morality. Yes, she's not afraid to play dirty like a rogue, but she's pretty clear about what things are important to her in that regard, and she's willing to uphold those ideals even in the context of Nevermore, which actively encourages its students to kill and betray each other.

However, the personal agendas of these knights have one important thing in common: the conflict between their own desires and their duty.

What are those desires? Well...

Good courtly knights usually have to choose between their love/sexual interests and where their personal loyalties lie, which, due to the era in which these stories take place, are usually their feudal lords or even kings.

We already established that Lenore doesn't give a shit about authority, but her personal loyalty is to her friends. And this is where it gets tricky for her: So far in the comic, Lenore has kept her relationship with Annabel a secret from her friends, and she has kept the fact that she wants to save her friends a secret from Annabel. A conflict that may eventually blow up in her face, and on the face of it, really befits a courtly knight (though if she were a real one, the Misfits might ask her to kill the Deans or something in exchange for accepting her relationship with Annabel).

To continue with this, we need to stop for a moment and talk about another little thing: courtly love. There are many definitions of it, but my favorite is the one that defines it as an attempt to reconcile mystical love with eroticism. Fun fact: these stories were written in the Provençal language, something that would associate romantic tropes with "vulgar language".

In any case, courtly love usually speaks of the beloved maiden as an idealized object, a figure who inspires an almost religious devotion. And the most recurrent theme within courtly love is what is called "love from afar": it focuses more on the journey in search of the beloved than on the couple's relationship as such (this journey can be literal or metaphorical), the knight has symbols associated with the pilgrim, there is a certain hatred of the image, the maiden is seen as an almost religious figure, and...

Yes, the color associated with the so-called "love from afar", specifically with the beloved maiden, is damn blue.

Now that we've got all that out of the way, it's time to break down why Lenore fulfills some of these things and why she doesn't.

Going with the tropes that are fulfilled, we can say that Lenore is on a more or less metaphorical journey. A journey to recover her memories and her identity. One at the end of which her lover waits for her "until the abyss claims them both".

Like a knight, Lenore is willing to make great personal sacrifices in pursuit of the things she cares about: she is willing to die for the people she cares about (the misfits) and for her lover (Annabel). The Living Long Thing is something the Knight don't know about, and since Lenore is in Nevermore, apparently neither does she.

With all that said, it's worth noting the biggest difference: courtly love features relationships based on vassalage and a huge power differential. Something that does not happen here. No, Lenore calling Annabel "my liege" doesn't count.

To explain this further -and to summarize, because it's a subject that bloody books have been written about-t he relationships in courtly love have two different levels of power: the knight must perform feats to be worthy of affection, and the maiden is little more than a prize to be won.

This unbalanced power dynamic is something that simply does not exist in the White Raven: an important part of their relationship is that both are equal in charisma, intelligence, and resourcefulness. The unstoppable force and the immovable object. Annabel is as willing to die for Lenore as she is for herself, and Lenore would probably go into berserker mode if anyone dared to treat Annabel as a prize.

Yes, you could argue that the balance of power is a bit weighted toward Lenore because Annabel is willing to make sacrifices for her that Lenore wouldn't make because she has some, you know, morals. But I think that has more to do with Annabel's character than her relationship with Lenore (that's another analysis I have a pin for when the season is over).

Conclusions

If the archetypes that Annabel seems to take note of are all quite related, Lenore, on the contrary, is much more like a mosaic: these characters have little in common and some (like the Rogue and the Knight) directly contradict each other. This woman is chaotic in her conception: opportunistic and rebellious as a rogue, pious and with strong values as a knight, and condemned by the narrative as a gothic heroine.

Another thing that stands out is that two of these three archetypes are traditionally male characters. Personally, I don't think Lenore is "like a man": her entire background and personal history is meant to work in terms of her status as a woman in the time period she lives in. She can do all the shit these male heroes do and better (though the hc that Lenore is somewhere on the non-binary spectrum is not a reading that conflicts with that).

And I use the word "hero" because another detail stands out here as well: yes, many of these characters are not only often the protagonists of the stories they are in, they are heroes within their historical periods and literary movements.

I'm going to do a third part of this comparing Lenore's archetypes to Annabel's because, believe me, there's some really crazy stuff to unpack there.

#nevermore webtoon #lenore nevermore #white raven #lenore vandernacht

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lycheedr3ams · 1 year ago

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Death's Angel

Part 2: Playing with Fire

royal!fem!reader x executioner!konig

Summary: It's 1554. You're one of the eight daughters of the Austrian royal family, and your parents do everything they can to ensure their kingdom is prosperous and peaceful. No royal court is complete without their hand-picked executioner, one who stands out against the sea of black, faceless bodies that make up the profession. It just so happens that your family's new executioner, one who has made a name for himself far and wide for his skill with the axe, has caught your eye and ruined you for good.

Warnings: MDNI! Mentions of smut, eventual filthy smut, mutual pining, forbidden love, death (konig is an executioner duh), mean sisters, mentions of medieval-type violence, overbearing parents, konig is brooding and a perv, some predator/prey dynamics, maybe dark themes bc reader likes seeing him kill people and bc he's a perv?

Part 1 | Part 3

.......

series inspired by the art below!

It's only been a week since konig carried out his first execution at your castle, but you've seen him more times in those few days than you saw your old executioner in 10 years. You found any excuse at all to even just glimpse at him. He was sharpening his axe outside the blacksmith's hut? Suddenly, you remembered you left something outside that just so happened to be right by the blacksmith. He was scrubbing his clothes in the nearby stream? You were planning on dipping your feet in the cool water anyway.

his eyes would linger on you whenever you were in his proximity, but he was always silent. even when you politely wished him "good morning" when you went out of your way to see him, or sent a kind smile his way, all you were met with was a pair of unblinking eyes concealed by a hood as dark as the void. was he playing hard to get? you almost forgot yourself. you are a fucking princess, after all. and he's the new executioner with so much blood on his hands that he'll never be able to scrub off, who has cut off more heads than days he's spent on this earth. he had no business even looking or breathing in your direction.

and yet he still did.

his eyes always found you, even during the rare times you didn't notice him in your proximity. he'd watch the way your dress perfectly hugged your hips, or how perfect your feet looked under the cool water of the stream. on the rare occasions he was able to make direct eye contact with you, his gaze was unwavering. unblinking. he simply couldn't miss a second of anything with you.

your sisters giggled about him, making fun of how tall he was. you defended him each time, but that only led them to teasing you. they wondered why you were sticking up for the troll who lived in the basement of the castle in the most untouchable servants' quarters, where even the light of the torches couldn't reach. you covered your motivations simply by stating your morality, that all people deserve to be treated equally. your sisters got a rise out of that.

you had to be more careful moving forward. if you sisters saw you around the untouchable behemoth you defended, what would they say if they saw you looking at him, smiling at him? You didn't care about your own status or image. It was him you were worried about. so you kept your interactions with him contained within curious glances and smiles when no one was looking. and he drank it all like you were the fountain of youth. but you wouldn't know it, the way his face was always perfectly veiled. a wall.

the autumn harvest ball was finally here. everyone in the castle was preoccupied with something: your parents with looking as perfect as they could, your sisters securing love interests, the servants bustling around the castle, the knights on guard. every living being in the castle tonight was alive and buzzing.

except him. except the untouchable ones who lurked in the castle basement. an unspoken blight on the royal family, yet a necessity for the peace. as you sat in your chair at the family table that overlooked the banquet hall, you wondered what konig was doing right now. had he even eaten? with all the food that needed to be prepared for the banquet, it was likely that his own meal had been overlooked. could he cook his own food? surely he could, but did he even have food to cook, or pots and a fire to cook with? you'd never been down to the lowest servants' quarters, where it smells cold and damp and whispers echo in dark corners. yet your worry for the brooding giant below could not be quelled.

"mother," you leaned over as you whispered. "i am feeling unwell. I might be catching a cold. I think I'm going to lie down for a while."

your mother looked concerned and began to wave some servants over. "they'll tend to you. please come back as soon as you are well again."

your sisters were too busy buttering up whatever sorry chap they each managed to enchant to see you being escorted to your room by some servants. you formulated a plan as they walked you to your room.

"i'm still a bit hungry, would you mind bringing me a plate of food?" you asked one servant. she quickly ran off with a bow. the other servant helped you out of your formal gown and into a much more comfortable and loose dress, but one that still showed your figure. your mother insisted that you always look comely, even in the privacy of your own room. the other servant came back with some food, while the other began to dap your forehead with a cloth.

"you two are dismissed. I've got it from here. thank you," you said with a smile as you took the cloth from the girl. They bowed silently and left you in your room. you leaned against your wooden door and listened until their footsteps could no longer be heard.

You wrapped the plate of food - which had the finest chicken, the best quality of cheeses and fruits - with a spare clean cloth from your drawer. you put on a slight cloak and pulled it over your head, tucked the wrapped plate under your arm precariously, and quietly shut your door as you left your room.

the only issue was, you didn't exactly know how to get down to the basement. there was never any need for you to be there. but luck was on your side, since all servants were in the banquet hall, so no one could see how you snuck around the castle, opening side doors and going down staircases only to get to a dead end. the food was growing cold, and you became worried. finally, you found the passageway down to the basement. but it was guarded by two knights.

you shook your head to yourself. they're technically you're knights, who are they to say where you can and cannot go in your own castle? you walked right by them with a bowed head, as if you frequented the bowels of the castle, and carefully looked around for anything that could pass as an executioner's quarters. it took a while for your eyes to adjust to the low light - you were always used to the well-lit, stained-glass hallways of the main areas. you quietly creeped down a stone hallway, shivering in the cold. you passed by small rooms with no doors and hay beds on the floor, and felt disgusted. how could your parents treat their own servants like this? you kept going, and the hallway ended at a staircase, spiraling down into the earth. this must be the way to konig's quarters, you thought. so, you braced yourself and carefully descended down the stairs.

you reached a point where there was almost no light, and began to be afraid, when you finally saw a single torch at the bottom of the staircase. there was a single door at the bottom, and it was shut. you collected your breath, straightened your back, and knocked a lot more timidly than you had meant.

you heard a wooden chair squeak as he got up and walked towards the door. you heard shuffling of cloth - had his mask been off? and you looked up at him nervously when he slowly opened the door. even in the low light, you could see how wide his eyes were to see you there. he thought you looked perfect, all doe-eyed looking up at him. vulnerable. he could drag you in his room and take you right now if he wanted. but he instead stared at you with his eyes almost popping out of his head.

you cleared your throat and brought the covered plate out from its hiding place underneath your arm. you held it up to him with both hands, saying nothing. your shaking hands told him all he needed to know.

"you shouldn't be here," were the first words he ever spoke to you. your heart dropped.

you blushed and spoke quietly, staring at his chest rather than his eyes that seemed to burn right through you. "i...i didn't know if you had eaten...since all the food in the castle is for the harvest...please...i want you to have this." you held up the plate again and closed your eyes, prepared for him to slam the door your face, when you felt the weight of the plate being lifted from your hands.

he took the plate and stared down at you. "thank you," he barely whispered. you perked back up and looked at him, the fear in your face now morphed into a mixture of happiness and concern. you were practically serving yourself on that plate for him. after a moment of staring at each other, you realized he wasn't going to speak again.

"i hope you like the food," you said timidly as you stared down what almost seemed to be the devil himself. this man was so dark and brooding, like a horrible thunderstorm that was standing at a respectable distance from you, just waiting for the right gust of wind to blow him your way.

konig wordlessly turned around and made a bee line for the crude wooden table in his living quarters. he left the door open. an invitation? you looked at him, spooked, but his back was to you as he sat down and removed the cloth from the plate. you tiptoed your way inside his room and looked around. there was a modest bed in one corner, the table he sat at with two splintered wooden chairs, and a rotted chest at the foot of the bed. you approached the table cautiously, afraid he might turn and sink his teeth into you, before you sat down at the other chair across from him.

he ate the food with his hands, which you found oddly endearing. if you saw any other person doing that, you would've been disgusted. but the way he carefully pulled apart the chicken and reached up into his mask to eat, almost like how an elephant eats, tugged on your heartstrings. you noticed, however, that he was eating very fast. almost like he was starved. looking around, you didn't notice any other plates in the room.

"i trust you're being fed well?" you asked, not bothering to hide the concern dripping from your voice. he glanced up at you before returning to his meal. "please tell me if you're not being fed enough -"

"i am," he roughly uttered as he swallowed a large piece of chicken.

"the way you're eating, it looks like you haven't eaten in days," you observe with a slightly teasing tone to your voice. he finally finished eating and wiped his hands on his pants.

"not your concern," he said as he gently threw the cloth you wrapped the plate with across the table. despite his rough words, you knew his intentions. there was no bite, no malice, in his tone. as a princess, you weren't supposed to be worried about him. you weren't even supposed to look at him. and here you were, in the executioner's room, making sure he's being fed and cared for.

"keep it," you say as you shake your hand. "you might need it for something. and I know it's not my concern, but I do want to make sure that you..." you cleared your throat and blushed "and everyone else in this castle is well taken care of."

konig stared at you so intently that you felt glued to your chair. your heart stopped in your chest.

"you play with fire, princess."

your breathing got deeper, which did not go unnoticed by him. princess was literally your title. it wasn't supposed to make your panties soaked or your nipples hard when you were called that. especially not when you were called that by the executioner. in his room. in the lowest part of the castle. he could have you screaming his name, and no one would be any wiser.

"there's nothing wrong with fire," you clumsily tried to flirt, or ease the tension. you weren't sure. "it's warm. it keeps us safe from beasts. brings us together."

"it burns. destroys." he said deeply.

you gulped. "yes, it can do that as well. you just have to handle it properly."

konig was near speechless at your effortless banter, the way you tried to convince him that he wasn't whatever beast he thought he was. he fell silent and stood up abruptly from his chair. he looked at you, almost confused, before walking towards the door.

"you should go," he said as he stood by the door with his hand holding it open.

part of you wanted to tease him, wanted to tell him that you wanted to stay. but he was probably right. if your sisters or mother found out you were away from your room for too long, things could get bad. you stood up and walked towards the door. you were about to wish him goodnight as you passed the entryway when he spoke again from behind you.

"you always stare at me," he stated plainly.

You turned and blushed as you looked past his muscular frame and at the wooden table. "does it bother you?"

"no."

feeling a surge of confidence, you smiled up at him. "goodnight, konig. i'm glad you enjoyed the food."

you nodded your head at him in respect before sneaking back up to your room. when he shut the door behind you and threw off his hood, he couldn't admit to himself how red his face was, or how his cock strained in his pants. he didn't tell you how he had never had food of such high quality before, or that a girl has never shown him kindness like you did. he didn't tell you the things he wanted to do to you as you sat timidly in that chair. how he would have rather been feasting on your core than the chicken you so kindly brought him.

and you let him keep the cloth. you were so innocent, he almost felt bad.

taglist: @kneelingshadowsalome

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thatswhywelovegermany · 7 months ago

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Weiße Frauen / White Ladies

White ladies are ghosts that are said to have haunted several castles of European noble families.

The oldest reports of the apparition date from the 15th century, but belief in the white ladies was most widespread in the 17th century. Although there are similarities to other female ghosts in European folk belief – for example the Irish and Celtic banshee – the white lady is a phenomenon that first emerged in and was typical of the high aristocratic culture of the early modern period. Belief in miracles during the Counter-Reformation turned the ghost into an attribute of class that, like coats of arms and legends of lineage, could underline the importance of a noble family. The White Lady of the Hohenzollern family is particularly well known.

The White Lady of the House Hohenzollern

The White Lady of the House Hohenzollern haunts several castles and palaces that are or used to be owned by members of this noble family.

Plassenburg

The most well-known legend about the White Lady has its origins at the Plassenburg Castle above Kulmbach and is linked to the Hohenzollern family. The castle's mistress Kunigunde, widow of Count Otto of Orlamünde, had fallen in love with Albrecht the Handsome, son of the Nuremberg burgrave Frederick IV. The latter spread the word that he would marry her if four eyes didn't stand in the way. This referred to his parents, who were against such a union. However, Kunigunde misunderstood the message and related it to her two children, a two-year-old girl and a three-year-old boy. She stabbed the children in the head with a needle, killing them.

Albrecht then renounced her. Kunigunde went on a pilgrimage to Rome and obtained forgiveness for her sins from the Pope, on the condition that she found a monastery and enter it. As penance, she slid on her knees from the Plassenburg Castle into the valley of Berneck and founded the Himmelkron Monastery, where she died as abbess. In a local version of the Himmelkron legend, the monastery already existed at the time of the murder and the two children were buried there. Kunigunde, sliding on her knees, saw the monastery on a hill between Trebgast and Himmelkron and died there of exhaustion.

From then on, the White Lady appeared at the Plassenburg to warn the Hohenzollerns of impending deaths and other impending misfortunes - a worrying but usually not violent phenomenon. According to legend, however, she behaved differently when Margrave George Frederick I, also a Hohenzollern, wanted to take possession of the Plassenburg after its destruction in 1554 during the Second Margrave War and subsequent reconstruction. The White Lady then went so far as to rattle chains, rage around, frighten ladies-in-waiting and finally strangle the Margrave's cook and quartered driver, which caused the latter to leave the Plassenburg.

Berlin City Palace

The White Lady was first seen in the Berlin City Palace on 1 January 1598. There she is said to have appeared to Johann Georg, the Hohenzollern Elector of the Margraviate of Brandenburg, eight days before his death. In this case, the ghost was seen as the spirit of Anna Sydow, the mistress of Joachim II, the Elector's father, who died in 1575 in the Julius Tower of the Spandau Citadel and whom Johann Georg had had dispossessed and imprisoned, contrary to his documented promise.

The White Lady continued to appear frequently in the Berlin City Palace. In 1619 she is said to have appeared there before the death of Johann Sigismund. In 1651, newspapers reported about great concern about the continued existance of the House Hohenzollern in the male line after the White Lady appeared. 1 years previously, Prince Wilhelm Heinrich, the only heir to the throne, had died age 1½ years, and the elector's wife had not yet become pregnant again.

In 1660, she is said to have been seen before the death of Elisabeth Charlotte, the mother of the Great Elector. She is also said to have appeared to Louise Henriette of Orange, and before the death of the Great Elector in 1688, to the court preacher Anton Brusenius. According to a report by the historian Karl Eduard Vehse, the White Lady was once quite heartily approached under the Great Elector. Konrad von Burgsdorff, a confidant of the Elector and a cold-blooded man, is said to have suddenly seen the White Lady on the steps in front of him one evening after he had put his master to bed and was about to go down a small staircase to the garden. Once he had overcome his initial shock, he called out to the figure: "You old sacramental whore, haven't you drunk enough princely blood yet, do you want more?" Apparently annoyed by this disrespectful address, the White Lady grabbed him by the collar and threw him down the stairs so that his bones cracked. Other attempts to get hold of the White Lady were not always unsuccessful: under Frederick William I, she was arrested twice. Once it was a kitchen boy who had dressed up as the White Lady and was whipped as punishment, and the other time it was a soldier.

Further apparitions occurred before the death of Frederick I in 1713 and that of Frederick William II in 1797. When the health of Frederick William III became very precarious in the winter of 1839/40, the lady-in-waiting Caroline von der Marwitz wrote a report about the appearance of the White Lady.

She also appeared – perhaps a little prematurely – before the completely unsuccessful assassination attempt by Heinrich Ludwig Tschech on Frederick William IV in 1844. On this occasion, she is said to have appeared at night in the Swiss Hall of the City Palace, wringing her hands. She also appeared in 1888 before the death of Frederick III. Even when the National Socialists were in charge of the Berlin Palace instead of the Hohenzollerns, she is said to have appeared again on the night of May 26, 1940.

It is uncertain whether the White Lady will reappear in the Humboldt Forum, the newly built partial reconstruction of the Berlin City Palace. Some superstitious people say that the reconstruction was intentionally left incomplete to stave off the White Lady of the House Hohenzollern.

Heidecksburg

In the Heidecksburg near Rudolstadt (Thuringia), the White Lady is said to have appeared to Prince Louis Ferdinand of Prussia, also a member of the Hohenzollern family, in the Green Salon, as his adjutant Karl von Nostitz-Jänkendorf reported. The next day, 10 October 1806, the prince was killed in the Battle of Saalfeld.

Other places

The White Lady also appeared in other places in possession of the House Hohenzollern and its branch lines. Apoearances are reported from Bayreuth, Lauenstein Castle, Hohenzollern Castle, and Kuckuckstein Castle.

Places belonging to other noble families are haunted by White Ladies as well. In Friedenstein Palace in Gotha, the ghost of Dorothea Maria of Anhalt is said to moanfully wander the rooms at night. Eleonore von Dönhoff is said to haunt Kossenblatt Castle. Oftentimes, noble ladies who found a violent death are linked to White Ladies, such as Jakobe von Baden in Düsseldorf Castle.

In Aussel Manor in Batenhorst near Rheda-Wiedenbrück, the wife of a former estate owner is said to haunt the premises. She is said to have been walled in in the cellar after her husband had been away for a long time during the war and caught her with a lover. She is said to have starved to death there because her husband did not return after taking part in another military campaign.

#german mythical creatures #german folklore #white ladies

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city-of-ladies · 1 month ago

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Söyembikä, regent of Kazan

"Söyembikä (c. 1516-after 1554), ruler of the khanate of Kazan, one of the successor states to the Turko-Mongol state of the Golden Horde, located in the middle Volga basin around the confluence of the Volga and Kama rivers.

From 1549 until 1551, Söyembikä ruled in the name of her minor son Utamesh-Garay, before Muscovite Russia took Kazan in 1552. In Tatar national history Söyembikä symbolizes her people’s helpless resistance to Russian invaders. She has been the subject of popular stories, tales, epics, and paintings.

Söyembikä was the daughter of Yusuf (d. 1554), the ruler of the Noghay horde, one of the kingdoms that arose from the breakup of the Golden Horde in modern-day southern Russia. Söyembikä lived in a period of great uncertainty: Noghay, Crimean, and Kazan princes competed to revive the Golden Horde, and Muscovite rulers sought to protect and expand their territory beyond the Volga to the southeast. The grand princes of Moscow paid tribute to the successors of their former suzerains, the Golden Horde, but they also involved themselves in their dynastic disputes.

The Noghay princess Söyembikä became the wife of three successive khans in the middle Volga basin: Jan Ali (or Cangali, r. 1533-1535), Safa-Garay (r. 1536-1549), and Shah Ali (or Şahgali, r.1553). Her marriage to the pro-Muscovite Jan Ali was politically motivated and received the blessing of the Russian grand prince Vasili III (r. 1505-1533), who wished to secure his southern frontier from future Noghay incursions. The anti-Muscovite party in Kazan assassinated Jan Ali, and Söyembikä married the pro-Noghay Crimean Tatar Safa-Garay, a descendant of Genghis Khan. Her new husband ended up alienating non-Tatar indigenous peoples of the middle Volga.

Following the death of Safa-Garay in 1549, Söyembikä became regent for their two-year-old son, Utamesh-Garay. Russian chroniclers described Soyembika as a “lioness” who was energetic, beautiful, and wise. As regent she sought military help from neighboring Muslim states to resist Russian encroachment. Despite all her efforts she was caught between pro-Muscovite and pro-Crimean parties inside her government and proved unable to stop Ivan the Terrible of Moscow (r. 1533-1584) from gaining the support of the non-Tatar peoples of the Volga basin and Tatars who resented the presence of Crimeans on their soil.

In August 1551 a new pro-Muscovite government arrested both mother and son and sent them to Moscow. A year later Ivan the Terrible took Kazan. Exiled in Kasimov, Söyembikä was forced to marry Shah Ali, the pro-Russian khan of Kasimov, and separate herself from her son, who was baptized under the name of Alexander. Her son died in 1566; Söyembikä’s date of death is still unknown, as is the site of her grave.

Numerous Tatar traditions kept her memory alive, praising her for her strong opposition to Moscow. Some stories affirm that she warned Safa-Garay of the imminent fall of the kingdom and brought poisoned food and a poisoned shirt to the pro-Muscovite Shah Ali. Others say that in 1550 she appeared in arms to defend the city of Kazan. Others claim that Ivan the Terrible had heard of Söyembikä’s beauty and wanted to marry her, but the proud queen refused and the tsar took Kazan, imprisoned her, and asked for her hand again. Söyembikä promised to marry him only if he built her a high tower in the kremlin in seven days. With the help of the finest artisans, Ivan fulfilled her demand, but when the tower was finished, Söyembikä climbed to the top and jumped to her death. The Tower of Söyembikä, a former watchtower or minaret, still stands in the Kazan kremlin, but it was probably built in the seventeenth or eighteenth century, long after the queen’s death. The monument may bear Söyembikä’s name because she prayed at her husband’s nearby tomb before she left the city.

The Tatar historian Hadi Atlasi (1876-1938), who presented Söyembikä as a model of courage and piety for all girls, indicated that women liked to read the Qur an at this sacred place and make wishes. Finally, the well-known “Lament of Söyembikä,” written in the first person, has long symbolized the historical fate of the Tatars, who became the subjects of a non-Muslim state after the conquest of Kazan in 1552."

Kefeli Agnes, Smith Bonnie G. (eds.). The Oxford Encyclopedia of Women in World History

#history #women in history #women's history #historyedit #16th century #warrior women #warrior queens #soyembika #khanate of kazan #tatar history #russia #russian history #queens #historyblr

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whencyclopedia · 2 months ago

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Leo Africanus

Leo Africanus (al-Hasan ibn Muhammad ibn Ahmad al-Wazzan al-Fasi al-Granati, 1485-1554) was a diplomat, merchant traveller and scholar who famously voyaged from Timbuktu to the Niger River and wrote 'The History and Description of Africa' (La Descrittione dell'Africa, 1526). Captured by Mediterranean pirates, he so impressed them with his learning and linguistic ability, that they gifted him as a slave to Pope Leo X (1498 -1526).

Leo Africanus was born into a family of clerics and accountants to the court of the Nasrid Dynasty (1238-1492) of Granada during the last days of their rule over the Emirate of Granada. Hasan was baptised Johannes Leo Africanus, and known in Italian as Giovanni Leone. He trained as an Islamic scholar and became a diplomat, travelling across West Africa, from Cairo and Aswan across to the Hejaz and Syria. It was during his return journey from Egypt that he was kidnapped by Mediterranean Christian pirates and ended up becoming a slave to the Vatican Pope Leo X (born Giovanni de’ Medici). Pope Leo X offered Hasan his freedom on condition that he converted to Christianity.

Leo Africanus' scholarship and translations from Arabic inspired early modern ideas of Africa and the Islamic world. His work Descrittione dell'Africa became a blueprint for European explorers seeking to monopolise trade and resources from the African subcontinent. Some historians believe that William Shakespeare’s (1564-1616) Othello is based on Leo Africanus. Descrittione dell'Africa was widely read in Europe. It became an important resource and guidebook on Africa, until the European colonisation during the 19th century.

Hasan al-Wazzan

Hasan al-Wazzan’s father, Ahmad al-Wazzan was a cleric in the court of Abu Abdallah Muhammad XII (c. 1460–1533), known in Europe as Boabdil. Hasan’s forbearers worked as aids to the court muhtasib of Granada – a magistrate who oversaw merchant trade and accounts, while also upholding morality and decorum in the public sphere. Hasan grew up alongside his father and grandfather under the influence of the Nasrid court. As a child, he spoke Arabic at home and Spanish in the streets.

Leo Africanus as Shakespeare's Othello

Théodore Chassériau (Public Domain)

In 1492, after a decade long war, Boabdil surrendered Granada to the Spanish Catholic monarchs Isabella I of Castile (1451-1504) and Ferdinand II, King of Aragon (1452 –1516), marking the end of 700 years of Muslim rule. Hasan’s family may have left Granada before 1492, or they could have stayed until the Reconquista. Hasan was a young child when his family, like many Andalusian migrants, fled persecution under the new Christian monarchs, crossing the Mediterranean to settle in Fez. Luckily Hasan’s family was well connected thanks to his uncle, already settled in Fez, who was a diplomat to the Wattasid rulers, serving Sultan Muhammad al-Shaykh (1490-1557). Consequently, they secured a home in a prominent quarter of Fez. His father purchased land north of the Rif Mountains and rented a castle above Fez. Other emigrant families from Granada however struggled greatly in Fez and complained publicly.

#History #LeoAfricanus #HassanAl-Wazzan #Scholar

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nanshe-of-nina · 4 months ago

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Women’s History Meme || Virtually Unknown Women (9/10) ↬ Söyembikä of Kazan (1516 – after 1554)

What is certain about Kazan’s fall is the following: On August 13, 1552, not long before his twenty-second birthday, Tsar Ivan IV reached the newly built Muscovite fortress of Sviiazhsk, 30 kilometers to Kazan’s west on the Volga, at the head of a military host that joined an army already stationed there. This army reached Kazan’s environs by 20 August. Through Khan Yadegar Mokhammad’s rival Shakh Ali (Shahgali), who had switched to the Muscovite side, the tsar and his deputy commanders were well informed about the defense set up by Kazan’s khan and his supporters. In addition, Shakh Ali had been given command over a significant part of the Muscovite forces. In the first few days after investing Kazan, Ivan IV received further detailed information about the city’s defensive alignment from Tatars who had absconded from Kazan. It was Shakh Ali’s troops who first engaged in battles against azanite sorties and who sustained (mainly arrow and bullet) fire from the city walls. Those walls were primarily constructed out of robust oakwood, which was breachable to the Russian cannons. Bad weather (thunderstorms) constrained the Russian forces for a while, which Platon—who does not seem to indicate that this may have been a rather dubious suggestion made by his sources—suggests was the work of the sorceress Siuiumbike (Söyembikä) and sundry Tatar magicians. … Several scholars suggest that the tower dates from the first half of the sixteenth century, when it was incorporated into the khan’s palace (which underwent significant renovation at that time). This khan was in all likelihood Safagaray (Safa Giray), who ruled Kazan in three stints (1524–1531, 1535–1546, and 1546–1549). We saw how he died as khan, not yet forty years old, in 1549. He married the Nogai princess Siuiumbike (Soyembika, c.1516–f. 1550s), the widow of his rival Changali (Jan Ali, 1516–1535) in 1535 or 1536, which may explain the association of her name with the tower (or with the palace complex of which it was once part). Safagaray and Siuiumbike were the last rulers of Kazan who firmly resisted the Muscovite attempts at making Kazan a Russian protectorate; regardless of the moment of the tower’s building, it is no surprise that she became the symbol of Tatar defiance. — A History of Tatarstan: The Russian Yoke and the Vanishing Tatars by Kees Boterbloem

#women's history meme #soyembika of kazan #tatar history #russian history #asian history #european history #women's history #history #nanshe's graphics #tw: suicide

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lilgoblinbitch · 8 months ago

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I Wanna Be Yours 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

Rick Grimes x fem!reader

Summary: you and rick find solace in one another and end up falling hard and fast, but you're unsure if he really feels the same way as you do...

Warnings: angst, suggestive themes, some cussing. 18+ only.

wc: 1554

It took years of improvement for you to become an ambitious woman with a mended heart, desperate yearning for freedom, and an opportunity to heal and start your own life, to finally assert yourself into the world — by moving to Atlanta.

You’d always dreamt of living in a big city and escaping the suburban hell you grew up in. After college you were in a decent amount of debt but you landed a decent job that paid well. Your — as of about a year and a half now — late fiancé had a job as a city zoning office worker in Atlanta. By the time the world went to shit you had been introduced to Jacqui, who was an earlier member of your group and met her demise at the CDC. You met her through your fiancée after discovering she had worked in the same department as him. Inevitably, you ended up hitching a ride with her to the quarry camp.

That’s how you met the very assertive and tenacious sheriff’s deputy Rick Grimes.

He was someone you could actually work with. Someone with common sense who always tried his absolute best to reason with people, because he believed that people get to come back. Civilization didn’t have to end from an apocalyptic world occupied by the living dead – no; humanity had gone through many apocalypses. There was still hope. Rick Grimes believed that, and he made you believe it, too.

And if anything, the world you lived in now helped you to grow and heal, because for the first time in your life you were actually surrounded by a group of people – family – who would do anything for you, who would fight for you and actually prove to you that you weren’t just a servant to people. You had a purpose like everyone else in this world. You were here because your group brought you back. You got to come back, like Rick said.

After his wife’s death, Rick became cold and hardened by the harsh realities of the world. But he came back. He always did; he was the strongest man you had ever met.

And you fell in love with him.

Little did you know, he felt the exact same way.

“How many more miles we got?”

Road trips like these were how you discovered your (seemingly) unrequited love for the sheriff. The comfort of silence and the gentle rumble of the car’s engine, and the steady noise of the tires sliding against the worn-down paved road… and to your left a very handsome man. His beard was coated with salt and pepper whiskers and his hair was always perfectly tousled back, his curls slightly dancing at the base of his skull as the car reached many halts and skimmed over fissures in the road.

Rick’s hand shifted on the steering wheel, his other arm resting on the door beside him. He glanced at you for a moment, his hardened gaze softened as he rested his eyes on yours. Your stomach giggled nervously. His eyes were so fucking intense and he made you want to–

“About 10, more or less.” His voice was warm and raspy. Always so soothing to listen to. Hell, there were nights when you’d wish he would just talk to you just for the sake of talking, because honestly his voice was soothing enough to fall asleep to. And then there were nights where you wish he’d put his sexy, husky vocal cords to use and whisper filthy and forbidden words into your ear as his rough hands ever so gently slid down your torso further and further until you felt his fingertips reach–

“Hey, you doin’ alright?”

He had caught you dissociating, your eyes accidentally glued to his hands, which were now both gripping the steering wheel. The bulging veins in his arms popped out.

You sighed defeatedly. “‘M fine, just thinkin’ bout stuff…” You trailed off, eyes diverting to your calloused fingertips, picking at the dead skin that so desperately could benefit from a trip to the salon. You felt your cheeks heat up a bit out of embarrassment; did he know what you were thinking? Did he know how he made you feel? Part of you wished he did so that you wouldn’t have to go pretending and hiding anymore – you could finally have your answer and find some sort of comfort out of it.

But you hated rejection, too. You hated feeling unwanted or unloved. You hated feeling like a burden or just someone that could be walked all over – because that’s how you were treated most of your life.

God, you were so naive. Rick loved catching you staring. He loved seeing you flustered and affected by the attention he constantly threw at you. He loved testing your limits. In fact, this was his plan all along, to get you alone with him. Rick knew you, at the very least, were interested in him. He was very confident in this. But you were so focused on your own thoughts and actions when you were around him that you barely ever noticed the many times he’d catch himself staring at you for longer than he wanted to admit. You were just so beautiful, and so graceful, and so, so fucking caring. Even the way you constantly watched over his boy like he was your own, or rocked his baby girl to sleep after he came back from runs drenched in sweat and drained of energy. He never met a woman like you. Lori could never compare to you; you would never cheat on Rick, or have any other man’s baby. You were so dutiful and thoughtful, and always put others before yourself, and you were always there for Rick when he needed someone to just listen to him.

He wanted you. Maybe even more than you wanted him.

Abruptly, Rick halted the car to a stop on the side of the road, pulling you out of your pensive state of mind. He swiftly shifted the gear into park, and dropped his hands to his lap. You gulped, anticipating his next move. Tucking your hair back behind your ears, you faced him, mirroring his motions. His eyes were already boring into you, as if he was reading your deepest thoughts.

You still had around 5 miles to go, but that didn’t seem to bother him at all, judging by the way his focus never left you. You bit your lip nervously, then asked, “Why are we stopped?”

His eyes left yours for a moment, lifting his left hand to drag it through his hair. He let out a small sigh and turned back to face you, licking his lips. “Look, I uh…” He started, but struggled to find his words. You knew something was wrong, so you instinctively reached out to his arm and traced your thumb up and down – a soothing technique that always seemed to work on him.

Your pleading eyes searched his own. “Is everything okay? You know you can tell me anything…”

Looking into your eyes was all he needed to gather himself. His other hand fell over yours, caressing it and sending shivers throughout your whole body. This was his moment. Your moment. His hand lifted up to your cheek now, and he stared into your eyes one last time before slowly leaning in, closer and closer, until your noses touched. Your heart was practically begging to burst out of your chest. But that didn’t bother you at all, and you finally decided to close the gap between you two and meet your lips with his.

The kiss was perfect, everything you’ve been waiting for. You waited so long for this, and so did Rick. Fuck, you needed this, and more.

His needy tongue slipped past yours without a fight; no password needed to enter when it came to this man. Your soft hands dug into his brown locks as his now gripped at your waist, signaling for you to plop down onto his lap. You obliged; anything to get closer to him. You whimpered into his mouth, and he grumbled lowly in response. The kiss was desperate, like you were both desert roses fiending for a nourishing rainstorm.

After a while you pulled away, breathing heavily. His hot breath fanning your neck, now making you impossibly needy for more of his touch. His hands tenderly hugged your sides, and once again his eyes met your frantic ones.

He spoke your name like it was holy, like you were his God. He said it so carefully, it melted your heart. “I love you…”

You opened your mouth to respond, choking on your words. You didn’t believe it; it was almost like a dream. Your brain was on autopilot, and it felt like your soul disconnected from your body at that moment. This man was otherworldly in the way he made you feel.

“I love you, Rick…” You finally found the words that fit his own like a puzzle piece. You fit him like a puzzle piece. “You don’t know how long I wanted–”

“I know, baby,” His hands held your face close to him while you rested yours on his chest, which fell up and down with each gentle breath. “I’ve waited so long, but now I finally have you.”

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thetudorslovers · 1 year ago

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And all the while there was little said of Anne, and little left of her but her child, the young Elizabeth, who had been declared a bastard but who was nevertheless acknowledged as the king’s daughter. Despite her youth and her mother’s shame, she was a valuable card in the diplomatic marriage game and in 1544 she was restored to the succession. A ‘very pretty’, bright and intelligent girl, prematurely cautious. When her elder sister Mary came to the throne in 1553, the 20-year-old Elizabeth found she needed that caution as never before. On Palm Sunday 1554 Anne Boleyn’s daughter was brought by river to the Tower of London, just as her mother had been almost eighteen years earlier. Suspected of plotting rebellion, she spent the next two months in the Bell Tower, followed by almost a year under house arrest in Oxfordshire. In 1558, however, the miracle happened. On Monday, 28 November, to the cheers of the London crowd and the roar of the Tower artillery, Elizabeth came through the gates to take possession of the fortress as queen. The bastardized daughter of the disgraced Anne Boleyn, with her father’s complexion but her mother’s face, splendidly dressed in purple velvet: Elizabeth, by the grace of God, queen of England, France and Ireland, defender of the faith. Is it fanciful to feel that after twenty years, the mother in the nearby grave in the chapel of St Peter was at last vindicated?

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teecupangel · 1 year ago

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pops in here bc I’ve been writing Resident Evil crossover AUs for fun (and angst) and I have a fun little idea for you!

so, re4make has dropped some interesting and tasty lore about Los Illuminados, aka the parasite cult that makes up the main bad guys in this particular game. according to the new lore, they popped up in 1554 and were exiled from their old place in 1741. now, we know that mutations and parasites and viruses can possibly extend somebody’s life in REverse beyond their natural lifespan and also make them far more durable than humans. I was thinking—Edward Kenway gets killed in 1735. this we’re well aware of. but what if he wasn’t?

say that Birch is aware of Los Iluminados and their work. he wants to keep a closer eye on them since he hears a lot about Las Plagas and its hive mind abilities, but he’s not about to risk becoming a part of their hive mind—he doesn’t entirely trust this cult. and he has a pesky Assassin who’s just found out that he’s actually a Templar, and who has a book and a son he would defend. if he survives the night—and it’s damn near a guarantee that he would, Birch has heard that he once cleared a whole deck of a galleon on his own—there’s nothing stopping him from taking up his sword and beelining to Birch and just cutting down every last member of the British Rite. but he can’t do that, if he has a bug inside his head.

so Edward gets knocked unconscious, and dragged off to the cult. now Birch has a reason to keep an eye on the cult, and he’s taken Edward out of the picture with no one the wiser for it.

years later—hundreds of years later—Desmond Miles, 17yo runaway, gets kidnapped along with Ashley Graham for whatever reason. maybe he saw too much and immediately launched himself at Krauser and actually managed to acquit himself pretty well in a fight, only to get stuffed into a van along with a very terrified First Daughter. Leon goes to find them.

in the meantime, Saddler has a very fucked-up Edward stand guard, and Desmond starts to talk to this guy, bc something about him seems…not quite the same as the rest of the cult. there’s some core of humanity still holding stubbornly on inside him, even if he looks pretty bad off, if not heavily mutated by now. which is how Leon ends up finding both Ashley and Desmond having managed to get a very snarly pirate to help break them out and has to gently convince said pirate that yes he really is here to help them please put that pitchfork down sir.

Oooohhh, if you wanted to, you can even include one of Ezio’s or Aquilar’s descendants in the lore as well, maybe even both? 1554 is around the time Flavia and Marcello would be 20~21 years old. Old enough to be Assassins that would be sent to foreign lands to help other Brotherhoods. We can even have them be sent by the current mentor of the Spanish Brotherhood because of this cult that supposed worship something ‘strange’. The mentor thought that the Italian Brotherhood who had a mentor who had been quite verse in strange things would have an idea of what they’re dealing with. Flavia or Marcello (or both if you want) asks to be sent because it seems connected to the precursors and, as Ezio Auditore’s children, it’s their duty to continue their father’s legacy.

They meet up with Aquilar’s child (or grandchild maybe?) and they help in exiling Los Illuminados, making the cult hate them and the Brotherhood in the process.

It’s because of their hatred for the Brotherhood that Birch was able to have a distant alliance with them and it’s because of his connection with the cult that Edward starts to suspect him as being a Templar.

(To sprinkle more angst, how about Haytham saw his father being dragged away and tried to save him, killing one of the kidnappers which ends with Teresa seeing him as a cold blooded killer and he is indoctrinated by Birch as a way to try and find Edward but never found him. After learning Birch was the leader of his father’s kidnapping, he gives up on Edward because Birch burned all evidence that will link him to Edward and the Los Illuminados)

Okay, so we go to the Ashley and Desmond part of the story.

Ashley is around 20 years old when she was abducted so, if you’d like, she could be in New York to shop or something when she was kidnapped. Desmond was on his way to his first shift in Bad Weather and saw a woman struggling while being dragged into a car with men looking like professional bodyguards (suit, sunglasses, wired ear pieces) on the ground, unconscious maybe? Dead even?

Desmond didn’t have time to think, his body reacted and he punched one of them. He starts to fight them off while telling the girl to run and the girl tried to, screaming for help but there were more men than they expected but her screaming (and his battle cries, they were not screams, they were battle cries damn it) was attracting attention so they had to book it quickly and Desmond was swept alongside the girl in the process.

Leon is briefed that an unknown man with no past of his own may be with the president’s daughter and he’s a low priority. The most that Leon is expected to do is find out who he was and if he was truly just taken alongside the Ashley because he tried to be a good Samaritan.

Now Saddler though…

Saddler had planned to kill Desmond from the very beginning but then he noticed something peculiar.

Desmond looked familiar.

So he let Desmond live because he needs to find out why Desmond looks familiar at all. He orders Edward to guard them and to keep them there.

Leon starts doing his job and Saddler gets sidetracked.

When he heard that Edward had ‘betrayed’ them, he realized why Desmond looked so familiar.

In one of the oldest journals written by his ancestors, there were sketches of the three Assassins who led to their fall and exile.

And two of them…

… looked very similar to Desmond Miles.

So now, Saddler believes Desmond is a descendant of those who exiled them and wants to infect him as well.

Because what better revenge is there than to have a descendant of those who wronged them become their ‘property’?

Unorganized Notes:

I like to imagine Ashley and Desmond become friends immediately, with Desmond helping Ashley stay calm while Ashley gives Desmond something he wanted ever since he was a child, a close friend.

Ashley would definitely not leave without Desmond and Desmond would do everything he can to keep Ashley safe.

Edward ‘recognize’ Desmond, in a way that Desmond reminds him of his young son, but he doesn’t understand it, because the infection inside him mutated thanks to his ‘bloodline’, so he’s not exactly the same as the others.

Edward will be conflicted though because his infection would make him want to obey the cult but he can't hurt Desmond at all. He doesn't want to and his body will never allow it.

Is it his own free will? The reminder of a past long gone? Or...

The Calculations at work?

#okay so I haven’t played the re4 remake yet #because that collector’s ed was too expensive for me lol #but I did play the og re4 decades ago #so if this feels like it has og re4 vibes #that’s probably it #assassin's creed #desmond miles #edward kenway #resident evil #ashley graham #leon kennedy #fic idea: assassin's creed #teecup writes/has a plot #ask and answer #fic idea: crossover #fic idea: resident evil

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vodika-vibes · 9 months ago

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Hello!! I thought I'd go ahead and send in a 2nd request since you offered. :)

How about something with Alpha 17 x F!reader. And maybe angst (with a happy ending though?)

Like beginning with Narcissus (unrequited love) but then ending up with Coriander (lust.) You can pick which direction you'd like it to go...whether it's Alpha pining for her and then they end up together or her that pines for him and then they end up together. And if the "end up together" could be a little NSFW? (However NSFW you are feeling, any level is cool with me.)

If you aren't feeling this, ANYTHING with Alpha 17 would be wonderful!

Thanks!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Burning Hot

Summary: You work at the facility where Alpha-17 has been a prisoner for months now, and you're totally smitten with him. But you know that he'll never feel the same.

Pairing: Demon!Alpha-17 x F!Reader

Word Count: 1554

Warning: Spicy - no actual smut, but Alpha is Alpha

Prompts: Narcissus - Unrequited love, Coriander - Lust

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I've been having a hard time with Alpha for some reason, but then I had this idea! Yay me! But I couldn't make the NSFW work with me and I don't know why.

You watch him from behind the safety glass. A frown crosses your lips as you monitor his vitals, a frown that deepens as you notice that his core temperature is higher than ever before. High enough that, if he had the use of all of his powers, he’d be able to melt the safety glass and get to the Doctors.

Not that you’d blame him.

Almost a year ago now, scientists traveled to a planet that was long thought uninhabited. Only to learn that they were wrong. The planet is home to a race of people that you can only call demonic.

Demonic because of their tails. And their golden eyes. And the fact that they can create and manipulate fire and heat.

And Alpha-17, the man on the other side of the glass, was the first demon that the scientists came in contact with.

How they managed to capture him is beyond you, you are just an intern after all, but somehow they did, and he’s been a guest at this facility since then.

Of course, the majority of the care for Alpha has fallen on your shoulders. You tend to his injuries, make sure that he has clean clothes, and feed him three times a day. While you were intimidated at first, he’s so much bigger than you, after all, over time you’ve come to appreciate his presence.

He’s rough and sarcastic and can be horrifically mean when he’s pushed, but he’s never been mean to you. And, much to your surprise, and shame, you’ve found yourself pining over him.

You wonder how his hands would feel against your skin, how his lips would feel against yours, how it would feel to lay against him in bed-

And it is embarrassing. Because Alpha would never look at you like that. For all that you have no choice but to be here, you’re still one of the people holding him here. Keeping him from his family.

Plus, for all you know, he already has a life partner. It’s not like you ever asked…and it isn’t as though he would tell you one way or the other.

“Time,” You say, your voice quiet and dispassionate, “That’s one hour, Doctor.”

The older man that you were interned under glances at you, and then at your readings, “Good thing he can’t actually use those powers to hurt us, huh.” He jokes, before he presses a series of buttons on the console, powering down the training simulation.

You watch as Alpha is escorted back to his cell by a group of droids, and then you flicker your gaze back to the datapad, “It’s only a matter of time before he breaks the suppression collar, Doctor. Perhaps it’s best to quit while we’re ahead?”

He laughs, “He’s a brute, but he’s an easily controlled brute.” The Doctor dismisses your concerns, “Anyway, I have been ordered to take the weekend off, apparently I work too much.”

“You do work too much.” You say dryly.

He sniffs, “I work a reasonable amount.”

“You worked 100 hours last week. I know, because I worked 100 hours last week.”

“...Anyway! I’m going to spend the next week with my wife and children.” He rolls his eyes, “So you’ll be holding down the fort on your own. Well. You and the droids.”

“That’s fine.”

“Good. Good.” He awkwardly pats your shoulder and then heads out of the room, “No need for any tests while I’m gone, just keep him alive.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He leaves the facility while you’re giving the janitorial droids their orders for making sure the training room is clean and in working order.

Then, and only then, do you strip off the stark white jacket that you wear while working, and head down the hall to the holding cells where Alpha lives. His cell is more of a room, due solely to your actions. You’ve given him blankets to act as makeshift walls, and extra blankets and pillows to make the bed more comfortable.

The Doctor hadn’t been thrilled about it. But he didn’t take them away from Alpha either.

“Knock, knock.” You call as you enter the hallway, “I have the first aid kit, Alpha.”

The blankets are swept away from the door, allowing you to peer into his cell. He’s clad in the bottoms of his training outfit and nothing else, and you forcefully shove down the surge of attraction.

“Can I come in?” You ask with a small smile.

He glances at you, “Yeah, go ahead.”

You wave your key card over the lock, and key in the code that will allow you to come and go as you please, and then pull the door open. You step into the cell, and the door slides shut behind you, but you don’t mind.

You set the first aid kit on the small table you found for him months ago, “Well, you don’t look badly injured.” You note as he turns towards you, “Some of those hits looked bad-”

“So you were watching today?” Alpha asks, as he sinks down on the bed.

“I always watch.” You reply lightly, “The Doctor insists.”

Alpha scoffs, “Of course he does.”

“I am his intern.” You remind him, “Now, let me get a look at you.” You take a step closer to him, already taking in the rapidly healing bruises. “Healing already.” You murmur, “Honestly, it’s like you don’t even need me.” You add jokingly.

Alpha’s tail lightly twines around your wrist and tugs you close enough that you’re able to feel his body heat, “Don’t be silly. I’d have gone mad without you here.”

You know that Alpha has total control over his tail. He’s told you as much before. He likes wrapping his tail around you when you’re treating his injuries.

It’s comforting, in a way.

It’s also the closest you know you’re ever going to get to him actually touching you.

“So,” Alpha says as you start applying bacta to his chest, “Where’s the good doctor anyway. Usually he comes down here to gloat about me not escaping yet.”

“Oh…well…” You pull back to grab another bandage, “He’s not here. Mandatory vacation.”

“...you don’t say.” Alpha murmurs. “You’re still here.”

“Intern.” You remind him dryly.

“Right.” Alpha’s tail releases you, and you’re surprised when the cell suddenly gets darker. You glance over your shoulder and note that he’s releasing the curtains that block the light from the hall.

You shoot him a bemused look, “You might be able to see in the dark, Alpha, but I can’t.” You remind him.

“I’m not that badly injured.” He replies. “Besides, I thought we’d use this moment to talk.”

“We are talking.”

You start to adjust to the dim light, and you’re surprised to see his small smirk, “I want to talk to you about your obvious attraction to me.”

And your face burns, “Uh…um…I don’t-”

His hand, large and warm, lightly caresses your cheek, “Don’t lie to me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice, my sweet girl?”

Your face heats even more, “It’s…not right.” You mumble, “I’m holding you here against your will.”

“You’re as much a prisoner here as I am,” Alpha replies, as he slowly pulls you closer.

“That’s not-”

“It is.” One more sharp tug pulls you onto his lap, and his lips find purchase against your throat, “Mine.” He purrs against your skin, “My pretty girl.”

“A-Alpha-”

He pulls back and crashes his lips against yours, sharply nipping your lower lip, before soothing the sore spot with his tongue. “Take my collar off, pretty girl.”

You shouldn’t. You really, really shouldn’t.

But his hands are sliding under your shirt, pushing your shirt up and out of the way, and his lips are back against your throat, nipping and sucking marks onto your tender skin, and before you really think about it, your fingers are sliding around the collar, releasing locks and undoing latches, until the collar comes off in your hands.

There’s a surge of heat around you, and then Alpha grabs the collar from your hands and tosses it to the side. “Good girl,” He purrs, catching your lips in a deep kiss.

His hands are everywhere, tugging your clothes either completely off or just to the side, and you’re not really surprised when he flips you so that you’re under him.

You blink up at him hazily, and he chuckles, “Is this what you wanted?” Alpha asks, as he presses his body against yours, “What you needed more than anything?”

You whine quietly, “Yes…please…”

“Pretty girl. My perfect girl.” Alpha kisses you again and again, “I’m going to ruin you.” He breathes against your lips.

You laugh softly, and reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, “Yes, please.”

He slots himself between your legs, his fingers dipping between your thighs to slide against your slit pulling a moan from you, “And then,” Alpha murmurs, “We’re going to leave this place and return to my home, and I’m going to make you all mine.”

“Am I not already all yours?” You ask breathlessly.

He chuckles against your lips, “I’m going to make you more mine. My pretty girl.” His golden eyes glimmer with want and need.

“Yours,” You agree, slightly breathlessly.

And then Alpha crashes his lips against yours and more talking is useless.

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #alpha-17 x reader #18+ fic #clone thirsting #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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palecleverdoll · 1 year ago

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Ages of English Queens at First Marriage

I have only included women whose birth dates and dates of marriage are known within at least 1-2 years, therefore, this is not a comprehensive list. For this reason, women such as Philippa of Hainault and Anne Boleyn have been omitted.

This list is composed of Queens of England when it was a sovereign state, prior to the Acts of Union in 1707. Using the youngest possible age for each woman, the average age at first marriage was 17.

Eadgifu (Edgiva/Ediva) of Kent, third and final wife of Edward the Elder: age 17 when she married in 919 CE

Ælfthryth (Alfrida/Elfrida), second wife of Edgar the Peaceful: age 19/20 when she married in 964/965 CE

Emma of Normandy, second wife of Æthelred the Unready: age 18 when she married in 1002 CE

Ælfgifu of Northampton, first wife of Cnut the Great: age 23/24 when she married in 1013/1014 CE

Edith of Wessex, wife of Edward the Confessor: age 20 when she married in 1045 CE

Matilda of Flanders, wife of William the Conqueror: age 20/21 when she married in 1031/1032 CE

Matilda of Scotland, first wife of Henry I: age 20 when she married in 1100 CE

Adeliza of Louvain, second wife of Henry I: age 18 when she married in 1121 CE

Matilda of Boulogne, wife of Stephen: age 20 when she married in 1125 CE

Empress Matilda, wife of Henry V, HRE, and later Geoffrey V of Anjou: age 12 when she married Henry in 1114 CE

Eleanor of Aquitaine, first wife of Louis VII of France and later Henry II of England: age 15 when she married Louis in 1137 CE

Isabella of Gloucester, first wife of John Lackland: age 15/16 when she married John in 1189 CE

Isabella of Angoulême, second wife of John Lackland: between the ages of 12-14 when she married John in 1200 CE

Eleanor of Provence, wife of Henry III: age 13 when she married Henry in 1236 CE

Eleanor of Castile, first wife of Edward I: age 13 when she married Edward in 1254 CE

Margaret of France, second wife of Edward I: age 20 when she married Edward in 1299 CE

Isabella of France, wife of Edward II: age 13 when she married Edward in 1308 CE

Anne of Bohemia, first wife of Richard II: age 16 when she married Richard in 1382 CE

Isabella of Valois, second wife of Richard II: age 6 when she married Richard in 1396 CE

Joanna of Navarre, wife of John IV of Brittany, second wife of Henry IV: age 18 when she married John in 1386 CE

Catherine of Valois, wife of Henry V: age 19 when she married Henry in 1420 CE

Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI: age 15 when she married Henry in 1445 CE

Elizabeth Woodville, wife of Sir John Grey and later Edward IV: age 15 when she married John in 1452 CE

Anne Neville, wife of Edward of Lancaster and later Richard III: age 14 when she married Edward in 1470 CE

Elizabeth of York, wife of Henry VII: age 20 when she married Henry in 1486 CE

Catherine of Aragon, wife of Arthur Tudor and later Henry VIII: age 15 when she married Arthur in 1501 CE

Jane Seymour, third wife of Henry VIII: age 24 when she married Henry in 1536 CE

Anne of Cleves, fourth wife of Henry VIII: age 25 when she married Henry in 1540 CE

Catherine Howard, fifth wife of Henry VIII: age 17 when she married Henry in 1540 CE

Jane Grey, wife of Guildford Dudley: age 16/17 when she married Guildford in 1553 CE

Mary I, wife of Philip II of Spain: age 38 when she married Philip in 1554 CE

Anne of Denmark, wife of James VI & I: age 15 when she married James in 1589 CE

Henrietta Maria of France, wife of Charles I: age 16 when she married Charles in 1625 CE

Catherine of Braganza, wife of Charles II: age 24 when she married Charles in 1662 CE

Anne Hyde, first wife of James II & VII: age 23 when she married James in 1660 CE

Mary of Modena, second wife of James II & VII: age 15 when she married James in 1673 CE

Mary II of England, wife of William III: age 15 when she married William in 1677 CE

#history #english #tudor #medieval #stuart #plantagenet

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